#and my dad wanted me to watch it very badly and got it cheap in good condition

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

my dad recently made the mistake of quoting roy's last words to me and had to endure my ten minute obsession-fuelled dissection of the ending and that scene in particular and all the symbolism. and i have come to the conclusion that i need to rewatch bladerunner NOW. ASAP. or i might actually start biting furniture

[usafphantom2]

Ben Rich’s book “Skunk Works” is the best book I’ve read about what went on behind the scenes when they built the SR 71 highly recommended. Here is the scoop on the book: my father worked very closely with Ben as Dad was the Director of special projects for the Skunk Works.

I think Ben knew something was wrong with his health before the tumor was found. He told me he wanted to get the book, “Skunk Works,” done before he was too old and couldn’t remember things. He talked about Kelly and how he lost it before he could write more things down and others he knew who had put off writing until it was too late. ( Ben died of cancer of the esophagus age 69)

He asked me to help with the book. I talked into a tape recorder for about an hour and gave it to him. When the book came out, every story I told had been changed a little bit. I believe it was done so the Government could deny the story if asked by the Russians. Also, the CIA deleted the Glomar Explorer and Sea Shadow. It was for security issues, but they wanted to take the credit themselves. The book AZORIAN brings up the K-129 sounds like the CIA did it all by themselves.

I believe the real message he wanted to give the country was that our ability to do things fast, cheap, and right the first time was quickly going away. The defense acquisition process in Washington was killing activities like the SW. And it did, just like he predicted.

-60 Minutes the TV Show-

When Ben’s book was being published, his publisher was looking for ways to promote the book. Somehow, they got 60 minutes interested, and Ben gave them my name to be interviewed for the program. I did not know Ben had given my name to them. I never watch 60 Minutes because of how badly they treated the military and always only told half the story.

They called one night at home and asked me when they could talk to me about going on the show. I told them, “I wouldn’t appear on your sleazy bag program if you paid me.” A few minutes later, Ben called; he was distraught. I believe this was the only time ever that Ben and I argued.

Ben was looking at it from his point of view: how to get the book sales going. I knew that 60 Minutes did not want to discuss what was in the book, as they had told Ben. They wanted to talk about what was not in the book, and I told Ben so. The CIA and Air Force, who had given security clearance for the release of the book, had changed all the stories in the book that I had given to Ben a little. They, 60 Minutes, were going to ask, in my opinion, things like, how many times did you fly over China? , Russia? , Cuba? And on and on.

After about one hour of going back and forth with Ben, I agreed to go on the show, but only if Air Force Security sat next to me and any question for 60 minutes asked, security, would tell me if I could answer or not.

Sixty minutes would not go for this arrangement at all, so my input to the show was canceled. A few days later, the Lockheed VP of Corporate Communications came to see me in the Washington Office. She said that you do not have the right, as a Lockheed employee, to turn down such a request as to appear on 60 minutes. I told her, “I am not paid by Lockheed to go on 60 minutes or any other show that is what they pay the CEO to do.” I never heard from her again. Written by Colonel Richard “Butch” Sheffield.

This should give you an idea of the kind of personality that my father had. I sure do miss him. ~Linda

@Habubrats71 via x

[oh-surprise-its-me]

Want me back on angst? Oh, I can deliver baby!

Lucas is treating ron with some very vasic meds, he's like "Don't be a baby, I use that all the time with children, it doesn't taste nice I give you that but it's the safest thing we have lying around man".

Boom, surprise, random allergy to one of the components. Like okay, it sometimes happens, annoying as hell, sometimes even painful tho. Tom and chris are just so worried that they don't react well, trying to tear apart Lucas even tho it's not really his fault and still, he helps ronnie.

(Every knowledge from experience is--uuuh...not so casual??? I'm just intolerant, but it still makes me miserable as hell)

Oo! I’m very allergic to penicillin! Learned that the hard way when I was like 6! Time to do that to Ron!

-

When his neck swelled up he honestly wasn’t sure what was happening. All the meds he took should be normal. Lucas said they’d help faster.

Lucas is sitting across the room, “you good Ron?”

Ron opens his mouth and closes it. “Is there supposed to be a ring of swelling around my neck?”

Lucas practically throws himself out of the chair. He tumbles over to Ron and starts feeling around. “Fuck fuck dick motherfucker!”

Ron can only watch as Lucas runs and grabs the phone to call what Ron is assuming is an ambulance.

He’s not sure. Everything feels blurry. Like a dream. Sleep. Sleep is good. He’s just going to sleep. The last thing Ron heads before sleeping is Lucas yelling for Tom.

—

“How as he never had penicillin?” Tom shrugs. He genuinely doesn’t know. “His dad wouldn’t have payed for it and mom probably got whatever cold meds where cheap but good.”

Chris spins the ring on his hand from where he’s leaning on the wall. “But he’s fine now right? Like it’ll all be out of his system and then poof he’s ours again?”

Lucas nods, god he’s tired. “Yeah. They just want more swelling to go down. Then you’ve got non penicillin meds. And a note in his file.”

Tom sighs and collapses back into the chair. “What the fuck Lucas. Why give him something he’s never had?” Lucas blinks at Tom. Oh.

“I worked off what I know. You know how many people are allergic in that way? Not that many.” Tom shakes his head, “should’ve given him something else. Something he’s had.”

Lucas stands up from where he was sitting. “You know what. I’m walking away now. I’ll be back when he wakes up. Chris? Anything you wanna add?”

Chris looks at Lucas. “You fucked up but he’s alive. It’s fine Lucas. We’ll talk later.”

Lucas can only nod and leave. He collapses in the chair across the hall in the waiting room. Victoria, the ER’s secretary, brings him a coffee with a slice of sheet cake. “Long day baby?” Lucas laughs. “Something like that. Yeah thanks.”

She pats his head and walks back to the nurse station. Christ Lucas can’t believe he fucked up so badly.

—

When Ron wakes up he feels stiff. He groans and rolls his head back. “Hey Ron open those eyes for us yeah?”

Tommy. That’s Tommy.

Ron peals his eyes open even though it’s blinding. “Lucas. Is he okay?”

Tom blinks at him. He brushes his hair back out of his face. “Baby yeah he’s fine. I yelled at him a little though.”

Ron’s mouth drops open. “Tommy! Why! He didn’t know!”

Tom shrugs. He fiddles with Ron’s ring he’s wearing. “You were terrifying to watch even if he nurses all said you were totally stable. I snapped.” Ron looks around quickly before kisses Tom’s hand. “Love you but you gotta apologize.” Tom ducks his head. “I know. I will.”

There’s voices from the hall and Chris comes back with two coffees. “Ron!”

Ron grins at Chris. “Hey Chrisy.”

Chris takes his other hand and kisses it. “I wanna see Lucas.”

Tom and Chris look at each other. “Alright sure.”

Tom vanishes for a few minutes only to return with Lucas. “Lu! I’m fine! See all totally it dead and everything!”

Lucas laughs at Ron’s antics. “You’re a little shit. Good thing I love you huh?” Ron grins at Lucas. “Did Icy apologize?” Tom sighs. Lucas laughs, “he sure did. Thanks for that. Even if I do still feel guilty.”

Ron shakes his head, “not like you did it on purpose.” Lucas nods and slides on the couch on the other side of the room. “Five more hours and the you can leave. Ron smiles and nods “more time with you guys then.” Chris smacks his shoulder, with a glare. “Not how that works.”

Tom and Lucas both laugh.

It’ll be fine. Lucas didn’t mean to and Tom apologized Ron forgives anyone when it comes to himself.

[fictionkinfessions]

I would like to talk about memories

Hicks:

I don't remember much about the people, I never quite connected to them. Astrid was there, I was not in love with her, and neither did she love me. I remembered the song my parents sang, I remember watching them dance. I don't believe I ever liked either of them. I remember Viggo. My only friend, I think. I didn't... hate the others. But we didn't quite bond the same. Viggo seemed at his very core familiar, we had minds alike. I like to think of him as a father figure, he did not die in my life. He was friends with the Skrill, Ghost, we named them. But mostly I just remember everything else. The sea, Berk, the cliffs, the sky, every forest and every patch of grass. I remember the feeling of flying. The feeling of dragon skin. I would never wish to meet canonmates, I do not miss them, but I miss the world around me.

Shaun:

I had a cane. I never got around to decorating it. I nearly always wore the same, getting dressed is still difficult, so this way I would at least eliminate the difficulty of choice. I always wished to be different. Not as badly as now, but it seemed to be a constant in my life, even then. I was not very emotive unless I experienced bursts of energy, then I would often squeak and shrug. I had my glasses, they always slid down my nose. Plastic frame. Fairly cheap. I had balance issues. Always had to sit down. Rebecca helped me a lot. When I was emotional or scared. When I did not understand myself. I drove. I always drove us. I liked it. We listened to Rise Against. "The Dirt Whispered". Rebecca liked it. Desmond didn't mind. I was taller. Taller than Desmond. He was shorter than me. He only wanted to be normal, he always wanted to be normal. I never understood why he wore is blade that way. "Hidden blade", and it's all visible on his forearm. Seems counterproductive. Bill. Desmond's dad. I didn't like him. Didn't trust him. Now I feel bad for him, I want to apologize. I don't think I struggled so much with speaking as I do now. I remember death I think. I remember touching the eye. My left arm. It burnt all through, the pattern was weird. I think that was when I died. Desmond deserved better.

- Shaun Hastings/Hicks (#📋)

[izzy-b-hands]

"We don't need a map," Alma rolls her eyes. "We take the bus to the museum, see the stuff there, then take the same one home!"

"But Mum-"

"Mum said I'm in charge while she takes Doug to hospital, and we were supposed to go to the museum today anyway. Don't you still want to go?"

Louis frowns, but nods and walks after her.

--

"Oh ew," Stede grimaces and holds out his phone to Ed.

"Whoa," Ed peers closer. "What is it?"

"Doug's finger."

"Oh god...well, Mary has said he's very enthusiastic-"

"Edward! He was chopping up vegetables."

Ed raises a brow. "Is that what the kids call it now?"

"We need to go; the kids are at their place alone right now," Stede says, waving down their waiter. "I'm sure they'll be fine, but-"

"So what was he chopping to fuck himself up that badly?"

"Does it really matter?!"

"Kinda."

"...cucumber."

"Ha! Knew it."

--

"Alma-"

"If you want to do big kid things, then you can't be a baby about it. Are you going to keep being a baby?"

She holds his hand and drags him through the crowd by the bus stop. "See? We're already at the bus!"

He doesn't want to be a baby, but also, their mum has never once said they were allowed to go on the bus alone, or to walk any further than down the block to see friends that lived there.

He holds her hand tighter.

--

"We brought fancy desser-" Ed stops. "Kids? "

"Maybe they're in the backyard," Stede says. "Probably horribly traumatised by seeing that bloodbath."

Ed motions to the two plastic cartoon character covered plates on the table. "Plates are cleaned."

"Well, let's get to looking anyway."

The yard is empty. Their rooms, empty. The entire house, empty.

"Take a breath," Ed sets the styrofoam container with the cheesecake bites into the fridge. "Stede."

But he's in a thousand yard staring contest with the empty plates. He'll own, now at least, that he's been far from the best father.

He's been trying to do better though, and you can't do better if your kids are lost or dead or kidnapped or-

"Okay," Ed gently pushes him towards the door. "We're gonna go walk around and see if they're running around playing with their friends. I bet they are! Then we'll come back and have cheesecake."

--

"I don't have enough money for snacks," Alma sighs. "We just ate lunch!"

"Mum says I'm growing and need-"

"Oh my god, she just says that so you'll eat your vegetables!"

Louis blinks. He'd never thought of that, and he certainly won't forget it now.

"Okay. I'm sorry I asked."

Alma wraps an arm around his shoulder. "Look, we're almost to the museum. Sometimes they have exhibits about foods from other places with samples, maybe there'll be one there today."

He leans into her and tries to watch the cars passing by on the other side of the street, hoping one might be Mum and Doug.

--

"Stede," Ed says, hands on his shoulders. "Look at me."

He's already been sick in the gutter, after the last house that had the same answer as the rest: no, they haven't seen the kids all day.

"It's fine. Kids get adventurous!"

"There's a huge main road close; they probably tried to cross it," Stede fumbles for his phone. "They put out alerts if they find hurt kids, right? Or missing kids?"

"Alma has her cheap phone for emergencies," Ed says. "Call her, and I bet they just went another block over or two. A little bit of rebellion since they got a surprise moment of freedom!"

--

"Hey Dad," Alma says into the chunky, slightly out of date flip phone. "We're just hanging out waiting for Mum and Doug to get back."

"I wanna hear!" Louis snags the phone from her hand and runs to an open bench in the museum lobby. "Dad? We need help-"

"No we don't!" Alma plucks the phone away. "He's scared for Doug, that's all."

"It's loud and I'm scared and we're at the mu-"

"Shut up!"

The phone snaps shut, and they both shut up.

"You hung up on him," Louis says. "You're gonna be in so much trouble!"

"I'll call him back and say it was an accident. Now, I think we should start with the dinosaurs..."

--

"You can go faster on this road," Stede snaps.

"Hey," Ed flashes him a look before turning back to the road. "I'm worried about them too, but that's not fucking necessary."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Look, you said it sounded busy, and Louis shouted out that it was loud. Middle of the day like this, there's a few spots that might be more likely than others."

"The mall isn't far."

"I don't think kids hang out at the mall much anymore. Not at their ages, that's for sure."

Stede frowns. "Right. The library is a bit far for them, but it wouldn't be that noisy."

"Well, we'll just drive around until we find them then."

--

"He's not answering," Alma says softly. "He almost always picks up."

"Maybe he figured we were okay after you hung up on him."

"Stop saying that!"

Louis shrugs. "You did. Do you think if giant sloths were still real you could ride them?"

"What?!"

"Like, instead of riding the bus-"

"Dad isn't answering, and this is what you're worried about?!"

He shrugs again, and sneaks another bit of popcorn from the box of the kid standing next to them.

She wanted to go to the museum, and they're at the museum, and he's trying to have fun even!

There's simply no pleasing a sister.

--

"Museum is the last place that might be that loud," Stede sighs. "There's no school today so I'm sure everyone is out there with their kids."

"That's not so bad," Ed signals to turn, and reroutes them towards the museum. "It's farther away than ideal, but if they're there, they did it safely."

"I'm...I have a lot of thoughts right now, about that. Not all of them that happy."

"Fair enough. They also really shouldn't have left like that without at least telling us-"

Stede chuckles. "I forget you and Izzy used to run rampant as kids."

"And we survived! We're fine!"

"You've both been in therapy on and off for issues with your families for the last two years."

Ed smirks. "And now we're fine! More fine than we were before!"

"Oh my god-"

"Got you to smile a little!"

--

"Louis, stay here!"

Alma looks ready to cry.

"I'm not going anywhere," he grabs her hand and pats it. "It's okay. Dad will answer again. Maybe someone else called him and he can't get off the phone yet."

She drops onto the marble and bench and sobs. "Louis, he's mad at me."

"You don't know that."

"Then why won't he answer?!"

He sits beside her and hugs her. "I don't know. When does the bus to go home leave?"

"I don't remember."

"Oh."

--

"Let's take a minute before we go in," Ed snags Stede's arm. "Deep breath. They're just kids. Kids fuck up and do stupid, absolutely terrifying shit. But they don't mean anything malicious by doing it."

"I know," Stede nods, but his eyes are scanning over the crowds milling in and out of the museum. "But they need to know that this was dangerous."

"And we can tell them that without flipping the fuck out."

"Your therapist is too damn good sometimes."

Ed smiles. "I know, right? It's almost irritating."

"It is."

--

"I'm gonna go find a security guard," Louis says. "Or an adult like the lady at the front desk. They'll get us home or call Mum."

"That's not better!"

Louis sighs and sits back down by Alma, patting her back again. "They're gonna be mad. We can't do anything about that now. But we got to see the dinosaurs, and I got popcorn, and you got to see your favourite dress in the old clothes part, right?"

She sniffles and nods.

"Then we had fun, like you said we would. And it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't got us here."

"Yeah."

"Want me to stay here?"

"Yeah."

--

"Like me except smaller!" Stede stresses to the increasingly befuddled security guard. "They didn't have an adult with them; aren't you supposed to be looking out for things like that?!"

"Sir-"

"He's worried; I'm sorry," Ed smiles and quickly but gently tugs Stede away. "Hey. Let's just look ourselves. They're probably still here, looking at stuff themselves."

"You're right," Stede nods. "Okay. Let's-"

He turns to lead the way, only to let out a grunt as Alma runs directly into him, head into his gut.

"I didn't mean to hang up on you!"

Ed kneels down for Louis. "Hey! Everything okay?"

"Kinda. Alma did a good job getting us here, but we couldn't remember when the bus would leave to take us back."

He scoops Louis up. "That's not bad for kids your age!"

Stede groans and lifts Alma up. "You're almost too big for this, you know?"

She wraps her arms tighter around his neck.

"Not yet she isn't, thankfully," Ed remarks, and leans behind Stede's shoulder to try and see her face. "Hey kid. You did okay."

"We should have stayed home," is the sobbed response.

"Probably, but now you know for next time," he continues. "Wait and ask one of us, or Mum or Doug instead before heading out on your own, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well then," Stede sighs. "Let's work on the story. To explain the tears, maybe you stubbed your toe outside?"

"Babe, we asked all the neighbours where they were," Ed murmurs. "Can't lie to Mary and Doug about this anyway, you know that."

"Right. We'll plan how to tell them about it instead, over those cheesecake things-"

Alma's head pops up slightly. "You brought us cheesecake?"

"Not here, but at the house," Stede continues. "Should we get you two home?"

"Yes please."

"And it's okay, by the way. My phone battery died on the way here, so you couldn't have called me back anyway, sweetheart."

They both snicker lovingly at the frustrated "Oh my god!" from her.

[divinefireangel]

They Just Don't Know You

Soft Yandere! Seo Moon-Jo x F! Reader

Disclaimer: This is just a work of fiction. If this piece of fan fiction is offensive to any celebrity, fandom or culture please let me know so I can take it down. Also note that this is my version of a character or celeb, which will vary from person to person.

Author's Note: A 2nd longer fic for our lovely cannibalistic psychopath. I hate that I'm attracted to him. Someone please be my therapist. Or psychiatrist. Honestly doesn't matter. My brain is fucked anyway.

Copyright: Please note that this is my work and if you want to publish this on any other platform, take my permission before doing so. Taking an author's work and posting it somewhere else without any intimation is just disrespectful. I readily welcome suggestions and criticisms. That being said, Happy reading! 🤍

Warnings: 16+ and written for female reader, but all can read. (nothing specified with respect to appearance, etc of reader). Except that I've mentioned reader is short, cuz LDW is tall 🥰. There is a brief mention of sex, but no actual smut. Reader kinda highkey hates on her parents and younger sister. Read it to know. Age gap between reader and Moon-Jo. Slight obsessive thoughts. Manipulative words. I tried to put plot twist in the end, probably you won't notice it 💀. Please please tell me if I need to add more warnings. Do not read if you start to feel uncomfortable. I apologize in advance 🥺

❗❗PLEASE READ WARNINGS ❗❗

Pre-Requisite / Summary: Just a fic based on the song They Just Don't Know You by Little Mix. After watching Strangers from hell I related this song to him for some reason. Reader and Moon-Jo are in an established relationship. And reader's loved ones don't approve.

2.3k ish words My longest fic till date 🥳

" You know that he's too old for you. You can settle for younger, much younger guys for your age sweetheart. If you can't find anyone eligible enough, we will find one for you. And you don't even know if he has intentions of marrying you. What if all he wants is just a fling or some time pass relationship. Hmm? What are you going to do then? "

Sipping her tea silently, Y/N sat next to her dad on the porch swing, listening to all the criticisms he had about Moon-Jo. All his words did was boil her blood. But what could she do when they don't walk in her shoes? They don't know how safe and content she feels when he kisses her like she's the only girl for him in the entire universe. And no point in explaining that to her father anyway. She's tried. And failed. Multiple times.

"Are you done with your tea?" She asks her dad, in desperate attempt to try and get away from him and his words because she knows, and even he knows that it's going to end up in a fight if they continue to speak on the same topic.

Humming yes, he hands her his tea cup which she takes to the kitchen so she can help her mom with dinner. Placing them in the sink upon entering the kitchen, Y/N drags her palms down her face in frustration.

" I could hear what he said you know. Your dad. He's not wrong. Seo Moon-Jo seems like he'll break your heart in three. And we're only looking out for you Y/N. You don't have to go through heartbreak when you can very well avoid it." Her mom finished slowly.

" Why. Why is it so difficult for you to accept the fact that I'm actually in a happy relationship for once in my life. So what if he's much older than I am? He's a dentist. A doctor. A very good profession and he's known and well respected in his neighbourhood too. " Y/N said loud enough for her dad also to hear.

Huffing in annoyance she left the kitchen to go upstairs to her room. Or rather the room she shares with her sister. Of course the door is wide open. The younger rascal is always here for the drama.

Ever since Y/N came out to her family about her relationship with Moon-Jo, her sister has become the favourite child, for obvious reasons. And now eavesdropping with the door wide open? That's a new low. But what else can Y/N expect from such a low life who is literally thriving off her own sister's pain and suffering.

When entering the room, Y/N realizes how big a mistake it was to visit her family. And she did not need such snark from a younger, less experienced child.

"Are you that blinded by " Love " that you don't even see how weird his hair is? A man who isn't an idol or actor doesn't need such long hair. He's clearly a fuckboy. Or man whore. Whichever is right. " She said with disgust.

'She's just jealous. She's just a jealous bitch. They all are.' Y/N thinks to herself.

" At least one of us gets laid regularly. And just so you know, it's absolutely heavenly when he makes me cum over and over on his fingers and his dick-" Y/N said as her tone slowly got lower and darker and her emotion angrier.

Screaming and covering her ears, the younger girl ran downstairs to her mother, no doubt to tattle on her older sister. Rolling her eyes, Y/N started packing her things, all of them, in a bag she took down from the top shelf of the wardrobe.

It's really difficult to leave one's family, but it is clearly getting more and more tiresome to love them nowadays. If it's so wrong to date him, why does Y/N herself not see it? She's a logical and smart young lady. Does her family hate that man so much that they don't even want her to be happy? No matter who she's with. And is it so bad to date a man who's older? Richer? And cares more about her than all of her family members combined?

Wiping the fallen tear stains from her cheek, she just thinks to herself ' They just don't know him. They just don't know him like I do. '

Sending a text to her lover, saying that she misses him and that she's coming back home sooner than planned, Y/N carries her bag through the front door, her parents and sister ignoring her as she leaves and walks out that door one final time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Once reaching their shared apartment, Y/N collapsed into her lover's arms the moment he opens the door, crying her eyes out. Seeing his lover in turmoil, shedding a tear or two of his own, Moon-Jo carries her to the living room couch to cradle her like a child who needs attention.

" They- They said -"

" Shh my darling. I know. " Moon-Jo said, shushing his girlfriend and giving her a shoulder to cry on. Once she's calmed a little, her sobs turning to sniffs, she lifts her head to meet his gaze.

Seeing her sad, tear stained eyes always upset him. More than anything in the world. Running his long slender fingers across her cheeks and jaw, he removes her hair from her ponytail with his free hand and rests it on her thigh.

" Tell me. Please tell me that you won't break my heart like them. That you won't try to tear my world apart like them. " Y/N looked desperately at him, wanting so badly to know that he's not just using her.

Those words, that slipped out her mouth, shocked Moon-Jo, to say the least. What did he do wrong? What did her family fill her head with?

Tilting his head to a little, he looks into her red eyes, trying to read her mind for a moment, all the while she just looked at him with the same desperate expression.

"Please tell me that you will be there when I need you the most. " Y/N whispered so softly, she herself barely heard it. But the end of the sentence, she started crying all over again.

Taking her head to his neck, he stroked her hair and her sides, trying to calm her down.

" Darling. I promise with my everything, that I will never leave you, I will never ever let you go. That I will do anything, anything necessary to prove my love to you. "

"No, oh dear no. That's not, you don't have- have to do anything at all to make me believe you love me. I'm sorry I asked such a stupid question. " She sobbed out.

Shushing her softly again, he rocks their bodies back and forth, till she's calmed and fallen asleep there, in his arms. Knowing that his arms are her only safe place for her from now on, he takes her delicate figure to the bedroom.

Placing her on her side of the bed, he lays down on his. Staring at her stunning face, he feather touches her face with his fingertips, memorizing every curve, every little detail on her, like a sculptor admiring his work and giving it the finishing touches.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

" So, I did a little digging on your sugar daddy. "

" Why?! And he's not my sugar daddy. " Y/N said in disbelief. No. Not her dear best friend too.

" I know you said not to and I'm sorry. But I am worried about you. He made you leave your family Y/N. " They stated with worry and sympathy.

" No. He didn't make me leave them. I left them by choice. They don't see him like I do. And clearly, they hate that I'm happy with him. " Y/N finished as they sat down at the lunch table.

" Y/N..... "

" What? Even you don't want me to be happy? " She questioned her friend in disbelief. Laughing sarcastically Y/N shook her head.

" I've heard rumours! Okay? He was in the orphanage that had that severe fire explosion. And most of the culprits from that incident are MIA. What if he's one of the people who caused it?! " They said in a whisper, worried that the neighbouring people can hear their conversation.

" Do you really think that? All of that is just a rumour. And he's told me about it. He's told me everything. Unlike my parents who so desperately tried to tie me down to an arranged marriage. "

" He's not good for you. I know you deserve better. Okay he may make happy and all but what if he leaves? What if he just uses you and drops you like you were nothing? We're just trying to make sure you don't get hurt Y/N. Physically and emotionally. " They finished.

" This, all what you said, is cheap talk. But it'll eventually wear down because when we get married and have kids and all that in the future, you're all going to look like fools. And I will proudly say ' I told you so '. "

" If that's the case then I am the happiest person for you. Hopefully I won't have to be the one to say ' I told you so'. "

" Wow. I, just- hah. Wow. Just wow. " She paused.

" You know, I really hoped you would be more supportive or at least tolerant enough to have patience and support me with my decision for my love. " Y/N said loud enough for eavesdroppers to hear audibly.

Of all the people she would have to drop, never even in her nightmares had she fathomed that her best friend would be one.

Getting up from the table, she picks up her bag and leaves without another word, and goes to the only place that has love for her and that accepts her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Reaching home, Y/N notices the place empty. Maybe he's at the clinic?

Shrugging off her bag and jacket she sits on the couch for a moment, before her restlessness takes over and she begins pacing in the living room.

Why are people being like this? Do they hate her so much? They barely know him. Why are they treating and accusing him to be such a criminal! He's not. He takes care of Y/N so much. He loves her so much. He provides for her. He's affectionate with her, more than he's told he thought capable. He's become her ride or die. And she, his.

They don't know him like I do. They will never love me like he does.

They don't know about the love they have. The just see what they want to see. Bloody society dictating whom to love and whom to not. Is it so hard to see the love they have for each other? Can't they just let it be. They don't know the turmoil she's gone through recently; they don't know how well he's taken care of her, kept her happy and same enough to not let her intrusive thoughts get the best of her.

Her thoughts interrupted by the door clicking open. Smiling, Moon-Jo enters with a box, surely containing sweets from her favourite bakery. How can you not love someone so considerate, who does things for you without even having to ask.

Seeing the sad look upon his lover's face, Moon-Jo's smile fades into a frown.

" What's wrong my dear? "

Smiling sadly Y/N just shakes her head, conveying that she doesn't want to talk about it.

Placing the box of sweets on the coffee table, the two hug each other, feeling of comfort taking over them both. She can just stay here, forever, in his arms till the world ends.

" Babe. What's wrong? You can tell me anything. Anything at all. I'll take care of the problem. " Delicately Moon-Jo cradles Y/N's head in his palms, making her face up to him, their height difference evident.

Sighing, she moves to sit on the couch, motioning him to do the same. " It's just people. And what they say. My family was one thing, but my best friend, the person I chose as my family " Pausing Y/N breathers the tears back in, " They were doubtful of you today. How can I live knowing that no one will approve of us? " Y/N questioned looking at him.

" Does their opinion really matter that much? So much so that you are skeptical of my affection to you? " Coldly, he moved back from his seat on the couch.

" No! No. Gosh that is not what I mean. Not at all. I love you and I know that you love me. So much. So much so I would die for you. But there are other people whom I care about. Who's opinions matter to me. And I don't want to let them go. As happy as I am with you, I need them too. They give me joy in a different way, that is important. "

" Do I not make you happy? Are you not content with the love I give you? Is it not enough? " He asks carefully.

" That's not what I meant! You love me more than anyone I've known. "

"Then what's the problem? You don't need those people who don't love you. You have me. You will have me forever and ever. I will never leave you. And you will never leave me either. We'll be with each other till the end of the world darling. "

Nodding with a small smile you looked down at your feet.

Unhappy with your action, Moon-Jo pulls your face up by your chin to look at him with such force, it scared you a little, making your heart skip a beat in fear.

" Do you not love me, babe? " He asked tilting his head to a side, his expression mildly offended.

" I do! I love you. So much. " You finished with a soft tone, cupping his face with your hands.

Grinning like a Cheshire Cat, Moon-Jo leaned down to capture your lips with his. Reacting immediately, you kissed him with as much energy and sincerity you could muster, as you head filled with thoughts of doubt.

Had your parents been right? Had for friend been right? Had they all been right all along and you too blind to see?

No. It can't be. He loves you. He's said that so many times. And you love him.

You love him.

You.

Love.

Him.

...

Do you love him, or have you been illusioned into loving him?

[kirnx-art]

do you have any headcanon about info kun's (or chan) relationship with his dad (the journalist)?

OOH YEAH!! Of course!

(If anything, I often say Info-kun (or Akira sometimes), but in fact it could very well be Info-chan (Akari), there is no difference)(Like, some characters in my AU are purposely left without genderbend (for example Ichiko), or vice versa, they can only work in the genderbend version (Ryoba-kun), but Infomaniac can be both -kun and -chan)(Buuut anyway, now we're talking about something else-)

So, about the journalist and Infokid

The journalist lived in a small and cheap apartment that looked more like a hikkikomori lair. The only thing that was atypical for a hermit was the presence of a little child in this apartment.

Since childhood, Akira watched his father get drunk and tell the same story about a schoolgirl that ruined his whole life. Every time he told this, he would start screaming and getting angry, and then crying, and this frightened his child.

At the age of 6, when the journalist got drunk again and started crying, Akira once said "Daddy, you have me, so everything will be fine," but his drunken father told him that it would be better if he had not been born, because he "killed his mother ".

This traumatized Infokid pretty badly. Although his father was an alcoholic, and they lived in poverty, the son at least loved him a little, and his father had not previously allowed him to say such things. But after this incident, Akira pulled away from him.

At the same time, Akira had the beginnings of thoughts about how to take revenge on that girl who ruined the life of his father, and in fact himself too, since birth.

After a while, his late mother's old laptop suddenly turned on. The journalist never used it, so the boy was surprised by this. However, that's another story, about how the little boy became the Info-kun we now know.

For now, I'll just say that since that time, Akira began to spend time secretly from his father with this laptop, studying it. Once a journalist nevertheless noticed this and was frightened by what he saw.

His son sat in complete darkness with this laptop and talked to himself. Very reminiscent of his late wife. In 1990 year, the journalist was a little afraid of her, especially when she was alone with this laptop.

So, the journalist did not say anything to his son and decided not to interfere. He gradually began to fear him.

From that moment on, the journalist constantly saw his son with this laptop, and a few years later he also began to notice that Akira spends quite a lot of time away from home. However, although he thought about it, he did nothing, washing down all his restless thoughts with alcohol.

Akira, meanwhile, without saying anything, began to bring more food and various stuff, and then new computer into home. Considering that from early childhood he was forsed to cook (cause his father was constantly drunk, and he was starving), and now began to provide for himself with his father, Akira became even more like his mother. A drunken journalist in delirium was thinking that this is his wife, and was horrified by this when he became more sober. His wife was always kind of weird, but he didn't care, because she took care of him. But the son began to frighten him frankly.

When, at the age of 14, Akira, being covered in blood, returned to home (and immediately sat down at the computer), his father, seeing this, did not even dare to say anything to him. At that moment, he was finally convinced that he was literally afraid to talk to his son. He didn't even want to ask whose blood it was. And, in fact, he didn't care. Although in an atmosphere of fear and anxiety, but he seemed to have returned to the time when he lived with his wife.

[elizabethospeaks]

CW this is a huge ramble but this is a blogging platform so I’m just going to ADHD my thoughts everywhere

I've been thinking a lot about 'artistic talent' recently and what it means to me.

As a kid, I don't know; I wasn't what I'd call naturally gifted with art? Right from age 5 up to my early teens - I loved art, I drew constantly, I wanted so badly to be good at art. I grew up without a computer or art programs for the most part, partly because of how old I am and partly because we didn't have a lot of money. My parents could afford paper and cheap art materials, but that was about it - definitely no time or money for any kind of formal training.

There were kids in my first art classes with way better technical skills, better knowledge of anatomy and proportions, lighting etc etc. But I never got the impression they were as passionate about it as I was.

My first art teacher only seemed to have time for his male students that had those technical skills. I remember very vividly watching him enthuse over my male friends work, holding it up for the rest of the class to see - and me just sitting opposite him, drawing my heart out desperately, producing and producing and trying my best just desperately craving that same attention.

But he never had much time for me despite how obviously enthusiastic I was. Even when I assertively asked for his feedback, he was overly critical and just seemed frustrated by what I interpreted as this lack of innate talent some of my peers had. He never actually taught me much.

My disabilities held me back too - my undiagnosed ADHD made art tutorials I found online dull and difficult to follow. My perfectionism made creating even more frustrating (any other ADHDers with the irony of also being a perfectionist as you miss out glaring details as you’re rushing to finish something?). As online communities became more accessible I tried to join them and befriend other artists; but my skills were juvenile and frankly, I was super young and super annoying, so I didn’t get much of the creative community and feedback I craved a lot. When we did have a computer at home I could use, we couldn’t afford any digital art programs or tools, I just drew with a mouse in MSPaint and did so for a long long time. If I wanted to do lineart, eventually I started sketching on paper, scanning it in, and then painstakingly cleaned it up by erasing with a mouse so I could colour it.

I did befriend one artist eventually, who is still my friend today - she’s a little older than me and is incredibly technically talented. Her dad had art skills himself and taught her, and these days she’s won awards for her wildlife illustrations. She tried to help me and taught me more in one lesson on lighting and shading than my art teacher had done in 2 years. But comparison is the thief of joy and I just felt mournful comparing my art to hers. What was the point in trying to be an artist if I was never going to reach that level of skill?

Now I’m older I realise more where my friends skill came from. Her dad never had much time for her - but he would spend time with her and talk to her about her art. He was very overly critical to his own child and she so badly wanted to get his approval and spend time with him that she channelled absolutely everything into her art. But that never occurred to me when I was younger - I didn’t think about the lack of opportunities I’d had, or the circumstances of the artists I envied for being so much better than I was. I just felt so incredibly hopeless, disappointed and frustrated at myself.

Eventually that all stopped me from creating art entirely, for years. I just gave up. I didn’t start trying to create art again until very recently, a few years ago; after I finally managed to escape an abusive relationship and used my creative skills to help me work through what I now know was the beginning of my PTSD.

I guess the point of me writing this other than just wanting to purge my thoughts, is the hope that maybe somebody else might read this and see their own fraught experience with creating reflected in my own journey, and feel a little less alone. Sometimes it’s easy to think other creatives have a journey of sunshine and rainbows, but mine has been anything but.

I still struggle with a lot of these feelings - I still feel as though I’m lacking some magical spark of illusive 🌟tALEnt✨. It’s all been made worse by the many, many years where I just didn’t draw at all out of hopelessness and shame, and therefore fell even further behind where I feel I should be by now. But I managed to get that passion back and I use that to keep myself going; I remind myself all the time of how much I lost in those years where I just gave up. I constantly drive myself to improve and try to ignore how small my follower count and notes are. It’s still frustrating, still disheartening at times. But I’ve come so far and intend to keep going further ♥

[wiypt-writes]

Barking Up The Wrong Tree

 Ransom Drysdale One Shot

Summary: It’s the Annual Pre-Easter meal at the Thrombey’s and Ransom and you are in attendance. As usual, there’s fireworks, a lot of swearing and there’s only one way you know he can get rid of his frustrations…

 Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (NSFW) NO UNDER 18s!

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this was originally written last year for @jennmurawski13​ who requested a smutty one shot with an Evans character of my choice for her birthday. It was coined from a Brainstorming sesh me and @icanfeelastormbrewing​ had for our intended Ransom x OFC series (we might get round to it in 2022…so by then you’ll have forgotten if we use it again.) FYI Eighteen year old Ransom is totally Bryce from Fierce People, you can’t convince me otherwise… I also very much now see this being the same Reader as in mine, @ohthankevans13​ and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​’s  Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale series.

Your brown leather, knee high Saint Laurent boots (a gift from the man whose lap you were curled up on) were on the floor by your feet leaving you in your grey, woollen over-knee socks. One of your boyfriend’s large hands was resting on your left shin, the other just at the top of your right thigh, almost on your ass cheek. You were well aware your black sweater dress was riding up so went to shift and shimmy it down a little, conscious that you were, after all, sat in the large drawing room at his grandfather’s house whilst the rest of his family milled around as the pre-Easter dinner, which always took place the weekend before the actual holiday, was being prepared.

“You okay?” Ransom looked up at you, noticing you shift on his lap and you smiled.

“Yeah, just don’t want to flash everyone too much if you get my drift.”

Ransom cocked an eyebrow at you, then peeked around the room, before he gave a snort as his eyes fell on his cousin Jacob who was watching the pair of you.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want Adolf junior getting a boner now would we?”

You gave a chuckle as you re-arranged your dress, making yourself more comfortable.

“He’s just a kid, Ran.” You soothed.

“He’s a deviant, Princess.” He replied, his voice quiet.

“So were you when I first met you.” You grinned, looking at him as you bent closer to whisper into his ear “Still are when the mood takes you.”

Ransom pulled back to look at you, his face inches from yours, his eyebrow raising slightly as that dirty smirk spread across his handsome face. “Stop it.” He warned, and you shrugged innocently, as he placed a soft kiss on your mouth.

“Come on son, put her down.” Richard’s voice rang across the room and instantly you felt Ransom’s entire demeanour change. Gone was the relaxed, jokey, happy Ran you knew and loved and in his place was Hugh Ransom Drysdale, asshole extraordinaire.

“Piss off, Father.” He shot back, his head moving back from yours, fixing his dad with a steely glare.

“Hey.” Richard glowered “Don’t speak to me like that…” he turned to Linda. “Did you hear that Linda?”

“Ransom…” Linda said lazily, not looking up from her phone. “Don’t speak to your father like that.”

Ransom rolled his eyes and you gently looked at him, shaking your head, silently telling him to stay calm. It was always the same with the Thrombey family gatherings. Ransom despised them for the simple fact that Harlan was the only one he had any time for, bar his mother on a good day, and you were inclined to feel the same way. It always ended in chaos, each individual nuclear sects within the extended family trying to get one up on the other, prove they were the best players in the game.

Frankly, they made the fucking Lannisters look normal.  

All your friends were constantly asking you how you managed to stay tangled in this web of dysfunction, but the answer was right in front of you, his crystal blue eyes now narrowed as he shot a sarcastic reply back to his mother.

The simple truth was, you loved him and couldn’t walk away if you tried.

It hadn’t always been that way, mind. When your High School had been asked to submit nominations for the coveted position of Harlan Thrombey’s Summer research assistant, you’d been short listed along with 15 other candidates from the New England area. Each of you were asked to produce a five-thousand word thesis on a literary subject of your choice to be submitted for reading by Harlan. You’d been ecstatic when you received the call from his Publishing Company to say you’d made the final three and were requested to attend an interview.

You’d been and bought a new suit. Nothing fancy but decent enough quality. You made sure your hair was tamed, your make up was as on point as you could get it, and had driven the thirty minutes or so out to his mansion from the home you shared with your Nanna in Brookline, following the directions on your GPS to the area near Pierce Park where the Thrombey Mansion was located. You were greeted by his housekeeper and shown into the large office where the man himself was waiting. Harlan was nothing like you had expected him to be. He was eccentric, sure, but also dmaned good fun. He’d asked you a few questions about why you wanted the position “I’m going to major in English at college and I hope to work in publishing when I graduate, this would be an invaluable experience.” He had then discussed your paper with you and after a few more general questions he had reduced you almost to tears of laughter by telling you a about an incident when he had been at college and was almost caught climbing down the trellis of his girlfriend’s parent’s house following a late night rendezvous of the very naughty kind “Don’t think too badly of me, we ended up married for forty-seven years…”

Then, just as he was showing you out of his study a tall, well-built young man, your age you had correctly guessed, with a strong jaw, dark hair flicked to the left side of his forehead, and a pair of the bluest eyes you had ever seen, waltzed down the hallway. He was dressed in a pair of riding breeches, a polo shirt and wore a long pair of tan leather riding boots.

"Ransom?” Harlan looked at the young man “I wasn’t expecting you till this afternoon.”

“Yeah well, the fucking horse I should have been riding is lame.” Ransom shrugged “Which means I can’t ride, and I probably can’t compete this weekend.”

“Dressage?” you had asked, your mouth speaking well before your brain had engaged, for some reason thinking it was a good idea to comment. Ransom had looked at you with disdain, scanned you up and down and cocked his head to one side, his eyes cold as they locked onto yours.

“Polo.” He had answered, a sneer on his face “Do I look like a dressage rider to you? Mind you, from the state of your cheap high-street dress the nearest you’ve probably ever been to a horse is those shitty little trail rides they run at kids parties.”

“Ransom!” Harlan had snapped sternly “Enough!”

You felt the heat rise in your neck and cheeks, and you drew yourself up to your full height, folding your arms as you looked at the ass hole stood in front of you. One thing your Nanna had told you was that, despite your humble origins, you were as worthy as the next person, no matter how much money, status or self-importance they may have.

“My apologies. I always thought polo was played by arrogant, snobby, stuck up pricks.” You retorted as you made a show of looking him up and down in the same way he had done to you. “Actually, on second thoughts, I should have guessed.”

As soon as the words were out of your mind you let out an internal groan. Way to go, flush your chance of landing this summer internship down the fucking toilet by insulting Harlan’s grandson. Nevertheless, you held the gaze of the man in front of you who stared back, his expression and face utterly stoic bar the blink of surprise his eyes made.

You heard Harlan chuckle behind you and the old man dropped a hand to your shoulder. “Fran, could you see Miss Y/L/N to the door.”

Two days later Harlan had personally called you to offer you the position, and it had turned out to be everything you ever wanted, and more. Three weeks into your internship, to your utter surprise, Harlan confessed that he had been looking to fund a worthy, local candidate through college and as the successful applicant it was yours for the taking. Some strings had been pulled, and in the last week of September thanks to his generosity you started your English Major at Harvard.

And so did Ransom.

He pursued you with a dogged determination, seemingly viewing your indifference towards him and his advances as some kind of challenge. You weren’t fooling yourself, however. He was devastatingly handsome and your traitorous vagina and that part of your brain that controlled your libido harboured a deep desire to fuck his brains out, a desire you finally gave into at the end of your first year when, following your final exam, you got drunk and woke up the morning after in his bed.

It wasn’t all puppies and roses though. You were on and off more than his boxer shorts, as simply put, Ransom was a player. And it didn’t bother you to start with. He was a hook up, a way to relieve tension when you needed to, and he was a very handy person to know with his seemingly endless network of connections. But by the time you graduated you knew you were head over heels for him, and needed to break this seeming cycle of being in and out of his bed.  So you turned down Harlan’s offer of a job at Blood Like Wine and were ready to move away from Boston after landing a job at a publishers in Manhattan…but then your nanna had been taken seriously ill and suffered a stroke meaning you had to stay.

As a result of her illness, your nanna was unable to live in your house in Brookline alone and so you were forced to sell it so she could afford to move into a supervised Retirement Village a five minute or so drive away. You were now jobless, drowning with the house-sale which would leave you homeless, and your emotions and been all over the place. You had no other family since your Grandfather had died at the start of your senior year so had no one to turn to.

Enter Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

You’d called him one evening, drunk and emotional and needing a release and he came over alright, but instead of fucking you into the mattress he made sure you drank water, ate something, and then got you into bed. The next morning, Harlan had shown up, telling you the job offer at his company was still open, and then to your utter surprise and initial horror he had offered to buy your nanna’s house, meaning you could remain there as a tenant. At first you had refused, insisting you weren’t a charity case but Harlan had simply waved your concerns away by insisting it was an investment. After a little discussion he agreed to allow you to pay rent which, all things considered, was a pittance in comparison to what other properties the same size in that area commanded but it was a rent nonetheless and made you feel better.

And you knew all of it had ben Ransom’s idea.

This was the side to Ransom he very rarely displayed to anyone. A softer side, a caring side, a gentle side. A side that held you as you cried at the thought that your nanna was growing old and may soon leave you behind, a side that made you a sandwich when you hadn’t eaten in days, a side that helped you pack up and move your Nana’s stuff to her new home, a side that turned up at 9pm with several tubs of ice cream and a bottle of wine after you’d messaged him earlier that afternoon to tell him what a shit day you were having when his Uncle Walt was being a dick at work.

The rest, they say is history. History which meant you were now curled up in his lap some eight or so years post that initial meeting in the hallway of this very house, listening to him bicker with his family, feeling his leg beginning to shake in that way it always did when he was agitated.

“Ran…” you said gently, squeezing his arm and you felt him take a deep breath and he looked at you, his mouth closing as you shook your head “Don’t.”

He turned away, looking to the other side of the room and his face glowered as he spotted Jacob once more had his eyes trained on your bare thigh. God the pubescent creep did his fucking head in, and if he stayed here he was going to end up putting the lanky streak of shit through the wall.

“Can we go?” Ransom looked at you, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“We’ve not even had dinner yet.”

“Please.”

That single word was enough to make you understand. It was a word he hadn’t learned until he’d met you, when he realised that his demands and arrogance got him nowhere with you. He still rarely used it mind, but when he did, you knew he was in desperate need of what he’d asked for.

“How about we take a walk?” You suggested “If you still wanna go after then we will”

He took a deep breath as he considered what you had said. Compromise was another word that hadn’t been in his vocabulary until you. His eyes locked onto yours and you looked at him, encouragingly and he took a deep breath, nodding.

“Okay.”

You uncurled yourself from his lap and stood up, him following so you could sit down and place you boots on.

“Are you leaving?” Linda asked, looking up for the first time.

“For a walk.” Ransom said simply, grabbing your hand and pretty much dragging you from the room. He didn’t say a word as he reached the coat stand and retrieved your lightweight Ted Baker belted mac, holding it out for you to slip your arms into, in a display of chivalry he reserved only for you. Once you’d done it up, he took your hand in his and you headed through the kitchen and outside into the reasonably mild April afternoon.

“Don’t let them get to you.” You said softly, leaning into him a little and he sighed, untangling his fingers from yours so he could drop his arm round your shoulders. He hated the fact his family could make him feel like this, like he wasn’t in control, like he was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He could quite happily go without seeing any of them, well, bar maybe his grandfather, but you had told him he would regret it if he pushed them away completely because you had always wished you’d had a large family unit like that. So, despite the fact he knew deep down that was a load of bullshit, he played the game. He attended the damned gatherings more for your benefit than any as you adored Harlan and seemed to get on fairly well with Joni, Meg and his mother. He hung onto a glimmer of hope that maybe one day it would all change and he’d feel part of it.

But it never did. And he never did.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence across the Mansion grounds, round the lake where Ransom stopped by the small pier, looking out over the water.

“You know my most vivid childhood memories are of this spot.” He mused, his gaze focussed over the lake “Grammy used to bring me down here to feed the ducks.”

“It’s beautiful down here.” You agreed, snuggling further under his arm. “Peaceful.”

“Yeah unlike that fucking house.”

You gave a chuckle, as his hand curled over your shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing over the smooth material of your coat. He was agitated, you could tell, and there were very few ways in which he could calm down when he was like this. One was riding his beloved BB- a polo horse Harlan had bought him for his 21st, one was the pair of you curling up on the sofa with snacks and a good scotch or bourbon, getting drunk and watching Trashy Films, in particular horrors-you both loved to pick plot holes and insult the main characters, declaring the victim a dumb bitch for running up the stairs and not out of the door and the other, well…

You glanced around, checking you were alone before you pulled away from him, taking his hand and tugging on it slightly.

“What?” he asked looking down.

“Come on.” You gave his hand another pull.

“Y/N?” he questioned again, but followed nonetheless despite you not answering. You tugged him away from the lake, into the thin thicket of trees a little further round. You could still see the house here but you knew there was no way anyone from up there could see you.

“Seriously, Y/N what the fuck?” he groaned, as he stepped in the slightly squelchy mud “You’re gonna ruin my Gucci’s…” “Should have worn something a little more substantial then shouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t know you were planning on going fucking hiking in the fucking woods.”

“That’s not what we’re doing.” You said, stopping in front of a large oak tree, looking up at him.

“Then what are we doing? Reconnecting with Mother Nature? Or are we on the hunt for Oberon, Titania and Puck?”

“Ooh, good Shakespeare reference.” You grinned at him and he rolled his eyes as you slid your hand up over his navy blue lightweight Barbour jacket which was done up to his sternum, leaving his plain white, Armani t-shirt slightly visible at the neckline. “Does that make us Lysander and Hermia?”

“You got a hidden suitor called Demetrius I don’t know about?” he arched an eyebrow, his hands falling to your hips.

“Nope, I’m all yours Tiger.”

The sound of your ridiculous nickname for him drew a large smile across his face and he shook his head, giving a genuine chuckle. Here, with you there were no annoying voices to listen to, no family politics, nothing to care about but the gentle brush of the wind as it blew through the canopy of trees above your heads and the faint sounds of birds as they went about their business and Ransom felt a sense of comfort. Because you were his rock. The one person that saw through his bull shit, the woman in his life that knew all his horrible personality traits as well as his slightly less horrible ones and loved him all the same. The girl that had rounded off his harsher edges no matter how much he protested to the contrary.

You were his better half for sure.

“Well that’s good, because I don’t like sharing.” Ransom smirked, dipping his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

“Don’t I know it.” You mused against his mouth. His fingers flexed on your sides, pulling you closer to him as he slid his tongue across your bottom lip. You opened your mouth slightly, allowing him control over the kiss, knowing that’s what he craved when he was like this. His lips were soft on yours, tongue domineering as he kissed you deeply, slowly. Eventually he pulled back, his nose bumping yours slightly as he gave a little chuckle.

“I know you’re trying to distract me from those shit heads in the house.” He said, his tone playful and you loved playful Ransom. Another side to him only you really got to see.

“Is it working?” You played along.

“Yeah.” He nodded, his lips pressing to yours again.

“Good. Now why don’t you let your inner deviant come out to play?”

“You don’t need to ask me twice, Princess.” The words were barely out of his mouth before he had pressed you into the harsh, earthy bark of the tree behind you, kissing you hard again, groaning as you palmed his crotch through his designer denims. He grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head before he did the same with the other one, easily holding both in place above you with one large hand, his other softly tracing up the outside of your thigh, fingers skating under your skirt.

“Is this why you wore this?” he smirked, toying with the material slightly. “So you could tempt me away for a fuck in the woods?”

It wasn’t, it was because it looked and felt good, but you decided to play along “Maybe. Was it a good choice?”

“Damned right it was…” he growled against your mouth, his long, soft fingers sliding your lace panties to the side. His index finger traced a path up your slit and you gasped at the feeling as he gently began to toy with you. Soft, teasing touches, his eyes never once leaving yours. That was one of his things, he liked to see your face, watch as your expressions changed as he undid you, fuelling his ego. Your hips gently started to move in time to his strokes as he played you, like an instrument from which he could always draw a tune. And in no time at all, he was listening to the music as you let out a soft keen, a purr almost as your head fell back against the tree, your mouth parting slightly.

“Like that?” he asked, and it was all you could do to nod, panting brokenly as the familiar feeing began to rise in the pit of your stomach, the fire growing hotter and hotter. “God you’re a fucking minx. Come on, cum on my fingers, you know you want to.” And you did, hard, your knees trembling, as you let out a loud cry of his name as the lights exploded in front of your eyes. Ransom pressed into you, his erection evident as it dug into your stomach, keeping you pinned between him and the tree as he coaxed you through your orgasm, before he moved his hands, allowing yours to drop to his shoulders as you held onto him tightly.

The clanging of a belt buckle, then the zipping of trousers and the rustling of fabric broke through the post-orgasm haze as Ransom undid his flies, reaching into pull out his painfully hard cock. He gently pushed forward, sliding the tip against your folds, gathering your slick as you gave a moan, the feeling of him sliding against your clit sent lances of red, hot desire through your veins.

His hands gripped the back of your thighs as he pulled you off the ground and you hooked them round his slim waist, ankles locking at the base of his spine. In a swift, fluid moment, no teasing, no gentle ease, he buried himself inside you with a deep thrust making you cry out as he filled you. His lips crashed onto yours as he drew back, then thrust back in hard, his cock dragging against your walls inside, hitting that spot that he knew would leave you seeing stars.

Yes, if there was one thing on this Earth Ransom knew he was good at, it was fucking you.

His lips traced a path from your mouth to your jawline, then to your neck, biting and sucking at any bit he could get to, his hips moving back and forth in a slow but deep pace which was torture, and you needed more.

“Ran, harder…” You groaned, digging your heels into his ass and he gave a dirty moan of his own as his hands held your hips.

“You’re such a needy little slut.” He smirked against your lips, not waiting for your reply as he picked up the pace, his hips snapping back and forth with a vigour that was merciless as he pistoned in and out of you again and again. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly as you kissed him, teeth clashing together as your back repeatedly brushed against the harsh, rough surface behind you as you clawed desperately at the material of his jacket.

It wasn’t long before you felt another orgasm brewing and your head fell forward, teeth nipping at his ear drawing a growl from his throat. Your hands moved into his hair and you pulled sharply back causing him to hiss and look up you.

“Fuck, Y/N….” he groaned, the pupils of his eyes blown wide with a desire you would never tire of seeing. You pushed your hips down against him causing him to drive deeper and you let out an almost primal cry, the noise you made simply revving him up even more, his rapid movements growing even more urgent.

“Fuck Ran…” you moaned as your head rolled back against the tree, hands back on his shoulders, as once more that snake in your belly moved. Ransom felt the tell-tale flutter of your heat tightening round him and he continued his voracious pace, his eyes locked onto yours.

“You feel so fucking good…” he panted “So fuckin’ good Princess...”

His words made you moan again, and he pushed up once more, stilling slightly, grinding up against you as opposed to thrusting and a few rolls of his hips later you were done. The world faded around you as you came hard, with a loud scream before your head dropped to his shoulder, as you moaned his name, again and again whilst he pounded through your orgasm chasing his own.

“Shit, Y/N…I’m…fuck…” his words tumbled into your hair as his movements became desperate and he came a short while later with a loud yell. You felt him fill you up, as his hips stilled and he groaned, face buried into your neck, his chest heaving, sweat beaded both his brow and yours as he simply pressed into you, panting and shaking.

Neither of you had any idea how long you stayed like that, but eventually Ransom managed to gain enough control to pull his softening cock out of you and set you gently on your feet as he brushed the tendrils of your hair that had fallen over your face back with a tenderness he reserved only for you. He said nothing, simply looked at you, his lips gently greeting yours in a soft, loving kiss, a stark contrast to the violent ones you had shared moments before. You smiled at him, unadulterated love in your eyes as you moved your hands to brush his hair back before you leaned up and kissed him again, your nose sliding against his.

“I adore you Hugh Ransom Drysdale. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Don’t fucking call me Hugh.” He grumbled and you chuckled as he pulled you to him, nuzzling into your hair as he sighed. “But for the record, the feeling is mutual Y/F/N, Y/M/N, Y/L/N.”

You gave a laugh and were about to reply when you felt his head snap up, and his entire body tense and he let out an angry cry causing you to jump.

“Jesus Fucking Christ! The perverted little shit!”

“Ran?” You saw his face contorted in anger as he pushed back from you, striding away from the tree, rearranging his jeans as he went before he broke into a sprint. You watched him go and then, to your horror, saw the retreating back of a smaller male running away from the thicket of trees on the curve of the bank to your left and you felt yourself grow cold.

Jacob.

How long he had been there Ransom had no idea but he chased the little fucker all the way to the house, yelling insults and threats as he burst into the kitchen. Ransom finally caught up with him just as he ran into the hall and grabbed the kid by the collar, spinning him round and pinning him to the wall, arm crossed over his windpipe. “Enjoy the show did we?!” He yelled, the noise drawing the rest of the family out from the sitting room into the tiled hallway. Walt started to shout angry threats about what he was going to do to Ransom if he didn’t take his hands off his son, which then sparked Richard to bite back at Walt saying if he touched Ransom he’d give him a damned good hiding. If Ransom hadn’t been so focussed on the dirt little bastard he had pinned to the wall he would have laughed because the idea of his dad fighting anyone was hilarious, he couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag.

“Give me your phone.” Ransom demanded.

“I didn’t…” “GIVE ME YOUR PHONE NOW YOU PERVERTED PRICK!” Ransom yelled, and reached into Jacob’s pocket, grabbing his hand where it was curled around the offending item, bending the boy’s fingers back. Jacob gave a yell, pulled his hand out of his trouser pocket and Ransom seized the phone, yanking it out, just as you walked into the hallway.

He looked at you, then to Jacob and saw you pale as the realisation washed over you that you’d not only been seen but recorded or snapped, by a twelve year old boy nonetheless.

“Unlock it.” Ransom demanded, thrusting it back at him.

“Now listen here…” Walt started until Harlan turned to him.

“Walt, shut up.” He barked, turning to Jacob “Unlock the phone, now Jake.”

Jacob sullenly took the phone from Ransom and did has he was told, Ransom snatching it back. He glanced down at the screen, flicking to the Gallery and let out an angry noise as he saw not only footage of you both in the woods but ten or so photos of your bare thigh and close ups where he had attempted to see up your skirt when you had been on his knee before. Thankfully from the snaps there wasn’t really anything visible, but still the fact he had even taken them in the first place made Ransom apoplectic with rage.

“You dirty little prick.” he mumbled, looking back up at him. Jacob visibly recoiled under Ransom’s glare.

“Ran?” You questioned as you gently touched his arm and he tilted the phone so you could see the screen and your eyes widened, your entire body growing warm as you saw the close up of your thigh on the screen.

“How the fuck dare you?” You exploded, glaring at Jacob.

“Can you explain what he has supposedly done?” Donna, Jacob’s mother spoke for the first time and you turned to face her, your pretty features contorted in rage.

“He’s…” You shook your head “Taken photos of me, before up my skirt.”

Noise erupted in the hallway, Joni and Meg screaming about you being violated, Richard and Linda yelling at Walt and Donna whilst Harlan shook his head, making a noise of disgust. Ransom ignored them all as he selected the photos and images, deleting them, and showing it to you.

“Gone, Princess.” He turned the screen off before he leaned over and kissed your temple.

“Look, he’s a teenage boy…” Donna was protesting “He’s a bit curious…”

“He’s a dirty bastard.” Richard snorted and the irony wasn’t lost on Ransom as he’d seen his father eyeing you up on more than one occasion. He looked at his dad, eyebrow raised as Jacob bit back at the dig.

“I’m a dirty bastard?” The pre-teen snapped, his eyes flicking from Richard to Ransom “I’m not the one that was having sex against a tree!”

Everyone paused and their heads turned to you and Ransom. You gave a groan, your hands sliding up to your face to hide your utter embarrassment, but besides you Ransom’s expression never changed because, well frankly, he couldn’t give two shits about everyone knowing what you had been up to.

“I’m a grown ass man.” He snarled “If I wanna fuck my girl outside on private property I will”

He held Jacob’s phone out to him, but as Jacob went to take it Ransom opened his hand, dropped it to the floor with a loud “oops” and stomped on it, the metal and glass crunching under the heel of his expensive, leather boots.

There was more yelling, and Ransom simply turned, taking your hand in his. “We’re leaving.”

This time you didn’t argue. The pair of you walked away, ignoring the screaming which grew fainter as you headed down towards the large front doors, only to hear Harlan calling after you. Ransom stopped, took a deep breath and tuned to face his grandfather.

“Y/N are you ok?”

“Of course she’s not.” Ransom snapped but you gently squeezed his hand, shaking his head.

“I’m okay Harlan, thank you. But I think its best we go before Ransom commits murder.”

“Well, I can assure you I’m not far off killing the little turd myself.” Harlan shook his head, sighing. He then took a deep breath, looked at Ransom, and there was a flash of something which you knew only too well to be amusement in his eyes. “Which tree?”

Ransom frowned “What?”

“I asked which tree you two were doing the naughty against.”

You groaned as Ransom blinked and then shrugged “Just in the thicket to the south side of the lake, near the little jetty. Why?”

“Well, instead of barking up the wrong tree so to speak, next time stick to the North side.” Harlan grinned cheekily “It’s in the dip and no chance you can be spotted by anyone unless they’re a foot or so away.”

Ransom’s mouth curled up into a smirk as he looked at his grandfather then to you.

Meanwhile you simply wanted the ground to open up and swallow you.

Harlan bid the two of you goodbye as you headed out to Ransom’s Beemer. He stopped just besides it, turning to you, his hands falling to your hips again. “Well, I don’t know about you, Sweetheart, but all that excitement has made me a bit hungry. Seeing as we’re not getting dinner here, how about I take you to Asta?”

Your face lit up at the mention of your favourite restaurant and you gave an eager nod before you frowned “Aren’t we a little underdressed? And it’s Saturday evening, we’ll never get in.”

“Baby girl, enough money can get us in anywhere, and you look fine.” He said, dropping a kiss to your lips before he grinned “You might wanna brush the twigs outta your hair though.”

[soulmate-game]

This is an alternate ending for my Bio!dad Joker / Bio!mom Harley AU. Or really, the timeline itself will be entirely different starting from the moment that Marinette’s plane lands in Gotham. If you haven’t read the original, you can do so here.

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette often hated how accurate her intuition tended to be. She had barely even stepped out of the airport before she had felt the prick of a needle in her neck and the sensation of being shoved into a small, dark space before her vision cut out.

Looks like her mom wasn’t able to hide her existence away as well as they thought.

And unfortunately for Marinette, her darling asshole of a father had apparently had ample time to plan his first meeting with her. If he had just used the much easier to acquire Chloroform on her, then Marinette likely would have woken up early enough to come up with a plan. Chloroform was unreliable and wore off fairly easily. But no, he had actually had the time to steal hospital grade anesthetic.

Which meant that Marinette woke up with her wrists zip-tied to heavy links of chain above her head, and her ankles connected to the chain below her with what felt like ten layers of duct tape.

Lovely.

“Ah, there she is! Good morning, sleepyhead!” Those were the high-pitched, dramatic words she heard when she came back to consciousness. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know who the speaker was— she had watched enough videos online and not-so-legally obtained Asylum and Prison footage to immediately recognize the speech patterns and tone that was echoing around her.

Apparently keeping her eyes closed was not allowed, because it was only a few seconds later that Marinette felt a harsh slap sting her cheek and whip her face to the side. Oh, that would become a bruise without a doubt. Her teeth betrayed her, cutting into the inside of her mouth with the force of the hit. So, when Marinette opened her eyes to glare at the sperm donor responsible for half of her DNA, she aimed her bloody spit right at him. It landed on his shoe, which only a few seconds later slammed into her gut.

Marinette gasped for air even as the chain she was on swung violently, making her dizzy and upsetting her stomach. Too bad she didn’t have anything in there to throw up on him, she thought angrily. The chain links rattled loudly, ringing in her head alongside the electric pain of both of her newly forming bruises.

“Honestly, is that any way to treat your dear ol’ Daddy?” Joker cooed with false offense, one hand over his heart. Marinette glared at him as best as she could as she continued to sway in the open air, the chain she was tied to being the only thing keeping her from plunging straight down into a vat of sickly green, bubbling liquid.

Marinette didn’t need to be told what that liquid was. And joker knew that, the moment he saw her look down at that vat and saw the realization almost immediately cross her face. So instead of explaining, he laughed. Loud, high, and deranged.

“Good, good! That idiot Harley kept you educated, at least,” he said between psychotic chuckles. “Ah yes, and she somehow managed to choose the perfect name,” he glided over to her, as if he was some ethereal demon of chaos instead of a human. His paper-white hand reached out, grabbing her chin in a crushing grip and turning her face this way and that. Inspecting her as if she was a piece of china and not a living being. “So easy to adjust. Right now, you’re Marinette. Just like how, all those years ago, your mother stood here as Harleen. But just as she was dunked into acid and became my harlequin,” he stepped back and grabbed Marinette’s shoulders. He spun her like a top, making the metal chain creak and clink as it wound into a few weak coils and then released back out, trying to go straight again. It sent Marinette twirling through the air in a horrid half-spin, one-eighty degrees one way before sharply spinning to the other side. Joker laughed.

“Just like that, you’re gonna go from boring old Marinette,” he stuck out his tongue like a child, as if the mere taste of her name was bitter. “And you’ll be reborn as my new little Marionette. Aren’t you excited?!”

“Fuck you,” Marinette spat, even as she tried to blink and return her vision to normal. She was far too disoriented to even come up with a plan— but she was still coherent enough to register that the sky was dark outside the high windows of the factory she was apparently in. She had been missing for a few hours then, which meant that her mom and Momma Ivy would have called for help a long time ago. Maybe if she just stalled long enough, it would get there in time. “I’m not a puppet. Not for you, not for anybody!” She snarled.

Joker rolled his eyes, but his smile still widened. “Oh, that’s what they all say. In fact, your mother put up a good resistance there for a while, but her inner chaos couldn’t resist me. You’ll bend even easier, I have no doubt,” her ran his hand along her cheek in a motion that was so gentle that it felt foreign, wrong, to her coming from him. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to whiplash her, take all her hope away before dangling the option he wanted her to choose in front of her like a carrot on a stick.

Too bad he didn’t know her at all. She cringed away from his gentle touch, revolted by the mere feel of his skin on her’s.

“And your accent is a nice touch,” he cooed as if her reaction didn’t bother him at all. It probably didn’t. “Exotic. Just the thing I need to freshen up my usual act a bit, the Boston twang my old Harlequins had is just… stale by now, don’t you agree?”

Marinette clenched her jaw at the reminder that he had tried to pass off a cheap look-alike as her mom when she disappeared, back when she was pregnant with Marinette, to hide her baby from Joker. How he had discarded that woman like trash when Harley went back to him, only to replace her again when her mom left him for good.

No matter how badly Joker spoke of her mom, Marinette knew that Harley had been the only Harlequin of his to actually last. The only one he kept around, and there was a reason for that. Now, he was looking for another replacement. One that was more than a cheap knockoff, and he was hoping that a teenager with not only Harley’s genetics, but also his own, would be the exact kind of right-hand prop he wanted. An obedient little puppet of chaos, just for him.

But Marinette was nobody's toy. She had been used and taken advantage of enough back in Paris, she had spent her whole life struggling to escape the side effects of her parentage. To deal with the things she inherited.

The obsessiveness, the way she was so quick to get attached. She knew she inherited that from her mom. But there was also the rage, the anger that Marinette constantly had to stuff down. Hide below the surface before it hurt someone. Keep under a tight reign and hide away in the back of her mind, her own dirty little secret.

The constant reminder of just who her biological father was. Because that anger, that viciousness, could only have come from him.

She had spent her whole life trying to carve herself her own identity, to create beauty with the chaotic elements she got from her blood. And she couldn’t blame her mother, not really. Her mother at least did her best to help, and always leant an empathetic ear when Marinette needed it. But Joker?

Oh, she could, and would, blame him even long after he was dead and gone. Because he was the one who hurt her mother, he was the one who twisted her and drove her to feel unfit to be a parent. And sometimes, Marinette thought it would be better if Joker never existed. Sure, that meant she never would have been born. But wouldn’t that have been easier, too? To not ever have to experience the struggle that came with being his daughter, a title she never consented to?

But she couldn’t change the past. She was alive, and she would use her life to spite everything that the Joker stood for. That would be her revenge. He wanted a toy?

Joker had been monologuing, but Marinette drowned it all out as she kept her periphery vision on the windows above her. Shadows moved out there, with familiar bright yellows and shadowy blacks. The bats were there. She just needed to stall.

She opened her mouth. Joker pulled a lever.

Marinette dropped.

Wire whizzed through the air, knocking the breath out of Marinette as it wound around her torso. She was barely able to piece together what was happening; one of the bats shot a human-safe grapple to try and pull her away from the acid.

But the chain and her restraints were stronger, heavier, and just dragged the grapple down with her body.

The impact sent a large wave of sickly green liquid surging over the side of the vat, and Marinette was dragged from view underneath the surface.

It burned.

She distantly felt the tape around her ankles peel itself away from her skin, the combination of acid and wetness rendering it useless. She felt the chemicals burning at her, sending painful tingles across every last inch of her skin. It got in her mouth, she didn’t have any breath in her to hold and ended up swallowing some. It seared her throat and created a river of lava inside her. It hurt.

It hurt so bad, she just wanted out. Out. Out. Out!

Someone pull her out now!

The zip tie around her wrist loosened enough for her to pull herself free, right as something heavy slammed into the heavy metal bowl. The entire container sloshed, slamming to fall onto its side. Marinette’s body was pulled alongside the rush of liquid as it flowed out, and she was able to breathe air again. Sweet, cooling air.

And then she hacked up acid, spitting and spewing it in an attempt to purge every last drop she had accidentally ingested. Like a cat choking on a hairball, she coughed and hacked and her chest convulsed and contracted to try and help her. Her ribs ached, she figured that the grapple that had tried to save her had ended up fracturing or breaking a rib or two. But all she cared about was breathing and getting rid of the chemicals she had inhaled. She needed it out. All of it. Out. Out. Out of her!

“Try to take a deep breath,” a gruff voice commanded, soft but solid. Something stable for her to cling to. So she did as it asked, forcing herself to stop hacking and instead focus on inhaling. As slowly as she could. It was difficult, the first few breaths cut themselves off with more involuntary coughing, but the owner of the gruff voice stayed nearby. Repeated it’s request. “Deep breath. Steady, now. In. Out. Good.”

Marinette was just starting to calm down, just starting to claw herself out of the haze of panic and adrenaline, when that wretched laugh cut through the air again.

“There you are! Heheheheh! My cute little Marionette!”

Marinette froze. She could barely think, barely understand her own emotions. But she knew she was different now. She knew there was no way back, he had taken it from her. He had taken her normality, he had taken all of her years of hard work and burned them right in front of her.

He had won. The bats hadn’t been fast enough. But, if her foggy mind was correct, Batman was the one trying to bring her back to lucidity. Batman was the one trying to help her get air back in her lungs.

Not her so-called father.

If he wanted a toy, she’d be a haunted doll. She’d harass him, haunt him, until he wanted nothing to do with her. She’d come back, like a possessed porcelain doll refusing to be thrown away. She would make him regret ever awakening the monster that she had spent so long forcing down. Because she was her father’s daughter, yes. But she was also her mother’s daughter.

And most importantly, she was Marinette Quinzel-Isley. Her own damned person. The Chosen wielder of the Creation miraculous. And she would never bow down and be used by anyone, ever again.

Tikki’s words from so long ago echoed in her mind. Resounded even louder than Joker’s laughter;

“That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good.”

And wasn’t that everything Marinette had ever done? It was a part of her now. Like a tattoo she had inked into her very soul.

She took the chaos she was given, and turned it into something beautiful. And right now? Right now, the most beautiful thing she could think of was Joker’s face when she slammed her fist into it.

“Easy,” Batman repeated, but for a different reason now. Marinette’s lungs still stuttered a little, but her breathing was mostly under control. Now, he was saying it because Marinette was forcing herself to her feet. Her legs trembled under her, threatening to lay her out on the floor again. But she was every bit as stubborn as Joker, which made for a terrifying combination with her all-consuming fury. The acid had broken the mental chains Marinette had been using to hold it back, and now it burned fierce and bright in her eyes.

So Marinette kept herself up right, cognizant of Batman’s hand on her shoulder but ignoring it. She grit her teeth against the burning light of the room, everything suddenly too bright and colorful. Too vibrant. But it did little to distract her. She realized that one of her hands still gripped the heavy chain that had sent her drowning in the acid, and sent a snarl at her darling, jackass of a father as she whipped it out right towards him.

“Marinette!” Batman yelled, his grip tightening on her shoulder. But he didn’t pull her back, which spoke louder than any words he could have said to her right then. He wouldn’t save Joker from his daughter, he knew the man deserved at least this much pain. And sure enough, the metal links slammed right into Joker’s side, winding around him like a crushing whip.

But that was all Marinette had the strength to do. As soon as she saw Joker’s body hit the floor, writhing in agony and painfully loud cackles, her hand let go of the chain and her body tumbled down. Batman caught her.

“Red Hood, Nightwing, get Joker back to Arkham,” Batman’s order faded in and out of focus. Now that her most pressing desire was taken care of, the effects of the acid reared their ugly heads with renewed ferocity. Everything was too bright, too loud, and her thoughts echoed in her head like voices wrestling for supremacy. “Robin, Black Bat, stay on alert. Harley said that she’s incredibly trained,” he warned his partners. Marinette didn’t begrudge him, the only other two people who had survived being dunked into those chemicals hadn’t exactly treated him with kindness and pacifism. But she could barely focus on them anyway, too distracted by trying to reign in the chaos in her mind.

But Joker would never stay silent, even as he was dragged away in chains.

“Hehehahahahaha! Paper white, paper white!” He jeered cheerfully. “That’s my girl! Violent just like Papa!” Red hood knocked him out with a harsh punch to the side of his neck before he could say another word. But it was enough— enough for Marinette to gasp in realization.

Her skin. It was paper white, just like his. Not even Harley’s skin had been bleached like the Joker’s after her dip in the acid. That had always been makeup. Her mom had a healthy, peachy complexion like anyone else. A complexion Marinette had shared— until now. Now, she was unhealthily pale. Just like him.

A painful screech tore itself from her already raw throat, and Marinette’s fingernails immediately began to tear at her own skin. Red. Red was better than white— she didn’t want to look like him. She couldn’t. White was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

“Marinette! Stop!” Strong hands clamped around her wrists, pulling her hands away from herself even as she wriggled and tried to keep clawing at herself.

“No! No no no!” Marinette howled. “I don’t wanna look like him! I don’t wanna be like him!” She managed to get one hand free and immediately tried to tear away at her face. Batman was able to wrestle her arm away before she could do any damage besides a few angry red lines. “I refuse! I refuse! I refuse!” She shook her head, not feeling as tears flung themselves off her cheeks.

“Okay,” Batman’s voice was solid again, soft and grumbly and stable. She grabbed at it again, drawn to anything that might help bring her stability. She needed his unflappable attitude right then, and he probably didn’t even realize how badly. “That’s good. But you don’t need to rip your skin off to do that, you know that right?”

Marinette hiccuped, finally sinking down to sob as the weight of everything she had lost pressed down over the chaos of deafening light and blinding sound that continued to jumble around inside her head. “He changed me,” she choked out. Batman nodded even though she wasn’t looking at him.

“He did.”

“Th-that f-fucking bastard,” Marinette managed a sad chuckle before devolving right back into sobs. “I wo-worked so h-hard. N-never hurt any-anybody. Never… never yelled. Ne-never hit… Not people who didn’t attack f-first.”

“I know. Your mom told me,” he confirmed calmly. Solid, tethering. Marinette swallowed another gulp of air, trying to calm down. But everything was too much.

“Mom!” She suddenly realized out loud, turning and grabbing at Batman’s chest, clinging to his uniform. She didn’t even care that she almost sliced herself on a batarang, she clung to him desperately with wide, crazed eyes. “G-get Mom and… and Ivy! They… they can help. They know—“ Marinette paused to breathe, then resumed. “Momma Ivy— she gave me—gave me a diluted… th-thingy, years ago, I can’t remember—“ Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to get her mind to calm down. To work.

“The serum she gave Harley?” He asked. “The one that made her immune to poisons, and gave her increased physical abilities?”

“That!” Marinette agreed frantically, nodding. “I was too— too little, to give the real thing, so she diluted it,” she swallowed her spit and winced when it burned her throat. “It… I think it’s helping with the—the—the—“

“The chemical’s effects?” Batman suddenly sounded like he was paying much more attention than before, his shoulders a little straighter at her explanation. “You think it’s slowing down or numbing what it did to your mom and Joker?” Marinette couldn’t talk anymore, it hurt too much. Everything hurt too much, so she just nodded. “Good. That’s good, Marinette. Robin! Get Harley and Ivy down here, now!”

That was when the voices started. Sometime during the ten minutes it took to get her Mom and Ivy to her, they had apparently been waiting nearby anxiously incase the Bats had needed backup, the voices had built from ominous whispers to devious shouts, ordering her to do things like slam her elbow into Batman’s throat or see what happened if she splashed Robin with some of the acid that was still on the ground.

Her body didn’t move. She kept herself carefully still, focusing on ignoring her impulse to listen to one of the voices. She was still lucid enough to know that she would regret it if she did any of that. That the Bats were more on her side than any of the voices or the Joker were. But it was growing painful, and Harley and Ivy walked in to Batman trying to keep Marinette from hitting her own head. She had devolved to trying to knock herself out to get the voices to be quiet.

“Shut up,” she hissed, her voice hoarse and gravelly. “Shut up, shut up, shut. Up!” She was clearly talking to herself, her eyes screwed shut as she continued to try and hit her head. Harley gasped, hands flying to her mouth and eyes watering at the sight. This was something she had hoped she would never see.

“Harls,” Ivy spoke softly, putting a gentle arm around her wife’s back in support. It hurt Ivy to see Marinette in so much agony, but she knew it pained Harley even more. And much more personally. “Come on. We can help.”

“Y-you’re right,” Harley agreed shakily, taking a deep breath to try and compose herself before they both approached their daughter. Batman didn’t let go of Marinette, but did lean out of the way to give them access to her.

“Honeycake?” Harley called out softly, a little unsure how the chemicals were affecting her baby’s personality right then. The first few days were going to be the worst, and she knew that. The Dunk never took it easy on it’s victims. Marinette gasped, stopping her muttering and raising her head to look at Harley with wide eyes.

“Momma?”

Harley had to swallow heavily to shove back the sob that wanted to bubble up out of her. She had to be strong for her baby. She couldn’t break yet. But Marinette hadn’t called her Momma since she was little, now she called Pamela ‘Momma Ivy’ and her just ‘Mom’.

“It’s me, sugarplum,” she assured her daughter, kneeling down and cupping one of Marinette’s cheeks in her palm. And that was when she noticed it, and couldn’t help but widen her eyes in shock. But Marinette’s senses were so sensitive that she noticed it right away, and stiffened.

“Wh-what is it?” She grew frantic when Harley didn’t immediately respond, only winced in sympathy. Marinette knew that wasn’t good. “Mom? What is it? What did he do? What else did he do to me?”

“Darling,” Harley started, licking her lips nervously. “My sweet baby girl, your right eye… it’s green now, sugar.”

Marinette’s world froze. She tried to smile, but it came out lopsided and disbelieving. “No,” she somehow managed to breathe. “No, mom, I have your eyes. Your blue eyes. I love your eyes,” Her voice steadily got more and more panicked as she went on, not wanting to accept what her mother was clearly seeing. She watched as Harley’s face broke a little, a few tears escaping before the older woman could stop them. Marinette shook her head again, slipping her tiny wrist out of Batman’s hold and raising it to her eye. “No. It’s one of his tricks. He—he must have slipped a contact in my eye when I was passed out, that’s— that’s— that’s all—“ but her fingertip met her normal eye. No contact to be felt. Marinette’s hand fell into her lap limply. The room was absolutely silent as everyone gave her a few seconds to process just how much she had been changed, entirely against her will. She opened and closed her mouth, not sure whether she wanted to yell or curse or cry. Instead, her voice just came out in a very tiny, broken:

“...fuck.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette had gone mostly mute. She would say a word here or there, but for the most part she was doing a good impression of a vegetable. She stayed silent, as still as possible, and just stared at the ceiling of her hospital room.

She had been like that for the past two weeks they had been monitoring her in the Acid’s aftermath. Her ribs, which had turned out to only be bruised thankfully enough, had healed. Her cheek and torso were healed up too, only the barest hint of sickly yellow to show as a reminder of Joker’s hits on her. Sometimes the cameras would catch her talking to seemingly empty air, only for a nurse to rush in and see that Marinette had gone silent yet again.

Tikki was doing her best to help. She had been separated from Marinette, but Pamela had found Marinette’s purse and returned it— and subsequently Tikki— when they had gotten her to the hospital. She was the only person Marinette regularly spoke to, because Marinette knew Tikki understood. Tikki had been around since the Big Bang, she had seen worse things than a little insanity. Tikki had always been there to help her feel at ease with her mind and body. She shared a piece of Tikki’s soul, even, according to the tiny god.

But talking to anyone else was too hard. Too scary. She still had those damned voices at war in her mind, trying to convince her to do things that made her lock her joints and keep her body absolutely still before she acted on any of the coaxes. Possibilities she had never considered before came startlingly easy to her mind now— like how it would only take two seconds to tear her IV out and stab it into her nurse’s eye. How she could use her blanket to strangle Momma Ivy, or how she could fake jumping out the window and Harley wouldn’t waste a second trying to save her.

They were horrible thoughts. Intrusive, ugly, and far too loud. She didn’t want to act on any of them, but sometimes she found her fingers twitching only a second before she could follow through on one.

She spent a lot of time meditating, because of it. Which is why most people thought she was ignoring them. She didn’t mean to, she just needed to meditate. It was like her brain was a giant room filled with filing cabinets that held her thoughts and emotions. Her whole life, Marinette had carefully kept this room alphabetized, organized, and neat. Every file in its correct drawer. Until Joker had come along, and ripped the entire place apart. Tore certain files in half, broke her cabinets, ruined her filing system. And now she had to put the room back together, one drawer and piece of paper at a time.

That’s what the meditation was doing. She was getting reacquainted with herself. Learning what had changed in her mind and trying to adjust. She couldn’t be the old Marinette anymore, but she’d be damned if she let the Joker turn her into someone ugly like him.

So she needed time.

One day, towards the end of those two weeks, she got a visitor slipping through her window. Considering her room was on the tenth floor, she had it pretty narrowed down as to who it could be. Batman had visited her every night, a silent shadow in the corner, but he had already left for the day so it couldn’t be him. None of the other bats had dropped by after the second day.

She turned her head to see that that was now changed; Red Hood sat on her windowsill with one leg inside the room and the other bent on the sill itself. He looked the very picture of comfort despite being a stiff wind (or quick shove— no, bad brain) away from falling to his death. And then Hood took off his helmet, which was ugly enough to inspire some of the more violent suggestions in her brain and make them seem appealing.

“Ya know. Red Hood used to be what Joker called himself,” were the first words out of the vigilante’s mouth. Marinette’s eyebrows pulled down, and it was clear she was confused (and a little angry) at what he told her. He grinned, his eyes still hidden by the domino mask on his face. “Eh. The bastard killed me, ya know. I was the second Robin, a lifetime ago.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at that, and the violent voices dimmed and seemed to grow muffled. Marinette couldn’t quite understand what they were trying to tell her anymore, which made her figure that she had better pay attention to what Hood had to say. She licked her dry lips, and spoke softly. Her throat was still damaged from the acid, so she couldn’t speak very loudly yet.

“Then how are you… you know, here?”

The man chuckled. “Another group of assholes happens to have a magic pit in their basement. It’s a glowing green lake, ten different types of bad news. But it brings people back to life, and they dunked me in it without even caring for a second if I even wanted to come back.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed all on their own. It seemed to sink into her brain all at once, a simple:

Oh. He gets it.

“I guess the water doesn’t take it easy on your brain, either?” She hazarded an educated guess. He laughed, shaking his head.

“Not at all. I went off the deep end for a while, and killed a lotta people. They deserved it at least, but I don’t like how violent I was back then. Before I learned how to cope. Attacked people who were innocent. Red Robin almost died when I attacked him, back then, when he was just Robin.”

“Then why’d you keep calling yourself Red Hood?” She asked, tilting her head. He finally turned his head to look straight at her instead of just staring out the window. His grin widened, but it was lopsided. The grin of someone who was healed from some serious shit, but knew that it would always ache. A bittersweet expression.

“Cuz he doesn’t own that name. I made it into something that stands for at least a little good. Something that scares the assholes who don’t care about killing or abusing innocent people. Hell, some people take comfort in the name Red Hood now. And you know what that means?”

Marinette shook her head, and his grin widened into a shark-like smile.

“It means I stole it from him. The name Red Hood. He’ll never use it again, and now it stands for the opposite of anything he’d agree with. You can do that too, you know. Find something to steal from him, or use something he gave you, and make it your own.”

“Turn the chaos into something good,” Marinette said dreamily, clearly quoting someone. Red Hood nodded.

“Exactly. It’s not gonna be easy, but you got the choice here. You ain’t going back to who you used to be, but you can take the victory away from him.”

“... make him regret ever dunking me in that stupid vat,” she agreed, narrowing her eyes as they filled with determination for the first time since her body hit the acid. “He wants a puppet, an obedient little doll, I’ll give him Annabel.”

“There ya go,” The vigilante slid off the windowsill and approached her bed, holding out his hand for a shake. “I can help you get to that. What do ya say?”

Marinette was silent for a long minute, staring straight into his masked eyes. And then, a slow smile spread over her lips. “I got one question, Red Hood.”

“Shoot.”

“How do you feel about black cats?”

—*—*—*—*—*

This took four hours, holy hell. I’m actually happy with how this turned out. What do you guys think? I even got to max length on Tumblr 😂

[dumdumsun]

Forever and Never

A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this series ❤️ I’ve had so much fun writing this and am very proud of and excited for it, I can’t wait to see how people react to this. Um I know there are plenty of warnings for a first chapter, but I promise it’s not as depressing as it sounds. It’s just that this story can deal with heavy stuff sometimes, so I just wanna let you know that. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of marijuana, death, sexual assault and mental illness

Word Count: 3194

—————————————

One: Hi, My Name Is

“So, what was your time in Pennsylvania like?”

“Uh… I’d have to say it was the best… and worst time of my life.”

“Best and worst, huh? Would you like to elaborate?”

“Well, I, uh… I mean, I don’t really know how to, like… explain it. It’s a lot. I don’t even know where to begin… Or how I would even word it or anything.”

“Well, you told me you like television and movies, right? You know those shows and movies where the main character tells the plot as, like, their life story? Maybe you could try that.”

“You aren’t… You aren’t serious, are you?”

“You’ll know when I’m joking, trust me.”

“Oh… Okay, then. Well, um…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi? My name is… (Y/N)? This is my life story, I guess.

So, if we’re going to talk about my life in Pennsylvania, we’re going to have to start with my life in Kansas, first. I had two loving parents that soon turned into one at the too-young age of nine years, when my mom died. I remember her as one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. She had this way about her that was so carefree, yet she gave a shit about everything. You could never pin a thought to her because she never let you in on what was bouncing around in her head. She was stubborn and patient and lively. I miss her so much. I don’t usually think about her unless it’s a particularly hectic day, which I then resort to talking to the ring I wear on my left pinky finger at all times. Wasn’t anything special, just some cheap ring with a little emerald inside she found at a thrift store. It used to be hers and she’d wear it on the exact same finger. My dad said she’d want me to have it.

My dad is my favorite person. He isn’t the most… present, though. His mind is never set in one place, always racing with hundreds of unrelated thoughts. It’s why when you finally drag him back into reality, he can’t repeat a single sentence spoken to him. Regardless, he’s all I had for a long time. I never really learned what he does for a living, but I just know that it forces him to leave town sometimes. Well, more like all the time. Before my mom died, it was easy for him to leave for weeks on end, but when he became my only guardian, he didn’t really know what to do with me. It was like he completely forgot how to take care of a child, his child. When I turned twelve, that was when he started travelling again. I would then be home by myself for a month to eight weeks. In these times, I had no choice but to learn to cook for myself, go grocery shopping and housekeep. I became pretty independent at a young age. It wasn’t like Dad left me totally alone, though. He would call every two or three days and he sent me two hundred dollars every two weeks. Like I said, I don’t know what my dad did, but he was definitely getting paid. At the end of eighth grade, Dad had a particularly long trip to go on, so he sent me to Pennsylvania, where his sister lived.

Pennsylvania was partially the best part of my life because of my family. My Aunt Pam was like a second mother to me. She was never able to have another child after my cousin Jacob and she’s always wanted a daughter of her own, so that’s what I was to her. The daughter she could never have. I’d often find her staring at me with a bittersweet smile on her face, watching my every move with a sense of pride, but when I’d ask her what was wrong she’d only brush it off as her admiring me. My Uncle David didn’t necessarily view me as a daughter, but he certainly treated me like one. When he wanted to spend time with Jacob, he included me as well. We’d usually go on drives around the town, but I always fell asleep to the soft and serene music that filled the car from the radio. On the weekends, we would head down by the lake and spend hours learning to fish.

I hated it, but I couldn’t complain. It gave me a sense of certainty to live with a father figure who didn’t leave me alone every two or three months.

Jacob was like a brother to me. He’s a year older than me, which, to him, meant that he had to protect me at all costs. I always assumed it was because he always wanted a younger sibling, and I was the closest he was ever going to get to that. I always felt as though I’d never be able to equal Jacob on an intellectual level because he practically had the IQ of Albert Einstein himself. I felt inferior to him until I found out how much of a joy he really was. On the weekends, he would beg me to accompany him in a movie marathon. I learned that Jacob was a huge fan of Tim Burton (his favorite was Beetlejuice). He’s the only cousin I’ve ever known. Mom and Dad didn’t like each other’s families, so I never met anyone besides this little family. Moving in with them meant that they’d have this huge burden on them.

Yes, I almost forgot to mention that I struggle with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD. It just means that my mind is flooded with these crazy and unnecessary thoughts and so my behavior is affected by them. For example, if I were to blink and felt I put more pressure on my left eye than my right, I would have to repeatedly wink with my right eye until they felt balanced. Sometimes I can’t enter a room until I have inhaled eight times. If I scratch an itch on my left knee, I have to scratch the right one in the exact same place. At the sink, even if I don’t use both knobs, I have to hold both in my hands. And when I turn them off, I often have to check about four times before I am certain they’re turned off all the way. I know, it sounds tiring. Just imagine being on my end, having it be a part of who you are. I can’t do anything to stop it, I wish I could. I was always afraid to make friends because of this. If I couldn’t be balanced, I’d freeze, and I mean actually stop whatever I’m doing and stand still, until my body felt as if I were balanced once again. Who wouldn’t make fun of me for this?

Apparently, no one gave a shit about it. After moving to Pennsylvania, I made quite a name for myself at school. Literally. My name was Zip. I have no fucking clue how that ridiculous name came to be, but that’s what I went by day after day. One could say I was considered popular, but it wasn’t like I actually spoke to anyone. When it came to extracurriculars, I only participated in theatre. I never was part of the cast, just the stage manager. Secretly, I wanted so badly to audition and be a part of the magic they created on that stage. Not to boast or anything, but I had the talent and potential to be a starring role. But I could never bring myself to break out of my shell. Nonetheless, being stage manager still got me quite the attention. Everyone was always so nice to me, so I felt a little bad for not considering any of them as friends. That was until I met Dina.

Dina was new to our school sophomore year. She had this sort of light to her that attracted the pesky moths that were our dull and boring school body. We had the same social status in school. People liked our personalities, so we were well-liked and accepted without doing much to prove ourselves worthy. She was sweet and compassionate and so fun. I didn’t mean to become her friend, but she was so welcoming, despite being the newcomer. We became close friends, but not best friends. We already had people filling those roles.

Dina’s best friend was Sydney Novak. Sydney moved to Brownsville around the same time as Dina, so the two became best friends quickly, but Sydney wasn’t very popular at all. She was shy and introverted, but I thought she was nice enough. I liked her and thought she was a pretty cool person. We weren’t necessarily friends, we were just well acquainted simply because we were both close with Dina. The transitive property, if you would. I just wish we could’ve talked more, our relationship was pretty much nonexistent.

Speaking of nonexistent relationships, let’s talk about Richard Berry. I honestly don’t want to even think about him, but he played a role in my life that was too vital to just offhandedly mention. For some odd reason, Ricky Berry was absolutely in love with me. It was so obvious to everyone except for me. Sophomore year, he expressed his love through the most arrogant and cheesiest of pick-up lines and compliments. I wasn’t so easily won over, if you could guess. I tried being good friends with him, but he’d always fuck it up when he tried to initiate intimacy. I didn’t want to hold hands with him in the halls or receive “friendly” cheek kisses. I’m not what you would call affectionate, especially towards people I’m not close to. It’s just never been comfortable for me. Junior year, everyone around me was buzzing with excitement when they heard Ricky was going to ask me to be his girlfriend. The cheerleaders, who got to know him through his high school football career, constantly pestered me with reasons as to why I would be so lucky to date The Richard Berry. Granted, he became less of a dick junior year, so I thought, Why not?, and accepted. Being in a relationship with Ricky was the most one-sided… anything I had ever been a part of. He was undeniably enamored with me, but I couldn’t find it in myself to reciprocate those feelings. He would show me off to his family and friends like a trophy, but if someone asked me if I had a boyfriend I’d go, “I mean, yeah. I guess”, so not a very healthy relationship. It also didn’t help that Ricky knew nothing about boundaries.

One night, we were in his bedroom, studying for a science test. Ricky wasn’t focused at all and kept trying to kiss and cuddle with me. I let him for awhile, but then he took my book from me and set it on the ground beside his bed. He suggested we have sex right then and there. Now, I was never a prude and definitely didn’t wait to have sex for the first time, but I never wanted Ricky to be my first. He hadn’t earned enough of my trust to even touch me suggestively. So, of course I refused. Ricky only took that as me teasing him, so he advanced, nearly forcing himself on me. Using all my might, I shoved him off of the bed. He stood to his feet, utterly confused, but I only gathered my things and left his house. He tried following after me, but I ignored him until he turned and went back into his home. The next day at school, he was holding me and kissing me and showing me off to everyone like he always did. As if nothing happened between us the night before. It was difficult to do, since he was so inconsiderate, but I managed to break up with him. He tried to deny that we were Splitsville for about a week, but everyone caught wind of our break-up. Once everyone knew about it, it became true for him. I never really felt comfortable with being intimate or open with guys after that.

Besides with Stanley Barber, of course. Stan was my best friend in the entire world. I told only my deepest, darkest secrets to him. And he told me his. The only things we really had in common were our lack of mothers and our hideous bacne. Stan lived a few houses down and was eager to get to know me a week after I moved in. I’d never met anyone in my life like Stan. He was so awkward, but loveable. I don’t know, I guess he reminded me of my mom. The way he didn’t care, but he so clearly did. Whenever I wanted to talk about something that was difficult to voice, we’d smoke to ease the tension. Of course, this wasn’t how we always communicated. Despite his nervous stuttering, he was easy to open up to. Stan provided a sort of security in my life. He was never going to leave me and that put me at ease when hanging out with him, which we did regularly. I don’t know when exactly I developed a crush on him, but I never wanted it to surface in our bond. He was to never know. It was just a stupid crush, right? He was a guy who wasn’t family and was so unbelievably caring towards me. It was bound to happen, but that didn’t mean he had to be aware of it. Though, it was a little hard to keep such a secret when we’d both made out twice already. The first time was while I was dating Ricky, the kiss was very awkward and ended after about a minute and a half. The second kiss was just half a week after my breakup. That time, we’d both known what we were doing. And I may be a little biased, but you couldn’t have even thought to fake the passion in that makeout session. We never talked about either of those kisses and remained friends both times. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me that we didn’t become anything more afterwards. It was for the best, though, because two weeks before spring break, my dad returned from his job in Georgia and moved me to Kansas again. The move was so abrupt that I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to anyone besides my family.

My life in Kansas for the second time was something I’d never want to experience ever again. Since it was a little late in the year, I finished junior year online. For some unexplained reason, my dad had us get new phones and new numbers, so I lost all contact with my friends. I had no one to talk to and it wasn’t like my dad paid much attention to me. I remember spending every waking moment with him when I was younger, talking or playing games or watching television. It used to be so fun being his daughter, but when we moved back to Kansas, I just felt like this huge burden in his life. Our relationship was strained and he clearly had other priorities in his life. Like whatever he left back in Georgia. I’d see his phone ring and the same number from that state would pop up before he’d leave the room and privately talk with whoever. It wasn’t the secrecy that was off-putting to me, it was the fact that it was so much more important to him. Once again, I was ignored by the one person in my life I wanted to spend the most time with. So, you can imagine the joy I felt when Dad had to go back to Georgia for work. I had been attending public school for my senior year and left not even a full month in. It didn’t bother me, I had no friends and nothing to leave behind. Mid-September was when I moved back to Brownsville with Aunt Pam. Everyone accepted me right back in. Especially my classmates. As I walked the halls I heard whispers like,

“Oh, my god, is that Zip?”

“Zip’s back! Where’d she even go?”

“I thought she died.”

The only person I really wanted to notice me was Stan. I missed him so much, I even got into his favorite band to have something to remember him by. I remember the day I got back to my aunt’s house. Jacob had picked me up from the airport and was driving me to the house. He was attending community college, but was still living with his parents. As we drove, he tapped his index fingers rhythmically to the shitty pop music that played on the radio. “So, what are you excited about for senior year?”

“Not much, I just missed Dina and Stan. Theatre, too. I wonder how they’ve been doing without me.” I chuckled. Jacob huffed in amusement.

“But you didn’t miss Ricky?”

“Fuck, Jake, you know I didn’t miss him for a second.” I frowned, waving my hand in dismissal. My cousin tauntingly laughed at me. Had he actually known about what happened between Ricky and I, he wouldn’t have teased me. In fact, Ricky wouldn’t even be alive that day if Jacob found out. No one knew about the incident, not even Stan.

Pulling up in front of the house, we got out of the car and headed to the trunk to pull out my bags. I tried carrying them in, but Jacob insisted that he do all the heavy lifting and simply asked me to carry my backpack and close the trunk. I did what little I was asked of and headed to the front door to greet my aunt and uncle inside, but stopped. In the corner of my eye, I saw movement from the Barber residence. Turning, my eyes locked on Stanley, who was frozen beside his car. He was wearing his work uniform and staring at me with the most bewildered expression on his face. It was like he thought himself to be hallucinating my existence. Smiling, I simply waved at him before walking back inside. When he got home from work that night, he headed over to my house and knocked on the door. I answered with a grin on my face. “Stan!”

“If it isn’t the famous Zip, showing back up in my life.”

“Ugh, do not call me that.” I rolled my eyes playfully before bringing him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin at the top of my head. I would’ve stayed there all night if I could’ve. When Stanley pulled away, my heart hollowed and a pit formed within my stomach. I felt unfinished, unbalanced. And I hate imbalance. He asked if I wanted to hang out and I accepted his offer. All we did was lay on his floor, listen to music and get high, but in that moment, that’s all I needed.

Bloodwitch, a joint, and Stan laying by my side.

—————————————

Taglist: @melinda-hargreeves @sapphicsyn @stqnley @lonely-kermit

[cherryredb]

The girl with the blue eyes

Heyyy loves, well i was going through some of my oldest stories and i found one that i really love well i hope yall like the little piece im going to post. tell me if you want to read more...btw i wrote this in 2019

    Growing up wasn’t easy .Oh no it wasn’t .My name is Luna Greenwood  ,and  bet you're wondering what I mean by not growing up easy or that my life sucked, well my abilities, and also the kids in my school . The kids would talk about how a dark skin girl isn’t supposed to have dark blue eyes or blue eyes at all or that i'm not normal. Like yes thanks for reminding me, but for my abilities . Okay hear me out when I tell you this, the types of abilities that I have are the gift of premonition and the ability to channel all the four elements.  Mom and dad have always told me that I am from this planet called lunar and that my eyes glowing when  I am upset or when I am happy is completely  normal. Yeah, like I believe that crap.   

    All the kids in my classes would call me an alien and crazy or a witch. They only start calling me this because of the dream i had,  that one of the jocks would get hurt really badly, and of course me being me  told a girl that I thought was my friend who had told everyone what i had told her about my dream and that I was the one who did it and that I am a freak. Yeah , I know it's sooo cool right. I mean a dark skin girl with glowing dark blue eyes of course they  would believe her. I can do these different things that other people can’t and I am getting called out for them. 

“Luna ! Get out here NOW!” Yelled mom

“What is it that I've done now?” I asked walking out of my room into the living room

“I got a call from the office from your school. YOU PUNCHED A GIRL IN THE FACE!? Mom yelled 

“Well mom she was being a snob and talking crap about you and dad.”

“Luna Vision Greenwood!” I honestly hate it when she calls me by my full name “I don’t care if she was , how many times do I have to tell you..? You are not from this planet you’r-”

“Yes Yes I know , I am from a plant called lunar and -” I make quotation marks with my fingers”-and I am the missing princess” I grab my keys and backpack “ Mom I am going to be late for work.”

“Okay, Bye.” She leans in and gives me a hug. She grabs my face “ WE WILL FINISH THIS ARGUMENT” mom kisses me on the forehead letting me go.

“Okay okay mom” I laughed and walked out to my car and I saw my dad pulling up from work.

“Hey ,princess,” Dad said, walking up towards me and kissing me on my forehead and giving me a hug.

“Hey dad” I said hugging him back “So yeah moms upset at me” 

“Yeah I know you punched veronica in the face” 

“How did you know that it was be her.?” I say laughing 

“Well she is the only kid that still gives you a hard time about your ability and your eyes.”

“She hasn’t seen me channeling the four elements.”

“And let's keep it that way…” He said laughing “ Anyhow , let me go calm the beast and you have a good day and stay safe at work sweetie.” 

“Yes sir” I say laughing and getting into the car.  

    I get into the car and drive to work . I work at a thrift store ,but it also has really cute but cheap clothes. I see my boss, she's chill. She has a sleeve tattoo on both arms, She has reddish orange hair ,she's short and skinny . I mean if she didn’t have on a short sleeve shirt you would have never thought she would have any tats but oh yeah she does. 

“Hey perkins.” Her first name is Jane but calling her Perkins is better for me and her.

“Hiya Luna” She says right after she blows a puff of smoke right into my face “Wanna go?” She asked me meaning her cigar

“Oh no thank you, I'd rather drink.” I said with a giggle

“Your lost” She said laughing 

   I go to my station near the back and then I hear a ding which means that someone had  just come in.

“Hello?” Someone yelled from the front. I walked out of the front to see who it was. “Hello ? Excuse me ma’am do you need anything?” 

     She turned around and looked at me for a good second and looked at me with a crap face. “Sorry to stare but your eyes are glowing blue.” She looked at me like she found what she was looking for.    

 “Yes ,Yes blue eyes aren’t just for white peop-” She cut me off

“Your bone structure and the way you talk and present yourself” She smiled and laughed “You're a lunarean?”

   My face ran cold and my legs went wobbly , what does she know? So my parents aren’t crazy and they are telling the truth. 

“umm,erm,I have no Idea-” 

“No need to lie to me ,my name is Ava Mathews and I am also a luarean, me and my son had come here and what do you feel about what happened to the royal family and...oh what's your name?”  

“Well first off, according to my mom and dad I came here over 17 years ago and what are you talking about the royal family? Also, I am Luna Vision Greenwood” I looked at her and her face went pale . She blinked a couple of times before saying anything.

“Well ,My apologies I must be going It-” 

“Hold on,” I said, putting up my hand. “You know something, don’t you.?”

She glared at me for a very long time before breathing again. “Yes ,I do.” she sighed. “I  Know that  in the prophecy ,the Greenwoods were the royal family and that a little girl that is named Luna with blue glowing eyes and beautiful dark skin, is the princess”  She looked around as if someone was watching and /or listening. She leaned in and whispered  “You need to tell your mother and father that the planet is burning down literally and figuratively .” She said in the most proper voice and dashed out.

[criminalmutantsins]

My Top 10 Favorite Ducktales Characters

…………………………………………………….

NO. 10 Hewey Duck

At number 10 is Huey!

Hewey has been my least favorite triplet for most of the series; it by no means he’s a bad character or any of the sorts, Huey is more down to earth compared to other characters. It’s hard to say much about Hewey other than how he’s a sweet, fun character I’m glad is around.

His development in season three was good, though the weakest of the three. Kinda half-baked and rushed, as if the creators thought, “we have to add some Huey development since this is his season.” With Dewey and Louie’s, it felt like their respective seasons revolved around them instead of the other way around. The only episode I really think perfectly gave Huey development and at the same time move the main plot forward fluidly was the “Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchucks!” with the whole Huey vs. Violet rivalry. Y’know what also sucks. Huey wasn’t even that integral to the finale. That annoys me to no end.

Now, I’m going to end this with positive notes.

What got Huey into the list was his sweet nature and how integral he is to the team’s balance. Every team needs someone who represents order and Huey is just that. Plus, his innocent love for romance is so cute. I love the episode where him and Webby were setting a date up for Fenton and Gandra.

NO. 9 Scrooge McDuck

Scrooge is probably the most interesting protagonist I’ve ever watched. Unlike most of them, he’s more of an anti-hero than a pure hero like Steven Universe or Luz from Owl House.

I don’t really have much to say about him because I don’t love him as much as the characters above him. He probably has the best development- Lena’s rivaling his really well. In the beginning, Scrooge was a grumpy miser but now, thanks to the kids, his heart is softer and more open. His cheapness is annoying, but the good qualities overthrow the bad.

Scrooge most likely would’ve been higher in the list if “The Life & Crimes of Scrooge McDuck” didn’t happen- or at least occurred in season two instead since humility and hard work was the main theme. The writers went overboard showing the audience how bad of a person Scrooge was in the past, especially with him taking advantage of the poor villagers and leaving them in their states-without even helping them. This episode downgraded Scrooge pretty badly.

NO. 8 Donald Duck

Although on the lower half of the list, I still hold so much love and respect for this version of Donald. He’s such a massive improvement from his previous iteration. The creators made him kind and strong-willed but kept his anger issues. Though, they turned that flaw into a more comedic and positive aspect of Donald since he uses that intense anger to protect his family. Speaking of that, his relationship with the triplets is absolutely adorable. He loves and protects them like a great father, and I’m still a bit peeved that characters didn’t acknowledge that more. Instead, their relationship was sidelined and pretty much haphazardly... replaced-I don’t know if that’s the right word- with May and June.

Another thing that annoyed me was Donald’s voice treatment. The creators pretty much portrayed his speaking problem as a joke, which is terrible. I hope to goodness that children with speaking troubles don’t take those “jokes” to heart because there is nothing wrong with having a different voice. It’s also surprising how much characters mostly don’t understand him when I can seventy percent of the time. This complaint is more towards season one since that was the season where most of the jokes happened.

Anyways, I hope this Donald will start a new beginning for the next iterations of him. A nice guy who has anger issues but means well. Same with him and Daisy’s relationship-another massive improvement the writers did. They are such a great couple from the episodes we got with them and this dynamic should continue.

NO. 7 Webby Vanderquack

Another character who was massively improved was the great Webby Vanderquack!

In the original series, she was a boring damsel-in-distress with no personality-pretty much like the earliest Disney princesses. The ‘17 creators did such a great job molding reboot Webby into a character who can kill you with kindness or impressive fighting skills. This pink-loving queen is probably the sweetest character I’ve ever met; I just want to hug her.

I love her optimism and caring personality. She was able to change Lena for the better and not give up on her when almost everyone did. Webby is the best friend you can have.

While I’m not fully on board with the Webby finale twist, I really liked how her interest in the McDucks played some big part of the finale. Do I wish it was in different circumstances? Yes, but I’m still glad Webby got an important moment for herself. That interrogation scene was very emotional; seeing Beakley fully breakdown like she did was shocking and really set the mood of how pivotal that moment. I literally almost cried seeing Webby so heartbroken by her grandmother’s lies- this pink baby deserves all the love in the world. At least she found out the truth and gained a parental figure in her life.

NO. 6 Louie Duck

I’ve gotta admit; I did not like Louie that much at the start of the show. Greedy and selfish characters usually don’t get my love, but season two changed. A lot more depth was added to him such as his insecurities and anxieties. I struggle with these issues and it was nice to see a character show that as well. One of my favorite arcs was Louie’s trouble connecting with Della; it was realistic and not rushed. While watching this season, I was often having trouble connecting with people, even old friends. Sort of having someone experiencing them alongside me made me feel less insecure and lonely.

His development was really good too, from beginning to end. At first, Louie was someone who was willing to execute every angle no matter how much it could hurt his loved ones. Yet, he grew to be a humbler person who now knows the consequences of his angles. A favorite episode of mine is “The Richest Duck in the World” because of this development. Seeing Louie clean the Bombei’s shoes with Scrooge made my heart melt.

What lowered him down to number eight was season three. There were a few episodes that backtracked Louie’s development like “The Trickening” and “The Fight for Castle McDuck” episodes. He was a real jerk towards Huey for no reason. It frustrated me enough to affect this list. And I also prefer other characters more.

NO. 5 Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera

You can’t expect me to not put this quirky and adorable dork in the top five! He’s one of the best boys in the show. Him being voiced by the great Lin-Manuel Miranda does add some bonus points- you can tell I’m a big Hamilton fan.

Like Webby, Fenton was drastically improved. He became this sweet, scatterbrained scientist who only wants to help people. I instantly fell in love with him. And it got even better when Fenton became Gizmoduck- my second favorite DT hero. He deserved so much more screen time, especially in season 3; “Beaks in the Shell” was not a good enough episode for Fenton and his relationship with Gandra. There should’ve been more. The finale moments he had was not satisfying enough, particularly him and DW sort of team up. It was rushed.

If a Darkwing Duck reboot takes place in the ’17 universe then Fenton must be a major character- at least show up in ten episodes a season. A Gizmoduck and Darkwing crossover is essential, and I will riot if it that doesn’t happen. And more Fandra, my fifth -maybe fourth- favorite ship.

I also had a big crush on Fenton back in season one. You can’t help but love him this sweety pie. This pretty much influenced thirty percent of his placement.

NO. 4 Launchpad McQuack

This muscular dummy is amazing! He brings a sense of comedy and light to every episode he is in. It’s infectious as h*ll!

I liked Launchpad instantly. He’s kind and wants the best for people. Optimistic characters are almost the best characters. They are great reminders of how there are still many good people in the world. Whenever I’m down and watch Ducktales, LP makes me feel a lot better with his dumb yet endearing moments. My favorite jokes are literally LP sending Beakley an invitation saying not to come and when he tried to make small talk with Gosalyn at the window; I can never stop laughing at those moments.

There are times when Launchpad’s dumbness irks me, but his good qualities overthrow that. Though, I wish he wasn’t used too much as comedy relief; LP had the potential to gain more development than what he got. I’ll give an example. Learning about his family would’ve been great to know- an appearance wouldn’t have hurt either. It could’ve opened a reason to why LP cares about Scrooge’s opinion and cares about him like a dad. Maybe there’s some bitterness in LP’s relationship with his dad and that’s why he doesn’t talk about his parents. Loopey not being introduced was a missed opportunity. Big brother Launchpad is all I need.

I also have a small crush on Launchpad, though mostly for his personality and voice. He’s still cute *wink.*

NO. 3 Drake Mallard

We made it to the top three! With the dashing caped crusader Darkwing Duck starting us off!

It’s funny how much I love a character who’s only appeared in like five-maybe six- episodes enough to put him in the top three. I had some trouble defining many reasons why I love him; it’s this weird connection I have with DW. He’s this dorky dummy who loved a big part of his childhood enough to make it his reality, yet I love him so much.

I think what made me fall in love with him was how similar we are. Like him, I was a meek person who got pushed a few times- either physically or mentally. Those times also inspired me to grow stronger and be an inspiration for the next generation. I can be pretty clumsy too(lol). Characters I see myself in are usually really high in my love list and it shouldn’t be surprising that Drake is one of them.

His kind and genuine nature was also what drew me in. And, I just made this realization, this is the first time I don’t prefer the original iteration over the latest one. I still love ‘91 Drake but he’s too arrogant.

Unlike the original DW, Drake became a hero to help others- though a wish for glory played a bit of a part too. This clumsy, stuttering actor took a step to become his hero and a future one for children like him. That’s admirable. His lovable personality also being so cute enough for me to want to give a big hug is a good addition.

NO. 2 Lena Sabrewing

Hands down Lena had the best development!

She started off as this distant loner who followed the gray area of morality. Now, Lena is a part of this loving family and her own person. A few of her episodes are my favorites, such as “Friendship Hates Magic!” and “A Nightmare on Killmotor Hill.” They are well-written episodes and hit me in the feels.

Like Louie and Drake, I see myself in Lena. There are times I’ve been afraid I’ll take on my family’s bad habits or turn like them. That’s why I love “A Nightmare on Killmotor Hill!” Watching Lena try to be good enough and feeling insecure reminded me of the dark times I usually think about. There are even times I have dreams of these issues. The creators must have been inspired by me (lol). Though, I am kind of jealous of Lena because of how great her friends are. I want friends like Webby and Violet.

Even so, I do have some issues with Lena. Her magic arc was not written as well as her previous arcs. This might be more of a personal opinion than anything, but I’m still going to say it. Lena learned to control her magic too quickly, and it was treated as more like a plot device. And a shaking one at that. For example, in “The Split Sword of Swanstantine” Lena was able to stop time and send her and Huey into his mindscape. But, somehow, she couldn’t conjure a burst of energy to attack Steelbeak; granted, Huey mentioned that, yet Lena’s reasoning was dumb. Attacking someone with magic is way easier than doing what she did. I’m a little lenient on this since that idea lead to more Huey development, though I’m still going to critique it.

A great thing about Lena learning was her temporary outfit change. She looks absolutely amazing in light colors, which I didn’t expect, and her hair design is what I saw she would look good in. The eye shape is kind of weird.

Lena’s magic mode is in my list of cosplays.

NO. 1 Dewey Duck

Finally, number one is Dewey Duck!

Dewey has stolen my heart since the beginning. His positivity and fun nature always make me smile, even during the toughest times.

In my opinion, Dewey has the best arc/development of the triplets. His arc trying to find out what happened to his mother was what kept me watching Ducktales and helped me see why this show is so special. Many of my favorite moments are in season one, specifically ones involving Dewey. For instance, the scene in “The Last Crash of the Sunchaser!” where Dewey was willing to risk his life to get the last piece of paper and possibly solve what happened to Della was emotional. Hearing the desperation in his voice while pleading with Scrooge to tell him what happened hit me hard. I can’t imagine how much pain HDL have gone through not knowing what happened and thinking they aren’t allowed to ask. It would be terrible to experience.

Another moment I loved was in “The Spear of Selene.” It was when Dewey was hesitant to know what happened as the possibility that Della was a bad person grew more prominent. He looked so defeated admitting that realization and it reminded me of myself. There were moments when I realized that my parents were not as good as I thought. It hurt me a lot. At least sweet Dewey didn’t have to go through that. The scene when Dewey started tearing up seeing his mom in the sphere was also heartwarming. I wanted to give him the biggest hug.

Dewey’s insecurities of not being good enough and to be loved is what I struggle with too. Its kind of different because I have trouble believing anyone loves me while he wants everybody to like him. Confidence is not my forte.

……………………………………………………………

[ohgodmyeyes]

Movie Night

Luke x Anakin is my new favourite ship, so I’m gonna crosspost one of those, too. I’m bored.

3k words of modern!Anakin fucking his son on the couch below the cut.

18+

Luke liked to sit next to his dad.

"What are you watching?" he asked one evening, as he fell beside Anakin onto the well-worn old couch in the basement.

"Huh?" Relaxing downstairs after work was one of Anakin's favourite things to do. He liked to bathe, shirtless, in the gentle, blue glow of his television set. Like the sofa, the TV was old— Anakin had never bothered to upgrade to HD. Not down here, anyway.

Luke didn't mind. Again, he just liked to sit next to his dad.

"I said, what are you watching?"

"Oh. Movie."

"What movie?"

"Rambo."

"Oh, cool. I like the old ones."

"Fuck off." Anakin didn't think 'Rambo' was that old.

He'd just started drinking when his son had walked in— cans of beer, interspersed with the odd shot of dark, spiced rum. When he offered some of it to Luke, Luke didn't refuse.

Luke liked to do the things his dad did.

So, the two men drank— shot after shot, beer after beer, late into the night. 'Rambo' ended and 'Predator' started, and then 'Predator' ended, too. Luke rested his head on his dad's chest. It was strong, wide, and smooth. 'Top Gun' started to play next. Luke began to absently stroke Anakin's stomach.

By then, they were both certifiably shitfaced.

"You're pretty," said Anakin, sometime during an extended commercial break between films. It seemed to come from absolutely nowhere.

"What?" Luke turned his head to look up at his dad's face. He always seemed so serious. Right now was no exception.

"You're pretty," repeated Anakin flatly. "Like your mom." He was slurring his words a bit, but he wasn't lying. Luke was fucking gorgeous.

Luke felt himself blush. Why the hell was he blushing? "You... you think I'm—?"

"You're gonna get me in trouble one day." Anakin hadn't had a coherent thought for hours. Luke and the heat of his body were all there was. That, and the glow of the television screen.

"What are you talking about?" Luke tried to sit up a bit, but it was difficult. His dad's chest seemed almost... magnetic. He felt stuck to it.

"I'm talking about how you're even worse than your mom. She's a tease, sure... but you're a goddamn sadist." Anakin peered down at Luke. The kid looked like he belonged on a beach— naked, with the sunlight kissing his skin and glinting off his hair. How the hell had he turned out so damn blonde?

"Huh?"

"She likes to... I don't know. Flaunt herself around to get me going. Always has. You fucking torture me, though, and you don't even know you're doing it." Luke would do things like shower with the bathroom door open, and then walk around the house in nothing but a towel. Padmé and Leia were both busy, ambitious women, and that meant they were away a lot— working, socializing, attending school.

When they were away, Anakin would imagine ripping that damn towel right off and having his way with Luke.

He'd never actually tried it, though.

"I— uh, I... I'm... sorry?" stammered Luke. His face still felt hot. Now his dick was getting stiff, too. He didn't know what to say.

"Don't be sorry," said Anakin. "Just... take off your shirt." Again, Anakin was already shirtless.

"...What...?" Luke did manage to sit all the way up then. He looked his dad up and down, unable to stop his eyes from lingering. Anakin had always seemed so big to him— big and strong, and capable, too. He could fix anything, do anything, be anything.

Luke, sometimes, woke up hard and wet in the middle of the night to thoughts of his dad's body.

He'd never done anything about those thoughts, though.

...You really weren't supposed to think about your dad that way, were you?

"Take off your shirt," Anakin repeated. He shifted sloppily in his seat so as to get a better view. Luke's perfect, slight little frame and smooth, milky skin cried out to be touched.

Puberty had been very kind to Luke, Anakin thought, and he secretly loved that his son had stayed a couple of inches shorter than him. He would often sit right here in his basement and fantasize, in fact, about having Luke against the wall near the boiler— he was just small enough to lift, so it would be fun and easy to take him from the front, flush against the rough, bare cinderblock.

Luke would wrap his legs around his daddy's waist, and then Anakin would pound him until he—

"Dad?"

Anakin realized he'd become distracted.

Luke sat in front of him, newly shirtless.

"Fuck," said Anakin.

"What is it?" murmured Luke. The room was spinning, but his dad wasn't. His dad looked perfect. Too perfect. Fuck. Fuck.

"Y-you— you're as hard as a fucking rock."

Luke looked down. Anakin was right. He was only wearing a pair of soccer shorts, now. They were favourite pair— green. He was making a tent out of them with his cock. "S-so are you," he said, glancing across to the bulge in Anakin's own pants.

It was fucking huge.

"Goddamn it," Anakin said. He could feel the tip of his dick starting to drip. His heart was racing, too. This had to be a dream. He'd had dreams like this before.

"...Daddy?" asked Luke, wide-eyed and visibly tentative. He hadn't called Anakin 'daddy' in years. Why did he do it now? He didn't know.

"Tell me what you want, baby boy. Tell your daddy what you want."

"I— I want... I w-want you t-to..." Luke faltered, and faltered badly. How the hell was he supposed to say it?

"Tell me, Luke." Anakin shifted in his seat, and pulled his dick out of his pants. It stood tall and thick. Eager. Ready.

"I want you to fuck me, daddy," confessed Luke, struggling not to gape at the sheer size of his father's hard-on. He'd never seen it like this before, but now that he had, he knew he needed it.

Up to now, he'd thought dicks like his dad's only existed on the internet.

A half-shade or so darker than the skin on the rest of Anakin's body, it looked nearly as thick as a soup can, and more than long enough to choke just about anybody. It had a subtle, very alluring inward curve, and adorning its base was a pretty nest of haphazard, amber curls. Those curls lightened and grew sparse as they trailed up Anakin's stomach, stopping just short of his navel.

Luke found himself overcome with a disconcertingly urgent desire to touch his dad's cock— to lick it, suck it, and take it up his hole. He'd played with toys and played with his own fingers before, but he'd never had anything so magnificent as Anakin's hard-on up his ass.

He wondered if it was going to hurt.

Part of him hoped it would hurt.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He was too drunk, that's what it was.

...Not too drunk to fuck, though. Not too drunk for his daddy.

Luke sprang into action. He got onto his hands and knees right there on the couch, kicking off his shorts behind himself as he ravenously stuffed the length of Anakin's throbbing dick into his wet, eager mouth. Everything in the room seemed to move along with him, and when the head of it first hit the back of his throat, he thought he might throw up.

His dad leaked haplessly onto his tongue.

Luke forgot all about puking.

"Jesus Christ!" shouted Anakin. He'd be glad, later, that his wife and daughter weren't home to hear him. He took a handful of his son's lovely hair in his hand, and pushed down to the delightful sound of a muffled squeal.

This was no dream.

Tears gathered at the edges of Luke's eyes. His dad was thick in his throat, hard against his back teeth. He bit down gently, and Anakin dripped. He coughed, swallowed, and whimpered through his own painfully full mouth. He began to choke as he felt his hair being gathered up, and his head being pushed down and pulled back in turns. On the way up, he'd try to breathe and blink, and on the way down he would simply relish being consumed.

"D-does th-that taste... g-good, baby boy?" Anakin gasped, although Luke didn't answer, because he couldn't. Padmé never let him fuck her mouth like this, Anakin thought. Never let him grab her by the hair, or force her face onto his cock. She thought she was too dignified for that— too 'good'.

Luke was under no such illusions.

Anakin bucked upwards, still pushing and pulling on the back of Luke's head. That pretty little mouth of his was talented, and every time it came down on Anakin, it seemed to have something new in store for him. Luke bit, Luke tongued, Luke swallowed, and Luke sucked. Anakin let out a groan, and realized that he was beginning to lose his rhythm.

Shit. No. Not yet! With a heavy grunt and very little warning, Anakin pulled his son's mouth away from his dick. He wanted to cum, but not like this.

"Daddy," coughed Luke. "A-are you g-going to—"

Anakin interrupted by twisting Luke's hair tightly in his fist, and hoisting him up so that the two were face-to-face. "If you let me fuck you," he warned, "it's going to hurt for days." Anakin knew very well that he had a monster hard-on. He'd always liked to make his wife squeal with it. Would Luke squeal, too?

"I— ah!— I... I want it anyway!" Luke bent his head backwards, squirming and struggling against his father's grasp. His own cock twitched, because he didn't really want to get away.

"I bet you have a tight little asshole, Luke. Tell your daddy you want him to wreck your hole." He pulled Luke close, again by the hair, and went on to sink his teeth into the boy's exposed neck. He smelled and tasted just like a teenager: All pheromone-laden sweat, and cheap, obtrusive body spray.

It was fucking intoxicating.

Luke cried out, and bucked his hips into the air. "W-wreck me, daddy. Destroy me." Anakin didn't know yet that Luke had been leaving the bathroom door open on purpose. Deep down, he wanted his dad to smell his soap, and catch glimpses of his body.

He always had.

Anakin released Luke's hair, letting him fall heavily back onto to the couch. "Give me your ass," he said, stumbling to his feet as hastily as he could manage. His dick was already out, so getting up was all he had to do.

"H-here," breathed Luke, sloppily rising from where he'd been dropped, and taking the back of the sofa in his hands as he stuck his ass out toward his father. He felt hungry right now— empty— in a way he never had before. He'd stopped asking himself how or why, because the reasons didn't matter. All he knew was that he needed it. "Fuck me, daddy," he begged. "Please, please fuck me!"

Anakin had been busy squeezing a generous portion of silky, high-end lube out onto his hand. Padmé had bought it for him to use with her, but he mostly kept it down here because he liked to make jerking off a more pleasant experience for himself: Anakin was horny by nature, and he jerked off a lot... although these days, he tended to do it most often following Luke's cruel, exhibitionist showers.

There was still plenty of slick left on his hand, so just for fun, he started with his fingers. He massaged Luke's little hole, poking and prodding and rubbing circles around it with awe-filled fascination, all while Luke shouted and whined. He reached around, too, to grab Luke by the cock. He stroked its shaft and teased its head, and every time it pulsed, he squeezed it hard and tight.

"You've always been such a good boy," whispered Anakin, curling his fingers up into his son's ravenous little hole.

For what felt like a long while, all Luke could do was writhe and whine as his dad fondled and fingered him... soon, though, his thighs began to tremble, and an intense, very familiar type of desperation started to well up inside of him. His breath hitched as he begged haltingly, "P-put... put it in! Please, dad, I— I—"

"Say it again first," demanded Anakin, abruptly withdrawing his attention from Luke's cock.

Luke screamed in frustration; again, it was a good thing his sister and his mother weren't at home. He knew just what his dad meant, though, so he obeyed immediately and unquestioningly, "Wreck me, daddy!"

"F-fuck... fuck, that sounds so damn good. One more time, Lukie— one more time for your daddy!" He was letting his cock brush up against the backs of Luke's thighs. Sticky little droplets of cum leaked out of him and onto Luke's skin, and Anakin spread them all around with his tip.

"Wreck me, daddy!"

That made Anakin grin. Wordlessly— he knew he didn't have to say a thing— he thrust his waiting length right past the threshold of his little boy's ass.

Luke would always be Anakin's little boy.

"F-fuck! Fuck!"

Again, Luke had played with toys before— his dad's cock, though, was something else altogether. The stretch burned, but as Anakin eased his way in further, a unique sensation of unfettered fullness overtook Luke, displacing his pain entirely.

By the time Anakin was buried up to his sack, Luke had been overcome with an urge to touch himself. When he went to try, though, he was foiled by his father's scolding.

"Stop that," Anakin chided, the very moment he noticed Luke's hand start to move.

"But dad—"

"You'll come when I say."

Luke blinked fresh tears out of his eyes as his own cock throbbed painfully, bobbing about in the air. He didn't have time to argue with his dad, though, because Anakin had already started to thrust: He felt too desperate to take his time, unable to spare Luke even an ounce of his own desperation.

Every one of those open-door showers came back to him then— every time that towel had ever slipped, every time Luke had bent over to grab one of the bottles of sugar-free iced tea Padmé liked to set up in neat little rows along the bottom of the fridge.

Every time the water in his hair would drip onto his shoulders, sending little rivers cascading down his chest and back... every time the outline of his flaccid cock would make itself evident through the immodest strip of blue terrycloth draped around his perfect little waist...

Fuck. Fuck.

Luke felt sticky tendrils of himself begin to drip helplessly onto the couch. Something akin to a sob forced its way up from the very back of his throat, and he gripped the back of the sofa with all his strength. He didn't dare reach back down between his own legs.

Anakin, for his part, just kept on fucking. He placed one hand on Luke's waist to steady himself, but the other shot straight to the back of the boy's head, twisting its fingers up once more in that pretty, blonde mop he so admired. Luke's whining only made him move faster, and their mutual trembling only caused him to tighten his grip. He was merciless, tearing into his son with the unbridled power of years of repressed lust.

Anakin had wanted this for what felt like forever.

Luke's neck bent back at a near-impossible angle, and his cock continued to bounce tortuously beneath him as his dad intensified his rhythmic pounding. He moaned and yelped as Anakin yanked on his hair, and dug a persistent set of strong, blunt fingertips into his waist. He tried not to clench too hard around his dad's dick, but he couldn't help it.

Not that Anakin minded being squeezed.

"Dad, I can't— I— I can't t-take—!"

"Just hold on, baby boy," Anakin interrupted breathlessly, lost in the frantic movement of his own hips. "Just hold on for daddy."

Luke did hold on. He held on with all his might, waiting— waiting for a shout, waiting for a tug, waiting for the sensation of—

"Daddy!"

"Fuck! L-Luke!"

Neither of them would ever know who went off first: Luke's eyes squeezed themselves shut while every muscle in his body tensed. His breathing grew ragged, and he let out a series of obscenely loud, strangled cries as his dad's ravaging finally became too much for him bear. Dick still bouncing along with Anakin's rhythm, he erupted all over the sofa in a hot, sticky, needy mess.

At what might have been the very same moment, Anakin ground his hips sharply into Luke's ass. He cursed, growled, and relished the dire, pulsing sensation of his cock exploding deep inside his boy. It felt like the ultimate indulgence: An indulgence of every single one of the sick fantasies to which Anakin had ever closed his eyes and stroked himself. He'd needed this for years.

He pushed hard while he drained, letting the hand he'd been keeping on his son's waist snake around to finger his sexy little navel. Anakin let his fingertips dance along the edge of the near-indiscernible trail of fine, strawberry hairs leading down to Luke's slowly-softening dick. He finally did wrap his hand around it again, giving it a loving pump or two as he held himself inside of Luke for as long as he could manage.

Luke sputtered and panted, and backed into his dad's cock insistently despite the fact that his arms and legs had begun to quiver. Soon, he felt Anakin start to soften up, and eventually— begrudgingly— pull out of him.

"D-Daddy," he whined yet again, as the very head of Anakin's dick popped out of his ass, leaving him with only its seed, and a uniquely wonderful, strangely devastating emptiness.

Anakin took a moment to catch his breath and regain his composure. He looked down and saw Luke's hole, still bearing the evidence of having been stretched to its limit by his cock. It was beautiful— so beautiful that Anakin traced one last circle around the rim of it with his fingertip, and then reached back to give the fleshiest part of his son's ass a hard, unexpected slap.

With a yelp and a hop, Luke finally gave up his grip on the back of the couch, letting go in favour of sloppily turning to face his dad. He fell into a heap then, almost seeming to dissolve into the old, threadbare fabric. He was sweaty, but still naked, and growing cold. His skin was peppered with goosebumps.

Anakin stood and stared down at him, mesmerized. His cock was still out, although it was now wet and flaccid. He didn't tuck it away until he registered for himself the chill in the basement air.

Then, he sat down next to his baby boy... who immediately moved to cling to his daddy's chest, warming himself contentedly as he basked in the glow of the TV, and in the lingering delirium of their sex.

The old movies had long since finished airing— now, there were only infomercials.

Anakin and Luke were quiet. They were still drunk... although, perhaps, not feeling their drunkenness quite as acutely as they had before.

"See?" asked Anakin.

"See what?"

"I told you— you're pretty."

Just as it had done the first time, Luke's face went red... however, the new heat rising in his cheeks was accompanied, this time, by a serene little smile.

He didn't say anything... but he did snuggle in just a little bit closer to Anakin. His ass hurt, but it was a good hurt.

A hurt that made him feel loved.

Luke liked to sit next to his dad.

[thegreatestofheck]

Promises, Promises ✾ JJ Maybank ✾

request:  Hi! Can I request where John B has a younger sister who is extremely close to JJ but there is kind of a unspoken rule between the three of them: you can look, flirt all you want but no touching or crossing that line. Well they deeply care for each other more than John B knows. Well on the day Luke picks him up from jail in that scene before getting in the car he sees her, just staring at him because she knows what will happen if he gets in. The rest is up to you!

word count - 3.8k  warnings - mentions of abuse, uncomfy interactions with Luke Maybank,  synopsis - You and JJ have an unspoken thing, passed only through stolen glances and half serious flirting. But the day after he takes the fall for Pope, you find yourself standing at a crossroads; do you step in to protect him from his dad, or do you stay out of it? a/n - thank you so much for this request anon!! I wish I could have gotten to it sooner, but I’m so grateful that you came to me with this request, I love it!! Here I am with another Routledge!Reader fic. I will never be tired of these. Never ever. I tried really hard to be proud of this, anon, because you deserve a masterpiece, but I really struggled and I’m so sorry for that. I hope you like it all the same!

                                                               ***

You and JJ had shared many different looks in your lifetime. The kind where your eyes were squinted tight, filled with tears because you were both laughing so hard. The kind where your eyes were wide and his were stone cold because you were terrified and he was ready to raze hell to keep you safe. The kind where you’re standing on opposite ends of the room but you meet each others’ gaze and you know that the both of you wish that distance was closed. 

A thousand different looks, a thousand different moments, and thousand different silent words shared by only the flick of the eye. All of that and it seemed like it boiled down to this moment in time, this one very important look. 

You were standing across the street from where his dad’s car was parked, only a block or so away from the police station. JJ’s face was still messed up from his fight with Rafe, Kelce, and Topper at the Summer Movie Series, but his eyes were more haunted now than they ever had been before. Because he wasn’t walking alone. His dad walked alongside him; jaw tight, hands clenched, gait furious. 

And you knew. You knew what was coming to your best friend if he got into that car. He had taken the fall for Pope, found himself thousands of dollars in debt, thousands of dollars that neither him nor his dad didn’t have. 

Your had curled around the wad of cash in your pocket. After watching Shoupe drive away with JJ the day before, you had broken into your piggy bank, gathered all the tips you had ever received from the wrinkled, old, white men who hit on you at the Wreck, torn apart every piece of furniture in your house to find every last goddamn penny you owned, praying that it would be enough for bail. And if it still wasn’t, you were fully prepared to bat your pretty eyelashes and pout a little bit. 

After all, no one had ever been able to say no to y/n Routledge before. 

But now that you saw JJ walking beside Luke Maybank, you felt oddly silly in your too tight tank top and extra short shorts. All the money in your pocket suddenly lost its worth because JJ’s dad already knew. JJ was already heading straight for hell. 

You watched him for a good while before he tore his gaze from the concrete beneath his feet and looked up across the street. It took a few moments for relief at seeing you to glaze over the fear in his eyes. You barely managed a smile. 

Of all the looks you ever shared, you hated these kind the most. Where you knew that JJ was upset, terrified, on the verge of tears, but he covered it up with a smile and a dirty joke. There would be no jokes now, but there had been so many in the past. 

Like the time you and your brother were cleaning up the Chateau after a nasty storm and he came staggering onto your lawn. He was drunk off his ass, his face a terrible array of purple and red. John B didn’t see the way JJ’s eyes flit back and forth as if watching for someone. He didn’t see the way JJ stumbled to cover the limp in his step. He didn’t hear the way his voice broke as JJ drawled out a snarky remark about the weather.

But you did. You saw everything. 

Maybe it was because you spent your entire life looking. Stealing glances in the early morning when he was still asleep on the pullout. Watching how he flinched when Pope or John B raised their voice a little too loud with an enthusiastic thump on his shoulder. Seeing the way he buried himself in weed and alcohol and girls just to take his mind off of the overbearing fear of not being good enough. 

You saw it all because he was, after all, just a mirror of yourself. 

And you wanted him more than anything. You wanted to know how his calloused hands felt against your always cold skin. You wanted to be surrounded by his scent, the smell of cigarettes and cheap beer and sea salt chocolates. You spent hours awake every night, knowing that he was just a few feet away from your room, wondering if he was in as much agony as you were. 

It wasn’t like you were afraid to tell him how you felt or anything. He knew exactly how badly you wanted to take the pain straight from his heart and put it into yours, how badly you wished to be the thing he craved, how badly you needed to have him around all the time. 

He knew it all because you were, after all, just a mirror of himself. 

The years of pining and flirting and joking and pretending that there wasn’t a barrier between the two of you placed there by your very own brother meant that, at the very moment when JJ needed you the most, you could tell instantly. 

It all took a second. An entire conversation in just the blink of an eye. He knew why you were standing there across the street in your too tight tank top and your too short shorts. He could see the outline of the coins and the cash in your pocket. And he knew that even though you couldn’t save him from spending the night in a jail cell, you would be damned before you left without trying to save him from his dad. 

“No,” his eyes told you as soon as the elation in his face faded. “You’ll get hurt.” 

“If I don’t, so will you.” 

It didn’t matter that an entire road separated the two of you. You’d spent years communicating through a brick wall built by your own two hands. You could still read him perfectly. 

But now wasn’t the time for reading. Road be damned, brick wall be damned. 

You pulled your hand out from your pocket and forced a wide grin on your face. JJ scowled at the sudden change in your demeanor. 

“JJ! Mr. Maybank!” You called and stepped into the street. The old man turned to look at you with the deepest scowl you had ever seen in your life. Just before your mother abandoned you and John B, she had told you that the only thing scowling achieved was wrinkles. Looking at Luke Maybank’s face now, you knew that she was right. 

“What?” He snapped as you stepped back onto the sidewalk. 

“My dickhead brother was supposed to come pick me up but he’s off with some chick,” you lied smoothly, your smile never once faltering. Luke grunted and took a step to push past you and continue walking. As you stepped in front of him again, you sent one quick look to JJ to affirm that you were doing just fine. 

“I was wondering if you could maybe give me a ride?” You asked as sweetly as you could. 

“Look, y/n,” Luke grumbled. “I’ve got shit to deal with right now.” 

At the word ‘shit’, Luke sent a sharp glare over to JJ, who tried not to flinch. Your eyebrows pinched together. You dropped your smile into a small pout and heaved out a heavy sigh. You knew exactly what you were doing, but you tried to ignore Luke’s eyes on you all the same. Just thinking about it sent shivers down your spine. 

“That’s okay,” you said, looking up with a pouty sweet smile. “I’ll just walk.” 

You gave JJ a small wave of your fingers, but you had no intention of leaving. Because only seconds later did Luke Maybank let out a sigh equal to that of your own. 

“Get in the car, y/n. A girl like you walking across the island is bound to get unwanted attention.” 

The smile that grew on your face was equal parts to cover up the fear that his words struck into your heart and elation that your plan had actually worked. You looked over at JJ again, only to see this his eyes were stormy and his jaw was clenched tight. You sent him a wink as his dad brushed past you. 

Falling into step with JJ was like breathing. With you by his side, he was less tense than before. Neither of you said anything on your way to the car, but neither of you really needed to. You hooked your pinky around his and gave a short squeeze before letting your hand fall back to your side. 

There was half a race to the passenger door, but, like always, you won. You sent him your best attempt at a playful smile as you pulled the door open, forcing him to slide into the back seat, disgruntled. In your mind, the harder it was for Luke to reach JJ, the happier you would be, even if it meant sitting next to the one person you hated most on the planet. 

In an attempt to keep your nonchalant air about you, you propped your feet up on the dashboard, leaning back and draping your arm out the window. JJ jammed his knee into the back of your seat, giving you an angry glare, which you dismissed and ignored.

“Feet off the dash, sweetheart.” Luke’s voice was tight even as he tapped his hand once against your shin. You tried to laugh it off as you pulled your feet back but you suddenly realized what exactly you had gotten yourself into. 

“Sorry, Mr. Maybank,” you said as you cast your eyes back to JJ, who was smoldering silently in the backseat. 

“It’s Luke, please,” the older man said, pulling out of the parking spot. You swallowed a lump in your throat and gave a quiet laugh. 

Eight years you had known this man and never once had he let you call him Luke. A pit formed in your stomach. 

“Haven’t seen you around in a while, y’n,” he said. He didn’t turn his head but you can see his eyes shift toward you. 

“Oh, you know. With my dad missing, I’ve been taking care of John B a lot,” you said, waving your hand through the air like it was nothing. “Leaves very little time for a social call.” 

“You’ve grown a lot.” 

How in the hell were you supposed to respond to that? Normal people shouldn’t say shit like that to a teenage girl. You didn’t even have to look at JJ to know that he was absolutely fuming. All you could do was let out a stiff laugh. 

“Where do you need to go?” Luke asked. You cringed to yourself. You hadn’t really thought this far ahead. Improvising was more JJ’s area of expertise, but you’d picked up on a thing or two over the years. You hoped it would be enough to keep you out of deep shit with Luke. 

“JB and I have been working on this bike back at the house and I came out here to buy a part from some guy online. Turned out to be a scam,” you said with a sigh, playing with the broken rubber on the door. 

“This boy back here hasn’t been helping you out?” Luke asked, jamming a thumb in the direction of JJ. You noted how he refused to say his name. 

“Uh, it’s kinda a brother/sister project.” You glanced back at JJ again. He rolled his eyes, smelling your bullshit from a mile away. You weren’t really the tinkering type. 

“I see. What’s the part you need?” 

You almost panicked, your eyes going wide. You knew jackshit about what different parts of a motorcycle were called. JJ had tried to teach you once a few months ago before John B had so rudely interrupted. Giving yourself a few seconds to rack your brain for the name of even a single mechanical part. 

“It’s the uh, I can’t really remember the name,” you chuckled, your heart starting to pound as Luke eyed you carefully. “It’s something weird. Something small and it goes in the engine? I don’t know what JB was thinking sending me.” 

“Why don’t I take you to the house and you can show me which piece you’re missing?” 

Your heart constricted even further. There was a rule you and JJ had. Well, aside from the silent rule not to ever act on their feelings for the sake of John B. This rule had nothing to do with your brother. Never, ever, ever were you supposed to go back to his house. No matter what happened, JJ had told you to stay clear of his house. 

But if you didn’t go, what would happen to him once he was alone? You almost couldn’t stomach it. Looking back at JJ, his eyes were narrowed into a warning. 

“Don’t you dare,” his eyes said. You grimaced. Could you really leave him knowing full well what was waiting for him on the other end? It didn’t feel right. It’s not like Luke would try anything with JJ there. You would be perfectly safe. Or, at least, you had managed to convince yourself you would be. 

“Um, yeah. It’d have to be quick though. Kie’s picking me up from the Chateau in in an hour.” 

It was another lie. You just hoped it would be enough to keep you out of any trouble. JJ sighed audibly and you tried to send him an apologetic look but he was too busy staring out the window. 

The trip to the Maybank abode was full of awkward small talk between you and Luke, JJ refusing to make a sound. He refused to even look at you once Luke parked the car and stepped out. You were expecting him to storm inside, but he stood there and waited for you. The look on his face told you that you had royally pissed him off and for half a moment, you felt ashamed for breaking your promise never to go to his house. 

But that shame faded into a firm resolve. You were helping him. He may be angry at you now, but he would understand later and he’d be grateful. 

You followed after Luke as he walked into the house, keeping your chin high. You were right about this. You had to be. 

“You want a beer?” Luke asked you. You could tell that he had already had a couple this morning. You wondered how many beers it would take for him to pass out. 

“Sure,” you said, tugging on frayed edges of your shorts. Luke didn’t ask JJ if he wanted one. 

“Beer’s and the parts are out in the back,” Luke told you. 

“Okay.” 

You slowed, pausing to stop next to JJ. 

“Are you okay?” You whispered to him. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like to spend the night alone in a jail cell. The idea of him being there all by himself made you queasy. 

“You promised,” he whispered right back, keeping his eyes fixed on his dad, who wandered around the porch looking for something. 

“I know.” Your voice was quiet. 

“y/n!” Luke called. “C’mere!” 

JJ tore his gaze from his father to look down at you. He reached out and grabbed your wrist. 

“Don’t.” 

“He’ll think something’s up. It’s just a beer.” 

“Get out of here, y’n, I swear to God-”

“And leave you here with him?” You let your quiet voice raise ever so slightly and then glanced toward Luke to make sure he hadn’t heard. “No. I’m staying.”

“y/n.” You slid out of JJ’s grip and took a started toward the back porch. “y/n!” 

You stepped onto the porch with a smile. There was an opened beer just waiting for you to grab. You picked it up with as much of a smile as you could muster.

                                                           ***

Forty-five minutes later, you were holding a piece of metal that was supposed to do something for a made up motorcycle that you had no idea how to use and Luke was passed out on the couch. You let out a sigh and set down the empty beer bottle that you hadn’t taken a single drink of. Luke was tipsy enough before you even started talking about motorcycles that he didn’t notice you pouring your beer out over the side of the porch. 

JJ was leaning up against the wall, watching you and his dad carefully. Once you were convinced that Luke was asleep, you turned around to face your friend. 

“My room,” he said, pushing off the wall and turning down the thin hallway. Your heart skipped a tiny beat. He was still upset with you. All your life, you hadn’t really been like John B or JJ. You weren’t confrontational. You liked to keep your head down, walk away without a fight. 

But this wasn’t confrontation you could avoid. You had to follow him. You had no choice, even if the idea of it made you want to vomit. 

You had never been in JJ’s room before. Of course you hadn’t. You weren’t really sure what you had been expecting, but it wasn’t really this. Maybe some old movie posters, some pictures of the pogues, a record player and the albums of his favorite bands. 

But his room was bare. The paint on the walls was peeling. His bed was nothing more than a mattress on the floor with a sheet and a torn comforter. There was a wooden dresser on the wall under the window, but it was chipped and one of the drawers that had been pulled out was broken. Clothes were all over the floor, but it was clear JJ hadn’t been back here in a few days. You knew exactly where he had been, of course. 

“JJ-” 

“What the hell were you thinking?” JJ’s hands were on his hips. You wrapped one hand around your wrist and twisted nervously. JJ putting his hands on his hips meant he was especially agitated and the more agitated he was, the more he was likely to yell.

“I was just trying to keep you safe,” you said, voice quiet. 

“I don’t need you to protect me!” 

You clenched your teeth together as tight as you could. You wished you could properly articulate your side of things without your voice shaking or tears gathering in your eyes, but the sad truth of it was that yelling always made you cry. And you hated it.

“What was I supposed to do? Let you get your ass beat?” 

“Yes!” You flinched at the tone in his voice. “What’s the point of trying to keep me safe if you’re the one who gets hurt?”

“I didn’t get hurt,” you reminded him gently. “I’m fine.” 

“Yeah, well, you might not have been.” There was a look in his eye that you recognized, but you had seen it only a few times before. Fear, true fear. He had gotten good at covering it up over the years, but there was no shroud over the fear in his eyes now. It was a level of vulnerable that was so rare to see on JJ. 

“I understand that,” you said. “And I’m sorry if I freaked you out, but I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.” 

“Why not?” 

“Why not?” The tiniest shred of courage found its way into your heart and your own voice started to rise. “You know damn well why not! What kind of friend would I be if I just let you get into that car alone?” 

“You promised me you would never get in between me and my dad again. You made that promise to me and you just broke it.” 

You tried not to scowl. 

“First of all, I didn’t technically break any promises. I didn’t get in between you and your dad this time. I stopped it from happening in the first place. Second, the promise was never valid because I had my fingers crossed.” It was childish, sure. But you were a child so you had a habit of acting like one from time to time, especially when you got nervous. 

“Dammit, y/n! Can’t you see I’m just trying to keep you safe?” 

“Yeah and I’m trying to keep you safe.”

JJ huffed out a sigh and turned his back on you, which sent a spike of pain through your heart. 

“You should go,” he said. 

“JJ-”

“I’m not kidding. Get out of here before my dad wakes up.” 

You let out a short breath through your nose and clasped your hands together in front of you. You couldn’t help the agitation that burned in your chest. 

“Whatever makes you happy, J.” 

“Fuck you, y/n. You know this doesn’t make me happy,” he turned back around slowly to face you once again and you pursed your lips. 

“Don’t stay here,” you told him, going back to your quiet words and almost shy demeanor. “Come back with me to the Chateau. We can figure everything out.” 

“How?” He asked with an aggressive shrug. “How in the hell are we going to figure anything out?” 

You paused for a moment, searching for the right words to say. You had one shot to get this right, to say the one thing that would get JJ to leave this place with you. 

“Like we always do,” you said after a few moments. “Together.” 

You extended out your hand to him, silently begging for him to bridge the gap between you. He hesitated, glancing between your tear-glossed eyes and your outstretched hand. Eternity passed in those few moments before he made his decision. A bead of sweat ran down your spine. A cool breeze left a wave of goosebumps across your legs in its wake. Your eyes swam with tears but not a single one of them fell. And you waited. 

Eternity passed and JJ finally made his move. His hand was up, reaching for yours as he took a step forward. You were pulling him into your arms before his fingertips even grazed your own. He let out a single, shuddered breath like a sob of relief as he tucked his face into the crook of your neck. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pressed a gentle kiss against the side of his head. 

“I can’t promise you that everything will work out the way we want it to,” you whispered quietly to him. He let out another shaky breath as he held tight to your hand, one arm wrapped around your waist. “But I can promise you that whatever you face, you won’t be alone.” 

“Your fingers aren’t crossed this time?” he asked in a half hearted attempt to joke, but he didn’t even attempt to crack a smile as you pulled away from him to look him in the eyes. 

“I promise,” you told him, holding your uncrossed fingers up in front of him. He nodded once, his hair shaking loose and falling in front of his eyes. “Come on, then. Let’s go home.” 

________________________________________________________________

taglist -  @simonsbluee, @parkerpetertingle, @diverrdown, @ponyboys-sunsets, @outerbanksbro, @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch, 

[lyssismagical]

you were never mine

I’m a bad student somebody stop me

AKA I wrote this on my phone during a zoom call for class, so it’s not the best and it’s kinda messy but here we are anyway

TW: abusive parent, violence, blood

another piece of a shameless au i’ll write one day

There’s an ear-splitting noise that sounds a lot like glass shattering, and Abbie flinches, tucking herself closer against the wall, one arm wrapped around a sibling, more by her feet. 

Their mom showing up, out of the blue, was protocol for what started out as a decent weekend. Harley ushered them all off, passing Bentley off to Abbie, as soon as he’d smelled the alcohol and weed on her. 

From Harley’s bedroom, they could hear everything that was happening downstairs, words mostly muffled but emotions just as clear as day. 

Bentley’s on her lap, Jonah and Dayton on either side of her, Aspen sitting on the other end of the bed, and Sebastian is on Aspen’s other side. 

Harley’s room smells like him. Like gunpowder, leather, cheap soap, and strawberry milkshakes from the diner. It makes them all feel safe, knowing Harley’s out there protecting them, keeping them safe, always. 

Downstairs, muffled and distant, Harley’s shouting, “They’re not your kids, Macy. They were never your kids!”

And Macy sounds like she’s crying, and Abbie can picture exactly what she looks like in that moment. Desperate and scared and angry, hair wild and eyes tired, reaching out to try to comfort Harley like he was ever her son. 

She’s always been pretty, in that hardened Tennessee way. Auburn hair, long but always tied back, skin clear and tan, eyes a dark honey-brown, hands calloused and angles sharp. 

Most of the Keeners have a lot of those same features. Especially the oldest, the ones that were Dad’s and Mom’s, not just one or the other. The younger they get, the farther apart they look. 

Bentley, the youngest, is Dad’s, not Mom’s, and she barely looks like family. She’s lighter and softer than any of the other Keeners, blue-eyed and a blonde tuft of hair, porcelain skin with softer edges. 

“Why is he yelling at her?” Dayton asks. He’s so young, only eight-years-old and he’s facing all this pain and suffering at the hands of the people who were meant to love him unconditionally. He barely knows Mom, doesn’t know who his dad is. He doesn’t understand why things happened the way they did, doesn’t get why Harley’s so pissed at Mom, doesn’t understand why he can’t have clothes that aren’t hand-me-downs. 

And Abbie just shushes him because she can’t begin to explain why. 

“They’re my babies! You can’t keep them from me! I’m their mom!” Macy’s shouting downstairs. There’s more glass shattering and Abbie pulls Bentley closer when she hears the telltale sound of skin on skin. 

“What if I did let you see them?” Harley demands, voice trembling and an octave higher. “Would you hit Aspen too? Would you attack Dayton? Would you scream at Abbie? Would you make their lives hell?” 

She can’t make out what Macy says in response to that, but she can guess it’s nothing but lies and grasping for pity. 

“I wanna see her,” Jonah says, blinking up at Abbie. “Why can’t I see her?” 

“Macy isn’t a good person.” She’s pissed, shaking with the fiery anger that’s flooding through her, and she hates that this it what she’s forced to do. Hates that Harley has to take the brunt of everything. 

There’s a future for them, she thinks, as she looks around at her siblings. There’s a future there. 

Harley’s set it all up for them, made sure they’ll be ready to get out of Rose Hill one day. He’s going to get them all through school, going to send them off to live their lives, far and wide, doing anything they wish to do. 

Abbie’s going to go to New York. She’s going to get a full ride to Harvard, she’s going to be lawyer, she’s going to be successful and live on the coast. She’s going to be the first Keener to graduate high school, the first to go to college, the first to have a real job, the first to make it out of Rose Hill with a future, the first to be be above the poverty line, the first to make it to nineteen without an unplanned pregnancy. 

And the rest of them will follow. Aspen, Sebastian, Dayton, Jonah, Bentley, and whichever children will be dumped on them from Mom or Dad or a stranger claiming to have Dad’s child. 

All of them but Harley. 

Harley will be tied to them until the day the youngest Keener gets out of Rose Hill. Even if they’re lucky enough to be done with Bentley, Harley will be stuck here until he’s thirty-five, never have graduated high school. 

“I’ve given up everything for them!” Harley cries, loud enough for them to hear, clear and heartbreaking all the same. “You’ve done nothing but take and take and take, and I’ve had to fill in every gap. I’ve been their mom, their dad, their brother, their sole caretaker, their breadwinner, their chaperone, their everything. And you’ve been nothing. You’ve done nothing for them. The best thing you ever did to those kids was leave them.” 

And it hurts like Abbie’s been shot, clinging to her brothers, bleeding out on Harley’s bedspread, dying unable to make a sound. 

“I want a second chance. Just let me have the littlest one, Bentley, let me take her and have a second chance at being a mother!” 

“You can’t just show up and take your fucking pick!” Harley shouts, a sob caught in his throat. “You weren’t here, Macy! You weren’t here to change their diapers or help with math homework or go to their sports games. I was here! This is about what I did!” 

Macy goes to say something, but it goes unheard under Harley’s tearfully loud voice. 

“I was here! I was always here when you weren’t! And you know what? I did a fucking good job,” Harley says, shouting and crying and desperate. “Abbie’s captain of the volleyball team and junior class president! Aspen’s got a perfect GPA! Sebastian’s captain of the debate team, he volunteers at the animal shelter on the weekends! Dayton made a solar system for science and got an A plus! Jonah’s running now, he’s talking in full sentences, he’s fully potty trained, and he’s starting kindergarten next fall. Bentley, she’s an angel. Her first word was Harley. I was here! Where the fuck were you?” 

“I’m here now, Harley,” Macy says, almost too quiet for the kids to hear upstairs. “I deserve to see my children.” 

“They don’t even know who you are!” Harley shouts and there’s more glass breaking. 

Macy’s voice drops lower. “I’m their mother.” 

“You were my mother too!” 

“Please, Harley,” Macy begs. “I just want to see my children.” 

But Harley’s never given up that easily, he’s never let anything come between him and his family. “No. Just get out. I’m not letting you see them. I’m not going to let you brainwash them” 

It goes quiet after that, save for a few muffled noises every now and again. 

“Is he okay? Do you think she- Do you think she killed him?” 

Abbie hits Sebastian on the arm. “Don’t say something like that, you’ll scare the little ones.”

“I’m serious. Are you sure he’s going to be okay?” 

“When has Harley not been okay, Bas?” 

It’s not the truth, Harley’s been far from okay for a very long time. And normally, encounters with Macy ends pretty badly for him. 

But there’s nothing they can do. Harley’s strictest rule is that when he tells them to hide, they can’t come out until Harley comes to get them. If Abbie leaves, that leaves Aspen, fourteen years old, to protect them. 

Abbie’s job is to stay here, protect the littlest one if, for some reason, Macy comes after them. 

It only takes about an hour for Harley to get up to them, shouldering the door open. 

He’s bruised and bloody and limping, but he’s somehow got a wide smile on his face. “Macy has officially left the building.” 

“What the fuck did she do to you?” 

Abbie’s up and over in a second, passing Bentley off to Bas, and grabbing his chin to get a better look at him. It looks like he broke his nose, blood smeared on his upper lip, right eye swollen nearly shut, one arm cradled against his ribs, fingers splayed on his chest. His lip is split open, jaw bruised, glass still clinging to his shirt. 

“It’s fine. She’s gone, she’s not coming back for a while. We’re safe and sound. How do we feel about mac and cheese for dinner?” 

There’s not much they can say otherwise, watching Harley grin, teeth stained with blood, and nodding to the door. 

It’s not like Harley would listen to any of them anyway. He loves them too much to let them talk him out of keeping them safe. 

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