#and when does PTSD stop being an excuse for one’s actions?

[surpriseroundtellyourfriends]

Dee and I really out here having deeper philosophical discussions in the Twitch chat of a TTRPG stream than most college courses teach

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

People stating that Sora is less sympathetic and/or is worser than Icicle and - God Forbid - stating that Sora only wanted to kill Icicle in order to take revenge of Icicle for killing Sora’s sister, Crane, honestly makes me feel the urge to rip my hair out.

Sora (unlike Icicle) grew up in a kingdom where dragons from other tribes are able to invade and then attack and kill dragons living within their homes. Her own sister was murdered by Icicle only a couple MONTHS ago when she joined the JMA. Sora is also the closest dragon who shows symptoms of having PTSD, due to the flashbacks she’s shown to experience from the war within Moon Rising.

Due to Sora’s trauma from Icicle killing her sister, she was fearful paranoid her own safety around Icicle, despite the fact that weren’t fighting in the war anyone.

Because of this, when Icicle mentioned in her sleep that “killing is easy enough”, Sora believed that Icicle would be the type of dragon to continue ending other’s lives with her own claws, regardless that the war ended or not. Which made Sora believe that Icicle wouldn’t just kill her sister, but multiple other dragons within the Jade Mountain Academy too. Sora didn’t just kill Icicle to get revenge on her for killing Crane. She did it in order to protect other dragons from being killed by her too.

Like- I’m not making it up nor even exaggerating this part of Sora’s character, this is literally stated in canon.

“Our very first night here, when I still wasn't sure — I was almost sure it was [Icicle], but I thought I must be mad, and I couldn't let myself sleep because what if she did the same thing to me that she did to Crane? And then in her sleep, she muttered, 'Killing is easy enough.' ❗️That's when I knew. She's a murderer and she won't stop until someone does what I failed to do.❗️

-Sora, Moon Rising, Pages 267 - 268

Of course, you could say “But that’s stupid for Sora to think! Icicle didn’t kill Crane because Icicle’s a bloodthirsty murder, it’s because they were fighting in a WAR!”

And while that’s true, here’s the thing: Trauma isn’t (always) logical nor rational.

Fear isn’t an emotion people experience from logic and reasoning.

Let alone for someone having PTSD from a War and living around the very person you saw murder one of your closest family members.

Expecting someone, specifically an Traumatized teenage ex-soldier who only JUST turned 18 - who only recently stopped fighting in a war & only recently clearly saw her sister being murdered - to think rationally towards the person (let alone their PoV) who murdered her sister, is honestly quite illogical and even unreasonable to expect from Sora and her character.

Does this make Sora’s actions excusable and/or justifiable, especially since she didn’t mean to harm any other dragons while attempting to kill Icicle?

HECK NO! It does NOT excuse nor justify literally bombing a room of a school, and attempting to commit literal murder.

Sora’s grief and trauma explains Sora’s motives and actions, and makes her PoV understandable and even sympathetic, but does NOT excuse and/or justify her actions and choices at ALL, what-so-ever - this is true about ICICLE’S character as well.

Then does this mean that Icicle is worser and/or less sympathetic than Sora? HECK NO to that too!!

Icicle was being manipulated by Queen Scarlet, who stated to Icicle that if she didn't kill the DoD, that her brother, Hailstorm - who Scarlet knows the whereabouts of - will DIE, resulting in Icicle to be forced into making the decision of killing multiple of her teachers and a Queen (who she doesn’t know very well) and her brother who she believed was dead for literal YEARS.

And Icicle not caring about killing others is due to her being raised as a literal child soldier throughout her life, being made to repeatedly harm and kill others out on the battlefield.

Sora and Icicle are BOTH morally-gray ex-child soldiers who've been traumatized by the war, who are both sympathetic or at least understandable characters who commit awful and/or immoral actions out of the fear and trauma of losing someone that they love.

So stating that EITHER ONE OF THEM is “less sympathetic” and/or “is worser than the other” honestly feels quite icky and/or irritating to me.

.

[theotterpenguin]

How LOK Fails to Do Katara Justice (part II)

In part one of this meta, I explained how Katara's character received the worst treatment in Legend of Korra compared to the other members of the gaang, and the sexist writing of lok!Katara so that she is only defined by her relationships to her husband and children. In the second part of this analysis, I will explain how the common arguments that are used in defense of LOK's poor writing do not provide an adequate in-universe explanation for Katara's drastic change from ATLA.

Defense of lok!Katara seems to boil down to three main points: 

1) The “leave it to the kids” excuse: Katara is from the previous generation so she shouldn’t be expected to be involved in the plot - it’s time for Korra’s team to have a turn.

2) The “old lady” excuse: Katara is too old to be fighting wars or getting involved in international politics.

3) The “people change” excuse: Katara’s character, personality, and goals would change over time because she’s older now.

I would be willing to accept these excuses under the condition that they are also applied to the other members of the gaang. Ignoring the fact that the Order of the White Lotus is literally a bunch of old guys fighting in wars in ATLA, if Toph and Zuko are also portrayed as too old to be fighting and leaving all their problems to the next generation to fix, along with Katara, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem. If Sokka, Aang, Toph, and Zuko are all portrayed as having different goals and motivations and characteristics than when they were younger, along with Katara, then again, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem. (It might be bad writing, but hey, at least it’s bad writing applied equally to every character). 

The problem is that it’s only Katara’s character that takes a complete 180 from how it was set up in ATLA, it’s only Katara’s character that is too old to fight to defend her family, it’s only Katara’s character who leaves all her problems to the kids and stays completely uninvolved from the geopolitical conflicts brewing around her.

 Returning to our original three excuses, let’s see how well they match with rest of the gaang’s portrayal in LOK:

1) “Leave it to the kids” excuse: 

I will be leaving Sokka and Aang out of this since they are dead at the time of the show (though it should be noted that flashbacks show both of them being heavily involved in global leadership roles and managing political conflicts). 

This excuse is not even close to applicable to Zuko. As soon as he finds out Zaheer has escaped from prison, he flies off on a dragon to check the other prisons. He warns Lin to look after Korra, but this doesn’t stop him from investigating with Tonraq on his own, without Korra and co's involvement. As soon as he hears his family may be in danger, he flies off on a dragon to protect them.

This excuse doesn’t apply to Toph. She does state that she agrees with Katara that it’s time to leave things to the kids, but her actions say differently. As soon as she finds out Suyin has been captured, she immediately attempts to find her - on her own, without consulting with the younger generation. When she realizes Suyin has been moved somewhere else, she works together with Korra and co to save her family - twice actually. She also involves herself in Korra’s life by helping her train and recover from her PTSD.

Meanwhile, Katara does nothing when her home is dragged into a civil war, does nothing when her family is kidnapped, and does nothing when a bloodbender is using his abilities to oppress others (despite being the one to outlaw bloodbending).

2) “Old lady” excuse:

Again, also not applicable to Aang and Sokka because they’re dead at the start of the show.

This excuse does not apply to Zuko whatsoever. He never mentions that being old prevents him from fighting or getting involved in the political conflicts that arise. He has no problem fighting Ghazan during the Red Lotus prison break-in and has no problem riding his dragon. He stays involved in international relations despite being “retired” from his position as Fire Lord - helping to track down the Red Lotus, attending important international events, and holding meetings with leaders of other nations (Tenzin, Raiko, Tonraq).

Toph tells Korra that her fighting days are over due to having back problems, but has no problem fighting Korra during training and easily takes out Kuvira’s army. 

Katara never fights during the entire show. And as far as I can remember, she never waterbends at all beyond healing on a few occasions.

I feel like it’s important to note that both excuses 1 and 2 are never even mentioned in regard to Zuko (or the Order of the White Lotus) - it’s only Toph and Katara that seem to be “too old” to fight and have to leave everything to the kids. Toph’s actions don’t align with her words, unlike Katara, but it doesn’t change the fact that these excuses are unequally applied to old women in Legend of Korra compared to the old men in Legend of Korra (and ATLA). Good old misogyny at work!

3) “People change” excuse:

Sokka: Begins his story in ATLA as son of the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, desperately trying to fill his father's shoes when Hakoda goes off to war. He becomes the defacto leader of the gaang over time due to his fondness for schedules, his leadership abilities, and analytical thinking skills. Despite being a nonbender, he held his own with his trusty boomerang and strategic thinking. Ends his story in LOK having taken over from his father as Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, putting those leadership skills to use. His intelligence and strategic thinking made him an ideal candidate to be a Representative for the Southern Water Tribe on the Republic City Council, as he could be trusted to make smart decisions that were the best for his tribe. He was even elected chairman of the council due to these skills. A statue was built in his honor, which included his favorite boomerang.

Zuko: Begins his story in ATLA learning to heal from his father’s abuse and, in the process, slowly comes to understand the evils of Fire Nation imperialism. He replaces his father as Fire Lord and vows to start a new era of peace and harmony, ending the war and the Fire Nation’s colonialism and imperialism. He also vowed to work together with the Avatar to maintain balance. Ends his story in LOK having achieved peace and prosperity in the Fire Nation again. Turned previous Fire Nation colonies into the United Republic of Nations - meant to be a safe haven for anyone, regardless of nationality or bender status - by working together with Aang. Fights against the Red Lotus to protect Avatar Korra and his family. His statue, in contrast to Ozai’s former statue, is one representing peace and hope.

Toph: Begins her story in ATLA rebelling against her strict parents, who are overprotective of her due to her blindness. She learns to rely on and trust others over the course of the series, realizing that accepting help from others doesn’t mean she’s weak. She enjoyed pulling scams on naive civilians in the show using her earthbending seismic abilities and participated in the Earth Rumble in her youth. She also invented metalbending and worked as Aang’s earthbending teacher. Ends her story in LOK having created a metalbending academy to teach others the bending speciality, along with establishing the first metalbending police force. Metalbending is shown as having made significant contributions to technological innovation and progress in the avatar world. Helped to train Korra while she’s recovering from the her capture by the Red Lotus. Though she liked breaking the rules when she was younger, she found it more fun to be the person in charge of the rules - leading her to become Captain of the Police Force. Still suffering the consequences of poor parenting as a child, she became an overly-lenient parent, leading to problems with her daughters. She states that her fighting days are over, but still seems to enjoy fighting Korra.

(As a side note: I do not agree with how the writers chose to take Toph’s story. Do I think they should have - and realistically, could have - gone in a different direction that did more justice to Toph’s character? Yes. However, I also see how it could potentially be possible that she became a cop and uninvolved parent based on her background. I don’t like it, but I can at least see some logic behind her storyline - unlike Katara’s. If anyone feels differently, I'd love to know your thoughts.)

Aang: Begins his story in ATLA learning to become the Avatar by mastering all four elements, mastering the Avatar State, and acting as a bridge between the human world and Spirit World. Struggles with being the sole survivor of the Air Nomads and attempting to keep his culture alive. Works to keep balance in the world among the four nations by defeating the imperial Fire Nation. Ends his story in LOK having achieved his goals as Avatar, successfully keeping peace amongst the four nations and establishing the United Republic of Nations as a sanctuary for all, no matter nationality or bender status. Considered a spiritual leader and successfully kept peace between the spirit world and human world. Had an airbender child and airbender grandkids, traveled the world to spread his culture, including building a temple on Air Temple Island in the United Republic, and other characters repeatedly state that for his entire life, his dream was to revive Air Nomad culture. 

Katara: Begins her story in ATLA trying to master her waterbending abilities, trying to teach herself on their journey. Views waterbending as a way to connect with her culture. She challenges the Northern Water Tribe’s sexism for the right to learn how to fight. Famously declares, “I don’t want to heal, I want to fight!” Passionate about standing up against injustice - causes a prison riot through an inspiring speech she gives, dresses up as a Fire Nation spirit to heal sick villagers, and goes after her mother’s killer. She is forced to bloodbend, a traumatic experience for her. Teaches Aang how to waterbend and is eventually bestowed the title of “master waterbender” by Pakku. Occasionally heals others when they get injured, but main focus is on development of her waterbending fighting abilities. Ends her story in LOK known as the best healer in the world, but fails to heal Korra and Jinora. Spends her time during the civil war on the sidelines, healing the injured. Marries and has kids with Aang. She’s lonely and her family doesn’t visit much. No known achievements beyond outlawing bloodbending (which she is somehow able to do without holding any political titles beyond that of the Avatar’s wife).

Hopefully it should be clear that Sokka, Aang, Toph, and Zuko's characteristics, goals, and motivations don't change as drastically as Katara's do. The writing of Katara in LOK did a disservice to her character. I've always deeply admired Katara for never failing to stand up against injustice, for her empathy and kindness even for those who are different from her, and for her determination not to let patriarchal norms define what she can and can't do. While LOK's portrayal of other characters provides a glimpse at how their character arcs in atla influenced the way they shaped the world, we never get a glimpse of the original Katara - only a lackluster imitation of someone with the same name.

If the Avatar franchise continues to expand with more post-ATLA content of the gaang as adults, I certainly hope Katara's characterization is improved.

[decadentpostnachos-evil-twin]

This is why you can't have a discussion nowadays. People's narrative being "My opinion is the only opinion, Idc what you say you are wrong."

Bitch Honey, if you can't deal with someone else's opinion, maybe don't post shit in the internet for everyone to see.

You can't put up with morally dark characters who are actually morally dark and not trying to justify their actions.

Besides, the worst thing we actively see Eris do in all of the books is saying that Morrigan dresses like a slut and calling Cassian some slurs. Plus we know that he left Morrigan at the border without touching her (what was he supposed to do, take her to Beron? Srsly, use your brains people. Please.)

None of these things were nice.

But how does this in any way compare to slaughtering a whole village of people for revenge (Cassian)?

Or better yet, to leave a head on a spike in the garden of someone else for shits and giggles, be a ruler for centuries and yet not manage to stop women in your territory from being mutiliated, even though you call yourself the "most powerful High Lord to ever rule" or some shit. Or SA your apparent future wife, also just for fun because he could have left Feyre in the cell in acotar and no one would have given two shits except for Tamlin and Lucien who would have been worried for her. Stealing millenia old artifacts. Threatening to kill everyone who doesn't share your opinion, constantly and therefore jeopardizing an alliance against the main enemy. Keeping mass destruction weapons in your posession without telling anyone outside of your "family" about it. Misusing your wife and mate as a breeder and not even informing her about the fact that she will likely die in childbirth, instead leaving your sister in law to sacrifice the brunt of her own magic to safe her sister. Belittling a man dealing with heavy depression and PTSD for really no apparent reason other than your own petiness, telling him he should kill himself when he's at his lowest AFTER he saved your mates life, your life and essentially turned the tide in a war. And I could go on.

How are the narrative and part of the fandom able to find excuses for Rhysand's fucked up behaviour over and over and paint him the misunderstood hero, but Eris is evil incarnate because he did what again? Left Morrigan at the border, most likely knowing she would be found and taken care of (at the ripe age of...very much younger than her, too, mathematics say) and called Cassian a brute.

"Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut." -Eris in acowar to Morrigan. This is him saying she dresses like a slut. Not calling her one.

I'm not trying to make excuses for Eris here. He's an asshole, I'm aware of it, and the absolute majority of his stans are aware of it. But that's about it. So if you make some post about "abusive men", and include Tamlin and Eris, then reflect on what fucked up shit your favs did. Because if saying someone dresses like a slut and leaving her lying around injured but untouched by you (when you have no responsibility for her state at all) is horrible and abusive, I'd like to know what you would call all the shit Rhysand pulled.

On the other hand, I'd like to say something about Neris shippers being racist, because I don't see how? I could honestly care less for how Cassian looks or his ethnicity, this is about him having literally no backbone and treating Nesta like shit throughout acosf when she was clearly not in a good place, mentally. If y'all wanna be degraded for having ugly trauma I can't help you. I liked Nessian in acowar, they had potential. But acosf? Nah.

[dootznbootz]

I know we love our morally gray characters. But the internet kinda ruined Circe for me.

Let me explain.

I remember I actually used to really like Circe's character when I first read the Odyssey last year. I loved her as a "helpful antagonist type" character.

But what ruined her character for me was everybody calling her a "girlboss" or just simping for her in a way? But they completely disregard the fact she technically raped a man. (But no one cares about that because male SA victims never get taken seriously, especially in media smh)

Now, I can never experience Circe as the same character because all I see is a terrible person being glorified because of her gender. And then people say double standards don't exist!

Which I hate cause she's a genuinely cool character. (From a writing standpoint)

Circe isn't a bad character let me be clear (in the Odyssey anyway. Cough cough Madeline Mil-) But I just hate how people romanticize her completely ignoring her terrible actions. And to think it's all just because she's a "hot badass female".

And this isn't just about Odysseus either, there's literally a myth where she tries to seduce a man, but when he remains faithful she turns him into a woodpecker-

People can like her CHARACTER, however, they should still acknowledge her bad actions too and hold her accountable. If we can all agree it's shitty what Zeus did to a bunch of women, we can also agree what Circe did to Odysseus was shitty.

Women sexually assaulting men is just as inhumane as vice versa and we have to stop turning a blind eye about it, even if it's fictional.

And I feel like people WOULD actually hold her accountable if she was a male character. Which makes me even more angry.

Maybe this is just a me thing, but I just can't fawn over a character and call them hot when they've done something as bad as some of the things Circe has done.

So, I guess what you could get out of this-

Please stop romanticizing circe.

Hold her accountable as you would any other character.

Don't be so forgiving just because you find her attractive.

Anyways, thank you for coming to my Ted talk and sorry for ranting

honestly yeah, all of this.

I sadly had to block Circe's tag on tumblr because it pisses me off how much people glorify her and/shittalk Odysseus with it. (I trust my friends when they have Circe content lol)

I love Circe as well. She's such an interesting and fun character but how people twist her just fucks with me so much. Also to make HER a victim just for girlbossness? What's so girlboss about having such a horrific thing happen to you?

I said it in a different post but you can thirst for Circe without making fun of her victim. People will call a victim of rape a manwhore or a slut as if what happened to him was a grand ol time. It's genuinely disturbing. He is shown to have PTSD from it (in my opinion) in the Odyssey. This book is ancient and yet it captures that better than anything I've read.

Odysseus isn't necessarily a wholesome, "goody-to-shoes" man. He does a lot of awful things. That doesn't mean that the suffering he went through is suddenly negated.

Even bringing up stuff with female characters, the fact that people will water them down so then they're not "problematic" pisses me off. Women can be horrible, even good women. Penelope is my fave but she's pretty awful in many ways.

Evidence will be right in front of people and they won't care. Crying, begging to go, fear, avoidance, numbness, etc. There'll be excuses anyway. "He's a guy, he's fine with it." "Men are sex crazed, especially back then." "He didn't try hard enough." "He should be grateful."

Honestly? What saddens me the most is that I don't think people will ever really understand what happened or even WANT to because they have their own idea in their head and refuse to see it for what it is. I mean Hades game did it too. It's really sad.

Circe and him weren't fwb. They weren't lovers. What about "heart full of grim forebodings" screams love? He wanted to save his friends and go home.

[fun-k-board]

-SPOILERS AHEAD-

AVATAR : WAY OF WATER headcanons

Spider has ptsd or some kind of fear of Neytiri after she threatened his life and regrets getting so attached to the Sully family. I have no doubt Kiri and Neytiri have a strained relationship now over how she treated Spider.

Spider is allowed in the Metkyina villages but rarely ever gets acknowledged and when it happens its about him being unwelcome

I don't think Neytiri hates all humans and is mainly wary of most of them, but hates Spider in particular because he is the son of the man who led the assault on her home and murdered her father plus a lot of her people.

Aonung still teases Lo'ak and Kiri but never takes it too far like he use to, same with Rotxo. They all hang out a lot along with Tsireya and some other Metkyina members their age.

Tsireya talks to her spirit sister over Lo'ak and her spirit sister laughs at her for falling in love with such a dumbass, Payakan called Lo'ak an idiot for so long when he refused to outright confess, both tulkuns ended up gossiping in secret.

Tuk likes collecting seashells and building little homes for small creatures in the reef

Kiri lays face down in the sand a lot and it concerns everybody until she just looks up like 'hi :)'

Bob, Jake's Ikran, likes stealing the Sully's food when they aren't looking. When they got to the Metkyina's Jake told him to stop, unknown to them he still does it but only with Tuk because she gives it willingly most of the time.

The Sully family speak in English when they don't want anyone in the Metkyina clan to know their business, Lo'ak started teaching Tsireya english so they had an excuse to spend extra time together.

Tuk can understand English but speaks really hesitantly, overthinks the words and takes really long forming words. After Neteyam died she starts begging her family to teach her because Neteyam offered to once and she turned it down.

Neytiri struggles in English but understands it perfectly, she prefers Na'vi and only uses it when speaking to RDA members or Jake. She uses few English words due to Grace's school shutting down, and she doesn't believe RDA members deserve the effort. Sounds very formal when she does try.

Jake taught the kids English and sometimes catches himself talking to non English speaking Na'vi like they can understand him, gets embrassed right away. Sometimes he forgets Na'vi for a moment before remembering a second after. Not long enough to cause the other party to be confused, just long enough to be awkward. Tends to speak formal one second then the next like a drunken teenage boy.

Lo'ak speaks broken English because the only times he speaks it is with Jake, Kiri and use to speak it with Neteyam. He can understand it perfectly well but just can't find the proper words to express emotions and actions. Speaks informally if the constant use of 'bro' is anything to go by.

Kiri is fully fluent in English, it started from watching Grace's videos and having Jake help her translate it to English and Na'vi, then she started speaking to Jake and Lo'ak in English, and soon Spider, Norm, etc, etc. She speaks informally.

Neteyam could understand both English and Na'vi perfectly, however he could only speak a bit of English while he was perfectly fluent in Na'vi. Sounded formal in English unless he was speaking to Lo'ak.

Uhh this is like 90% language hcs lmfao lemme know if you want more ig

[recoverd4life]

Hello everybody, my name is I’m 39 years old. I have two kids and one grandbaby.

I’m in recovery from substances alcohol men shopping, you name it I have been obsessive with it.

I’m in a learning process of learning to be a responsible, mother adult daughter.

After spending the majority of my life incarcerated and addicted. I now have the desire to better My life. Addiction does not work for me anymore. At one point it was something I loved and it worked. I enjoyed it.. but after facing the consequences that I brought and the damage I did to my life in my family, I want something different.

Today I was struggling I tend to get overwhelmed because everything seems so fucking hard .Sometimes I don’t have the skills that normal clean adults have. Every day I make a decision (to live or die blessings or cursing ) am I going to use or am I gonna develop some different skills and put to practice in place and take suggestions that I learned in narcotics anonymous.

Today I had to stop what I was doing because nothing seems to work out. Everything seems so hard. I feel like everything used to work out so easy when I was getting high at least it seemed easy. It was easy because I didn’t give a shit about anyone but me. Today I care and I care about the people around me. I value the things I have today. Because getting high and not giving a fuck you don’t get far. But doing the right thing, and working program, being a good mother, daughter and whatever other role I play is worth it. And I’m sad that I couldn’t see that along time ago.

Addiction isn’t the only battle…

I also struggle with mental health.

I’m bipolar with acute mania, I have PTSD, anxiety and depression.

For years, I’ve used anything and everything as an excuse to stay stay stuck.

But today I get to take responsibility for my actions, and look at the person I was.

Because today I can confidently say I’m different. And by the grace of God, I have the opportunity to change it around..

I no longer have to be addicted. I no longer have to use drugs and alcohol to feel better. I get to live a new life and today I’m grateful.

The struggle is real and it’s life or death. I’m learning the tools that it takes to stay clean and it’s doing the opposite of everything I ever done.

Every day I have to make the decision to stay clean, no matter what. I have to work a rigorous program that based solely on rigorous honesty no matter what. And I have to be accountable for myself. Nobody else can change me, God and I a lot of these problems that I have to go thru in order to break free the bondage I’ve been in. I have to on my knees with the Lord.

Ephesians 6:12-13

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of the dark world and against the evil forces of evil in the heavenly realms. ❤️

💋



[princess-of-the-corner]

I know Endeavor got better but this is still fucking hilarious

No because here's the thing what are they measuring in this vs? Is this a trial by combat or capacity as a father and husband?

Because I can tell you that Enji easily wins this either way.

Like I need only one sentence for each but I'm in a rambley mood so let's look at this for a minute:

Combat:

Enji is fireproof. That negates 75% of Ozai's abilities.

Yeah he has lightning and some combat skills, but if they get into a fight? By the time Ozai realizes he should use lightning instead of fire, Enji has already ignored all flame attacks and gone for physical combat.

Speaking of physical combat. The size difference here. Ozai seems to be an average height and build. So like 5'9"/179cm. That's actually the height of the actor who played him in the live action, Daniel Dae Kim. Let's say he's about the same weight too which gives me 170pounds/77kg. Endeavor is 6'5/195cm and 260 pounds/118kg.

So there's a clear size advantage here.

Now let's address their actual combat abilities:

Ozai is a spoiled royal who /can/ fight, but rarely does. The only people we see him fight are children, one of whom gives up while the other beats his ass and only has any struggle due to the Comet happening and powering him up. Most of his wins are done by having other people fight for him, and having enough ability to harm the people he wants to control (whether it be by virtue of being leader of a nation(which he got by being lucky and underhanded) and can fuck up someone's life, or years of abuse convincing his kids who are better than him that he could easily hurt them if they dare to be disobedient). Enji, on the other hand? Has spent about 30 years of his life being in direct combat against other people.

So yeah. Enji is winning the combat fight easily.

Now for the skill as husband and father.

Honestly there's still an easy clear winner because Enji is the one who went 'hm. I've been An Asshole™. Let's fix that.' but let's talk on the easy win from a completely different angle!

Enji, even at his absolute worst, still did genuinely care about his family. He gave Rei a choice whether to be part of this or not, and he got her help when her mental health went fucky. He wanted Toya to stop trying to be a Hero because he was scared it would get him killed and no father wants to watch their son die. Fuyumi and Natsuo were well taken care of and allowed to follow their own passions, despite being functionally 'useless' in the goal of making a Hero child(and you can't even argue this was done out of obligation of having children as both are legal adults he has no obligation to anymore). While Shoto got the worst of it, even that came from a place 'I want you to be the best' and from Enji's pov this is fun father/son bonding over shared interest while also helping the kid be the best he can be. Not to mention all of his awful actions were spawned from unmanaged PTSD and insecurity over that fact, and were things that he admitted were probably wrong but justified for some larger 'good'.

Now, while none of this excuses said awful actions. It brings a whole different light to it when compared to someone like Ozai, who never cared about his wife and children as anything more than tools for his own wants(whether that be power or amusement by hurting them), only forcing them to do what he wanted and pitting them against each other and never apologizing for any of it and enjoying how awful he was being.

[1stthingsfirst]

Coming back to this post much later because I can't stop thinking about it.

For context: I have been the Mew and the Sand (aka grew up around addiction), have my own mental illnesses (not addiction), and have some training in trauma-informed care. If anyone has any questions about or issues with my wording, please don't hesitate to tell me!

I love seeing the parallels spelled out and I mostly agree, but I do think folks have romanticized Sand to fit a narrative that isn't fully supported by the text.

We know that Ray's mother's death was related to her alcoholism, Ray struggles with alcoholism, and he uses/abuses drugs. We also know that San makes and sells his own alcohol, he works in a bar, his mother runs a gogo bar, and his social life revolves around drinking. That's already not a great set-up.

Sand genuinely likes Ray and he's willing to go through more than Mew. That means a lot! However, I'd presume that much of the difference in their approaches stems from how long they've known Ray, not from Sand being an inherently better, more patient, or more understanding person. It's very easy to say that Mew treats Ray like he's a burden (and at times he does), but we also haven't seen the years of shared history. The years of Ray drinking too much and bringing drugs places he could get himself and his friends in trouble and Mew planning rides for Ray so he doesn't drive drunk.

I don't blame Ray! Well, except for drunk driving. Addiction is, in part:

not a moral or behavioral failing

a mental illness (Substance Use Disorder, per the DSM-5)

often comorbid with depression and PTSD (i'm not a psychologist but i think it's safe to assume Ray has one or both) (comorbidity often results in increased severity of symptoms and lower responsiveness to treatment)

partially hereditary

significantly more common among LGBTQ+ folks

even harder to accept when you're young and think you're just partying like other people your age, and

not your fault.

This doesn't mean that one's behavior and actions resulting from addiction are immune from criticism, but it does provide an explanation for that behavior and allows me to empathize better.

I do blame Mew and co. for regularly going to bars with a friend who they think drinks too much. I intentionally didn't say "who is an alcoholic" here because I'm unsure if they would say that. We just know Mew thinks Ray drinks too much/often, so I'm purposely being broad. However, I also don't blame Mew for being tired of Ray's behavior.

It's easy as an outsider to wonder why they're still friends. Why Mew isn't kinder or why he gets exasperated, especially knowing about Ray's struggles. But Mew has dealt with Ray's behavior for at least two years, and likely their entire friendship if we consider his initial response to Ray's suicidal phone call. It's not empathetic or trauma-informed, but it is human to be tired. It's exhausting to try to help someone who won't change. It can be exhausting just to witness.

There has been a lot of meta on Sand's role as caregiver and I truly believe that he may have a higher tolerance than Mew. That said, I can't help but wonder if Sand would act any differently if he had known Ray as long as Mew has. Compassion fatigue is real, and it's caused by repeated exposure. We're witnessing Mew's compassion fatigue. Sand has had much less exposure.

(Editing while this post is in the queue to clarify that, like how I said that addiction is an explanation but not an excuse for Ray's behavior, compassion fatigue is an explanation for Mew's behavior towards Ray, not an excuse. He should be more empathetic and considerate of Ray's feelings, but I get why he isn't. That's the point I was trying to make.)

Sand's approach to Ray is definitely kinder, less judgmental, and more mature than Mew's and his life experiences do make him better equipped to support Ray, but Sand also stumbles:

Sand does (try to) prevent Ray from driving drunk but I'd argue that's more about public safety than it is about Ray himself.

Even after Ray shares that his mom died due to alcoholism, they spend the night taking shots and eating edibles.

After the car accident, Sand doesn't say, "You need to stop drinking." He says, "You need to stop drinking until you're fully recovered." That is, Ray can drink, just not right away. Could it be Sand's way of trying to address Ray's alcoholism? Yes. Does it address Ray's alcoholism? No.

Folks talk a lot about how Ray needs to change his behavior and seek out help before he can be good for Sand. That's true. But Sand may also need to make changes before he can be good for Ray in the long term. Sand's current life/lifestyle is likely incompatible with Ray's sobriety. If we want them to be together and be good for each other, they both need to change.

something something mew keeps ray as the burden/problem he believes himself to be something something sand is trying to help him heal/protect him (x)

bonus - ray can't leave the past/trauma behind him to be happy because it has such a hold on him but maybe in the future

[ihaveabsolutelynoideas]

Alright let's just get one thing clear here-

Four is 100% right here. Wild absolutely needs to be stopped. By force, if necessary (and it looks like it will be necessary).

Twilight is hanging on by a thread. Last we saw him the guy was barely conscious, unable to even keep his eyes open. He's making death speeches that may or may not be because he's delirious. He's drifting in and out of consciousness. He has no strength to waste on anything but breathing.

He most certainly doesn't need Wild bursting in and stressing him out. Let's not forget; Twilight is Wild's emotional support wolf. He's there when the champion has nightmares and stays with him through his memories. He's been there for Wild all through Wild's known life. He feels responsible for Wild's emotional state, even stating that he wished he could do more.

You really think seeing Wild so distraught is going to be good for him? Because it won't. The only one who'll benefit is Wild, and even that is questionable at best.

Because Wild is living in denial. He's insisting that no one can die, refusing to even hear Four name it as a possibility. He's volatile to the point of manhandling Four out of the way and shouting at anyone who doesn't give him the answers he wants to hear. Can you imagine the damage he could do just by being in the room? Yelling at Twilight to get up, yelling at Hyrule to heal him, yelling at Time for getting in the way?

Any extra stress could tip the scales when Twilight's on the razor's edge.

Four sees the writing on the wall.

"I can't let you go through like this"

Wild is in no state to be around someone so weak. If he were calmer then there might be an argument here but as it is Wild is just too wound up.

And what Wild wants right now is, frankly, selfish. He isn't listening to Four and choosing the best course of action for Twilight; he's thinking about himself. He's worried for Twilight, sure, but it's a selfish worry. Instead of wondering "what can I do to maximize the chance Twilight survives" he's instead thinking "I need to see him no matter what". No matter who he has to abandon, walk away from or fight through. Even though he's told, in no uncertain terms, that it wouldn't be helpful unless he knew a way to help Twilight heal (and he's given no such indication).

He is straight up told that Twilight "doesn't need this right now" but still insists on seeing him anyway.

Because he wants what he always wants from Twilight: comfort. He wants to be told that it's all going to be fine and the longer he's denied the crutch he's been counting on the more hot headed he gets. Because he's freaking out, in a full blown PTSD meltdown and of course he's searching for support in the once person he’s always counted on.

Which is understandable, but not excusable. Trauma explains shitty behavior but it doesn't vindicate it; You can't endanger other people just because you're triggered - it doesn't work like that.

And let's not forget he's not the only one suffering right now. He might have the strongest bond with Twilight but he doesn't have the only one. Every Link is Twilight's friend. Each and everyone of them would miss him if he were gone. Wild does not hold the monopoly on grief and it's not fair to forgive Wild's actions while damning everyone else.

Four himself is pretty close to Twilight and he had enough sense to tell Twilight not to worry about them. If Four can look past his own wants for Twilight's sake then why is it too much to ask Wild to do it too?

So I'm not hoping Four kicks his ass because I want Wild to be hurt, okay? I want Four to kick his ass so that he's forced to confront his own selfishness. Because no matter how sad or distraught Wild is it does not matter more than Twilight's life. Even if seeing Twilight will help Wild a lot and only hurt Twi a little, that little is still much more important in this scenario.

Because feelings can be fixed later. Death is permanent.

(To be very clear I'm happy Wild is being selfish here from a narrative standpoint. I love my characters flawed and I think it's good for Wild in the long run. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a character making a bad choice in the heat of the moment. Even on my personal favorites I welcome character flaws because overcoming those flaws make for stronger characters. I just typed this up because I don't like that some people are acting like Wild is a victim here when he is very clearly the aggressor. Because that's not a bad thing to be! It just means there's character development in the works!)

[lostandsearching]

The Ghost of Me

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x fem!Reader(past), Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

Word count: 10k+ (may have got away from me)

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of suicide attempt, implies death, Drug Addiction, Mentions Rape, Depression, Self-harm, PTSD (if you think I need other warnings please let me know)

Summary: Natasha had found Y/N on the brink of death, rallying to try and save her life. How does she cope with the loss and what does the future have in store for the ex-assassin as she lives with the phantom of her best-friend? Will the ramifications of Y/N’s thoughtless action push Natasha into the depths of despair?

A/N: So here’s part two to The Abyss Calls, I recommend giving that a read first if you haven’t yet. This could make sense as a stand-alone but some of the background details would be lost. This chapter was inspired by ‘Good 4 u’ by Olivia Rodrigo. This is just as heavy if not heavier in certain parts of the story. Please, please, please READ through the BOLD warnings and if ANY of the content is triggering to you, DO NOT READ, this is not the series for you. I do not want my writing to affect anyone negatively. If you are suffering from any of the issues mentioned in this story, reach out to relevant services, family, friends or just drop me a msg for a chitty chat. Please excuse any and all mistakes left behind. As always, hope you enjoy this twisted ride and I welcome feedback and appreciate reblogs. Header credit: @its-just-may

Chapters I One I Two I Three I Four I Five I Epilogue

Arthur Conan Doyle’s saying goes ‘Your life is not your own. Keep your hands off it’. Pity this quote failed to flash in Y/N’s mind as the pills tumbled down her throat and her head leaned on the bathtub, waiting for the end’s cold embrace.

Natasha’s feet crunched the fall leaves as she wandered through the procession of stones, focused on getting to her destination. She needed a moment alone with her, just a single moment to say her piece.

Her feet stop at the foot of the headstone, gently placing down a bouquet of sunflowers in front of it, her fingers tracing the engraving Y/L/N. She stands tall, rigid, and to any other mourner she would simply look like a woman saying goodbye to a loved one with grace, yet her mask was forced on to hold back the waves of rage within her.

Her green eyes billowed with fury as they traced over the name continuously, as if the motion would smooth the name from the stone like it was never there to begin with. Her jaw worked and clenched as she tried to fight the urge to grind her teeth together further. Every muscle in her body tensed and flexed, itching to destroy the headstone mocking her with sweet messages of beloved daughter and cherished friend, of being loved and missed.

“I will never forgive you for what you did” her voice low and laced with spite.

Her keen ears pick up the noise of footsteps crunching leaves in the distance, the rhythmic tread familiar. She takes deep breaths to will herself calm, he’ll need her steady and collected now, she’s had her moment.

“I had a truck load of sunflowers delivered here but the priest on the grounds wasn’t too happy about it taking up so much space” he jokes

Natasha turns to him, he looks haggard. His beard is lacking the straight edged trim, bags under his eyes getting darker by the day and a slight tremor in his hand, the same hand that gripped the pill bottle that day as Natasha threw it to him before rushing to Bruce.

You were like...no, you were his sister, his little sister. He took you under his wing when you had no-one and he brought you into the family of Avengers. Natasha knew standing here was as torturous for him as it was for her yet both held their ground, they loved you enough to respect your wishes. You wanted them both there, you said it as much once, only them. They comply.

“I’d want you and Tony there” you say, head laying on Natasha’s lap as you look up the blue sky “With sunflowers, you can’t forget the sunflowers, lots and lots of sunflowers”

This elicits a chuckle from the redhead as she thrums her fingers through your hair absentmindedly, looking up at the clouds.

“What about Wanda?” she asks

“Nah, just you and Tony” you reply dismissively

She looks down at you, her green eyes tracing your features, waiting for your explanation. When you don’t respond, she scratches at your scalp gently to draw your attention as she quirks her brow in question.

“Let’s face it Natty, if Wanda went, she would not take it well at all. She’d be angry and potentially very snotty, but she may also blast the headstone to bits”

Natasha smiles down at you, images of a very emotional Wanda being held back for destruction at a graveyard running through her mind. The Sokovian was a little emotional at times but her feelings had a tendency to run rampant when you were involved. “You’re probably right”

“Yeah...and besides it’s not a day for that” you say simply

“What’s it a day for then?” Natasha asks, poking you in the cheek with her free hand making you smile and warming her heart.

“It’s a day for sunflowers and goodbyes” you reply, Y/E/C meeting shining green.

You grab her cold hand poking you and lace your fingers with hers before resting your hands together on your chest, your heart beating steadily below. “You place your flowers, say your piece and go on your way” you whisper to her before once again turning your gaze to the blue sky.

“Does Wanda know?”

Tony’s voice pulls her back from the memory, a pang in her heart, your gentle smile still vivid in her mind. How carefree you were that day, how happy you were until she broke your heart and now you were nothing but a ghost.

“No, it’s not what Y/N would want” Natasha says plainly, her gaze turning back to the stone.

“So what?! Wanda just thinks Y/N disappeared? That she’s just gone off somewhere?!” Tony asks, his voice pitched and raised with disbelief.

“Wanda never asks about her so there’s nothing to say” Natasha replies levelly. Even with her eyes trained away, she can feel the waves of rage pulsing from him.

“She should know. She should know that it’s her fault. She should…” he clenches his fists angrily as his nostrils flare with seething rage.

Natasha turns her back to the grave, placing a calming hand on her friend. Before taking her leave, she waits patiently as his muscles relax under her touch and he rubs his chest instinctively, a tick he’s always had when overwhelmed. He nods his head, I’m fine and thanks all rolled into one little gesture.

She starts to walk away before a thought makes her pause. “You should say your piece Tony” she calls to him.

“No point. She already knew how I felt about her”

Natasha leaves Tony at the foot of the grave to have his moment, wordlessly spent or otherwise, he needed a moment.

/

Natasha picks up two burgers, cheesy fries and a salad on the way back to the compound. She’s not sure why, she knows she’ll be eating alone again but she buys it anyway, they were your favorite.

It’s a short jaunt back, Natasha never one to adhere to speed limits, before she’s traipsing through the compound to reach her apartment block but first she has to get past the communal room, the same room currently occupied by Steve and Sam.

The smell of food draws their attention from a movie they had put on, only to see said bag of food held protectively in the redhead’s arms. She glares at Sam, daring him to ask for some, he wilts under her gaze and refocuses on the movie. Steve’s blue eyes on the other hand never stray from their position, still staring pointedly at her, drowning in questions.

“How…” he begins before the sound of her voice cuts through the air.

“You know I’m right darling” Vision says to Wanda before they enter the room hand in hand. He falters when Wanda holds back. She’s caught in Natasha’s loaded stare.

“Um...H-hi Nat” Wanda fumbles “I didn’t see you at training this morning”

“I had somewhere to be” Natasha replies coolly, her mask of indifference firmly in place. Their once close friendship had shattered to less than what it was when Wanda had first joined the team.

“Oh...looks like a lot of food” Wanda says awkwardly, trying to fill the silence, an attempt at throwing a rope of friendship across the gorge between them.

“I’m hungry” Natasha replies. She watches as the rope is thrown over, only to regard it with contempt letting it fall into the dark depths separating them.

“Perhaps we could…” Vision tries before Natasha glowers at him, the sentence dying on his lips.

Tension is heavy in the room, the air suffocating with unsaid truths and repressed questions. Before the Widow’s mask cracks and a litany of accusations spill from her lips, she turns her heel to make her way to her room. She misses how Wanda’s hand twitches to reach out to her, how her mouth opens and closes when Vision’s hand holds firmer.

Natasha is finally faced with the door to her room, her sanctuary. Thoughts of the once serene space now gnaw at her, the silence an unwelcome demon shredding at her heart. She pushes it open to be welcomed to darkness, the air rank with staleness, the curtains drawn shut to shield the living space from light.

She places the bag of food on the coffee table before yanking the blinds open, some frustration from her interaction still dallying within. She pushes the window open, a gush of cool wind displaces some of the dead air sitting in the room and for a moment she breathes it in, relishing it as it fills her lungs.

When she was sated with the freshness, heaviness sinks into the pit of her stomach, her bedroom is probably just as rancid, she dreads the thought of it but she pushes forward anyway. Her light steps make no sound as she nears the room, the door still left ajar from this morning’s departure. She enters its confines, the space filled with murky darkness, not a thing changed from when she left.

Her eyes quickly adjust, her sheets bundled into a ball on her bed, she makes a note to change it at some point. She steps towards the bedside edge and settles down, hands braced either side of her as the mattress shifts under her weight. She sits there for a moment, matching the stillness of the dark room.

A shuffle of sheets before a soft, warm hand wraps around hers. She turns her head and sees your messy tuft of hair poking out from underneath the bedding. She runs her thumb over the ridges of your protruding knuckles, ‘you’re so thin now’ runs through her mind. She continues her ministrations, trying to coax you from your hiding place.

When you don’t shift to poke your head out or pull your hand from hers, she turns her body fully towards you, her hand still in yours. With her free hand, she slowly pulls the blanket down, your hand grips tighter, she stills her movements. When your grip loosens, Natasha tries again, you don’t squeeze this time. She pulls down the bedding enough to expose your eyes, she can’t see you clearly in the dark but she can see the twinkle in them, tears yet unshed.

“Hi” Natasha whispers softly to you.

“Hi” you rasp back, your voice unfamiliar to your ears.

It makes Natasha smile, you’re speaking to her today. She misses your voice, maybe today is different.

“Tony and I went to your mom’s grave. We left her the flowers” she says, keeping her voice faint and calm. “Tony tried to leave her a truck load but the priest had them removed” she hopes it’ll make you laugh or smile. She wants to see your smile again. You merely hum in acknowledgment, her heart twists but she hides it from you.

“Will you come eat with me today? I’ve got your favorite”

“Maybe” you reply tonelessly ‘No’ hovers in the air.

Natasha schools the pained look clawing its way onto her features, she doesn’t want you to hurt anymore, she won’t be another reason you're hurting. Her features soften instead, she wants you to see she understands, she wants you to know she’ll be patient, she hopes you trust she won’t leave.

She pulls her hand away from the bed sheet and runs her thumb against your brow soothingly, you close your eyes with her touch. She sees the glint of light reflect from a tear as it runs down across the bridge of your nose, she doesn’t wipe it away, she knows you don’t want her to see. Natasha rests her palm on your face and places a soft kiss on your temple. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, she takes her leave.

With her hand on the door Natasha tries one more time. “I’ll leave the food in the microwave for when you’re hungry, join me when you’re ready” you don’t reply this time.

She leaves her room and shuts the door with a gentle click. Natasha can hear your quiet sobs on the other side and her heartbreaks, she leans her back against the door as she slides down to the floor, her head resting on her bent knees. Niggling thoughts weigh on her mind heavily. Maybe it would have been better for you if she had let you go, maybe she was being selfish not to.

She shoves the ideas away forcefully as she pushes herself up from the floor with mimicked strength. She was NOT being selfish for saving her friend, for protecting someone she loves. She saved you from an impulsive mistake, she’ll keep saving you until you can save yourself. She’ll protect the memory of your smile and the melody of your laughter til the day you are strong enough and she can hear them once more.

She settles in the living room, a movie in the background, her food on her lap. She’s put your food in the microwave in hopes you might break free from the clutches of her bed but she knows better. She’s eating alone again today but that’s ok, you spoke to her, it’s an improvement on the silence that has plagued the bedroom for weeks.

You were getting better, better than you were months ago, after you first opened your eyes, after you first realized Natasha had saved your life.

You were sitting perched on Natasha’s window sill looking out at the grounds of the Avengers compound. The summer heat bears down, heat waves rise from the tarmac as sprinklers spray water on the grass surrounding the building. You bounce your knees continuously, hands playing with a clicky pen, your journal abandoned on the desk.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

You grind your teeth together, your eyes glazed over as your skin itches and boils. Natasha had locked the unbreakable window since your last departure in search of drugs. She had ordered FRIDAY not to unlock it for anyone but her. You feel trapped in her room, in your skin and in your mind. You need an out, she took it from you and now she won’t let you leave.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

Tony is no better, he’d frozen your accounts and withheld your assets citing it as a temporary precaution. Your body is buzzing, your breathing heavy and quick. You need to get out. Your mind flashes with images of auburn hair, hazel green, powdery white, copper red.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Snap.

Your eyes flicker to your hand, another pen broken. You gripped too tight, held on too long. It snapped. Your mind makes connections that aren’t there. The pen is Wanda, your grip is your heart. You choked her with your love. It was your fault she left.

You discard the pen in a corner to join the remnants of its brethren. Your nails are long now, unkempt. You scratch a healing wound on the top of your left hand. Your eyes gaze back out the window, mind fogged with need.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

Beads of sweat roll down the nape of your neck, your mouth is dry and licking your lips feels like sandpaper running along bark. You can hear her laughter when you know she’s nowhere near, you can feel his grip when you know he’s long gone. Trickles of memories from that night bleed through like acid, burning and eating away at you.

You twist and crick your neck trying to push them back into the depths of your mind. Your shrink would tell you it’s important to remember, to know it’s not your fault. You don’t want to, you aren’t ready to believe it happened, you aren’t ready to shed yourself of the shameful blame that comes with relieving it.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

An unfamiliar car rolls into view, a silver SUV. Too slow and plain for Tony or Natasha, too modern and large for Steve, not sexy enough for Sam. Your mind tries to focus on the car driving closer to the compound, running through a list of potential owners to deviate your thoughts.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

The car stops in plain sight, you can’t see who’s in it through the windshield. Your stomach somersaults uncomfortably, you're grinding your teeth viciously now.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

Your breath hitches as your eyes jitter and water. A flood of memories bombard you endlessly, the cinnamon scent of her lingering as if she was right beside you. You can feel her soft caress of your cheek as she whispers your name, professing her unwavering love, promising you the world. But she isn’t because she’s out there, with him. They bought a car. You can see her smile at him, her green eyes fixed to the android donned in human skin.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

You watch as she approaches him, he takes her hand into his. Is he even warm?

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

Your eyes follow as they walk towards the entrance. A part of your mind begs for her to look up, to see you, to remember you. The other half wants to disappear inwards so she never sees this sorry shell of you. She doesn’t look up, it hurts.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

You look down at your hands. Your nails are covered in blood and skin, the wound open and angry, bleeding profusely. You raise your bleeding hand and for a moment you are mesmerized as you watch the pools of blood trickle down. You tilt your hand up and allow the red slick to crawl down your arm. Your mind hollows and empties, thoughts of nothing but the red trail, your skin continues to hum with want.

“Y/N what are you doing?” Natasha asks as she stalks towards you, features filled with unease.

You try to hide your hand but you forgot you let the red liquid paint your arm. Her forest green eyes snap to the copper red. You watch a vortex of emotions and thoughts ravage her from behind those vivid green globes, her Black Widow mask transparent as ever to you. Guilt intermingles with the need that never left.

You watch her careful approach as she smiles at you with hesitancy.

“Let me clean that up for you, OK?” She holds out her hand to you, she’s waiting for permission to touch you.

Natasha is trying so hard, she was never raised soft, with kindness or love but she tries so hard for everyone, for you. You can feel the tears well in your eyes as you take her hand, you bite your cheek until you taste the metal tang in your mouth. The tears don’t fall.

“We’ll go into the living room and I’ll get the medical kit” she tells you softly as she holds your gaze.

“Ok” you respond

She leads the way, holding your hand, careful not to press on the wound. She sits you on the couch as she quickly pads to the counter behind you, a small kitchenette, and pulls the kit from the cupboard.

She lays it on the coffee table and kneels beside it, opening it up in front of you, pulling out antiseptic wipes, a small bottle of liquid antiseptic, cotton dressing and gauze.

“I’m going to clean the wound first then I’ll clean off the blood”

She’s checking in, making sure you’re still ok for her to proceed. She doesn’t move a muscle, her eyes fixed on your face, features still gentle.

“Ok Natty” you say, the croak in your voice doesn’t show, you flash her a gentle smile. It’s not real and she knows but she returns it anyway.

You watch her grab the wipe and tear it open, you follow her hand as she cleans around your wound gently. Your eyes fix on her careful ministrations, how her strong, lithe fingers brush away the drying blood so delicately and purposefully. Even as she braces your arm against hers and wipes the length of it, the tenderness persists.

She motions for your right hand to replace the left, you’d forgotten about the blood and skin coating your nails. Taking a fresh wipe she begins work cleaning your nails, being meticulous in removing any remnants of flesh and blood trapped in the crevices. She doesn’t want any traces of it left on you as if removing it might ease the pain you feel.

She rests your hand gently on your lap before grabbing the bottle and pouring some of the liquid on to the dressing. “I’m going to put the pad on your hand and then I’ll bandage it up” again her movements arrest as she awaits your approval. You hold out your hand to her.

She places it carefully on top of your wound, her eyes flick to you instantly waiting for the wince on your face at the stinging contact but what she sees hurts her more. She watches as your eyes darken minutely, you enjoy the physical pain it brings. Her jaw clenches at the thought you were getting worse and fear brews underneath her skin at what you might do, the far away look in your darkened eyes a terrifying sight.

She doesn’t comment and begins to bandage you up, wanting to make quick, but careful work of the grotesque task.

When you come back to your senses you notice your hand is now neatly bandaged, still resting in the palm of her hand. You look into her green eyes and see the yearning within, she wants to hold you, to press her warmth into you, to breathe life back into your soulless orbs.

You pull your hand back, you aren’t ready for her to touch you like that, the intimacy too much. She smiles with understanding as you watch her heart shatter. You need to get high but you know she won’t let you.

“Let’s eat Natty” you offer even when the thought makes you nauseous. You give her something, you try for her. She smiles at you genuinely this time, you know it should make you feel warm but all you can think of is the bitter taste in the back of your mind.

You want to get high, but for her you’ll try.

Natasha opts to try something different today. She had made a stressful trip to a large store to buy ingredients to cook for you, her mind still spinning at the copious variations of a simple onion. It took her an hour, double and triple checking that she had placed the correct versions of the materials she needed. She had memorized the recipe verbatim the night before, there’s no way she can get a simple spaghetti dish wrong.

With hands full of shopping she makes her way to the communal area, Wanda and Vision are settled together on the love seat. She looks happy as she laughs at something she reads in the book in her hand. Natasha pulls her focus away from them, their happiness causes bile to threaten to rise, Wanda doesn’t care. She doesn’t seem to recollect you ever existed, Natasha focuses on her task instead.

How you found cooking relaxing was beyond the ex-assassin. There was nothing soothing about spending half an hour and a box full of Band-Aids to carefully chop each ingredient into the same shape and size to make sure they cook at the same time, hell, they were all different shaped vegetables!

Worse was the waiting for the sauce to simmer and thicken, her impatience getting the better of her as she blasts the heat instead. Unfortunately, she forgot the integral part of stirring the sauce occasionally, effectively charring the bottom. With the sauce prepared, she makes the pasta, she cooks it for a few minutes hoping to keep it al-dente, just the way you like it before pouring it into a colander. Her haste causes the boiling water to splash back painfully on the back of her hand.

“FUCK!” she lets off a yelp before muttering profanities under her breath.

She plates the food to match the picture on the recipe in her mind, careful to avoid the burnt mess at the bottom of the pot, succeeding in only creating a plate of sloppy mess. She vows never to cook again. With her head hung low in disappointment she makes her way to her room. She straightens her back with false pride as she asks FRIDAY to open the door for her.

She sets the plates down on the coffee table before grabbing cutlery and napkins from her kitchenette and attempts to frame them around the plates in a way that is pleasing to the eye. Appealing to look at, it is not. She clenches her jaw and huffs out her frustration before closing her eyes and reigning in her annoyance. She needs to be calm when she sees you.

She finds you much in the same position as you had been ever since she had carried you from her bathroom floor, buried under her sheets. She thinks about the last couple of months as she stands in the doorway.

She would prompt you to bathe regularly, she created a routine for you, a safety net so the days didn’t meld together unendingly. She would provide you with a clean set of clothes as she changed the sheets but more often than not, she would find you huddled in a ball on the bathroom floor, naked and weeping silently, your mind lost in darkness.

Those moments terrified the redhead, she didn’t want a repeat of the incident and she hated the way you would crawl away into the corner of the room when she first approached you. No amount of calling out your name before edging closer would bring you out of your trance. She would have to approach you, to bring out the terror in you just so she could coax you back into reality, into the present moment, where you were safe. When your awareness returned, she would open her arms for you and you would crawl into them, so small and broken as you sobbed out the pain of everything you’ve lost, everything that was taken from you.

She would lift your small frame into the tub and wash you, careful to be gentle with your scars, always telling you where she will touch and waiting to hear your reply, not a second sooner. Some days the routine was simple, others required the repeated draining of cooling water and topping it up with more hot water before you were properly clean.

She pushes the thoughts away as she patters to the bedside edge, sitting with hands braced to either side. It was an odd ritual you had both unintentionally created with one another. She would wait until you would reach out to hold her hand and she would help settle your unease by brushing her thumb over your knuckles before attempting to expose your eyes for her to see.

Today was no different, or so she thought. She hears the familiar rustling of the sheets as you maneuver your hand out from under it in search of hers. You grasp her hand gently but as she moves her thumb to stroke your knuckles, your movements cause hers to stall in confusion. She feels as your fingers trace over the Band-Aids wrapped around hers and moves slowly to run over the swelling blister from the burn.

Natasha’s eyes grow wide with shock as you sit straight up, hair mussed and angling comically, while pulling her hand towards you to examine them closely. She watches as you scrunch your face with worry, carefully scrutinizing her hand as if you hadn’t just spent months caught in the depths of depression.

Your focus turns to her for an explanation and Natasha can’t fight the blush that colors her cheeks as embarrassment overwhelms her.

“I made us dinner” She squeaks, internally berating herself for her lack of vocal control. She coughs to clear it as if something was lodged in her throat.

Your brows rise as you stare at her, blinking repeatedly as if it would somehow make her words suddenly make sense.

Seconds ebb away in silence and Natasha begins to feel like a fool, her mortification turns into something ugly within her and she quickly takes to her feet to leave the bedroom, the space suddenly smothering. She hurriedly tells you that she will leave the dish in the fridge for when you’re ready to eat before making a rapid exit.

She settles on the couch and buries her face in her hands. She was childish to think that this would help you, that it would somehow bring you some comfort. She wasn’t Wanda, she can’t cook, even Danvers was a better hand in the kitchen. She groans into her hands when the sound of footsteps catches her attention.

She snaps her head to the noise and sees you standing in the living room. A loaded pause dances in the air as neither are quite sure what to do, the territory unfamiliar. Natasha doesn’t want to respond in a way that might scare you back into hiding, you aren’t entirely sure what to do with yourself now that you have emerged from the confines of Natasha’s musty bedroom.

You offer the only thing you can. “Let’s eat?” you ask with a shaky voice.

Natasha watches you as you nervously trace over the gnarled scar on your hand. She takes a steadying breath before speaking. “Let’s eat” she confirms confidently.

You slink towards her as she shuffles to the side allowing you to take a seat beside her, leaving some space between you, you’re silently thankful for the thoughtfulness. Grabbing the fork, you twirl the spaghetti around it, shoving the forkful into your mouth.

She eyes you apprehensively, waiting for you to start chewing. When she hears the clear crunch the food makes as you munch away, her face distorts into repulsion. She’s sure it’s not meant to crunch so loudly. She’s further horrified when she watches you swallow down the concoction with visible effort.

Y/E/C meet green, seconds ticking by as her anxiety heightens.

“Needs salt” you say levelly

Her face contorts with consternation before your poker face cracks and you tilt your brow up playfully.

“It’s inedible isn't it?” she asks, her face sagging at her wasted effort

“Yeah” you say but a gentle smile graces your face, one that crinkles the corner of your eyes.

It takes every ounce of Widow training to control herself as her heart leaps with happiness. She hasn’t seen you smile in so long, not one so real. She can see the vestiges of the you that she knew shine through the small cracks, tiny trickles of your light permeating through the dark miasma that has been your looming companion since Wanda’s desertion.

“Takeout?” she asks with a wide grin

“Probably wise” you reply, soft smile still plastered on your face.

Natasha vows to cook again, maybe next time it will be edible, maybe next time you’ll flash her your beaming smile because you are getting better. As the dead leaves fall away from the branches, so does the heaviness in your soul. Your mood changes like the season, slowly but surely.

You had slipped up, you needed to get high to numb the pain but Natasha had refused to take on any missions until you were clean and would stay clean, her presence ever vigilant.

You had slipped up, you just needed something, anything to numb the pain and stop the thoughts.

You had slipped up, you found the means to draw the pain away from you but she found you on her bathroom floor as you cut pieces away from you, pretending it's the anguish you’re carving out of your heart.

“Y/N STOP!” Natasha bellows

Your hand freezes just as the razor’s edge hovers above your torn thigh, blood pooling below. It was never meant to get this bad, it started with an accidental cut while you shaved your legs but the blood was hypnotic, the pain cathartic, you wanted more.

Now, your thighs were a bloody mess, shredded apart. The blade had blunted from overuse, you had to press harder to cut as deep. An assorted mix of healing scars, fresh cuts and reopened wounds decorated your thighs, a monstrous representation of the carnage within.

As the euphoria fades away, the extent of the harm you were doing to yourself wheedled in. You were a mess and you couldn’t stop. You gawked at the crimson spattering the floor and coating your legs as the tatters of your flesh glisten with the thick slick. Droplets of tears coalesce with the viscous fluid causing it to run down your legs faster like a river of blood.

Your hands shake as sobs wrack your body, Natasha’s garbled voice tries to break through your haze, you can’t make out her words. You look up at her through your tear blurred vision, she isn’t mad but she’s terrified. You watch her lips move, she’s repeating something. You try to focus, you compel your mind to work, to decipher the distorted words.

“That’s it Y/N, come back. I’m here, just focus on me. I’m here Y/N, I’m not going anywhere, just focus on me” she says soothingly

“Natty?” you say through quivering lips

“It’s OK Y/N, you’re OK, I’m here. I need you to give me the blade Y/N” she says delicately as she kneels beside you, her hand outstretched.

You stare down at your hand, your fingers pinched around the metal. You turn and twist it, the blood coated edge catching the light, the hypnotic lure pulling you in.

“Milaya, please”

The pleading in her voice snaps your attention back and Y/E/C stare at her, really noticing her for the first time since she interrupted. Natasha looks so exhausted, her skin is dull, her beautiful green eyes are bloodshot. You watch as her jaw works with effort, fighting back the swelling tears in her eyes from falling.

She looks so drained, your free hand reaches out and touches her cheek. Natasha’s tears fall, the damn holding them shatters with your touch. You try to wipe them away, you didn’t notice there was blood on your fingers, you’ve wiped them on her.

You’ve marked her with your pain, you’re etching it on her pale skin. You have to stop, you can’t do that to her, you can’t hurt Natasha like that, you won’t.

Carefully you place the razor in her outstretched palm before burying your face in your hands as your body convulses, wracked with pain and guilt. You’re sobbing uncontrollably as your heart twists and wrenches.

“Y/N, tell me what to do, tell me what I need to do, tell me how to help” Natasha’s words are frenzied.

You’ve never heard her so alarmed before, not in the face of an army of robots, not even in the face of her possible death, but she is right now. You can’t speak through your sobs, breathing through it already requiring effort.

You do the only thing you can, you launch yourself against her, wrapping your arms around her waist as you bury your face in her chest. She instinctively responds, not a second of hesitation as she shields you protectively with her body. You grip her shirt tighter and press yourself further into her. Her hold of you becomes more taut as the pain and the tears rip through your body.

Finally, you allow the images to flood through your mind, you watch as flashes of happy moments with Wanda flow through, your mind fixates on her auburn tresses, her soft hazel eyes, her gentle smile and her melodic laughter. You see and relive the shattering heartbreak as Vision’s name falls from her lips and she walks away, you remember the feeling of hollowness that consumed you with every drug and dalliance that you partook in.

Eventually, you permit broken memories of the night that he had taken from you, to filter through. You peer on like a third party to the torture your body endured as your mind was too dulled to comprehend a thing. You watched as he ripped your clothes from you, along with your autonomy and dignity. You felt every heavy hit that landed on your body as he exerted his power over your despondent frame. Finally you let out an ear splitting scream into the bathroom as you endured the harrowing moment when you felt him cleave you from the inside, taking the last of what you held sacred from you.

You felt yourself emptying all the emotions into Natasha’s chest, you’re so hollow and exhausted now. Lost in your despair, no part of you registers as Natasha picks you up, cradling you close to her, not even as your empty eyes nod along, mindless, to her request to stitch and bandage your wounds. You don’t utter a word as she settles you back into her bed and tucks the blankets around you, sheltering you from the harsh world. You don’t reply as she wishes you goodnight, nestling herself on the small couch in the bedroom. Natasha doesn’t hear your voice again for months.

“Dammit!” Natasha curses loudly.

She’s late, Steve had side-tracked her with an impromptu meeting. She had to threaten him to let her leave, she’d already been held back long enough. She quickly throws on her jacket before rushing out of her room, speeding past Wanda and Vision cooking in the kitchen together, she doesn’t spare them another second of notice, she’s already late enough.

She’s trudging through the park, boots crunching the snow beneath as she pushes her limbs to move faster. She spots you sitting on a park bench, nursing a hot drink, your breath billowing in the cold air.

You scan the scenery until your eyes meet, you wave to the redhead in the distance watching as she marches towards you.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. Rogers dragged me into a meeting and wouldn’t stop rambling. I threatened to cut his balls off if he didn’t shut up” Natasha explains hurriedly before settling beside you.

You let out a laugh with images of a very angry Natasha sizing up to the huge super soldier as he withers into submission playing in your mind. Her heart warms to hear your laughter again, it feels like centuries ago since you laughed so freely. Maybe being late had its advantages after all.

“You are a badass Natty” you chuckle out before handing her the hot chocolate at your side, flashing her a smile.

She regards your rosy cheeks as they puff out with your grin, your eyes glisten with happiness and your lips fuller and supple once more. She can see your body is healing with an authentic smile on your face, proof that your mind and heart is not far behind.

“Awww, aren’t you just the sweetest” she coos teasingly, her hands quickly swiping the drink away, knowing you’d yank it back playfully. She flashes you a wink and you roll your eyes in retaliation.

“How was your meeting?” she asks before taking a sip of the hot liquid to warm her bones, glad for its heat in her bare hands.

“It was good, I think. I spoke in the group today, talked about my mother and talked about Wanda too, the good and bad. It felt nice to get it out” you tell her, no hint of pain or fear in your voice, just relief.

Natasha beams at you, overjoyed with the progress you had been making, happy to see her friend coming back to her. “What about your appointment, how did that go?

“It was tough, Dr. Roland talked about working on better coping mechanisms with me. We tried a few but it meant we had to talk about how I felt about Wanda leaving and about what happened that night” you say, getting quieter with every word.

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your thighs as you stare at the park, the place blanketed in white. It’s not the same white that used to invade your thoughts and fry your nerves, it’s a good white, a clean white, like a blank slate allowing you to paint the world anew.

“It wasn’t my fault, what he did to me, wasn’t my fault” you recite, there’s confidence in your voice as you say it, a stark contrast to how you said it the first time, muttered and empty.

Natasha, places her hand on your shoulder, you don’t flinch away from her touch, you simply turn your head to her with a smile.

“No, it wasn’t your fault Y/N, it never was. He’ll never hurt you or anyone again” Natasha says softly but there’s an edge towards the end.

“What happened to him Natty?” you ask

“The same thing that happens to all males when they cross a black widow spider” she replies coolly, eyes cast ahead.

You know she doesn’t want to talk about it, whatever she’s done, she’s shielding you from being held complicit if she got caught. Not that she would ever get caught, she’s The Black Widow after all.

You pull her hand off you and wrap it around your shoulder as you snuggle into her side. She pulls you in closer and rests her cheek on the top of your head as you both bask in the last of the sun’s rays as it sets slowly in the horizon.

“It feels like nothing’s changed, like everything is like it was before” she says softly

“Nothing has changed. I’m still Y/N, you’re still Natty and we’re still here for each other” your tone mirroring hers. She simply hums in agreement.

“Natty?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been cleared for small field missions again, nothing big just simple ops but the doc cleared me and Steve approved” you tell her softly

She places a lingering kiss to your head, you feel her pride in the gesture and you beam widely as you nestle closer into her for warmth. Natasha embraces the joy she feels in the moment, you’re getting better and you’re coming back. Step by step you’re building yourself whole again, she’ll hold you together just a while longer until you’ve glued the pieces of you securely.

“You sure you want to go? I mean we don’t have to, we can just stay here and watch a movie and eat junk” Natasha tries as she arranges her fiery red hair into an up-do, her eyes watching your reflection carefully in the mirror.

“First of all, we have to go. I promised Tony I’d be there and it’s the last step in Dr. Roland’s exercise for me. Secondly...shit!” you curse as you fumble with the tie for the fourth time, the front now comically short as the thin end behind dangles in between your legs.

“How the FUCK do people do this shit all the time” you growl with frustration.

Natasha watches you with amusement as your reflection grapples with the length of material. She sighs at your clunky attempts before turning and stalking towards you to help.

You watch her nimble fingers as they quickly turn, twist and knot the length with ease before pulling the tie flush against your neck, secure but not suffocating. She folds the collar of your shirt down and runs her palm down the length of the silk tie, pressing it against you in attempts to flatten it.

“There, you look very handsome Y/N” her voice turning sultry as her hand rests on your abdomen.

You flush at her praise and your mind temporarily short-circuits as you mumble out a thanks in response. She chuckles at your nervousness before playfully tugging at your tie. “You clean up alright” she says before flashing you a wink and spinning on her heels to finish her hair.

You clear your thoughts with a cough before speaking again. “Right...where was I?” you ask, lips pouting and brows creased as you try to reel back your train of thought from the enrapturing visions of your friend.

“Secondly…” Natasha prompts helpfully

“Right, Secondly, even if I didn’t need to go…” “which I do” you quickly add “We wouldn’t be eating junk cuz you’re too much of a health nut, so quit worrying”

Natasha rolls her eyes in response as she concentrates on plaiting some of her long hair to the side of her head.

You approach Natasha and place your hands gently on either shoulder before leaning in close to her ear, Y/E/C locking on to her green ones in the mirror. “I’ll be ok Natty, I know they’ll be there together but I’ll have you and Tony with me. I’ll need to see Wanda at some point. We work together after all” you tell her softly

“I just want to keep you safe Y/N” Natasha admits, her trepidation at the night ahead clear

“I know, and you have been keeping me safe. I need to do this and I’m sure I can do this because I know you have my back”

She places her hand above yours on her shoulder before letting out a soft sigh. She can see the determination in your eyes and she relents. “I’ll always have your back” she says firmly.

You place a soft kiss on her temple, a wordless thanks for her support before pulling back. “You ready to go Romanoff?” you ask as you extend your hand to her.

She smiles in the mirror before turning to face you and accepting your help up from the chair. “I’m always ready Y/L/N” she husks making you chuckle before you lead her out of the room and into her car. You whizz through the streets towards the Avengers tower, towards Wanda.

/

To say Tony went all out was an understatement, the tower was filled with wall to wall entertainment and endless caterers that waited on everyone hand and foot. Every floor held their own theme that was as eccentric as Tony was, one floor was labelled with the theme ‘Yabba Dabba Doo’, you dread to think what that translated to in Tony’s mind.

You opted to stay on the top most floor with the rest of the Avengers, the crowd seemingly more sophisticated and calm if not somewhat haughty in nature. You could survive one night of this, although the same could not be said for your friend.

You swaggered towards her, apologizing to her present company for stealing her away before pulling her towards the middle to dance with you. She rests one hand on your shoulder and one in your hand as your free one settles on her waist, guiding her to the music.

“Sooo, that looked like an interesting conversation” you say quietly

“If one more person tells me they have a grand idea about the conflict in the Middle-East and I ‘just must hear about it’, I’m going to stab them in the eye with my stiletto” she grits out, the smile never leaving her lips, her face a vision of enjoyment and brevity.

A rumbling chuckle escapes you as you continue to twist and twirl with her, Natasha’s graceful movements never faltering.

“Do you think this is funny Y/N?” she hisses discreetly

“Actually yeah, you were worried about me and here you are ready to kill someone”

Your sentence catches the attention of an elderly couple dancing beside you and you’re quick to elaborate. “Kill someone with her lousy jokes, not a funny bone in her perfect body this one” your head cocking towards Natasha. The couple simply send you glares of disapproval before quickly removing themselves from your vicinity.

Natasha moves her hand from your shoulder to punch your arm playfully, but with some force.

“OW” you yelp

“Stop that!”

“Ok, ok. Tough crowd” you mutter before rolling your eyes.

Natasha knows she’s barely hurt you but she rubs your arm soothingly regardless before returning her hand to your shoulder.

“Have you seen her?”

You know who Natasha means without her expanding. “Yeah, I got roped into a group they were in, she barely glanced at me before practically drooling over the droid” you grumble.

“Maybe that’s a good thing” Natasha shrugs dismissively

“How is that a good thing exactly?” you question with ire

“Well if she drools on him enough, he might short-circuit then she’ll have carry his vibranium ass out and if we’re lucky, Tony might end the night there” she replies, a devilish grin on her lips

For a moment you are taken aback by her words but soon laughter rolls through you, causing happy tears to roll down your cheek. She gently wipes them clear once your mirth had dwindled and you spin her and dance with renewed gusto.

“And you say I’m not funny” she says blithely

/

The party ran on without incident, you had elected to stick by Natasha’s side to prevent any accidents, her temper currently short fused, with arms interlocked as you co-mingled in the crowd.

The evening was now drawing to a close with only the Avengers left partaking in Stark’s bottomless supply of alcoholic beverages, you and Natasha sticking to copious amounts of coke, Natasha joining you in sobriety in the name of solidarity.

You were huddled on a circle of couches, with you languidly draped across one, head resting on Natasha’s lap as she lazily ran her fingers through your hair while sipping her drink and your feet propped on Tony’s. The event had worn you down, Wanda’s cold-shoulder and Natasha’s continued intervention, coupled with Tony’s overzealous attempts at making you laugh had run you emotionally and mentally ragged.

You observed with quiet amusement as your friends, as well as Wanda and Vision, had devolved into raucous children while playing a few rounds of truth or dare, you merely a spectator.

“Ok, Wanda your turn. Truth or dare?” Sam asks mischievously

Wanda always chooses truth, she was never comfortable with having to be made to do something, on the off instance it went beyond her boundaries of comfort, that of which was not very large. You knew this and your mind subconsciously focused on her lips to watch her utter the word again.

“I think Wanda would like to do a dare, wouldn’t you darling?” Vision muses

Your eyes furrowed in confusion at Vision’s interruption, does he not know that she hates doing dares by now? Your confusion only heightens when Wanda speaks.

“Dare” Wanda replies firmly

Your eyes try to call to hers but she resolutely focuses on Sam as he claps his hands together with playful glee.

“I dare you to kiss the best flyer in the room” he says with a grin

You feel Natasha stiffen below you as her hand freezes, fingers still entangled in your tresses. You pull your gaze away from Wanda, you don’t need to see her lock lips with the android, you’re more concerned about your friend’s response to the situation.

Your eyes look up at her scrunched face and flared nostrils and to say she was annoyed would be an inferior depiction of her current emotions, but to whom the rage was directed to, you weren't quite sure. You weren’t sure she knew either as her eyes flickered between Wanda’s direction and Sam’s.

You raise a fisted hand, index finger protruding and gently poke at her cheek to grab her attention. Her green orbs flit to yours instantly, rage replaced with concern that quickly dissipates at the sight of your relaxed face, sweetly smiling up at her. Her features soften but the wordless question of whether you were ok was still displayed in her eyes.

You gently untangle her fingers from your hair and interlock them with yours before placing them on your chest, the calm, rhythmic beat of your heart pounding below it. She feels it’s steady thump on her palm and she relaxes at your reassurance. With a tiny squint of her eyes and a pinched smile, she acknowledges it but reaffirms her unyielding presence will be there should you need it. You rub your thumb over her knuckles in thanks.

Sam’s wails of disappointment finally filters through your muted conversation with the redhead and you turn to see Wanda and Vision lovingly gaze at each other. Your heart can’t help but squeeze tightly at the knowledge that it used to be you she held with such compassionate eyes, such devotion, now, it’s him.

“I’m gonna get another drink, want one?” you ask Nat softly

She replies by shaking her full glass above you, you give her hand a gentle squeeze before extricating yourself from both their laps taking unhurried strides towards the bar. You lean over the bar top in an attempt to grab a glass when a familiar waft of cinnamon and honey assaults your senses. You hadn’t registered Wanda rising from her seat after you, nor how she followed behind you, she’d been working on her footing.

“So you and Nat” she says with agitation in her tone,

You don’t like how Wanda is speaking to you nor that it is only now that she has chosen to recognize your existence. You straighten your posture and face her, your previous task forgotten.

“What about me and Nat Maximoff?” Your tone flat and empty

You watch as she bristles at your question, her last name falling from your lips with formality, a verbal distancing of yourself from her. Her eyes screw with uncertainty but you see a flash of a thought cross them, bringing her ire back to the forefront.

“You just looked very cozy with her is all, I always thought you two had something, I guess I was right” Wanda replies with bite

Anger bubbles within and you care very little to hold it back, the only drop of control that grips you back is the thought of worrying Natasha with your outburst. You edge closer to Wanda instead, fury steaming from you.

“You do NOT get to say ANYTHING about MY friendship with Natasha” your voice a low growl “You left me for him” your finger prodding her before gesturing to yourself then VIsion.

“You do NOT get to play the jealousy card when all I’ve EVER been to you was loyal”

“You have NO right to care about what goes on in MY life when you haven’t even bothered to ask how I’ve been all this time”

In your rage, you don’t notice you had continued to advance on the Sokovian, as your eyes, blazing with ferocity, clamps her firmly in place. Your hot breath fans her face as you seethe, your faces so close that it would take nothing to break the distance between you.

In another time, you would have been mesmerized by the flecks of blue and hints of gold in her hazel eyes, would have itched to wrap your hand around the nape of her neck to crash your lips together in longing, but now, all you feel is anger. You decide to move past her to leave, to prevent furthering the altercation. With your backs now turned to each other, you halt within hearing distance.

“I fell apart when you left me, I made lots of mistakes and suffered, but I’m getting better. You would have known that if you’d cared enough to ask. Guess I really didn’t mean anything to you” you admit with a steady voice before making a bee-line to the balcony doors in need of some open space.

You lean against the balcony railing, looking down at the city lights glittering below, the streets buzzing with life as the cool spring breeze blows, colorful petals from nearby flowers dancing in the wind. Even in heels, Natasha approach is practically silent, her only revealing factor was the current of air carrying the scent of her perfume to you.

“I’m OK Natty, I promise” you call out before she reaches you.

She continues her approach before speaking “I know Y/N” she says softly, emulating your stance against the railing. “Did it help?” she asks, her eyes focused on the city below

“It hurt, but even if she didn’t say much, I got to say my piece. She doesn’t get to make the promises she made to me and make me feel invisible now and she doesn’t get to have a say in my life anymore”

Natasha listens intently, your voice is steady and firm, you don’t hitch or stutter. She doesn’t sense rage escaping from you like it was earlier, only resignation.

“Someday soon, I’ll be completely OK again”

“I know you will Y/N” Natasha replies

A gust of cool wind blows, your hair fluttering in it. Natasha turns to you and plucks the strands from your face and tucks them behind the lobe of your ear affectionately.

“Doc and Steve signed me off completely, I can go back to my normal duties” you say off-handedly

Natasha’s eyes focus on your features, your dismissive tone is loaded. She wants to know why. She pulls her hand back and crosses it along the railing once more.

“Ok...that’s a good thing right?” she tries to prod more from you.

“Yeah it is. I’ve got my first mission and I already accepted”

“And?”

“It’s deep undercover, no contact to the outside whatsoever until the mission is complete” you say in a monotonous tone.

Natasha’s heart sinks, she knows what’s coming but she needs to hear it from you. “How long?”

You let out a heavy sigh before hanging your head “A year, two tops”

Natasha averts her gaze, she focuses on the lights ahead as her jaws clench with the discomfort growing inside her. You had just gotten better, she had just got you back and now you were leaving again. She wants to be happy for you but she isn’t. She fakes it anyway.

“That’s really great Y/N, maybe the change of scenery will do you some good” she chuckles out

“Yeah” you chortle

A weighty pause hangs in the air before you shatter it.

“You needing a change of scenery too?” you ask

Natasha’s head swivels to you, face scrunched with confusion as she searches your face for some hint of mocking.

You angle your face towards her, your eyes glinting with the city lights reflection. “I need a second Natty and you’re the only one I trust to have my back.” your brows rise “So what do you say? Ready to get dreadfully sick of being stuck with me again?” You ask with a small smile on your face, a hint of worry behind your words.

Natasha softens as the pain she felt melts into nothing as warmth and affection courses through her. “I would never get sick of being around you Y/N” she says gently “I’ll always have your back”

Your grin widens as you both turn away to enjoy the peace that surrounds you, listening to the hustle and bustle of the city streets below. The air is no longer heavy and your mind is all but free of the blinding darkness that had been slowly suffocating you. For the first time in a long time, you can breathe and you have the strength to keep fighting, for yourself, for your family, for Natasha. In this moment, with your best friend by your side and the world at your feet, you remember what it feels like to be empowered, in control of your life, free.

.

.

.

.

“Is it a bad time to mention we’ll be undercover with seedy social elitists hell bent on getting involved in the Middle-East conflict...and we gotta make nice?”

“Y/NNNNNN” Natasha groans, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You said yes, can’t back out now”

“UGGHHH”

Taglist: @vancityfire13 @reminiscingtonight @theperfectlovestory @perfectromanoff @8bitscarlet @mindofwesley @cristin-rjd @daenerys713 @chasethemoon @nuianced-tck-girl @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @nfatale05 @diaryoflife @inlovewithfaberry @lovelyy-moonlight @wellsayhelloaagin (Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist)

[woomycritiques543]

(TW: MENTIONS OF SA AND ABUSE.)

True.

Even then, realisitically all relationships that unstable and unbalanced are doomed to fail.

Striker, in a sense, being portrayed as “wrong” for knowing this. When its a 100% fact that relationships like this never work out! You know why? You really want to know why?

Because Stolas and Blitzo’s is a abusive power dynamic! Where one is taking full advantage of the other, Theyre both taking advantage of each other physically and mentally. Its lust, not love, and this is shown with how Stolas treated Blitz as his “plaything” (in a bad sense!) since ep 2 and how he physically took advantage of Blitz being vulnerable in s2 and ep 2 by sexually touching him while he was having a anxiety attack/ptsd instead of comforting him.

Abuse never fucking works, at least not in a way where any true “love” between two people ever occurs because theyre hurting each other! Thats why. Nothing “natural” can become of that. (unless one gives a shit enough to actually try to change. Even then, how can you still have some be with the one who r^ped you? The bottom of the barrel? How can anything actually “consensual” or “love” become of that when they already betrayed all trust and did the worst possible thing to your body?) and im tired of people pretending as if this is a “natural” process within a relationship. When this is all obviously just extended sexual harassment and workplace abuse. Sam (yeah, the “she’s fucking mean” one who takes advantage of people irl.) semi-acknowledging this to give the illusion of “depth” in a sugar coated way. But then rooting for them to be together anyway so her and the rest of the staff can get off to the “sexy” toxic couple. Its disgusting, and im sick of the show sugar coating it as a “relationship thats deep and mushy with some complications instead of what it actually is: FUCKING SA AND ABUSE DISGUISED AS CONSENT AND “LOVE!” and the creators sexually getting off to Stolas and Blitz essentially r^^^ing each other with how Blitz is forced to have to keep fucking him to keep his job (ep 5 pretending as if he has a choice, when its obvious that he doesn’t as he ended up having to endure Stolas making sexual comments without his consent and the show just contradicted how he feels about his job in this episode to make it look like he doesn’t feel like he “needs” the book. When in every other episode, he does, and “has” (when no one fucking has to!) have sex with him to keep it.) regardless if he actually wants it and being sexually harassed constantly on top of it. Stolas being r^ped by Blitzo while he was drunk off of, factually, one of the strongest alcohols in the world (abnsinthe) and the scene portrayed it as “cute” and “hot”.

When in Add^t, the same kind of shit happens, and yet its only a “bad” thing if it happens to a character Vivziepop loves or whenever she wants pitty off of her audience for random characters. Using the trauma of the character against the audience to manipulate them into easily excusing or forgiving their actions with how the scenes are written. Or only taking SA seriously when it benefits whether she wants to get off to it or not. Its genuinely disgusting, and I wish people would stop pretending as if Blitzo and Stolas’s relationship have “average difficulties!“ when its clearly so much worse than that. Same for how they sugarcoated Octavia’s situation by pretending as if Stolas made a “little” mistake by arguing with Stella on the phone. When he outright forgot about Octavia- twice, both neglecting her to the point where she was able to run away and blaming it on Blitz, and taking his time with “flirting” with Blitzo instead of having the actual urgency to find her. The “small, slack giveable” mistake being used to excuse and easily forgive all of this and more.

I know that people will hate me saying this:

But its just Valentino and Angel Dust, but the interpretation is backwards. Thats it. Its just being shown positively instead of negatively. It’s that simple, and yet the show wants to pretend as if this is a “naturally” developing relationship. Disgusting.

Anybody like remember the fact that Striker knew how Blitzø felt and jabbed him in all of his weak spots as an imp, as a business owner, and even jabbed him in his relationship with Stolas? Remember how even if Striker didn’t truly respect Blitzø, and was keen on backstabbing him if need be, he was right about Stolas? You remember how in episode 6 Stolas literally confirms what Striker assumed? You remember how Stolas was throwing around underlying threats and asking for a thank you because he saved the supposed love of his life’s life? You remember how Blitzø’s just entire discomfort and exhaustion in that kiss scene where he escalated things when he knew exactly it would get him in the least amount of trouble with Stolas who single-handedly controls Blitzø’s business and can easily destroy it whenever he so pleases? You remember how they just had this entire sequence in episode 6 and 5, Blitzø dealing with all of these things and trying to handle his life and then just out of nowhere Stolas is suddenly lovesick and depressed because oh no Blitzø doesn’t love him back :(?

I remember. I remember all of this groundwork that was laid out for the two to actually struggle and develop natural feelings for each other and overcome what they’ve been through. I remember all of this shit that was given to us.

Would be a complete shame if e7, and the first two episodes of s2 just destroy all of this groundwork that is about as structurally sound as my mental stability.

[memes-saved-me]

I read your other anon about what billy represents and people not getting it. The whole time I was watching s2 I was wondering wtf his deal was, he didn't make any sense to me but the way he was introduced led me to believe he was supposed to be more than just a random bully. So then the scene with the dad happened and I was just like OH. I didn't see it coming but in those two minutes EVERYTHING about him suddenly made sense. His situation was creepily similar to my own (in the past, I'm fine now), and suddenly I related to and understood him like no other character ever before and I was genuinely shocked when I saw so many people hating him (I only got into st this year in like April). Because yes, canonically he's an absolute asshole and I don't excuse his actions, but there's a world of difference between an excuse and an explanation???? What always gets me is when people are like "he deserved it (the abuse/posession/death)", and I can't help but project and think that yeah he probably would agree with that in some way or the other and it just hurts. Idk if it's possible to live in such a situation and not have serious self esteem issues but it's just.. How do people look at someone very obviously (to the viewer) being abused and not have an ounce of compassion? Or the critical thinking skills to realise his behaviour has got to be closely tied to his situation? I believe what people often don't get or even think about is what this kind of abuse does to your overall mental state, that it's a lot more than ""just" getting pushed around once in a while". And then I get mad that billy was robbed of everything he could have become had he just been given a second chance. Sorry for this essay, I just have a lot of thoughts and opinions on him

Yes 100%! Also Billy probably has ptsd which can be weird af to deal with. Personally I can't be around agitated or drunk adults, mostly men and when I'm around that I find myself running away before I even know it. You sort of go into survival mode subconsciously and can't get out of it until you're away from whatever set it off. Its not always a sort of episode black out moment like in movies, its a "Okay I need to get out of here" or a "Right how do I take control of this situation I'd normally be controlled in" which for Billy is definitely when he turns up at the Byers knowing if he doesn't get Max home he's in trouble.

I'm glad you're away from that now! And yes when I saw that scene it clicked and I have never understood or seen myself in a character more than Billy. Ever. I really don't understand the unreasonable hate for him. I get that he's very unlikeable and that's fine. But saying he deserved to be abused and killed is fucked up especially considering how many abuse victims see themselves in him and even use him to process shit.

^ this. Billy probably hates himself more than any anti does. Vecna used him against himself instead of anyone else who scared him. Billy has low self esteem so uses his looks to get what he wants and to get attention. That boy is lonely and has no one yet people say he's just a dick who deserved death? Doesn't sit right with me.

How many abuse victims started to continue the cycle of abuse before stopping and growing? Billy was 18. Barely an adult and died before he could change. That isn't "a villain getting what he deserves", that is a tragedy

[biohazardousbunny]

jill valentine my beloved

Dating Jill Valentine would include

pt. 2

warnings: nsfw towards the end but nothing too descriptive, mentions of death, trauma, jill has ptsd

gn!reader <3

i love her so much and she is criminally underrated and underwritten for

dating jill valentine would include...

jill is protective of you

ofc she would be i mean look at everything she's been through

you were dating before the raccoon city incident

shes forever thankful you were out of town that day

teaches you how to fight just incase she fails in her job to keep you safe, you need to be able to defend yourself, she says

teaches you how to handle a fire arm in case you dont know how

watching movies together

jill doesnt like horror movies

likes action movies

i feel like shes not the best cook, and only knows how to make simple things, which is fine, unless she burns it, which she will, so either you're doing most of the cooking or you're ordering take out

she doesnt seem like the type but she is very much touch starved constantly, any moment your not in her arms is a tragedy to her.

loves pulling you in her lap, she doesn't care if your taller, bigger, whatever, you're sitting in her lap

she'll sit in yours if you want her to

she wasn't always this cuddly tho, the events of arkley and raccoon city made her scared

scared everything will be ripped away if she's not holding on tight enough

you're her everything

she does however have her moments where she doesn't want to be touched

will let you know

ands its easy to tell when they happen bc of her body language

and normally after a bad nightmare are when these moments occur

dragging her to bed some nights bc its 1am and she's still at her desk looking over files

~angst~

jill wasnt the same after the events at arkley

she went from being playful to well traumatized

she watched her coworkers die

she almost died herself

and she became paranoid

while working on finding stuff to take umbrella down she became irrationally scared something would happen to you at the hands of those monsters.

she didnt know if they would kill you or turn you into one of those things

you watched as she worked herself sick

trying to to get her to bed and to eat. hell just to take a break, was an uphill battle

eventually it got to the point where jill snaps and yells at you

you yell back or cry

if you yell it turns into a screaming match

"you need to sleep jill" "you need to leave me the fuck alone" "well excuse me for giving a fuck about your wellbeing then"

if you cry, you run to the bathroom away from her seeing as you both just live in one big room

eventually she'll leave and go to the bar

once she calms down she feels bad about snapping at you

getting back to your shared apartment she finds you asleep on the bed, dried tears on your face

she felt like shit for making you cry

wraps her arms around you and falls into a fitful rest

she had a nightmare and it woke you up, you tried waking her but it was useless, so you opted to hold her until she woke up herself.

when she did she panicked, calming only slightly seeing you alive and well.

"you need to leave raccoon city" was the first thing she said

"what?" "you need to leave y/n, its not safe here"

with that she got out of bed and started shoving your clothes into a bag

you get up to stop her demanding she finally tell you what happened that night, why shes behaving the way she is, you only vaguely understood what happened but were largely in the dark about it.

jill sighs and finally tells you everything from what happened at that mansion, to what shes been researching, to her nightmares about you dying bc she couldn't protect you.

by the end of jill is crying into your shoulder as the stress of everything shes been holding crashes on her

you hold her and tell her youll be ok and that you dont want to leave but you will of it gives her peice of mind. that youll stay out of town.

~ansgt ends~

she misses you terribly but feels so much better knowing youre safe away from her and from the city

just in time to

after dealing with the city exploding and being hunted jill shows up to where youve been staying to check on you before leaving for europe to find chris

you're so relieved shes ok

you beg to come with her, but she refuses believing you'll be safer in hiding

you concede

but insist she gets better first

thus leading jill to be stuck to you the entire time

~nsfw~

Jill is dominant in bed

a tease

loves hearing you beg

pretty vanilla tbh but thats ok

but does love restraining you with her hand cuffs

has a strap and uses it well (yes even if you're amab, shes pegging you, if you're ok with it ofc)

can get pretty rough especially if she's stressed

not into degrading

is pretty silent during except for the occasional groan or "fuck baby"

loves giving oral until your legs are shaking and you're pushing her away

loves receiving oral as well

when she sees you again dont expect to able to walk right for a bit, it was a long few months without hearing you scream for her

honestly i feel like she would like cuddle fucking

~nsfw ends~

sorry the angst part is so long and that its kinda disorganized, i had a lot of ideas. gonna do a pt.2 with the events of revelations and re5 bc i didnt want this to be too long

[softykooky]

sanctuary: seven

summary: the absence of you is a void that they never thought they’d have to experience again. they were fine before they met you. but the sky would fall before the boys would be fine after you’ve gone. 8.03k words.

genre: mafia au, ANGST, poly au

pairing: ot7 x reader

warnings (READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION) :  toxic and dysfunctional familial relationships, mentions of domestic abuse (physical and verbal), swearing, ptsd & trauma, poor mental health, mentions of anxiety & panic attacks, eating problems, alcohol abuse, abandonment issues...

rating: NC17

author’s note: okay I lied there’s going to be another part! I just couldn’t fit all that I wanted and I figured it was better to give you guys something now instead of making you wait another century for me to wrap up the story. please let me know if I forgot anyone in the taglist! please let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy!

♡ series masterpost ♡ 

Just leave.

Just leave.

Just leave.

Like a cruel rhythm or a drum that keeps on beating in your chest to remind you of the pain that rips through your heart. 

You’re such a fool, Y/N. 

Should you blame them for growing tired of you? Even snapping at you like they did, or did you deserve it? It was so easy for you to wither back into the mindset your father had trained you to adapt at the slightest intrusion. Now, after that massacre in the kitchen with the people you trusted with your whole being, you weren’t sure if it was possible to think otherwise. 

Through the warm tears that have clouded your eyes, frantically stuffing the little belongings you have into a backpack is otherworldly difficult. Your heart hurts. Your soul hurts. Your entire being hurts and you can only wonder how many times a person can be pushed aside and unwanted until they just completely break. You wonder how close you are to that point. 

There’s anger running through your veins, cocktailed with devastation and confusion, but you’re not sure what it is you’re angry at. Were you angry at them? Could you ever be angry at them, even after they did something like this? You weren’t sure what to feel anymore, but that wasn’t important. 

There was one objective in sight: pack up and get the hell out before you let anyone else completely destroy you. 

But even then, you can’t help but to think about how they hadn’t even bothered to come after you. None of them did. And it ignites a different fire of pain that you’re finding harder to ignore. You’re halfway through shoving your shirts into the backpack when a soft voice sounds from your doorway. Jun is standing there, fiddling with her apron and warm sympathy on her face. 

“Y/N, sweetie, they’re just...maybe give them some time. Please don’t go”, Jun sighs. 

“No, Jun. They don’t want me here anymore”, your voice cracks at the realization. “I’m not going to stay and be unwanted. I won’t do it again. I-I can’t.”

When the last item is tucked into the pocket of your bag, you swing it onto your shoulder. The weight of the backpack feels as though it’s pulling you deeper into the ground. Like you are sinking and there is nothing you can do but wait until your head is submerged. 

“Jun…” you breathe out, wiping away a warm stray tear, “could you...could you tell them that I’m sorry? I-I’m not sure what for, I guess for everything. But could you just tell them?”

Jun nods solemnly, though the reluctance is clear on her expression. Even she can recognize that you have nothing to apologize for. “I will, honey. Are you sure about this?”

“I have no choice, Jun. I love them and I-” you cut yourself off. 

This is the first time you’ve been able to say it out loud. You love them. You’ve fallen in love with them and the timing could not be worse. But all in all, you consider yourself lucky. There was no way you would have recovered if you confessed and all seven of them inevitably rejected it. Perhaps this fight just saved you the great pain of knowing they cannot love you back. 

“And I need to go.” 

You’d have to leave before dinner. Through the back door.  The one that no one thinks you know about but as always, no man gives you nearly enough credit as you deserve. You’ll tell the guards you’re going out for a walk and pray they don’t question the overstuffed backpack you’re hauling. You’ll just open it and run and…

Find a new home? A new life? Find a new set of souls that will cherish and care for you and make you feel like you’re actually meant to be in this world? 

You love them. That much you know is true. And perhaps people like you weren’t meant to have love in this world. 

“You’re excused, Lee. Be grateful you’re still here.” The venom in Namjoon’s voice remains clear as day, even after your ungraceful departure from the kitchen. You had left so abruptly with so few words that they weren’t able to even try and stop you. 

They still can’t see straight through the searing anger that pulses through their entire being. Anger at the world, and the traitors, and the idiotic rookie that lost them thousands in shipments. 

But the anger at you had faded a long time ago, the moment you bolted out of the kitchen and up the stairs. However, the boys were nothing if not stubborn. Why did you have to get in the way of their business? Why couldn’t you just remain kept away, for them to keep safe and away from the dangers of the outside world?

Jimin is the first one to make a move to the staircase, up to where you were packing, trying to be stealthy until the leader catches a glance of him. 

“Jimin. Stop. Just let her cool off”, Namjoon sighs, pinching the space between his eyebrows to relieve his tension headache. He was usually the sensible one. The leader of the pack telling everyone to keep their cool. But the load on his shoulders has been getting far too heavy and you were the light breeze that caused it to collapse. 

“You should wait to calm down before you talk to her, anyway. That vein in your forehead might pop out of your skin”, Hoseok snidely remarks. 

Jimin scoffs, running a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time that day. 

“Everything we’ve been doing has been for her best interest. Why is she making this so difficult?”, he exhales, frustration still licking at every word. But with a mere glance at Jimin, anyone in the room could tell that he truly held no antipathy towards you. That his words were coming from an unresolved pool of anger that had been bubbling away for ages.

“You don’t think she means it, do you?”, Taehyung mutters, eyebrows still creased in intensity. “The leaving part?”

“Where could she go Taehyung? We’re all she has at this point”, Yoongi speaks. A layer of irony coats the room as Yoongi remembers the words he had spat at you in the heat of the moment. A vicious declaration to tell you to leave, and he feels a string of guilt twining itself around his lungs. He numbs it away, of course. As he does everything else. 

Jin takes a deep breath. “Listen, we’re all stressed and sleep-deprived. Why don’t we just calm down separately and talk it over at dinner? I’m sure by then, this whole thing will be completely forgotten.” His words sound sure and steady. Jin hopes they don’t notice the worry that bleeds into his voice. 

A chorus of agreements and hums quietly sound across the room as the seven of them shuffle out of the kitchen and slowly saunter into their respective rooms. And as they tiptoe past your bedroom, where your door was shut tight, the boys can’t help but feel the rationality that has begun to trickle back in. The logic and reason that had abandoned them during the fight had slowly returned, and the thought of you on the other side of that door made them all want to barge in and hold you again. 

Maybe they overreacted. Maybe they were wrong. Pride, however, was a stern mistress, and the potential consequences of their actions hadn’t yet reached their thoughts. They hadn’t realized the poison of their words.

 They would wait a bit longer. 

Everything would be okay after dinner. 

The first thing you realize after leaving is that you chose the wrong pair of shoes to attempt an escape on foot. Of course, you had to be wearing the new ones that the boys just bought you that hadn’t been broken in yet. The heel was digging into your skin painfully, undoubtedly leaving red marks and calluses. Your feet ached with every step, but you had to soldier on. At least until you found somewhere to rest for a bit and figure out where the hell you would go.

 A glance down at your phone has you eternally grateful for your past self for remembering to charge it. Hopefully it would last you until you found somewhere for the time being. 

There was no more family in the country besides your immediate ones. And you’d rather swallow knives than go back to that. The thought of them makes you sad though when you remember Soyeon.

 You wonder how she’s doing. The things she’s been up to. Is she shopping as much as she always does? Is she happy? Does she miss you? The train of thought makes you scoff at your own patheticism. Even after everything, you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her. You would always love your sister. 

The Bangtan manor hadn’t been as far away from the city as you had thought. On the other hand, you weren’t exactly paying attention to the time. Just let your feet carry you where they wanted to and stared blankly at the passing ground, trying to empty your thoughts as best you could. The sky was beginning to darken and the wind blew a bit colder but you refused to let it slow your pace. You couldn’t let yourself feel. Not yet, anyway. 

The first motel you see is the one you enter. It’s not grand by any means; more of a fixer-upper. The wallpaper was peeling, the carpet reeked of age and dust, and the receptionist was chewing gum and scrolling absentmindedly on her phone. The place was a dump compared to what the likes of you tended to live in. But you had limited cash, and this would have to do. 

It takes you three times clearing your throat for her to notice that a customer was at the front desk. 

“Hello. I’d like a room with one bed, please.” 

She doesn’t hide her blatant scrutinization of you, visibly looking you up and down with something akin to disapproval. Her phone is tossed on the counter annoyedly and she snaps her gum, wheeling her chair closer to the computer and clacks away on the keyboard. 

“ID and payment, please”, she drones, holding out a hand without sparing you another glance. When she looks at the card you have placed in her palm, there is a spark of recognition. The Yoo family name. She must have seen your name in the paper or something. The ambassador’s daughter. In a place like this?

You are eternally grateful when the receptionist says nothing; just hands you back your card and dangles a key from her red-nail polished index finger. You two exchange no more words. The only sounds in the lobby are the clinking of the metal key, the padding of your footsteps on soft carpet, and the smacking of the bubblegum between her lips. But it is enough to begin to allow the loneliness in. The fear of it all. The uncertainty and utter devastation that you have left behind the one place that had just started to feel like home. 

When the door of your motel room closes, and it is just you... 

You with the clothes on your back, the necessities in your bag, and all the feelings you have kept bottled up for weeks on end. It is more than easy to collapse in a cathartic heap as soon as the lock clicks in place. 

Who cares if the walls are paper-thin? You scream it out on the undoubtedly dirty floors. The agony of being so close to happiness only to have it ripped away from your hands. The pain of knowing them, only for them to push you out of their lives. 

You don’t weep for anyone else. Not the seven boys you loved, not Soyeon, not your father, not Jun. 

You cry for Y/N. 

You cry for the realization that maybe the thing you’ve been chasing your entire life is simply not in reach. That peace was something you had to fight for, completely alone. That they don’t love you back, or even nearly as much as you loved them. If they did, you wouldn’t be here, desperately trying to hold yourself together for what seems like the billionth time. If they loved you back, well...you reckon that reality only exists in your surreal dreams. 

There were distant cousins. In the states. And if you could get a hold of them, you had faith they would be willing to fly you over. You could spin an excuse at the drop of a hat. Maybe something about wanting to see America for a while and get away from your normal routine in Seoul. Something about needing space or enjoying time with missed relatives. They’d believe it. You’ll leave as soon as you can, hopefully in the morning. 

Naturally, this night is sleepless and you swear the sky is darker than usual. It’s starless, and even the moon is nowhere to be seen, hidden behind overcast clouds and you want to cry even more. Because after everything, is it still too much to let you feel the light? Is it still too much to let you rest under a gentle nightscape? 

You make a promise to yourself. To Y/N. 

You wouldn’t let her chase after pipe dream happiness anymore. You wouldn’t let her be so naive, so hopeful for something better. You’ve had your chance at finding it, and after more bumps and bruises, have come to the conclusion that maybe it merely does not exist for you. 

You promise her a lifetime of loneliness and solitude. But those are familiar things. Comfortable things. And you would take that over a broken heart any day. 

As soon as they fell onto their respective beds, all seven of them had drifted off to sleep. It seemed that days of constant work, chugging black coffee, and pulling consecutive all-nighters had taken its toll, and the boys finally caught up to the pure, unadulterated exhaustion. 

The seven of them slept through the night, plans of dinner completely forgotten as they glued themselves to the comfortable bedding. Unfortunately, with needed rest came a clear mind and the realization that they had been completely and utterly horrible to you ever since it all went down. 

Jungkook is the first to wake up. He brushes his teeth and slips on an outfit with a rapid fervor, ready to put everything behind him and just...hold you. Because he realizes it’s been weeks since he actually has, and maybe that’s just the thing he’s been needing. To feel your frame in his arms and hear your soft breathing. 

“Taehyung! Get up!” Jungkook pounds on the door of his hyung’s room. He hears shuffling from the other side, and a rustled bedhead emerges from a dark cavern.

“What Jungkook? It’s too early for this”, he grumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

“Hyung we all slept like the dead through dinner. I’d rather not let this whole thing with Y/N marinate for any longer. Get up and let’s talk it through, I know you miss her like crazy too.” Jungkook does his best to keep his voice down since you were still sleeping in the room beside Taehyung’s. He has to round up all of them first before asking you to come out. 

So he does. Sweeps his floor and the one above to awaken the other six men. Jin and Namjoon were the only others who were dressed and ready to tackle the day. The rest of them moved like zombies to rid themselves of the sleepy fatigue. 

Somehow, they all manage to congregate in front of your door, nervously staring it down while the tension in the air choked them. It’s unnerving. The radio silence coming from your room. You must be really upset, and reasonably so. Hoseok clears his throat, twisting his hands together out of nerves, and glances at the others. 

“Well? Should I knock?”, he whispers. The other six nod solemnly, glaring at the door like it might combust at any moment. 

He steps forward gingerly and raps on your bedroom door thrice. The seconds trickle by like molasses, even slower when there is no sound from your end.

 He knocks again.

 Nothing.

 A third time. 

Complete and utter silence. 

“Y/N?”

Hoseok’s eyebrows deeply furrow, and with trepidation, he twists the doorknob and swings it open. The bedsheets are made, duvet untouched and pillows stacked neatly against the headboard. The curtains are drawn and everything looks fairly clean. Almost as if there was no one in there in the first place. Now that he looks closer, the only sign of you being there was the vase of brown and wilting peonies on the bedside table. The ones they had gotten for you months ago. Even your scarce amount of belongings were nowhere to be found. 

In the ache of the silence, nothing can be heard but their utter shock. Their minds jumping to the worst conclusion but still in denial because there’s no way that you would do that. No way they could have lost you when they all loved you so much. 

“M-maybe she’s in the basement. Or the library. I’m sure she didn’t….she hasn’t….”, Jimin cuts himself off as he drifts off into all the terrible possibilities. Namjoon yells at the guards downstairs from the second floor, and the sounds of their rushed footsteps to find you in this giant house is the only noise that reaches their ears. 

“Jun!” Taehyung hollers down below, where she is undoubtedly fussing away in the kitchen or slaving over a boiling pot. The woman calmly emerges upstairs with a sharp gaze, head held high and shoulders stiff in her posture. There is no emotion on her face, except the faint disappointment as she stands in front of the seven men.

“Where is she?”, Yoongi growls, stepping forward like a huffing beast, but Jun remains unbothered.

“Where is who?” Jun monotones. 

“Don’t play dumb, Jun. Where is Y/N?” She scoffs at the concern dripping in Yoongi’s voice. How ironic that the very person who maliciously told you to leave was now in pieces at your absence. 

“I was surprised you even noticed. It’s not something you’ve been doing as of late. Noticing”, Jun calmly retorts. She’s never been one to be afraid of them. Never scared to stand up to them, because though they were grown men, they often still needed some mothering. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Jungkook spits, frustratedly gripping at his hair.

“Is it not true, boys? Y/N’s been practically invisible to you these past few weeks. Who knew it would take a mere fight to finally get you guys to pay attention to her.” Jin’s reflex is to immediately respond with an argument. But the words die on his tongue when he realizes the truth in Jun’s statement.

The seven of them stare at her in silence, still high-strung on stress and anger, but intent to listen to her words. 

“She left.”

The two words that they had been so desperate not to hear sound like a death knell when they fall from Jun’s lips. Their blood runs cold, and the temperature in the house drops to subzero. A moment frozen in time and all they can do is be forced to come to terms with their actions . The room immediately explodes into desperate questions and exclamations to their head housekeeper.

“Where is she? Did she say where she’s going”, Hoseok tearily yells.

“Did she leave a note?” Jungkook chews on his lower lip until it bleeds.

“When did she leave? She couldn’t have gotten far.” Jimin grabs Jun by the shoulders, forcing her closer as if he could look in her eyes and pretend she was lying.

“Excuse me if I am speaking out of turn, Sir”, Jun clears her throat, “but what did you think was going to happen?”

The seven of them are stunned into silence, swimming in utter confusion and worry about where in the world you could be. If you were in danger at all. 

“She’s been left by herself for weeks. In this big, cold house while you all were wrapped up in your business. Tried talking to you so many times, but you all pushed her away.” Jun sighs disappointedly.

Her words ring with truth, and perhaps that is the most painful part about it all. The boys can’t do anything but stand there and listen. You were dear to Jun, and she wouldn’t let the fear of standing up to her intimidating bosses keep her from saying the things you didn’t have the courage to. 

“Y/N, she...she’s been struggling. Did she tell you that? Wouldn’t sleep for days, so I sometimes snuck melatonin into her afternoon tea. But still, she’d come out of that bedroom with dark circles that almost looked painful. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her toss and turn all night, Taehyung.” Jun spares him a glance. Not malicious or accusing. Just genuine curiosity and it makes Taehyung want to burrow himself into the ground. 

Namjoon’s heart drops as Jun continues speaking. How could they have been so oblivious to everything? So out of touch and wrapped up in other priorities that they seemed to completely forget about you? Arguably the most important person in their life. 

“Sometimes, she even refused to eat. Couldn’t even stomach a cup of soup, and she’s gotten so thin, I had to tailor all her clothes.” 

Jin’s eyes widen at the statement, his throat in knots and the sinking feeling in his gut only magnifying. Like ice water to warm skin. That’s how Jun’s words felt to their system. Like they had been so blind this entire time, so distracted by everything else that they forgot someone who had become one of the most important people to them. 

“Forgive me for speaking my truth, sir. But I’ve never quite felt such disappointment when I heard the things you said to Y/N yesterday. A-And I don’t condone her decision to leave. But can you blame her?” Jun sighs, exasperated as her worry for you seeps into her consciousness. 

Jimin pushes away the tears that have clouded his eyes, looking down at the marble floors so that no one sees the gloss that wasn’t there before Jun started speaking. He pretends not to notice the way Jungkook’s tremulous and shaky breathing, or the way Yoongi’s fisted hands have turned completely white from the tension. All he can think about...all they can think about...is you. 

Hoseok coughs, clearing his throat and steeling his voice to not show emotion. “Did she tell you where she was going?”

Jun shakes her head solemnly, twisting her apron in her hands. The boys begin to make their way downstairs, tension in the air thicker than ever and only one priority clear in their minds.

“However…”, Jun’s small voice stops them in their concentrated footsteps. “While she was packing, she told me to say one thing to you all.”

It’s expectant. They almost don’t want to hear it at all. Hearing it would affirm that they are completely undeserving of you. That you are an angel among beasts whose love language is to destroy and wreck. That maybe leaving them would be the best thing to happen to you. 

“She told me to tell you she’s sorry. For everything.”

Everything is what you deserved. Everything is what they would do to prove that to you. 

Korea from the view of your aunt’s private jet was a bittersweet revelation. It was beautiful. So achingly and hauntingly beautiful with the ghosts of your past and the shattered promises for the future. If you squint, you could still make out remnants of the Han River. Traces of a place that seemed to cry for you as you left for the states.

You didn’t want to be truthful to yourself. You didn’t want to admit that you wouldn’t miss Korea because of the people or the landscape or the weather. You’d miss it because they were there. That home had been so close you could nearly taste it. 

The trip was a chaotic blur. You faded in and out of sleep, in a hypnotic trance that proved to be your body’s self-defense mechanism to repress every emotion you had felt since you left. Stewardesses offering you flutes of champagne, drivers loading and unloading your luggage, the words of everyone around you flowing in and out like a stream of water that you ignored. 

“I trust everything is to your satisfaction, Y/N? Really, you must come visit more often. Your uncle and I have missed you terribly.” 

Your aunt had always been a kind woman. She was from your mother’s side, and like everyone else, so oblivious to the true nature of the Yoo family. How sinister things truly were behind those closed, gold-plated doors. Their house was grand, large enough so that you could make yourself scarce and wouldn’t be a disturbance. Though you couldn’t help but to notice the lack of boyish voices drifting down the hall, or the rhythm of Taehyung’s hands on the keyboard in the room next to you. 

You offer a kind smile to the butler, who gently sets your singular backpack on the plush bed that screamed out your name. 

“Thank you so much for everything, Aunt Kim. I promise I’ll transfer over the money for the plane fees and carry my weight around here for the time being.” 

Your words make you nearly wince with the uncertainty of your wobbly plans. Where would you even get the money? Ask your father? Ask them? 

“I....I promise to be out of your hair as quickly as I can”, you shakily breathe, failing to convince yourself. Yet your aunt only holds a kind smile and a warm gaze.

“Stay as long as you want, dear. It’s the least we could do to repay everything your family has done for us over the years. Especially your father.”

You know you cannot blame her oblivion. Not when it is such a well-guarded secret. Yet her words douse kerosene to the fire in your chest. Tugs at the stitches of the subconscious wounds you have yet to heal. It makes you remember them. Your boys. How they would burn at hearing such words, grit their teeths and spit poison at anyone who held your father’s name in a high regard.

Or would they? After everything, you’re not so sure anymore. Painful or not, it makes you miss them even more. 

So you smile. Bite your tongue, hold your fists at your side, and thank her again for the kindness she has shown you when you had nowhere else to run. America felt different. The air itself seemed like a culture shock. Being the ambassador’s daughter had prepared you for fluency in English and how to carry yourself diplomatically, but the journey ahead was bound to be rough. 

For the first time in your life, you would be the only one you had to care for. Not Soyeon, not your mother, not Bangtan. You’d have to do this by yourself, now, and though all the emotions you have locked away will inevitably return to confront you, this sanctuary for now would have to be enough.

You were surprisingly more difficult to find than the boys had expected. Traveling alone with no clunky belongings meant you were able to move more quickly than they had anticipated and the motel you stayed at was paid for in all cash. However, nothing in the city could really happen under Bangtan’s watch, and here you were. Video footage displayed on the screen of their basement office, and they can only feel heartache as they watch you through the screen. 

“She checked out in the morning. Got picked up by a gray SUV and taken to the airport.” Taehyung drones, eyes still glued to the screen. Like looking at your pixelated face would bring you closer to him somehow. He missed you. They all did. 

“The plane’s not registered with any public company, so I’m guessing it’s a private one belonging to her family.” Taehyung adds on, leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the table. The air was tense with frustration. Anger at themselves and at each other for letting his happen. For making you run away. 

“Any idea where it’s going?” Yoongi quietly murmurs from the end of the long table. 

“America.” 

America. You felt so discouraged and hurt by them that you had to go all the way to America. They did this. This is their fault.

“So? What are we waiting for? Tell the guards to prep the jet to America. We’ll bring her back”, Jimin gawks at Namjoon, who nurses a glass of scotch like it’s his lifeline. The room falls silent awaiting their leader’s course of action, but the six of them are left speechless when Namjoon himself starts laughing. The kind of laugh that sends chills down their spines. So raucous yet emotionless. So full of hidden pain. Namjoon tips the rest of the glass down his throat, looking at them all with a hopeless expression. 

“What makes you think she wants to see us? After what we put her through? Hell, I’d be surprised if she lets us within a 10 foot radius.” Namjoon’s words are cruel, but they can’t help but to believe it to be true. 

“N-No. She’ll understand that we were stressed. I-If we just explain everything, I’m sure she’ll-”

“Don’t you remember what happened in the kitchen? What Jun said? She’s been withering away for weeks, Jimin, and none of us gave enough of a fuck to notice. We made her feel invisible.” Namjoon chuckles, but there is only pain in his tone. One that he drowns out with another swig of top-shelf whiskey. 

“We can fix it. We can go to America and fix it”, Hoseok stares down the leader, insistent on making efforts. 

“No we can’t Hoseok”, Jin’s brows furrow, eyes lighting with fire, “Jun said she didn’t sleep. She didn’t eat. I wouldn’t take us back either.” 

The boys know better than to take it personally. They were all heartbroken in the wake of your leaving, so desperate to get to you yet ashamed of themselves, apprehensive of if they even have the right to chase after you. 

Jungkook leaps up from his seat, chest huffing and hands raking violently through his hair. He paces back and forth, eyes swimming in hurt and frustration until it all seemed to combust through his body, flinging his office chair to the side to find any form of catharsis. 

He spares a poisoned glance over to Yoongi’s direction, who still sits with his eyes glued to the floor, as if ashamed of his mere existence. 

“You.” The malice in Jungkook’s voice is crystal clear.Yoongi’s shirt collar is acquaintanced with Jungkook’s fisted hand, and he grips onto the older man like a viper to its prey. As if blunt force could make you come back. The other five boys could only watch. 

“You did this. You told her to leave. Now she’s gone. I loved her, Yoongi.” Though Jungkook’s words are pumped with antipathy, the sheer devastation is heard most through it all. Yoongi doesn’t fight back. Doesn’t even make a move to push the younger off or shield himself from oncoming hits. Just sits passively with a monotone expression, staring into Jungkook’s eyes with a blank gaze.

“You’re not faultless. You yelled at her too.” 

No, none of them are faultless. And perhaps Yoongi’s words were the nails in the coffin, but they all had part in pushing you to that brink. Jungkook’s eyes gloss over with defeat, and the grip he had on Yoongi’s shirt loosens. He steps away, unable to meet any of the gazes of his older brothers or the footage of your distressed face on the flat screen monitor. Leave. That’s all he’s known to do.

“Jungkook?” Yoongi holds no anger in his voice. It stops Jungkook in his tracks as he waits for his hyung to finish. 

“I loved her too. We all do.”

They can only pray they’ll get to tell you. 

The diner two blocks away from your aunt’s apartment complex is the last place anyone would expect Ambassador Yoo’s eldest daughter to be, much less employed at. You had spent the last two weeks scouring the area for a place that would take a girl with no prior work experience, a pending student visa, and no contacts or references. But here you were, working a minimum wage job and saving every penny to make something of yourself in this entirely new country. 

It hasn’t been easy. Trying not to think about the seven boys that you left back home. The seven boys that you love so desperately and hopelessly, and foolishly thought they felt the same. It’s in the wee hours of the night that you toss and turn, closing your eyes and imagine yourself back at their manor. You will your brain to manifest the clacking sounds of Taehyung’s keyboard from across the wall or the footsteps of Yoongi’s bulky shoes when he walks past your door every night. 

You miss them compulsively so. And perhaps they do not deserve your thoughts or heartache, but it belongs to them. Even after everything, you still belong to them. But you won’t give yourself the luxury of thinking you mean more than someone who they took pity on. 

The days are the same. You get up early in the morning, put on a pot of coffee by yourself much to the disapproval of the housekeeper. Though it’s baby steps, you feel more independent this way. The coffee is terrible, of course, but it’s the thought that counts. 

You leave before your aunt even leaves her bedroom, dedicated to your full-time job and earning money whenever you can. The pay is almost humorous, and a week’s worth of your labor probably equates to what Soyeon spends in a day. But it is your work. Your money. And though everyday starts and ends with heartache and longing for a life you once had in your grasp, it feels refreshing to learn to only need yourself. 

“Y/N”, your manager sighs as you stumble through the door with frazzled hair and painfully dark under eyes. “You’re late.”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry. Traffic was insane this morning. It won’t happen again.” Your hair is expertly swept back into a haphazard bun, fiddling with the apron around your waist before jumping to the orders that have begun to get cold on the counter. 

The work was simple. Slow. But it was honest and enough for you. The diner was calm; a refreshing environment from the one you had in Korea. 

“Here you are, sir. Black coffee and a side of toast”, you muttered in a sugary sweet voice, fake smile stretched on your face to hide the perpetual pain in your chest that has not went away since you left the Bangtan house. It’s easier these days to just not think about it. To completely repress the trauma of your father and the boys and the failed therapy. The smile drops as soon as you turn around to walk back to the counter. 

“Rough morning?” Lina’s voice is gravelly, rough from the coffee and 15-minute smoke breaks she takes every lunch. 

“Something like that.” You collapse onto the cashier counter, holding your head in your hands to will away the pounding ache of your temples. 

“First it was me completely sleeping through the morning alarm. Then it was the bus detouring and making five extra stops they usually don’t”, you huff.

“Y/N?”

“And don’t get me started on the fact that I decided to drop my phone in a puddle when I was running here.”

“Y/N.” Lina’s voice cuts through your venting monologue. She stares past you, as if there was something behind you captivating her attention. 

“I think someone is staring at us from across the street.” Your brows furror at her words, whipping around to the window. When you see him. The air in the diner thins until it completely disappears, and the breath is stolen from your lungs. 

Your paled face and shaking hands is what he sees from where he’s standing, clad in a black hoodie that covered his head, but you could recognize him in your sleep.You are both frozen in time and chaos, staring at each other like you both did not belong. Eyes glued to the other like you are both too good to be true.

 Are you imagining it? Through the tears that reflexively pooled in your eyes and the way your body quivers, are you finally going insane and imagining a person who has been plaguing your mind for weeks? 

Your feet carry you into action when your mind is still stuck in shellshock, bursting out of the diner doors with desperation on your tongue, hands reaching out as if it would span across the streetlight and bring him closer. 

“Jin?” You are not quiet. You scream his name across what feels like a chasm, but is only just a couple meters away. Your legs usher you into the open street, and cars veer and honk to avoid your form, frozen on the crosswalk. 

It takes you one second to blink and him one second to disappear into the crowd. Like he was never there at all and your mind was playing cruel, evil tricks on your already crumbling soul. A ruse that Lina was in on, just to torture your decimated spirit. 

Could you allow yourself the luxury to think that he had come to see you? You didn’t know if you even wanted him to, didn’t know if you had it in you to forgive and forget.

“Jin.” 

It comes out as a shaky whisper under your breath. A broken voice that longs for something she cannot have. Something that was so far in space and time it now felt like a figment of your imagination. You allow a tear to fall, your heart to crack a bit more, and return to the diner.

“Where have you been running off to these days?” The words are snide. Coated in feigned concern and curiosity and meant to be a jab at Jin’s recent absence in Bangtan activities. They are easy to fall from Yoongi’s lips as he steals another swig of the McKellan whiskey he’s been saving up for a special occasion or a rainy day. What more fitting than to mourn the space in his heart where you used to be. 

Jin stays silent, only giving the intoxicated Yoongi a heavy eye roll and trudging past him. To say that the seven men were in terrible shape after your departure is a gross understatement. But Yoongi’s onset alcoholism seemed mild compared to how the rest of the boys were faring.

Both Taehyung and Jungkook haven’t left their rooms since finding out you were in America, only the sounds of their computer keys, heavy footsteps, and the empty food plates left at their doors to signal that they were alive in there. Namjoon had thrown himself into work, picking up the slack of all the other boys and sometimes emerging from his office at the early hours of dawn looking like he hasn’t slept in a week. His gaunty face and the way his once fitted shirt now falls loosely on his shoulders tells Jin he hasn’t eaten much either. 

Hoseok could more often than not be found in the training room, breaking and bruising himself to numb him from the pain of losing you. He takes it out on the poor gang recruits that were unlucky enough to be chosen to spar with him. 

And Jin? Well, Jin spent his days away from the house. Away from the business and the drugs and the people. He never tells anyone where he’s going or when he’s coming back and they are all too drained to try to ask. The boys live together but not truly. Just exist and breathe in the same space and too resentful of themselves and the others to fix the fragments you left behind. They miss you. Long for you and burn for you like they never have for anyone else. 

See, it’s one thing to not know where you are and be forced to be away from you on the basis of ignorance. But to know your exact location, have the time and resources to easily get to you, yet can’t come to you because they’ve hurt you immeasurably is a different kind of torture. A different kind of ache that haunts their souls at every waking moment. You are so close and so far away, and they only have themselves to blame for the distance. 

“Jun, can you make a meal for Namjoon? I’ll take it up to him.” Jin sighs to the housekeeper, shedding off his coat on the kitchen stool. 

Jun nods knowingly, fully aware of the effects your absence has had on the masters of the house. And she is not blind to Jin’s indifference or the way he is doing worlds better than the others. 

“He’ll probably try to yell at me and make you go away first. But he’ll be thankful eventually.” Jin nurses a cup of tea to warm him after his journey. Ones that he takes every week and for days at a time. 

Jun nods again, assembling a tray of food that Namjoon will undoubtedly leave to get cold either at his door or the end of his desk. Before he leaves, however, Jun spares the man a knowing glance and a sad smile. 

“You may want to return the private jet more promptly next time, sir. The others have gotten...wary.” 

Jin’s eyes widen at her words, frozen for a millisecond in his footsteps as realization strikes in that he hadn’t been as inconspicuous as he thought. He says nothing as he departs from the kitchen. Only stares at the marble floor and wonders what would be the next time he’d get to see you. Even if from a street’s distance. 

It takes four syncopated knocks before semblance of a noise emerges from behind Namjoon’s closed door. It comes in the form of an angered grunt, but Jin is no stranger to his leader’s brunt. He opens the door with no further permission. 

Namjoon is in worse shape than he had expected. His hair is another level of unruly, greasy and matted and looking like the man ran his hands through it a billion times. The paperwork strewn across his desk and floor reflects the mess in Namjoon’s own head. Like he is suffocating himself in his work but still finds breath in his lungs. Still finds you in his thoughts. 

“You need to eat”, Jin states demandingly. Namjoon only hums in response, keeping his eyes glued to the work in front of him. Jin pushes the tray into his line of vision.

“Eat, Joon. You can’t work if you starve. Y/N would want you to eat.” 

Your name makes his pen stop writing. Makes his eyes widen like he hasn’t heard it said aloud in ages. It’s pathetic to Namjoon, really. How much one person has affected him.

“How would you know what Y/N wants, Jin? How would any of us?” He sneers, resuming the scribbling on his paper. Jin sighs dejectedly, opting to leave the food on his table and not be bothered with trying to help someone who so clearly didn’t want to be helped. He turns around to leave. Until Namjoon opens his mouth again. 

“Unless….”, he teeters, “you do know what she wants.” He tosses the pen and papers aside, crossing his arms and sitting back in the desk chair. 

“Unless you’ve been going behind our backs to see her.”

Had he been turned around facing Namjoon, the younger would have seen the clear exposed truth on his face. The blatant and unhidden look of guilt and shame that he quickly masks once he whips to face Namjoon. 

“What are you talking about?” 

The responding statement is quick. Too quick. Too accosting. Namjoon squints his eyes. 

“Only the several days these past weeks you’ve disappeared from Bangtan’s radar. The bills for the jet fuel sent to my directory. The pilots you’ve been pulling away from our forces in Korea to personally tend to whatever shady business you’ve been hiding under my nose.” 

Namjoon’s words are rapid fire, piercing into the facade that Jin thought he had so carefully crafted. He should’ve known nothing goes unnoticed under the leader’s eye. 

“Namjoon, I-”

“Just be glad I didn’t tell the others. Especially Jungkook.” The thought of the youngest makes him sigh. Jungkook has always been so volatile. A ticking, emotionally-charged and codependent time bomb hiding under that muscle and masculinity. Namjoon knew better than to expose something like this just yet.

When he looks up at the man standing in the doorway of his office, he’s looking straight past him. Through the window like it was you he saw in the sky. Observing him now, up close and with more attention, Namjoon finally gets to truly see him. 

On the surface, Jin is faring worlds better than any of them. He’s clean and freshly showered, hair coiffed to perfection like it usually is. He dons a black button up; perfectly ironed without a crease in sight. But Namjoon knows him better than that. Jin looks so utterly drained it stirs sympathy in even the darkest of hearts. His eyes communicate something his words can’t: Seokjin is completely lost without your light. 

“I’m sorry.” The words come out breathily. Like he’s been waiting to say it all this time but couldn’t. 

“I just…”, he stares down at his hands, “I just needed to see her. See if she was doing alright after we…” Jin trails off, not able to face the truth of their actions just yet. And though there is lingering anger in Namjoon, he can’t help but to feel his distress vicariously. 

“You know, she’s a waitress now. At this small, run-down diner downtown. With a cute little apron and everything”, he chuckles softly, sadness seeping in every word. 

“She lives with her aunt and uncle, and walks everywhere because she doesn’t have a car, at unholy hours of the night which keeps me up every night constantly worrying about her. But that’s Y/N, isn’t it? So careless of her own safety and well-being.” 

Namjoon refrains the smile that creeps on his face at the thought of you. 

“She was smiling when I saw her. I could still see she was sad but she was smiling. Like she always does just so other people feel happier around her.”

“Jin, you don’t have to-”

“And she’s lost so much weight, Namjoon. She was trying to yell out for help and all we did was ignore her.”

Jin’s words are nails on a chalkboard. Vinegar in wine. It makes them both nauseous and rueful, and the oxygen in Namjoon’s office suddenly becomes all too suffocating. Your presence, or lack thereof, has left a heavy residue on the walls of the manor. 

The two boys sit in silence for a moment, before the sound of thumping boots on hardwood flooring echoes down the hallway, getting louder as it approaches the office. The door is nearly taken off its hinges as it violently swings open. Taehyung stands in the threshold, sweat on his brow and chest huffing up and down like an overexerted engine. He is pale in the face, hands trembling at his side and the sheer shock in his gaze tells the two older men that the words preparing to slip from his tongue are not going to be pleasant. Jin and Namjoon brace themselves for impact. 

“It’s Y/N”, his whispered voice quivers. Their hearts drop. 

“There’s been an accident.” 

taglist:  @pinkyhim​, @deolly​, @loveyoongles​, @drunkzseok​, @hope122598​, @uwunamjoon​, @nomimits7​, @bubblebunnylia​, @aquaalanah​, @juliie-ocha, @daydreambrliever​, @btsbabby​, @blank-et-noir, @myheartstaysinkorea, @rosiethefairy​, @tiredjedi, @lovemyself-persona​, @jeoncookie-bts​, @annoyingpessimist​, @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​, @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh, @btstxtgenre, @taesugaar​, @hxsxxk-180294​, @bubbletae7​, @uglyratlmao​, @hopetookmysoul​, @supertweetycherry​, @missseoulite​, @barbikatherine​, @jamesfrickingbuchananbarnes​, @sunsetsnsirens-blog​, @vanilla-smash​, @lmaosani​, @onionhaseyeo​, @i-dumb-bitch, @euphxriajoon​, @justpeachyjoon​, @dabbingangels​, @h5naaa​, @parkmaeri, @softescapism​, @bena-baby, @myjiminmychimchim, @moments-of-melancholy​, @krystle1990​, @chatsgotmytongue​, @vi-hoshi​, @unlikelylittlemiss​, @rosey-roseau, @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag​, @kookiebbyxx​, @thebleuprince​, @dreamer95​, @jinana-iactium​, @holaaaf​, @small-babycat, @h0bi-c0re​, @katbonv​, @embrace-themagic​, @jiminmochee​, @fanoffandomss​, @mwitsmejk​, @mrsfortune1306​, @raadia​, @kookima​, @bonesfordayss​, @dinoboysindahouse​, @jiminie-lovely​, @queenceline22​, @jikooksgirl19​, @somewhereinthestarss​, @kookieskiwi​, @lynnfanficreblogs​, @vintageroses10​,

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Heart of Steel - Part I

DBH Connor x Male Reader

Word Count: 2.5K+

Content warning: Minor injury detail, PTSD, language

Original game dialogue I got from this video:

https://youtu.be/32Np9LKI1Vg

We were attacked in the night.

After returning from a mission back to an outpost several miles from the red zone, we removed our gear save for a few pouches on our belts we could bother with later. Our team leader set up a fire while the SQ800s, CyberLife commissioned combat androids, began loading up the trucks with extra artillery and resources. A job that could have waited until morning, but Alpha always gave the androids something to do. He said that they creeped him out when they would just stand there in a dormant state, waiting for their next mission to be given to them.

"You know what I'm going to do when I get home?"

"Here we go again."

"I'm going to get me a WR400," Foxtrot; not everyone's favourite but he certainly kept us entertained when there was nothing to do.

"Uh-huh and with what money are you going to be using to pay for this WR400? A military salary definitely ain't gonna cut it." Echo always called out Foxtrot's bullshit, he was the only one that had the patience to deal with him.

"Fine, my birthday is comin' up, if you put towards two-thirds of what it costs we can share. How does that sound?"

"I am not sharing anything with you, I don't know what diseases you carry." Their constant back forth sent chuckles through the group.

"Alright, that's enough you two. It's getting late and past everyone's bedtime, I want you all awake by O-five-hundred at the latest," Alpha would often stop them before Foxtrot would take it too far, but he could never hide the twitching smile on his face.

"Yes sir," Foxtrot mock saluted as he stood from his seat around the campfire. "Hey Echo, that offer is still-"

One moment Foxtrot had a wide grin on his face, the next there was a hole in his head between his eyes, the sound of gunshot ringing in everyone's ears.

"SHOTS FIRED! GET TO COVER NOW!"

"FOXTROT IS DOWN! I REPEAT, FOXTROT IS DOWN!"

It was dark, we couldn't see where they were firing from. The android was the only one still standing, firing off in random directions as they were gunned down. The next was Delta, shot in the left shoulder, then the throat. My gun was back in my tent and there was no chance of me getting it. Stupid.

"MEDIC! GET TO DELTA! NOW!"

"GRENADE!"

I heard the thump by my feet before I saw it. You would think it would be terrifying, to know you're staring death in the face, but for a second it was peaceful. My body was cold and I already felt like a corpse, the Rigour Mortis freezing me in place, just softly gazing at what would kill me.

Something grabbed me before the grenade exploded, saving my life but destroying the android.

The bedsheets were crumpled and soaked in sweat again when my eyes shot open. It was hard to breathe, the panic was still running through me and closing up my throat at the memory.

In; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four. Out; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four.

It took a few minutes for me to remember where I was. That I was home and that I was safe. Out of nervous habit, I gripped my dog tags, they were wet from the sweat that had soaked through my shirt in the night.

"Shit." It was four in the morning, there was no chance of getting any more sleep and the station wouldn't be open for another two more hours at the least. Saying that; Fowler wanted to speak to me first thing, which never meant anything good for anyone.

It was aching again at the joint. The biomechanical component always felt itchy where it joined at the elbow. Anytime I would have that dream I would scratch at it in my sleep, it was like my subconscious knew it didn't belong. It knew my rotting left arm was still in the desert somewhere being picked apart by vultures.

It's almost ironic; to be saved by an android and then to have part of one attached to me. I hated it.

*****

"Morning Cyborg, you look like shit." Gavin was forever pleasant to talk to.

"Fuck off, Reed." He constantly hovered around the coffee machine, hogging it like it was his newborn baby. "Is Fowler in yet?"

"Not yet, you in trouble?" He took his time making his coffee, exceeding in being the department's resident asshat. "Did he catch you looking at porn on your work terminal again?"

"I'm pretty sure that's only ever happened to you." Not wanting to be reminded of his previous escapades I got no response. Gavin let out a small huff before moving to the side with his fresh cup of coffee, freeing up the machine.

"Officer (L/N)." Oh for fuck's sake.

"Sir?" Captain Fowler stood outside his office, his coat half soaked from the rain.

"My office, I need to speak to you." He didn't give a second glance to me before turning and letting the glass door shut behind him.

"Ha, good luck cyborg." Shooting Gavin the middle finger, I followed Captian Fowler into his office.

"What was it you wished to talk about, sir?" Feet shoulder-width apart, back straight and hands behind my back; habits from the army were destined to die hard. Often I would find myself moving my hand up to salute before leaving the presence of a superior, something else for Gavin to make fun of.

"You're aware of the deviant cases I've assigned to Lieutenant Anderson, correct?" Fowler sat at his desk, wet coat now hung on its rack, but there was slight dampness to his suit blazer where his coat had been left open.

"Yes sir. I believe he's being accompanied by a prototype RK800 from Cyberlife."

"That's correct. I'm sure you're aware that these deviancy cases are on the more..."

"Dangerous?"

"...Unpredictable side. Now, I can't exactly issue a gun to a prototype android if it's going to be in the field and, while I value Hank as a police officer, his record is on the rougher side."

"Captain Fowler, with all due respect, I don't believe-"

"Office (L/N), with all due respect, you don't have an opinion in this matter. I want you to accompany Lieutenant Anderson in these assignments just in case a deviant becomes too much for him or this android to handle. You've certainly got the skillset for it and you're not unfamiliar with working alongside androids, unlike quite a few officers in this department."

"I understand that, but-"

"Whatever you're gonna say I don't want to hear it." Captain Fowler didn't give me a chance to argue as he stood and walked to his office door, the annoyed look on his face worsening. "Hank, in my office!"

I let out a sigh before Captain Fowler turned back to his desk. Through the office wall made of glass Hank reluctantly made his way towards us grumbling something under his breath at the request, the RK800 model obediently following behind him like a little, lost puppy. Hank sat in the chair opposite Fowler while the android stood next to me, giving a small smile as a greeting.

Captain Fowler was the first to talk, "I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day. We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap... But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night. This isn't just cyberlife's problem anymore, it's now a criminal investigation and we've gotta deal with it before the shit hits the fan. I want you to investigate these cases, alongside officer (L/N) and see if there's any link."

"Why me? And why do I need a god damned partner? A stupid android is already too much. Why do I gotta be the one to deal with this shit?" Props to Hank for trying, but arguing with Fowler was like talking to a brick wall. "I am the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case! I know jack shit about androids, Jeffery. I can barely change the settings on my own phone."

"Everybody's overloaded. I think you're perfectly qualified for this type of investigation," They were already starting to blow up at each other.

"Bullshit! The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin' androids and you left me holdin' the bag!"

"CyberLife sent over this android to help with this investigation and I've given you (L/N) as well. You've got a state of the art prototype and a leading police officer to act as your partners."

"No fuckin' way! I don't need partners, and certainly not this plastic prick and some action hero fucker."

"Nice working with you too, Lieutenant Anderson," I said under my breath, not intending for the others to hear. Connor turned his head slightly in my direction, I could see his LED blink yellow for a moment before going back to its bright blue.

"Hank, you are seriously starting to piss me off! You are a police lieutenant, you are supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth!"

"You know what my goddamn mouth has to say to you, huh?"

"I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, so I don't have to add any more pages to your disciplinary folder 'cause it already looks like a fuckin' novel! This conversation is over."

"Jeffrey, Jesus Christ! Why are you doin' this to me? You know how much I hate these fuckin' things. Why are you doin' this to me?" Most of the department knew why he had such a distaste towards androids, no one could necessarily blame him. Ever since losing his son Hank had become completely different as both a person and an officer. Admittedly, Fowler was harsh on him, but if he wasn't then Hank would drift.

"I've had just enough of your bitching. Either you do your job or you hand in your badge. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." Hank left in a strop, letting out his frustration on Fowler's office door.

"Well then..." Connor was quick to break the tense silence. His voice caught me off guard, it was smoother, more human than any android's I had heard before. The SQ800's voices had always been more robotic than other models so it had been a shock when the androids back home had sounded so normal, it felt like that all over again. It was jarring. "I won't keep you any longer. Have a nice day captain."

Connor left and I followed behind, giving a small nod of dismissal to Fowler despite him still looking at his terminal screen.

The android went straight to Hank either oblivious or ignoring the lieutenant's current bad mood, granted there was never a time the bastard was in a good mood. Heaven itself could rain down on Detroit and he'd huff at it like a hair in his food.

"I got the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant. I'd like you to know I'm very sorry about that. In any case, I'd like you to know I'm very to be working with you." Ever the enthusiast.

"I'd give in now. You're talking to a toddler in a fifty-year old's body and the toddler is having a hissy fit." I half sat and half leant against Hank's desk, using my arms to support my weight.

"Apologies, I don't believe I've introduced myself. My name is Connor, I am the android sent by CyberLife." He turned to me, a gentle and manufactured smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to be working with you too, officer (L/N). I'm sure we'll make a great team."

"Er... (Y/N) is just fine."

"Is there a desk anywhere I could use?"

"No one's using that one." Hank points to the desk opposite him, while still sulking like a child.

"Gasp, it speaks," I said in a sarcastic tone while turning to Hank.

"Fuck off. I've already got an android on my ass, I don't need you on it too."

I grabbed a terminal pad before perching myself back at the edge of Hank's desk while Connor got comfortable at the empty one. The light at the side of his head flashing yellow for a moment like he was hesitant to speak."You have a dog, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"The dog hairs on your chair. I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"

"What's it to you?" Hank shifted in his seat, "...Sumo... I call him Sumo."

"Under all those shitty shirts and questionable stains there's a warm, beating heart," I say more to myself than the other two, skimming over the recent case files sent in by Fowler.

"Officer (L/N)... (Y/N), knowing that we'd be working together I read your academy and field records. You have quite an interesting background."

"Oh yeah, then you understand that I may be a little driven to get these cases over with. I can't say I'm a fan of you terminators."

"I understand you have a... warped view of androids due to what you've experienced, but I hope you understand that I am your partner and not your enemy."

"Connor, you're not my partner, you're cyberlife's latest gizmo for us kick around." I sigh, turning to sit at my desk adjacent to hanks, taking the terminal pad with me. "Just look through the deviant case files. Terminals on your desk, knock yourself out."

They're nothing but machines. They are not your friends.

"Two-hundred and forty-three files, the first date back nine months. It all started in Detroit... And quickly spread across the country." Connor had only connected the terminal moments before.

"Don't work your CPU too hard," I mutter under my breath, catching a quick huff of amusement from Hank.

"An AX400 is reported to have murdered a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation." Hank was doing his best to pretend Connor didn't exist, but the android was persistent. Connor stood from his chair and made his way into Hank's personal space.

"Uh, Jesus..." Hank turned his chair away.

"I understand you're facing personal issues, Lieutenant, but you need to move past them and-" For an android, Connor has some balls on him.

"Hey! Don't talk to me like you know me. I'm not your friend and I don't need your advice, okay?" Hank's mood had soured like milk, it wouldn't be long until Fowler was adding another page to Hank's disciplinary folder.

"I've been assigned this mission Lieutenant, I didn't come here to wait until you feel like working."

"Connor, you're just gonna-" I had wasted my breath, Hank had already stood and was grabbing onto Connor by the collar of his Cyberlife jacket and slamming against the screen next to his desk. "Hank!"

"Listen asshole. If it were up to me, I'd rather throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it. So, stop pissing me off... or things are gonna get nasty."

"Hank," I placed a hand on his shoulder to try and lightly pull him away from Connor but only earned a nasty side-eye. "Leave off him, you don't get paid enough to replace him."

"Lieutenant... Officer (L/N), uh... sorry to disturb you," Looks like the tin can was saved before Hank could knock the light out of him, "I have some information on the AX400 that killed that guy last night. It's been sighted in the Ravendale district."

"I'm on it." Hank didn't glance back when he dropped Connor's collar. The puppy dog look on his face almost made me feel bad for him... almost.

"Come on, WALL-E. Don't want to keep the old man waiting."