#and it's a shame they took that identity away from him

[asarigg]

Body for Sale: a second reading of a disturbing past (csa)

Well, this part of the essay is the one where I imply a possible sexual assault towards Koujaku when he was a teenager, but since I was hesitant at first of talking more about it because I didn't want to be insensitive I made it shorter than originally intended. I was encouraged to expand a little bit on it, so I edited it. Since the post is already kinda long, I thought of doing a separate post for those interested. Please don't hesitate to correct me if you deem it needed.

I’ve sometimes wondered if there was some sort of sexual abuse on Ryuuhou’s part towards Koujaku. Nothing is implied canonically, at least physically, but the erotic connotations of the story of the tattoo artist he’s based on, the sadism, the drugging in order to do something non-consensually, and his constant references to love make me think of it happening on a symbolic level. I think it’s obvious that Ryuuhou loves Koujaku, in his own way, as his creation, and he’s talking about love at first sight and the similarity of love and hate. Besides, the way Koujaku acts can be easily associated with it.

Even though he appears to be charming and flirty, he actually has a very low self-esteem, seeing himself as worthless, dirty, and constantly self-blaming for what happened. His tattoo being his shame and filth, something he doesn’t want to taint Aoba with, works just as an allegory of victims so commonly feeling guilty and dirty (causing them to shower more regularly than before in an attempt to wash it away). He shows unconformity when Aoba wants to touch him in bed (something that with time and the support of a loved one gets a little better), and when he tries to touch and wash away his dirt, his shame, his tattoo, Koujaku jumps at contact, which could also be interpreted as having a flashback as part of his ptsd.

All the anger he feels inside could also be part of the consequences. And he mostly shows his hatred towards Ryuuhou, even though his father is supposedly still alive and was the one who did the most damage to them, especially his mother, whom he cared about the most. At the end of the day Ryuuhou “just” did the tattoo and his father has been treating them like that for years. So why does he tunnel all his rage only to him? Budget and time limit reasons? Maybe, but in this essay we’re not taking that. Obviously Ryuuhou was the one that made him lose it, torturing him ever since the beginning only to anger him, ultimately causing the death of his mother. Maybe he was too used to see his father being aggressive with them, something to be expected, kind of like how it's established that men are more violence driven and women are emotion driven. But it can also be read as the response Koujaku had to a possible abuse. Physical punishment was to be expected, but sexual abuse?

Ryuuhou took advantage of his situation, to stop him from resisting he could always use his mother. We’ve already seen Ryuuhou being referenced as male and Koujaku as the female counterpart, being lovers and enemies at the same time, with the female being associated with the powerless, abused victim, submissive, and being controlled by the male, as disgusting as it sounds. Ever since he was tattooed his body did not belong to him anymore, Ryuuhou made sure to mark his body and mind so that he could never forget him. He could have found refuge in his religious practices as well.

There’s always stigma around these cases, and the stigma around male victims makes it especially harder for them to speak about what happened to them. That sense of powerlessness, of losing control, of being less of a man, causing them having trouble with their identity, all of it is wrapped in toxic masculinity. And all of this is seen in Koujaku. He keeps all his feelings for himself, feeling distant from other people and engaging in a lonely way of life.

There are people that report having trouble with their relationships with others not only because of the trauma that happened to them, but also out of fear of doing that very same thing to someone else.

This traumatic event usually makes victims apprehensive of any sexual activity, but there’s a considerable large number of victims that, opposite to this, develop hypersexuality. His sexual life is more important to Koujaku's character than it may seem at first (like it's just a quirk of him), he sees his body as a tool for the pleasure of others, meanwhile his own pleasure is not important. He developed an unhealthy way of interacting with others, therefore he developed unhealthy sexual practices. This view of him being sort of a prostitute isn’t so far away. Flame Willow, the part of Platinum Jail they end in, pretty much looks like a red light district. It’s introduced as a place for “passionate folks to get their thrills”, an euphemism.

He also smokes and drinks, which are not talked about a lot as an addiction to cope with his pain. In the Drama CD though they do talk about it as a way to escape the stress he’s facing because of the Tamaokuri, so we can assume that he uses these two and possibly developed an addiction, wanting to drink until blacking out to forget for a moment.

Even if the sexual abuse didn’t happen canonically, the metaphor is as close as it can be, so it’s in your hands how you want to see it. Even if it’s hard to talk about something like this, I really like how this was built, because something that isn’t sexual abuse (at least canonically, and I wonder if the allegory was intentional or not) actually feels like it, something that changed a person’s entire life, his perception of himself and the people he interacts with, an event with an actual weight, something I missed from literally any actual SA scene that we got in the rest of the game.

[flashfuture]

Something really special about Dick Grayson being the first kid sidekick Ever in comics. Even at Marvel, Bucky came on the scene a year later absolutely inspired by Robin. And would kid Bucky have snapped kid Robin in half? Easily. But the legacy of what it means to be a child superhero rests with one Richard Grayson

[hottestvirgin]

𝐈 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆.. | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

he might have just discovered another side of you and to be honest.. it turned him on

warnings(17+). smut, meandom!sunghoon, unprotected sex, name calling (bitch), creampie, backshots, dumbification

your best friend had just found your secret blog on tumblr where you wrote about all of the sexual desires you’ve had for him.

you had thought that you made the blog so discreetly, faking your own identity and who you were writing about. you had thought. nevertheless, sunghoon managed to find out that the blog belonged to you.

and it was unhinged; you wrote about how you would imagine him leaving wet kisses all over your aching body while he’s balls deep in you. or how you couldn’t even stare at him without thinking about fucking him.

how soaking wet your panties would be every time he would come over to chill. or how when you’d watch a movie with him, you would spend the whole time thinking of dirty scenarios: shower sex, angry sex, make up sex, floor sex, wall sex, pool sex, sex, sex, sex.

and you documented it all.. because why not? you wanted all your girlies who interacted with you to know how you felt about that man. you had no shame because of course he would never find the blog.

but damn, were you wrong.

it made your blood run cold when your “secret” username slipped past his lips. all the air in your lungs were stolen from that simple sentence.

“so that’s not you?” he cocked his head with that stupid know–it-all look on his face.

how.. when..?

“i read the stuff you wrote about me and it’s…” he paused, trying to find the right word, “wild.”

“it wasn’t even about you.” you argued, trying to act as nonchalant as fucking possible. it wasn’t working. sunghoon could see right through you.

“so the S guy you write about isn’t me?” he questioned.

well.. in your defense you were one-hundred percent sure that he or anyone else wouldn’t figure out it was about sunghoon just by the first letter of his name.

“you have a really big ego. what if i was talking about sunoo?” you interrogated, trying to flee from the scene but he took a step forward, firmly gripping your arm.

“d’you really think i’m dumb?” he furrowed his eyebrows and licked his lips as he spoke, “hm?”

“i-i said it wasn’t about you.” you said again. his grip on your arm had your stomach churning in arousal. your heart was racing, and you were certain that he could feel your pulse through your arm.

sunghoon tsked at your lie, “cool.”

maybe it was manifestation, or just pure luck. but that same arm was yanked behind you as sunghoon plunged his hips into you, splitting you open on his thick cock.

he cooed at your cute attempts at trying to squirm away from his staggering thrusts. “none of that— quit trying to run from it..” sunghoon grunted, voice trembling from how soft your walls were around his cock, “you was talking all that on your blog and can’t even take it? tsk.”

you hummed at his word, spit pooling in your mouth from being fucked so good that you couldn’t even remember to swallow anymore. “m’ s.. sorry, fffuck!” you squealed, but it didn’t stop his harsh thrusts.

he pushed your head into the mattress, treating your aching body like his personal fleshlight, “you’re such a dirty bitch. made to be fucked, huh?” sunghoon groaned at how wet you were and the sounds your cunt made. it was so filthy and only got him throbbing more and more inside of you.

he shoved two slender fingers into your mouth, sliding them down your throat as drool spilled down your chin, fingers digging into the mattress beneath you. you remembered writing about how much you’d love for this to happen. and it happened.

clenching hard around him, sunghoon pulled his fingers from your throat and wiped your own salvia across your face. “nasty girl.” he grunted, breathless.

you delivered a guttural scream when he smacked your ass, repeatedly. your thighs quivered as you tried to escape the pain, only to be forced still by his large hands. “c-can’t, i can’t! please..” you wined, screaming into the bedsheets.

“this is what you wanted, right?” sunghoon teased, referring back to your blog, “you greedy bitch, stay still and take this dick.”

you’re sooo full of dick that you can’t breathe properly. you were certain that you were taking all of him, but you can feel him sinking deeper and deeper into you as time passed. “i-i love your cock.. h-hoonie. s’ good, l-let me cum.” you whined.

“shiiit, go ahead.”

it took a long, hasty few seconds before you were convulsing around him and coming hard, harder than you’ve ever came in your life; everything cut to white noise and clear liquid spilled out of your cunt as his hips shuttered against you.

“that’s right.. keep squirting that filthy pussy for me.” sunghoon moaned. then he pulsed inside of you and shot his thick, sticky load into your cunt, painting your walls with his fluids.

it was like every muscle in your body had stopped working, body falling limp onto the bed. sunghoon stilled above you, pulling out to watch his cum flood and drip out of you.

“next time when you lend me your laptop, close your damn tabs Y/N.”

[radiance1]

"I need to find my darling husband!" Said Danny, dressed to the nines in a very elaborate royal dress with a lot of jewelry running through the ballroom after having been on the opposite end of a very worrying phone call.

"Seriously, what do you even see in that mortal!?" Screamed an observant and Danny stopped and leveled them with a glare cold enough to freeze over an active volcano and sharp enough to cut through obsidian.

"He makes me laugh."

Unlike those dead suitors went unsaid, but everyone at the ball (read: search for a bride/groom for the royal ghostling) practically heard it anyways.

Meanwhile over in the land of the living

Okay so Jason may have messed up. Now you see, he hasn't seen his platonic husband for tax benefits in a while, and he's been very careful to not let his identity as the Red Hood slip up before . Not even once in their relationship.

(He's not counting the time his in-laws sniffed him out as a Crime Lord, because Danny never believed them.)

Now, it wasn't exactly his fault he slipped up. You try to fight off an entire group after being pulled up on out of nowhere on the phone while trying to hide said noises of fighting.

Who was he calling? Danny of course since he said he was away for business. What business? Never specified and Jason wasn't going to pry.

So now here he was, bound 'helplessly' as Jason Todd along with a few other random civilians. Which, like, rude.

Wasn't he already good enough for this ancient ritual or whatever?

You know, he really should have walked with that "Anti-kidnapping device" he got that one time. Which honestly he feels like he should be surprised that such a thing exists but considering it was from Bruce. Well.

He's not surprised.

Oh, there's the Justice League now. Shame, he wanted to knock out a few guys himself- Oh, now he's being used to summon a ghost from the Infinite Realms of Royal Lineage.

Yea he probably should have walked with that "Anti-kidnapping device."

Wait a goddamn-

Is that-

"My darling husband!" Danny shouted, scooping him off the circle and away from the head cultist and swinging him around. "You had me worried sick!"

Now, he should ask the question anyone would in this situation when finding out your best friend and platonic husband for tax benefits was apparently a ghost of royal lineage.

"Why're you in a dress?"

"Okay, first of all I rock this thing." Danny huffed.

"That you do." Jason agreed rather easily.

"Second of all, blame those guys over there." He jerked his head in the direction of two very green floating eyeball people.

Not the weirdest he's seen, honestly.

The Observants were whispering to each other and leveling them-Jason in particular-a look.

"Now as you can see, I already have a spouse and I don't need another!" Danny hugged Jason closer for emphasis and he took the time to whisper in Danny's ear. "Did you really marry me to play the husband card?"

"Well, yes." Danny agreed. "But also because of taxes, because I love you and you're my best friend."

"So, we're still done for watching that movie right."

"Obviously."

A pained grunt came from below them and they both looked down to see Batman standing over a very unconscious cultist and looking up at them.

Hm.

He forgot they were there.

"So," Jason began, staring Bruce straight in the eyes. Batman's eyes narrowed. "Don't suppose we can push that forward to right now?"

"Yea, sure why not I'm not doing anything important." Danny leveled the Observants a look, and before either they, Batman, or the Justice League could do anything they both disappeared.

[xeas]

Can you please do a Norton and fool's gold with a reader where the reader has cinnamoroll personality (cinnamoroll is from sanrio)

MIND OVER MATTER IS MAGIC!

🍍 IN WHICH: drabbles (seperately) of Norton Campbell and Fool's Gold with a reader who is like cinnamoroll from sanrio (basically, shy yet sweet who will also help out their friends whenever they can)

🥥 NOTE FROM XEA!: thank you so much for your request! i love writing for norton but im wary my fools gold may ooc...haha...

🫧CONTENT WARNINGS: pre-established relationship, Norton may appear overprotective, mc may appear to be 'pure and innocent' in a fashion that may be perceived as corny to some readers. reader is referred to as "doll" in Norton's section, "babyface" in Fools Gold's. Seer is mentioned and Grave keeper is implied in Fools Gold section. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

NORTON CAMPBELL; The Prospector

NORTON swears up and down he's done nothing worthy of him deserving you.

The way your thumb grazes his knuckles in a comforting manner--whether to soothe your own nerves or his is unsure-- but the expression of innocence coated on your face both makes his heart sink to his stomach and gives him butterflies.

You have the eyes of someone who has gazed at few possible traumatic scenarios and the skin of one who not been lashed by the harsh truths of the world. He squishes down his feeling of envy when he feels he's going too far down the rabbit hole of his thoughts.

But now, as he bandages up your wound from the cold Night Watch, he can't help but realize how that weighs you down. It wasn't supposed to be you with the gash in your thigh it was supposed to be the teammate you wasted no time saving. You took a hit for them, and for what? So they could have a futile 5 seconds to run as fast as they could only for the harsh winter wind to yank them back to the hunter? You we're such a fool, having so much faith in these people.

But that's what led you two to become such a power couple. You gave him a chance.

"Norton-"

"Hush up, doll." And you do just that.

He looks angry and you feel nervous because of it.

"I'm sorry for getting injured." You mumble quietly. You don't expect a 'Its fine' or a 'Its not your fault' because this was a rookie mistake and you by no means are a rookie.

He remains silent, finishing up dressing your wound. His gloved hands go to hold your thighs as you sit in some corner of burned down building in the Arms Factory.

"Don't do that again." He states. Its not up for debate and you silently nod, moving to give his forehead a kiss as you steady yourself to get up and work on getting out of here.

NORTON CAMPBELL; Fools Gold (Hunter Identity)

"Hm, shame. Really."

Fools Gold let out a teasing laugh as he shoved you into a chair. He leaned on the wall behind it as you glared up at him. Fools gold clicked his tongue (does he even have one??) and fake pouted, most likely mocking you.

"D'aw, don't look at me like that, Babyface. You wouldn't be like this if you didn't sacrifice yourself for that silly little seer."

At least he was brutally honest.

Your muscles are screaming at you and you can feel them throbbing after you spent the last 2 minutes running and jumping and rolling to get away from him.

He traces your jawline with his pickaxe, you can feel your face heat up as Fools Gold lets out a wheezing chuckle. "All bark huh?"

You try to stutter out a response not until you see the ground beside you break. This was going to take a while.

୨🐙୧ ‧ 𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝘼𝙉 𝘼𝙈𝘼𝙕𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝘿𝘼𝙔! ⋆ ˚｡

🌺 𝙓𝙊𝙓𝙊,

XEA!

[imjustasimpxd]

Something Old, Something New

(Chapter One)

➬ Ken Sato x Fem reader

Summary : At first glance, Ken Sato seemed to have it all. With money, fame, and success surrounding his name, there was nothing he couldn’t get his hands on. They say money can buy happiness. That may be true to an extent, however, can money buy forgiveness? Unfortunately for Ken, no amount of money and influence can turn back time and change the past. No amount of bribery can erase the fact that he had chosen to abandon his wife in favor of pursuing his baseball career. That awful decision he made took place five years ago, when he was just starting out as a professional athlete. But now that he’s matured and had time to reflect on his actions, can he hope for a chance to rekindle his marriage? Or should he accept defeat and live with the consequences of letting the only woman he’s ever truly loved slip away from him?

Word count : around 2,500 words

Warnings : mentions of abandonment and neglect, arrogant Sato, sad reader, mentions of regret, angst

Author’s notes : comments and reblogs are appreciated!! I appreciate all feedback on my writing so that I can know what you guys liked and what you think I should improve on

Disclaimer : this is a work of fiction and should in no way, shape, or form, be taken seriously.

Side Note : This fic, and everything else I’ve written on my blog is mine and only mine. I work very hard on everything I write so do not, under any circumstances, modify, copy, or stela my work.

Ken Sato. Looks, wealth, talent, charisma, and confidence rolled into one good looking package. 

The mere mention of his name was enough to cause an uproar of fanatics screaming and shouting in excitement, as if they were a pack of wolves howling at the moon. 

Though he was mostly known for his impressive baseball career, being named one of the most eligible bachelors in sports didn’t hurt his credibility either. If anything, playing the part of the charming ladies’ man only increased his popularity, especially to any of his adoring fans that were women, which most of them were.

After becoming one of the biggest celebrities in both Japanese and American sports, there weren’t many people who were ignorant of a household name such as his. Every man wanted to be him, and every woman wanted to be with him. 

To the public eye, Ken Sato seemed to have it all. But looks can be deceiving, can’t they? Especially when it comes to a man who’s spent years hiding his true feelings behind a veil of humor and charisma. 

No one could know how much he was struggling to keep it all together, or the depths of the affliction eating away at his heart. He was Ken Sato after all, and Ken Sato wasn’t weak, he was a legend, and legends never died, they prevailed. So, he must too.

No matter how much the reporters hounded him, using every possible tactic they could think of to pry into his personal life, Kenji never gave them more than a shred of minuscule details. Feeding them like rats, giving them only the bare necessities to satisfy their hunger for a short while before they came crawling back, demanding more. 

He never let them know more than he wanted, more than he felt like sharing, and frankly, there was a plethora of details he didn’t feel like sharing. 

His reputation of perfection probably wouldn’t uphold itself that well if the media knew about all the things he was wrestling with. Between being a newfound parent to a kaiju infant by day and a masked vigilante known as Ultraman by night, Ken didn’t exactly fit the cookie cutter version of “having it all together.” 

And if that wasn’t enough, then the shame he harbored towards a decision he made almost five years ago would definitely topple the pedestal he comfortably built his identity on. 

The press loved gossip, and they’d fight tooth and nail for even the smallest scintilla of drama. Twisting innocent words and blowing frivolous details out of proportions was the job of reporters. So, imagine the headlines they’d make if those reporters found out any real insiders on the life of the world-famous baseball player. 

Imagine the sales they’d make if a journalist ever got ahold of the information about his past, the same past he’s been hiding away from during his time back in Japan.  

He’s thought about calling, maybe writing a letter to express some form of condolences, but what if word got out? What if the press found out about the woman he used to be married to, the same one he abandoned five years ago in order to pursue his baseball career. 

Forget his most recent batting record, a scandalous story such as that would make headlines from both sides of the Pacific Ocean, and then there really would be nowhere else for him to hide from his past, lest he fancied moving somewhere more remote and secluded. 

If that day came, if Ken Sato was exposed for the decisions he made before becoming famous, then his reputation might take some irreparable damage. 

That’s why he was so closed off towards reporters, towards his teammates, towards everyone. 

Never let anyone close to you and they can never betray you. That’s how Ken Sato lives. 

At least, how he did live, before a little reptilian creature crawled into his life, forcing him to realize there were things that mattered more than wealth and fame.

Before taking care of a kaiju infant became the priority in his life, Ken Sato had rooted his worth in the success of his career. So once that career took off, offering him all the success and affluence he could ever want, he began to realize just how little he really had. 

Despite the riches, the popularity, all of it felt meaningless with no one to share it with. He could’ve held a party with hundreds of guests, surrounding himself with countless people all desperate to please him. Nevertheless, none of it would fill the emptiness engulfing his heart; knowing that no one he interacted with would ever see him as more than a means to financial gain and an increase in social status. 

He had a world full of convenience and opportunities at his fingertips, and yet, he never felt more detached from reality. 

His family was complicated, his friends were more like business partners who benefitted from their relations to him, and the one person he had ever felt truly comfortable around probably hated him now, after being dismissed in favor of baseball. 

In the end, even in a room full of dedicated fans, Ken Sato felt alone. 

However, then that little kaiju infant came along, and everything started to get better. Caring for a child, though tiring at first, gave Kenji something to work towards; a purpose that mattered more than advertising for energy drinks or scoring another record breaking hit at home plate. 

Emi finally gave him the one thing he always wanted, the same thing he always pretended not to need: family. 

After that, baseball didn’t seem to matter as much as it used to, unless he was teaching it to Emi. And all the wealth he had acquired over the years didn’t hold the same value as before, unless he was spending it on his adopted daughter. His lifestyle remained the same, but his heart was in a different place, a more peaceful one. 

Winning championships were more rewarding when he had someone to win for, someone to celebrate with afterwards. And now that he’d repaired the relationship between him and his father, things were looking promising for his future. 

But there was still one more roadblock, one last regret preventing him from moving forward completely. 

You. The woman he’d been married to for a whole year, and, regretfully, the same woman who asked for a divorce due to his neglectful and inconsiderate disregard for her. 

He was young and immature back then, foolishly believing the pursuit of his baseball career was more important than maintaining a healthy marriage. He was arrogant, thinking that extravagant gifts and vacations would keep you happy and secure his role as a provider. 

But he was ignorant to think that being married to you meant he no longer had to earn your affection. All the money and gifts in the world couldn’t make up for the fact that he was never home, and that you were never his priority back then. 

Every morning he’d wake up early, well before you, just to attend practice. And every night he’d come home late, just after dinner, claiming he had needed to stay longer than normal to practice more. 

You’d set out a plate for him, but after his baseball career started taking off, he didn’t really have the time for things such as family dinners or game nights; or so he said. 

He’d usually come home and skip dinner, taking a shower or going to sleep instead. You didn’t necessarily blame him for that, it was only natural for him to be tired from practice. But as the days of barely seeing him turned into months, and he started traveling consistently for his games, you started to feel more like a stranger to him than his wife. He was your husband on paper, but, in the confines of your home, you barely knew how to keep a conversation with him anymore. If you were being honest, you didn’t even really know him that well anymore. 

At least, not as much as you used to. Things were different when you first got married, he wasn’t always so arrogant and inconsiderate. Instead, he was passionate and playful, always knowing how to make you laugh after crying. Even on your first date, he was romantic and charming, making you blush to yourself every time a compliment slipped past his lips. 

But I guess the honeymoon phase people always warn you about before marriage was real; at least, it was for you and Kenji. 

Once his baseball career started taking off, the fame must’ve gotten to his head, and he forgot about the one woman who had been supporting him from the sidelines all along. You had gone to every game, recorded all his winning homeruns, supported his career even though it meant holding off on pursuing yours. And yet, he repaid you with neglect, with a one-sided marriage.

You held on for a while, convinced that he would come around, that his behavior would change and he would reflect on his actions. But after the one-year anniversary of your marriage arrived and he wasn’t even in town to celebrate with you, that’s when you made your decision. You were done being a second choice. 

You got in contact with a lawyer, gathered divorce papers and waited with bated breath till he got home from his trip. And the moment he walked in the door, you practically shoved the papers in his face, all the emotions you’d kept bottled up for so long suddenly coming out in a volcanic eruption of shouting and sobbing. 

And surprisingly enough, he stayed quiet through the majority of it, just watching with a hollow stare as you unleashed all the frustration you’d been harboring towards him. And without a word, he took the papers from you and fished out a pen from his desk drawer, signing them in silence. 

Maybe he had realized from your onslaught of emotions that you were better off without him, that he was clearly causing you pain, and you’d be happier once he set you free of him. Or maybe he really was just that heartless and figured now was the perfect opportunity to get rid of you. Either way, your stomach seemed to twist into a knot at the way he so casually signed those divorce papers and handed them back to you. 

This was what you had wanted, wasn’t it? You’re the one who had gathered the papers in the first place, you should’ve been happy that he was finally ending it, finally setting you free. And yet, you felt yourself holding back tears at his lack of emotion. He didn’t try to argue, he didn’t plead with you to give him another chance like you had expected him too. He just admitted defeat, giving up on trying to fix your marriage and taking off for Japan two days later. 

He left, leaving you back in America while he returned to his home country to continue baseball there; abandoning his American team in the middle of their journey to the championships. 

He had given you an opportunity to move on, to become the person he always prevented you from being, and so you took it.

You cut all forms of communication, threw out everything of his that he didn’t take when he left, and moved into your own apartment. It was a fresh start, a clean slate, and you finally had the chance to chase after your dream career, just like he had been doing.  

So, you did, and you didn’t give up. You refused to, you owed this to yourself, and you weren’t going to waste any more time pouring effort into someone who didn’t appreciate it. 

So, you worked, tirelessly, anxiously, until the day came when your newest novel finally become a bestseller all around the nation, and you were officially titled a successful author. 

Now it was your turn, to stand in front of a crowd of adoring fans, to sign autographs and attend fan events. It almost reminded you of your ex-husband, how people used to scream his name and cheer for his success. But now they were cheering for you, supporting you like he hadn’t. You almost laughed at the irony of it all. Five years ago, you would’ve never imagined the life you’d made for yourself now, celebrating your fourth bestselling novel in a row and becoming a well-known author like you always dreamed of. 

And yet, looking back, none of this would’ve been possible had you not been set free from the restraints your marriage to Ken Sato had bound you to. Without him and the neglect he subjected you to, you wouldn’t have worked as hard as you did. So really, in a way, you had him to thank for how far you’ve come and all the success you’ve accomplished. Because if he never signed those papers five years ago, you would still be tied down to a one-sided marriage. 

But you weren’t, and thank God for that.

Now you had moved on, and so had he. 

Or so you thought. 

Little did you know, Ken Sato was on a mission, and not as Ultraman this time. After undergoing the change and maturity necessary to become a parent to a kaiju infant, Kenji realized he needed to make things right between the two of you. Even if it had been five years since he last saw you. 

He wasn’t looking to ask you to take him back and rekindle your marriage, though he wouldn’t have minded if that ended up happening. Instead, he simply wanted to apologize for his actions, for being such a crappy husband back then. He had reflected a lot on the subject of your marriage over the past couple years, but, he never reached out in fear of your reaction to seeing him again. 

Although, after avoiding it for long enough, and getting a lecture about taking responsibility from his dad, he finally decided to go through with it and booked a flight back to America. 

He was nervous to say the least, but he knew he couldn’t back out. Even if you screamed and yelled at him, he had to take accountability for his past actions and apologize for the pain he’d caused you, for pushing you to the back burner while he allowed baseball to take priority in his life. 

He’d made peace with himself and his father already, thanks to the help of his adoptive daughter. So now it was time to make peace with you. And as he watched the plane lift off the ground from his window seat, he held his breath, wondering how you would react to seeing him again after so many years. 

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[yandereunsolved]

Killing Me Softly - ,, yandere Aegon w/ assassin general reader (part 2) (part 1)

cw(s): yandere themes, descriptive self harm (reader), descriptive self-degredation (reader), suicidal ideation (reader), mild suggestive themes (breeding), dark fantasies (aegon: sa-ing reader, forcing them into traumatic situations)

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You were not able to escape by your own hand alone. You needed to enlist the help of Prince Jacaerys. So now, on dragonback, you sat, your hands tightly gripping his waist so as not to fall from such heights. He had shown you a manipulative tenderness that you had only seen from yourself. The shock was evident on his face as he saw the entirety of you for the first time.

It felt so jarring to be fully exposed to other's for the first time in many years. You managed to steal a pair of servant's clothes, so at least you were out of the skimpy lingerie Aegon had picked for forced you to wear.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You thought you may have grown to love him in that time. Neither of you were saints, as you were well aware. Somehow, that made it seem like a match made by the gods. You'd torture his psyche and break his libido, and he'd trail after you like the desperate whore he is. You saw his other side as well. The one that almost became as sadistic as yours. It was a beauty unlike anything you could have ever imagined.

Only now you know that he needed to lose his life. The embarrassment and shame from that moon and a half will always scar your mind. He did not only take your pride away, but he stripped you of your secrecy. The king will die at your hands. He saw too much of you, and now even The Blacks will know your identity.

It's time to come into the light and for Aegon's blood to be spilled within the darkness of the night.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 It was quick—too quick, you thought. You were nestled away now in Dragonstone, with Jacaerys dotting over you like a worried older brother. He had given you a pair of cloth identical to his own, the targaryen seal pridefully showing itself off on the chest. Your physical wounds were attended to, and he even had the maids bring you multiple meals to choose from.

"You must be famished." He sighs in a way only known to those who have had too many burdens since birth.

You only had a few conversations with him before; you barely spared a glance his way.

"Why are you doing all of this?"

His head snaps up at such an unnatural angle you thought it would crack.

"It is my job." His words are eerily calm.

Your spine stiffens and you curl into yourself. You could feel your gut clench and push against your abdomen, urging you to approach with caution.

"Oh, yes, your job. Take care of the expendable asset whose cover has been blown." You hiss through your teeth in an effort to keep yourself from yelling. Jacaerys half expected a plume of fire to escape your throat.

"Be our general!" He blurts it out. His own face has surprise etched on it, with his brows raised and his cheeks fully flushed. "It has been something that has been talked about for many moons. I wasn't sure when to bring this proposal to you, but this is the perfect moment. Surely others must have seen your face and now know you are the feared assassin that makes every smallfolk want to cower and every noble want to open up their plentiful pockets. You'll win allies to our side."

The hairs stood to attention along your body as bumps of hesitation popped up right along side them.

"Yes, but on one condition." You smirk gleefully. You place your hands on your lap. You dig your freshly cleaned nails into your palms to ignore the tears that threaten to burst from the edges of your eyelids.

"What is this condition of yours?"

"After Aegon is dethroned, I want to be the one to keep his head. I need to mount it on a wall." Your voice cracks at the end—an embarrassing amount. You were suddenly all too aware of the anxiety that had filled your body as he stared into your eyes. It lasted a few moments, and you swear that bastard nearly took your breath away. 

"Done. Welcome to The Blacks, general."

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You were graced with a room close to Daemon and Rhaenyra. They seemed pleasantly surprised that you agreed to work with them. Rhaenyra complimented you on your beauty, and Daemon said that you were much more handsome than he could have ever imagined. They probably decided to mock you behind your back. Damn assholes. The nobles were all the same. They all kept the same lightly mocking tone at the edge of their voices. Their words were like poison slowly infecting your eardrums, entering from there, and slowly spreading throughout your body.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You awoke quickly once again—another night filled with memories of your time with Aegon. You could barely drag yourself back to sleep each night after your eyes flung open. You opted for either training until you exhausted yourself enough for sleep or chipping away at your scars with your own knife. 

"Fresh blood to old wounds. Haha."

Drag the knife along your skin. Cut.

"You've become too weak because of Aegon."

Cut deeper this time.

"You stupid dick."

Deeper, deeper.

"You deserve it. Can you not take a little pain? Have you fallen so far that you hesitate to reopen wounds that have closed? Pathetic."

So deep you can nearly see bone.

"Aegon really got in your head. He really did. Are you cutting yourself for him? Are you doing it because you miss when he would do it himself? Tch—"

Your blood is now coating your nightclothes and the ground.

Like always, you picked yourself up and took care of your wounds. You don't let anyone see you bare, so it isn't as if you would have a need to worry.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You were hailed as the new general in front of crowds of The Blacks supporters. They had a ball, and although it was centered around you, you spent most of the night avoiding those congratulating you and hiding within empty rooms. Jacaerys tried to approach you numerous times, most likely at the order of his mother, but you managed to slip out of his grasp each time.

You were walking to your room an hour before the celebration was to conclude when you were bombarded by the squeaks of a messenger bird. You hastily snatched the rolled-up parchment out of the mourning doves anisodactyl feet, only to be met with the taunting seal of The Greens.

You tore the letter open, much to your own consternation.

𝘙𝘪𝘫𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘺𝘬𝘦āō𝘵. 𝘎ō𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢?₍₁₎

— 𝘈ō𝘩𝘢 𝘥ā𝘳𝘺𝘴₍₂₎

You had to find a book to translate what Aegon had written. You skipped your bath and bed and went straight to a secluded area to let your frustrations out.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 The morrow arrived with your knuckles and knees bloody, having barely rested. Your demons taunted you, even while you lay awake. Shaking any stray thoughts from your head, you had your first order, stealing dragon eggs from the new clutch Dreamfyre just laid. It was simply a test of your ability as the new general. Your informants had told you that the clutch had five eggs. You were supposed to order those at your disposal to sneak into the dragon pit and grab as much of the clutch as possible.

It struck a bitter chord in your heart.

The ki—Aegon sends a letter just to irritate you. Now you must have some subordinates you do not know break into the expertly guarded castle.

No, that will not do.

You will put your second in command in charge while you retrieve the eggs. He's some loyal man to the family. He should be competent enough to fulfill your duties until you return.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You send a letter of your absence a moment before you leave. It will take at least a moon to get to Kings Landing with your travel route and transportation in mind. A more than a month it takes. It took two more weeks than you had calculated due to their improved security and unseen consequences. Your body has not fully recovered, and you are still quite weak.

You narrowly make it, your body shaking from all the energy you have had to exert.

Under the shadows cast by the moon, you sit on the king's windowsill once again. You were hoping to taunt him, just like old times. You even brought a dagger for your revenge. However, he is nowhere in sight; his wife is the only one in bed. 

She's tossing and turning as the moonlight shines on her pale cheeks. You are able to see they are bright red. It makes you reminisce about all the times you left Aegon, all weepy and hard. You dare to get closer and sit on the edge of the plush bed. Streaks of tears stain her face, which looks as if it were crafted out of porcelain.

Your fingers lift her chin after she settles from her fit. She looks so similar to Aegon. She is his sister, after all. Your other hand lands on her throat. You squeeze it gently, gradually adding pressure. The hand lifting her chin slides over her mouth. You feel more safe the more you cut off her airway. It makes your chest release that breath it was holding in.

Helaena abruptly awakes and sleepily fights against the assailant holding her down. The hand on her mouth retracted as she managed to bite your fingers. 

"Shit, shit, shit."

She was screaming for help. It was a momentary mistake, but it cost you your chance at making Aegon suffer that much more. 

You didn't have time to finish choking her out or to pull your dagger and slit her throat, as the guards were already bursting in the door. You stumbled out of the window and crashed into the roof of one of the connecting buildings below.

Multiple somethings were broken.

You can't breath. You can't move. You were spitting up blood that took up what you were able to see because of your blurry vision.

This isn't you.

This isn't you.

This isn't you!

Get it together you dumb whore.

You crawled to the edge of the roof and pushed yourself off. You rolled and fell. Your body was numb; you could barely move by the time you reached a dark alleyway. You lie there in defeat, as that never-ending cycle of critiquing comments fills your mind with hatred for yourself. You succumb to your injuries.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You spent six months stealing three out of the five dragon eggs. You used your connections to get yourself healed and fed and get more information on the greens. It wasn't easy by any means, and you were barred from going anywhere without at least one guard by your side. The Blacks were impressed, at least. It made you grin.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You sat near the eggs most days while planning. They were one of your greatest achievements recently. The smallest one was mostly white with shades of gray and iridescent scaling. The second medium-sized dragon egg was a pastel red with black speckles and a gray undertone. Now, the largest one was a sight to be seen for your eyes. You would often hold it in your hands and hope for it to hatch. It would be a mighty dragon for someone. Lilac coloring decorated the entirety of it, with splashes of light blue that reminded you of blood spatters.

Your admiring was cut short as you were disrupted by the squawking of a particularly dissatisfied bird. Peering up, you saw a red-tailed hawk circling above your head, its zygodactyl feet holding another letter. You could see the seal of The Greens plain as day. 

Bastard.

𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘫𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺𝘴?₍₃₎ 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺. 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘦.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦? 𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵.

— 𝘢ō𝘩𝘢 𝘳𝘢𝘲𝘯𝘰𝘯 ₍₄₎

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Aegon assumes the letter must have gotten to you by now. He laid bare while writing it, his mind filled with thoughts of capturing you once again. You seemed so fragile. That's how the guards described it when they saw you trying to murder his lovely wife. It was undeniably amusing. You are the great assassin, a commander of the blacks, yet you could not slit his wife's throat?

All of his frustration and fury seemed to melt after he received that report. He nearly drunk himself to the grave after learning of your escape. That damned strong bastard took you from him.

You two were meant to be.

Why couldn't he see that?

Why can't his family see that?

He brought up the possibility of capturing you once again, but they are unaware of your previous stay. When he did explain it to the council, they simply stated that you were too much of a threat to keep. alive. They questioned his sanity and his ability to lead as king.

So he did the only reasonable thing one could do. He cut off all their heads and ordered for new councilmen to be put in place.

It was lucky that Aemond was unable to attend the meeting. He would have raised his sword against his brother as well. A kinslayer dying at the hands of a new kinslayer. That would be poetic.

He just cannot stand it. It makes his blood bubble within his veins.

Aemond was your original target. It's no doubt that you still think of him.

You shouldn't.

You should be thinking of Aegon. You should be thinking about how much you hate him and how scary he is! You should be fantasizing about him, just as he does about you.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 And the fantasies—they've only become more obsessive, yet domestic in a way he never thought possible. He imagines Helaena tragically dying due to grief. He would need a spouse and a son soon. So who better to marry than the one person who has been such a great enemy? He would be hailed as a peacemaker, a man who is able to tame even the darkest of hearts. He would also be feared, as he would have such a talented leader by his side.

You'd bear his kin. He'd force you to bear his kin, one way or another.

Then he'd take them away after you had given them life. He'd name them and pamper them all while you suffered with the lack of their touch and warmth. 

Eventually he'd force you into spending time with your children. He'd be enamored by how paternal and hot you'd look while feeding and playing with them.

He'd always keep you round, full, and warm, so you wouldn't be able to escape. He'd make you replace the son you took from him with many more.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He was so irritatable without you. He had no outlet to simply be himself. Sure, his relationship with Helaena has improved, but it isn't quite the same without you. She doesn't listen like you do. She spaces out and starts mumbling random things! He just needs to use you. It makes him feel all fluttery and soft inside.

He misses being used by someone who didn't pretend as if they were holier than thou. Your hits and your retaliation felt so fiery and passionate. They felt like love. The antithesis of what the physical abuse from his mother and grandsire felt like. They were always so cold and callous. Even in your most biting moments, with your words that could cast Westeros into winter, he still felt warm.

"Sentys, jentys, issa jorrāelagon. Skoriot issi ao? Māzigon arlī naejot issa, kostilus. Nyke beg hen ao."₍₅₎ He'd whisper in the dead of night when only the ears of the gods were listening.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 The pleas did not fall on deaf ears. However, the gods move at their own pace, which is usually agonizingly slow for mortals. What was also done this way was the war. Both sides took heavy losses, and while The Blacks were gaining ground, The Greens were supported by the smallfolk. It turns out that killing the opposing sides child and then attempting the life of the 'queen', is not exactly popular amongst commoners.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Jacaerys stuck by your side like tree sap through the planning and the battles. He was like his parents little watchdog. You would be lying if you said you didn't find him just the least bit amusing. He did surprise you with the one-hatched dragon out of the three stolen from Dreamfyre's clutch. The biggest, most extravagant one had hatched to produce a much smaller than normal dragonet.

By imprinting on you at a young age, Jacaerys was able to use his commands in High Valyrian to bond it to you. He did take his time teaching you the basic phrases as well. Daemon seemed miffed at Jacaerys teaching you, but Rhaenyra loved it. You felt like a fucking suffocated child most of the time, but it wasn't that bad. Jacaerys made you feel safe.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Your dragon was not large enough to ride, but they still followed you around. The dragonet was constantly at your side. They did have a bad habit of scratching you. So you often had to clean them up yourself. Just another set of wounds to heal. Nothing too out of the normal for you.

Until.

"General—" Jacaerys barged in unannounced. You were stitching a particularly deep cut the viscious rascal had given you on your lower stomach. You were not wearing any upper garments because of such. Jacaerys malfunctioned immediately to embarrassment, but his face only portrayed worry.

"Yes, Jacaerys?" You inquire while throwing a thin top on.

"Those scars." He states mournfully. "You have so many. I apologize that you have gone through so much." His words were genuine. They made your heart ache in a way that made you want to seek him out. Stupid. Don't.

"I hardly even notice them. They should not be any concern to you. What is it?" You question, more defensively this time.

"They are of concern. It is not my place but may I ask—"

"You're right," you cut him off before he is even able to finish the sentence. "It is not your place." You feel your throat close in; a cough escapes it. "You don't know what it's like to be a smallfolk, to be on the street and have to fight for scraps!"

"I have had hardships as well. I am sure I will be able sympathize with you." He states in the most friendly and loving voice he is able to muster.

An intense memory materializes in your mind from the one person who helped you in this world. A phrase that has stuck with you through all of your years, even into your mentor's death.

You snap.

"Those who have been served silver spoons with golden plates..." You can't speak for a moment. A handful of pitiful tears escape you. "They will always sneer at those who have been fed by hand and then take a plate from those who barely eat off it."

You shove him out of your room. You don't leave it for the rest of the day. You don't sleep, but you don't cut either. It's impossible in a way. 

Your interaction with him is minimal after that. You actively avoid him and how he makes you feel.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He drove himself into battle. You only heard reports of it as you were busy on another field, being aided by your draconic companion. Vhagar and Sunfyre targeted Vermax, burning Jacaerys from the skies. You were told this by a messenger. You didn't have the lack of heart to kill the messenger either.

He only gave you a letter. He was told that if Jacaerys died in battle, then he was supposed to give it to you.

𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆, 𝒔𝒐 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚. 𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕.  𝑰 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅. 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒔.  

— 𝑱𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒔 Jace ♡

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You could not take it any longer! Did you love Jacaerys back? Maybe. Did you love Aegon? Perhaps. Aegon still needs to die, love or not.

You had to rush back to Dragonstone and make sure The Blacks were not overtaken. You heard of the warpath the Greens dragons were making. It gave you a valuable opportunity. You could kill the king, Aegon.

You could finally win against him.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You didn't.

The Greens overtook Dragonstone.

They killed all of the blacks dragons, including your own.

You failed.

You should have killed yourself when you had the chance. So many chances, and yet you were too much of a pussy to take one.

Now you are within Aegon's grimey hands again.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 The last two remaining blacks, other than yourself, are dragged off somewhere, probably to be tortured. Tears almost left your eyes. Rhaenyra would be killed, Jacaerys's last connection to this world. Daemon, you didn't care as much. Still, he was quite brilliant in his tactical nature and taught you a few things here and there.

It's now just you and him, all alone in a secluded room far from his own.

"Ruo₍₆₎," Aegon purrs.

You don't dignify him with a response. You sit on the floor with a blank expression. You are simply a propped-up doll, leaning against the wall, getting ready to be played with again.

"Playing hard to get? Are you so torn that I killed your little boytoy?" He taunts. His legs are spread across the king-sized bed. His body leans down towards the edge of the bed, one of his hands bunching up the bedspread. He cocks his head to the side like an innocent child and grins.

"You—" Your voice trails off. All you are able to think about are those stupid fucking letters.

"Me?" He mumbles wistfully.

"You're dead."

"You won't kill me." He teases lightheartedly, his other hand pushing against his chest and pawing at the fabric of his top.

"Why is that?"

"Let's be honest with ourselves; you could have killed me the first time you saw me. Yet, you didn't. You have had so many other chances to kill me. You haven't. You love me."

"No."

"Kill me then." He lazily tosses you a fork that had been left on the edge of the bedside table. "Come on, it isn't much, but you've killed someone for much less. Avenge Jacaerys. Slit my throat, please." His last words come out in a begging tone. The hand pawing at his chest moves up to wrap around his throat. He squeezes gently and moans so prettily for you.

You take the fork. Your hand shakes vigorously as you stare at the piece of metal.

Why keep lying to yourself? You know he has called your bluff.

The cutlery slips from your hand and clatters against the floor.

You love him. You loved Jacaerys.

"I can't." You scoff indignantly.

"Then fuck me like how you've imagined. Take out all your hatred onto my body. Defile the king that defeated you. Paint my body with welts and hickies. Make my wife die within herself at the sight of her own husband thoroughly taken by the likes of you."

Well, who are you to defy your own king?

ᝰ translation(s) ᝰ.ᐟ

1. Rijes nykeāōt. Gōntan ao miss issa? = Congratulations. Did you miss me?

2. Aōha dārys = Your king

3. jentys = commander

4. aōha raqnon = your love

5. "Sentys, jentys, issa jorrāelagon. Skoriot issi ao? Māzigon arlī naejot issa, kostilus. Nyke beg hen ao." = "Killer, commander, my love. Where are you? Come back to me, please. I beg of you."

6. Ruo = baby

𓆝 𓆟 tag: ( @eexphoria ) 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

[hoony2k]

THE LOOKING GLASS

Synopsis: You've never had the best luck with love or in life, maybe that's why you're being comforted by your boyfriend's brother who happens to look identical to him.

Pairing: sunghoon x reader

Genre: a mix of fluff and angst, sunghoon is a twin, right person wrong time trope,

Warnings: mentions of being cheated on (reader)

Word Count: 1k

Note: hii another sunghoon post! I enjoyed writing this so much..why'd i eat with the title need to pat myself on the back

library

It's strange seeing your lover but not truly seeing them. Next to you under the dim porch light , sits Sunghoon with a cold glass of water.

The glass is frosty with condensation, droplets trickle down the boy's fingertips and your throat is flooded with an onset of emotions. His wrist must hurt from being in a rigid position for so long but there is no courage inside you that could take the glass from him.

It should be Sungjin next to you, but it's not- it's his identical twin brother. Park Sunghoon. The shadow. The ghost. The one no one talks about in family dinners, and often forget to message Happy Birthday!

Sunghoon lingers a comfortable distance, near enough for you to feel his warm yet far enough for you two appear as friends. He's always been respectful towards you, never dared to bring you discomfort, subtly looked out for you when he knew his brother was ignorant to your moods. Though, his kind actions never missed your radar.

Common sense urges you to thank him for the water, take the glass from him and down it in one go to prevent another pitiful crying session. But, your eyes are already misty. Sunghoon seem to doesn't mind the wait. You sniffle.

For eons the silence between your bodies stretches on. The house is vibrant with life and colour, muffled cheers and laughter resonate periodically. The wooden floor you took salvation in vibrates with bass.

Inside everyone in the Park family is celebrating Sungjin's new job across the country and you're bleeding out on the porch. Not alone in misery though, as it seems.

You almost don't recognise yourself when you speak, voice scratchy.

"I wish I never found out".

"Don't say that", Sunghoon whispers harshly. It almost floats away in the breeze but you catch it. You always caught his low murmurs and comments whispered under his breath.

Head heavy with shame you bow to nothing in particular. The deities must be laughing at you. How stupid were you really?

There's a shuffle as Sunghoon comes closer, his dry hand rests on your knee, warm, anchoring. the flame in your heart flickers dangerously.

From your peripheral, you eye him up and down.

His features look exactly like Sungjin's. Soft sloped nose sealed with a beauty mark near the ends, strong prominent eye brows and pouty plush lips. Though Sungjin has shorter hair that doesn't curl behind his ears, bleached so many times in his youth the ends are dry. Sunghoon doesn't have a mole on his left ear, a slight crooked canine or a rumble in his voice.

But Sungjin doesn't look at you like this. Hasn't looked at you like this- in years.

Brown eyed Sunghoon looks at you as if you're the most wonderful person he's ever seen. What swims in his pupils is fondness and a hint of worry, of protectiveness.

Sungjin looked at you as if he wished you were someone else. Almost as if he was trying his hardest to envision the doe eyed girl-who lived across the country-you caught him with.

And maybe you're a hypocrite for crying over him and whining about how he wronged you. Because your mind reels you back to occasions where you met his family, in those small moments where you disappeared in the background as Sungjin took the stage, or when Sungjin wasn't breathing down your neck for wearing a sleeveless dress, you caught yourself staring at Sunghoon.

Alone and silently wandering near the kids table. In those moments, it was only you and Sunghoon, trapped in a second together. A sweet secret moment where you truly saw him. Even if the adults didn't. Though, those moments lasted short, filled with Sunghoon rapidly asking you questions and your responding as quick, throwing in a joke or two, aware that something in the interaction would eventually become a secret inside joke. A fond jest he'd refer to during the next reunion, perhaps when he'd find you in the kitchen or when he'd raise his eyebrows at you from across the room. The pair of you trapped in time as all around you blurred past.

The feeling was mutual, it was pure, it was fondness, it was nothing serious.

"I wish I fell for you instead", your body moves on autopilot and you can't believe what you had just said. Shocked at the self discovery, a battle begins within you. Your face is warm with shame and guilt for roping him in your emotions, but you're relieved at the birth of the sentence. It was like finally confronting your reflection. Your heart felt lighter but your face heat up with shame.

Saying it out loud unsheathed the hidden truth, forced you to come in terms with the bitter reality. Sungjin stopped loving you when he was accepted as an intern in another city, maybe along the quiet days and lonely nights, you forgot how to love. Confused love for a routine, to be the polite, pretty partner wrapped around his arm.

Sunghoon sucks in a deep breath. His blown out pupils hide under his lids, lips pulled in a taunt line. Then he goes limp.

He slouches over his long legs clad in a black trouser, elbows resting on his knees.

Sunghoon's head hangs low, dark hair covering his face yet through the gaps of locks you see his eyes and his long yearning desires. His fingers, red from the cold sensation are numb, intentionally tipping the glass until water splatters on the chipped off wooden stairs. He lets the angle of his hand pour water until the amount doesn't reach the tip. Until it stops and the liquid can only slosh in the container.

Half full, half empty.

You glance at the small darkening spot, the wood dutifully soaking it all in. Then, stare at Sunghoon. Lip caught between his teeth, his eyes stare blankly at the ground but you drown in the abyss of despair and temptation inside them.

"I wish you fell for me too".

thank you for reading! Please do not edit/translate/copy.

[just-aake]

Chasing Shadows

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A sudden mission on New Year’s Eve brings Natasha face to face with someone from her past.

Warnings: light fluff, light angst

Words: 1410

11:55 P.M.

Surrounded by the lively atmosphere of Times Square, Natasha glances at her watch to check the time before looking around at the excited crowds of people, all waiting for the annual New Year’s Eve Ball Drop to start.

Laughter and cheers fill the air as she withdraws to a more secluded spot, raising her hand to her earpiece to speak through the comms.

“I’m at the location.”

SHIELD had intercepted a suspicious encrypted message a few moments ago, indicating that something was set to happen in the area tonight. Being the only one available nearby in such a short time, Natasha took on the assignment.

After a brief static pause, Maria's voice comes through the comms.

“It’s a shame that this had to interrupt your holiday evening.”

Taking a moment to scan her surroundings, Natasha replies nonchalantly, “I could say the same for you. Besides, it’s fine. It’s not like I had any plans.”

A curious hum comes in response before Maria asks, “No special someone to begin the new year with?”

At her words, the face of someone from years ago unexpectedly crosses Natasha’s mind, accompanied by flickers of memories recounting moments filled with late-night escapades and adrenaline-filled touches.

One particular memory stands out–of a night similar to tonight, atop a rooftop, shielded from prying eyes. 

Two people shared a rare moment of vulnerability, and against her better judgment, she wished life had played out differently for them—an unrealistic hope.

11:56 P.M.

“No,” Natasha replies to Maria’s question as she pushes away those thoughts and refocuses her attention back on the crowd. 

Amidst all the joyous people, Natasha finally spots the individual they were seeking—a slippery criminal with a history of working for a notorious crime family that once controlled these streets.

The members of that family were taken down and arrested by an undercover SHIELD operation years ago, leading many of their associates to either scatter or continue their own shady activities in the city.

This particular individual belongs to the latter group and has proven to be very elusive, successfully evading capture from SHIELD multiple times.

“I’ve got eyes on the suspect.”

As she utters these words, the man locks eyes directly with her, as though she is the intended target instead.

Discreetly, he reaches into his coat, revealing a mysterious device with an ominous, glowing red button at its center. He briefly flashes it at her before tucking it away and swiftly turning around to disappear into the crowds.

11:57 P.M.

Immediately, Natasha gives chase, her eyes fixed on the suspect darting through the masses of people. With adept skill, she effortlessly maneuvers through the crowds, rapidly closing the distance.

As the suspect pushes through the final layers of people, Natasha spots another figure emerging from the shadows toward him.

In a swift and seamless exchange, the mysterious device changes hands from the original suspect to the newcomer.

Natasha’s eyes narrow suspiciously at the action when suddenly, the two figures split off in opposite directions, causing her to realize what that means.

Either she continues chasing the elusive criminal they've sought for so long, or she goes after the person now in possession of the unknown device, which may pose a potential threat to everyone in the area. 

Without missing a beat, Natasha alters her course to pursue the newcomer. Surging forward, she vaults over one of the crowd barriers, tackling the figure mid-stride, and sending them both crashing to the ground.

The impact elicits gasps of shock from the few people nearby as Natasha swiftly recovers, pinning the suspect to the pavement.

The newcomer wears a mask over their eyes, concealing their identity from anybody who looks at them.

Not from her though.

Natasha is taken aback as her lips part in surprise. She easily recognizes those particular sets of eyes, especially when accompanied by the knowing smirk forming on their face in response to her reaction.

11:58 P.M.

Natasha is still rattled by the revelation of the figure before her, allowing them to seize the opportunity to escape from their pinned position, forcefully knocking the Black Widow aside before swiftly resuming their sprint.

Partially recovering from the shock, Natasha's instincts kick in, and she rushes to pursue, her mind still grappling with disbelief.

It can't be. That thought repeats in Natasha’s mind as she follows the figure into a condemned building site.

She recognizes the structure immediately, both from that particular memory of the past as well as its status as an old building that fell victim to one of the Avengers' numerous battles.

Natasha enters the ruined building through the recently shut side door, finding herself in the emergency stairway that miraculously remains intact.

Glancing up, she spots the suspect running up the stairs, quickly ascending to the higher levels of the building.

11:59 P.M.

The anticipated event unfolds outside as the ball at the top of the Times building starts its descent, marking the last minute of the year.

Amidst the beginning of the countdown chorus from the crowds outside, Natasha also starts running up the stairs.

The echoing footsteps of the other person above her drive her to accelerate to catch up, sprinting up the stairs two at a time.

11:59:30 P.M.

Natasha’s heart beats painfully in her chest, and she’s not sure if it’s from adrenaline or from the overwhelming sight of seeing you again—maybe it’s both.

After all, you’ve always had that effect on her.

“Three!” - 11:59:57 P.M.

Bursting through the roof door, Natasha slides to a sudden stop at the edge of the dilapidated floor. Dust rises at her movement, and small rocks roll and tumble over the edge, falling into the gaping hole.

“Two!” - 11:59:58 P.M.

On the opposite side of the large chasm, balancing precariously on the rooftop edge, the suspect stands, hands clasped behind their back, awaiting Natasha's arrival.

“One!” - 11:59:59 P.M.

With her attention now fixed on them, the figure removes the mask covering their eyes with a dramatic flourish, letting it drift off in the wind and fall gracefully towards the cheering crowd below.

12:00 A.M.

The night sky explodes in colorful lights, illuminating your silhouette.

Natasha stands frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you again, with your Cheshire smirk firmly in place as the remnants of the fireworks rain behind you.

It's a perfect reminder of who you are—beautiful yet dangerous.

In one of your hands, you teasingly wave the device with its ominous red glow at Natasha, while your other hand raises to your lips, playfully sending a mock kiss her way.

With a mischievous wink, you suddenly toss the device toward her, the gentle force of your action causing it to barely reach over to her side.

Reacting quickly, she stretches her arm to catch it before it can fall down the hole, pulling herself safely back from the edge once it is in her hand.

Regaining her balance, Natasha's gaze shoots back to you, or where you should've been, but now there's only dust kicked up by the cold wind. Furrowing her brows, she scans her surroundings again but finds no traces of you anywhere.

You've slipped away.

Returning her attention to the device in her hand, Natasha turns it around, removing the back covering.

Now knowing who she is dealing with, she is not surprised when she finds no activation triggers or wiring—just a battery-powered red LED bulb and a piece of paper folded inside.

Natasha raises her hand to her earpiece, activating the comms. 

"Hill, the device is a fake. It was all just a wild goose chase."

"And the suspects?"

"Escaped," Natasha replies regretfully, looking back at the empty rooftop space.

"From you? That’s impressive."

Again, Natasha isn't surprised; time in prison clearly hasn't dulled your skills. Though, now, she needs to consider the implications of your unexpected and sudden return to the city.

"Can you check something for me?" Natasha asks into the earpiece.

"Sure, what is it?"

"The confinement statuses of all the members of the L/n family."

Maria lowly whistles before commenting, "Haven’t heard that name in a while. Isn’t that the crime family that you took down during your first solo undercover mission?"

12:01 A.M.

Natasha remains silent at that, her eyes fixated on the piece of paper in her hand. The fireworks illuminate your familiar handwriting periodically against the darkness of the night.

Happy New Year, Natasha  Let’s play again soon 🤍

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading, and an additional special thanks for all who have read any of my other writings this year. I really appreciated all the likes, reblogs, and comments that you have given me (many of you are so sweet and kind for reading most or almost all of the things I wrote). Thank you again, and I hope you all have a happy New Years!

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 146 }

sands of time.

academy arc

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

{ the spell on me hasn’t been lifted | i want to use the sands of time | i want to be by your side }

you never liked the freshman student who entered the same high school as you.

the one who made all the boys become green with envy over-

the one who made all the girls practically fall to their knees for him-

sung jinwoo.

despite how all the girls went crazy over his dashing good looks and charming smile, you sadly never saw his appeal. for you personally, he looked just like any other guy. nothing about him stood out to you-

especially not his perfectly styled ebony locks of hair,

or the grey eyes that you swore sometimes glowed purple in some instances,

or the full lips that remained in a permanent smile whenever he met your gaze-

yeah, there was absolutely nothing appealing about him!

you suppose you should count yourself lucky on how you didn’t share the same class with him, being in a different homeroom as you simply saw him in passing within the hallways and heard stories about him from the gossiping girls who wished to date him.

as you trail your eyes away from your open textbook, the sounds of a certain commotion was heard as one of your classmates runs back into class. her friends were comforting her as angry tears fell down her face.

“what gives?! just what is up with that sung jinwoo guy! doesn’t he realize that i’m practically the most beautiful girl in school here!”

ah, ji-yeon was throwing another tantrum again, running her hands across her luscious, brown locks of hair with her blue eyes fuming after what you assumed was sung jinwoo’s rejection.

filled with amusement from witnessing the spectacle, you trail your eyes over to ji-yeon and her lackeys, ara and cho. “he kept telling me that he couldn’t possibly give me a chance; that he was already in love with someone else, yet refused to relinquish her identity to me!”

“ah, he probably didn’t want you to bully her, ji-yeon.”

“and come on, you shouldn’t feel so upset! you can do so much better than him!”

“but i don’t want anyone else…! i want him!”

you had to bite back your laughter the moment ji-yeon stomps her feet against the ground, “and that’s what pisses me off the most! who even is she, managing to steal jinwoo away from me like that?!”

you could no longer hold back your laughter, making a snort escape from your parted lips in response to ji-yeon’s anger. she hears you and turns to face you, tossing back her hair in response. “what’s this?”

she lets out a hiss of your name, “how dare a wallflower like you eavesdrop on my conversation.” the girl gains up on you with her two friends in tow.

“i didn’t eavesdrop. you were the one who kept airing out your business in class.”

she clicks her tongue in response to your words, “it’s lunch time, are you really that much of a loser, eating all alone in class like this?”

“no, i simply didn’t want to eat in the cafeteria and be bothered by idiots like you. but i guess even with my best efforts, i couldn’t escape you at all.”

your gaze was unflinching even as ji-yeon raised up her perfectly manicured nails to strike you, ready to take the hit when the sight of someone tall stops ji-yeon’s hand from making contact with your cheek.

your eyes go wide, seeing sung jinwoo himself hold ji-yeon’s hand in a vice grip. his eyes were glaring down at her, making you see that same familiar glow.

his voice was filled with authority when he lightly shoves ji-yeon away from you. “that’s enough.”

“sung, what are you doing here?” ji-yeon’s voice comes out as strained as ara and cho took a stance behind her, ready to support her even when they felt intimidated by jinwoo’s glare.

“i heard you throwing a tantrum and decided to intervene before you did something stupid.”

ji-yeon’s face became a vibrant shade of red, its scarlet hue depicting her embarrassment and shame at being scolded by the man she had a crush on. with a huff and a final flip of her hair, she walks away from him, hearing her high heeled shoes tap against the linoleum flooring of the school.

“hmph, i suppose you’re right, sung. that bitch isn’t worth getting expelled for.”

ara and cho follow from close behind her, yet you were the one that stopped jinwoo from following after them.

“it’s okay, just hearing her complaints was more than enough for me.” even if you didn’t like him (and no! you were not in denial!) you didn’t want him to do anything that would further jeopardize his education.

he was already under suspicion due to his shady past, disappearing for two years before returning unexpectedly-

despite how odd he was, you truly didn’t hate him enough to want to see him fail.

in the end, he relaxes his stance and looks down at you, eyes still glowing with that strange, purple hue. you swallow thickly, but did not look away from him, maintaining eye contact with jinwoo as you waited for his next words.

instead, he ends up shocking you when he places a hand against your cheek, caressing it softly while asking you, “are you alright?”

you give him a nod in response, all while trying to hide the heat from your cheeks. “yes, i’m fine.”

you shiver when he lets out a rich chuckle in response. “that’s good.”

looking away from him in hopes of calming down your rapidly beating heart, you ask him, “why did you come to my rescue?”

he remains silent for a few moments before gently giving your head a few pats.

“because i would hate to see a bruise blossoming on that pretty face of yours.”

his admission was enough to make you do a double take, looking up at him with wide eyes while catching his smile.

“do you have any club activities later today?”

your mouth was still dry, and because of this fact, you were afraid to speak. this was what prompted you to shake your head in response to his question, earning yet another smile from him.

“good. how about you keep me company and watch me do track on the bleachers?”

his question leaves you gaping in response, and jinwoo didn’t even bother waiting for your answer when the 5-minute bell rang, alerting you to the end of lunch as your classmates slowly filled the classroom once more. you wanted to call out to jinwoo and tell him how you had much better things to do than watch him running around in circles-

but his smile when he looks back at you while giving you a wave manages to make your heart flutter in response.

dammit to hell-

this boy had you wrapped around his fingers after all.

{ … }

the sun was slowly setting as you found yourself on the bleachers, watching jinwoo and his track team practice their endurance and speed for the next competition.

as you sipped at the bottle of water jinwoo had given you, you couldn’t deny that he was a beautiful runner.

he was graceful, while maintaining a good speed. he never once appeared to be out of breath, even when he was working up a sweat.

during his run, you notice the way the upperclassmen kept gesturing at you while talking to jinwoo. he gives the senior a smirk before telling him a few words, making them all smile at you in response.

you had a sneaking suspicion that they were talking about you, and the thought alone was enough to make you bristle in response. you were on edge when the track team finally finished their practice, with their coach commending them on their good work as he allowed them all to return home.

jinwoo makes his way back to you while extending his hand out to you. “water, please.”

you look down at your half empty bottle of water. “what- but… i already drank from this?”

“so?” jinwoo gives you a smirk before taking the bottle of water from your hand, uncapping it as he worked on drinking the rest of it. you were captivated by the movements of his lips, emptying the bottle with greedy gulps as you watch the droplets of water slide down his chin and onto his throat…

you immediately snap out of your reveries when jinwoo meets your gaze. as if sensing your thoughts, he tosses the empty water bottle into the bin with his smirk growing wider in response, “what are you looking at?”

“n-nothing!”

you ignore the heat felt against your cheeks and step out of the bleachers, feeling jinwoo place a steady hand against your waist and shoulder as he helped you back on the ground. he flashes you a wide grin before picking up his duffel bag.

“come on, i’ll take you home.”

he interlocks his fingertips together with yours, pulling you closer to him as he walked out of the school with you. by now, your heart was pounding within your chest, feeling deeply affected by his close proximity.

“jinwoo.”

you say his first name out loud, making jinwoo stiffen in response. feeling proud at being able to make him lose his cool, you proceed to ask him.

“what did you tell our seniors during practice? they kept looking at me, laughing while giving me winks each time they ran past me.”

you look up at jinwoo, seeing him scratch the tip of his nose as a light blush was settled against his cheeks. he remains silent for a few extra beats, as if carefully considering his words before confessing to you,

“i told them that you were my girlfriend.”

your brain seemed to short circuit in response to his answer, unable to fully comprehend what was going on as you sorted through your emotions.

you felt…

annoyed,

confused,

but perhaps above all else-

you felt happy.

“y-you, are you joking, sung jinwoo?”

your pout was evident when jinwoo looks back down at you, eyes glowing a faint purple once more before he leans down closer to your height.

“if you don’t believe me, how about i show you just how serious i am…?”

somehow understanding what he meant, you close your eyes in response, allowing jinwoo’s lips to perfectly slot against yours in a sweet kiss-

but little did you know, you were once jinwoo’s lover in another timeline; a timeline that he now spent years correcting as he made an oath to himself to bring you back to him, no matter what the cost may be.

a.n. - my jinwoo obsession will never stop, lmao, and i’m afraid i’m going to keep flooding everyone’s feed with stories of him 😭😭😭😭

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[laurajb]

“One, Two, Three!”

"Honey, your sister and I have decided to give you away to a young rich man who has a specific preference in girls," mom said with a smile. "We've hypnotized you and when I count to three, you'll fall madly in love with your soon-to-be husband and be eager to be his loving and dutiful wife, sure to seduce him tonight and make him very happy!"

"One..."

"Please mom, I'll do better in college! Just give me another chance!" I pleaded desperately.

"Two..."

"You can't get away with this, mom! I won't be your-" My words cut off mid-sentence as a strange sensation washed over me. I felt my mind start to fog up and my thoughts scatter.

"Three!" mom declared triumphantly.

As the magic of the hypnosis took hold, I felt my mind and body transform. My boyish features softened and shifted into delicate feminine curves. Suddenly, I was a stunning young woman, from the lacy wedding lingerie hugging my generous breasts to the flowing white gown and high heels I now wore.

I gazed at my reflection, dumbstruck. Long, dark hair tumbled past my shoulders and framed my beautiful new face. Gone was any trace of masculinity. I was the epitome of feminine grace and allure.

Mom clasped her hands. "Oh my, don't you look exquisite, darling daughter! Your new husband is going to be so pleased with his blushing bride, I just know it. Now be a good girl and seduce him tonight, okay? Mommy wants you to make him very, very happy."

I nodded, my mind hazy with hypnotic suggestions. All I could think about was my handsome groom and how much I ached to please him in every way imaginable. My new body burned with shameful arousal.

The ceremony passed in a dreamlike blur. Before I knew it, I was whisked away on the most passionate honeymoon of my life, an insatiable wife eager to fulfill my husband's every fantasy.

And so I surrendered to this new feminine identity, my mind and body bound to please my master for the rest of my days. This was my life now, and I couldn't imagine anything else. My old self was gone forever.

I was meant to be a sexy, subservient housewife, born to breed. And I couldn't wait to start our family together.

[gosmigenergy]

KINKTOBER 2024 / Day Six

PROSTITUTION / SEX WORK / MIRROR SEX (@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction)

Starring: Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Summary: The boys never take you like I want you, that’s what Jake said and now he’s going to make sure this memory is one you’ll both remember.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No use of Y/N, language, pet name, dom!Jake Lockley, hair pulling, public sex, rough sex, P in V, unprotected sex (protection in real life, please, thank you), praise (if you squint), cream pie

Word Count: 2.5k

You don’t know when the change happened.

In the morning, you were talking to an incredibly sleepy Steven who was reminiscing about the dream he’d had last night that featured you in a starring, also heroic, role. It took the pair of you a while to get yourselves out of bed and you had a leisurely start, making it from the bed to the sofa of his attic apartment.

He insisted he needed to go in the shower before Marc exited and returned to you.

Apparently, he had made plans for the evening, booked a fancy restaurant that he knew you’d love. He watched you as you got ready, teasing you with the gentlest of touches and kisses with the softest lips. Your boys would talk to each other, mostly Marc proclaiming that Steven would have his turn later.

You giggled when their argument turned heated and Marc saw it fit to cover the mirror you stood in front of.

He rolled his eyes, only hearing Steven still running his mouth.

Turning on your heels, you place a palm on Marc’s chest, smiling sweetly.

“Tell him, I’ll make it up to him.”

“I’m gonna hold her to that!”

Marc sighs, “Don’t worry, he knows.”

The restaurant he took you to was nestled on one of the city’s hidden alleyways, the underground location made to cosy and intimate but the place was vast. You followed the waiter to plush booth dressed in rich red velvet, a tiny lamp in the centre of the table being your main source of light.

Dinner couldn’t have gone any better.

You excused yourself once you’d ordered dessert.

The journey to the toilet was a tricky one, you were pointed to doorway and told which directions to turn. It was almost a labyrinth, each wall appearing the same until you came to a corridor filled with doors.

You sighed with relief when you sat on the porcelain throne of the closest available stall.

When you were washing your hands, your peace was interrupted by someone knocking heavily on the door. You were surprised that someone was looking for a free stall, there seemed to be plenty if they’d only continue walking.

“Just a second, I’m just washing my hands,” you called.

As you reached for the paper towels, there came another series of knocks. You swear no one has the fucking patience in London. Stretching to unlock the door, you prepare a scowl on your face as you drop the handle.

The next few seconds is a blur.

Marc shoves the door open swiftly, crowding your frame with his as he forces you back until your ass is resting on the sill next to the sink.

“Marc, what the fuck?”

The door slams shut and you hear the lock click, he’s turned away from you.

“I’m not Marc.”

He wasn’t, his accent was different, his voice more gravelly.

“Well, it’s definitely not Steven.”

He chuckles, “You know your boys so well, kitten.”

A shiver shot up your spine as he turned round.

They always had identical features. The same dark curls, same softly tanned skin, same notch in the tip of his nose. You had learnt early on in your relationship to look at the mannerisms but these were like none you’d seen before.

He stepped towards you, looming over you as you try to somehow move away from him in this confined space. He stands tall, shoulder back with his chest puffed out yet his head hangs low, heavy lids hiding the spark in his eyes as if he’s lacking a soul.

“How well do they know you?”

“Barely.”

There had been instances in the past where both Marc and Steven said they couldn’t remember shit. You had told them about strolling into the apartment late at night, waking up to find them asleep in the armchair or when you’d jumped awake at the sudden sensation at your ankle, only to find them perched at the end of the bed.

But still, nothing.

“And what about me?”

His stern expression contorts into a crooked, wicked smile.

“Oh, I know how they feel about you. How Steven gets butterflies when you smile at him, how Marc’s heart skips a beat when you hold his hand, how hard they both get when they picture you in that dress…”

Your hands squeeze onto the lip of the shelf as his eyes flit over your body.

“But they never quite fuck you the way I’d like.”

You swallow nervously as he brings his body centimetres from yours, your doe eyes are reflected in his black irises.

His fingertips skim your hip, trailing up your waist, making your body quiver.

Part of you knows you should be scared, that maybe you should be screaming the place down to get someone to save you. Against him? They probably wouldn’t survive anyway. However your body didn’t react through fear, you were actually finding this intimidating figure in front of you a turn on.

His presence so much darker than Steven’s, even Marc’s.

His other hand comes to your face, featherlight on your chin before he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. You release the breath you didn’t realise you held, the exhale shaky as he brings his lips to yours.

Your body goes rigid when he kisses you.

“I won’t hurt you, kitten,” he says after he removes his lips, “I promise.”

His calmness finally managed to take over the fever that ran through his veins, he smooths a warm palm over your cheek. He watches how your lips part forming the smallest gap between them, it’s like you’re about to say something yet you can’t utter a word.

You feel yourself deepening into his touch, the warmth of his hand.

In the confined space, your senses were heightened, the finest details coming through. His steady pulse, the low monotones of his voice, how the orange glow of the light made his skin look golden however he was shrouded with a darkness that pulled you in.

Your eyelashes flutter shut and your weight shifts forward.

Your lips meet again and you press swiftly before going back for more. As you push, he pushes harder, nudging his chin to coax you to allow him access. When you open your mouth, his tongue slips through effortlessly, hungrily searching for yours.

He knows what you can do, he’s watched how you submit with the others and now, he wants that too.

His hand lets go of your cheek, cupping the back of your head as he forces you into him more. He hugs you with his other arm around your waist and you sigh, hands dropping from the sink.

Cautiously, your hands reach for his arms like he was going to snap and break them off.

Underneath you know there’s Steven and Marc, you know how they like to be touched and they have more similarities than they’d admit. You trail your palms up and over his shoulders, the friction tugging gently at the shirt he wore. Digging your nails into his back, the purr rumbles through his chest.

Unlike your boys, he doesn’t melt.

His teeth sink into your bottom lip, the smallest twinge as he sinks them further.

“Unfortunately for you, that don’t work on me.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

In quick movements, you find yourself being spun round, the bones of your hips bumping sharply to the edge. You grunt meekly, your face scrunching as his fingers bury into your hair.

His breath flows down the crook of your neck before he brings his lips to the skin.

Opening your eyes, you catch the reflection in the mirror. He watches you behind heavy lids, gauging your reaction as he pulls, changing the angle of your head. The tingle travels through your body, settling low, your pussy twitching as your juices pool in your underwear.

His other hand lifts the hem of your dress, his palm spreading over your one ass cheek.

You try to fight the pleasure running through your veins but you can’t help pushing your weight onto him, unable to catch the desperate mewl from escaping when you feel his stiff length contained within his trousers.

He chuckles, “Can’t help yourself, can you?”

You shake your head yet it barely moves under his hold.

His hand moves across and you anticipate a slap that never comes, maybe that’s only something Marc likes. You wriggle to chase the pleasure you seek though he’s choosing to be difficult, predicting every move before you make it.

You whine as his fingers wrap tightly around your underwear and he yanks them, bearing your warm cunt to the cool air of the tiled space.

He leans back, seeing how it still manages to glisten in the dim lighting. He was planning on playing with you, teasing you until you reached the edge however like this, he could just push through your slick walls without any friction.

You watch his hand come behind you, hear the metallic jostle as he gets his belt undone, the sound of his zipper going down.

His grip on your hair loosens, his fingers falling down your spine and your back arches to his touch. The valley of your ass meets his hardened cock and as you follow the outline, you both groan.

He slams his hips into you, flinging you forward just enough for him to whip himself from his briefs.

When you return to him, he keeps you steady and slaps your ass a few times with his tip, precum decorating your skin. You glance over your shoulder, teeth grazing your lip as you wait for him to meet your eye.

He does.

“Eyes in front.”

“Yes, sir,” you say softly, doing as you’re told.

He shoves you back heavily and you gasp as his cock encroaches your entrance, the smirk rising on his face. It’s the way he looks at you that tells you, you’re in danger and you strengthen your grip on the lip of the sink.

There’s no warning as he fills you to the hilt.

He takes the air from your lungs, your mouth falling open without a sound. Your legs quiver as he cradles under your stomach, as if he knows how deep he buried himself into you. He gives you another second before he slowly drags his way out.

“Oh fuuuck.”

Your voice raises and a hand snaps around your mouth, he doesn’t want anyone to hear you quite yet.

He shushes you as he thrusts into you again, your squeal muffled by his broad palm, his other hand gently easing into your back to position you in a perfect curve. Holding you steady, he frees your mouth, you barely catch your breath before he starts to plough into you full force.

All you can do is take it and let him consume all you.

His eyes drill into your reflection bringing the heat to your skin, the sweat arriving onto your chest. The clamminess in your hands makes you lose your grasp on the sink, your heels slipping on tiles with every brutal impact.

His fingertips dig into the flesh of your hip to keep you upright.

This is what he’s always wanted.

The other two always fucked you wrong. Steven was always soft and gentle, some may even say sensual whilst Marc, though he had more dominating tendencies, never went hard enough. And there he was, hidden away somewhere the pair of them couldn’t find, waiting to pounce at any given moment.

Except because he’d held back for so long, he chose to go hard and fast before he exploded.

“Please, I can’t,” you choke, the words struggling to come through.

He had been pummelling the same spot over and over and you weren’t quite sure whether you should be seeing white spots in your vision. You couldn’t bare to keep looking, squeezing your eyes shut as you drop your head.

His hips grind to a halt, his cock staying snug in your walls.

Unleashing your hips, his hands wrap around your neck before using his strength to lift your head up. Your throat bobs under his digits and he gives you a minute to open your eyes, the mirrored image of them glossy.

You groan as he nudges you with his tip, bringing himself forward so he could plant a kiss on your shoulder.

“You’re taking me so well, kitten.”

He rolled his hips, steadily picking up the pace again.

With each hit came a sweet grunt, your body rippling from the collision, the straps on your dress slipping to reveal your matching bra. He couldn’t take his eyes off your reflection, he had to make sure this was ingrained in his memory, for all the future times he had to sit and watch.

The room was getting smaller, the heat between you rising though he hadn’t broken a sweat.

Every part of you started to burn, the tingle travelling up your spine. You raise your hands, helplessly clawing at his until suddenly you became limp, your muscles vibrating uncontrollably.

He held strong, your toes the only remaining part of you on the floor.

“Not much longer,” he said through gritted teeth.

You couldn’t hear him as your head went fuzzy, vision blurring as you went crosseyed yet he had never seen such a beautiful sight.

His hips started to stutter as your walls clung onto the feeling of him, the suction pulling him back before his balls receded. He ensured his last thrust was strong, one that rooted within your pussy, filling you with his load.

He growled, roaring as he pulled himself out of you swiftly, droplets of cum falling down your legs and to the floor.

You gasped like you came back to life, falling back to earth from your sexual ecstasy. As his hands loosen, you drop to towards the sink and save yourself on your elbows. Your chest heaves as you try to get oxygen into your lungs, legs trembling as you struggle to stand.

The energy settled between you.

His hand coming to your back made you flinch, the expectation different to the reality. He stroked softly, soothing you, before pulling up your strap.

“We should go,” his voice was still gruff.

You managed to lift your head to see what a mess you were. He was polite enough to pass you some tissue to sort out your appearance but you had questions.

“What about dessert?”

He scoffs, “I cancelled it.”

He sees how you pout in the mirror, eyes narrowing.

“Did you even pay for dinner?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, to what you were both doing.

You spread your palms over your dress, bend at the hip to fix your shoes. Snatching your handbag, you rummage for your lipstick before leaning into your reflection.

He continues to watch you, you hadn’t even asked for your underwear, not that he was complaining. His brow arched when you turned round, the lid of your lipstick clicking before you matched his stance.

“What?”

“I’m waiting for you to tell me your name,” you cock your head to the side.

He tuts.

“You just railed me in a public toilet and filled me with your cum and you expect me to walk out of here with you.”

His chest expands as you step closer.

“It’s Jake.”

“Nice to meet you, Jake, you owe me dessert.”

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

There are some heavy anti parallels between Daenerys Targaryen and Joffrey Baratheon/Cersei Lannister as monarchs in the way they treat Ser Barristan Selmy.

Joffrey dismisses Barristan Selmy from the Kingsguard because he needed someone to blame for his father's (Robert's) death. Of course, Joffrey is in reality his mother's puppet King, who considers dismissing Ser Barristan Selmy a great decision, as it would clear the way for Jaime to become the commander of the Kingsguard and give his a seat on the Small Council ( and Lannisters are all for nepotism in the way they run things). Plus, with Ser Barristan Selmy gone, Joffrey could make his personal guard Sandor, a member of the Kingsguard, something that Cersei also considered a winning situation.

Cersei sighed. "Joff wanted someone to blame for Robert's death. Varys suggested Ser Barristan. Why not? It gave Jaime command of the Kingsguard and a seat on the small council, and allowed Joff to throw a bone to his dog. He is very fond of Sandor Clegane. We were prepared to offer Selmy some land and a towerhouse, more than the useless old fool deserved."

Tyrion I, ACOK

The above passage not only reveals that Joffrey is his mother's puppet King but also that Cersei isn't the most clever person when it comes to ruling. Not only she fell for Varys' plan but she is also a very bad judge of other people. She considers Barristan Selmy an "useless old fool" when he's a great fighter and an asset due to his experience and strength for any ruler to have by their side. She also considers a great exchange to have Sandor in Barristan Selmy's place and we saw how that worked for the Lannisters at the end of ACOK.

Another passage on this specific incident that shows Cersei's myopic way of thinking:

"Ser Barristan was the Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard," Tyrion reminded her pointedly. "He and Jaime are the only survivors of Aerys Targaryen's seven. The smallfolk talk of him in the same way they talk of Serwyn of the Mirror Shield and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. What do you imagine they'll think when they see Barristan the Bold riding beside Robb Stark or Stannis Baratheon?"

Cersei glanced away. "I had not considered that.

Tyrion I, ACOK

Let's compare it with Daenerys, who finds out that Ser Barristan Selmy was lying to her about his identity. What is more, she realises that the man she trusted as her advisor was serving Robert Baratheon for years. Ser Jorah, in a move that closely reflects Varys' manipulation of Cersei/Joffrey, offers to kill Barristan Selmy for Daenerys. But Dany, needs to first listen Barristan's story before she decides what she'll do with him:

"Why are you here?" Dany demanded of him. "If Robert sent you to kill me, why did you save my life?" He served the Usurper. He betrayed Rhaegar's memory, and abandoned Viserys to live and die in exile. Yet if he wanted me dead, he need only have stood aside . . . "I want the whole truth now, on your honor as a knight. Are you the Usurper's man, or mine?"

"Yours, if you will have me." Ser Barristan had tears in his eyes. "I took Robert's pardon, aye. I served him in Kingsguard and council. Served with the Kingslayer and others near as bad, who soiled the white cloak I wore. Nothing will excuse that. I might be serving in King's Landing still if the vile boy upon the Iron Throne had not cast me aside, it shames me to admit. But when he took the cloak that the White Bull had draped about my shoulders, and sent men to kill me that selfsame day, it was as though he'd ripped a caul off my eyes. That was when I knew I must find my true king, and die in his service—"

"I can grant that wish," Ser Jorah said darkly.

"Quiet," said Dany. "I'll hear him out."

Daenerys V, ASOS

Daenerys, unlike Cersei, won't allow any advisor of hers to cloud her judgement. She knew beforehand that Ser Jorah was antagonistic towards Ser Barristan so even if she doesn't fully know the reason yet ( the revelation that Jorah was a traitor happens right after that passage) she won't allow him to interfere while she gets Barristan's confession.

Of course, after she finds out that not only one but two close advisors of hers have betrayed her she has a strong reaction. It's only natural for her to do so. And yet, despite that antis always accuse her of being merciless, she shows mercy while dealing with them. Another ruler would execute them both for treason and no one would bat an eye. In fact, everyone would say that their action was justified while treating with two traitors. But Dany admits on her inner monologue that she can't do that:

Go, go away forever, both of you, the next time I see your faces I'll have your traitors' heads off. She could not say the words, though. They betrayed me. But they saved me. But they lied. "You go . . ." My bear, my fierce strong bear, what will I do without him? And the old man, my brother's friend. "You go . . . go . . ." Where?

And then she knew.

Daenerys V, ASOS

When they both return successful from their mission to help the capturing of the city of Mereen, it's time for her to decide what she'll do with each of them.

Even while she has every right to be angry with them - and she is- she is still fair towards them and admits twice that they helped her to win Mereen.

Before she makes her decision, she opts to listen to Barristan's story once again, to understand better the reasons why he acted the way he did. It's a good move for a leader because someone who leads needs to know all the facts in order to make a fair judgement on someone. And that's what Dany does.

Barristan doesn't sugarcoat his opinion. He tells her that he considered Robert a good man and that's why he followed him instead of Viserys who he thought to be unfit to rule. He even tells Dany that he lied about his identity because he wanted to make sure she was - unlike her father and brother Viserys- fit to rule before he pledged his sword to her.

Once again, another ruler would be offended by the knight's words. He insulted her dead relatives by calling them unworthy to rule,which are true facts but how many rulers or even mere noble do you know besides Dany that would accept hard truths about their families? And then he proceed to tell her that he didn't automatically choose to follow her because she's the rightful ruler - remember both Dany and Barristan live in a world where they believe in ruling by birthright- but first he had to test her abilities to rule. And Dany was okay with that! How many rulers or again mere nobles do you know that would be okay with someone questioning their birthright and telling them that they need to prove their worth before they claim it? I really believe that as a fandom we don't give Dany the recognition she deserves for being more humble than most while dealing with these subjects.

Daenerys decides to allow Ser Barristan Selmy to remain by her side and that shows her political genius - which again is hardly recognised in the asoiaf fandom. She set aside her hurt pride by the knight's words and saw the bigger picture: someone who decided to follow her not simply because of her birthright but because he considers her a component leader is gonna be forever loyal to her. And Barristan Selmy is an asset for a ruler to have by their side, something that Tyrion had pointed out on his own chapter while he was dealing with the knight's dismissal by his nephew/sister.

And Dany made the right decision because we can see how much loyal Ser Barristan is to her on the fifth book of the series. He remains loyal to her even after Dany goes missing towards to the end of the book.

[shadowmaat]

Shatterpoint Shuffle, pt. 2

Here's more of the Padawan Mace & Initiate Kenobi AU. Part 1 can be read here. Credit for the original idea once again goes to @bitter-chocolate-stars and @krazykupidspoems.

-

Padawan Mace Windu did not stomp down the corridors; he had far too much control for that. It wasn't that he was mad about his test score, no matter what others might say. His issue was with the fact that Master Radorm refused to accept two of the sources on his paper the Last Battle of Ruusan even though the Master of the Archives herself had found and approved them.

A small, muffled sob broke his concentration. He stopped, head canted as he listened. There were several sniffles, the quality giving the impression of a small, enclosed space.

"I don't care! I don't wanna see him!"

The voice was high-pitched but came out in a hiss, as if the speaker didn't want to be heard.

Expecting to see a pair of younger Padawans, perhaps, Mace stepped around the corner and regarded the empty hallway. There was an access panel of some kind near the floor, looking slightly off-kilter.

"Hello?" He took a step closer. "Does someone need help?"

Silence, broken by the sound of hitched breathing and smothered snuffles. Could two younglings even fit in that vent, or had one of them abandoned the other?

He considered his options, but really, what choice was there? Someone- and they had to be small, judging by the side of the panel- was hurting. Misery, shame, anger, and resentment hung thick in the air.

He'd be late to his next class, but that was fine. He sat, leaning back against the wall next to the panel.

"Perhaps I'll just stop here to meditate," he announced.

He closed his eyes, centering himself before stretching his senses in the Force. It twisted around him, spinning him in circles.

He clapped a hand over his mouth and reached into his pouch for one of the anti-nausea pills he always kept with him.

As it dissolved under his tongue, he took deep breaths, waiting for his stomach to settle. At least now he knew the likely identity of the person hiding in the vents.

He'd crossed paths with the human Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi several times over the past few years. Part of that, he was sure, was due to his Master's machinations, but sometimes, like now, it happened more… organically.

Obi-Wan was still an absolute mess of shatterpoints, but he'd come to terms with the fact that it wasn't the boy's fault, it was simply how he was. As unsettling as he could be to look at directly (and even worse in the Force), he still shone with a clear warmth to Mace's senses. A warmth that had dimmed since their last encounter.

"It's strange that this hall isn't as bright as it should be," he said. "Almost as if there was someone very sad nearby."

The vent huffed.

"If only I had some way of finding who it was, I might be able to help. It is, after all, one of the duties of a Jedi to help those in need."

Another huff.

"I know what you're doing," Obi-Wan said.

The vent cover rattled and Mace helped set it aside and extracted a dusty, disheveled Obi-Wan Kenobi.

His eyes were red and tear tracks cut through the dirt on his face.

"I don't need your help," he continued with a sniff. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his Initiate tunic, smearing more dirt. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your day, Gen- Padawan Windu."

Prickly. Very prickly.

"It's a welcome interruption, if I'm honest," Mace said. "What about you? What brings you to this conveniently broken vent at this time of day?"

"It was already like that!" Obi-Wan snapped. His glare turned to one side and he rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I just needed to get away from people for a while."

He shifted, turning his back on whatever was in the hall that Mace couldn't see.

"I understand," he said. "People can be overwhelming even at the best of times, and when the Force has blessed you with a particular gift it can be even harder."

Obi-Wan gave him a narrow-eyed look. "A gift?"

"Sometimes gifts can feel like a burden," Mace said, rubbing his thumb against the base of his wrist. "Like psychometry. Or shatterpoints. Or whatever ability it is that you are developing."

Obi-Wan scoffed. "Or maybe I'm just crazy, like Bruck 'n them keep saying."

Shock, followed by an all-consuming rage that threatened to swallow him. Mace closed his eyes and breathed deep, acknowledging the anger while recognizing that it wasn't helpful in his current situation. Calmness replaced the rage, but it was the calm of purpose. Banking the fire, as his Master called it.

"No," he said, looking Obi-Wan in the eye. "You are not crazy. The Masters may not have found a reference for your ability yet, but it's clear the Force has gifted you with an important tool. You may not have learned how to use it yet, but-"

"Gossip seems like a stupid tool," Obi-Wan said, glaring at a point past Mace's shoulder.

"Gossip?" He resisted the urge to glance back. "Gossip can provide a lot of unexpected information. Spies in particular covet it."

"Whatever." Obi-Wan shrugged and began trying to straighten his hair and clothes. "Not like I'll ever get to use it anyway. Everyone says I'm too angry to be a real Jedi."

Mace's eyebrows shot up. "Everyone?"

Obi-Wan stood, shaking out the wrinkles in his tunic. "Master Tlah, my teachers, the training Masters, Bruck."

Mace joined him in standing, banking another wave of anger.

"If anger disqualified you from becoming a Jedi, I wouldn't be here right now," he said.

"What?" Obi-Wan stared at him, wide-eyed. "You? But you're perfect!"

It startled a laugh out of him.

"Please be sure to tell my Master that. She'll be very surprised." Waving off Obi-Wan's attempted defense of him, he continued. "No, but I'm serious. There's nothing wrong with having negative emotions, it's even healthy to experience them."

He checked over the Initiate, smoothing down a tuft of hair and unkinking the hood of his robe. The shatterpoints seem to have stilled. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"What's important is how you handle those emotions. Has anyone shown you how to channel your anger into something more productive?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, and Mace began to mentally compose a letter to the Master of the Crèches for their lack of oversight into the management and teaching of the Clans.

"Well, then. How would you feel about some private lessons from a lowly Padawan Learner about how to use your anger for good rather than letting it control you?"

"What, really?"

"Really."

The Force didn't express emotions, but if it did, he was sure it would be laughing at him. Cyslin would definitely laugh when he told her about it later. She could tease him as much as she liked, but this was less about picking a future Padawan and more about giving a struggling child the tools he should have already been given to help him.

"Yes! Thank you, Padawan Windu!"

Mace watched, distracted, as some of the shatterpoints around Obi-Wan actually healed. He'd never seen that before.

Then Obi-Wan grabbed his fingers to walk with him, and for half a heartbeat he thought he saw figures in the hallway with him, gone before he could fully register their presence. A possible future, an echo of a different present, or just a sign he needed more sleep? Whatever, as Obi-Wan liked to say. Best to focus on the now and leave the rest to be Future Mace's problem. He gave the boy's hand a companionable squeeze and set off for their first lesson.

[sepublic]

In further hindsight I can see the parallels in Belos agonizing over how he mistreated Caleb and Lilith agonizing over how she mistreated Eda, and both trying to make up for that. But both crucially missing the actual emotional crux of the issue, that being the people they disregarded and hurt, the people close to that sibling and their real family for accepting them.

Because even if Lilith got to explain how the curse was an accident to Eda during Agony of a Witch, so what? That wasn’t why Eda was there. That wasn’t why she was so royally pissed. It was for kidnapping Luz, which would still remain unaddressed. Not to mention how unlike the curse, Lilith knowingly refused to listen to Eda about her lifestyle and choices, she still supported the coven over her sister, she still belittled Eda over the curse and was making another decision for her.

So even if Lilith did cure Eda, if Belos could actually undo the work of an Archivist and chose to? Eda would still hate Lilith and everything she stood for. She stands down from attacking Lilith in the season finale not because Lilith didn’t mean the curse, but because King clarifies she’s actually changing her general behavior by helping him and Luz. Even if Belos could bring back Caleb, his insistence on making his clones into witch hunters, ignoring Caleb’s defense of the isles, choosing to support Gravesfield’s bigotry over a brother who’d been for him much longer and actually loved him unconditionally… Insisting on ‘saving’ a perfectly happy sibling? That will always be a problem.

Maybe Philip made an exception for Caleb, at first; He knew at least of Caleb’s first meeting with Evelyn. So even if the rest were secret due to Evelyn being targeted by the community, Philip still didn’t rat on his brother for exploring the Demon Realm. Part of it may have been the insistence that Caleb could be ‘saved’, but he did the bare minimum of not getting his brother killed for one trip.

(But then Caleb ‘went too far’ and committed miscegenation, made Philip related to a witch; A conservative shame so deep he refuses to address it when discussing a vague ‘betrayal’. Like real life families, Philip rewrote Caleb as a Black Sheep to not be discussed, for ‘tarnishing’ the bloodline; A scandal replaced, eventually lost to time with nobody left to truly mourn the person they were. Maybe there doesn’t need to be, not anymore; His wife and child remembered and maybe they didn’t mention he was a human because to Caleb, that no longer mattered and he renounced that background like many queer folk, to embrace an identity shared with others who did care. So they remembered Caleb the witch.)

Likewise, Lilith also looked the other way for Eda, ignored multiple opportunities to arrest Eda, removed wanted posters. But there was still the expectation that their ‘grace’ would be reciprocated, that eventually it would pay off in that loved one coming over. Or at least that’s what Lilith hoped, but it was definitely what Philip expected of Caleb; Because Lilith only took Luz hostage because Philip threatened to execute her otherwise. Eda’s health WAS at risk from the curse.

Philip killed a Caleb who was happy and safe when he’d been at least five years away from Gravesfield, in a world they couldn’t follow and wouldn’t be much of a threat in anyway, if at all; He did it because Caleb did not live up to that expectation. With Lilith, we know it was an accident and she did make legitimate amends to undo the curse, unlike Belos who kept killing Caleb again and again, with the Collector suggesting he’s using the Grimwalkers as a punching bag and no longer cares about saving them either.

Lilith never cared much for the (wild) witch hunting aspect of the position; She just wanted to be loved but she didn’t want people to be torn down for it. She was a teacher, a bad one but still. Even if she had yet to care about others outside of Eda and how her ideology was wrong for its harm, she at least used her love for Eda as a stepping stone; When her sister was almost executed as a wild witch, Lilith declared an intention to prevent any more petrifications, after preciously being shown looking the other way with them.

Despite her justified fears of Belos, Lilith wanted to do something because having it happen to a loved one made her finally empathize. Lilith used that love to listen to Eda and reconsider her own biases, for Eda at least. And she ended up caring for and loving Eda’s kids and friends and everything she stood for, too; She ended up doing things for them, too. Lilith cared about doing it for her sister, which is why she listened to and accepted her, instead of caring for the sake of creating an Eda that wasn’t Eda; Lilith got over her pride, that’s the difference in the end.

[another-supernova-girl]

An Exercise in Control - Cooper Adams/Abbott x F. OC

* Part 1 : The Beginning of the End *

This story is *VERY LOOSELY* based on some of my own personal experiences, not with a serial killer, but with a security guard at a place I worked at, who paid way more attention to me than he should have at the time - something I wouldn't really come to comprehend until many years later. This story will feature explicit sexual content in some future chapters (I'm currently aiming for 5-6 chapters total), all of which should basically be considered dubious consent (let's be honest, that's about the only consent there really could be, given the power dynamic issues). There will be no DDLG kink, breeding kink, degradation kink, or...some other kinks popular with this character's fandom that is prominent in other fics. Other writers are thoroughly filling that niche. It's more of a...love bombing-ish situation, with plenty of manipulation for the aim of control. ( gif is mine, watermarked because I witnessed one of my gifs being stolen recently )

(( word count ~ 4,600 ))

🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪

There had been no answer when Cooper had called out and rattled the metal shutters to the bookstore within the mall he patrolled, but the faint sound of lofi and very soft human speech clearly indicated an occupant. When he called out once more, received no response once again, he reached for his ring of keys and went to work opening the aluminum gating. It was almost one in the morning, and even the cleaning crew had gone home. There should not have been a soul in the building save for the assigned security guard, and Cooper just happened to be the man tasked with that assignment.

After the concert in Pennsylvania, the confrontation, and his subsequent escape from the incompetent police department, the Butcher had gone on the run, inadvertently aided by the media's purposeful downplaying of his escape that would have shamed all law enforcement involved. Cowards, the way Cooper saw them, but convenient cowards. In the months that followed, he had moved around quite a bit, never settling anywhere for too long, utilizing a slew of motel rooms and stolen identities. When he finally felt like he'd reached a destination he could call permanent, he'd gone in search of work and found himself right at home in the convenience of mall security. The idea had seemed laughable at first as he'd scanned the wanted ads in a local paper, weeks after chopping up one of the previously employed night guards, but the more he'd contemplated it, the more perfect of a fit it seemed to be. That had been about a month ago, and now he found himself in one of the stores, hours after closing, not as alone as he should be.

Officially armed with a flash light and a baton, unofficially armed with a taser and chloroform, Cooper proceeded through the store, quiet and alert, glancing in all directions as he moved toward the back corner of the store, the source of the soft music, and the the faint glow of an electronic device. Expecting to find some stoned teens or a homeless person, Cooper instead stumbled upon a store employee, ambient synthwave streaming from the speakers of her laptop as she typed away. Apparently, she was so engrossed in her after-hours work that she failed to notice him until he switched on his flashlight and shone it against the wall in front of her, and all around her. She nearly fell out of the store chair that cradled her body when she finally took notice of him.

“Who the f-...oh, thank god, security,” she breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed his uniform, her vision not yet reaching the stern look across his face.

“Mall's closed,” he stated simply, switching off his flashlight and sliding it back into the assigned holster.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I, uh...the other security guard just lets me hang after hours,” she explained, closing her computer and sliding it into her bag.

“That's probably why he got fired,” Cooper commented harshly in return. Well, fired in the literal since, as Cooper had burned his body to reduce the evidence. He was far less bold in his disposal of victims' remains, since his temporary capture. The bookstore worker paused at his statement. She hadn't seen the other guard in weeks, and had assumed he'd simply quit. If she were really the cause...she felt a twinge of guilt at the idea.

“I'm sorry, I hadn't heard that. I...I'll get my stuff. It won't happen again,” she assured, keeping her focus on her belongings she gathered, making sure to pick up her accumulated garbage from her food court-sourced dinner so she could dump it in the trash. Cooper nodded, but said nothing, as he watched her move about, and followed her as they trudged back out of the store, the door coming down in a noisy crash at the insistence of Cooper's harsh yank. It felt excessive to the bookstore employee, but she said nothing. If she'd already gotten someone fired for bending the rules, she certainly didn't want to end up on the bad side of his replacement. The store didn't exactly pay well, but she couldn't afford to lose the income.

“Um...sorry, again,” she mumbled as Cooper walked a few steps behind her, seeing that she got to an exit so he could re-lock the doors. The Butcher shifted his gaze from the empty corridor stretched out before him, to the young woman a few steps ahead of him. Already nearly a foot shorter than himself, she seemed even smaller with her shoulders hunched and her arms meeting at her clasped hands before her.

“It's...it's fine,” he finally uttered, and her head seemed to tilt briefly toward his voice, before focusing on her destination again. “I need this job. I can't afford write-ups, already.”

“Right...s-” she began to apologize again, but her words were cut short by the light contact of his fingertips upon her shoulder, and her feet slowed to a stop as she turned around to look back at him, confused at his odd touch.

“Stop apologizing. I get it. You're sorry,” his voice was firm, but less harsh than it had been in the bookstore. “Let's just...make it a habit of being out by midnight, alright?” he offered, his thick, dark brows raising as if to punctuate his request.

“S-...sure,” she managed, and no more words were exchanged between the two strangers the last hundred-ish feet to the exit nearest her automobile. She paused at the door, but said nothing, as Cooper unlocked it and held it open, watching her exit. She glanced back at him briefly, before heading for her car, Cooper's dark eyes focused on the lock as he re-secured the exit. His gaze rose to watch her walk alone, along the empty parking lot, until she reached a car he reckoned was hers, the guard not turning around to resume his patrol until her lights were on, and her vehicle set into motion.

🔪

A few evenings had passed since the incident at the bookstore, Cooper's night off falling the day after, a different shift the day after that, and he was back to night duty. He didn't mind it. He enjoyed the silence. During the day shifts, his gaze would wander, taking in the multitude of mall patrons, contemplating his next kill, but the evenings were peaceful. More time to think. More time to plan without distractions.

It had also been a few nights since he'd stopped by the bookstore, and though he'd avoided it for the bulk of regular operating hours, his feet did eventually guide him in the shop's direction, and he found himself standing against the wall across from it, staring in through the door-less entry. His eyes followed the movements and actions of a slightly familiar figure inside, Cooper watching as the young woman he'd escorted out a few nights before flitted around the store, assisting what few customers stepped inside, straightening books, re-homing the tomes that wound up in the wrong locations. Cooper had watched for a full fifteen minutes, almost unflinching, before she looked up from her work long enough to notice him, and she made no secret of it when she did.

“Hey!,” she waved him down, completely unnecessarily, as she crossed the short distance through the store and out into the corridor to greet the security guard. “Hi, I just wanted to apologize again for the other night, I don't usually-”

“Ah, no need,” Cooper raised a hand as if to put a barrier between the two of them. “It's these late nights, you know? I'm not used to the overnight shift and I was just...” he shrugged his shoulders, and put on a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “I was just...kinda grumpy” he suggested.

“I get that, but, um...I mean, I really don't usually hang around that long-”

“Really, it's fine,” he reiterated, the false smile still in place. “Hey, I'm Cooper. I didn't catch your name,” he offered his hand, and she hesitated only for a couple of seconds before accepting it, a half smile forming on her lips that was far more sincere than his.

“Delilah. It's, um...nice to meet you, Cooper,” she shook the hand he'd offered lightly before withdrawing her own again. “Hey, um...did I really get the other guard fired? I feel terrible-”

“Oh, no, he, uh...” Cooper began, his mind searching, quick as lightning, for a reasonable lie. “He didn't show up to work a couple of days in a row, and no one heard from him, so he got let go...apparently,” he quickly tossed in.

Delilah's brows knit together as she contemplated his words. “Well, I'm glad it wasn't me...I hope he's okay. I don't think he had much family,” she thought aloud.

Cooper considered her briefly before speaking again, “Did you know him?”

“I mean, not well, but...about as much as anyone around here who works the night shift, and...doesn't keep their face buried in their phones,” she shrugged.

“Well, I'm sure he'll turn out to be...just fine,” Cooper lied, his umber eyes fixed on her forest green ones.

“Yeah, I...I hope so,” she nodded, her gaze transfixed by the strange intensity of his stare, as if he were waiting to see if she believed him. “Well...I gotta get back before we lose another customer to Amazon. It was nice to meet you, again,” she explained as her eyes finally glanced back to the store, and the annoyed-looking customer inside. When she looked back again, just inside the entrance below the giant letters that spelled out PAGE TURNERS, he had vanished.

🔪

Days turned to weeks as Cooper acclimated to his position as the primary evening security officer, scoping out all the stores, and the dark hallways that led to back rooms, every inch of the oversized shopping destination. He was attentive to his duties, though less than invested on a personal level. His job was nothing but a cover, and a convenient location for his executions, in the basement levels that most were either unaware of, or considered abandoned. He'd stored away plenty of money over the years in a dozen locations in case he were ever discovered and had to run, and his home was far more comfortable than any normal security guard could truly hope for. Unfulfilling as his duties were, however, his employ did lend him opportunities to gain trust within the micro-community of this retail mega-facility, meeting various store employees, making nice with managers, cleaning crew...book sellers.

Nearly every evening that they shared a coinciding schedule, Cooper found an excuse to at least pass by the Page Turners book store on the top floor, a shop that he silently questioned the need for in the age of giant online sellers that an independent bookseller could not complete with the prices of. Business appeared fairly slow to him, but the main evening employee he'd began having brief, friendly interactions with, seemed to always find something to do. He usually had to clear his throat just to gain her attention when he'd enter the store, but she always seemed pleased to see him.

“You always manage to look busy,” Cooper commented from just beyond the threshold between the store interior and the walkway, and he watched her shoulders jump slightly in surprise, before she turned in the direction of his voice from where she crouched beside a bookcase on the floor.

“And you always manage to make me jump,” she answered, though nothing else about her demeanor suggested that his presence bothered her. “I'll have you know that I've had a whopping...three? No, four groups of customers, tonight,” she declared, rising up to full height, nearly a foot shorter than the security guard, and dusting her polyester slacks off.

“That many?” Cooper asked, his eyes following her form as she abandoned the half-stocked box of tween novellas to circle around to the employee side of the register desk. “I guess it's only Tuesday, though.” Delilah shrugged as she slid her phone into a compartment out of sight, the need for distraction lessened by Cooper's companionship. “Do you ever manage to get a night off?” he asked suddenly, and her eyes that had already been trained on his features lit up with surprise at the inquiry.

“Um...well, yeah, of course. I just, uh...I'm the only non-manager who actually volunteers for the night shift, so my schedule is pretty predictable,” she explained, and he nodded, leaning his weight into his hands that gripped at the side of the register table opposite her.

“Night owl?” he suggested, and she shrugged, her expression unaltered, though her gaze diverted from his, as it often did when his proximity to her increased.

“I guess...it's more like, most of the other employees are teenagers, and they don't want to waste their summer vacation working the night shift,” she concluded. Honestly, they didn't do much of anything while they were there to begin with, but someone had to mind the store.

“Yeah, I've noticed it's mostly teenagers. I guess they probably make for the best customers, too,” he continued, adjusting his weight so it fell against his crossed arms on the recently wiped-down surface. “How old are you, anyway? I mean, if it's okay to ask,” he questioned suddenly, and she finally looked back up at him again, surprised.

“Um...thirty one,” she answered, brows furrowing as she watched him curiously.

Cooper's face displayed a look of surprise, as he pushed off, raising back to his full, towering height. “Really? I wouldn't have guess that.”

“What would you have guessed?” Delilah asked, her arms crossing in subconscious defense.

“I don't know. Maybe...twenty six? Twenty seven?” His answer was honest, and her demeanor seemed to visibly soften. “How's that possible?”

“I, uh...well, I don't drink, or smoke, or use drugs, or...spend much time in the sun,” she explained, waving a hand in the direction of the hall way, and the enormous overhead skylights that naturally brightened the walkways during the day.

“I imagine you must burn pretty easy,” he mentioned, his body maneuvering around the corner of the register table, reaching out to fondle a few strands of her auburn hair that fell past her shoulders, his vision trained on her, even as passersby glanced in to perceive the two of them.

“Yeah, I, uh...I try not to put myself in that position, anymore,” she mumbled, her gaze focused on his large hand as it abandoned her as quickly as it had reached out. “I don't wanna get burned.”

Cooper nodded but remained silent for several seconds, watching the confusion and anxiousness present itself on her features. Eventually, when it seemed she might excuse herself, he finally spoke up again. “So, how old do I look?”

“I...it must be a really slow night for you, too,” she commented, glancing briefly to the corridor for possible customers, the mall mostly dead, typical for a weeknight.

“Come on,” he encouraged, dark eyes ever watchful, clocking the mild discomfort across her features and ignoring it. “You're not gonna hurt my feelings.”

“Um...” she paused in her tiny steps backward, Cooper standing quite still, and finally took the opportunity to really look him over, something she'd done many times, but never so closely and obviously. “I'm really bad at this,” she mumbled, but he shook his head, a non-deranged smile in place. “Maybe...forty...four?” she hedged, and his expression told her that she at least had not insulted him.

��Forty six,” he corrected, and Delilah nodded, and shrugged. She wasn't quite sure why he cared about either of their ages, figured he must be desperate to run down the clock before his next round of surveillance was scheduled. “Pretty close. Maybe I need to start taking better care of my skin,” he thought aloud, rubbing absently at the short whiskers that cast a dark shadow over his chin. “Not so long ago, I was getting mistaken for...thirties,” he threw out the words in a casual tone, but the look Delilah immediately gave him – brows quirked, and a strange smile that seemed to silently say 'Yeah, right!' - gave him a tiny moment of pause, followed by a simple, “Ouch!”

“Sorry! I just...I mean, I don't know why you would want to confused for thirties,” she shrugged, suddenly a bit more at ease from the renewed levity of his company. “Like, have you met men in their thirties? They're barely men. They act like they're in their twenties, and guys in their twenties act like they're still in high school...”

“So...you're saying that forties is better?” Cooper prodded, and before he could take a step closer, the chatter of mall patrons suddenly reached their ears, and said patrons' feet led them into the bookstore before Cooper could take their conversation any further.

“Don't you have something to secure,” Delilah mumbled, a grin she couldn't defy pulling at her lips as Cooper maneuvered behind her.

“I'm just gonna go do some 'older guy' stuff,” he whispered in return, his large hand passing over the small of her back as he slipped by.

“Go secure something,” she called back as he disappeared out the door, her face flushed, smile still firmly in place. He'd never exactly struck her as insecure in their correspondence so far. As far as she was concerned, it didn't matter how old he actually was when he looked like that.

🔪

“So...movie theater...other movie theater...call center, office job...bookseller at a dying mall?” Cooper rattled off the jobs she'd detailed, counting them on his fingers, watching her nod along as she dusted the countless shelves of books. “How does that happen?”

“Well,” she began, pulling out an incorrectly placed book and sliding it toward the direction of its proper location. “The theaters paid awful wages, but I still lived with my mother, so I didn't need much. Quit the first one, got fired from the second one.”

“How do-”

“Nepotism. I pointed out some nepotism to the wrong co-worker, and it turned out they had a bigger mouth than I thought. And after that...a year at a call center that made me never want to talk on the phone again...and nine soul-sucking years at the office.”

“And then you ended up here,” Cooper concluded aloud, and she nodded, moving on to the next set of shelves. “Was it worth it?” he asked, and she shifted to look back over to the security guard whose body leaned against the sturdy register desk. “I mean, I can't imagine the pay is any better than where you were at.”

“It's not,” she admitted, her voice a little softer. She didn't like being reminded of her financial problems, wondering about the choices she'd made in her life to lead her here. “It's less money, for sure, but...a different company bought us out, and our jobs got more difficult, and our work loads doubled...and the raises turned into a joke. I hated it. I made enough to live on my own, but only barely, and...” Delilah's words dropped away, her fingers stilling over the spines of the books she had been correcting the placement of. Cooper simply stood in silence, taking in every ounce of information she spilled. “And what about you?” she suddenly questioned, an attempt to deflect some attention.

“Me?” Cooper asked, his brows raising. “Well, there's not much to tell,” he answered. It wasn't wise to give away too much, even his own trained lies. His resume had been full of falsehoods, but the hiring manager had been so desperate to bring someone on with the sudden disappearance of the guard Cooper had annihilated, that he hadn't even checked up on his references. A clean background check and some forged documents of training had been enough to secure the position Cooper now found himself in. “I've mostly worked...I guess you'd call them positions of authority.” Hadn't that been what the FBI profile had said? Surely, that was vague enough.

“And you never, um...” Cooper observed as the bookseller tapped her empty ring finger on her left hand.

“I, uh...I'm divorced,” he lied, though in fairness, he was certain Rachel would have divorced him, had the authorities actually managed to keep him in custody beyond the Prisoner Transport vehicle. “I don't really like talking about that part of my life.”

“You don't really like talking about yourself at all,” she observed, and Cooper couldn't exactly argue. Obviously, there was very little of his life he could safely share, as his interactions with the FBI and Philadelphia police had been far too close for comfort.

“Maybe I just find you fascinating,” he hedged, and received a sigh and an eye roll, but she ceased her questions, all the same.

🔪

It was another late night, later than usual for Cooper to find Delilah's dented-up car in the mall parking lot, so late that he cut his outside patrol short to re-enter the enormous structure. Ever since their first meeting, when he had acted so harshly toward her, before he had selected her as the subject of his strange experiment, she had actually made efforts to be out of the mall before midnight. Though there were nights that she didn't quite make their agreed-upon curfew, he had never witnessed her in the building so late that it almost classified as early. By the time he'd completed the trek to the metal gates outside of Page Turners' store front, it was just after 3am.

Cooper called out her name, called again louder, but received no answer. He didn't even hear the typical wave of soft music that usually emanated from the store when she stuck around after-hours. Giving the metal barrier a loud shake and still hearing nothing beyond it that indicated life, he reached to his large ring of keys and let himself inside.

He wasn't sure what it was that drove him. It felt like something almost comparable to concern, but he was certain that wasn't it. She was just an experiment, a little toy to manipulate and eventually play with. Replaceable. So why was he relieved when he found her at the back of the store that he trudged through, not ignoring him at all, not consciously anyway?

“Delilah,” Cooper spoke just above a whisper after he carefully tugged the headphones she wore away from her ears, watching her stir, barely aware of his presence. He received a tiny 'Hmm?' in response, but nothing else, her eyes still closed. Crouching down next to the well-worn bean bag chair she snoozed in, he pushed some stray strands of hair away from her ear, and leaned in closer, his voice a bit louder as he spoke her name again.

“It's too early,” she mumbled, closed eyes scrunching tight with annoyance as she shifted in the nearly-shapeless seat.

“Or too late,” Cooper answered, and finally recognizing his voice, Delilah managed to open her eyes long enough to look over her shoulder, toward him.

“Cooper?” she asked, her tone and the expression on her face full of confusion. “What are you...what time is it?”

“Way past midnight,” he answered, dragging out his phone when she failed to locate her own, showing her the time, watching her eyes widen with realization.

“Oh my g-...shit!” she exclaimed, scrambling out of the so-called chair and unsteadily to her feet. “I am so sorry. I can't believe I actually fell asleep,” she continued, searching for her belongings to gather in her messenger bag.

“I can,” Cooper responded, and she gave him a confused look before returning her attention to her bag to make sure she had everything. “I can believe that you fell asleep, I mean,” he clarified. “Delilah...is there a reason you don't want to go home?”

“What?” she asked, finally standing up to full height again, grasping her purse, and the bag big enough to hold her laptop.

“That's why you stay so late, isn't it? You stay at the store for hours after it closes, after you've clocked out. You volunteer to work these late shifts, when most people are off work, and at home. No one likes the night shift that much,” Cooper concluded, his dark eyes focused on the young woman before him, who had noticeably stopped fidgeting. “Boyfriend?”

That single word prompted a look akin to the one she'd given him the night he'd suggested he could pass for a man in his thirties. “Do you really think I'd spend so much time around you if I...no, there's no boyfriend. It's, uh...it's my roommate...and her boyfriend, usually.”

Cooper registered all of her words, but chose not to comment on the first half. He'd tuck that away for later. “Continue,” he invited, simply, not too firmly.

“She just...I kinda hate her,” Delilah admitted, letting out a sigh of defeat. She did her best to not mix her time around Cooper in with her home life, but he was frustratingly perceptive. She watched as the security guard lowered himself to the vacuumed floor and reached his hand out in her direction, encouraging her to join him. She plopped down far less gracefully. “We didn't even really know each other when I moved in. She was looking for a roommate to split the bills with, and I was month-to-month at my apartment, and running out of what passed for my savings from my old job, and...it seemed like a good match at the time.”

“So, what changed?” he questioned, hesitating for a few moments, before reaching out his hand again and taking hers carefully in his grasp. She stared at it for a noticeable length of time before her words resumed.

“Well...she ended up getting this boyfriend, and at first it was nice, because they were almost always at his place. Then, they started fighting, like...all the time. And when they weren't fighting, they were fucking so loud, the neighbors would bang on the walls, and...”

“And that's when you started staying here so late?” he offered, and she shrugged.

“Yeah...I started looking for freelance stuff online to make more money so I could move out on my own again, but...everything just keeps getting so much more expensive. I just...I feel so stuck. And up here,” her words paused for a moment, and she indicated with her free hand her general surroundings, “it's about the only peace I get that doesn't involve earplugs.” She gave a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes, focused on an invisible spot on the floor. When silence overtook the room, it became harder to ignore his large hand that still encompassed hers, and she finally took in a deep breath, letting it out in a slightly dramatic sigh. “So...now that you know my sob story...any words of wisdom?”

Her gaze finally lifted to Cooper's umber eyes that had not left her own green ones since she'd began to speak, but she found his expression unreadable. “Well?” she asked again.

“I'm not sure I have much wisdom to impart,” Cooper admitted, “and it's probably selfish, but...I kind of like having you up here, alone...all to myself.”

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CHAPTER 2 CAN BE FOUND HERE!

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tagging as requested : @one-of-thewalkingdead , @gissellec1 , @rainingrabbits89-blog , @pinkflowerwombat , @sashimeep , @strangererotica @the-butchers-baby

If I forgot anyone, I apologize, and please let me know if you want to be tagged in the next one

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND TAGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED. I KNOW THIS IS A BIT DIFFERENT THAN MOST OF THE OTHER COOPER STORIES BEING WRITTEN, BUT I HOPE IT APPEALS TO SOMEONE BESIDES MYSELF 💙