#and i became very suicidal and scared

[bluemoontarot]

Hmm but I was called crazy in high school when I pointed out that the nazi's who fled Germany just came here :) and that they started making families that were involved in politics :) and that those nazi's kids then became men in power :)

The nazi's who LOST fled Germany, and realized they had a second chance in a nation that was even MORE racist and bigoted than them.

America.

And here we are almost 100 years later. Book bans and burnings of lgbt stories and research, anti-semitism on the rise, anti-trans legislation that will then be used to target other minorities, women losing autonomy of their bodies, poc being targeted in murders and indigenous land and culture being destroyed.

History. Repeats. Itself.

[daz4i]

let me preface this by clarifying i am not anti therapy in any way whatsoever and in fact encourage people to get therapy if they can and even go the extra step to help friends find the right type of therapy that may help them

ok now that that's out of the way.

therapy is bullshit man you go to a therapist saying "hey. i wanna kill myself. can you help me stop wanting to kill myself somehow?" and they go "sure! first step, stop wanting to kill yourself" and you say "well i can't. that's why i came to you. bc i don't know. how to stop wanting to kill myself" and they'll say "that's a shame. i can't help you if you want to kill yourself. that'll be 125$ please"

[silverwolf1249]

kryptonians have wings and need them to live au:

Wing au where all kryptonians are born with wings, and can hide or reveal them at will. If they lose their wings, their health deteriorates until they either die from the stress the loss of their wings causes, or they end it themselves.

The Kents are surprised when they find a winged baby in a spaceship crashing in their fields one day, but they love him all the same and name him Clark. They didn't let him out much until he was a bit older and figured out how to hide his wings, it was simply too risky.

As a toddler, Clark's wings were incredibly fluffy and full of down, still growing in. What you could see of his feathers were greyish blues, a rusty tone highlighting the upper parts of his wings. He wasn't able to do much more than flap them about until he turned thirteen, when his adult plumage came in.

That time was absolute hell on all the Kents, his parents not knowing much on how the help the itching and pain Clark dealt with as he molted and his feathers fully grew in. Martha and John poured over multiple books on birds and their wings in hopes that Clark's wings were similar enough for the information to aid them.

Clark had to take an extended leave from school due to an "unfortunate case of pneumonia". It all turned out alright in the end of course, and Martha absolutely cooed at her son's new plumage, vivid dark blue with vibrant red mingling amongst the upper portions of his wings (colors that would later inspire those of his uniform as superman)

Growing up, Clark knew he was different, no one else had wings, and he had been told constantly by his parents to keep his hidden. He learned very early on that it was because he wasn't from earth, but that didn't make his parents consider him their own any less. He later found out about all his other abilities he gained from absorbing the sun's solar energy, but his favorite ability was always the wings he was born with.

Sure, he could fly without them, but why would he? His wings were a part of him from the very beginning, and flying with his wings just felt so much more right than flying without them. When he found the Fortress of Silence, he learned more about his wings from the Jor-el hologram, discovering how important it was to keep them safe. He still decided to keep them out as Superman though, his near invulnerability extending to his wings as well, and he was loathe to fly without them.

Years down the line, and after having been a part of the Justice League for over a year, Superman was suddenly very aware about his wing's vulnerability after another Kryptonite incident with Lex. Superman worried, and ended up confiding in Batman about his concerns. This was Batman after all, he knew all of Kal's other secrets and weaknesses, what was one more? He still didn't know the man's name, but he would trust him with his life, and for now that was enough.

Thankfully, Lex had yet to figure out just how important Clark's wings were to his continued existence, but even if he never learned the truth, any lucky shot to his back could take him out permanently. Batman listened to it all and told him that while he would tell him to put on wing covers to shield them, suddenly having them one day would be incredibly suspicious. There wasn't much they could do other than to make sure Clark's back was always protected.

Of course, this wasn't a long term solution, and it caught up to them not even a few years later. Superman finally got hit with that lucky shot, and Bruce wasn't able to get there in time to shield the other's back. By that point, the core justice league members had learned of Kal's achilles heel, and panicked when they noticed Superman lying on the ground face down, his back torn to shreds and wingless. Batman however, was calm, cold and clinical as he ordered them to bring them to the watchtower infirmary and get a room with two operating tables prepared for surgery.

When Superman, unconscious from the pain, was set up in an operating room, the Justice League looked around, wondering what was next? Only to spy Batman removing the top parts of his armor next to the other operating table. Wondering what the hell was going on, they were absolutely shocked when a pair of wings burst out of Bruce's back, and they were identical to Superman's.

Despite the questions bubbling within them, they soundlessly leave the operating room to let the watchtower's medical team enter and get down to business. Hours after the surgery is over, they visit Bruce to get their answers. He's sitting up in his bed, unable to lie on his back, the two new neatly stitched incisions on his back preventing him from doing so.

Still under the influence of painkillers (not strong enough to cloud his mind of course), he slowly explains. When he learned of Clark's weakness, he did more research into it, using his at the time new connection to the computer in the Fortress of Silence to learn more about Kryptonian biology. He wanted to figure out if there were any ways to prevent Clark's death if he actually lost his wings one day.

Eventually, he did find the solution. On Krypton, wing transfers were rare, but the cases were well documented in the Fortress' database. Whoever sacrificed their wings would die, but so long as the person who had lost their wings received a transplant within 24 hrs, the one who lost their wings would survive with no lasting impact. The wings had to be removed within those 24 hrs as well, or the wings would be rejected, and both participants would die.

And Bruce was the guy with all the contingencies, both for if he would need to take down his allies, and to save them. He sneakily stole a few dna samples from Clark, and did his own research and testing. He eventually managed to replicate Clark's wings, but he knew that unless they were attached to someone, the transplant wouldn't work.

Eventually he made the conclusion that if anyone was to carry the spare pair of wings, it would be him. This was untrodden territory, but thorough testing had shown that Kryptonian dna was compatible with human dna, so at the very least, Bruce wouldn't die if he implanted the wings into himself.

Whether he would die or not if a transplant was required however, was uncertain. While humans didn't need wings to survive, Bruce couldn't be sure how the Kryptonian wings might affect human biology once implanted. Hell, he wasn't even completely sure if the transplant would work. The intermingling of human and Kryptonian dna from the wings could render the wings useless once removed.

There was just no way to tell unless Kal actually needed the transplant, and there was no way Bruce would let that risk fall on anyone else. In the end, it seemed like Bruce's gamble had won, since other than the gashes on his back, there were no other negative effects to his health, and it looked like Kal would make a full recovery as well.

As you can probably imagine, the justice league were not happy with his explanation at all, and neither were his family or Clark when he woke up(Alfred in particular was upset that Bruce had never told anyone what he had done, the batkids were just pissed and terrified for nearly losing their dad and they wouldn't even have known until much later). At the same time however, they understood why Bruce did what he did, self sacrificing idiot that he was. None of them could imagine a Batman without a Superman. Clark though, also couldn't imagine a Superman without a Batman by his side.

They were friends, Clark would even hesitantly call Bruce his best friend, but the incident had changed some things. Clark had always thought that Bruce had reluctantly became friends with him after Clark kept bothering him to be more social when they started the justice league. He knew that Bruce trusted him with his life, he wouldn't have revealed his identity to him otherwise, but the fact that he was willing to die for a chance to save him...Clark had just never saw that happening, until now he supposed.

He just wanted to know why? Why put himself at risk like this when he wasn't even sure he would survive the surgery? When he wasn't even sure if it was possible to transfer the wings to him? So he confronts Bruce one day, practically ambushing the man in the Batcave one night. And Bruce, as emotionally distant and secretive as the man can be, answers honestly, "I care about you." he tells Clark, looking away from the other to hide how vulnerable he felt, "There was no way I was going to let something like this kill you. Not if I had the possibility to prevent it. A chance is greater than none at all."

And suddenly, Clark realizes that he was awfully, terribly, and wholly in love with Bruce. How he had never noticed it before he wasn't sure, but this near death incident had made him reflect on many things, it would of course also make him reflect on his relationship with Bruce as well. And without even thinking about it, he finds himself kissing the other man.

For a second, there's no response, but then Bruce answers in kind. Clark feels his wings, wings that Bruce had risked himself to create and transfer, pop out of his back. They flutter a bit, before wrapping themselves around him and Bruce. And everything feels so, so right, like everything was going to be okay.

It wasn't of course, he and Bruce definitely had to discuss their relationship and how it might affect their current lives, both of them were still recovering from the surgery, and Clark's wings didn't really feel like his just yet, despite looking exactly the same. He was also pretty sure the other Justice League members were going to be ridiculously overprotective over him for a while after being so close to losing him, same with Bruce for being reckless and secretive as always. But for now, he let himself indulge in this one perfect moment.

[babybluebex]

needs and wants | eric aqpdo x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in the direct aftermath of the apocalypse, you meet a man who's worse for wear in just about every regard. even though you can't do too much to heal his injuries, it's possible that you can heal his heart. wc 10.6k (she's a doozy) 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: eric (a quiet place: day one, 2024) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: SPOILERS FOR AQPDO, DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T WANT THE FILM SPOILED!, mentions of death/general apocalypse things, panic attacks, mentions of suicidal thoughts/actions (if you know eric's backstory that ended up cut from the film, he talks ab it), far too much intimacy for what this is, smut (minors dni): p in v, tit sucking, condom use 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: umm... i have no excuse for this... other than i need eric on a carnal level lol. hope you enjoy!!

It was funny how your whole world could change in a single day. And it was supposed to be a good day too; you had racked up enough PTO to allow yourself a full day off of work, and you had plans. You were going to brunch with your girlies that you hadn’t seen since nursing school, you were going to rent a movie at home, watch rom-coms in your underwear— you looked forward to sleeping in, taking a bubble bath, going to sleep early. You only achieved one part of that: you hadn’t even received the mimosa pitcher you had ordered when you heard the noise outside, as loud as a rocket taking off on the street just outside the hip brunch place, and you had hardly turned to look out the window when your world fell apart. 

Silence became your norm. Fear overtook you at every turn, giving your hands a perpetual shake that you weren’t certain would ever wear off. You didn’t know too much psychological or neurological stuff— you were a trauma nurse, emergency room and ICU type stuff, you were more concerned with stopping the blood flow and stabilizing vitals than ever caring about the after-effects of shit— but you wondered if the shaking of your hands was forever part of you now. You were good under pressure, never scared, but whatever the fuck those creatures were out there had changed the makeup of your being in a single second. 

When the helicopters buzzed overhead, drawing the monsters toward them and away from the city, and they announced that boats were departing from a nearby dock, you knew you had to go. More than saving yourself, you knew some very hurt and very sick people would gather there. You were sure that FEMA people would be swarming the boats to take care of the sick and injured, but you didn’t know what else to do. Your brain went on a sort-of autopilot, and you did the only thing you could think to do: you followed the crowd out to the docks. 

You had never gone that long without talking. Your throat was so dry from debris and dust anyway that you weren’t even sure that you could talk. Your clothes were torn, various small injuries that weren’t anything some disinfectant and a Band-Aid couldn’t fix, along with a gash on your calf that you had determined would be fine for now but could definitely use some tending-to once on the boat, plus your shaky hands, but otherwise you were fine. When the windows shattered and the monsters invaded, your table had overturned from the force of the sonic blast, and your animal instincts kicked in, throwing yourself behind the table and barricading there. You were one of the lucky ones— you lived. Sure, glass cut up your knees and palms, and you couldn’t even breathe without worrying that your breaths would alert the monsters, but you had lived. That was more than some could say. 

You felt packed out like sardines on the boat. Standing room only, except for the few exceptions of the people who were hurt or passed out. You had meager belongings in your pockets, although you weren’t sure how helpful your dead cell phone or essentially-useless credit cards would be in a time like this, but at least you had your work badge in your purse when you went to brunch. You found someone who looked like they were in charge, dressed in all-grey, not a military uniform but not civilian clothes either, and you silently showed them your badge, declaring yourself as a trauma nurse at a hospital in Brooklyn, and you gestured around, trying to ask if there was anything you could do to help. The woman shook her head, but folded her hands in a sort of ‘thank-you’ gesture.

You managed to stand towards the back of the ship, against the railing, next to the ladder, and you flinched at the loud chug of the boat casting off from the dock. Surely the monsters heard that. Everybody around you seemed to hold a deep breath, anticipatory, awaiting the worst to come at your final moments of salvation, but thankfully the monsters weren’t concerned with you all— maybe you were too far out in the water and, if the announcements from the helicopters were to be believed, the monsters couldn’t swim, so they didn’t care too much about the boat. Or maybe, the sudden sound of glass shattering from the shore, followed by shrill car alarms, captured their attention better. 

You watched, horrified, as you spotted a woman racing down the street, hardly noticeable from the distance, but the sun glinted off of a silver metal pipe in her hand as she raised it in the air, and she smashed the window of the car next to her as she raced away. 

“Hell’s she doing…?” The man next to you mumbled, and you instinctively put your hand on his shoulder to silence him, even though there was no need. The world had changed in a day, habits had formed in 24 hours, and you wondered how long it would take to shake the new habits. You watched the woman flit between cars, trying to outpace the monsters as she smashed windows, but then something else caught your attention. On the dock, there was a man. Wearing a yellow sweater, carrying something that you couldn’t identify, running like his life depended on it towards the edge of the dock. And maybe it did; a few straggling monsters had started after him instead of the woman, and he had to have known as well as you did that the water was safe. 

Your heart rammed up into your throat as he ran, faster and faster, white sneakers hitting the metal dock, and he looked over his shoulder for a moment at the monster that was meters, feet, away from him, before he righted himself forward and hurtled himself off the edge of the dock. Everyone on the boat was watching now as he flew for a brief moment, suspended in the air as time stood still, and then plummeted into the water below. The monsters skidded to a halt at the edge of the dock, one curled claw extended out, a scrap of yellow cardigan stuck on its talon. 

By now, everyone had come to the same conclusion, and started to gather at the ladder onboarding right next to you— the man would need help coming aboard. You all watched anxiously as he surfaced from the water, frantically looking around and gulping air as he tried to keep his head above water and orient himself. Finally, he looked towards the boat, and you could have sworn that he looked at you instead of anybody else. He gained his senses quickly, starting to swim out towards the boat, and you caught sight of the little white whatever-it-was he was holding: a cat. The cat seemed safe and unharmed, definitely soggy but no worse for wear, and you crouched down, extending your arm down the ladder to meet him. 

You didn’t have the strength to help pull him aboard, but the man who had spoken next to you gently moved you, and he grasped the wet man’s arm and pulled him up the last few rungs of the ladder. He heaved breaths, his eyes all big and round as he took in his surroundings. Then, if you were unsure whether he was looking at you before or not, he extinguished any doubts you had this time around, because his eyeline landed on you. He was startled, hurt, traumatized— those wet eyes had seen some things, worse than you had seen. 

You helped him move away from the ladder and back towards a more secluded part of the boat, and the FEMA woman you had “talked” to before came to your side, a first aid kit in one hand and a heavy wool blanket in the other. 

“Sir?” you croaked. Jesus Christ, speaking really was a challenge. You cleared your throat, hoping that would improve things, and you said, “Sir, are you hurt?” 

He shook his head quickly, clutching the cat in his arms, and you spotted the gash on his shin. The leg of his pants was torn and shredded, and you could bet that the wound was pretty fresh. “You can speak,” you told him gently. “We’re safe here.” 

He looked at you, tears streaming down his face, and in a hushed voice, said, “How can you be so sure?” 

They said the boat ride would last through the day and you would arrive by nightfall, but FEMA assured you that the destination would be worth it. A little island, they said, off the northern coast of the state, that used to house a summer camp but was abandoned however long ago. The buildings there, houses, old camp cabins, would take some sprucing up, they told you, but it was safe, and it could turn into home. As night fell, factions were made, and people divided as best as possible— the vulnerable ones, the hurt ones, the kids, went to the inside part of the boat, and the healthy stayed outside, huddled under the wool blankets and trying to forget the cold November ocean air berating their faces. 

The yellow-cardiganed man was moved inside, and you moved through the small crowd in there, doing what you could to help. Passing out crackers and water bottles, winding gauze around bloody injuries, squeezing hands and offering small words of encouragement. It wasn’t a lot, but it felt good to help. 

Eventually, you couldn’t ignore your fatigue anymore, and you sat down on the floor against the back wall with a sigh. It was a low din inside there, so you felt relatively safe making a little bit of noise, and you sniffled and zipped open the inside pocket of your coat. The stuff you had stashed from your purse was in there, and you frowned down at your brick of a cell phone, the screen shattered. You cast it aside, then pulled out your wallet, rifling through it to see what went missing. Thankfully, your license was still there, so if anybody needed identification at any point, you had that covered; an old fast food gift card that you were sure still had money on it but was useless now; and an old paper movie ticket that you had saved with the intention of putting it in a scrapbook. Your heart panged with hurt, and you checked every other section of your wallet, but it was empty. 

Your house keys were certainly back on the floor of the restaurant, and you thought about the key to your mother’s house that lived on the ring. You hadn’t been able to contact her since the monsters came— the last thing you said to her was a text the morning of brunch, telling her to have a good day, and she had sent the classic mom :-) emoticon to you. Was she still alive? Had she managed to escape the monsters? Even though she didn’t live in the city, you wondered how far the monsters had traveled. Her neighbors were a family, with a high-school age son who played basketball and mowed your mother’s lawn; for your sanity, you chose to believe that they had taken her in (along with her prized African violets). 

A little noise came from in front of you, someone clearing their throat, and you looked up through your welling tears to see him. Damp yellow cardigan, wool blanket loose around his shoulders, curls wet and flat to his forehead. He stood still, watching you for a moment, before he spoke, a little louder than the first time but still a whisper. “Never caught your name,” he said. An accent. Not a native New Yorker. 

You told him with a shrug. Your eyes canvassed his frame, watching him shiver a little in what was probably an adrenaline rush, and your eyes landed on that nasty cut on his shin. It wasn’t actively bleeding, but still very red. It looked maybe a little inflamed, a tiny bit swollen, and you started to reach out for it, but stopped yourself. Your hands were filthy and, if infection was already setting in the way you suspected it was, whatever germs you had probably weren’t good for the wound. You withdrew your hand and settled in your lap, and you cleared your throat. “One of the FEMA people can help with that,” you told him, nodding towards his leg. “Bandages and anti-inflammatories and shit.” 

“Aren’t you a nurse?” the man asked, now his turn to nod at you. You had clipped your badge to the collar of your coat and, even though the plastic flower that had once surrounded the metal clip was shattered and long gone, the clip still served its purpose. 

“I am,” you said. “But I don’t have bandages.” You cracked a loose smile, and you winced at the bottle of water and pile of crackers next to you on the floor. “I’ve got crackers and water.” 

“I’m starving,” he told you, returning the small smile. “May I?” 

You nodded, and he worked himself down to the floor (he seemed to be favoring his left ankle a little, the same leg with the gash). He settled back against the wall, sighing heavily, and he took a pack of crackers into his hands and read the label for a moment. “‘Peanut butter’,” he read. “D’ya like these?” 

“They’re alright,” you said. “I used to buy the same ones, shove ‘em in my work bag to eat between patients. Kinda bland and gross, but they get the job done.” 

He nodded, and he tore the corner of the plastic sleeve and extracted a peanut butter cracker. “I used to like the ones with, erm, cream cheese and chives,” he said. “A quick snack at work. S’never what I wanted to eat, but sometimes I’d be at the office ‘til late, and at that point, take what you can get, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “What did you do?” 

“Lawyer,” he said, popping one of the crackers into his mouth. 

“Oh, shit,” you chuckled. “Yeah, you had some long nights… My sister’s husband is a paralegal, he used to tell me all about it.” 

“Cool,” he told you. “And you, Miss Nurse?”

“And me what?” you asked.

“What’s your husband do?” he asked. 

You laughed. You couldn’t help it. “I’d have to have one of those for him to have a job,” you said. “No, being a nurse is very, like… If you’re not married by the time you leave nursing school, all hope is lost. You won’t ever have any free time to go on dates or even think about that sorta stuff.” 

“Same with law school,” he told you. “All my mates were engaged or married when we graduated, and everyone always told me, ‘Oh, Eric, you’ll find the right girl! She’s out there somewhere’, and it’s like… If she’s not in my office building or on the subway home at 2AM, I’m not meeting her.” 

“You went to school around here?” you asked, and he (you assumed his name was Eric, based on his anecdote) nodded, then shrugged. 

“Cornell,” he said. “Then got hired at a firm in the city, and just… Never left.” 

“Well, that’s cool,” you said lightly. “I’m assuming you’re not from around here?”

He shook his head. “Kent,” he said. “About an hour out from London.”

“Wow,” you said softly. “That change must’ve been… A lot.”

Eric shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “It was alright, I suppose. At that time, I was sorta fighting with my dad all the time, really wanting to leave and go somewhere but he didn’t want that…” He trailed off, letting the conclusion form by itself. “Haven’t seen ‘em in-person since then. I always said I was busy, or it was too expensive, or… I was supposed to go back home at Christmas… My sister had a baby and I was supposed to meet him then…” He trailed off, obviously at a loss for what else to say, and you sighed.

“I’m sure they’re okay,” you told him, even though you yourself doubted it. “I mean, maybe the monsters are only here. They don’t like water; if they came from here, they can’t get over there.”

Eric nodded slowly. His eyes scanned the room, looking and listening, and he reached his hand out in front of him, making a small noise with his tongue against his teeth. You followed his gaze and found his cat, all furry with white and black spots, being adored and pet by a little boy sitting on a cot close by, and Eric tutted at the cat again. The cat turned their big dark eyes to their owner, and dutifully trotted over, snuggling in-between Eric’s criss-cross-applesauce legs.

“Who’s this?” you asked.

“Frodo,” Eric said, stroking the cat between his ears. Frodo began to purr, his eyes closing blissfully, and Eric said, “He was my friend’s, but she… She told me to take care of him.”

Your mind brought back the image of the woman running, distracting the monsters away from Eric. “Was that the one who…?” you started, and Eric nodded.

“He was her service animal,” he said. “She had cancer, he sort-of alerted her whenever her pain medication was going out… Also kept her company in hospice. He’s quiet, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Well, none of us have to worry about that,” you said, and Eric took in a breath. “Not anymore. Not with the island.”

“Right,” Eric sighed. “Almost forgot.”

“I’m worried I’ll never go back to normal,” you admitted. “Even just two days of thinking like this… Trauma’s so fucking weird.”

Eric nodded in agreement. You caught him staring at your hands, shaking and shivering as they laid in your lap, and he started to unwind the blanket from around himself to settle over you, but you shook your head. “M’not cold,” you told him. “Just… Nervous. Y’know?”

Eric watched you for a moment, making sure that you weren’t bullshitting him (you were a little; your coat was wet through, and you definitely could do with a dry coat, but you would live), and he said, “I think you need to pet my cat.”

“Do I?” you asked with a chuckle.

“You sure do,” Eric nodded. “He doesn’t bite or scratch— he might nibble your fingers a little, but only ‘cause he’s curious.”

You reached out for Frodo, letting him sniff your hand a little before he shoved his solid little head under your fingers, squinting his eyes as you started to scratch behind his ears. You couldn’t help the smile that overtook your face, and you said, “He’s very sweet.”

“He’s smart too,” Eric said. “He can do maths. Look’it: Frodo, what’s one minus one?”

Frodo, of course, responded in silence, and Eric smiled, cocking his head. “I think that’s impressive,” he said, and you huffed out a laugh.

“Silly,” you mumbled under your breath, moving to scratch Frodo on his chin. “When’s the last time he’s eaten? I can try to find something for him.”

“Last night,” Eric said, his smile faltering. “Sam might’ve given him something earlier this morning, but I didn’t wake up until later.”

That’s how you greeted the island, petting Frodo and sharing light stories about your past lives. Nothing too heavy or sad or emotional, even though it felt like any story about your past life held an air of sadness and mourning. You could try to go back to normal, but normal was long gone. As everyone departed the boat under the dusky stars, there was a large team of FEMA workers to greet you with big, heavy bags and send you to an empty cabin for the night. You and Eric (and Frodo) stuck together, and you received your bags and moved down to a cabin. To your surprise, the lights worked, as did a small space heater in the corner, but you can tell it had been running for some time, because the inside was already warm. Several beds were set up and made with thin, government-issued bedsheets, but it was far better than nothing.

You went about unpacking the bag as Eric moved to the small bathroom and shut the door. There was a change of clothes, sweatshirt and pants and underwear and socks, basic toiletries like a toothbrush and shampoo and a small bar of soap, two bottles of water, a plastic packaged MRE (you had Menu 3, “chicken, egg noodles, and vegetables in sauce”), and some things like Band-Aids and small packages of Advil like what you kept stocked in the ER, along with a sanitary napkin, and, the piece de resistance (courtesy of the American government, you’re very welcome), a condom. You frowned at the last thing and slid it into your toiletries bag underneath the bar of soap to hide it; to be frank, sex was the last thing you wanted or needed. Your brain was still in survival mode, and you didn’t even feel like you could settle down enough to sleep, let alone to fuck. Could anybody here?

You heard the shower squeak on in the bathroom, and the pipes creaked as water rushed through. You stripped off your clothes, exchanging them for the warmer and drier and less dirty option, and you sniffled as your fingers began to warm up, becoming less stiff but considerably more sweaty. The bed creaked under you as you sat down, the springs screaming at you, and you rubbed the paper-thin blanket between your fingers. It reminded you of the quality of the hospital, where you might as well be using copy paper instead of fabric. If you had known that your last night in your bed, with your memory foam pillow and weighted blanket, would truly be your last, you would have savored the experience far more. Would you even be warm enough under those blankets?

You couldn’t ponder it any longer, because Frodo suddenly caught a bee in his bonnet, and he skittered from atop the second bed, where Eric had settled his things before he went to the shower. He careened to the closed bathroom door, and he got up on his hind legs, pawing at the door handle. Wordlessly, he craned his tiny head to look at you, and he made the first cat noise you heard him make, a sort of “mrrow” chirping groan. As you got up and went to grab him (“Eric’s just taking a shower, Fro, he’ll be right back”), Frodo turned back to the door and began to bat at the handle, like he was attempting to turn it.

And then you remembered. Frodo was a service cat. He had been trained to alert for certain things, and Eric had mentioned rising pain levels, but what else could Frodo alert for? Suddenly, your heart jumped into your throat, and you knocked on the door. “Eric? You okay?” you asked, but you received no answer. “Eric? Hey, man, Frodo’s freaking out, are you alright in there?”

It was hard to hear too much over the sound of the running shower, but you heard the unmistakable shaking breath of a gasping sob, and, maybe against your better judgement, you turned the door handle. The door wasn’t locked, and the hinges squeaked as you opened the door. Eric had shed his blanket and cardigan and loosened his tie, but he was backed into the far corner of the bathroom, staring at the porcelain bathtub with eyes as big as dinner plates. The faucet was running, the tub filling up, but Eric was frozen. Quickly, you turned the tap and shut off the water, and you gave him his space as you asked “What’s wrong? Can you tell me what happened?”

Eric shook his head, his mouth contorting into an ugly sob, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Tears leaked out, and he just kept shaking his head over and over. “No, no,” he mumbled. “No!”

“Hey, easy,” you told him gently. “What’s going on? How can I help?”

“Th-The water,” Eric gasped. “I—I—” His knees gave out, and he slumped against the wall with a sob. He began to claw at his shirt, at the topmost button; even though it was undone, he still seemed to want it looser.

You rushed to his aid, pushing his hands aside and starting at his shirt buttons. His eyes were still shut tight, but you needed to see his pupils— if he was in shock, or if something else was happening, the dilation of his pupils could help tell you. “Eric,” you said softly. “Open your eyes, please. Please? I need to see your eyes.”

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and you saw his pupils so big and dark, they almost overtook the brown of his iris. His face was pale, his chest heaving as you undid his buttons, and you pressed your fingers to the side of his neck to check his pulse. Fast, hard, heavy. You had been by his side all night, he hadn’t taken any medication that he could be having a reaction to, and he had been eating the same crackers and water that you had. There weren’t many other conclusions to come to— a panic attack. But at what?

Eric sank down to the floor, sobbing and shaking, and you followed him, putting a gentle but controlling grip on his wrists. You didn’t think he would, but you needed to control him if he started to get violent. “Eric, take a breath,” you told him. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Nothing’s going to hurt you, okay? Everything is alright.”

Eric sucked in a breath and doubled over on himself, and you kept your hands on his wrists as you shifted away— if he got sick, you didn’t want it on your clothes. Although, you were sure you could get different ones somehow. But he didn’t get sick, he just kept crying. You felt awful and tasted bitter in your mouth. Typically, at this point, you would be paging the mental health wing to come by and evaluate him, and you’d move on to the next person waiting in the ER. You didn’t know how to talk someone down from a panic attack. You didn’t even know how to do that for yourself, let alone for Eric.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Okay, it’s okay. What happened? Did something happen?”

Eric’s eyes glazed over you and settled behind your shoulder, and you looked back to see the bathtub. It was hardly half-full, but everything clicked into place. “The water,” you said. “You’re afraid of the water. Is that it?”

Eric sniffled and nodded weakly, and you blinked away tears. “That’s okay,” you whispered. “That’s totally okay. I mean, you had to jump into the water to get away from the monsters, I don’t blame you for being afraid—”

“I was down in the subway,” Eric blurted out. “When the monsters came. I was there, and I couldn’t stop thinking, I just kept thinking, and I… I didn’t have the guts to do it. I wanted to do it, I wanted to! But I was too scared that it would hurt. Was scared I’d looked too fucked up and they wouldn’t be able to tell who I was, and my-my mum, thinking about my mum being told, it would kill her, and I was just thinking… And the water came rushing in. Filled everything up, there was no air… I had to swim, and I can’t swim, I never learned really, but I was swimming and I just thought ‘I don’t actually want to die’. But I started feeling spotty, all lightheaded and fairy, and I think I was starting to drown, but I saw the light and came up…”

You were at a loss for words. If you were understanding him, he had been trying to kill himself before the monsters. It sounded like he was moments away from stepping in front of a train. His saving grace was the flood in the tunnels. You had trouble swallowing as your throat went thick, and you lowered your eyes for a minute before you loosened your grip on his wrists. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re gonna be alright. Do you want to take a shower instead?”

Eric shook his head. “Doesn’t work,” he mumbled. “Only the tub does.”

You sighed heavily. “Do you want me to stay?” you asked. “Or I can wait outside the door?”

Eric seemed edging into a catatonic state, just shivering and blinking, and you frowned. You finished your abandoned job of undoing his shirt buttons, and you loosened his tie until it came off completely, and you gently pushed off his stained and ragged buttoned shirt. His undershirt wasn’t in much better shape, the underarms and neck stained with sweat, and you started to take it off, but paused. “Is this okay?” you asked. He didn’t react to your question, just staring at your neck, and you carefully angled his head up to look you in the face. “Eric. Is it okay if I undress you and put you in the bath? I’ll be right here the whole time, I won’t leave you alone.”

Eric weakly nodded, shifting his arms a little to better help you pull his undershirt over his head, and his hands went down to his pants to finish the job. You quickly considered what the next steps were as Eric fished his belt from his pants loops, and you pushed the sleeves of your sweatshirt up to your elbows to free up your hands. Eric, now only in his boxers, gave you a pathetic look, and you took him by the hand and helped him to his feet. You figured that he had forgone removing his boxers for a reason, so you didn’t push it, and you held him stable as he lifted a shaking foot over the edge of the bathtub. He was silent, but you watched tears run down his cheeks as he settled both feet in the water, his grip on your hand so tight that it almost hurt.

Slowly, he sat down in the tub, and the water splashed your hand. It was warm but not hot enough to hurt, and you sat by the edge of the bathtub, watching Eric as he sniffled. He certainly was dirty after two days in an apocalyptic city, and you were sure that you weren’t any better off, and you started to get up to retrieve the toiletry bag that he had brought in with him, settled by the sink, but his tight grip only became more vice-like as you tried to depart. “Don’t—” he choked out, and you shushed him gently.

“I’m not leaving,” you told him. “Just getting the shampoo and stuff, just by the sink.”

“Can you get in?” Eric asked softly, almost at a whisper. “When you come back?”

“I-In?” you repeated. “Like, in the bath?”

Eric nodded. He was watching you with his big, intense eyes, and a shiver ran down your back.

“Okay,” you told him. “Umm… I don’t know if I can. I don’t have any other clothes, and I can’t get these wet.”

“Please?” Eric whimpered. “Need… Just need help.”

Maybe it was because you felt bad for him, or maybe you were feeling something that you didn’t want to consider yet, but regardless of the reason, you nodded. You got up from the floor and retrieved the bag from the sink counter, and you came back to the tub. The sides of the tub were curved, not allowing for you to settle the stuff on the edge, and you quickly handed the shampoo and soap to him. He held them gingerly, and he averted his eyes down to the water as you put the bag down and started to pull off the sweatshirt. “Eric,” you said softly. “You can look. You’re gonna see everything in the next few minutes anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

Slowly, Eric raised his eyes up, but he still didn’t look staright at you. At least now it wasn’t obvious that he was avoiding looking at you like before, where it felt like he would be burned alive if he looked. You carefully pulled the sweatshirt over your head and set it by your feet, then you pulled down the sweatpants and stepped out of them. Your heart was beating quickly as you lowered yourself into the bathtub, sitting with your back to Eric, and he nudged his legs a little wider to allow you to sit comfortably. The water felt good on your aching muscles, especially your back, and you sighed lightly. You sat for a moment, trying to drum up enough courage to turn to him and start to help, but he beat you to it.

Eric’s hands were warm, his palm a little rough, as he touched your shoulder, sliding his hand down a little to reach your back. His fingers played with the ends of your hair, and he lowered his hand back to the water. He cupped his palm and let water flow in, then he brought it up to you and wet your hair. Was this his definition of help? To help himself, he had to help others? It made sense, but it still took you a little by surprise. You don’t think anybody had ever washed your hair for you, not since you were a kid. But this was different, in just about every way possible. It was intimate in a way that made your breath catch in your throat, and you swallowed thickly as Eric lifted a hand and tilted your head back to lightly pour water over the front of your hair. He was careful in his work, making sure not to get it on your face or in your ears, and you listened to his breathing even out as he diligently did his task.

The shampoo was some cheap, basic crap, didn’t smell like anything and was only good for getting the oil out of your hair, but the way that Eric worked it into your hair made it seem like it was made by the gods. You felt relaxed, the first time in a long time, and your eyes slipped close as his fingertips worked into your scalp. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt that good, especially by someone else’s hands— maybe years, it was hard to say. You knew that, no matter how good it felt, you couldn’t sink too hard into the feeling of it. Eric just needed to help you, and this was his help; nothing more, nothing less.

He gently poured water from his palms over your hair, rinsing it out as best as possible, and you felt that hot streak shoot up your nose. You wanted to cry. You hadn’t cried in… You had no idea. It certainly had been a long time, and you frowned and gulped as you held down the tears. Unluckily for you (or maybe luckily; it was nice to know Eric was so attentive), he noticed your catched breathing, and his hands gently settled on your shoulders. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“Are you?�� you answered, almost a knee-jerk reaction. Don’t worry about yourself, worry about your patient, your friend, anybody else. You came last in your mind, everybody else was more important than you.

“That’s not what I asked you,” Eric said firmly. “Are you okay?”

“I…” you started. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, that nothing was wrong. He didn’t need to worry about you, you were tough, you could handle yourself. You watched as water filtered through your own fingers, pooling in your palm but escaping out of every little break and crevice possible, and you pursed your lips as you slowly rubbed your face, trying to wash away to grime and dirt. You shook your head lightly, trying to come up with any words to express yourself, and you wiped off your cheeks as you sniffled. “I don’t know.” You couldn’t come up with any better explanation; you just didn’t know if you were okay or not. Your hands slid down your face and flattened up against your neck, and you sighed. “Are you okay?” you tried again.

“I’ll be okay,” Eric told you. His hands smoothed down your shoulders to your arms, and he squeezed your upper arm for a moment before he went for the soap, starting up a lather between his palms.

“Well, sure, we’ll all be okay eventually,” you replied. “But are you okay right now?”

Eric waited until he was washing your back to answer. His sudsy hands slipped over your skin easily, but he dug his fingertips into your muscles, offering relief. “I’ll be okay,” he repeated. “I don’t know what I am right now, to be honest. Head’s just full of… I don’t know. A whole lot of noise, but not any one thing. It’s all quiet out here, but in there, it’s just…” He sighed, and his hands halted at your sides. He obviously had been on track to move to your front, doing his job on autopilot, and he only thought about what he was doing as he was about to do it.

Silently, you shifted your weight back just a hint, closer to him, trying to tell him that it was alright without saying the words. He quickly caught on to what you were telling him, and his hands slid around your body to your front. To your relief, he avoided where you had expected his hands to go, instead wrapping his arms around your shoulders and hugging himself to you, setting his chin on your shoulder. “You make it quiet up there,” Eric whispered, barely above a breath, like he was afraid of saying it out loud. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why… But you start talking, and it’s like everything else fades away.”

That was your breaking point. Tears started to fall from your eyes, and you sniffled as your hands reached up to your neck and clutched his wrists, looking for anything tangible to hold on to while you cried. And cried you did, your face contorted as you sobbed, your shoulders shaking and chest heaving, and you squeezed Eric’s wrists. He was quick to move impossibly closer, molding his front to your back, and his arms slipped down to your middle, squeezing you tightly as he buried his face in your neck and began to cry as well. He was much quieter than you, not having nearly as much that he held back and needed to get rid of, but it felt good to have someone commiserate with you.

You weren’t sure who moved first— maybe there wasn’t a first to move, maybe you both moved at the same time— but somehow your foreheads came to touch, and your crying pettered down to a sniffle and watery eyes. Your hand came up to touch his cheek, scruffy with a few days’ old beard trying to grow in, and your thumb stroked his cheekbone. He keened into your touch, his eyes fluttering open to look at you. His big brown eyes, so full of every emotion, hidden just so but easy to see if you knew where to look, locked on yours, and your lips fell open in anticipation of his mouth on yours.

Instantly, though, you shifted away and lightly cleared your throat. This wasn’t the time for that. You didn’t know if there would ever be a time for that again. Quietly, you splashed water on your face, and stood up, carefully getting out of the bathtub and going after the towel that sat on the countertop. You scooped your clothes up off the floor as well, and you escaped from the bathroom without a word. You were sure he was confused, maybe even wounded, but you didn’t care. On some level, you did want that— you wanted to feel wanted, to feel adored, cared about, and Eric was a great guy for that, but you didn’t want just that. You wanted a life, you wanted a partner, you wanted love— not just some trauma-borne fuck that you forgot about as soon as it happened.

You dried your body and slipped into your full outfit, pants and sweatshirt and underwear and socks, and you sat on your bed as you dried your hair. You listened as, inside the bathroom, the water sloshed against the side of the tub while Eric moved around, and you watched as Frodo calmly stalked the perimeter of the room, seeming to check every nook and cranny. You put your damp towel to the side and tutted out at the cat, and Frodo looked up at you for a moment before he scampered over to you, hopping up onto the bed and settling himself in your lap. “You’re a good boy, Fro,” you whispered, stroking his back. “Such a good boy.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Eric’s voice floated to you, and you turned to him. He was now all clean as well, his hair soggy and his face free of grime, wearing the sweatpants and sweatshirt. His hair was pushed away from his face, and you could see, even in the dim light, freckles dotting his forehead.

You sighed. “No,” you replied. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

“Did you not want me to…?” Eric began.

“No, no, it’s not that,” you told him quickly. “Not that at all, I did want you to, I just… I don’t know if I can do all that.”

“All what?” Eric asked. “What did you think was going to happen if I kissed you?”

“Well,” you shrugged. “I don’t know, I assumed more would come of it. And I just don’t know if I’m ready for more. Even before the world came crashing down, I wasn’t ready for more. That’s why I didn’t have anyone; not because I didn’t have time, although that was true. I’m just… Scared.”

Eric quietly moved towards you, bypassing his bed and settling at the extreme edge of yours, as far away as possible while still occupying the same space. Frodo looked at him with thin eyes and he slowly blinked at Eric, and his tail flopped in an indignant half-wag. “Scared of what?” Eric asked.

You sighed. “That I won’t be right for anyone,” you said. “Even back when I was on the market, people always… I don’t know. Wanted more, and for whatever reason, I could never give more to them. I was always so afraid of what would happen when I finally gave all of myself to someone that I never did, and by the time I figured out that someone did want all of me, it was too late and I’d already lost them. I can never win— I’m always never enough or I’m too much. I’m never just right.”

Eric thought on your words for a few moments, and he moved closer to you, just an inch. “Yeah,” he said. “But that was back then. Everything has changed. Everything is different now. You don’t need to be afraid of being what’s right, because what used to be right is just… All sorts of fucked up now. Nobody knows anything anymore. I certainly don’t. But I know what I want, more than I ever have before.”

“And let me guess,” you said. “You want me?”

You hoped that calling him out on his cheesy cliché would have him back down. You liked that he wanted you, and you wanted him too, you wanted him so badly that it hurt, but you didn’t want him to mistake wanting you for wanting a connection with someone.

“I want to be okay again,” Eric told you. “But I need you.”

That was the most magical word of all. Need. It punched a hole in your heart and took your breath away, and you watched him as he watched you, just seeing who would dare to break first. Frodo seemed to know something you didn’t, because he jumped up out of your lap and skittered across the room with an uncharacteristic yowl, and you frowned as he sped away, but your frown was quickly wiped off your face as Eric bridged the gap and kissed you.

You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. He held your face as his lips moulded to yours, a perfect fit as you kissed back, and you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. It felt good to kiss someone, to hold someone and be held by someone. You forgot how much you missed the feeling of another person, and you melted into his body as he claimed your hips in his strong hands. His knuckles were scuffed up, but he held you so gently, and you easily fell back onto the bed. He followed you, settling over you like he had done it a thousand times before, but the way his hands slowly slid up the sides of your shirt to touch your bare skin showed you how much it meant to him. Slow and gentle and sweet, he was everything you had wanted from a partner and a lover for as long as you could remember.

But you could tell, even though he was being sweet, how badly he wanted to have you. His kiss was greedy, shifting away from your mouth to kiss your chin and jaw and neck, almost feral with his need for you, but you welcomed it. Strong emotions like that were flattering, especially here and now, and you didn’t waste much time before sliding your hand past the elastic waistband of the sweatpants nestled around his hips. Your palm found his cock instantly, and you held in your gasp of surprise at his size— he definitely had something to be proud of. His skin was warm through the layer of his underwear, and you paused and widened your eyes at him, a quiet question of how far he wanted you to go.

“You don’t have to be quiet anymore,” Eric whispered. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You shivered underneath him at the sweet name he had bestowed on you, and you quietly asked, “Do you want me to…?”

“God, yes,” he moaned. “Haven’t done this in so long…”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile as you slipped under his briefs, and your fingers wrapped around his thick length. His skin was hot to the touch, his cock rock-hard, and he moaned softly into your neck at the contact. Whether he meant to or not, his hips rolled forward, pushing himself further into your grip, and he quickly whispered, “M’sorry, fuck—”

“Don’t apologize,” you told him. Your free hand went to cradle his cheek, and you shifted his face so that you could kiss his plush lips again. “It’s hot.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eric asked. “It’s hot how…” He paused to kiss you, nipping at your bottom lip with his front teeth, and he continued. “How desperate I am?”

“I am too,” you told him. “I just hide it better.”

Almost as if he was checking if you were lying, his hand skated down from your side and into your pants, letting his fingers mold to your cunt, and he chuckled lightly. “God, you’re wet,” he smiled. “That makes me feel better.”

“Were you worried I wasn’t?” you asked.

“Just a little,” Eric whispered, wrinkling his nose. “But I figured you’d tell me if something wasn’t working for you.”

“I’ll let you know,” you told him. You chased him into another kiss, and his tongue invaded your mouth. It had been so long since you had someone make you feel like that, and you whined softly into his mouth. “Eric, please.”

“What do you want?” he asked. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

“Anything,” you whimpered. Your legs shifted, coming up to anchor around his waist, and you slowly started to stroke his cock, teasing his soft head, just to see his reaction.

Thankfully, his cheeks went red, and that pretty pink mouth of his opened in a moan, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he mumbled, “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m already too close for you to be doing that.”

“Already?” you asked. You sounded a little more surprised than you meant to, and you quickly added, “That’s really attractive, Eric, I hope you know that.”

“What is?” he chuckled. “That I’ve got a short fuse?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged sheepishly. “I think it is, anyway. How can I help you?”

“Umm,” Eric said, then swallowed thickly. “Can I… Tits?”

You smiled at him, and you laid a gentle kiss on his lips before he shifted away, letting you pull up your sweatshirt. Your little survival packs hadn’t provided you with a bra of any kind, and you watched Eric’s already-wide eyes flare out at the sight of your chest. He didn’t say a word before he moved down your body and started to kiss everywhere he could reach, taking time and care on your tits. Your hand fell out of his pants at the angle shift, and you settled your fingers to twist in his damp curls as his own hand replaced yours, jerking himself off as he gently licked at your hardening nipple.

“S’that okay?” he whispered, casting his doe eyes up at you, and you nodded quickly. “’Cause if it’s not, I can stop—”

“I promise it’s okay,” you whispered. “I swear.”

Eric smiled. “She swears,” he whispered under his breath, and you giggled. “She swears she likes when I suck her tits. Aren’t I a lucky guy?”

You could hardly ignore the hot pressure between your legs, and you snaked your hand in-between your bodies and started to push down your sweatpants, but Eric noticed what you were up to, and he tugged his hand out of his own pants to capture the waistband of your sweatpants in his grasp. “Please,” he said. “Allow me.” You could tell that he intended to be funny, but his flushed face and fucked-out pupils made it seem a lot more pathetic than you’re sure he meant to be, but that just made a rush of heat strike your core, and your head fell back in bliss as you felt your hot skin slowly exposed to the air.

When you lifted your head back up to look at him, you watched as he shed his own clothes, finally matching you, and you bit your lip as his heavy cock rose to lay against his tummy. He had the thinnest trail of hair coming from down his belly button, smatterings of hair on his chest, a nicely-groomed bush of hair at the base of his cock; he clearly cared about the way he looked, and you loved that. You wondered if the Eric you knew was anything like the Eric before the monsters came, and you watched as he leaned back and began to gently place kisses down the length of your body. He was soft and gentle with you, although you were nearly certain he wanted to take you then and there, and you wiggled a little under his lips. “Can we…” you started. “Do that later?”

“Do what?” Eric asked.

“The whole ‘sweet and kissy’ thing,” you said. “Not to sound, like, sex-starved or anything, but I am, and I think my heart’s gonna explode if you’re not inside me soon.”

Eric chuckled, obviously not expecting that level of honesty out of you, and he pushed his damp curls off of his forehead. “Whatever you’d like, sweetheart,” he told you. “As long as you promise to let me eat your cunt eventually. I can only go so long seeing you like this and be expected to not put my mouth on you.”

“Sure,” you replied, secretly excited that he was expecting a second time.

Eric swiped a quick kiss on your mouth, and then he furrowed his eyebrows. “Umm…” he began. “I— Do you… Are you on any birth control or anything?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “No,” you sighed. “I was, but all that’s back in my apartment in Brooklyn. Haven’t taken my pill since, like, three nights ago, so I’m basically fucked for the whole month.”

“Fuck,” Eric whispered, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. “I guess, are you alright with this, then? We can figure something else out—”

“There’s, umm,” you winced. “A condom, in the bag with the shampoo and everything. There’s one in mine, and I bet there’s a second one in yours too.”

“Oh, shit, really?” Eric laughed. “That’s… That’s pretty funny.”

“Apparently, FEMA knows what people do in times of crisis,” you smiled.

“So, what I’m hearing,” Eric started, moving himself off the bed and going to your toiletries bag on the floor. His back turned to you, and you felt your eyes widen in shock at the state of his ass. Jesus Christ, this guy had a great ass, smooth and plump and perfectly rounded; you almost wanted to reach out and bite it. “Is that we can fuck twice, and then we’ll need to figure something else out.”

“Is that so?” you asked, and Eric came back to the bed, deftly tearing open the condom wrapper. You leaned up on your elbows to watch as he got back up on his knees, caging you between his thick thighs, and he made quick work of rolling the condom down his thick length, making a quiet grunt as he got it situated the way he wanted. “What makes you think there’ll be a third time? Or a second, for that matter?”

“Won’t there?” Eric asked. “You seem pretty into it right now. Or least your cunt is; look at how wet she is for me.”

“Well, yeah, now,” you teased him, biting the tip of your tongue, trying to will your thundering heart to go back to normal. “But what if, when everything is said and done, you’re actually a terrible fuck and I don’t want anything else to do with you?”

He laughed deep in his chest, and he took your thighs in his strong hands and opened your legs, smoothly settling himself so he could rub his hard cock against your weeping cunt. You felt blood thrumming under your skin, making every inch of you pulse and surge, and you whined high in your throat when the head of his cock caught at your hole, threatening to slip in with ease. “I doubt that, sweetheart,” he told you. “I’ve been told I’m a fantastic fuck.”

“Are you sure they weren’t trying to keep your ego intact?” you asked, and Eric tilted his head curiously at you.

“Well, they weren’t telling me much of anything,” he said. “Usually, by the end, they’re so fucked-out and brainless that they can hardly string a sentence together.”

Then, without a word of warning, he gripped your hips and slid himself inside of you, and you gasped. It had been so long that you had almost forgotten what sex felt like, but this was something entirely new and different. You could feel every ridge and vein on his cock, even through the condom, and he gave a delicious throb as you tightened your thighs around his hips. “Fuck!” you yelped, and a shade of worry passed over his face for just a moment. “I-I’m okay,” you told him quickly. “Just… Fuck, Eric, you’re so big.”

“You flatter me,” he chuckled. Slowly, he began to rock his hips into you, moving shallowly at first, just letting you get used to his size, and his dull fingernails buried into the flesh of your hip. You couldn’t help all the little noises he caused you to make— you could feel every inch of him, burying deep within you, stretching you and filling you like he was made for you, and he leaned down and ghosted against your lips with his. “Feel good?” he whispered, and you nodded quickly.

“Do I?” you asked softly. Your arms went around him, holding him close to you, and you pressed your fingers into his shoulders. He felt like a lifeline, his warm skin keeping you grounded, and you didn’t even care if you sounded pathetic or insecure. He made you feel good and safe, and that’s all that you cared about.

“Fuck, so good,” he grunted out. He was picking up speed, gaining a good rhythm that made you wonder how prolific he had been before his career got in the way, and you listened to the bed squeak under you as he mumbled, “So warm… So wet… You feel like a dream… Remember that short fuse I talked about?”

“Really?” you smiled. “Already?”

“Listen, woman,” Eric started, and you dragged him into a messy kiss. You loved him talking like that, and it made you realize just how close you were as well. He tugged away from the kiss to take a deep breath, and he went in to kiss you again, hungry and wanting you. He was going fast now, pumping in and out of you, leaving pleasure and sparks in his wake, and your legs twitched and tightened as the knot in your belly twisted closer and closer to its end. “I haven’t had sex in years,” Eric continued, finally tearing himself away from your lips. “And my right hand can only do so much after a while. So excuse me for being a little quick to the draw tonight.”

“How many years?” you asked.

Eric sighed. “I dunno,” he said. “At least since I graduated law school, so… Five years, maybe?”

“God,” you chuckled. “That’s… A while.”

“No, wait,” Eric said. “Three years. My birthday a few years ago, my mates took me out to a bar, and I met a girl, I spent the night at her place… And she never answered my texts after that.”

“Ouch,” you hissed. “That must’ve hurt that ego of yours.”

“Not gonna lie, it did,” Eric laughed. “But it’s for the best. I didn’t have time for a girlfriend anyway, I would’ve been an awful boyfriend to her. Or to anyone, not just her… What about you?”

“Umm…” you started. “Sex… Yes, I know what that is. Definitely a thing I’ve had before now.”

“Don’t play with me like that,” Eric started, jokingly wide-eyed and startled, and you laughed.

“About the same, I guess,” you said. “Three-ish years… It was back a few years ago, I was feeling bad about getting older and having a career but no partner, so I… I went on a dating app, found a guy, and we talked for a little bit and hooked up, but I got a bad vibe from him, so I broke it off.”

“I’m sorry,” Eric said. “Did you like him?”

“Not really,” you sighed. “And he wasn’t even that great in bed.”

“So, I’ve got him beat in every category, right?” Eric asked.

You kissed him again, cupping your hand across the back of his neck, and he smoothed his hands up your body lovingly. “You’ve got everyone beat, baby,” you told him.

“I think you’re an angel, actually,” Eric told you, and you shyly shook your head. “No, no, I think so. I don’t care if you don’t agree, that’s what I think.”

“Whatever you say,” you told him. “Can you, umm… Maybe a little faster?”

Eric obliged, pistoning his hips quicker to fuck you to your liking, and his hand floated to your pussy, his thumb gently rubbing at your throbbing little clit. You whined and scratched at his back, tightening your legs and digging your heel into that ass he had, and the electric shocks that ran up your toes and into the rest of your body started to become too good, too much. “Eric!” you gasped. “Eric, fuck!”

“I’ve got you, angel,” Eric whispered in your ear. “I’ve got you. Let me see that pretty face when you cum, yeah? Wanna feel your cunt squeeze me, fuck, I need it.”

You looked down at yourself, watching as his hard cock plunged in and out of your hole, leaving a creamy ring at the base of his cock, and your whining and whimpering almost had the wet squelch of your bodies together beat. Then, almost against your will, your whole body relaxed, every muscle feeling like it went slack, and you sobbed out your final moan, your head falling back as your nails went hard into his freckled shoulders. You felt your wet cover your inner thighs, and you panted as Eric chased his own end. You didn’t have to wait too long before you heard him choke back a moan, and he spilled himself inside the condom. You felt the warmth of his spend inside you, and he slowly pulled out of you with a hiss at the sensation on his sensitive, softening cock.

He was quick to take care of the condom, and he came back to the bed and settled in the small, empty space beside you. His red chest was heaving, his cheeks flooded with pink color, and he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you close to him. You melted into his warmth, mashing your cheek against his hard chest, and he let out a breathy laugh. “Fuck,” he gasped. “I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t eaten real food all day or what, but I’m exhausted.”

“Me too,” you giggled. “I think you were just that good.”

“Once again, angel,” Eric whispered, settling a soft kiss on your head. “You flatter me.”

You fell into a comfortable silence then, listening to each other’s breathing even out, and Eric cleared his throat after a while. “Typically, at this point,” he started. “I’d be smoking a cigarette.”

“Oh my God, Eric, no,” you groaned. “Don’t you know how unhealthy that is?”

“Oh, right,” Eric chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Miss Nurse. So concerned for my health.”

“Right,” you told him. “I care about you, and I don’t want you to have breathing complications or worse early in life from smoking.”

“I think I’ll manage,” Eric told you. “I think I need another shower after that, though.”

“You do sorta stink,” you giggled, and Eric rolled his eyes. “If you shower, I can be making food.”

“Food?” Eric asked. “There’s food?”

“Yeah, an MRE,” you told him, and you grunted as you got out of bed, going in search of the plastic-packaged meal. “Chicken and noodles. I didn’t see what yours was.”

“Fuck,” he laughed. “I’ve got a sexy woman making dinner for me? I might keep you around after all.”

“You have to keep me around,” you told him. “Who else is supposed to help you raise your cat?”

Frodo seemed to know his cue, because he revealed himself from behind a bookshelf, batting a bit of cobweb on his nose, and Eric smiled. “I suppose you’re right,” Eric said. “Just don’t feed him too much; he’ll get fat. He’ll also try to attack your hand if you pet his belly, so don’t do that either.”

“Noted,” you told him. “Go shower, handsome, this should be done by then.”

Eric took a moment to wrap his arms around you and press a kiss to your temple, and he softly said, “I wish we could have met any other way. But, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here now.”

“Me too,” you told him, turning in his arms to give him a real, genuine kiss. “I’m so glad you found me.”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

baby steps. l Joel Miller

Summary: you were his very quiet companion on patrols

Warnings:  angst, a little bit of swearing, mentioning pregnancy, mentioning loss of a child, mentioning abortion, mentioning suicidal thoughts, generally - a lot of unpleasant things, Reader is 30s or sth, I guess

A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a long time. There are some not so nice things (read the Warnings!) but I hope the whole story won't be so awful. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

and i would like to thank you for the few kind words i have received recently. it scared me but was very nice. thank you!

The first time he met you was at Tipsy Bison when Tommy told him you would be his new partner on patrols. Footsteps were barely audible, and then a chair on the other side of the table moved and you sat down. 

Your eyes stopped on Joel's face for a moment, you nodded in greeting. The name quietly fell from your lips, and then you focused on the map that Tommy had spread out on the table.

Joel wasn't sure if you understood what his brother was saying to you. You were silent, sometimes nodding your head, nothing more.

"Is she even good for this?" Joel finally muttered as you said goodbye and left.

"What do you mean?" Tommy folded the map and put it in his jacket pocket.

Joel raised his eyebrows "She seems a little... I don't know. Distant?"

A quiet laugh escaped Tommy's lips "Really? And who's talking?" he took a few sips of coffee "Joel, you wouldn't patrol together if I wasn't sure she was good. She may not be the life of the party, but she's great at what she does."

Joel had the impression that he had seen you a few times in Jackson, but you were one of those people who kept their distance from others. So he looked like that to others too?

It was only the first patrol with you that made him change his mind about you, but he wasn't sure yet if this change was for the better. 

You were definitely not one of those people who needed to talk. Small talk wasn't for you, but you listened very carefully. 

The area around Jackson was no stranger to you, just like handling a gun. So Joel got used to you, and over time he even managed to get some information out of you.

You had been in Jackson for almost five years, you lived alone in a small apartment. You were alone. "That's the best way." No family or close friends, except for Maria. You were patrolling and searching for supplies. He was also sure he saw you in the library, but he never asked about it.

After a few months, Joel could clearly tell that you were the right person for the job. He even managed to make you laugh a few times or talk a little longer. You never asked him about the past, and when he asked you about it, you answered "We're at an age where everyone has some background, right? But not everything is suitable for talking about it."

"Your girlfriend seems nice." Ellie stated one day, and seeing his confused face added "I talked to her today. She said that this crap didn't let her finish high school, so now she's catching up on school readings. If I were her, I wouldn't bother. School sucks."

The warm coffee warmed his tired body, but after a moment he spoke up "You talked to her? When? And... She's not my girlfriend."

Ellie shrugged "We talk a lot. And you don't? You spend a lot of time together, I thought that..."

"You were wrong." Joel mumbled "Did she say anything else?"

The girl looked at him carefully. "You really don't know her very well, do you?"

He wasn't sure if he knew you at all. Did he have the right to demand that from you? You did your job thoroughly, he could rely on you, and despite everything you were still standing somewhere in the shadows, hiding from everyone.

"Is everything okay with you?"

Your voice tore him out of his reverie for a moment. You were walking through a quiet area, the fading grass crunching under your feet, and the cold wind slowly became more and more severe.

"Yeah, everything's okay." he replied, glancing at you over his shoulder "I was lost in thought."

"I saw. Good thoughts?"

Joel cleared his throat and stopped, and a moment later you stood in front of him, looking at him uncertainly. 

You really liked him. Miller might seem like a grump, but his personality didn't bother you at all. Women in Jackson also said he was handsome. You had a lot of time to watch him outside the city, you had to admit they were right too. But that wasn't what mattered, was it? You felt safe with him and you trusted him, that was important.

"Doesn't Ellie tire you out?" he asked finally.

"What?" you burst out laughing "Come on. I like her. She asks a lot of questions, but she's a cool girl. I remember when I was her age..."

You stopped as if the thought slowed down your thinking the moment it appeared in your head. Joel saw your eyes wandering around the area with an unseeing gaze.

"Were you her age when this started?" he asked, but you shook your head slightly "Older?"

"Not much." Your voice was quiet but calm "I was a senior in high school. It seems so stupid now... I had a crush on this one guy, fuck, I don't know why I thought of him now."

"It was important back then." Joel mumbled, absorbing your every word. "And your family?"

"They died. A long time ago." The answer was quick, but emotionless. "Why do you ask?"

Joel shrugged. "I don't know. Just like that. Maybe I'd like to get to know you better."

You nodded, analyzing his words for a moment. "You're weird sometimes, Miller." You finally stated. "Conversations like this don't lead anywhere. They only reopen old wounds."

You adjusted your rifle strap and moved forward.

Fall had come for good, and you were slowly starting to withdraw even more. He could see it. Patrols were almost completely silent, he rarely saw you among people or at evening community meetings. 

Even Ellie convinced him that something was going on, because when he asked her she said that she hadn't talked to you in a while.

"It's that time of year." Maria said when he asked her about you too, he was helping her fix the heating in her house. "You should get used to it, Joel. But... I didn't know you were so interested in her."

"It's not like that." he mumbled, but he felt a strange warmth creep up the back of his neck. "She's my partner on patrol. I want to know that she's okay."

"I get it." Maria nodded and sat down on the couch. "Have you talked to her?"

"I've tried, but you know perfectly well that it's not easy. You're her friend." the woman smiled gently. "Is there something she's not telling me?"

"A lot of things, Joel. Just like you, she's not very open to confiding. And this time of year..." she looked out the window where the wind was playing with the fallen leaves. "You should talk to her yourself, if you care about her. But you can also forget about it, be like everyone else, pass her on the street and just let her be. It shouldn't be that hard for you, right?"

And that was something he couldn't get out of his head.

When he saw that guy instead of you the next morning, a strange shiver ran down his spine. "She's sick." Mark said, pushing leather gloves onto his hands. "I'll replace her."

Joel nodded and they set off on patrol. However, his thoughts kept returning to you, he analyzed your last meeting, the last words you exchanged. You were even more subdued. He had the impression that he was forcing the next words out of you, and you just wanted to leave, to disappear.

"She's weird, but pretty." Mark replied when they took a break for hot coffee and a sandwich. "A few guys hit on her, but nothing came of it. Actually, I was hoping that you and her, you know..." he winked at Joel. "But maybe she's that type of person."

"What type?" Joel asked, chewing a bite of his sandwich.

"In times like these, people need each other. They want to at least pretend that things are normal." Mark explained, reaching for the thermos of coffee "And others simply adapt to it. They don't want to have anyone close to them, because it's risky, you know. I guess she's like that. A lone wolf."

But Joel wasn't entirely sure, because he knew you from a slightly different side, or at least that's what he thought. When he showed up at your door that evening, only silence greeted him. And it was the same for the next few days.

"Yeah, she's still in Jackson." Maria was sure of her words "I visited her yesterday, but I don't think..."

That was enough for him. That strange fear was creeping into Joel's heart again. He didn't know why. He was afraid, and all his thoughts kept running to you. It was as if a strange force was pulling him towards you.

"Hey! It's me. Open up." he knocked on your door, but it didn't help "I know you're there. I want to talk. You can't keep hiding."

No answer.

"I can easily break down this door." he declared "I'll make a mess and you'll just be embarrassed. I can do this, you know that. So... On three?" he cleared his throat as if he was preparing to actually do it "One!" Nothing. "Two!" he thought he heard quiet footsteps on the other side. He was about to open his mouth when the door opened slightly and he saw your face.

"You'll hurt your shoulder. It'll be my fault and you'll be excluded from patrols for a long time." you said "That's pointless. Go away."

"I'm not going until you talk to me." Joel replied, his dark eyes full of stubbornness that you knew so well "You can't keep hiding."

"Maybe I'm sick?"

"You don't seem to be."

And then with one strong push he opened the door and before you could stop him he went inside. His gaze swept the apartment, he heard your protests but didn't care. 

Like a storm he passed through the small living room, peeked into the kitchen and when he entered the bedroom he found what he was looking for.

"Fuck! Get out of here!" you hissed, rushing after him, but then you noticed the bottle of whiskey he had taken from your nightstand.

"And these are bedtime snacks?" he growled, throwing a box full of medicines to the floor. "You robbed a fucking pharmacy?"

"None of your business!" you replied, he saw the fury in your eyes. "You're the last person who should be judging me."

"Or maybe I can, because I'm the only one who's ever shown up at your fucking door? What did you want to do, huh?" he put the bottle down with a bang and walked up to you, but you didn't take a single step back. "We were supposed to find you only when the stairwell started to stink? Did you think about Maria? About Ellie? That girl really likes you. Did you think about..."

About me.

Your gaze, although full of tears, was unwavering. You stood there, arms folded across your chest, your throat constricted so tightly that you couldn't swallow.

"Joel..." his name sounded like a prayer in your mouth. "I don't know what you were thinking, but this doesn't concern you. You shouldn't even be here. I tried to keep you out of this."

"Why?" his voice was a little calmer "Why are you like this? I can't figure it out. At first I thought we just didn't know each other well, but after so many months. I heard how freely you talked to Maria, Tommy said that you used to babysit their kid. I don't understand it!"

You closed your eyes as if his words brought you pain, as if they evoked all the emotions in you that you wanted to hide. Tears ran down your cheeks, and a quiet sob escaped your throat.

"I don't know how to deal with this, Joel..." you whispered after a moment, looking at him with eyes full of pain "It all hurts me so much. Every day. Patrols with you were an escape for me, you didn't ask stupid questions, I could feel safe there. But it's all always for a moment."

Joel approached you, his warm hand caressed your arm "You can tell me everything, you know that." you nodded "Come on, sit down."

He closed the bedroom door behind you as if he was leaving something unpleasant and bad there, and then sat down next to you on the couch. When you calmed down a bit, you looked at him like never before, almost with tenderness.

"When I came to Jackson, five years ago, I wasn't alone." you started slowly.

"Were you with someone? With some group?" Joel frowned, trying to remember that detail that must have escaped his attention.

You shook your head. "No, Joel. I wasn't alone, because I was pregnant."

Something twisted his guts. He didn't expect this.

"It was the middle of the seventh month, I guess. It's hard to get regular doctor's visits these days." The little joke was probably meant to lighten the mood, but even you didn't smile. "I've had a long journey. I was alone. Almost." you took a deep breath, and Joel felt his hands go cold and trembling in an instant. "It's funny, you know. Long time ago, women my age already had two kids. And I was completely unplanned pregnant and I hated every single day. I didn't want this baby, but it was there. It was growing. It was alive. I could feel it."

"What about the father?" Joel asked quietly.

A strange grimace crossed your face at the mere memory. "He wasn't father material, if that's what you mean. Some random guy. You know, as women we have another bargaining chip. Something that really tempts some men. Something we can use to survive."

He knew perfectly well what you meant. He had seen many women like that, but he didn't judge them. Everyone did what they had to to survive.

"He was nice, if that's any consolation. We stuck together for a while, and then we went our separate ways. After a while, I found out I was pregnant. But I didn't have anyone or anything at hand to help me solve this... problem." you rubbed your forehead with your hand as if you wanted to get rid of bad memories "Some guy told me about someone who could get rid of it manually, but I was afraid of infection. Then it was too late. Days and weeks passed, and I hated myself and this baby. The nausea was killing me. I was no longer good at smuggling. I also had no idea what I would do with a crying newborn... I got to Jackson, I thought maybe someone here would help me. Maria was so wonderful." a faint smile appeared on your lips, but you weren't even looking at Joel anymore. Your gaze was fixed on your clasped hands "I started bleeding a few days after I arrived. Then everything happened so quickly... The doctor at the clinic couldn't do anything. I had to give birth, but... There was so much blood... And silence. There was no baby crying."

Joel felt as if a heavy stone was resting in his stomach. He couldn't tear his eyes away from your face, but he couldn't say any words that could comfort you. And what the hell would they sound like. But you didn't wait for that, the words slowly flowed from your lips. 

"The doctor said that my body was too weak, that long fatigue, improper diet, that he was too weak... I had a son. He was so small when Maria put him in my arms... And he was so perfect. I was so afraid that his crying would bring trouble to us, that he decided to be quiet."

"I'm sure it wasn't your fault..." Joel finally choked out "Things like that..."

"Happens. I know that." You interrupted him calmly "But it was my fault, Joel. When I saw him... I would have given my life so he could cry, so I could know he was healthy and strong. How could I have ever thought otherwise? What kind of person am I?"

Your voice broke. You looked exhausted and tired of life. Joel understood your guilt perfectly, he knew what you felt. Sarah appeared in his head in an instant.

"I had a daughter." His voice broke the long silence between you. "I lost her right at the beginning."

"I'm sorry." Your voice was quiet, but full of something that gave him some relief.

"After everything I wanted..." he cleared his throat "I wanted to do the same thing you wanted. I even tried, but... I know how you feel, it's so devastating, and it will never get easier."

"I still have him in my mind, you know. He'd be five now. He'd ask a thousand questions, and I'd have to make sure he doesn't get into trouble. Sometimes I think about what it would be like, but then I hate myself even more... I didn't want him. I wanted to get rid of him. Maybe it's because of this..."

"Don't say that." Joel grabbed your hands and squeezed them tightly. "You might have thought so. You were alone, and this world had gone mad. You got into Jackson, you could be safe here, but... These things happen."

You watched him carefully. Never before had you and Joel spoken so intimately, but you didn't feel embarrassed by it. On the contrary, it was the first time someone had really meant it when they said "I understand you."

"I'm sure she was beautiful." you said quietly.

"She was. And very smart. Much smarter than me." Joel added. "She probably would have gone to college or something."

For a moment, silence reigned again. You had the impression that you were both lost in your thoughts about the losses that affected you. You weren't beating each other, you just allowed yourselves to feel it all again.

"Did you really want to kill yourself?" his question brought you back to reality for a moment.

You nodded. "Look at me, Joel. I have nothing, no one. I don't know if I could ever get close to someone again. And all these thoughts only make me feel worse. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to feel anything anymore."

He understood it perfectly. After Sarah died, he felt that this world wasn't for him. Every day was torture, and the longer it lasted, the more he closed himself in his shell. Years passed, and Joel barricaded himself so much that no one and nothing could get him out. 

And then Ellie appeared.

"You know..." he began uncertainly trying to find the right words. "I know what I'm going to say will seem pointless to you, but sometimes it's worth gritting your teeth and trying to live on. Not jumping into the deep end right away, but slowly, day by day. I know that your son..."

The name you gave him when you saw his face for the first time came out of your mouth. Joel repeated it gently.

"Your son would have a really fantastic mother." he said "I'm sorry you had to go through this. I really am."

Tears flowed down your cheeks and Joel struggled to put his arm around you so that you could snuggle up to him. You clung to him, and for the first time he felt the warmth of your body, your scent, your tender touch when you hugged him.

You sat like that for a long time. For the first time you talked about everything and nothing, he heard your quiet laughter a few times and noticed how much he liked it. It was all like honey to his heart. The feeling of loneliness he had disappeared when you were next to him.

He saw you the next day on patrol. It was the first sunny morning in a long time.

"Hi." Your quiet voice was the best thing he'd heard in a long time.

"Baby steps, right?" He nudged your shoulder lightly.

You smiled and followed him.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[thhestia]

hello

this post will be way different than my usual content but i feel obliged to raise my voice in this matter.

This might be triggering for some people and i'm sorry in advance but please read the whole thing and help me raise my voice and the women of my country's to make this matter known so that the government would start taking us seriously and start taking measures for women's safety.

I live in Turkey and i love my country but i cannot deny the fact that as each day passes i become more scared for my life, just like the rest of the women in my country. I'm writing these as the women are protesting yesterday's murders right now.

Yesterday, 2 women were brutally murdered by the same man at Edirnekapı, Istanbul. The murderer first killed Ayşenur (19) in his home and called the cops to report the murder then, he went to kill İkbal (19). Semih Çelik murdered those two 19 YEAR OLD girls, İkbal Uzuner and Ayşenur Halil. He slit Ayşenur's throat and dismembered İkbal Uzuner on top of the city walls and he THREW İKBAL'S HEAD IN FRONT OF HER MOTHER. He then committed suicide by jumping from the very same place he dismembered İkbal. And he did all this IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.

He had been stalking İkbal for over a year, his own father had reported him several times, a disturbing drawing made by him and a video of him filmed last year talking about how he wanted to kill İkbal (quoting the exact words from the video: "...The day you saw me, I had come to kill you. I wanted to take a life with me when I left this life, and it was more valuable for me if that person was you. To cut out your heart, your eyes…") were uncovered recently but NO MEASURES WERE TAKEN. That psychopath took two innocent lives and the only thing that the government did was to impose a broadcast ban.

So as a woman who is afraid, i am asking you to spread this and to make this known. We, turkish women, hope that making this matter known globally will help us.

Why do we need help to raise our voices?

>In 2021, Turkey became the first and only country to withdraw from the Istanbul Convention, a human rights treaty of the Council of Europe opposing violence against women.

>Women's complaints are not taken seriously, and offenders are repeatedly let go without any consequences. Our prisons are filled to the brim with journalists and political prisoners, however repeat sexual offenders, abusers, p3d0philes and murderers are released.

So this means, even if that murderer did not commit suicide he might've not been punished properly for his crimes.

Please help me make this matter known.

The images below are the details.

.

[vesppperoro]

hii uhh, i had a little idea that id like to share if thats ok, it might be quite triggering tho so be warned ‼️

a sinner demon reader thats based on a teddy bear, because theyre too soft and mushy personality-wise, and they ended up in hell due to being suicidal. like their whole body is covered in stitches thats supposed to be a metaphor for sh scars

do whatever u want with that info, u can even ignore it if u like, have a nice day ❤️

Hazbin Hotel Cast with a Teddy Bear!Sinner Reader

Includes: Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, Niffty, Sir. Pentious, Cherri Bomb, Alastor.

A/N: this is such an interesting idea! I’m going based on my own experiences as someone like this, along with research. I appreciate you for trusting me with this <3 I definitely WILL make a p2!! Might write for this sinner more tbh I loved writing them!! I thought you meant a child and I wrote that I’m so sorry 😭

Charlie Morningstar

She truly didn’t understand why you were in hell.

You are such a sweetheart! She adores you.

When you showed up to the hotel one day, without clothes and covered in stitches, she was immediately worried.

She took you in and washed you up as best as she could.

You were like a child! Why were you even here?

She was happy that you wanted to be redeemed, however.

She became a mother figure to you.

You go to her when you’re sad and you hug her frequently.

She traces your scars sometimes and you two share a silent moment together.

A silent moment of understanding.

She loves picking you up and holding you!

She hugs you like you’re an actual teddy bear.

She’s the one you go to for emotional things.

She’s good at comforting you. She somehow knows what you wanna hear at all times.

Vaggie

She became a secondary mother figure to you.

She was Charlie’s girlfriend, so of course she was.

She understood your situation and was pissed heaven casted a sweetie like you because of your lowest point.

She’s the more levelheaded one.

She’s the one who gives you advice and stuff like that. While Charlie is the more emotionally supportive one, Vaggie is the more mature and steady one.

She also traces your scars. Even if you don’t like them, she tells you you’re beautiful no matter what.

When you told her more of your story, she almost cried.

A child feeling this way broke her to pieces. Especially since you were so soft.

Other than the sad stuff, she loves cuddling you.

You, her, and Charlie sometimes have cuddle sessions with you in the middle because you’re so warm + soft + squishy.

She would kill anyone for you. You’re just so adorable!

She tries to teach you to fight but gives up when you don’t want to hurt anyone.

Angel Dust

Honestly, he saw himself in you.

A lost, scared, and lonely child. You didn’t know the cruelties of the world, aside from those cruelties in your mind.

He tries his best to comfort you. He’s not the best with words, but he’s always there for you.

He calls you sugar bear! He loves you to death.

He would go to the ends of hell for you.

He treats you like he wished to be when he was the same way.

You two share a lot of similarities, so you bond well.

He nearly cried when you told him your stitches were scars from sh.

He embraces you any time he can.

He tries to be the parental figure he needed so you can have a better life, somewhere no one would judge you.

Husk

He’s stubborn, like a dad. He acts like one too.

A hardheaded, yet sweet dad.

He’s like the father you never had. Or did have. Whichever.

He’s the bartender, so he knew how to comfort.

But when you told him your story, he almost broke.

You two definitely sing some sort of song together. Maybe Angel or Vaggie joins.

He cuddles you and hides you with his wings.

If you give him baby doe eyes, he might just take you on a flight.

Husk is SUPER protective over you. He’s very similar to Vaggie in a way when it comes to protection.

He gives you good advice but he still hides behind his tough guy exterior.

He doesn’t understand why you’re down here, even if you tell him. You’re so sweet!

Either way, he adores you.

He loves patting your head and messing with your fuzzy ears.

Might even boop your nose once or twice.

Late night talks.

He probably talked you down from trying to commit again.

Niffty

Another tiny person! Yay!

You’re not a bad boy. She may be a psycho, but she would never call you bad.

Actually, she did once and felt bad once you cried.

She likes to hang out with you since you’re both tiny!

She cuddles and hugs you like you’re her stuffed animal.

Bug killers! Even if you don’t wanna kill bugs, she’s dragging you along anyways.

She tries to hide her needle from you since Husk told her what your stitches meant.

Alastor has to babysit both of you basically.

You and her do almost everything together! You’re best friends!

She sneaks into the kitchen and grabs you both snacks so you can watch a movie.

She makes you sleep in her bed sometimes so she can cuddle you.

Sir. Pentious

He’s a dad. Or, he was.

He treats you like he wishes he treated his son before he passed.

He acts like your father. An awkward father, but he still tries.

He also protects you.

Expect him to curl his tail around you and cuddle you when you’re sad.

He literally cried when you told him your story.

He tells you anytime he can that it’s not your fault. Your stitches are still beautiful.

Best girl dad ever.

Buys you anything he wants, even if he’s broke. (Except sharp things)

He teaches you some things about inventing!

You made him a little metal flower and he was so overjoyed. He took it with him everywhere.

He still remembers you, even if he’s in Heaven now.

Cherri Bomb

Chaotic auntie energy.

She would do ANYTHING for you.

She picks you up and places you on her hip like a baby.

She loves your ears! She also adores how sweet you are.

She wouldn’t admit it, but you’re the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

Even if you tell her your story, she wouldn’t see you differently. You’re a child, a child who went through so much.

Hangouts with her and Angel are a MUST.

They try to avoid doing the normal around you and focus on fun time.

She took you with her when she had a territorial fight one time and you almost cried.

She felt so bad that she bought you anything you wanted for a week.

She did anything you wanted to do, even if Husk or someone else said no to you.

Basically, if you wanted something, you went to her.

Alastor

He’s not one to like kids, really.

He was, however, kinder to you.

He did anything to protect you.

He was like your insane uncle.

He was the one who taught you how to use your abilities. Maybe to help you, or to manipulate you when you grow.

He made you jambalaya once and it became your favorite dish to share with him!

He introduced you to radio and he was happy that you loved it.

He started bringing you to his studio whenever he did a radio show.

He took you to an overlord meeting once. That’s how you met Rosie.

He pats your head like a dog lol.

Don’t expect him to be emotionally available. But he will be there to have fun sometimes.

[wandagcre]

Hii! How you doing?

I just read your drabble about mob!Sam reaction to reader asking for a divorce.

Could you do one were reader thinks the only way of getting away from Sam is being dead so she tries to k!lol herself and Sam finds her and she gets really scare because she might lose the love of her life, so after that she does everything to be a better wife for reader

if i break | sam carpenter 🔞

(Mob!Boss Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader)

You didn't know how much those four words would affect the following days for you and Sam. With your deteriorating mental state, Sam's punishment, and out of control aggressiveness, you're backed up in the corner, completely stuck.

WARNING: making out, suggestive content, groping, spanking, mild torture, conditioning, self-harm, suicide attempt Words: 2.5k Note: you can read this as a stand-alone bc it's an alternative scenario to the drive you mad series but those previous parts can give u better context! reminder to not actually put yourselves in this situation guys this is all (an unhealthy) fantasy

[ series masterlist ] | [ masterlist ]

One would say you shouldn't be ungrateful—a roof over your head, jewelry and clothing that could solve a block's poor demise instantly, and a food to eat on your plate is the least of your worries. There's acres of space, just for you and your wife.

Sam provides everything imaginable to your heart's desire.

Yet, you feel yourself wither each day.

You've been punished by Sam that very day, when you courageously asked her for a divorce. You felt ridiculed for a short and humerous answer of the woman whom you've loved for a while. But even that couldn't sustain the foundation you built with Sam alone.

That same night, you found yourself being spanked and manhandled by the woman.

You've overheard of her tone and voice, the calculation in her cruel words  — how it roared affirmative and certain to follow through as she planned despite the protests by some of her inner circle, sometimes including her own right hand and sister, Tara, made your wife sound as though she's detached from humanity.

You regret learning an ounce from that day. You couldn't believe how you let yourself be in this sick charade, laying down beside this woman whom you once adored.

So, when Sam came home as usual, with her loosened tie and undone earrings, the thick tension resurfaced once again.

But she deeply craved your touch much as you do.

Although you obliged, knowing where it was headed from the start, you were blinded. After all there was an undeniable spark that you knew wouldn't easily go away with Sam's affection and the skill she had to pleasure you. You straddled Sam as your thumb caressed her baby hair, her soft kneading on your ass that only grew rough and sliding over your shorts to feel it bare as her kisses became needy and almost bruising.

What you didn't know was how Sam felt you were giving in as though it was a parting gift to her. The thought riled her up to an increasing madness.

She flipped you over, hovering beneath you and pushed your head against the soft mattress. It made you yelp at the force she exuded.

"I fought so hard to have you, amor!" Sam's frustrated voice roared in the master's bedroom, tears welling up your eyes. "What makes you think I'll let you get away this time? Maybe you're not bright enough if you think I would sign divorce papers from you," she angrily spat.

You felt so small. It was beyond suffocating as Sam and the way her fingers dug in your scalp as she pressed you down while within her grasp felt nothing more but terrifying.

"I-I don't feel good. Not for a while now, Sam." You admit, words slurring in your contorted mouth.

Sam gave you a mocking grin. "And I didn't wish to be this rough on you, sweetheart. But you've left me with no choice,"

She gave you a good spanking until the flesh of your ass was tender and stinging. By the end of it, you were sniffling and in tears. Sam didn't bother putting back your underwear, it was nothing but humiliating. She swiftly carries your weight like you're featherlight, your body slung over her shoulder. Your vision is upside down and you began to wail in protest, cold sweat ran through your body.

You didn't trust how Sam was handling you — this woman that stood before you didn't hold remorse nor familiarity and warmth you knew. Sam was akin to that first night she had you handcuffed. True enough, it was history repeating itself as you found yourself dropped in a smaller bed, enough to fit one, worst was how bits of it felt like an exposed space, sealing your deal in this prison-like room.

It was dowright ridiculous.

Sam firmly held you by the wrist, against the metal headboard. The clanking was continuous, you look up through your blurry vision, tears not stopping, you're cuffed.

"We go by a reward system here, sweetheart. Don't worry, I'll keep you fed. That is if — a big if — you won't lash out. All you have to say is you won't bring up a silly thing as divorce ever again." Sam patted your cheek, "Of course, you need to prove it by actions too. You're monitored. I'll be the judge of that." She motions over the camera at the corner of the room.

You wipe your nose, sniffling. "Isn't this too over the top?"

"Better vicinity, is all I'm going to say." Sam clicks her tongue, her body above you and one of her hands intimately placed on your bare stomach where your night gown slightly ridden up.

You had no phone inside, even the use of television was needed to be earned. Naturally, the almost empty space made you think a lot. It was few hours before you were freed from the cuffs.

It brought more realization that you were being isolated, completely tucked away from the existing relationships you've built with your friends. It happened slow and deliberate, that you found yourself hopeless to Sam's doings. Maybe she was even behind the unjustified killings from years ago, at your little town. Hell, maybe you were in denial all these time that Sam conjured on eliminating your mother figure from work, too.

You wouldn't be surprised anymore but the thought makes you retch.

The first few days was tough. You cried until you became exhausted. Soon it was futile and useless. You tried protesting by not eating at all, wondering what starvation will bring, only to be intervened by Sam herself. She kept you fed and bathed you, that you felt disgusted. Sam wasn't worthy to see your vulnerable state.

Sometimes, you rebelled against the trained women she sent in — at times where Sam couldn't make an exception to personally accommodate you. They let you angrily punch them, never fighting back, which made you smaller and invisible. These trained guards were obligated to report to Sam and so your punishment was still made.

You even tried memorizing the room. Attempting to knock at the walls to see if it had a weak spot, scanning as much as you can. Albeit, the windows itself were also useless. You should have known better that Sam would kept it close and bulletproof.

The depravation soon kicked in. You're conditioned at the reward she gave you that even a simple few hours of watching television made you a little bit at ease. Anything that came from outside world, you soaked it up. Nonetheless, you were treated like a pet.

But it didn't change your state, life still being sucked out of your very body.

One night, Sam was scrubbing your back clean as you sat at the bathtub. It was filled with silence, with occasional comments from Sam from the outside. She acted like everything was normal.

"Why are you doing this?" Was all you could say. You were tired.

The silence covered you two until you were in your towel, ready to dry off.

"This," Her index finger was in the middle of your chest. "Does not only beat for you, but a part of me as well." Sam continued, her voice tenuous and low. "You didn't know how your existence motivated me to survive that hell hole that my father sent me into. I need you back. I need my wife back. Isn't that all enough?"

"But what part of me do you need? Should I be stuck in that submissive and clueless, attending to your needs? Or did you want the girl that you left all those years?" You bravely confronted Sam, who was taken aback at your words.

At the end, you wouldn't take it all back. You wanted her to know—to fully simmer those thoughts.

You wanted to feel something and to end it all at the same time.

Sam had overlooked and underestimated your creativity. The cheap toilet was one of the things that was left unfinished for this spare room and it only took you to carry out its heavy lid, smashing the ceramic cover in pieces.

All you registered was the sharp piece against your soft skin, your knees that trembled and thudded against the hard floor. You feel your consciousness slipping, the fluttering of your eyes slow and uncontrable. Hopefully, to no return, you thought.

It was a blur, dreamless state. You were at peace for a while.

Though you had a small inkling that it won't last for long, you feel your mind waking up to consciousness. Your ears register the beeping of the electrocardiogram served as a white noise and your breathing sounded like it was contained. Opening your eyes, you see that you're tubed and one of your arms were infused with IV. You feel a gentle hold, on your unharmed forearm by Sam herself. She looked out of place, wearing your favorite cardigan as she slept soundly beside you.

When you moved and groaned, it stirred Sam to consciousness as well. You feel the fear brewing but it long vanished when your wife looked nothing but in complete distraught with tears spilling from her exhausted brown eyes — unlike you've ever seen before — temporarily stripped away from her cruelty and madness.

She held tighter on your forearm, but it was out of desperation and concern more than anything.

"You asked me and I never answered that day," Sam continued to sob. You see her physically restraining to hold all of you that it started to pain you. "I can't—I can never imagine being that stupid again. It could have been my last words and you suffered enough from me,"

"Sam... I could have asked better—" You protest as clarity hit you, but Sam's quivering lips halted you.

Your wife strongly shook her head in disagreement. "Nonsense. Let me finish, please. It was entirely my fault and mine alone for putting you in this situation and I never made myself much of safe space for you. But all I needed was everything you can offer. All of you, mi amor. I don't care if it was the girl I left, the one who changed, all I know is that I cannot do this life without you," She moves to bring your palm over her cheek. You feel Sam's fraught, her need to feel that you are tangible and beside her.

For a moment your anger and frustration with her had faded. It was a day full of crying, nonetheless.

Recovery was surprisingly better than you expected with Sam's improved presence around you. She was downright attentive to your needs, more than ever before. You need to pee? Sam was right by the door. You wanted to read or watch a movie? Sam could not care any less, she'll do work beside you, too. Most of the time, your wife would watch them with you, surprisingly even if she hates the genre. Were you craving for a specific food? Sam will go and get it for you.

You even joked that you wanted a foot massage but Sam took it seriously, immediately went to give you one.

"You know I'm not pregnant right?" You humorously told her. The way her head spun to your direction, flustered, had you uncontrollably smile.

Sam was taken aback. "W-What?"

"Don't you have work to do, whatever it is?"

"No. I can do them remotely, it's always been a flexible thing." I have my priorities sorted out much better now." Sam casually says. You've never seen her this carefree and it hit a pang of warmth and familiarity more than ever.

You nodded slowly. "Alright. But, can you stop acting like I'm fragile? I don't... I haven't thought of doing anything since then." The playfulness quickly faded from you.

You looked away and cannot help but glance over the healing wound on your forearm. You busied yourself with the film playing on screen. Sam opens her hand that was adjacent to your side, you don't fight the invitation and instead you make the move to hold it.

"I know you're not, mi amor. It's not that, it's just—" Sam sighed, though her eyes never left yours. "I don't want to spend remaining of my time with you by fighting or making you suffer ever again, even by the slightest just because I am greedy when it comes to you, amor. I want to make better memories, whether you choose to stay or not."

You don't reply and Sam was unchanging. All you knew is how it lifted a great weight on your shoulder.

You've never returned to the room where she kept you nor passed by the area. Interestingly enough, it was under construction again.

Days later, Sam remained at home. She didn't fail with the flowers and her gifts increasingly became thoughtful. It was between a new book of the genre you wanted, it could've been a trip to a place you mentioned. The most surprising so far was her first attempt of doing a crochet tulips for you.

It was a better sense of direction for the two of you. Sure you had needs, and the sexual tension and libido may have kicked in, but it felt like you were in a courting phase. It annoyed you sometimes, how your wife pranced in almost nothing and you were just to stare.

Though if you asked, Sam wouldn't hesitate to tell you—whether it was work, or something personal you've always been too shy or afraid to do so from the past. If you asked to burn the world, Sam would've handed you the gas and the lighter.

That's why you were taken aback during a particular rainy day, you perked up at the sound of the door and saw Sam who came back with nervous smile on her face and a new material on her other hand. She handed you a manila envelope and followed you as you took it and sat on one of the chairs at the dining area.

You curiously took it and opened it, your throat quickly dried, loss at words as you saw that it was the divorce papers you've been asking for. It made you suddenly stand up straight.

"It's only a choice up to you now. No dirty games from me, I swear on it." Sam made a sign of oath. You looked at her with the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "If you want, I can send you best of my men, back to your town for extra measure. Not to update me! Just because, well, you've been associated to me for quite some time." She rubbed her neck in what appears to be out of shame.

You incredulously looked at Sam's face. To be back from the life you have been taken away from, to reunite with people that you've missed... but it also meant being away from Sam and to no longer call her your wife—it felt sickening. You were coming around to closely forgiving her, to giving her another chance as she proved herself better than before. You doubt that this woman can actually hurt you again, after all.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you courageously grabbed Sam by the collar of her shirt. "Fuck you, Sam Loomis. Don't mess around like this."

"I'm not complaining, but I don't understand..." Sam murmured as you pushed the double door, leading her to the bed.

You two ended up catching on much needed passionate touches and sinful nights you've deeply missed with the woman. Your soul was ignited with each kiss Sam has left your neck, every touch had set you on fire. Funnily enough, the roles were reversed. You cannot be parted away from her, your arm slung and secure over her nape. What moved you the most was her kissing away the now-scarring form on your forearm.

The divorce papers? Somewhere lying on the floor, completely forgotten.

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

[ghsface]

It's okay to cry. It's okay to not be okay...

Bau team x bau!reader

Sumary: Sometimes I need to remind myself and others that survival doesn’t just mean being okay, it means learning to laugh at what scared us. And if I don’t do it, who else will?

Warnings: mentions of attempted suicide, lots of blood, some dark humor at the end, cuts on arms, bathtub full of blood, no use of t/n (if you don't feel good reading this please don't read it, I also tried to approach this topic with too much care and delicacy and respect, I hope not to offend anyone)

Author's note: September is suicide prevention month. "suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem" is something that you always hear people say.. and it's true.

speaking from my personal experience, it's something that was on my mind many months many years ago, and I was able to put those thoughts aside thanks to people who I thought were never going to help me, it was a long and very hard process but now I can tell you that I'm completely fine, once they told me if you have people to write a farewell letter to it's because at least someone cares about you, you may have heard this before but it's true, you will always have someone to support you even if you think you have no one, also once they told me if you ever have these thoughts again or even try again ask for help it doesn't matter who just ask for help, whatever way ask for help, those words marked me almost all of my adolescence tbh and it helped me, I hope that if you are going through this alone, you can talk to me, my messages will always be open for whatever it is help or just talking, feel free to do so, if you read this up to here I really appreciate that you did<333

The BAU team was uneasy. It wasn't often that someone on their team disappeared without a trace, much less you. Emily Prentiss had been the first to notice your absence, as you never missed work without notice. Days ago, you had requested a brief leave for personal matters, but you hadn't returned to the office or answered any calls or messages since. As the days passed, worry turned to fear.

JJ, Spencer, and Emily decided to go to your house, as they could no longer ignore the fact that something wasn't right. The atmosphere in the car was tense. JJ kept his hands tightly on the wheel, while Spencer stared out the window, his mind wandering through thousands of possibilities, each one worse than the last. Emily, in the backseat, checked her phone over and over again, hoping in vain to receive some news from you.

When they arrived at your house, the silence was deathly. The windows were closed, and the door seemed intact, but there was something in the air, something that made them hold their breath. Emily pulled out her gun, and after exchanging a worried look with JJ and Spencer, they decided to go inside.

“anyone home?” JJ shouted as she walked down the hallway to the entrance. There was no response.

Spencer’s heart was pounding as they made their way into the living room. Everything was in order, not a sign of a struggle, but something wasn’t right. Every step they took, every corner they inspected, increased the feeling that something terrible had happened.

It was Emily who first noticed the bathroom door ajar. She approached it slowly, holding her breath, as a dark foreboding took hold of her. Pushing open the door, the scene she found was enough to make her stomach turn.

There you were, in the bathtub, submerged in the red-tinged water. Your arms hung at your sides, covered in deep cuts, blood still slowly flowing from the wounds.

“Oh my God!” JJ exclaimed from the doorway, her voice cracking.

Spencer walked into the room behind her, and for a second, the world seemed to stop. She’d never felt such paralyzing fear, such sharp pain in her chest. The air became thick, almost impossible to breathe.

Emily was the first to react, rushing to you, her hands shaking as she tried to pull your unconscious body out of the water. “Call an ambulance, JJ!” she screamed, trying to stay calm, though her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

Spencer knelt beside you, her eyes flooding with tears. “You can’t do this... you can’t leave us like this,” she whispered, her voice thick with desperation.

JJ tried to call 911, but the desperation in his voice made the words catch in his throat. He finally managed to give the address, but the operator informed him that the ambulance would take a while to arrive due to an accident on the main road. Without wasting any more time, JJ made a decision. “We can’t wait, we have to take her ourselves!”

Without thinking twice, the three of them carried you out of the bathroom, wrapping you in towels to stop the bleeding. Spencer held you, his hands still stained with your blood, as they rushed you to the car.

The trip to the hospital was agony. Every second that passed, every breath you took, or stopped taking, was like a stab in the heart of each of them. Emily, driving at full speed, struggled not to lose concentration while JJ, from the backseat, pressed on your wounds, trying to keep you conscious. Spencer kept talking to you, murmuring words of encouragement, pleading with you not to leave, to stay with them.

Finally, they arrived at the hospital, and the doctors immediately took you into surgery. The BAU team, who had been alerted, arrived soon after. Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Garcia joined Emily, JJ, and Spencer in the waiting room. The hours passed slowly, each minute a silent torture as they waited for news from you.

Spencer kept staring at his hands, your words echoing in his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of you, limp and lifeless in that bathtub. He felt helpless, riddled with guilt for not realizing what was happening to you. He loved you, more than he’d ever dared to admit, and the thought of losing you was too painful to bear.

Finally, the doctor emerged from the operating room, his expression grave. “She’s stable for now, but the blood loss was significant. We had to suture multiple wounds and are monitoring for possible nerve damage. It’s a miracle they brought her in on time.”

The relief was palpable, but so was the sadness. They knew that even though you had survived, the battle wasn’t over. They would have to face the reasons why you had gotten to that point, figure out what had happened, and most of all, be there for you, to help you heal.

Spencer walked up to the ICU door, looking at you through the glass. His eyes filled with tears, he rested a hand on the glass. “I’m sorry… I didn’t realize how bad you were,” he whispered, feeling the weight of guilt crushing him.

Emily and JJ accompanied him, each feeling a mix of relief and pain. They knew the road to your recovery would be long and difficult, but they were determined to be by your side every step of the way, no matter what it took.

When you were finally able to open your eyes days later, the first thing you saw were the tired but relieved faces of your teammates. You knew you had plunged into a darkness that seemed insurmountable, but seeing the people who loved you by your side, you knew you wouldn’t be alone on the road back to the light.

The dim glow of the hospital’s fluorescent lights welcomed you back into the conscious world. Your head hurt, and you felt the weight of the blankets on your body, but what caught your attention the most was the soft sound of someone breathing next to you. You slowly turned your head and met the tired, worried eyes of Spencer, who had been watching over you.

“Spencer…” your voice came out as a whisper, rough from lack of use and medication. You were surprised at how weak you felt, as if a large part of you had vanished.

He sat up instantly, his eyes filling with relief at seeing you awake. “You’re awake…” he said in a tone that reflected a mix of joy and pain. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry... If I had known… If I had noticed something…” The weight of his guilt hit you hard. Even though every fiber of your being was exhausted, you couldn’t let Spencer carry that pain. But before you could answer, the door to the room opened, and Emily and JJ rushed in, closely followed by Hotch and Rossi.

Emily approached you, tears in her eyes, but keeping her composure. “You scared the hell out of us,” she said softly, gently taking your hand. “You don’t have to go through this alone, understand? We’re here for you, always.” JJ sat on the other side of the bed, his blue eyes filled with concern. “Whatever you’re going through… you can tell us. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

The room was filled with a heavy silence, everyone waiting for you to say something, anything to help them understand what had brought you to this point. You knew they were worried, that they wanted to help you, but it wasn’t easy to put into words the storm that had been building inside you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice breaking, feeling tears build up in your eyes. “I didn’t want them to know… I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Spencer looked at you in pain, his hands shaking slightly as he took yours. “You would never be a burden to us. Never.”

Hotch, who had been watching silently, stepped forward. His voice was firm, but with a tinge of compassion that he rarely showed. “You don’t have to face this alone. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever led you to this, we’re going to be with you every step of the way.”

Hotch’s words, so simple and full of promise, were what finally broke the dam. The tears you’d been holding back for so long began to flow, and with them came a wave of emotions you’d been suppressing: the despair, the loneliness, the pain that had consumed you in silence.

Emily wrapped her arms around you, holding you with a strength that anchored you in the present. “It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to not be okay,” she whispered, her voice shaking with her own pent-up emotions.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you felt like you could breathe, if only barely. The lump in your chest didn’t go away entirely, but the presence of your peers, your friends, gave you the strength you needed to start talking, to share what you’d been keeping to yourself.

You told them about the pressure you’d felt, the feeling that you were failing, that you couldn’t live up to expectations. You told them how each day had gotten harder to bear, until one day you just couldn’t take it anymore. The words came out in fits and starts, mixed with sobs, but they listened to each one with patience and understanding.

There was no judgment, just support. And as you spoke, little by little, you began to feel the weight that had been weighing you down begin to lighten, if only a little.

When you finally finished, the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Spencer was still holding your hand, and his gaze reflected both pain and resolve. “You’re not alone in this. You won’t be anymore,” he said firmly.

Hotch nodded. “We’ll have to work together to get through this, but we will. We’ll help you find the support you need, and we’ll be here for you, too.”

Rossi, who had been watching from the back, came over and gently patted you on the shoulder. “Remember, that’s what family is for, to be there in the worst times and the best too.”

At that moment, although you knew the road ahead would be long and difficult, you also knew that you wouldn’t walk it alone. The team weren't just your colleagues, they were your family, and with them by your side, you began to believe that, perhaps, you could find a way to heal.

And although the darkness still lurked, the light of hope, however small, began to shine again.

ONE YEAR LATER...

1 year into recovery brought with it a new version of you, a version that, while still scarred, both physically and emotionally, was fully committed to moving forward with humor and gratitude. You had rejoined the team fully and found a balance between work, your personal life, and your healing process. Your colleagues had learned to appreciate your new style of humor, even when you surprised them with your comments from time to time.

One afternoon, while you were in the office cafeteria with Emily, JJ, and Garcia, you decided to break the silence with a joke, something you had perfected over those past few months.

“Did you know I’ve developed a new skill?” you said, as you poured yourself a coffee. The three womens looked at you curiously. “Now I can say that I’m an expert in abstract art. I just need something sharp and a bad day.”

There was a moment of surprise, but then Emily was the first to laugh, shaking her head. “You know, no one handles dark humor like you.”

JJ nodded, smiling. “True, but at least now we know you do it with complete command of the situation. Although I will never stop being amazed by your ability to make jokes out of something so serious.”

“Well, my traumas, my jokes,” you said with a wink, and the group burst into laughter. They had learned to take your humor as a sign of your progress, a way to remind yourself and them that you were in control, that you wouldn’t let yourself be overcome by the darkness that once trapped you.

Garcia, who until now had been listening in silence, smiled and gave you a gentle nudge. “You know, I think you should consider writing a self-help book: ‘How to survive work and not go crazy. ’ It could be a best-seller.”

“Sure, with special chapters on how to choose something sharp and how not to use them when you have a bad day,” you joked, and everyone laughed again.

Towards the end of the day, as you were gathering your things to head home, you ran into Rossi in the hallway. He looked at you with his typical knowing expression, but with a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“You know, kid I love seeing you make those jokes. It’s a sign that you’re okay, but it’s also a reminder of how far you’ve come.”

You smiled at him, nodding. “Yeah, Dave, I know. Sometimes, I need to remind myself and others that surviving doesn’t just mean being okay, but learning to laugh at what scared us. And if I don’t do it, who else will?”

Rossi let out a soft laugh. “You know, you can always count on me to be your audience. I’m not as good an audience as Spencer, though.”

“Thanks, Dave. I’ll keep that in mind for my next show.”

As you left, you knew you were surrounded by people who understood you, who supported you, and who accepted every part of you, even the darkest ones. But most importantly, you knew you had found a way to move forward: with a smile on your face, a joke on your lips, and a team that, no matter what, would always be by your side.

And as you walked out the door, ready to face whatever came next, you couldn’t help but make one last comment to yourself. “Well, if I survived the bathtub, I’m ready for anything. I just hope there’s more wine and less blood next time.”

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly🫧

[kopilot-pop]

[Tired] pt.2

- Le Sserafim x 6thMember!Reader

Summary: After a harsh criticism from one of your teachers, you started to fall into a bad habit again. You started staying overnight at the company, your knees are always bruised, and you probably shouldn’t have 3 cans of Redbull everyday… Thankfully, your bandmates have easily recognized your behaviors and decided to put it to an end.

Warnings: overworking, self-hate, depression, suicidal intentions (very minor), fainting, hospital, needles,

a/n: sorry for the long wait. This is a bit shorter than I expected, but I hope you guys still enjoy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The horrendous amount of caffeine started to take a toll on you.

During one of the last practices for your comeback, Chaewon stared at you worriedly.

But you were too busy staring at your shaky hands to notice.

After chugging another can of Redbull, you finished the practice and finally turned on your phone. Several missed calls and notifications from your group’s chatroom covered your phone.

You didn’t have the energy to care.

You fell asleep on the couch in the practice room.

You have a comeback tomorrow after all.

-----

Furious is an understatement.

Chaewon is absolutely mad.

The 6 of you gathered at the studio for Music Bank on the day of the comeback. While getting ready with makeup and outfits, you could tell the girls wanted to talk to you but were too busy to.

When you all finally got up to the stage, the jittery feeling became more intense. As the second verse started your stomach started to churn, your throat closed up - you almost missed your lines-

and once again you couldn’t stop staring at your shaky hands with bloodshot eyes.

Until you froze.

Your eyes met Zuha’s. And you watched in slow motion as she ran towards you, barely catching your body before it hit the ground, and the spotlight in front of your eyes shut down.

-----

“…..ays-… y..… med…-”

You finally woke up with a pounding inside your head.

The moment you could blur out the bright light above your head, you could see Sakura’s face and feel the cool cloth on yours.

She was carefully wiping away the sweat on your head and quickly noticed your eyes open.

“Y/n! How are you feeling?”

At the same time, you could hear a loud crash on the other side of the room.

“Y/n unnie woke up?!”

“Y/N ARE YOU OKAY-”

“G..guys… calm down..”

The three younger girls ran up to you, seeming to have been lounging on the couch together.

Eunchae, with teary eyes, pulled you into a tight hug.

“Hey! She’s not stable yet!! Don’t push her around!!”

Your leader walked through the doors to pull down the three puppies from you.

“Thanks..”

After a few moments of awkward silence, Chaewon finally started.

“You passed out on stage Y/n.”

“Chaewon, don’t be too harsh.” Sakura tried her best to keep the situation calm.

“I know unnie- Y/n. You fainted due to malnutrition. When’s the last time you ate anything?”

“…I’m not sure..”

“Of course you’re not sure. The only thing you’ve been putting inside your body was energy drinks-”

“Unnie..”

“No- We were all thinking so I’m just gonna say it- We thought you were gonna die Y/n.”

She said it so matter-of-factly that you could almost laugh. Almost.

“Why would y-”

“You were barely home, working like a slave every fucking day, starving, and depending on pain meds- so yeah, OF COURSE WE THOUGHT THE WORSE!!”

You finally gained the courage to look up at her teary eyes.

“Do you understand the amount of fear I felt when I saw you drop to the ground yesterday?! How terrified we felt when you didn’t wake up when Yunjin screamed your name?!!”

“I-..”

“Kazuha carried you to the hospital because she was too scared that something might happen to you if she let go!! Can you even imagine being that scared?!”

You looked down at your lap, fiddling with the needle(IV drip) inside your hand. Sakura gently held your hand to stop you.

“That’s enough Chaewon.” She said.

She’s never stern, but this time she was. Sakura gave you this look, something just like the one your mother always gave you.

Worried, angry, but somehow warm.

“We were scared Y/n.. More than the fainting, I was scared of losing you just like last time…”

Last time? Oh yeah. You almost killed yourself during debut.

“We care about you. You know that. All 5 of us love and cherish you, sometimes even more than anybody else in the world. And watching you slowly fade away like that just…”

She started to choke up. It was rare to see her like that, so you instinctively shot out to pull her into a hug.

Holding onto you, as you might just fade away, Sakura softly sobbed into your shoulder.

When you felt another weight on your back, you turned around to see the youngest also snuggling into you. Probably the person you mostly didn't want to catch you in such a depressing state.

"I...I'm sorr-"

Yunjin, with the same teary face all the others choked out;

"It's not your fault."

She slid next to the edge of the bed, gently holding onto Sakura's hand right on top of yours.

"I wanted to be better. Good enough to stand by you guys. I just wanted to-" You felt the tears finally fall free from your eyes as Chaewon with the same frown (albeit a bit softer) held your face.

Gentle. God, they were all so gentle with you.

"You are. You are good enough. You are good."

Watching you sob out, Kazuha finally joined into the pile, right next to Yunjin as she dries your tears with her old sweater sleeves.

You let out another ugly cry as you feel the 5 girls' warmth trap you. You forgot that you were good enough. You forgot how loved you were.

But just like always, they were there to remind you once again.

"You're loved Y/n. By us, always."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Capitol Punishment Prologue (II)

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 4.2K

Prologue | Masterlist | Part I

As you and your mentor entered a room with the tube that would put you into the arena, your fear finally came to the forefront of your mind. Your breath became erratic as you confronted your almost guaranteed imminent death. Haymitch noticed your sudden stiffness, forcing you to look at him. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re smarter than any of them. You only have to do this once. Okay?”

Seeing his sincerity and hope, your facade broke. “I don’t wanna die,” you finally admitted, tears pricking your eyes.

That broke his heart. You had spent so long convincing yourself and everyone else you were okay with dying. As upset as he had been because you were so willing to leave him, he admired your composure. But now there was a scared girl in your place. Haymitch knew you couldn’t win. You had only scored a 3 in your training. No one would bet on that. And while you had managed to survive alone in 12 for eight years, maybe you had been right. Maybe you were only able to survive in the Seam where people were indifferent and sometimes even kind. Here, your death would only benefit others.

Pushing all those thoughts aside for your sake, Haymitch gained the slightest smile. “There she is,” he murmured. “I know you can do it. You’ve actually struggled to survive on your own. The others probably can’t say the same. C’mere,” he said, pulling you into a hug. You reveled in the first comforting touch in god knows how long. His chin rested on top of your head. “You’re gonna run away from the cornucopia and then steal supplies. No fighting, okay? You’re gonna fly under the radar. That’s how you survived in 12, right?”

“Thirty seconds,” an automated voice came over the speaker, telling you that you had to get in the tube.

Haymitch finally pulled away. “I’ll see you soon,” he tried his hardest to smile, wiping away your tears. You returned his strained smile before unsteadily making your way to the tube.

Haymitch kept his facade up until you were out of view, having been lifted into the arena. He almost immediately pulled out his flask, taking a deep swig.

~

Being pushed up into the arena you were blinded by the sun and immediately confronted with a nearly unbearable heat. Gathering your bearings, you observed the arena. It looked like some sort of canyon. From what you could see, it wasn’t very wide in some spots. The largely empty field surrounding the cornucopia looked to stretch about a mile behind you before you could spot some trees. It’d be a long time before you could get cover, you just hoped that the others would be too distracted fighting each other to notice you running for a mile.

Turning your attention back to the cornucopia you spotted all sorts of weapons and supplies. Based on the heat you were tempted to try to grab some water but you kept Haymitch’s words in mind. Not to mention that if you went towards the cornucopia you lost valuable time to get to cover.

15… the timer read. 10… 5… 3, 2, 1! The buzzer went and you immediately turned, running for the trees.

You ran for god knows how long. You weren’t sure if anyone was following you but you were too afraid to look back. Afraid of turning around to see your fellow children slaughtering one another. Afraid of seeing someone chasing you, and even worse, slowing down enough, incidentally, so they could catch you. So you kept going until you finally reached the trees and even further after that. You finally let yourself slow to a stop in order to catch your breath.

Completely alone and without any supplies, you knew you needed to find someone soon so you wouldn’t die of exposure or be completely defenseless. But upon hearing a twig snap, you came to the conclusion that you weren’t in the position to run anyone yet so you continued running.

~

You eventually moved to the edge of the forest, figuring that if any singular tribute had set up camp in the open you’d be able to spot them easier. You had spent the better part of the afternoon learning to climb trees. While you lacked the muscle to actually climb, you made up for it with a malnourished frame that allowed you to climb up tree limbs that would snap under a career’s weight. You eventually figured it out, fortunately in time to see a fire spark up about a hundred yards from you.

But as you were watching the fire the Capitol music began to play, blue light flooding the sky. Looking up, you could see the fallen being projected onto the night sky. You counted as they went. The District 3 girl, District 4 girl, District 6 boy, both tributes from District 8 and 11, and finally Alder. Eight in total. Fairly low bloodbath, you had seen as many as 3/4 of the tributes get wiped out in the first 10 minutes before.

You weren’t sure how to feel about Alder. Yeah, he had been a dick but he was still a person. A person you knew. Who had a life and a family. You were sure those who knew him were wishing it had been you instead of him. Hell, you were only alive because Haymitch had only mentored you. And he had told you to run away. You were also relieved you wouldn’t have to kill him. Trying to shake off the knowledge of your district-mate’s demise, you turned your attention back to the fire.

Whoever had started a fire in the middle of a field wasn’t completely stupid. They were surrounded by a few boulders and rocks, judging by the weakness of the fire you wouldn’t have spotted it if you weren’t up in the trees.

You waited for a while until the fire was out, signaling that the tribute was asleep. So you crept from the trees, praying that this poor child you were about to kill had supplies so it’s be worth it. You couldn’t really afford to let your humanity get in the way if you were going to have any shot at getting home.

~

Haymitch watched the games from the penthouse. This had been the first year in a while he had actually sat down to watch the games. He never bothered to watch the hopeful kids he was forced to meet get slaughtered. But he watched this year, proud of you for running away and figuring out how to climb.

The cameras had only been focused on the careers ever since night fell. He supposed everyone was alone because when no fighting was going on, they only played the footage of ally interactions. The careers had formed a group. All of them except for the District 4 girl who had been killed with a spear to the chest while fighting over it with the boy from 7 during the bloodbath.

The careers had set up camp, the boy from 1 already establishing himself as their leader, having killed the boys from Districts 6 and 11, and then both tributes from 8.

But the coverage of their little bonding session was interrupted by cameras focused on the sleeping girl from 5 and you, creeping across the field.

“What do we have here?” Caesar asked the audience and Lucius Caecilius, this year’s other announcer, rhetorically.

“It looks like the District 12 girl, Y/N L/N, is on the move. The question is, if Necole Carrick wakes up, who will win in a fight?”

“My money is on Carrick. She has supplies, L/N is completely defenseless,” Caesar explained.

“Let’s see,” Caecilius said as you finally reached the girl from 5.

Haymitch watched in anticipation as you perched yourself on a rock, just above the sleeping girl. He held his breath, could you actually do this? His heart stopped as you carefully reached down, slipping the knife out of the girl’s hand. He watched you sigh in relief as you grabbed it. The camera was focused on your face as you seemed to steel yourself before softly leaping onto the ground next to her before quickly swiping the blade through the girl’s carotid artery. You jumped as the canon went off, showing the audience how shaky you were. Tears were pouring down your face as you grabbed the backpack and any other supplies before running out of the field, safely into the trees.

~

By the time the sun came back up, the tears on your face had dried and there was a puddle of vomit at the base of the tree. You had found some dried meat in the pack so you had nibbled a little on that, careful not to waste your rations. But eating had helped you stop shaking enough to climb down the tree. Unfortunately, the pack hadn’t contained any water, but it did have an empty water bottle so you set off to find water.

You had stuck to the walls of the canyons, figuring that if you had to climb them, you could. There wasn’t much room to grip them but it was possible. Fortunately, the trees still provided enough shade for your pursuit of water to not be dire.

As you continued on you became less confident until you noticed something. You couldn’t be sure but you were pretty sure you had reached a point where the walls of the canyon were curving into you. But as you continued on, you found an opening in the wall. It was mostly covered by vegetation and would go unnoticed had you not been following this wall for hours. Seeing as there were few reasons for you not to go in, you went, finding that it sloped down into the ground. Continuing on, it became lighter. Streams of light came from thinly covered holes in the ceiling, up into what you realized was the main arena. It was a miracle you hadn’t fallen down here.

As you were realizing this may be a good place to hide, you could hear it. Running water. You practically cried in relief, moving closer to it. As you reached a small stream, you immediately kneeled to the ground, scooping the water into your hands. You had learned that running water was less likely to contain dangerous pathogens or bacteria but you should still boil it. Regardless, you didn’t care. You finally had water.

After cleaning yourself off a little and filling your water bottle you continued on, following the stream. But as you went, you heard footsteps above you. Making sure to stay out of view from the streams of lights, you waited for the footsteps to be gone. But they never went away, instead, the boy from District 10, the boy who had ogled at you in the elevator, fell into the cavern. You didn’t waste a second jumping on top of him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as disoriented as you thought he would’ve been because he tossed you off effortlessly.

The next thing you knew he was on top of you, his fists wildly hitting you. Getting your feet under him, you were able to kick him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Distracting him enough that you could kick him off of you. You fumbled for the knife in your pack as you noticed him crawling towards his fallen sword. Seeing him, you disregarded the knife in your bag, going towards the sword. You managed to reach it before him but just before he could grab the handle, you had to grab the blade. You nicked your hand but were too high on adrenaline to notice. You slipped it from his grasp before grabbing the handle, swinging it down into his head before running off.

You could hear his screams of agony as you ran back to the entrance, afraid his screams would draw other tributes. You certainly didn’t want to be trapped down here with the careers, being trapped in a canyon with them was bad enough. But by the time you reached the surface, a canon went off. Unless another tribute had been killed, at least District 10’s suffering had ended.

You no longer felt safe on the ground, you couldn’t just stay in one tree, and you certainly wouldn’t be able to just jump from tree to tree so you began to look to the canyons. There were ledges higher up you could theoretically walk across, it would just be a struggle to reach them. So you prepared yourself, subjecting yourself to bleeding fingers until you finally reached a ledge you could actually stand on. It was about 10 feet off the ground and went decently far. So you walked back towards the Cornucopia, occasionally climbing down and up as ledges got too thin and you had to go to another one.

You continued on like this for a while until you spotted the blonde hair of District 4’s male tribute. He was alone, unusual for a career tribute. You made sure he was alone before silently making your way down the canyon. He didn’t notice you as you followed him for a bit. Eventually, he stopped, turning to the canyon wall before unzipping his pants. You hesitated for a second, not wanting to be put in that position but this was your best opportunity so you took it.

As he finished, you crept up behind him, quickly wrapping your arm around his head, pulling it back so you could easily draw your knife across his throat. He tried to scream, but you cut so deep he couldn’t. This time you watched, blood pouring from his throat as the life left his eyes. Once the canon went off, you knew you wouldn’t have much time so you quickly took the belt lined with blades before running off, not wanting to risk the other careers seeing you as you tried to climb.

Reaching another remote area, you slung the blades around your hips before climbing up into a tree for the night. You hadn’t slept in nearly two days so you knew you’d have to figure something out tonight.

As you were settling down you heard chimes from above. Looking up at the sky you found a silver parachute floating down towards you. It got caught in the leaves of the branch you were on, forcing you to precariously balance on the end to reach it. How ironic it would be if you died in the Capitol’s game while reaching the thing the Capitol gifted you to survive.

You managed to grab it, settling back where you had been before opening it. First, you saw a note.

Good job, sweetheart - Haymitch

You couldn’t help but be embarrassed of the heat building in your cheeks but you tried to ignore it. Opening up the container you found some sort of salve. Unsure of what it was you reached a finger into it, immediately noticing a soothing sensation on your torn up finger. You looked at it, noticing the blood was stopping so you quickly spread it over your marred hands and any other random scrapes you had gained from all the climbing practice.

You sighed at the soothing relief, resting against the grunt of the tree.

~

“Well, it’s been an unusually bloody second day, this looks like this may be the quickest Hunger Games in a while,” Caesar recapped for the audience.

“Yes, it has,” Caecilius agreed. “For those of you unable to tune in today the allies from Districts 1, 2, and 4 decided to split up today. Unusual behavior for this alliance as usually the members of this group, known as the careers, stick together until they start fighting one another. But they had a fairly successful day. Collectively they eliminated the male tributes from Districts 3 and 5, the girls from 6, 7, and 10, as well as both tributes from 9.”

“And in a surprise, Y/N L/N has eliminated the males from Districts 4 and 10. I’d like to remind everyone that she scored a 3 in her training evaluation,” Caesar reminded, looking genuinely surprised at her success.

“Clever one, she is. She kept the careers’ focus away from her. Only a matter of time before the remaining careers figure out she’s the one who killed their ally.”

“They seem to be figuring it out right now,” Caesar laughed as the cameras focused on the remaining careers.

Today's deaths were being projected into the sky and they had noticed their ally’s death. They were currently trying to track the canon fire today to figure out who could have done it. Trying to determine whether or not the killer had already been eliminated. But as they discussed they failed to mention the possibility of District 12’s female tribute.

“Oh, seems they’re forgetting someone,” Caesar laughed.

“Can you blame them?” Caecilius laughed along with Caesar. “I don’t believe a female tribute from 12 has made it past the first day since the 50th games when Haymitch Abernathy won.” Caesar murmured in agreement before he changed everyone’s attention to recounting today’s deaths, playing them on the screen.

“I’ll just say, everyone better watch out for L/N, she’s a sneaky one,” he commented as the video of Piers’ death was played.

~

You were woken up by a canon. Based on last night’s light show it was just you and the careers. Fuck. You were their target now. Unless they were stupid enough to think they were the only ones left and they were killing each other right now, saving you some trouble. But you weren’t quite that lucky as you heard voices.

You cursed internally as you realized the careers were literally walking below you now. You could hear them. “Who the hell is left?” a female voice demanded. “I’m pretty sure everyone else is gone.” You rolled your eyes, why would she admit that?

“No,” a male voice interrupted. “There’s one person left. I’m not sure who but eight died the first day, ten yesterday, and we just killed one more. There’s one more person left.”

“Well then, who the fuck is it?” She then began listing both tributes from each district, including you. “Who else is left?”

“I don’t know, but the math doesn’t lie. Eight plus ten plus one equals nineteen. Twenty-four minus nineteen equals five.”

“Whatever,” another male voice interrupted. “We’ll do what we did yesterday. If we split up, we can find whoever is left.”

“But that’s how Piers died!” the other girl protested.

“You know only one of us get out, right?” the last male who spoke corrected her. “If we kill whoever else is left, we ensure it’s one of us. And we all know one of us deserves to go home more than this last pest, right?” The others murmured in agreement before splitting off to find you.

As you waited to ensure you were alone you steeled yourself. You’ve already killed three people. If you just left everything behind and killed four more people, you could end this today and go home. But before you climbed down, you heard the chiming of another parachute. Looking up, you found another silver parachute floating down towards you. You reached out, letting it fall into your palm. Opening up, you found a note.

Get your strength up before you win this thing - Haymitch

You couldn’t help the smile that crept over your lips as you opened the container, revealing a stew. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were as you quickly ate, uncaring that you didn’t have any utensils. By the time you had finished, you had calmed down enough to set off on your mission.

It didn’t take long before you found the girl from District 2. Unfortunately, she wasn’t as dumb as District 4’s male tribute because she noticed you coming. She immediately chucked a spear at you as she turned to face you. You were able to move enough so it wouldn’t pierce your torso but it did manage to graze your shoulder.

Seeing as she didn’t manage to kill you, she immediately began running. She was fast. So, doing the only thing you could think of, you threw one of the knives in your belt at her. You were surprised the blade found its mark, sinking into her back. She fell but she wasn’t done yet so you walked over, taking her spear and stabbing it into the back of her neck.

As you continued on you noticed the thinly covered spots in the ground. Realizing that moving around unseen was a tremendous advantage, you slipped underground, ensuring you didn’t break anything in your descent. You first located the stream, replenishing your water before continuing on. You listened for footsteps as you went, almost giving up until you heard the light footsteps of who you assumed to be District 1’s female tribute.

Following the path of her footsteps, you tracked her, waiting until she was close enough to a hole for you to make your move. As soon as she was, you jumped, pulling yourself out of the earth. You had been planning to drag her underground but based on her scream, she saw you. You cursed as you dragged yourself up, giving chase to her.

She wasn’t nearly as fast as the girl from 2 because you caught up with her easily, tackling her to the ground. She struggled against you, starting a flurry of swinging limbs as both of you tried to get the upper hand. She was a lot bigger than you, attributed to her better nutrition, but she still struggled against you, screaming the names of her allies.

As you continued struggling you realized you’d have to shut her up quickly and get the hell out of there before it became two or three against one.

You found the strength to pin her, sitting on her back before sending a knife into her jugular. Just as the canon went off, you heard a yell. “Historia!” the boy from District 2 called in horror. Shit. He was huge. You’d never be able to beat him by brute force. So you ran. You went for the nearest tree that didn’t look impossible to climb but once you were about three feet off the ground, you felt a yank pull you down to the ground. Hard. You fell with so much force you were pretty sure he broke a rib because your chest exploded in pain.

You watched in horror as he swung his sword up, poised to lodge itself in your head but, with much effort, you rolled away just in time. You struggled to your feet, still holding your ribs. You threw a knife as best as you could which lodged itself into his arm. But he just ripped it out before running towards you with a sword. You jumped out of the way, once again, just in time. You knew this wouldn’t last, you were way more injured than him. As he ran at you again, you prepared to accept your death until you heard a yell. Opening your eyes you saw half of him was underground, leaving only his torso still above the earth. The only reason he hadn’t fallen completely through was because the sword sticking through his chest was lodged in some rocks, keeping him propped up.

You gasped at the sight. He looked up at you, tears in his eyes. “What are you looking at?!” he yelled. “C’mon, you did this! Kill me!” he demanded. His face was full of rage and pain, so much so you couldn’t tell if he genuinely wanted you to end his suffering or not. You would have if it weren’t for his flailing arms you were sure would try to drag you to death with him. So you turned, leaving him screaming as you stumbled towards the cornucopia to finish this.

You continued on for what seemed like forever. The pain in your chest was only getting worse as breathing became harder. The only, very slight, relief was the sound of the canon as the boy from District 2 finally died. The only question was whether he had succumbed to his injuries or if the final tribute, the boy from District 1, had put him out of his misery and told him to be careful of you. Either way, you knew you had to get the drop on District 1. You couldn’t beat him by brute force, especially in this state. So you went to the Cornucopia, waiting for him inside and trying not to fall asleep.

~

“C’mon, don’t fall asleep,” Haymitch murmured to himself as he literally sat on the edge of his seat.

The sponsors who had sent you food and medicine sat around him, watching too. Everyone was shocked when you started picking off the careers, even more so when you managed to avoid death at District 2’s hands. He had nearly let the tears fall when the boy had dragged you to the ground, clearly injuring you severely. But you managed to survive and now you just had one more obstacle to overcome.

“Oh, here comes Blackford,” Caesar announced as the boy from District 1 ran out towards the cornucopia.

He stood in front of it, arms stretched out, with a sword in one hand. “C’mon! I know you’re out there,” he bellowed. “Let’s finish this!”

“Here she comes,” Caecilius announced as you slipped out of the cornucopia. You stepped up behind the boy, wrapping your arms around him, blade poised exactly like you had when you killed Piers.

Murmurs of excitement grew the closer you got to him, and cheers exploded as the canon went off and the boy from 1 fell at your feet. There were several congratulations to Haymitch and your sponsors as he tried not to cry in relief. You were alive. You were gonna be okay.

Prologue | Masterlist | Part I

[loveandmurders]

The Sun of Ambrose III (Lost Sinclair!Daughter AU)

Hi everybody, this is the third part of a new Sinclair!daughter AU in which the reader is Bo's daughter and she has been taken away and adopted by a new family. You can find part I here and part II here.

Hope you'll enjoy! <3

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of suicide and death, mentions of potential abuses, murderous!reader

You found where you thought Ambrose was on a map and you showed it to your dad. You told him about the House of Wax advertisements on the roads too. 

And he left, while you spent time with your mother. 

You couldn’t focus on what she was telling you because you were giddy, like when you were a small child. Giddy, like when you were waiting for your father to come back home so you could greet him by jumping into his embrace. For the first time in years, you were hopeful, you were almost happy. Everything was going to be alright very soon.

After an hour or so, your adoptive father phoned your mother. He said he found Ambrose and found your biological father. He said Bo Sinclair seemed to be quite a decent man, even if the town was quite strange. And more importantly, Bo Sinclair was more than eager to meet his daughter. ASAP. Your mother convinced your father to come back to the hotel so they could have a little chat. Your father agreed and left Ambrose without troubles. He had no idea he was the first man, estranged to the Sinclairs, who had ever been able to leave Ambrose alive since Ambrose became a dangerous ghost town. 

Your adoptive dad was a little bit scared his daughter would pick another father over him, but at the same time he hoped you would know who was loving you the most and the best. He was certain that Bo, even if he was being polite for the moment, probably did something terrible for your biological mother to kill herself like she did. He thought you might remember the abuses you went through and you would understand you needed to cut the Sinclairs from your life… forever.

On the other hand, Bo was losing it with hope and relief. His baby girl was alive. His baby girl was on her way back home. Everything was finally going to be alright again. He wasn’t too sure how he was going to explain to you about the murders and the truth behind the House of Wax, but he was certain you would understand. You weren’t going to be afraid of him, because to you he wasn’t a monster, he was your father. And he loved you more than everything, even more than his dead mother who never loved him back.

Bo had given to your adoptive father a phone number so your parents could call him whenever you all would be ready to come to Ambrose. Bo had invited your parents and yourself for a little family dinner with both your uncles as well. Bo was ready to do absolutely anything to get you back. He had begged both the Devil and God so much for this day to finally come, for his daughter to finally be back home, where she belonged. 

Even if you were a little bit disappointed, you agreed you would enjoy your holiday and on the last day, you would greet the Sinclairs for dinner at Ambrose. You spent some good time with your adoptive parents. Deep down, you knew it would be the last time you would be with them like that. You might not remember Bo very well, you knew he wasn’t going to let you go that easily once he would see you again. You didn’t mind, even if you were concerned about what goodbyes with your adoptive parents were going to look like. 

You thought the end of the week would never come and you realised your excitement even made you forget about your usual need to kill to stay calm and quiet.

After a few days, it was time to go to Ambrose. Your mother was so on edge that she needed to be the one driving, so she could focus on something and calm down. You watched the roads, trying to remember them by heart as your mother drove to your hometown, following your father’s directions. She parked in front of the house, at the end of the town. 

You recognised everything. You recognised how empty the place was, despite the wax statues. You recognised the smell of danger lingering around, you recognised your home. You calmed down for the first time in years. You closed your eyes and leaned into your seat. You were back. Everything was going to be alright again. It had to be. 

Or you would kill everyone, and yourself.

Your parents turned toward you.

“Are you sure it is what you want? We can still leave.” you father said but you shook your head

“I want to be here” you replied

“If you feel like you don’t want to do any of this anymore, you just have to show us the door, okay? And we’ll leave. The most important thing is that you feel safe, okay? We won’t let anything happen to you.” your mother promised and you smiled

“It’s going to be alright, I’m sure of it” you said

“I just want you to keep in mind that your father is probably someone dangerous. It’s both a greeting… and probably a goodbye” she added and her husband nodded

“It’s important to know where you come from, but it’s also important to let go of the past, especially when it is a toxic past” he said and you found yourself nodding. 

You would have agreed to anything as long as it meant going back into your house.

Bo opened the front door to greet the three of you. He tried to play it cool but he was impatient, too impatient to even wait for you to knock at the door. 

He shook hands with your parents before his attention went on you. He looked you up and down and did his best to stay calm. Deep down, he wanted to cry and scream for not having seen his daughter growing up. He was desperate to see how the light in your eyes seemed to have died down. He hated he hadn’t been able to protect you and to find you after your mother left with just a message on the kitchen table saying “Happy Birthday, Bo. This is the day you lost everything”.

Most importantly, he was very excited to see you again. You were so beautiful, so perfect. He was certain you were the smartest as he saw you quickly looking around and taking everything in your surroundings. Vincent could gesture like that too. He tried not to think you were looking like an angel of death, a killer. His baby darling couldn’t be a killer, not yet, not when she had grown up so far away from the corruption of Ambrose.

He came closer to hug you but your parents blocked him. 

“We would be grateful if you wouldn’t touch her… We don’t know what are your intentions toward her” Your mother said and you recognised the pure anger moving through his eyes before disappearing. He gave her his most charming smile and nodded.

The Sinclairs agreed they wouldn’t kill your parents right away. They needed you to say out you were a Sinclair, one of them before that. They needed you to choose them, and they would do anything for that. Even if it meant taking the risk of having your parents around Ambrose several times.

Bo instantly noticed how silent you were and it concerned him.

Your parents and yourself greeted Lester and Vincent as you arrived into the kitchen. Your parents exchanged a look as they noticed Vincent’s mask.

“My brother’s got some scars he’d rather hide behind a mask, don’t worry ‘bout it” Bo explained, trying to not sound too annoyed. 

He was the only one who could judge his brother. He couldn’t stand anyone else looking at his twin as if he was part of a freak show. Your parents apologised and you all settled down.

The silence was deafening, as you looked around the house, taking into everything once again.

Nothing had changed, unlike you. 

Bo and your uncles looked older than when you were a child too, of course. But they didn’t really change. You recognised Lester’s soft light and warmth. He smiled at you with pure kindness. But you could see past it, you could tell that despite the love he still had for you, there was some hidden darkness. An even more dangerous one for Vincent. You recognised his presence right away, you recognised how his silence seemed to be the same one before a storm. He was quietly analysing everything and everyone but you felt at ease, unlike your parents. More importantly, you felt your father’s love for you. You recognised the way he looked at you as if you meant the world to him. You recognised his anger, hidden away inside his heart, like yours. You recognised him in yourself and yourself in him. You were home.

The Sinclairs noticed your necklace.

“Still got that jewel, hmm?” Lester said, trying to chat with you like he used to. You looked up at him as your hand reached for the comforting feeling of the necklace under your fingers. You smiled and nodded before signing:

“Never removed it”

The brothers kept a straight face but panic grew inside of them. Why were you using ASL? Why couldn’t they hear your voice? 

“She said…” your mother started but Bo cut her off:

“We all know ASL here; Vincent is mute. But ya’re not, ain’t ya?” he asked you

“Of course she is, when social care found her, she wasn’t talking” Your mother said as you shrugged

“Did your mother do anythin’ to ya?” Bo asked as he leaned toward you. He had no idea what truly happened, apart from the fact that you got taken away from him “Do ya know where she is now?”

“She took me away, saying she had a gift for you. When we arrived at the social care centre, she killed herself” you replied “I don’t remember much. But I didn’t forget this house” you smiled as you gestured around. You wanted to change the subject, you didn’t want to talk about your mother.

But Bo was too upset about the news. He thought she might have killed herself since the police never came into Ambrose and since he never saw her again. Plus, it was the only option for her to keep you away from him: otherwise he would have had a lead to find you and she didn’t want that. She wanted to punish Bo for the man he was, for the monster everyone could see in him and in his brothers.

“I’m sorry we have not been able to protect ya from her… She was sick, but I never thought she’d take ya away from me, us.” Bo told you “We should’ve done better for ya” he continued, regret lacing his voice.

“We heard you actually were the abusive one and her mother saved her from this place” your mother said. She wasn’t afraid to speak up but she thought that maybe she should have talked about the police or someone before coming here.

“Obviously, we don’t know everything that happened here. Y/N really wanted to come here, but it doesn’t mean we trust any of you with her” your adoptive father continued. It angered the Sinclairs a lot more than they showed it. Bo and Lester hummed and smiled. They didn’t want your legal guardians to be afraid of them, especially when they didn’t know who was aware of your presence in Ambrose.

“I believe my daughter can tell I’ve never hurt her in any way” Bo replied “Y/N had always been very important to me, to us three. I hope ya never forgot this, love” he smiled at you and you smiled back

“I thought you didn’t look for me. I heard a lot of bad things too, because of what mother did and said.”

“I swear we all look for ya, but ya were out of reach and gosh I prayed so much for ya to find your way back home. And ya finally did.” Bo whispered, you could hear the emotions swirling inside his voice. You were still wanted, you were still loved by your father.

“Y/N might have found her way back here… It doesn’t mean she’ll let go of her actual life. She is soon going to go to college after all, in only one year.” your mother said and she was quite proud of you.

“That’s great!” Lester exclaimed, even if Bo wasn’t too glad about this news. Your education was important but it was getting in the way of his plans to get you back.

“What subject are you interested in?” Vincent signed to you

“Medecine” you signed “but I’m also very good in my art classes. So if I fail medical school, I can still be an artist” you said

“But we all know you will be a great doctor, hon” your mother cooed

“Like your grandfather and grandmother then” Bo hummed in approval as well “I knew you’d inherited of the best of everything in the family” he added and you smiled even more “Ya’re the heir of the Sinclair, so I guess that’s normal”

“Y/N isn’t your heir anymore. Do you realise that child care and the State didn’t even know about her before her mother brought her to them? She didn’t exist and thanks to the situation, the administration had been able to fix the issues quite quickly. As a matter of fact, you never recognised her as your daughter, so she can’t be your heir or a Sinclair.” your mother said

“Look, ma’am I’m doin’ my best here for all of us to have a nice dinner, so maybe ya could be nicer as well” Bo said with a look of danger in the eyes

“It’s okay, mom is always protective of me” you signed to calm Bo down. He disliked the fact you recognised her as your mother, because it meant you recognised the other man as your father. He couldn’t stand the idea alone, so the proof you were accepting your adoptive family as your family was unbearable.

“Of course I'm protective of you… especially when we see how dangerous the world can be.”

“Always told that to my daughter” Bo agreed for the first time with your mother

You all stayed silent for a little moment.

“Ambrose sounds very… quiet. At least, it feels like a safe enough place. You see, there is some sort of serial killer murdering people in the city we live in, and around it as well” your adpotive father said, trying to find a new subject of conversation

“We live in a mad world” your mother whined

“A serial killer? And ya didn’t move out? Not even for Y/N's safety?!” Bo asked, he couldn’t help but be worried about your safety. He knew how dangerous people could be indeed. Gosh, he couldn’t wait for you to move back to Ambrose so he would be able to keep an eye on you.

“I’m no prey” you shook your head wich was very thought provoking for the Sinclairs

“What kind of art do you enjoy making?” Vincent asked to change the subject

“Sculpture” you instantly replied and without any hesitation “Speaking of, how is the House of Wax doing?” you asked back

“Oh, you remember it. :) It’s going well.” you could feel Vincent was excited in the way he signed back to you

“I’d like to visit it again. You must have done so many new sculptures since I left.” you replied

“I’m not sure we’ll have time for that, hon” your mother intervened. 

The twins hoped they would soon be able to turn your adoptive parents into wax statues and hide them away in one of the abandoned houses.

You simply nodded in agreement, which annoyed the Sinclairs. As a child, you never agreed with anyone who didn’t want to let you do what you wanted. You were strong minded, you were determined and you were smart. They hated to see you so docile.

Soon enough the dinner was over and the Sinclairs couldn’t force the three of you to stay any longer. You got up with your adoptive parents, as they were getting ready to go. You quickly walked to Bo and hugged him, before anyone could stop you. He hugged you back, as tightly as he could without hurting you, and kissed the top of your head.

“Missed ya” he whispered “So much”

“I’ll be back soon” you signed to him, your back to your parents so they couldn’t read your hands “I promise.”

And with this promise, the Sinclairs let you all go, unharmed, hoping you would keep your words.

They needed their heir.

And more importantly, they needed their sun back.

--

PART IV

--

Taglist: @murder-hobo - @lacychick ; @magical-sass ; @limehaspassed ; @loveinglymessedup ; @bloodmoon-bites ; @iwantsleepplz ; @kawaistrawberry21 ; @12gaugefalls ; @kriston1210

[anonymous-dentist]

Okay I did some vod searching and here’s Cellbit’s pov of the prison announcement (in the form of a pretty badly clipped video lol)

A couple of things to note:

The silence

The stammer

The knife

The eyes

First, the silence, because it could be easy to miss from another pov because he was already pretty quiet before. But you can see the literal second it registers what Forever had just said because the change in the silence is palpable. He didn’t even raise his voice above the noise when he asked Forever if he was being serious.

Second, the stammer. This is a man who is very good at talking. Look at him during the presidential debates, nothing was able to keep him from talking, not even his own suicide. But then here he… can’t talk. He’s that shocked, and he’s terrified. See:

Third, the knife. Now this knife. Now this knife. It’s his emotional support murder knife. He only brings it out when he feels scared, and it’s gotta be a real deep fear for him to bring it out. It’s only been a few times, namely when he’s been triggered over his past, most notably when he and Richarlyson explored the Federation prison after Pac’s kidnapping.

And then fourth, the eyes. After he takes the knife out, Cellbit’s eyes flick back and forth between Forever the audience in what appears to be genuine confusion. Because, and this is important, Forever never told Cellbit about the prison. So between the fear and the Horrors, there’s some actual legitimate confusion in there because he didn’t know about this.

So now, after all that, let’s take a look at q!Cellbit’s character in general because I know there are people who don’t know about his very tragic backstory.

So Cellbit was in prison for… something. Probably murder tbh, but that was never confirmed. He was in prison with Pac e Mike and he was a really bad person. As in, murdering people, threatening people, ripping human ears off, stabbing, inciting riots (I think???). He killed Felps. He almost got Pac and Mike to kill each other.

And then, after being left to die alone on an island, Cellbit got some goddamn help for the first time in his life.

Before prison, he was in a war (ie the Hunger Games.) Then he was in prison, and the math is hunting towards him being incarcerated prior to his eighteenth birthday. He was 18-ish when he was in prison, and he’s 26 now, and he spent those eight years in therapy. Now he’s a better person, and he’s a very scared person.

He has many triggers, but the one that’s come up the most has been prison. He killed Abueloier that first time because they were in a prison-like cell. After hearing that Pac e Mike were arrested, he almost became another person as he interrogated Foolish (just watch that vod back, the whiplash is there.) When exploring the Federation’s prison, he was visibly on edge, clutching his emotional support murder knife and tensing when he saw all of the cells and almost stabbing Cucurucho when it appeared. Foolish asked if he could arrest him, Cellbit immediately turned him down, and he went behind his husband’s back to convince Foolish not to arrest him, either. (I’m not sure if he knows in-character about the prison cell in the new murder mystery game, but he will Not be happy if he gets put in there.)

So. Prison.

He wants to be a better person, is the thing. Cellbit doesn’t like thinking about who he was as Cell- he canonically even avoids cellphones when he can (see: Abueloier.) But he can’t help what happens when he’s triggered: he killed Abueloier, he almost attacked Cucurucho and risked his whole new infiltration plan. He’s worried about hurting someone again, because he knows he’s capable of it. He might not be the best at pvp, but that doesn’t matter when half the server is just as bad as he is (/affectionate.)

He doesn’t want to hurt his family, and there being a big huge physical trigger all of a sudden in the form of this prison he wasn’t ever told about has clearly made him realize that, oh shit, this could be bad. Bad for himself, and thus bad for others.

[distort-opia]

oo do you have examples of issues that very clearly show jokers avoidant attachment style? I would guess on some level the ending of death of the family?

Well, I said that both him and Bruce rather fit the disorganized attachment style, which is also known as fearful-avoidant-- but Bruce has more "fearful", Joker has more "avoidant".

Bruce, despite all his misgivings, has multiple long-term meaningful relationships. But in Joker's case... intimacy and affection are simply out of the question. Humanity is out of the question, like in the example you've given with Death of the Family. The only person we know for sure he cares about is Bruce, and even in Bruce's case he wildly fluctuates between declaring undying love and genuinely trying to murder him out of spite and resentment. The second closest person to him would be Harley Quinn, and I do think on some level he cared about her, but his relationship with her was manipulative and abusive-- and he tried to kill her too. All of his relationships, outside of the one with Batman, are shallow, and it's because he keeps them shallow. People are something to kill, use, or make fun of, not persons to connect with. If there's any sign of emotion, Joker considers it a weakness. Caring gets you broken above a vat of acid at ACE Chemical factory, with a bat from hell scaring you into committing suicide.

Though I don't think Joker started out so avoidant, much like Bruce... who also started out as something else. Personally I see Bruce as having had an anxious/fearful attachment style prior to his parents' death. But then the loss pushed him into avoidance, and ultimately resulted in him displaying a disorganized or fearful-avoidant attachment style as an adult. Joker might've been fearful-avoidant to begin with, if we go by the likeliest background for him: growing up with abusive parents, then living in orphanages and foster homes, etc. Even the one interaction (remembered reliably or unreliably) with Jeannie in The Killing Joke points to a fearful-avoidant attachment:

Batman: The Killing Joke

He's blowing up at Jeannie, projecting his own self-hatred on her, and then immediately swings into begging for forgiveness. In the end, the core thing about disorganized attachment is... instability. Growing up, the child does not feel like their caregiver is reliable, there to provide food or shelter or the most basic emotional validation. Parents who fluctuate between moments of love and affection and moments of violence and abuse teach their children that love is a minefield. One wrong step, and the landmine blows-- and you never know what sets it off, so you wildly overcompensate or avoid. And Jack acts more like this towards Jeannie: he explodes with anger, gets scared she'll react badly, and then begs for forgiveness. It's also clear that he thinks his value is based in what he can provide. If he doesn't have anything to give Jeannie, will she still love him?

But where Jack was more classically fearful-avoidant, Joker is a lot more avoidant. Even though his life-defining trauma happened as an adult, it profoundly affected his view on the world. As Joker, he still has a need for connection (otherwise we wouldn't have Batjokes)-- but he also hates it and is actively trying to snuff it out. It's a bit ironic that essentially, only with Bruce is where the fearful/anxious part of his attachment style still comes out. Just like with Jeannie in that example, we constantly see him go between "It's your fault I became a monster! I hate your guts and I want you dead!" and "I do all this because I love you! I'm the only one who understands you! Please don't leave me!"

[sepublic]

And I’ll add that there’s something very anti-feminist about how Belos fans interact with Evelyn and especially Luz’s characters. They’ll scrub away the hateful, violent misogyny inherent to this 1600’s Puritan guy wanting to murder an outside woman for challenging his patriarchal community and narrative, insisting that he’s just scared for his brother and there’s nothing at all racist about him wanting to murder Caleb for having a mixed child that Philip is now related to.

It’s not just that Belos is misogynistic, it’s that the story is about misogyny. Evelyn’s descendant Eda having revenge on Belos apparently doesn’t matter to some fans because Belos doesn’t care about her, because I guess we’re unironically using the bigot’s feelings on who is and isn’t important to him.

And with Luz, Jesus Christ. Her final interaction with Belos was Luz blatantly asserting that she wants nothing to do with this guy, that she’s not going to waste energy on trying to understand or sympathize with a violent raging bigot who wants her dead and just murdered her not long ago. She refuses to even talk to him. The way Belos talks to Luz when he isn’t trying to murder her is to belittle her decisions and agency by attributing them to witches ‘messing with her sense of reality’, which is itself a form of gaslighting by telling Luz she’s just insane.

Belos only lets Luz live because he wants the Light Glyph from her, to manipulate her, to prove to himself what a noble savior he is by putting this girl of color in her proper place. And when Luz chooses not to go along, he opts to murder Luz and terrify her the whole time by making the process slow. Belos only relents when Luz offers herself in a demure position of servitude to him, one where she’s useful.

He scars her face!!! He tries to murder Luz, he does at one point!!! He takes glee in Luz’s realization that he tricked her, he takes triumph in being a grown ass man who took advantage of a child’s compassion because that’s how pathetic he is, to think this makes him smart.

And yet I saw people unironically salty that the finale didn’t portray how sad murdering Luz made Belos feel, it should’ve been about this white man’s feelings. They rewrite a scene about a girl of color’s (as well as a woman and brown NB’s) triumph against a racist white abuser, and make it about his feelings and undermine Luz’s moment to do so. And people love to make AUs where Luz IS that guide in the human realm for Belos, but this isn’t a horrifying, discomforting arrangement she only bluffed about to survive. This isn’t Belos parentifying a child he abused the way people recognize it with Hunter.

Nah this is just a moment for quirky antics and shenanigans as we show how vulnerable and scared Belos is in this inclusive world, and Luz’s frustration with this colonizer who’s coerced her into this position by threatening her life constantly is just a gag!!! Camila has no opinions about this btw.

Like no these are not two wacky arch-nemeses. This is a Christian white man in a position of power who repeatedly threatens and belittles this child of color and made her think she was guilty and evil scum, until she became suicidal over it. And then he emphasized this again in ‘thanking’ Luz for helping him in TtT, how he couldn’t have done it without her, again the thing she became suicidal over. Belos isolates Luz so this child isn’t as confident against him, he murders her. This is an abuser.

But nah! Let’s take that scene in Turning Red about a child of color realizing how her mother was just like her as a kid, and that fear of her daughter also being hurt just led to a self-fulfilling prophecy and… instead of assigning it to the Nocedas, make it about this brown girl being sympathetic to this racist white man who murdered his brother for not being racist like him.

She’s a platonic Manic Pixie Dream Girl whose purpose in AUs is to make him happier and be his therapist who explores his feelings, his Mammy stereotype… Sometimes Luz is there to take care of a kid Philip, which really is the ultimate infantilization of this man to justify this, after an episode where the villain infantilizes himself for this purpose. For a show made to combat misogyny, where the first episode has feminist text when it comes to Eda wanting nothing to do with this male creep, it sure is surreal seeing certain fans do this!

[bonny-kookoo]

I like u couple is so cute!!! Has mc met any of jk's exes? Like maybe even saw them around randomly? How did that go? Really curious how jk became the way he was at the start of their relationship

A/N: Warnings for potentially triggering content. Mentions of suicidal thoughts (VERY brief mention), PTSD.

"Oh, Jungkook?" A voice asks, and he wants to just get swallowed by the ground below. He really doesn't want to deal with her right now or ever- but mostly because he's not sure if he's capable of really dealing with it yet.

If he will ever be able to.

"Oh it is you! My god-" his ex smiles, visibly stunned by his appearance in the store. "-You.. wow. You changed a lot. How are you?" She asks, and and Jungkook can't help but let his tongue run over his piercings. They're new- she's never seen any of the by now two of them. Neither has she ever seen his new tattoos, now all colored and bold, and neither has he ever been this good in shape.

"I'm good." He nods, a bit tense, and she nods, her eyes familiar but also terrifying to him. He's scared of her. Not because she could physically hurt him right now or ever-

But because she hurt him emotionally, and he knows that's something she's probably still capable of, if he lets her.

"Listen.. I know we kind of ended on a bad note, and I'd.. I felt bad ever since." She apologizes, biting her lip, before she pulls out her phone. "Can we maybe talk? I want to at least.. I don't know, explain myself to you. Explain why you.. kind of made me feel like I had to break up, you know?" She says, and he feels his throat clog up as if he's having a panic attack.

He can't bring himself to tell her no. He's never been able to.

"And hey, it probably was good to take a break- I mean look at you!" She giggles almost excitedly. "You look like you finally grew up to be a man!" She laughs, and he's hurting again.

It's always been like that, even back then. Whenever she was happy, he wasn't. It was as if only his misery brought her joy.

"Still quiet though.." she teases, leaning in to catch his gaze as he's looking down. Maybe it's the fact she's older than him. Maybe she's always been intimidating to him. Or maybe he just felt like prey in her claws, her personality leaving him no breathing room. She's confident after all-

Wait. You're confident too. Why are you never making him feel like that?

You're just as bold, just as loud, just as confident. And yet, he never feels so suffocated like he does right now with her. You never make him feel pressured, or caged in, or as if he's cornered.

He feels free with you. He feels at ease. Soft. Alive.

When everything she's ever made him feel was the wish to be dead.

He takes a step back, breathes in, finally finds her gaze. "I don't want to." He says, and it's visible in her entire posture and face that she's taken aback. "And yeah- the breakup.. was good for me. It.. gave me time to heal." He nods to himself, as if he has to hype himself up to keep going.

Her brows lower. Her eyes become serious. He feels his confidence crumble.

"Kookie! I finally found one that fits-" you chirp, stopping for a second, sensing the tension. "Oh." You say.

"Oh." She says at the same time, clearly surprised.

It's now that Jungkook realizes the difference between you and her. You're colorful, vibrant, sparkling like a gemstone, happy and most of all-

Honest. In every word you say, everything you do.

"Awesome. Let's go pay for it and then get something to eat." He tells you, suddenly feeling energized again, as if your presence suddenly put armor on him. You're here. She can't hurt him if you're here.

"I see." She says, chuckles to herself as she looks you up and down. "Interesting choice." She bites. You laugh.

"Could say the same. You sure that top fits?" You giggle, before you take Jungkook's hand, making him grin, dimples showing.

And right there, between cheap jewelry and discount clothing is where he leaves her, his past, and his fears.

Walking out the store.

Together with you.