#another cliffhanger I'm afraid

[netherfeildren]

Pink : Part III : Two

Series Masterlist : Part I : Part II

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: Heavy angst; DD/lg dynamics; Dom/sub undertones; Daddy Kink; Jealousy; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Inappropriate shaving; Squirting; Belly bulge; Dirty talk; Orgasm delay/denial; Overstimulation; Face slapping; Spanking; Light degradation; Rough sex; Breeding kink; Divorce; Not safe to read if triggered by pregnancy; Use of misogynistic language; Discussions of mental and emotional abuse; Cliffhanger

A/N: All tags have been updated.

Word Count: 12.7K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

3. Two

“You know that feeling of… of realizing you’re a good person? It’s like– yes, I know objectively that I probably am. That I try to be kind, I try to do things that are good and right, but you know those strangely self perceptive moments where another person makes you – forces you – to realize you’re good? And it brings your whole life, your whole self into clarity, and it’s like – I am good, and I deserve good things. I am good.

But he treated me so badly, for so long. He took away pieces of me, he took away that awareness of goodness. And how could I not believe him, when he constantly told me and showed me that I deserved so little, when it was what I accepted for myself? Constantly waiting for him to turn into a man he never was, never had been and never would be. I accepted those things for myself, I let them happen. Maybe I was weak or stupid or naive or all of them combined. Maybe I was just a girl. But I thought it was hope at the time. I thought I was being hopeful and good, and now I realize that was no true form of goodness. It was only the version of good he needed me to be, a subservient and silent type of goodness.”

“And you know, I had a neighbor who– her husband died last year at Christmas, and it was so sad. They were older, always together, it was… it has nothing to do with this, but I don’t know. It was like when a tragedy is soft and quiet, and it just folds into the rest of life unheeded. Such a strange thing for someone on the outside looking in. I lived next door to them, and I’d see them all the time living their lives together, and I barely knew them, but suddenly he was gone, and I was conscious of the fact that she was over there alone all the time now. Without him. When before he’d always been there. I don’t know what I'm trying to say. It’s just that it didn't happen to me, it affected me in no way, and yet, I felt her loss keenly. Afterwards, I helped her with her cat, an old skinny thing, Jazz. She started going out of town a lot after her husband died, getting out and away, you know, that sort of thing. And I’d cat sit for her, and he was so sweet. But he was old too, and a few months later, he died also. And I remember the week he was going to pass she’d texted me and said he’d go soon, and I told her I was praying for him, thinking of the both of them. I don’t even pray, but I needed to tell her I was with her in some way. And it was nothing, a few nights going over there to feed the old boy, a few text messages. It was the absolute bare minimum I could do, but a few weeks after the cat died, she wrote me the loveliest note. She told me that she appreciated me, that she thought of how kind I’d been during those days, when I’d told her I was thinking of them. She told me that I was a good person, and that she hoped my kindness was returned to me many times over. 

And I’d forgotten, you see, I'd forgotten that I was good. That I had a capacity for goodness within me, and that I deserved to be reminded of it, like all soft creatures are. We all need reassurance and a kind word sometimes, and I’d forgotten that about myself.” You glance up at his eyes, the most tender look held in them. “Do you know what I mean, Joel?” You ask, voice very small, shy and afraid, for one moment, that he won’t understand you. 

But he pets your hair, cradles your cheek, “Yeah, honey. I think I do know.”

It’s a terrifying ordeal, the way the two of you fold into each other in the weeks after that first night. And yet, unstoppable. You do try, and you’re sure he does, as well. The first few days, trying to stay away, not answering his calls, no texts because he says his fingers are too big, and he can’t work those tiny fuckin’ buttons, forcing yourself not to run back over there into his arms and his bed. But then he’s calling and calling and calling, begging, making it his turn to show up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, saying all the right things like, I haven’t been sleeping, and I need to see you, and I’m suffering, I’m suffering without you, touching you in all the right ways that should be wrong but aren’t. All baby, I hurt when I’m not inside this sweet pussy. He says you make him weak, and you tell him that the only weak thing here is you, and you don’t make it much of a struggle for him when you let him in your home, in your cunt, when all you can say is I miss you, I miss you, your cock, your hands, I can’t stop thinking about you. The two of you are one and the same in all the ways it counts. And he’s not your father-in-law anymore, a chameleon now in the form of the only man who’s ever understood you, wanted you, seen you as more, as a complexity. 

He makes you wonder how you could have ever thought of yourself as anything like sexless when all he makes you is hungry and desperate and wet. Fucking everywhere you can, as often as you can, never being very careful, pulling out and counting your cycle and starting out with a condom but ripping it off halfway through because I just have to feel you – irresponsible bullshit. Not having your head screwed on tightly enough to even really care. He has you on his living room floor one afternoon, whole day gone away on his cock, and the two of you lay there for hours afterwards, bare limbs wrapped around each other, soft, wet cock tucked safely inside of you where he says it belongs. “How could you have not been angry?” You ask him because you can’t help yourself. Because you want him to teach you to be wise now that he’s shown you how to be good. “That he was kept from you? That you missed an entire lifetime of being a father? I never once saw you furious or resentful. How did you do it?”

“Don’t know,” he sighs. “Dunno… I– It was, kind of, the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me, truth be told, but I didn’t have a chance to compute, to sit in any sort of anger. He was right there all of a sudden, too full of anger to leave any left over for me, and he needed me so much. He needs me so much.” And you know he’s right, and there should be guilt now, gnawing at you, but there is really only jealousy. “And he– he…” A swallow, like you can read his mind, you know what he’ll say, already nodding. “And he hates me,” he whispers into the quiet of this lovely home he’s made for himself, his words mixing with the butter yellow ray of sunshine the two of you are lying in, slanting in through the big bay window. “He hates me, hates who I am. That it’s me he found when he came lookin’.” You have to cry for him then, maybe even for the both of them, maybe even for all three of you. 

“Yes,” you choke, so full of sadness for the tragedy of it all. You can’t comfort him with a denial for you’re not a liar here with him. Protection like that isn’t necessary. 

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He hugs you so tightly, “There’s no reason to cry.”

“I can’t help it,” And return the words he’d given you once when you’d so badly needed a kindness, “You deserve more.”

He’s quiet for a long time after that, and you know him well enough now that you can hear the gears of his mind working and turning, and that makes you even sadder, perhaps, the greatest tragedy of all, this knowing, and eventually he says: “And yet, he is the son I have.” And at the end of it all, you think you are all only yourselves, and nothing can really be done about that. 

And you say you want to be wise like him, that it’s your next lesson, so perhaps you should hold your tongue instead of saying: “He only just got you back, and I’m taking you away from him again. Because that’s what I want – I want to take you away and keep you only for myself. I want you to be only mine and that makes me bad. I’m bad.” Your first lesson quashed beneath the fist of your greed for a man who isn’t for you, and who you shouldn’t want, and it’s wrong and maybe even sinful or disgusting or any and all the things that are always bad. None of that matters. He’s turned you into a real person now, none of the rest of it matters. 

But he understands, because of course he does, because he always has. He grips your jaw in his hands, large, strong hands, hands made for taking care of things, and tells you, not so wise seeming anymore: “Sometimes I look at myself, and it’s like I'm two feet tall. Why didn’t I meet you sooner? First? How could I have been such a coward to not go out there and search for you? I should have known you were out there, I should have sensed it. How can a man be jealous of his own son?” He turns you over then, cock hard and thrusting again, kisses you full on the mouth, and it tastes like ownership, and says, “You could never be bad. No matter what you did. You’re only ever good. Haven’t I taught you that?” 

-

“Joel, there’s someone at the door,” peeking into the restroom where he’s just stepped out of the shower, wet and steaming, shaking his head out like a dog, towel covering all the fun bits. He’d just had you too many times already, and still, you want more. You’re made of nothing but greed now; he’s taught you how to be good, but he’s also taught you how to be greedy. You’d been strewn across his couch, eating chips and wearing his clothes and leaking his come and waiting for him to finish in the shower and come out to make dinner. He was doing steaks on the grill and baked potatoes with all the fixings and roasted vegetables, and he’d even gotten a pie and ice cream, but he said he wasn’t telling you what the flavor was, only that it was your favorite, and you can’t think how he’d know you love rhubarb, but if that’s what he’s gotten, you were going to let him do anything to you. Literally anything he wanted. Not that you didn’t already… but still, it’s the sentiment that counts, you think. He’d also said you weren’t allowed to shower, that the rule tonight was that you weren’t allowed to wash him off, and you really didn’t mind that so much. So there you were, after he’d put on Stepmom for you, and you were just thinking that Julia Roberts was surely the most beautiful woman who’d ever been born, when someone had knocked on the door, a rhythmic, friendly: tap, tap, tap, that had your heart dropping down into your stomach, and you scurrying into the master bath to frantically tell him that someone is here while you’re here wearing him all over and inside of you and what are you going to do now? He gives you a calm smile, running the towel over his wet head, giving you an eyeful of the fun bits now, and you try and not peek, you really do, but it’s really just the most exciting part on him, you can’t help yourself. His smile turns knowing, that look in his eye, “S’alright, sweetheart. Don’t fret, I’ll get it.”

“But–” you try and protest, maybe he should just pretend not to be home. What if it’s– you can’t even think of it. But then no, he’d not come here. He hates coming to this house, the proof of everything he wasn’t all in his face like this was humiliating for your ex-husband. 

His smile remains, but his eyes go a little stern, “No worryin’, I’ll take care of it.” He tugs on his jeans, the man literally never wears underwear, slut, and tugs on a shirt, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he passes you, hand dragging over your belly, smelling of soap and Joel and want, want, want. You follow him on tip toes down the hall, pausing at the mouth of the living room, chewing on your lip and your fingers, about to spit your heart out with nerves as he pulls the door open. 

“Hi, Joel, honey. How’s it goin’?” Pretty, bubbly, overly friendly voice you were definitely not expecting. You take a small step forward, the mouth of the hall slightly to the left of the front door so that you can see her without her seeing you, watch his profile as he talks to her. Edie, he says, and that dishwasher givin’ you trouble again, and laughs at her reply, the sound of their conversation going out of your ears as you watch him, head falling sideways on your neck a little bit, the way he laughs at whatever the woman that’s come knocking on the door of his home all friendly and comfortable to interrupt his time with you is saying, loud, bellyfull, one arm braced against the doorframe so that you can see her eyes flit every few seconds to the thick bulge of muscle there. Your face goes hot, your insides green and bitter, but he’s laughing just handsomely enough that you know it’s not real. You know his real laugh, and it isn’t this one. The woman leans forward, blonde hair and big boobs and batting lashes, but Joel shifts backwards subtly, keeping a respectful distance, and your pulse throbs at the backs of your knees and the pit of your stomach. She likes him, she’s here because she likes him, asking him to look at her dishwasher or something, yeah, sure, sure that’s the only thing she wants looked at. 

“I’ll come take a look at it tomorrow. How ‘bout that? I’m sure it’ll be another quick fix like last time, but you should probably think about just replacin’ the thing at this point,'' he tells her. 

“Oh, can’t you now, Joel?” She pouts, “It’s just that–”

“I’m tied up tonight, Edie,” he cuts her off, an indulgent, too charming smile on his face, and oh, it pisses you off, that smile. You turn on your heel, stomping down the hall back to his bedroom. Huffing, gnashing your teeth. The sight of him with another woman, a more appropriate woman because of course she is, it makes you sick, angry, something terrible, so, so jealous your bones itch beneath the surface of your skin. It makes you small and slanted again, wrong place, wrong time, wrong girl. Not for him, never for him, and it’s so unfair, and he is so– so… Smiling at her like that, using that tone of voice, propping up his stupid huge arm like that so that his muscle’s all defined and put on display, and you hate him and the way he makes you feel and how much you want and need him. On the verge of tears or screaming or vomiting you scramble around his room, trying to collect your clothes and your strewn panties and where the fuck is your bra and your other shoe? 

“What’re you doin’?” Comes his soft, steady voice a moment later. Entirely too even for the way you feel right now. You want to hiss at him or bite him or do something entirely uncivilized. 

“I have to go home.”

“Why?”

“I have something to do. I forgot.”

“Something, what? What do you have to do?” But you ignore him, rifling through the strewn clothes on the armchair in the corner – where the hell is your goddamn bra? “Look at me–” he barks, now having stepped further into the bedroom. 

“Oh, fuck off,” and there’s a part of you that knows that you’re being irrational, that he’s done nothing wrong, but you feel so provoked suddenly. In need of a fight or a thrashing or something, something to make this terrible feeling poisoning you on the inside go away. 

“Watch your mouth, little girl,” and his voice is so calm and so quiet and so scary. It makes you lock up one second, spin around the next to spit and hiss at him like an angry cat. You will not watch your mouth. “She wants you.” You almost stomp your foot like a child throwing a fit, but he’s entirely still and silent, taking you in with the most unfathomable of looks. “Do you know that?” And this time you do stomp your foot. “Do you want her back?”

He blinks once, and then like a lightbulb turning on, even though you’re obvious as daylight, “You’re jealous.”

“Do you want her back?” You ask again, real tears in your voice this time. 

And his gaze goes soft and tender and entirely understanding, “Never.” He shakes his head. 

“She looked like a fucking idiot.” You pout, childish – how will he ever want you when you act like this?

“I only want you.” But you don’t believe him. How could you? When there’s nowhere for this to go. When he deserves so much more than the options afforded to him here between the two of you. And you want to fight with him because there’s nothing to be done, no choices, no other recourse, and it’s not his fault and there’s no one to blame and no outlet for this terrible anger inside of you. You feel like you’re choking on it, being swallowed whole, that head breaking water feeling reversed so that now you’re deep at the bottom of the well of your own wanting. You turn back to the fruitless search for your bra. He’s hidden it from you, you’re sure, some evil old man ploy to keep you here trapped and braless with him. “Did you hear me? I only want you,” he says again, voice closer now.

And you think you’re mumbling or crying, something hysterical bubbling up inside of you, I have to go, I have to go, your movements manic and jerking. He grips your arm, jerking you around into his chest, face flushed with anger now, but voice still even, “You’re not fucking listening to me. I only want you,” and yanks your hand to feel the hard cock trapped beneath the confines of his jeans. This is only for you. But it’s not, not in any real way, not in a way that would let you keep him and that realization sets something off inside of you. You thrash in his hold, let me go, let me go, trying to kick him in the shins while he tries to wrap his arms around your struggling form, that rumbling chant constant in your ear, I only want you, I only want you, I am only for you. It feels like he’s burrowing beneath your skin, unzipping you, splaying your insides wide open for his gaze, taking hold of your bones, a puppet on his string. You manage to yank your arm out from beneath his grip and unthinking, a buzzing so high pitched it makes you dizzy and nauseous sounding in your ears, you slap him in the face. Not very hard, maybe, but enough that you hear the crack of your palm meeting the grizzled scruff of his cheek. The sound like a bone snapping, setting off something inside both of you even worse, more frenzied than before. He groans deep in his chest, big hand fisting in your hair and jerking it back so hard you yelp in pain. “Hit me again, do it again. I want you any way I can have you, even angry. Do it again,” he goads you on, but that mindless hand is fisted in his shirtfront now, pulling you closer to him, tear stained mouth seeking his, opening to receive his filthy kiss. 

“I’m sorry,” you cry, but all he says is that he only wants you, again and again, grips you harder, makes it hurt more, and you whine and whimper and scratch and bite, a wild thing, the two of you caught up in some strange struggle of push and pull and want and fight. You can feel the hard length of his cock grinding against your belly, searching for something hot and wet to fuck into, and you hitch your knee around his hip, open yourself to him, listen to his groan in your ear, throaty and full. 

“You just need a little remindin’? Don’t you, huh?” He tugs your head back, none too gentle, to look at your tear slicked face, his eyes on fire, almost a little manic. He spins you away from him, shoving you towards the bed, ignoring your whines and protests, shut up and bend over, pushing you over the edge of the bed and crouching down behind you. “You just need a little remindin’ of how to be a good girl. I know that’s all this fightin’ is. Right, baby?” No, you try and struggle, kicking your leg out uselessly to the side, but he pins you with your arms back behind you at the small of your waist, pushing his shirt up your back to expose the naked curve of your ass and the pussy you know he’ll find humiliatingly wet and hungry for him. “Just need remindin’ of how to be a good girl for me, right?” His fingers slide down to the apex of your thighs, finding you dripping and swollen from his earlier use and your current desire, all twisted up and compounded ten fold with your jealousy. 

“So wet already for me, baby,” he coos at you. 

And oh, he’s so annoying, and you’re so embarrassing and weak for him. “Shut up, old man,” you whine. A single finger enters you slowly, rubbing up against all the terribly sensitive and swollen places inside of you, then pulls his wet fingers from you to deliver a single stinging swat to the curve of your ass, sticky wet imprint of yourself left behind. 

“Yeah, and this old man fucks you better than anyone else,” he slips his fingers gently back inside of you, “Remember that you little whore,” he says even more gently. The words make you twist and writhe, a terrible flush of lust burning through you. He feels you tighten around his fingers, groans appreciatively. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He twists his fingers inside of you, pressing hard against something that makes you feel like you’re about to wet yourself. You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head, refusing to answer. “No lyin’. You daddy’s little whore?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, your hips moving with the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. He brushes his thumb slowly over your pulsing clit, plays you like a game. 

“No?” His voice is so soft, so teasing. 

“I’m not your whore–”

“You’re not? Then what are you, baby? Tell me.”

You’re right there, so close, about to come on his fingers. “I'm your baby. I'm your baby. I’m yours– I belong to you, daddy.” He pulls his fingers from your cunt, hand coming to grip your ass cheek so hard it hurts, fingernails digging into your soft skin, dragging down the smooth surface. You can hear him panting behind you, shaking, trying to control himself. He makes a gruff, rough sound in his throat, gentles his grip on you. 

“You don’t think I don’t get fucking jealous?” he spits when he’s finally managed to control himself. “You think I don't think about you with my own son and want to die? That he got to have you in a way I never will, and even worse, wasted you? You don’t think it makes me sick with envy?” He brings his fingers back to play in your wet folds, feels the slick drip of you, thrums at your clit, opening you to him with a hand on your cheek and licking you from clit to asshole. Running the flat expanse of his tongue over the length of your sex and then sucking hard at the apex of nerves, hard enough that you can’t tell if it hurts or feels good or a little bit of both. He’s got you bent over the end of his bed facing the dresser so that you have a clear view of the two of you in the mirror above it. And the sight of him, massive frame crouched down behind you, huge and hulking, face buried in your cunt from behind, the curved slope of his nose, the long, thick lashes, eyes closed like he’s enjoying himself more than he’s ever enjoyed anything else in his entire life as he licks your ass and sucks on your clit. He pulls back, and you watch, almost in slow motion, as he shocks you by swatting your entire sex with his big hand, and then immediately brings his face back to lick and kiss your smarting skin. “But he didn’t fuck you the way you needed to be fucked,” he continues. “And I do. He didn’t understand you, but I do. At least I have that.” It sounds like he’s consoling himself, and you can’t help but find consolation in it as well. Your eyes move up to your own reflection, sweat slicked and tear stained, eyes glassy, wet fingers inside of your mouth because you need something to chew on to stand the terrible throbbing in your cunt on the verge of coming. He licks you again, presses his tongue to your asshole. “Did you ever get wet for him like this?” He pulls back, runs the pads of his fingers over your clit in fast, hard up and down motions, makes it feel so good it hurts, you’re right there, you’re right there, pulls away. “Were you ever desperate for him like this? Cunt all drippy and swollen and pathetic for him like you are for me, my sweet baby?”

Never, daddy. Never. Only you. You can’t lie to him when he’s got his tongue inside of you, it’s just not possible. Only me. Only mine. You press up on your tippy toes, roll back down onto the balls of your feet, “Yeah, rub that sweet pussy all over daddy’s face,” he mumbles into your skin, slurps at you. He wraps his lips around your clit once more, sucks and licks and sucks again, and your cunt goes so, so tight, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, daddy, and then just stops. Pulls away entirely, gets to his feet, leaves you to throb and shiver and beg, whole body flashing hot and cold on the precipice of orgasm. Still holding you pinned in place with your wrists at the small of your back, you watch his eyes roam along your draped form, he drags his hand down the wet length of his face, wiping the drippiness of your slick away. “Stay just like that for me,” and his eyes move to yours in the mirror, as if he’s known the entire time just how riveted on him you’d been. “What?” He asks with a crooked brow and a mean little smirk. “You think you get to come? After that little display?”

“Don’t be mean,” you whisper, staying exactly as he’d directed. Trying your best to be a good girl. 

“Shoulda thought of that before, sweet girl.” He bends over the length of you so you’re eye to eye now, gets his face right up close to yours and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You wanna pretend to fight, stand there like an indignant little girl stomping your foot and yellin’ about bein’ jealous while my come runs down your thighs still. Obviously, I’m not doin’ a good enough job of remindin’ you you’re mine, how much I want you. Gonna fix that now.” Presses another soft kiss to your mouth now. 

“You’re trying to dominate me,” you whine, struggling to press against his mouth again even as he pulls back out of your reach, plants a big palm between your shoulders to keep you still. 

“You bet your fuckin’ ass I am. You’re gonna do what I tell you to when you’re letting me fill you with my come the way you are. And you’re gonna like it too. You get me?”

“Yes, daddy.”

But then he goes serious, that teasing glint in his eyes flickering away suddenly. “You have nothing to be jealous of. Ever. I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t care about anything else but this.” And even though you’re sure it must be a lie, it sounds so lovely, you choose to believe him for now. You nod up at him, sniffling and crying again a little bit. “And no one takes care of you like I do,” he finally says, as if it’s a reminder, a consolation to the both of you once again. 

And he’s right, as he tells you to stay put, be a good girl and not move, leaves you there bent over the bed, that chant sounds in your mind, no one takes care of you like he does, no one, no one, no one. 

-

He steps back into his bedroom to the sight of you still draped over the bed, big eyes wet and slightly vacant, pussy red and swollen and bared to him like a wound with his name on it. You’d brought your fingers up to your mouth, chewing on your fingernails the way you did sometimes when you were anxious or overwhelmed, and when your eyes flit to him, taking in the bowl of warm water, the washcloth and shaving cream in his hold, they go wide, shocked. He arranges his things, gripping you by the hips to turn you over, pulling his shirt from you, leaving you entirely naked, and settling between your spread thighs. “Wh– what are you doing?” Voice all breathy and hitched, the thrum of your excited pulse in your throat. 

“Gonna shave you bare. Then I’m gonna eat you ‘til you’re crying, ‘til you’re so swollen you can barely take my fingers. After that, I’m gonna wedge my cock inside you and fuck you ‘til you’re so full’a my come you’ll remember not to forget you ain’t got no reason to be jealous ever again.” He strokes your curls gently with the pad of his thumb, something like fondness in the gesture, clicks his tongue. “These’re so pretty. Gonna miss ‘em.”

“Oh my god,” you choke when he drapes the water warmed washcloth over your spread pussy.

“You wanna be a brat, you wanna fight and act like you don’t know I belong to you and you to me? That none of that other shit matters– I’m gonna remind you, don’t worry.”

You crane your neck, pushing up on your elbows to watch him remove the washcloth and cover the soft curls of your groin with shaving cream. When he opens the blade and brings it to your skin, the sight of the straight edged blade against you, the smooth cream as the steel reveals the bare, satin soft skin beneath, has your chest heaving, sweat pooling at the little notch of your throat –  fucking gorgeous and his.

“You’re going to be so sensitive, baby,” he murmurs as he bends your leg back and opened wide, splitting you for his gaze. Delicate with the movements of his wrist as he shaves you. “All bare and slick down here, just for me. You’re so swollen already.”

You mumble something, moaning and letting yourself flop back against the mattress, he’s quick to pull the blade from you, pausing his movements while you settle, gives you a second to press the balls of your palms into the sockets of your eyes, whining Joel and daddy and please. And the trust in this moment between the two of you, that you’re letting him wield a blade so close to your fragile center, letting him do this to you as a way to remind the both of you of the power you cede and wield over and to one another, something that gives him the opportunity to inflict his will in a way that recenters you, reminds you that you’re his, his to do with you as he will, and it’s just the two of you in this space and you trust each other implicitly, it has a sense of control swelling inside of Joel, making his cock rock hard in his jeans, leak down his thigh. Control in a way there is none of in everything else between the two of you. Control in a way there cannot exist in any other aspect of your relationship. When he’s finished, he cleans you slowly with a new warm, damp cloth, then goes to put away his supplies, and when he returns, he looms over you, taking in the sight of your little bald cunt now. 

Slowly, he starts to pull his clothes off, watching the quick panting of your breathing, the dip and swell of your belly, so aroused by the intimacy you’ve just shared that your pupils are blown wide and dark. “You’ve made such a mess, little girl,” he says, dragging a single finger through your overflowing slit, following the slick from your swollen clit to your asshole where it pools beneath. He fingers your folds gently, avoiding your swollen clit, your little hole winking at him wantonly. “Please–” you whisper so softly, almost gasping for breath you can barely get the words out. 

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I know you need to come so bad, don’t you?” He drags his palms up and down your thighs, up to your waist and then tugs you down over the edge of the bed and onto your knees in front of him, wide eyes riveted hungry on his cock. “How does it feel? So sensitive, isn’t it?” He’s so hard his erection stands straight up towards his belly, balls hanging heavy and full and aching. He gently drags his fingers along your scalp, feels the heat emanating from your skull. “Lick it all over, get it nice and wet so I can put it inside you.” He knows he needs to be careful now. The two of you are wide open to each other in this moment, so on edge he could come just at the look in your eyes, and you, something more than just vulnerable. He’d worried briefly, in the past weeks, if he should stop, send you away, take himself away, tell you it was too much. You were getting too attached, and although he knew it was too late for himself, that he was beyond salvaging when it came to you, he could imagine nothing worse than seeing you come out hurt from this. Could also imagine no scenario in which you wouldn’t anymore. He feeds you his cock, fisted tightly at the root to stave off his impending orgasm, slides all the way to the back of your throat until he feels his tip hit resistance, enjoying the sight of you choking on it for just a second. Good girl. “Fuck– fuck, yes. See, see how good you can be for me?” He tells you as you suck on his tip, hollowing your cheeks and running your tongue all around the wide head, tonguing his foreskin, making him hiss and bear his teeth at you while you look up at him with falsely innocent eyes. He yanks you up and against him, gives you a filthy, wet kiss, all tongue and teeth and false control, swallowing down the taste of his own precum. He’s never felt less in control of himself, of a situation, than he does right now. He has, in these past weeks, entirely lost sight of himself, of what this should and should not have been, blindly led by his cock and his heart. He’s lost all control, and Joel is nothing but weakness and want now. 

Turning you in his arms, he sits at the edge of the bed, thighs spread wide and pulls you onto his lap, impaling you back onto his spit-slick cock so swiftly he doesn't even think you’re expecting it until he’s bumping against your womb, your knees hooked and spread wide over his own. Too desperate to lick your cunt again the way he’d planned. You let out a long, shocked keen, back arching, trying to escape the too big cock suddenly shoved inside of your tiny hole. Joel has to grit his teeth, take deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth before he can speak at the feel of you fluttering and pulsing around him, “The more you whine, the harder I’ll fuck you, got it?” There’s nothing even close to a coherent response coming out of your mouth, and he was right, shaved bare like this, you’re so much more sensitive. He pulls the lips of your sex gently apart around where he’s impaling you, takes in the sight of your little hole stretched obscenely around his fat cock in the mirror’s reflection and slowly starts to seesaw his hips back and forth, watching his glossy length disappear in and out of you. “How does it feel, baby? You’re so pretty, look at yourself.” He whispers into the small shell of your ear, presses a soft kiss to the lobe, tugs on it with his teeth. He slides in all the way, pulling your hips down so that his balls press against the curve of your ass. “Look, see where daddy’s so deep inside you – can see it in your belly.” Your head lolls back on his shoulder, gaze hooded and delirious, but your hand moves down to the soft skin of your stomach, gently cupping the outline of his cock inside of you. “I’m so deep inside of your tiny cunt, baby. Look at how you’re all mine–” He starts to move again, flicking at your clit, interchanging between fast and hard and slow and so soft you can barely feel it, and your face looks like you want to say something, tell him something, scream, but can’t. And there’s so much he’d like to tell you too, all the things you deserve and probably need to hear from him, but can’t either. He feels you start to tighten up on him, the heat in your body suddenly seeming to flush higher and brighter, almost to boiling, your cunt going so, so tight it almost pushes him out. He presses inside harder, holds you in place with one hand, and thrums fast and hard at your clit with the other, focusing the tip of his cock at the front wall of your pussy, “You’re gonna come–” he grunts, holds you in place and hammers into that swollen place inside of you he’d kill to own for the rest of his life. “Fuck– fuck, you’re gonna squirt all over my cock, aren’t you? Can feel it–” Your face spasms, your belly clenching hard and tight, and you gush, letting out a pained, animal sound, voice broken and breathless, wetting both of your thighs with your come, the bed covers beneath soaked dark. Joel doesn’t stop. He wants more, again, all of you, thrums again at your clit with the pads of his fingers, changes the angle of your hips to roll you fast and hard onto his come-slicked length, pinches your clit hard, watches you squirt all over him again. Something like the sound of his name leaves your mouth in a broken cry, your chewed raw nails trying to claw at him ineffectively. “Dirty fucking girl – creamin’ all over your daddy’s cock,” his voice is gruff, not entirely his own. There’s something here – you’d told him once you’d always felt out of control. In your relationship with Sam, aware of what he was, always, of what you were and were not, and that there was something about control that was so necessary to you now. And there is something here like control, your control over him, taking hold of him entirely so he’s unsure of what it is he should and should not be, here and now, with you. He should not be delusional, he should be aware. He is not adhering to either very well. 

He goes to his feet with you still impaled on his throbbing length, erection so hard it hurts, can barely stand up straight, blood pounding on rhythm to the chant of your name. He pulls you from him, watches the slick slide of your cunt walls dragging along his length, the cream of your slick left as a reminder all over his skin. He presses you onto the bed, rolls you this way and that too look at you all over, bends to drag his tongue through that drippy cunt of yours that squirts and comes so prettily for him, then back up and kneeling above you, between your glossy thighs, and thrusting into that tight cunt, grunting as you clench around him. So hard he feels the screaming tip of his cock punch against your cervix, listens to you make a hurt, hiccupy sound when his balls slap against you.

He should be gentle. He should be careful. He should be aware, not delusional, himself. He should reach back and take hold of that man he always thought himself to be, hard and cold but never cruel. Maybe not good, but always aware and never weak. He’s none of those things now here with you. Joel is now only himself. You’ve made me into a real person, you’d whispered onto his tongue. What he’d not told you was that you’d done the same to him. 

You’re a gift, a gift, a gift, a gift. A gift in the way his son never was. A gift in the way that a whole lifetime lost and returned to him never was, and Joel is weak and two feet tall and made of paper, but for you. Anyways, or despite it all, still made only for you. 

“Fuck me like you’re in love with me,” you say, read his mind, take hold of the beating mass in his chest. Fuck me like you’re in love with me. And maybe you don’t mean it. Maybe you’re too far gone. It doesn’t matter.

He does it anyway. Pulls back, wedges back inside the too swollen, too sensitive, too tiny cunt that belongs to him. He bears his teeth at you, grabs hold of your face so hard you’ll bruise, and fucks you like he’s in love with you. It comes to him so easily, after all. 

Shoving his knees high up beneath your thighs, he brings your ankles to his shoulders, little feet knocking against his ears, he wishes for sense, he finds none, only a deeper, sharper angle. The sounds of your cries and the things you whisper in his ear he knows you should not say and he should not listen to that fill him full of things he should not feel like I was made for you and daddy, there’s no one like you and come inside me, please, please, I need it. He pulls his hips back, swings them forward, listens to the sound of his balls slap, and you beg for harder, savors the fire that pools in his belly and the base of his spine. And he thinks that he should pull out, he’s been so fucking careless with you and your future and your vulnerability, but he’s like a monster full of greed, intent on nothing but staking his claim, leaving a claim, desperate for a way to be remembered or never forgotten or never left behind. “We have to be careful,” he begs you, and feels scared and terrible for a moment, not to be trusted with a gift like this in his hands. “I’m going to get you fucking pregnant, God.”

But you’re like some siren, something taking him away from himself, and you tell him, “I don’t care, I don’t care,” voice gone so far away from yourself too, all hazy, full of bubbles and too cock drunk to be true or sane, but it lands like a gut punch anyway. And Joel tries to hold onto himself he does, he swears he does, tries to remain rational, and aware of what this was supposed to be and not supposed to be. Tells you to please, “Shut up, shut up. Please, don’t say those things to me, I’m begging you.” But eventually that siren song wins out, the feel of your cunt sucking him deeper, milking him dry, your small damp hands pulling at his hair, stubby nails dragging down the skin of his cheeks, over his back, and Joel’s weak now. Weak and full of want and greed and delusion so that all that’s left is capitulation and: “You want daddy to fuck his babies into you? You want me to fill you up and keep you forever?” But something of himself must remain because he covers your mouth, big hand wrapped around your sweaty little face before you can answer, forcing the words silent inside of your mouth, the truth you both know you’d spit out otherwise. Yes, yes, I do. And as if the idea of you carrying his child held a direct like to your orgasm, you start to come around him, overwhelmed cunt, split in two and carved in the shape of his name now, clenching around him, going so wet and hot and tight Joel’s sure he’ll never be able to leave it ever again. You reach down between the two of you, grasp the half of his cock outside of your wet clutch, shiny with your slick and jack him off with sharp little tugs, make sure he fills you with his spend full to the brim. He spills over and out, dribbles down the slope of your ass to leave you lying in a little puddle of his semen, and when he pulls out, careful to not ask you to hold all of his weight over you, he brings your fingers to your gaping cunt, “Feel where daddy’s been,” lets you play in the imprint of himself he’s left behind. 

He lays beside you, steaming hot little thing worming up against him, nuzzling beneath his chin, pressing tiny kisses that tell him all the things the both of you need to hear and say, and he feels himself go cool and dry inside and out. Something terrible suddenly swelling within him. Something that reeks of truth, and you must smell it in the air as well because you share a piece of your own painful honesty with him, force him to confront it. “Sometimes I think I’m impossible to love,” in the smallest voice he’s surely ever heard. 

“Haven’t I shown you how untrue that is?” Because if there’s one thing he’ll never do with you, it’s lie.

You tuck your hand beneath your cheek, and you glow, and he feels blinded by it for a moment, eyes wide and so vulnerably tender, something afraid that makes something equally vulnerable inside of him rage and beat its chest. “Is that what this is? Are we in love, Joel?”

He thinks you must see the fear in his eyes, because yours suddenly go calm, fathomless, something steady for him to hold on to, and that stench of honesty chokes him. “Yeah–” he nods, swallows, thinks of his son, hates himself. “I think so, baby.”

-

What can remain the same after honesty like that? After splitting yourself open and showing each other your insides in such a way? What could possibly remain the same? Nothing. The truth is laid bare, and all that’s left now. And instead of setting you free, the truth never really sets you free, it makes everything terribly fraught and frightened and fragile. 

When he moves to stand, the sound of your desperation for him to make you his in an irreversible way rings like exploding shrapnel in your ears, “Do you think we’re bad?” You ask because you’ve only ever wanted to be good, but his eyes are so haunted, large and round and fathomless. His face, taking on a sudden sort of gauntness as he thinks of what to say to you after the worst has already been said. You watch the line of his throat ripple as he swallows several times, reading the real truth in his eyes before he shakes his head slowly, incongruous like a lie, “Never you,” and he does not include himself, “Never you.” It’s devastating. Devastating that the only thing that’s ever mattered, the thing that has finally made you good, is bad in his eyes. 

You sit at the kitchen table, watching him while he makes dinner for you. Cold and shivery and wet between your legs in a way that’s not comfortable anymore. In a way that feels like an essential part of you is slowly dripping out, leaving you grossly empty inside. The beautiful dinner he’d bought and made for you tastes like ash wrapped in all the honesty surrounding the two of you, and you stare at each other and there's no need for more words because the truth is all right here in front of the two of you to see with your own two eyes. You want to go get dressed, but you don’t want to call attention to the seed of wrongness that’s been planted now. Are we in love? When the answer had so obviously been yes for so long already. Naive, silly girl. And you want to be angry with him. Ask him why he’d done this to you, made you fall in love with him when he’d said before that you couldn’t, when it was all so hopeless. You also want to hear him say it, say the words out loud with teeth and tongue and sound, you want to taste the words in your mouth because seeing them in his eyes wrapped in all that hopelessness isn’t nearly enough to satiate this hunger he’s stoked inside of you. You want to ask him to hold you, to crawl into his lap and have him cradle you like a child protected in the embrace of stronger, wiser arms. You want to have never been put on this path, to have never met his son, never have married him, never have met him. You want the whole terrible ordeal to be wiped from mind and mouth and memory. You want to have not had to accept it all, not have moved on, not be grateful in ways you can’t even understand for the lesson it’d all posed. You want it all to have never happened. To never have experienced the entire convoluted mess of feelings this ordeal of tearing down your entire life to make yourself anew had caused. To have never fallen in love with your ex-husbands father. 

He sits in his chair, hands cupping his chin for so long, silent and staring, probably wondering what to do with you, and when he finally stands, nothing but a long, pained sigh to interrupt the terrible silence, you finally muster the strength to go find that missing bra. Crawl home, once again a ghoul in the night in need of wound licking. And it must be that very same terrible silence, the even more terrible look in his eyes that has something pressurized, set to burst, bottled inside of you because when a knock on the door sounds once again, you don’t even stop for half a thought, exploding suddenly. In his clothes and come, ripping the door open, the words on your tongue ready to spit at her that he’s already got one desperate woman on his hands that needs taking care of, and no, he will not be fixing her dishwasher or her pussy or anything else she thinks she might need him for. 

But it’s not the neighbor. And you have nothing but fear lodged in your throat to spit out when you meet his eyes. 

Eyes like his father’s, colder, crueler, furious and humiliated, take you in. Just fucked hair and a flannel that’s not your own, mis-buttoned, come-dryed thighs. And worst of all, his voice, like he isn’t even that surprised, like he’d come here just to find this, “You fucking whore.”

“Sam–” you’re not sure if you actually say his name, but the intention is held there, on the tip of your tongue. A plea for mercy or a shout for help or protection or something. 

“You fucking whore,” and you flinch at the scream in his throat, scuffle back into the safety of the house of the man you love who is the father of the man you were married to, the man who broke you, the betrayed son. He’s shocked still for a single second, before he’s charging at you, fist not entirely raised but definitely held with consideration. And, “I knew it, I always fucking knew it,” before Joel is there, stepping between you and your ex-husuband, his son, blocking you with his body, big hand wrapping entirely around your forearm to hold you close to himself, to hold you in his protection. 

“You better put your fucking arm down before I break it, son.” That moment, Joel’s voice, the utter betrayal in his son’s eyes. The sound of you breaking something that you should have never ever gotten in between. It is worse than all the rest. You take him in, the sight of this man who you used to be married to, he’d always seemed so large in your eyes before, so unattainable. Something never to be fully touched, only gazed upon. Always apart, always cold. Sam’s eyes fall to the place where his father holds you, and his face spasms, something terrible. Broken and alone, a child cast out into the cold. And you want to say that he seems so different now, haggard and gaunt and whittled down to bare bones, but it isn’t the truth. You always knew what he was, your most terrible bit of honesty. You always knew, you’d just not cared before. There was never any separation, no space for you to take a breath and want better for yourself. To be under his scrutiny, something that at one time felt like admiration, but was never anything even close, it was like nothing else, like everything, a great lie. But he was too aware of it, of himself, of that power he held over you, and unlike his father, he was cruel with it. Your eyes move up to the back of Joel’s head, the hard edge of his jaw, the muscle that spasms furiously there. What would it do to you now to be under that same sort of attention, influence, admiration, but from a kinder, gentler, honest source? What had it done to you? Dangerous to risk yourself again, impossible to stop now. 

“I always knew it,” he says again, “I always knew you wanted him. What? You let him fuck you?” The words in his mouth are a terrible thing, Joel says something, tells him to hold his tongue, to get the fuck out, but your eyes are riveted on the sight of his face, this man you used to be married to who’d broken you so completely, who’d stolen your very memory of yourself. He seems wholly unrecognizable now, and in a way, it frightens you, that someone you’d known for what seemed like so long could be such a stranger now. Joel’s hand is an anchor, such a comfort wrapped around your arm. “You barely let me touch you for two years, but you’ll bend over like a whore for my fucking Dad?” His voice breaks and it makes you want to laugh a little bit. 

Joel shoves him backward, jerking you forward still in his hold. “Say that word one more time in my house, and I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you. And don’t fucking look at her,” he snaps, reaching up to give him a quick two tapped slap on the cheek to focus his gaze on himself. “Get out, Sam. I’ll call you later. We can–”

But unheeded or too far gone, like he needs to hear the sound of the words as a comfort to himself in this moment, Sam looks back at you, “You’re a fucking whore. I wish I’d never met you, I hate you.” Joel shoves him backwards again, harder this time so that his leg slams into the side table, overturning the lamp there into a crashing heap on the floor, so hard that when he pulls you with him it feels as if he’ll wrench your shoulder from its socket with the force of his anger. You yelp in pain, but cling to him anyways, refusing to let him go either, hiding behind the hill of his shoulder. Pushing his son away, not letting you go. It’s wrong, it’s wrong and you’d told him that you wanted to keep him, to take him away from his own son, that you were made of nothing but greed, but there’s something wrong here, inherently not right, bad. 

And even yet, you can’t help the look on your face that must surely be nothing short of humiliating to Sam for the way he reddens, the little muscles in his face jerking uncontrollably. You’re done here, Sam. Get the fuck out, Joel says again, taking a step forward to herd him out, pulling you along, keeping you close. You taunt him with your gaze, can’t help yourself, “I thought I was a prude?” You say from behind the protection of his father’s body. “Isn’t that what you called me for all those years? Thought I was frigid, unfuckable, unlovable? Am I not anymore?” You ask in a small, breathy voice, falsely guileless, entirely provoking. “Have you changed your mind now that I’ve taken your Daddy from you?” False pout and mocking eyebrow.

Joel’s head snaps over his shoulder, incredulous look on his face, and Sam flinches as if struck, splintered glass in the shape of his son’s gaze, it fractures, falls back to where Joel holds you.“I wanted to talk to you,” He says to his father, “I wanted to– You’re really choosing her over me?” It costs Sam something to say this, and you weren’t expecting it either because suddenly, the game changes. His voice is child-like in its hurt, that son who longed for his father for all those years. “After everything that was stolen from us, you’re not going to choose me?” You know in that moment, he’s won. 

“This isn’t about choice, son,” Joel tells him, but you hear it for the lie it is. “This isn’t about you versus her.”

“But it is,” and his eyes flash to yours, victory held in them. “She was my wife. And you’re my father, and you have to make a choice now. This is fucking sick.” There’d always been an intelligence to his cruelty, and he wields it now. The sound of his son’s name is a choked thing in Joel’s mouth. He goes rigid, a painful stillness, muscles vibrating with warring emotions. You hold your breath for it. He looks down at where he holds you, tightens his grip painfully, and then slowly, so that the three of you are sure to take in the whole procession of it, he lets go of your arm. One finger at a time, the heat of his palm leaving you, and you’re alone. 

“It isn’t about choice,” he says again, and yet, one has already been made. You stand still, head bent, gaze riveted on the place where he’d let you go. He takes a step away from you, towards his son, and his voice is low and gentle and soothing now, and you’re still staring at the barrenness of your arm.

I had such potential to be good, you think. He just never saw it. But you don’t know who you mean. And you don’t think it matters anymore. 

They say more to each other. Joel’s hand on his son’s arm now, pushing him towards the door, but still, still comforting for the thing it symbolizes, a benediction of choice, and you turn around to face the other side of the room. You can’t look – wrapping your arms around yourself. You don’t think you’ll run this time. Face it head on, let it be over now in full. Sam’s voice rings shrill, the sound of your name and curses and accusations, fighting a futile fight against his father’s even baritone, the sound of the slamming door, and then silence. When you turn back over your shoulder, they’ve stepped outside together, leaving you alone inside the house. 

He’d asked you once what you wanted, and you can’t fathom what the point of it had been. What does it matter what I want? That’s the least significant thing here. It always was. 

When he finally comes back inside, you’re dressed, lost bra retrieved, your bag packed and sitting at your feet. You’d gone into the kitchen just before, taken a peek at the pie, and you were right, and you don’t know how he could have possibly known, but he’d gotten you rhubarb. Your face is dry now, no tears and no will to cry. There’s nothing to speak of in his gaze when he leans back against the door to look at you, swallowing down words you’re sure will mean nothing in the face of all of this. And you look at him and you love him and you think, I was married to a man once and now I’m not and now I’m with his father and I love him in the way I never loved the son; and so now, I must ask myself, am I merely looking for the love of lesser man, who could have never given me what I needed, in the eyes of a man who seems to have all the answers? 

You don’t think so. And yet, there are still no answers to be had, and no questions left to ask. 

“I’m going this time,” In case he has designs to force you to stay, and even though there’s a light of acceptance in his eyes, he still shakes his head. Swallows and gathers his seams about himself before he says, “You aren’t leaving me,” gaze churning from warry to flinty to resolved. 

“I was never supposed to stay at all. I was never supposed to be for you. You said so yourself– you said we couldn’t fall in love. That I wasn't for you.” You get to your feet, pulling your purse over your shoulder, and he rushes towards you, pushing the bag back down to the floor, taking your face in his hands hard, something like panic in his eyes and in the air and in the vibration of his voice.

“It doesn’t matter, none of that matters– Whatever was before, whatever was in the past doesn’t mean shit when it’s just you and me here together–” And you’re crying now, real, great sobs of grief. 

“You were the one that said we couldn’t fall in love,” you cry again, try and pull away, but he holds you to himself, squeezes you against him, shivers like he too is crying, burying his face in your shoulder. 

“I was a fucking idiot, a damn liar. There was never any other option, baby.” Most terrible of terrible truths, you’d both known if for the lie it was the moment he’d said it, even before, probably. You stand limply in the circle of his embrace. He’d said once that he’d been a coward not to go out and look for you, but you know the opposite is true. No one is more of a coward than you were for not having waited for him. For having been so desperate for love, you’d been willing to settle for the wrong kind. You’ll never be able to settle for false comfort like that again, and it’s all his fault. “You’ve ruined me now. I’m ruined.”

He pulls back to take your face in his hands again, and you were right, he is crying. “I’m ruined! And I need you to give me another chance. I demand another chance– to… to fix this. To–”

But another chance for what? To change what? “He’s your son, and I only want you to be happy.” And you know he couldn’t ever be happy, truly happy, estranged from his only child. After all, like he’d said, the theft of him had been the worst thing ever done. You wouldn’t commit a crime like that against Joel also, never. 

“Baby, please, I think… I– I love–”

“Please–” You press the tips of your fingers to his mouth, silencing him. “Please, don’t do this to me now.” It makes you angry, this intent of his to trap you here with his love when there’s no room for you to stay. You turn away, picking up your bag again, but he snatches you back into himself, wrapping his big arms around your waist, crushing you against his chest. And you’d struggle if you could, but there’s so little fight left in you. “You’re the one that said – you said we couldn’t!”

“I know what I fucking said,” he spits, voice so angry it almost frightens you. “But there’s still– We have to talk, we have to–”

“What can you possibly imagine there’s left to say?”

“Everything.”

“Or nothing.”

“Look at me. Look at me–” He pulls your head back and to the side by your chin. There’s a bright flush sitting high on his cheekbones, and his eyes shift quickly back and forth between yours, searching for a way to fix this. To fix the good thing that’s now been broken. His thumb strokes the point of your chin softly, and he presses his mouth slowly to yours, eyes open to watch for your reaction. “This wasn’t a mistake,” he tells you, “We weren’t a mistake.” Weren’t. The final nail in the coffin. “I know, I know that there are so many things– that we can’t… but just– just stand here with me for one minute, please. Just give me one more second, and I’ll–”

He doesn’t finish the thought, and you let him kiss you one last time. And when he pulls back, because it doesn’t feel like it really matters, and because you just want to hear the sound of it coming out of your mouth, because you wish it was true and not the complete opposite, because you want to be as cruel and ugly outside as you feel on the inside, you whisper, “I hate you,” a full bodied lie. 

His eyes shutter and flicker for a moment, a wash of hurt suffusing them. But because he’s never been a weak man and because he’s always been honest, and he’s always, always above everything else, been good, he says, “And I love you,” and there it is. You’d thought you wanted to hear the sound of that too, but now that you have, it’s more terrible than you could have ever possibly imagined. And after that, there really is nothing left to say. 

-

Joel goes to see his brother afterwards because it’s what he always does and who he always goes to when he’s lost. When a son in the shape of a man made of nothing but childish fear and anger and hurt, had appeared one day, dropped out of the blue sky, onto his front porch, when he realized he wanted his daughter-in-law in a way no good man should. And now, that he’s admitted, because the realization had already been there, swift and uncompromising, the admittance had been all that was left, the hard going part, that he was in love with you – in love with the woman who had been married to his son, here he finds himself again. Lost and weak and two feet tall, made of nothing but hollow bones. “I’m not myself,” he tells Tommy, and then amends the lie because he’s not come here to tell lies. “She’s made me into someone I don’t recognize and wish I could be forever.” How would he get his old self back now? Impossible. You’d taken him away with you, he was only half made now, half man, half strength. And Tommy is understanding because it has always only been the two of them, and he’s always seen Joel for exactly who he is without judgement. The most honest eyes in the whole world, his brother. “I'm afraid that she’s the love of my life. I’m afraid that I’m not really so afraid at all. And she won’t even talk to me.” You’d left his house a week and a day ago, and Joel was going out of his mind, losing pieces of himself along the way, his sanity, his sense of right and wrong, his self restraint, self possession. He was about to do something crazy, he felt it gnawing and itching at his bones. He could barely remember the look of betrayal in his own son’s eyes amidst the madness of the memory of the hurt in yours, the sight of you walking away from him. “And my son. My son, my child, Tommy, he hates me. And I’m in love with the woman he used to be married to, who he hurt. And he’s a cruel and small man, and he needs me. He needs my help, and I have a responsibility to him. But Tommy– Tommy, I love her. She’s mine. And what am I going to do? What am I going to say to him? How will I ever face him again? She’s mine, and I– I can’t explain it, I can’t excuse it. But she’s mine– she’s my woman. She belongs to me. I know this as well as I know my own name, my own face.”

And his brother, his brother, his brother who always understands him, who always stands beside him, he claps him on the shoulder and says, “If anyone can find a way, Joel, it’s you. I know you can. You’re stronger and smarter than anyone I’ve ever known. And you don’t abandon yours.” And so Joel must believe him because Tommy is his brother, and he knows him, and he knows that even though he’s weak now, even if he must let himself be weak now, in the face of all of this, Joel is not truly a weak man where it counts. 

-

You and Sam had only ever spoken once on the topic of children. It was, from the first moment broached, a non possibility, not even half of an option. Devastating, but now, all this time later, almost like a grace from God. You’d wanted a baby so badly, more than anything in the whole world, and he would not give you one. He’d said your desire for a child was incongruous with your cold nature, how frigid you were. 

And you’d been so long, caught in the who am I, in the what am I doing. You never stopped to ask why. Molded into a bad shape, but mute and deaf to the intricacies of what had carved you so. You’d needed to destroy yourself entirely, tear down everything around yourself, and then recreate yourself and everything else in your life in a new image. Perhaps, then, you’d finally have the chance to be good.

Your husband’s father had given you this. Joel had given you this. 

And Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel. How to tell him that you’re sorry? That you’re vile and cruel and yes, even cold sometimes, but for him, for him you can find it in yourself to be soft, something to be forgiven, you hope. His son had called you a prude, and then, his father’s whore. Did it matter what the truth was? You weren’t so sure. Did you want Joel because you were a whore? Because your own father had never loved you, and you were thus desperate to fill that void left by lesser, crueler men? Did it matter? You hated the idea that this desire for him had to have been born by consequence of another man. What about what you wanted? What about the fact that it felt good when he was inside of you? When he gave it to you rough and hard and when he told you that you belonged to him because you did, because it was the truth. What about the fact that you were in love with him? That should have counted more because you said it counted more. And then that was it, nothing more to the thing of it. So what if he was the father of the man who’d been your husband? The man who’d stolen all of your surety, your passion, yourself. Sometimes, retribution feels fucking good. So what about it? And then, and after all, you were in love with him. So what did it all matter after that? 

People liked to say that sometimes a bad thing is worth it if it feels good enough. But what if you didn't think it was bad at all, and what if it didn’t just feel good enough? What if it’s actually everything, the best thing you’d ever had in your whole life? And what if it is simply and solely, or maybe even also, who cares, who cares, what if it is simply because it’s Joel? Joel who is beautiful and strong and good. Maybe even perfect in a way that you need. 

He’d told you once that he’d never had the chance to be angry, that it had been stolen from him, the worst thing ever done to me, he’d said. You know that you could never do that to him. Never hurt him in that way. And there might be so many options. Choices. Truths. Yourself. Finally, you are only yourself. Good in the way he’d shown you to be. In a way that did not bow to anything but the sort of goodness you needed. But Joel; above all else, Joel. He is the first choice, and everything else seems inconsequential after that. What is goodness worth in the face of all he’s given you? 

So, you sit now, within the basin of your empty bathtub, no more leaky kitchen sink echoing through your empty apartment, he’d fixed it weeks ago, and peer over the lip of the tub. And there, blinking up at you from the face of the skinny pink and white stick, is your answer to goodness. It had always been within yourself. And you think, if it must be just the two of us now, then let it. After all, your father has finally taught me how to be good. 

End.

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[taevbears]

To Be Loved - 04

There may be something there that wasn't there before.

⤑ pairing: namjoon x reader (a bit of reader x ot7) ⤑ genre: hybrid au, romance, hurt/comfort ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 6.7k ⤑ warnings: the boys are still kinda mean and very guarded around the reader, slow burn, very brief mentions of toxic relationships and bullying, mentions of physical abuse, implied violence, Epik High name drop lol, cliffhanger ending ⤑ note: first post of 2024! hope you guys had a great start to the new year. this story is just about wrapping up now, but i'm also ready to move onto new projects that i want to release this year. hope you guys enjoy, and comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated! :)

Chapters 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 (End)

When it rains, your life is at a standstill. Time moves so slowly, so seamlessly, the days start to blur together. The grey skies, the endless rain, the muddy roads, and the thick fog that surrounds the gloomy forest. They are a constant that you can’t escape from.

The old manor, tucked away in the deep forest – far from any traveling paths and roads – appears to be stuck in time. And you feel like you’re stuck with it.

How long has it been since you arrived at the manor? A few days? A week? Two weeks?

With a sigh, you look away from the water gently knocking against your window and muster the courage to get out of bed. Cold air strikes you once you’ve come out of your blanket cocoon, and you try not to shudder as you walk barefoot around your bedroom.

By now, you’ve memorized what parts of the floor creak loudly, and you’re careful to avoid those areas, only crossing them slowly and quietly if necessary. Still, even if you’ve successfully finished your morning routine without a sound, he waits by your door.

“Little human, are you sure you’re not afraid of us?”

You catch your breath, but only for a second. Every morning, the bear hybrid waits in front of your bedroom as you’re waking up with a grumpy but determined look on his face. As if he absolutely refuses to go to bed until you answer his question.

“Good morning,” you start, blinking at him as you calm yourself down. He arches an eyebrow at you. “No, I’m not afraid of you.”

Taehyung holds your gaze, reading your face, looking for any subtle tell that you’re not being honest with him. You steel yourself as best as you can under the intensity of his stare, focusing on one of the moles on his pretty face.

Then, when satisfied, he nods his head. His mouth forms into a straight line, making his cheeks rise a bit in what you think might be a smile. Then, he saunters off down the hallway without another word.

You release the breath you’ve been holding.

The first time Taehyung did this was the morning after Namjoon showed you his private garden in the greenhouse. He scared the shit out of you, leaning against the doorframe as soon as you opened the door, just like when you had first met him. And he seemed to doubt you when you had stuttered out that you, in fact, don’t find him to be terrifying.

“I should get used to this,” you mumble to yourself, closing the door behind you.

Breakfast seems to depend on who is awake to make it. Sometimes, Seokjin is up in the early morning and has already started cooking by the time you and the other hybrids come down the stairs. Sometimes, Yoongi already has it prepared before his nocturnal instincts kick in and makes him want to sleep all day. Sometimes, it’s Hoseok and Jimin in the kitchen together, but one of them dances and entertains the other, riling up contagious giggles and distractions from the task at hand.

“Can I help with anything?” you offer when you see the two together.

Hoseok visibly flinches when he hears your voice, still a bit nervous when you’re around. But at least he doesn’t avoid you anymore. It’s as if he’s accepted that you’re inevitably stuck with each other. At least, until the storm passes.

“No, no, you’re a guest,” Jimin reminds you, flapping his black wing to shoo you away. “Just pull up a chair and relax. We’ll have this ready shortly.”

With that said, the two turn back to their tasks. Jimin tends to the fish he’s frying over a pan and Hoseok diligently cuts some vegetables. No resumed laughter or conversations while you awkwardly linger with uncertainty.

You know they mean well. You know that Namjoon had talked to them about treating you nicely while you’re staying with them. But you’re starting to feel like a burden. Restless. Useless. They don’t let you lift a finger with any of the house chores, even if you want to help out to show your consideration and appreciation.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind,” you try again.

Jimin’s shoulders tense a bit. You think he’s starting to get irritated. He doesn’t look at you as he repeats, “It’s fine. You’re a guest.”

It’s not until after you leave the kitchen when you hear their voices chatting again.

If anyone were to look for you, they’d find you in the old manor’s library.

There, they’d see you uncovering the written secrets and adventures within its vast collections of stories. You spend most of your day there, wrestling with a blanket as you switch from one comfortable position to another on the large sofa, so engulfed with your book that you don’t pay attention to anything else.

Not the way that time fleetingly drifts from morning to the late afternoon.

Not the way the sound of rain and the rumble of thunder begin to lull you to sleep.

Not the pair of glowing eyes that catches you napping mid-story, blanket slipping off you and onto the floor.

The next thing you know, you wake up to find that the book you’ve been reading has been placed on the table, the corner of the page turned to hold your place. The blanket that was partially covering you is now completely pulled over you, snuggly tucking you in beneath its warmth.

Someone was taking care of you while you were asleep. But as you look around, you see no one else in the room.

Sometimes, Jungkook drags you out of the library and brings you into the gaming room instead. There are a variety of board games, puzzles, and video games to play together, and all of them are addictively fun. No doubt, this is easily one of Jungkook’s favorite parts of the manor.

It also happens to be Seokjin’s favorite spot as well.

You see the wolf hybrid sitting straight on the couch, face stoic as he mutters under his breath, thick eyebrows drawn together in concentration as his fingers rapidly fidgets with the buttons and joysticks of the controller. His pointy ears twitch slightly when he hears you and Jungkook come in, but he doesn’t look away from the screen, too focused on what his character is doing.

Jungkook pulls out a puzzle for you two to do together, dumping all the tiny pieces onto the table. The two of you work in relative silence to put it together, but a question keeps lingering in your mind.

“Hey Jungkook, have you been tucking me in when I nap?”

From your peripheral vision, Seokjin’s ear swivels toward you. The movement of his hands still as a red flush starts to color the back of his neck.

“No,” he replies, a bit surprised. “Why?”

You frown a little. If not Jungkook, then who?

“No reason.”

On the rare occasion you’re not in the library or with Jungkook, you find yourself wanting to stretch out your legs and wander around the old manor.

There’s a timeless charm about it all. You imagine the previous owners lived like kings and queens here, throwing extravagant and lavish parties and banquets. An orchestra of music lively plays from the grand ballroom, and an incredible feast is on display with the finest plates and utensils. You imagine the guests dressed in their best suits and ball gowns, a variety of rich colors filling into the manor to dance the night away.

As you explore bits of the manor, you feel a pair of eyes watch you from the shadows. The same pair of resentful, glowing eyes that have been quietly observing you ever since you found yourself here.

You can always tell when he’s nearby. The room gets quieter. You become self-aware of each breath you take, the way your body tenses under the penetrating gaze, of the nervous flutter in your heart as every fiber of your being tells you to run.

And usually, you would. The moment you feel the discomfort crawling beneath your skin, you listen to your instincts and walk right back out of the room you entered.

But today, you face the shadows of the room. The panther hybrid that silently eyes you in the darkness.

You told Taehyung this morning that you weren’t afraid of them, right? And cutting through this room is the fastest way to get to where you want to go.

With a brave face, you lower your gaze from the panther and bow slightly in greeting. “Hello, Yoongi. I’m just passing through.”

In the darkness, the pair of eyes widens a bit. It’s the first time you’ve talked to him since you arrived at the manor. The first time you even acknowledged him.

Had your gaze lingered a little longer, perhaps you would’ve seen it. But you briskly walk across the room to exit, muttering an apology beneath your breath for disturbing him.

By evening, after leisure activities and daily housework around the manor are done, everyone is gathered for dinner. Each night is something a little different: hot stews and soups, rice bowls and stir-fry with vegetables and protein, marinated meat and seafood. There’s always plenty of side dishes as well, and always something to satiate each of the hybrid's cravings for certain food.

For the first few nights, there’s still an awkward tension in the air as you and Jungkook sit with the pack. Everyone's a little quieter, shifting glances with each other in wordless conversations. You feel like the elephant in the room, hard to be unnoticed and yet something no one really wants to address.

Except Namjoon.

Across the table, Namjoon would ask you how your day was, looking at you as if you’re the only person in the room with him. He’d ask about the books you read that day, what your favorite parts are, if you’ve seen the movie adaptation. And one of the hybrids – namely Jimin, Taehyung, or Jungkook – would comment how they didn’t realize there was a book version and ask about the differences from the original.

If you mentioned a game with Jungkook that you played that day, Namjoon would proudly state that he’s quite good at puzzles and riddles, and challenges you to a round next time. And the other hybrids – Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok this time – would roll their eyes and grumble about how he is undefeated.

Even if you tell him that you slept most of the day and did absolutely nothing productive, Namjoon would still smile and tell you that rest is important. That he’s happy you feel comfortable sleeping well in the manor. He’d ask you if you had any good dreams, and listen to them even if it’s just the most mundane thing you could barely remember.

And you can’t help but think about how Kangdae never asks you questions like this.

Kangdae never bothered to ask about your day, how you’ve been, what you’re up to. So much of your relationship with him revolved around what he wants, what his plans are. It didn’t matter how you felt about them, as long as he got his way.

Yet, Namjoon seems to want to know everything about you. Your hobbies, your interests, what you like to do throughout the day, what you dream of.

It’s… different from what you’re used to. But it’s not entirely unwelcome either.

Like Taehyung, Namjoon has a question to ask you. Every night after dinner, as the other hybrids begin to clear away their plates and put their leftovers away, Namjoon comes up to you and inquires, “Would you like to spend the evening with me?”

Shyly, as your heart seems to flutter each time he does, you answer, “Of course.”

Stuck in the manor, and with the ongoing storm still strong, your options are rather limited. 

Sometimes, he takes you to his greenhouse again where you can see the slow progress of his little garden. Sometimes, you’d take him up on his challenge and try to beat him in a puzzle or game. Sometimes, it’s a quiet evening where the two of you are reading books side by side, or watching a movie until you end up falling asleep, and you’d wake to find his arm protectively around you, holding you close. Sometimes, the night is full of laughter and chatter as the two of you share a bottle of wine by the fireplace and talk for hours about life, music, art, and whatever comes to mind, and realizing that he’s such an easy person to talk to.

Despite the circumstances, you enjoy hanging out with him. A lot more than you ever thought you would.

There’s something sweet and kind about Namjoon. He’s incredibly smart and humble, his down-to-earth personality helps him see the beauty of life, art, and passion in ways that are almost philosophical. He has very admirable traits that unveils the more you get to know him, yet he still keeps his certain secrets close to his heart about what creature he is and where he goes when he isn’t in the manor. Admittedly, he has many physical traits that you find attractive as well, from the deep dimples on his cheeks whenever he smiles to the bulge of muscles in his arms and chest.

It feels strange and new, a feeling you’ve never felt with anyone before. A feeling that you can’t quite place whenever you feel Namjoon’s pretty eyes on you or when he’d accidentally brush his hand against yours.

While the days seem to move slowly, almost in a standstill, time flies quickly when you’re with Namjoon. Before you know it, hours passed, and he is already escorting you to your room in the east wing.

“Good night, Namjoon,” you tell him once you’re inside the room, leaning against the doorway as you face him.

“Sweet dreams,” he replies, smiling at you in a way that makes his eyes form crescents and the dimples stretch along his cheek with his grin.

There’s a moment that lingers. One that feels like the night has ended too soon, and this is a chance for either of you to say something more. To not let the moment pass.

Just as he’s beginning to walk away, you call out to him. “Namjoon?”

“Yes?”

Would you like to spend the evening with me?

The bold question nearly comes out of your mouth, and you feel your face heat up when you realize what you’re about to ask him. Instead, you merely say, “Thank you. I had a nice time with you.”

His face softens a bit as he tells you, “Me too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Another day rises, gloomy as always. But for once, you don’t let the constant rain damper your spirits.

Perhaps it’s because you’ve been here a little while now. Perhaps it’s also because you have no idea when the rain will let you go. Perhaps it’s because you simply want to change things up from the dark and dreary. But if you’re going to be stuck in a manor with a bunch of hybrids, you might as well make the most of it. Right?

“Good morning, Taehyung,” you greet him the moment you open your bedroom door. He looks taken aback, as if you wouldn’t suspect he’d come to your door like he does every morning. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine.” He blinks at you, still confused. Maybe even a bit suspicious. The sleepiness that’s usually on his face isn’t present this time. “Are you all right?”

“I am,” you reply easily, giving him a polite, friendly smile. You’re about to head down for breakfast when you turn to face the bear hybrid again. “Thanks for always checking on me, by the way.”

Taehyung smiles a little to himself. He’s still a bit guarded around you, just as all the other hybrids. But to both of you, it’s a small start to change. “Sure. No problem.”

In the kitchen, you hear Hoseok and Jimin before you even see them. The two of them are in charge of breakfast again, singing a song they both know and shaking their hips as they stir and cut.

“Need any help?” you offer again, still in a good mood after talking to Taehyung.

Jimin barely glances at you. “We got it. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” you try again. “I can make a decent kimchi fried rice.”

“It’s true,” your number one supporter – Jungkook – pipes up, seemingly summoned by the chance to readily defend your honor and your cooking. “I tried it. It’s so good.”

You smile fondly at the bunny hybrid, and without thinking, you begin to pet his back affectionately. A mistake you instantly regret.

At your touch, Jungkook immediately tenses. His eyes are scared wide as he stares back at you, and you quickly draw your hand back.

Stupid, you scold yourself. His owner was physically abusive. Of course he wouldn’t feel comfortable with you just touching him. “I-I’m so sorry, Jungkook. I didn’t— I should’ve realized—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” he insists, his voice soft. “It feels nice. I’m just… not used to it.”

Hoseok and Jimin are quiet as they watch the exchange between you two. All three hybrids note the guilt and distress on your face, and sense that you genuinely feel bad. Even as Jungkook takes your hands and brings them to his face and chest, trying to cheer you up, claiming that he knows that you won’t ever hurt him.

You’d never hurt any of them.

In fact, in the days that you and Jungkook have been in the manor, it’s clear that the two of you at least care about each other. From the little things like when you ask him how he slept the night before, or when Jungkook shares some of his food with you. To the obvious things like when Jungkook’s eyes would sparkle with fondness whenever he talks about you, or how you’re always looking out for him even when you seem busy reading a book.

Perhaps there’s some truth in Jungkook’s story from the first dinner together. Perhaps you aren’t like the other humans after all.

It makes you rather odd, peculiar to the rest of the hybrids. A beauty, but a funny girl.

Jimin ruffles his feathers a bit, as if he seems a bit confused about something. Then, after a bit of hesitation, he asks, “You said you can cook kimchi fried rice? What else can you make?”

It isn’t long until the kitchen fills with the aromas of your meal. You’ve been here long enough to know what each of them prefer as well, and with the three hybrids helping you finish making breakfast, you can’t help but feel proud of the abundance set on the table before you.

“Enjoy the meal, guys. I’ll see if the others want to join us,” you decide as the three hybrids already take their seats around the table. They nod their heads and express their appreciation, but the hunger in their eyes makes them impatient as they start to fill their plates with food.

By that time, Taehyung is probably fast asleep and you don’t want to bother him. You’re trusting that Jimin or Hoseok would save some food for him later. You also don’t have any idea where Namjoon would be, but you suspect that Seokjin would be in the gaming room like he usually is.

Just as you’re crossing the threshold leading to the gaming room, you feel him.

Eyes watching you from the shadows.

Normally, this is when you run. When your fight-or-flight instincts kick in and you turn back from the room as quickly as you entered. When you’d flee to another room as if he’d chase you out.

This time, you try to address the guarded presence in the room.

“Yoongi?”

There’s no answer. But if you were to see him, you’d see his ear twitch at the sound of his name. The gaze feels more intense, making your skin crawl, but you don’t let it scare you.

“I helped Hoseok and Jimin with breakfast today,” you continue and wait to see if he’d respond back. He doesn’t. Still, you meekly add on, “I wasn’t sure what you like. We saved some for you and the others. If you try it, I hope you like it.”

You take the following silence as your cue to leave, scurrying across to get into the game room. You feel uncertain if engaging in small talk with the leopard hybrid will change his impression of you at all.

Until later on, when you return to the kitchen, you see that his share is missing from their refrigerator. And Taehyung and Seokjin are sitting together eating their shares.

“Jimin told me that you made this,” the bear hybrid says when he sees you. “It’s good, right Seokjin-hyung?”

The wolf hybrid chokes a little in surprise, as if he’s just finding out now that the food he’s eating was made by you. It’s nearly devoured, but Seokjin coolly replies, “It’s not bad.”

You smile a little at this, feeling a bit proud of yourself. “Then, I’ll make something more delicious for you guys next time.”

“It’s nice what you did for everyone,” Namjoon tells you later that day, after dinner and during another evening date with him. He pours you a glass of whiskey, and you smile and take it from him. Congratulations are in order for finally getting the other hybrids to warm up to you.

“It’s the least I could do,” you tell him honestly, taking a sip and letting the liquor burn your throat a little. You grimace a bit, swirling the golden liquid in your glass. “You’ve all been nothing but kind to me.”

Your eyes are fixed on the alcohol, but you can see Namjoon staring at you from your peripheral vision. It’s such a softened look, almost endeared. You try to tell yourself the warmth on your face is from the whiskey and nothing else.

“I hope this means you’ll consider staying after the rain,” he nearly whispers. He doesn’t hide that you’re more than welcomed to. That, for whatever reason, he wants you to stay with him for a long time.

Perhaps a few days ago, you’d easily decline. You didn’t want to burden any of them for overstaying. You didn’t think it was even possible to be amicable with them.

But today proved you wrong. Today felt like a change to something new. Something that just wasn’t there before.

You take another sip of the whiskey and state, “I’ll think about it.”

Staying in the manor has been on your mind lately.

Day by day, it feels like time continues to move too slowly. The rain seems to come and go now, but it’s still too dangerous for you to leave the old manor on the chance that the storm will pick up again soon. Or that you might end up getting lost in the dense woods. Or any other excuse that seems like a bad idea to leave.

So, you stay.

You stay until Taehyung no longer questions if you’re afraid of them every morning.

It’s become a routine at this point.

Every day, the sleepy, handsome face of the bear hybrid is the first thing you see when you open the door to your bedroom. “Good morning, little human. How did you sleep?”

And you smile back at him, genuinely happy to see him. “Morning, Taehyung. I slept fine, thanks for asking.”

“That’s good,” he responds, nodding a bit to himself before he starts to head to his room. You’re not sure how long he waits for you to wake up, or why he still insists on checking on you before he turns in for bed, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

“I hope you sleep well,” you tell him before he goes. And Taehyung just looks back at you and smiles.

You stay until Jimin no longer sees you as a guest in his home.

To your insistence, Jimin starts to see you helping around the manor more. Without anyone asking, he sees that you’d fix snacks for everyone in the afternoon, cutting up fruits or spreading tuna mix on crackers. He sees you dusting around the east corridor on days when it rains, tending to Namjoon’s flowers as they begin to bloom and grow, and folding laundry with Jungkook.

You’re really starting to make yourself at home here.

Jimin preens his black feathers, neatly fixing his wing as you’re sweeping around with a broom and dustpan. He doesn’t think you’re even paying attention to him until he hears you murmur, “They’re so pretty.”

“What is?”

“Your feathers,” you tell him with a shy smile. “They’re a really unique color.”

“Oh.” He feels his chest puff up a bit, swelling with happiness. In the shelter he ran away from, and even the lake where he was born, he was always the odd one out – the ugly duckling of the group. Hearing you compliment him makes his heart stir as he quietly mutters, “Thank you.”

You stay as Hoseok begins to realize you’re not a threat to them.

It takes a while, but slowly, eventually, Hoseok no longer flinches or looks at you with terror when you’re near him. Where he even tries to make small talk with you at the dinner table, or when he’s with another hybrid. Seeing how gentle you are with Jungkook – and these days, to the others – seems to assure him that you’re not an enemy to him or his pack.

At the library, Hoseok sees you and Jungkook together. It isn’t unusual to find you here, but Jungkook must’ve wanted to spend time with you.

In his bunny form, Jungkook falls asleep on your lap. His little body is comfortably stretched out as you absently scratch his head and behind his ears, and then massage his back. He’s practically melting at your touch, whiskers twitching with content.

Jungkook is completely safe with you. Despite his past with his previous owner and the horrors he had to face before he met you, he’s let his guard down with you.

Perhaps that’s why Hoseok finally musters up the courage to approach you. “I saw the movie for this, but I think I like the book better so far.”

You look up at him and smile. “Oh, that’s a good one! I like the book better too.”

He returns your smile, still a bit nervous, but eventually, he sits next to you. Neither of you say a word as you quietly read your books together. But the implication of it all, the wordless comfort of being around each other’s presence, is more than enough.

You stay as Yoongi starts to respond back to you.

Shortly after you and Hoseok spend the afternoon reading together, the leopard hybrid jumps down and reveals himself before you. He regards you with cautious eyes still, and you’re frozen in your spot, not sure what to expect.

Then, as if he’s the nervous one, he breaks eye contact with you. “I didn’t know you listened to Epik High.”

You blink at him, but then remember you’re wearing their merch shirt. “Oh, I do! I went to their concert a couple years ago!”

He looks surprised. “I didn’t take you as the type to listen to hip-hop.”

You smirk a little at his reaction. “Namjoon didn’t tell you? I met him when he was still an underground rapper.”

You stay as Seokjin shows you a different side to him.

On the day when it was so cold that the rain turned into snow, you and Jungkook decided to have a snowball fight in the courtyard. The other hybrids could hear you screaming and laughing from inside the manor as the bunny hybrid chases you around, cackling like a madman as he carries mounds of snow in his hand. 

When you see Jimin and Taehyung, you run to them for help, trying to hide behind them. The two look a little unsure of what to do until you peek out from behind Taehyung and hurl a snowball at Jungkook’s shoulder.

Hoseok laughs at the three of you split up with Jimin and Taehyung catching on quick. Yoongi and Namjoon watch by the doorway with amusement as you play with the youngest hybrids.

But as Seokjin watches, his tail is wagging and his pointed ears are perked with interest. His big eyes follow the snowballs being thrown, and his body lunges a bit, as if ready to catch them before he forcibly stops himself.

Hoseok notices and bends down to gather the snow on the ground, forming them into a ball. “Hyung, let’s show these kids how it’s done.”

You’re a bit startled when you come face to face with the wolf hybrid, not expecting him to join the fight. He’s in his wolf form, bigger than any dog you’ve encountered, and much more intimidating had it not been for the playful way Seokjin stretches out his front paws and raises his butt, wagging his tail as he eyes the ball of snow in your hands. When you throw it, Seokjin immediately takes off and bites the snow in midair, ruining your surprise attack.

Jungkook laughs when he sees this. “Wow, Jin-hyung, you’re so mean!”

And then gets hit in the face with a snowball by Hoseok.

You stay because Namjoon asks you to.

An awful flu has you bedridden for a couple weeks after the big snowball fight. Despite how many extra blankets are over your body, you’re still shivering beneath them. You’re coughing and sneezing until your chest and throat aches and you can’t breathe properly through your nose. All you can eat are liquids because solid food makes you nauseous.

Jungkook is so worried about you, he’s standing by your bedside with tears in his eyes, telling you not to die on him.

And you, a blob beneath several blankets – voice hoarse and completely congested, feeling like this illness has you fighting through hell and back – try to assure him as best as you can that you’ll be fine.

Surprisingly, all the hybrids step up to take care of you.

Seokjin cooks you chicken noodle soup, Yoongi brews you ginger tea with honey and lemon, Taehyung leaves plenty of water by your nightstand to keep you hydrated, Hoseok often places a cool, damp washcloth on your burning forehead to reduce your fever, Jungkook makes sure your bed is comfortable by adding on more blankets and pillows from his bed to yours, and Jimin shoos away the other hybrids when they want to check on you so you could rest properly.

At some point, Namjoon must have gone into your room as well.

After dozing off, you open your eyes to see a smerlado flower on your nightstand, resting on top of a book and a note. In Namjoon’s handwriting, he writes that he just finished reading the book and thought you’d like it. And as you flip open the pages, you see sticky notes and tabs of Namjoon’s thoughts and comments as he was reading through it.

Your mood instantly lifts as you read through them, smiling and laughing at some, itching to add your own thoughts into others. You keep hoping to turn the page and see another comment from him, even if it’s just a note that says to remind him about a particular paragraph later since he has more to say than what he could write. And only part-way through the story, you ask Jimin to get you a pen and some paper so you could write Namjoon back.

For a little while, it goes on like this. Little handwritten letters shared between you and Namjoon, especially when it still hurts to talk and you keep sleeping on and off all day. It becomes one of the things you look forward to the most, receiving a letter from him, even more so than the book he pairs with it to keep you entertained while you’re in bed.

The rain has stopped. The snow has stopped. And honestly, once you recover from this flu, you could technically leave the manor and the hybrids behind. Night falls and the moon is so bright. The stars look beautiful without the clouds masking their lights.

“What are you thinking about?” Namjoon quietly asks, visiting you for the evening as he always does. Even when you’re sick in bed, he’s adamant about courting you. He reads your notes, and you watch the dimples on his cheeks form when he comes across something funny or endearing. He brings you tea, flowers, more books, and puzzles, but spends most of his evenings just talking to you. Even as you doze off, he watches over you, comfortable with your presence as you feel his fingers linger by your face and lips.

Tonight, as you look at him, you think he looks handsome under the moonlight. Tall, strong, and the indigo colors of his eyes look magical as his gaze falls on you.

“The storm stopped, but…” you trail off, a wave of emotion hitting you so suddenly. You think about how the hybrids are just starting to warm up to you, how Jungkook is right at home here, how this was your goal from the very start and you can’t imagine parting ways from any of them now.

Namjoon doesn’t need you to finish your sentence. His hand finds yours, warm and big, yet it holds yours so gently. “Then stay. This is your home now, too.”

You decide to stay because you want to.

Six months have passed since you and Jungkook first arrived at the old manor. Dinners have been livelier after the snowball fight. The hybrids have gotten used to you being around, regarding you with warm smiles whenever they see you. 

And you feel safe when you’re with them. You feel at home.

On a clear and starry night, after Yoongi casually mentions that the old owners of the manor seemed to have hosted balls and parties long ago, you and the hybrids decide to dress up and throw your own party for fun. Remnants of this are found in the attic, the servant quarters, and even the grand ballroom itself.

It’s in a closet where you find a beautiful ball gown. It feels like it’s been made for you the way it perfectly fits your body, the shade of yellow complimenting your skin tone, and the exquisite details that make the dress sparkle. There’s a giddiness in you as you go all out, fixing your hair and makeup for the first time in ages.

When Jungkook first sees you, his mouth falls open in surprise.

You start to feel a bit self-conscious when he doesn’t say anything. “I look silly, don’t I?”

“No! Not at all!” he quickly assures you with a laugh. “You look beautiful.”

As you wait in the east wing, Jungkook hops off ahead to inform the others that you’re ready. Music begins to play from the ballroom, and you take a deep breath in.

Tonight, you feel nervous, and you’re not entirely sure why. Every night, for the past six months, you’ve spent your evenings after dinner with Namjoon.

This time, it shouldn’t feel any different, except it does.

Careful of the steps, you slowly make your descent down the stairs. Once you’re at the middle landing, that’s when you see him.

Namjoon is also dressed up tonight, but he looks like a prince straight out of a fairytale story. As he steps down the stairs from the west wing to meet you, he stares at you in awe. Then, with a charming smile, he extends his arm toward you and asks, “Shall we?”

You smile back shyly and wrap your arm around his. Then, together, the two of you walk down the rest of the steps that lead to the ballroom.

It’s enchanting, the way the chandeliers glow and sparkle above you. Yoongi is on the piano and Taehyung on the violin. Seokjin and Jungkook are dancing together, giggling and goofing around, and Hoseok and Jimin are sitting together with an open bottle of champagne shared between them. 

You feel their gazes on you and Namjoon the moment you two enter. Even Yoongi and Taehyung momentarily stop playing as they look at you.

“Don’t mind them,” Namjoon whispers when he sees that you’re getting a little anxious from the attention. He takes one of your hands in his as his other hand holds your waist. “Just keep your eyes on me.”

Hoseok waves for the music to start again, and a romantic tune fills the ballroom. You and Namjoon start to dance together. It’s a bit clumsy at first. Namjoon winces every time he nearly steps on your feet and mumbles embarrassed apologies. But you smile and assure him that it’s okay, almost feeling like no one else is in the room except you and him.

After a while, Yoongi changes it from live music to songs from his playlist, still keeping the romantic atmosphere as Taehyung and Jimin dance together, and Hoseok stares at the leopard hybrid with eyes begging for a dance as well. You’d think Jungkook would want to cut in to dance with you at one point, but he still seems to be having fun with Seokjin and they copy each other’s silly dance moves.

“I’m going to step out for some fresh air,” you tell Namjoon, and he nods his head, saying he’ll go with you.

While the party continues inside, the two of you enter the balcony where the cold, night air hits your skin and makes you shiver. You feel his hand on the small of your back, rubbing you gently to keep you warm. And it works. You feel the heat on your face as the peaceful, beautiful night surrounds you two.

There’s a serious look in his eyes, as if he’s contemplating something, before he asks you, “Are you happy here? With me?”

“I am,” you reply honestly. You can’t thank Namjoon enough for taking you and Jungkook in that night of the storm, despite almost hurting one of his packmates. You can imagine a life without him and the other hybrids now either.

“Do you ever think about going back?”

“Sometimes,” you admit. You miss your family, and every now and then, you wonder how they’re doing. How much has changed in that small, provincial town since you left. You even think about Kangdae sometimes, though you’re certain he must be with another girl. They must all think you’re long gone by now. “I don’t think I will, though. I like being with you. And the others, of course.”

Namjoon smiles gently. “Then, I’m glad you stayed.”

“Me too.” You mean it, too. Your eyes meet Namjoon’s, and you can’t help but think of how pretty they are. How attractive he is. How you’re so tempted to just move a little closer and just—

“I have a confession to make.”

You feel your heart race. “What is it?”

“I think – I knew – from the moment I met you,” Namjoon begins, his voice soft. The strokes of his thumb on your back feel more intimate as his gaze falls on your lips. “You’re the one. You’re my—”

A commotion interrupts from below.

You hear Seokjin barking and snarling angrily, followed by the deep, rumbling growls from Taehyung and Yoongi. Voices are shouting. People you don’t recognize.

Everything seems to move in slow motion as you and Namjoon look over the balcony to see flashlights waving in the premise of the manor. Some of the hybrids are out there in their animal forms, warning the group of intruders to back away.

“Namjoon,” Hoseok interrupts, coming to the balcony with urgency in his eyes. “It’s the humans. They’re—”

A gunshot fires.

Your blood runs cold as the deadly sound rings in your ear.

And, to your horror, you hear a voice that you do recognize, shouting your name.

“Babe, I know you’re there!” Kangdae yells, looking up at you from where he stands. “Come down here and say hello! Or I’ll shoot your darling pets one by one.”

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

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[silassinclair]

Michael's Girl PT. 1 \\ PolyLostBoys + Michael x Reader

Summary: Michael's girlfriend wishes to become a vampire too after learning how Michael was tricked into becoming one. So he takes her to see David and the other Lost Boys.

CW: Kind of a cliffhanger, Vampires, Crying (Left the summary pretty vague for you guys, this’ll be a multi part series <3)

🖤 → Next Part

"So you're telling me that four guys who live in a cave fed you blood and turned you into a vampire?"

Michael rubbed a hand down his sweaty face, of course you wouldn't believe him. You're probably thinking this is some excuse for why he's been ghosting you lately.

Nodding Michael held your hand to his chest. "Yes yes that's exactly what happened. I would never lie to you okay! Yes I've been keeping the truth from you but that isn't exactly lying."

Giving him an open mouthed stare you slowly nod as if he were insane. "And you expect me to believe this... Why?"

Your boyfriend groans and throws his hands up in defeat letting your hand go. "God dammit! Just... Just believe me alright! Why would I lie to you about this? I'm in deep shit and I'm telling you because I care about you and I know you're worried about me and mad. You wanted an explanation so here it is."

Sighing in defeat you bite the inside of your cheek in thought. Looking back on it now Michael has been pretty... vampiric so to say. The sunglasses, angry demeanor, going out only at night and not eating as much. There was no way he'd go so far just to back up some silly lie/excuse.

"Can you prove it?" You ask with the quirk of your eyebrow. Michael ponders for a quick moment then smiles.

"Okay, but you gotta promise not to get scared alright?" He says and holds both your hands in his. Giving him a nod you give him a light upturn of your lips in reassurance.

"Of course, I could never be afraid of you."

Satisfied with your answer Michael shuts his eyes. Carefully you watch his features. Your eyes widen as you notice his eyebrows and face structure become sharper and more defined. Fangs poke through the gap of his lips. And when he opens his eyes you gasp in shock. Hs baby blue eyes are now a violent, predatory shade of yellow. A venomous color that screams danger. But you aren't afraid.

Your hand cradles Michael's vampiric face. "It's true... What you said. I'm sorry I doubted you love. I'm not afraid of you... So don't worry okay?"

Michaels vampire features morphed away back to his gentle human ones. Seeing a gentle smile grow on your boyfriend's face you can't help but smile too. He pulls you into a hug, his face in your neck. You feel him take a large intake of air.

"Thank you thank you thank you baby. Mmm my God I don't deserve you... also you smell pretty good." He mumbles into the soft flesh of your nape. Feeling a shiver go up your spine you gently caress his hair.

"If you ever feel hungry I wouldn't find if you took a bite Michael." You wink at him. But immediately the boy pulls himself away from you and looks at you with worried eyes.

"Baby don't say that.. You know I would never want to hurt you." The brunette's bottom lip juts out as he pouts, not liking the sound of him feeding off of you in the future.

"Well my boyfriend has to eat one way or another right? Can't let these guns shrink." A dopey smirk is plastered on your face as you squish his bicep muscles. Michael groans.

"Ugh stop."

Michael pulls you into his lap as he sits back on his bed. His Mom, grandpa, and Sam were all out right now so you and Michael had the place all to yourselves. You were lucky you got to convince your parents to let you go to California. Telling them you wanted to go to school there, and saying that living with Michael would cheapen things convinced them. But in reality you just wanted to get out of your home and move in with your boyfriend.

"So why did you wanna become a vampire? This means you can't go out into the sun right?" Worry laces your tone. You didn't understand why Michael would make such a brash decision, plus you two only recently arrived in Santa Carla.

Michael looks to be in thought. A frown pulls on his face as his hold around you tightens in the slightest, "I was sort of tricked. Those guys challenged me, taunted me, played me like a fucking fiddle. I was pretty stoned too which clouded my judgement. Then they hand me this bedazzled bottle of wine saying to drink it if I wanted to be like them. Sleep all day, party all nigh, never grow old-"

You felt anger build up in you, anger towards the men who dared trick Michael into falling into this curse. For using him when he was vulnerable, for cursing him with eternal life and him being doomed to watch you die one day.

"Pause." You cut in. "You're gonna be immortal now?" Your eyebrows furrow. "This means... This means we can't grow old together Michael. You can't go out in the sun with me or-or do anything like that. You're gonna watch me die." Your mood tanked so fast. Eyes welled up with tears as Michael shushed you and held your face to his chest.

"I know baby I know. But there's no way out of this now. Soon I'll be a full vampire and have to... I'll have to leave home. I'll have to run away and leave you, Mom, Sammy, Grandpa. I'll be a killer." Michael seems to have already accepted his fate, his curse of everlasting life on Earth. But you were in shambles. Unless...

"Michael."

He looks down at you and caresses your soft, tear stained cheek. "Yes beautiful?"

"Turn me into a vampire too."

The brunette jerks up in shock. His hands hold your elbows close to him as his eyes look into your own, all seriousness in his gaze. "Would you really do that? Just to be with me forever?"

You give him a firm nod. "I'm serious Michael. You're it for me, and I love you more than anything. I'll gladly love you forever if I may..." With the palm of your hand you wipe a tear that falls from your eye. Michael tilts your chin up with his index finger to look into your eyes once again.

"Y/n. You have to be absolutely sure about this. And I'm sure as hell that I want to be by your side forever. But I need to know if you really want to do this. You'll have to go into hiding, eat people, never go into the sun again."

His face forms into a look of despair, he's 100% sure you'll refuse now. "Do you really want to suffer with me?"

Instead of giving him a verbal answer you pull him in by his collar and kiss him on the lips. A groan of pleasure leaves his lips.

"I-I'll take that as a yes." He mutters as you continue your onslaught of affection, littering his neck with kisses. You draw back from him momentarily.

"Michael." You stop your affections and pull him up from his bed. "Take me to that cave. Where you said it all happened."

Your boyfriend nods and he leads you downstairs. Quickly slipping on your shoes you head outside with Michael where he mounts his bike. Like usual you sit behind him and wrap your arms around him securely.

"Because it's night they probably won't be at the cave. So we're gonna go to the boardwalk first alright?" He says as he revs his engine then zooms off down the driveway. Nodding, you rest your head against the back of his shoulder.

.

.

Under a streetlamp by the red painted seawall are four motor bikes. Standing by each bike is the owner of which. The night was still young but the four vampires settled for just chilling and talking by their bikes on the boardwalk.

"So as I was saying," Paul rambled on, "Movie sequels always suck ass because movie companies always wanna choke an extra buck out of the audience by using a great movie as their tool. Like take uhh... Jaws for example. The first movie was cool and original but because it was successful they think making more will make them more money. It does but like, they rush the production so much to the point that the movie sucks ass."

Dwayne looks at his brother like he's got no skin on. "Since when did you get so intellectual?"

Paul just shrugs and puts his arm around his taller brother. "I always have it in me, it's just that I'm not stoned today. Sober me is a different dude."

The tall brunette sighs. "Of course. How could I forget."

Marko meanwhile is playing with a rubric’s cube that some teenager dropped earlier and David smokes as he watches his curly haired brother try to solve the puzzle.

"Marko I don't think you have enough smarts in your pea brain to solve that." David says while blowing his smoke with a sly smirk. Marko only growls in frustration.

"Oh shuttup man! Great now I messed up, fuck you." Marko throws the cube onto the sandy beach behind him.

Today was slow. The boys were still well fed from yesterday's hunt and the fact that it was a weekday only made everything slower. No one on the boardwalk started a fight for the boys to jump in on. So the four of them are bored and left with nothing to do.

"This is boring." Paul says when he finishes with his movie rant that left Dwayne thinking.

"You can say that again Pauly." Marko groans but an imaginary lightbulb blinks on above his head. He sits up straight from his once slouched postion.

"I know what we can do! We can pay Michael a visit and annoy the shit out of him!"

David smirks, "Oh I like that. Well let's ride boys-"

The sound of a motor bike catches their enhanced hearing.

"Speak of the devil, there he is! I thought he'd never want to willingly see us again." Paul says with a wide grin. He waves to Michael but lowers his hand when he notices someone else on the back of his bike.

Michael pulls his bike up next to where the other four are parked. Kicking out his kickstand he gets off. He then offers his hand to you off your seat which you gently take.

David looks at Michael and then you.

“Who’s this supposed to be Michael?” David says. His expression is unreadable. The leader of the pack has always been by far the most mysterious of the four. And rather unpredictable too.

Michael puts hid arm around your waist and you lean into his side. You look at the four boys, no, men. Vampire men. They are all dressed wildly and you assume that influenced Michael into getting that earring. Not that you’re mad though, it’s pretty sexy actually.

“This is my girlfriend, Y/n.” You feel Michael kiss the top of your head. For a moment you forget that there are four dangerous vampires in front of you because of Michael’s peaceful presence. But the good feeling washes away when one of the vampires speak up.

“You’ve been hiding this hottie from us Michael? She the reason why you make up shitty excuses to head home sooner~?” A tall blonde taunts. The curly haired blonde next to him pats him on the back.

Michael stiffens. “Well as a matter of fact, yes.” He says firmly. “But there’s something else you guys have to know, we can’t talk about it here though.” Michael sends a look to the platinum blonde.

“Sure Michael. Let’s take this back to the cave yeah? Bring your little girlfriend with ya too, if she isn’t scared”

Unimpressed you fire back, “You four don’t scare me. If anything I thought you were all groupies for Rob Halford from Judas Priest.”

An eruption of laughter comes from the two blondes. The one brunette smiles while the leader just smirks.

“Yeah. She’s coming along, right Michael?” The way he says his name makes Michael shiver. Uncertainty washes over Michael. He looks to you and you two silently communicate. His eyes ask if you're absolutely sure about going through with this.

Your only response is a simple nod.

"Let's get going before it gets too bright out now yeah?" You say and get back on Michael's bike. The four vampires share a look, suspicion.

"Yeah. Let's." The platinum blonde smiles. "My name's David by the way. Just so you know what to scream later sweetness." David says and winks in your direction. Michael mounts his bike and says nothing.

All six of you drive away. David leading everyone to the location of the cave by Hudson’s Bluff.

[mikuni14]

The On1y One - Ep 12

I have mixed feelings about the finale of this beautiful series.

First, I'll write what I particularly liked, which is something that relatively rarely appears in BL series, which is the correct portrayal of teenage boys in terms of sex 😊 Usually, it is shown that they are either very experienced, like adult porn actors, or the seme is very experienced and the uke blushes and shies away from the slightest touch, or neither of them is interested in sex.

In The On1y One, horny teenage boys are horny, they're aroused by even the smallest things, they fantasize about sex, whose thoughts about sex come at the most inconvenient moments, who panic, who at the same time want to be close, but who are also terrified by closeness (like Tian, ​​who was afraid to even lie in the same bed with Wang). And who randomly get erections.

It was so real in its naturalness, panic and awkwardness.

My mixed feelings mainly come down to the fact that I lacked closure. I don't like it when I feel like the story is unfinished (I'm not talking about cliffhangers or ambiguous endings) , when in a series a particular season doesn't end with some kind of clasp that ties together what happened throughout the season . I expected that this season (not even knowing if there would be a second one) probably wouldn't end with them starting a romantic relationship, but I expected some kind of conclusion between them. I would even accept their separation, the "break-up" of their relationship, if I knew that they knew where they stood together and, most importantly, TOGETHER MADE THIS DECISION, however heartbreaking it was. I miss their communication here at the end, and after all, they talked to each other the entire series, talking about their own feelings. I keep repeating that I have to feel equality in a relationship to be involved in it, and unfortunately I can't help but feel that Tian is the one who is the most wronged and hurt in this relationship. It was Wang who made the decision that hurt Tian so much, it was Tian who was abandoned again, even though he thought that THIS TIME, it would be different, when, for the first time in his life, he trusted, believed, had hope, had home. It was Wang who had nerves of steel and an analytical mind, who assessed the situation and made the best decision, while Tian only watched from the sidelines with a broken heart, being faced with a situation that had already happened, having no influence on the unfolding events. Of course Wang suffers, I do not deny it to him at all, I know he's hurt too. His first love, first fascination, first infatuation is so unfortunate, and it is not his fault, nor his beloved's. And I perfectly understand his decision, his choice. Wang actually has a very analytical mind, who assesses what he sees, he's also completely devoid of any illusions about reality. He immediately deciphered Jia Hao, his realistic view of the world can also be seen in his contacts with Tian, ​​his family, the rest of the class, the teachers. Similarly, we see him analyzing his relationship with Tian, ​​when he recalls the scenes with him and calmly comes to the conclusion that what he feels is love and - in my opinion - he also knows that Tian has feelings for him. And he immediately comes to another conclusion that this feeling has no future - at least not now. His internal monologue is very telling, when he states that he knows what he feels, but they are brothers.

The contrast between him and Tian is very interesting, although Tian is also very analytical, smart and in tune with his feelings. Only that when Tian knows his feelings, he is able to simply live with them and love Sheng from afar, while Wang cannot live in hiding and it's hard for him not to act on these feelings, which is visible in how much he wants to be close to Tian, how he finds excuses to be with him and how he knows that he cannot and how he knows that he has to give them space, because he will not control it in the end.

And all of this is ok and logical and consistent with their characters, and they both suffer, but Tian suffers much more and only follows Sheng's decisions. And there is no closure to their shared story, there is nothing that the viewer would judge as yes, they know about each other and they make this difficult decision to "break up" together.

The teachers' storyline was cut off just as abruptly, the series also dropped a bombshell about where Tian's scar came from… and leave it at that.

Looking at this ending objectively, I understand everything. The finale was beautiful, heartbreaking, moving, I had tears in my eyes, especially watching Tian, ​​my abandoned, beloved boy. I also feel sorry for Wang, for how much he sacrificed, knowing his capabilities and ambitions. He did it for himself and for Tian, ​​because personally I can't imagine them keeping their romantic and sexual relationship a secret, which in 2012 between boys who are considered by everyone to be BROTHERS, would be devastating for them. Wang already has to come up with excuses to explain their closeness to the outside world, and if they were in a relationship it would be even worse and ultimately impossible. The series is wonderful and I love it. I love the characters, I love the actors. That being said, I was unpleasantly mentally transported to the times of Eternal Summer, Bangkok Love Story, Love of Siam and a whole bunch of Asian productions from that era, the endings of which broke my heart 💔 It was, I admit, very weird and um, kind of hurt me, I honestly thought I'd never have to experience something like this again, hence my unpreparedness for the pain...

That's why I'll mentally stay on my happy pink cloud, like this one: 🥰

[hidden-nowhere]

okay it's almost 1 am i fucked up my sleeping schedule and won't go to sleep at least until 4 am it's yapping time

I understand that Rogue came out after AC3 and obviously AC3 writers didn't know that Rogue's will write in Shay in canon and that's why he's not along the Connor's targets, but some in lore explanation would be cool. like idk Achilles trying to hide his mistake out of shame or smth like that.

my friend suggested that maybe considering the fact that Shay went after the artifact after the events of the game he wasn't consider Colonial Rite Templar, but like in the "Well, there's a cliffhanger for Unity" scenes he considered himself one. so... idk, sounds a bit strange.

also I would really want a (good written) in canon interaction between Shay and Connor, considering they both had Achilles as a mentor but with completely different outcomes of it with one being the destroyer of Colonial Brotherhood and other pulling it out from non-existence. (p.s. I would be also interested in their different or maybe not so views on Haytham)

another suggestion for it - Achilles POV on these events (maybe in book. I know not everyone likes them, but I'm not really interested in Achilles as main character in the game...). And by these events I mean both AC3 and Rogue, maybe with with a little bit of his years as a pupil of Ah Tabai. this man lost his family, lost brotherhood and was fucking shot in the leg, I want to know what was going on in his head. like, after all these events he was alone for 9 years, what was going on in his thoughts when young Connor showed up at Homestead with "Yes, you are going to train me. I won't take no as answer.". Had he on some level to the end was afraid that the history will repeat? That he will fuck up again? That Haytham in the end will change Connor's view of these things? As unfinished Rogue is and feels (don't get me wrong i like this game but the fact is the fact and gods knows how i wish that development of this game hadn't been rushed), it gives Achilles as a failed mentor really interesting background.

anyway, i would want to hear someone else thoughts on this so....

(i only used this gif cause i like how his face change as he accepts "the challenge" sue me)

[leoneliterary]

Oh gods, I love and adore the new update! My new grey horse Dust (bc it will leave them in the dust, is grey and unassuming at first glance, but also pure diamond) is already a favorite, even if my MC is slightly afraid of horses and not very good at riding. Aretas offering PRIVATE RIDING LESSONS and MC making not even one dirty joke to Merikh about it shows how serious the tension is, though. The cliffhanger is just mean, bc we don't get to sass big bad brother back. Not even a "you smell better, don't worry about me leaving you for him, wow he looks like a paler imitation of you".... I just imagined letting Desma loose on miserable big bro Labadon, but somehow that feels like bullying. ... Is that on purpose? He feels so arrogant and desperate to put down the bastard child, that it feels a little pitiful and insecure instead of evil, though I of course dislike and disdain him a normal and healthy amount, for his crime of a personality. But back to the important bits, Aretas is being smooth right back and I wasn't sure he'd have it in him. But so worth it, bc I already got a shovel talk from his mom! (a pretty mild one for now, thanks Teacher Alim) Aretas looking pained at Daddy Labadon's grand speech about his father's supposed greatness and aspirations and unsubtle attempt at baiting his king was greatly appreciated and the option that simply says "Blame Merikh" when asked why we couldn't ride? It was so .. tempting, I don't know how anyone can choose another. It's just such an impulse control defying little red button that all imp MCs just HAVE to press. And the reaction did not disappoint in the slightest! I laughed so hard! And then it got better, bc Merikh is just as clueless as you and my MC is learning that omg, he's actually just a grumpy little good boy. You just gotta adopt him. Sorry Sutek, sullen grumpy warrior slots are filling up really fast... I also loved cheering for Sefu and Sefu being so friggin POLITE and well behaved. I love when they show that they can be mature and competent at the same time as being total loving idiots. Desma feeling insecure was really hurting my kokoro, but then it got funny again when she asked "but are they REALLY brothers, how can we ever know?" Never change, best sister girl, my MC will steal horses with you and bury bodies. Their own horse, but probably other people's bodies. I do feel a tiny bit worried about Tamu being alone and trying to find the guild traitor preparing a take over without backup, though. Please let him be ok or at least let Gally have his back a little! This whole update had so much comedy potential with the right choices, it was a delight to read and totally worth staying up till after midnight! I love your writing style, it really hits me in all the best feels! Thank you for persevering, even through difficulties and I will honestly forever love your story! May all the cake, coffee and cookies be with you! As well as muses, time and motivation! I would offer a shoulder massage, but I can't reach through my screen anymore! All my love and adoration!

I always love your in-depth reviews, charcoal!! And thank you for such high praise!

Yeah, Merikh's big brother isn't the most well-adjusted, but whether he's just a pathetic weasel or a real threat, you can be the judge.

I wonder how many of y'all picked the 'blame Merikh' button. I had to give y'all the chance for some petty revenge, lol!

Judging by my asks, most of you chose the grey horse that you got to name.

Sefu really was on his best behavior, but good catch about Tamu. Wonder what he's up to while you're away. Desma is going through it, but she's being so mature and putting it aside to come on this hunting trip...

Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed it and had a laugh or two at some of the choices!

[666writingcafe]

An Interview With Satan

Part Five of A (Not-So) New Series

Question One: Do you believe in one soulmate or having several great relationships?

My beliefs fall closer to the latter. One can have different soulmates for different aspects of their life, not just romantically.

Question Two: Looking back, what advice do you wish you could have given yourself as a young demon?

Don't shut people out of your life because you're afraid of hurting them.

Question Three: Do you have a certain place you’ve always wanted to explore but haven’t yet got the chance to do so?

Some of the museums in the human world, like the Smithsonian collection in Washington DC or the Met in New York City.

Question Four: Which art form would you like to excel in if you could learn it quickly?

Drawing. I can usually get a halfway decent base, but it always ends up looking like a bad cartoon in the end.

Question Five: What hobby have you been interested in but haven’t yet tried?

Sewing, oddly enough. I see some of the things Asmo and Levi create, and they look really cool.

Question Six: What kind of entertainment is your guilty pleasure?

Watching really cheesy and/or melodramatic soap operas. You know, the ones where a season is over a hundred episodes long and each episode ends on a cliffhanger.

Question Seven: What is a subject that you could discuss for hours on end without growing tired of?

The history of just about anything. That's why I've declared it as one of my majors at RAD.

Question Eight: What is the bravest act you have ever seen someone else carry out?

Can I tell you who I think the bravest person I've ever met is? (Sure.) MC. Each time I see them taking a risk, I think it's the bravest act they've ever carried out.

Question Nine: Do you enjoy collecting things or experiences?

Oh, experiences for sure.

Question Ten: Are you more intrigued by outer space or the depths of the human mind?

The depths of the human mind, particularly MC's.

Question Eleven: What’s a small act of kindness you think everyone should practice daily?

Not saying the first thing that comes to their head. For me, that is the angry, rude response, and I've come to learn that it's not the best way to handle most day-to-day situations.

The next set of questions require you to choose between two things. (I've done this sort of thing before. As long as your questions are not too silly, I'll be good.)

Question Twelve: Would you rather spend an evening watching the sunset or at a theater?

Why not both? (That defeats the purpose of "Would You Rather.") Hear me out: you go on a date with someone. It starts during the afternoon. After grabbing a bite to eat, you watch a movie or show at a theater, making sure you choose one that ends at around dusk. Then, you sit on a bench and watch the sunset as you talk about whatever you just watched. One thing leads to another, and you end up kissing your date as the sun finishes setting. (How romantic.) I've done that a few times. Always sweeps them off their feet. (So you've done this intentionally, then.) Of course. It makes it easier for them to do what you want. *pauses* Would it surprise you to know that Asmo taught me that? I try not to do it these days, because I know it's quite manipulative.

Question Thirteen: Would you rather lose an argument to make someone happy or make someone sad by winning it?

It truly depends on the person. If I don't like them, then I'm going to do everything in my power to win the argument and revel in their sadness. But if I care deeply about them, then more times than not I'll end up dropping the argument altogether, because it's not worth losing that person over something petty like that.

Question Fourteen: Would you rather wait for someone or keep them waiting?

I hate waiting for people, but I also know it's rude to keep others waiting, so I guess neither? (Can I speak freely?) Of course. You're the one conducting the interview. (You suck at "Would You Rather.") That's because I tend to overthink things. I'm kinda like Levi in that regard.

Question Fifteen: Would you rather be dumped by someone or be the one to dump them?

I'm often the one that dumps people, so I suppose that would be what I'd prefer out of the two options. (I should have kept my mouth shut.) It's fine. You wanted more direct answers, and I'm more than happy to comply. *pauses* You think I'm a heartbreaker, don't you? (A little, yeah.) Like I said, I don't really engage in that behavior anymore. Before, I didn't care about anyone I was seeing, so it was easy for me to detach myself from them. I couldn't do that now. I'm a lot tamer now than I was back then.

Question Sixteen: Would you rather have a partner with money but no sense of humor or a poor but witty one?

Money can't buy personality. Besides, I have enough connections that I can pretty much get whatever I want, so I don't need someone to provide for me.

Question Seventeen: Would you rather be a scientist or a painter?

Ideally, a painter, but as I stated earlier, I can't really draw, so that would leave the scientist.

Question Eighteen: Would you rather live forever in a peaceful village or a bustling city?

The village. Or, better yet, a barn on the outskirts of the village. The less people I have to deal with, the better for everyone involved.

Question Nineteen: Would you rather speak all the languages in the world or speak to animals?

Language is always evolving, so it's nearly impossible to learn and speak every single one. Plus, if I had the ability to talk to animals and have them understand what I was saying, I'd be able to take care of them better.

Question Twenty: Would you rather send a sexy text message or a romantic love note?

I'm a hopeless romantic, so a good, long letter written with quill and ink and closed with a wax seal is my preferred method of telling someone how I feel about them.

Question Twenty-One: Would you rather have the power to read your partner’s mind or to influence their thoughts?

If I had to choose, I'd merely read their thoughts. Not a big fan of entering someone's mind, because it's rare that they consent to that sort of thing. I'll never forget Belphie for what he did to MC while he was inside their head.

Question Twenty-Two: Would you rather jump on a trampoline or in a bouncy house?

This is going to sound incredibly silly, but I'm lowkey afraid of both. Those things can do some serious damage to one's body if they land wrong. Just thinking about it is making me anxious.

Question Twenty-Three: Would you rather have the ability to know every answer to a question or be able to ask tough questions and confuse others?

If I knew all the answers, then part of my life loses meaning. I like researching things. It brings me joy. Plus, I feel like I already confuse others with questions that I ask, so...

Question Twenty-Four: Would you rather kiss a pig or a donkey?

A pig. Unless it's a cat, I don't like getting fur in my mouth.

Question Twenty-Five: Would you rather live amongst the trees in the jungle or in an island cave?

The cave. It's better shelter than the trees would be.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch

[ohtobeleah]

AAAHHHHHH LEAH YOU CANT LEAVE US HANGING LIKE THAT WITH TERMS OF ENDEARMENT!

You know I can anything I want right? because I can and I will leave you on yet another cliffhanger. Masterlist is linked here.

WARNINGS: Mentions of graphic domestic violence issues. Heavy and mature theme of domestic violence ahead. Do not read if you aren't comfortable reading about those issues. (Please also keep in mind this is not me glorifying abuse, but highlighting the long-term effects that domestic abuse can have on those directly exposed.)

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

It was meant to be a holiday to the California Coast, something to break the day in day out mundane routine of home. But you felt somewhat naive to believe that while on holidays things would be any different to what they were at home. If anything? Things were much much worse. On holiday on the California Coast was where your final straw was pulled. You had to escape, you had to leave because the signs were all there, written in bright red ink. You were fighting for your life now, for your daughter's life, no more games or tolerance. 

“You can cancel my bank cards, you can push me around, you can beat me black and blue but you will never win because I don't love you anymore!” You shouted as you stood on the opposite side of the king bed that Jaidyn did. Putting something between you so that he couldn't lungs at you. “The only mistake I ever made was staying this long, not speaking up and telling everyone the truth.” You knew threatening him wasn't the best idea, but you wanted him to know that at this moment you weren't afraid of him although deep down you were terrified. “I kept my mouth shut because I thought that's what a good partner did–I didn't want any of this to be true so I stayed silent–I kept quiet!” You chuckled softly to yourself in disbelief that this was your life, that you'd put up with this abuse for so long because you thought that this was love, that this was as good as you were going to get, that this was all you deserved. “I don't think you ever loved me, if you did you wouldn't treat me like a hostage! A slave that you can just take and take and take from!” 

“Shut the fuck up!” Jaiydn hissed as he tried to make his way to you only for you to step back and move around the bed. “Just you wait until I get my fucking hands on you your stupid bitch!” He spat, anger evident in his eyes as he balled his fist and pointed at you. “I’m gonna kill you–” Again, you just chuckled almost maniacally, shaking your head because it was now or never. 

“But not anymore, I am leaving! I am taking my child! I am walking out this goddamn door and I swear if you try to stop me I will scream and I won't stop screaming!” 

It didn't matter how much you screamed in the Air BnB, no one was coming to help you. Jaiydn had called your bluff and completely decimated you. He beat you black and blue until your ribs were broken and your eye socket was shattered. You screamed so loud you eventually lost your voice. That only made it easier for him to have his way with you–against your will because without a voice how do you say no? 

“One more sip for me darlin.’” He cooed as he tipped your chin up and poured the burning liquor down your throat. The bottle nearly empty as you laid bloodied, beaten and bruised between Jaidyns legs. “Good girl.” You swallowed, crying, a gentle sob escaped past your broken lips as you coughed at the sting of a drip running down your chin over lacerations. “See? Isn’t it just so easy to do as your fucking told instead of being a physotic cunt?”

Drunk, Jaidyn pushed you into a heap on the floor as he got up. Kicking you in your stomach one final time for good measure. Smirking at the sound you made. He loved the way you looked so helpless, all because of him. 

“I'm gonna go down the road to the casino with a few buddies of mine who are in the area.” He explained as you laid with your head spinning from the amount of alcohol you'd been forced to drink in such a small amount of time. “Might even bring some of the boys back for some fun too.” He threatened. “Since you wanna act like a fucking whore, ill hire you out like one.” 

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

“Jaidyn?” 

When Bradley had seen the way you paused in your tracks like you’d walked right into an investable brick wall, he knew something was seriously wrong. Unclipping his seatbelt as quickly as he could before jumping out of the car. His imminent response was to grab your daughter. No question or hesitation about it. 

“Hey slugga–” Bradley cooed as he unclipped Odette from her carseat. She was in hysterics. “Shhh you’re alright bubba, hey, none of that.” Holding her to his chest trying to soothe her worries, Bradley shut the door once he knew Dot was okay and that she was safe in his strong arms. “You’re okay darling girl, I got you.” He’d do anything for her—without question. 

“Mamma–” Dot cried out as Bradley rounded the front of the car, coming to stand beside you but just a little in front. He wanted to be a barrier for whatever had frightened you. It didn't take Bradley long at all to figure out what was going on. He was privy to your ex’s sudden appearance in North Island and despite Jake's constant taunting about Braldleys intellectual capacity–he didn't need a degree in aerospace engineering to put two and two together. The man standing before you, the man who had hit Jake's car at the T-intersection, was Jaiydn Dolan. 

“Sugar Plum oh how i've missed you!” Jaidyn beamed as he stepped forwards and tried to reach out for his daughter who seemed to recoil at his gesture. Curling her little hands into the fabric of Bradleys shirt as she clung to him for dear life. Hiding her face in the space between his shoulder and chest, her tears still falling freely down her traumatised cheeks. 

“Reach for her like that again and you’ll lose both your damn hands.” Bradley hissed as you stepped a little further behind him. He’d never seen you like this before, so closed off and scared. He’d remembered quite well how quiet and in your own shell you were when he’d first met you–but it was nothing like the display he was seeing now. You were beyond that of terrified. “You hit my friend's car, I'm gonna need your insurance and stuff to get the damage covered.” Bradley puffed his chest as your ex eyed him down. “Unless you want me to call the cops and have them come down here?” Jaidyn smirked, it made you feel sick to your stomach when he turned to look at you hiding behind Bradley's left shoulder. 

“So this is who fell for your fucking bullshit huh?” He chuckled wildly as he stepped back, spitting a glob of spit and blood out of his mouth. It looked as if he’d been a victim of his own airbag too. Rooster still had blood dripping from his nose, it stained the hairs on his moustache an orangey iron colour. Yours did the same, only the blood that ran down went strain into your mouth. Both having been victims of the force of those airbags. “She's a trainwreck man, drags whoevers around her down into the dirt.” Jaidyn thought he was being smart, degrading you in such a public way. Bradley wasn't going to stand for it, turning to face you as he passed you Dot. “Bitch took my fucking daughter away from me.” 

“Brad–” You tried to protest but your voice was caught in your throat. Soft and barely audible. Rooster could see it in your eyes–you knew just how bad of a situation this was, probably more so than Bradley could understand himself. But like Pete had told him, he had to protect his family. 

“Take Dot.” Passing you your daughter, Bradley kissed the top of your forehead. Suddenly nothing else mattered more than keeping her safe, it was the very reason you had run in the first place. “Walk to the park across the street, call Jake–tell him what happened.” Rooster was a rather happy go lucky kinda guy. He’d always found a way to make you laugh, make you smile. But right now? His voice, the tone he projected—had never sounded so serious. 

“I don't wanna rui–” 

“You could never ruin Christmas.” Bradley knew what you were going to say before you even finished your sentence. “Go, call Jake, get her out of here–once you’ve called Jake I want you to call Penny and tell her we need a ride, can you do that for me?” Bradley asked as he cupped your face–you were too busy looking over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/n? Look at me.” You snapped out of the haze that had clouded your gaze, looking Bradley in the eye as he got down to your eye level. “I'm not gonna let anything happen to you.” 

When Jaiydn had left, you used the phone in the Air Bnb to call a taxi, specifically requesting a female driver. You knew it was a long shot but you thought you could appeal to her natural instincts. 

“Come on baby, Mums okay–” You cried as you stumbled out the door and sat on the curb waiting for the taxi. “I've got you baby.” Dot had been screaming the entire time Jaidyn was laying into you. She was so scared, the little girl locked in a room all by herself for at least two solid hours. “I'm so sorry, but we’re going baby, we’re okay.” You weren't sure who you were trying to convince at this stage, you or your daughter. But as the taxi pulled up you knew you only had once change. 

“Ma'am are you alright?” The taxi driver asked as she rolled down the passenger side window as you stood. 

“I don't have any money.” You needed her to understand that first and foremost. “But I need to get to forty nine Wallows Street, North island.” Jake's address, he’d given it to you a few weeks ago before Jaidyn took your phone. “If you don't take me? He’s gonna kill us both.” You tried to remain strong, keep your shoulders squared and your chin held high. But you'd never felt more broken. “My partner is gone but he’s coming back and if I'm here when he gets home he's going to kill us.” 

“Did he do this to you?” She asked, you could tell by her eyes she was thinking about the pros and cons of getting involved in a situation like this. So you nodded, confirming her question as you held your daughter on your hip. The taxi driver whose name you later learn was Mary, could smell the alcohol on you as you stood outside the taxi. “Well alright then, get in.” 

“Thankyou–” You sobbed, opening the back door and sliding in. “Thank You so much.” Reaching out for her shoulder, Mary cupped your hand in response. 

“I'm not gonna let anything happen to you.” She smiled at you through the rear view mirror. “North Island it is.” 

“Y/n?” Bradley rubbed the pads of his thumbs against your cheek, bringing you back to reality. “You hear me? I’ve got you.” It was the most sincere thing you ever heard. “I’m not gonna let anybody hurt you ever again, I’ve got you.” Bradley Bradshaw was a born protector, he was brought up to believe that to protect those you love was the most important thing you could ever do. In what form that protection came didn’t really matter, but right now in the moment he stood between you and your ex he knew that he’d lay his life down for you. No question, no hesitation. 

“Okay—“ You mumbled, nodding at Bradley’s reassurance that he had your back. “I’ll ring Jake, then call Penny.” You didn’t want to hang around for too much longer, lingering in the presence of the man who tried to kill you made you feel sick. “I’ll be in the park.” 

“I’ll be right behind you.” Bradley’s eyes never left your back as he watched you hurry off with Dot, looking over your shoulder periodically as people who stood on the corners of the sidewalks watched on at the aftermath of the moderate Christmas Day car accident. Knowing nothing deeper than what it was on the surface. 

“Till we meet again sweetheart, I'm so glad I finally found you!” Jaidyn barked with a sinister smile. Waving you off as Bradley turned his attention back to your ex. “You know we’re engaged right?” Jaidyn taunted Bradley as he stood there thinking of all the things he wanted to do to him. If he could, without consequence, Rooster would put Jaiydn into the dirt. But he couldn’t. “Got her the prettiest ring and everything—so ungrateful—“ 

Choosing to ignore the revelation that you had been engaged, knowing it was most likely against your will, Bradley balled the fabric of Jaidyns t-shirt into his first and pulled him close. 

“Listen to me because I'm only gonna say this once.” Gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw until the vein in his neck popped, Rooster saw red. He saw the man who had hurt you, who you trusted to take care of you, who betrayed every level of trust there was to break.“You even so much as think about looking at her the wrong way ill fucking kill you–do you hear me?” 

“I don't even know who you are, man! lay off–” Jaidyn shoved at Rooster's chest as he stepped back. “She’s got you all convinced she’s some damsel in distress hasn't she?” With one swing, Rooster's fist was connecting with Jaidyns jaw, a crack as loud as thunder could be heard from those who watched on. As Jaidyns stumbled and doubled over, Rooster shook his hand, surely to bruise up nicely in the next few hours or so. But he didn't mind all that much, it would be a small sacrifice to pay to keep you and your daughter safe. Bradley wanted it known that he wasn't messing around, that he was serious and he would do anything to protect you and Odette. 

“Come near those girls–” Rooster hissed, towering over Jaidyn as he held his jaw and groaned out a pained sigh. "And I'll make sure you end up breathing through a tube.” Bradley had never felt such disrespect for someone else, but where he came from and with the men in his life who raised him right, there were only two words he’d used to describe a man who hits women. A little bitch. “And I'm not bluffing either, man.” 

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

Jake Seresin sat at his family's dining table amongst his extended family tapping his leg relentlessly under the table. His knee bounced in with anxiety as he tapped his phone screen to see if he’d missed any calls or text since having spoken to Bradshaw earlier that same morning. 

“How's everything going in your neck of the woods Jakey?” His cousin asked as she nursed her son. “You still out at North–” Before Jake's cousin could even finish her question, Jake was jumping up from his seat at the sight of your name lighting up his caller ID. 

“Hey Fe, Merry Chris–” 

“I lied.” Jake's heart instantly broke at the sound of your sobs. “I lied, we aren’t okay.” Your sobs quickly turned into a small pathetic laugh before turning right back into sobs as you sat on the bench in the park. Dot at your feet entertaining herself with a few rocks. A little girl with such creative imagination everything and anything could be a toy. She’d calmed down when she noticed you were walking over to the park. “Jaidyn–” You didn't need to finish your sentence or explain anything more before Jake was making his way upstairs to pack his stuff. 

“I'm coming home.” 

“He hit your car–” Jake frowned as he held his phone between his ear and shoulder. Packing his stuff into his suitcase haphazardly as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “We were driving back from Penny and Mavs and he just came out of nowhere.” 

“Hang on.” Jake had to stop what he was doing for a moment as his mother stepped into his childhood room. “He hit my car as in, he purposefully caused an accident?” Jake was fuming, his face had turned a nice shade of red and he was sure his core temperature had risen a few degrees. “Are you okay?” Jake started on all the necessary questions he needed an answer too immediately before his heart exploded out of his goddamn chest. “Is Dot alright? Bradshaw?” 

“Yeah Jake.” You sighed. “We’re all alright, just a little shaken and I dunno if he did it on purpose or if it was just some fucked up coincidence but the cars fucked Jake im so sorry.” Again, Your sobs broke Jake's heart. “I'm in the park with Dot, Bradley told me to call Penny for a lift because we can’t drive the car back to yours.” 

“Where's Rooster?” Jake asked nearly panicked. He knew what Rooster could be capable of if given the chance and the right motive. “Is he not with you?” 

“He's still with the car, said something about needing to get insurance.” 

“Bull fuck he wants insurance.” Jake mumbled to himself as he threw the last few articles of clothing into his suitcase. “Listen, stay where you are, but when Roosters finished with his dick measuring contest, don't you dare leave his side, you got it?” Jake couldn't see you but he knew you nodded in response. “I’ll be on the first flight back–” 

“What?” You heard Jake's mother in the background, but for once in your life you wanted to be selfish, you needed Jake to come back. Come home. You weren't going to tell him to stay in Texas when you needed him here with you and Dot and Bradley in North Island. “What do you mean you’re going back, what's going on?” 

“I got a family emergency.” Jake explained and your heart melted for a moment amongst the chaos. “I gotta go home ma, end of story.” 

“All your family is here Jake, what do you mean a family emergency!?” You really didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you could hear everything loud and clear over the phone. 

“Not everyone ma, I've got family in North Island too and something just happened, I gotta go home, end of story alright.” 

“Jake?” You whispered as you watched Dot entertain herself. “I really am sorry, for everything–” 

“Nothing to be sorry about, I'll see you when I get home.” There was nothing else to discuss, it was an open and shut conversation. Jake hung up before his mother could figure out who was on the other end of the line. Watching like a hawk as Jake zipped up his suitcase. “I really do have to go, I'm sorry–I'll just have to make it up to you another time?” 

“It's Christmas Day Jacob.” Jake's mother couldn't have been more disappointed even if she had tried to hide it. Not like she was through. “What am I supposed to tell your father?” 

“Exactly what I told you” you and Odette were Jake's family. He’d already beaten himself up enough for letting you stay with Jaidyn for as long as you did, but he didn't know how bad it had gotten because you were just so bloody good at hiding it. He should have known something was wrong when you’d stopped returning his calls and text a few months before you showed up on his doorstep in the middle of the night. He couldn’t take what he didn’t do sooner back—but he had a chance to do something that mattered now: 

“That I have a family emergency.” 

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

“Penny and Mav are on their way.” By the time Rooster had made his way over to you in the park, you were a shaking mess. “Said they wouldn’t be too long.” Coming to sit beside you, Bradley didn’t draw you close. He didn’t wrap his arm around your shoulder or kiss your cheek like he normally would. Instead, he just sat beside you—waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to be touched. “Jake said you were having a dick measuring competition.” Bradley’s lips turned into a small almost unidentifiable smirk as you turned your head to look at him. “He’ll be on the first flight back.” 

“You reckon he did it on purpose?” Bradley asked as your eyes fell to his hands, his knuckles were a nice shade of red. Bloodshot capillaries had started to form some subtle bruising, a light dusting on dried blood had formed a thin layer on top of the cuts. Reaching out to take his hand in yours, you turned your attention back to Dot who was happily collecting different coloured leaves as she waddled around close by. “Kinda seems like it was premeditated.” 

“Oh, oh no he definitely knew it was us in the car, which makes me wonder how long he’s been following me.” It was a terrifying concept to think about. How long had Jaidyn had his eyes on you? How long had he been in North ISland for and more importantly, did he know where you were living? Did he know where you and your beautiful daughter had been staying since you ran. Did he know that the lock on Jake's front door was slightly broken and sometimes doesn't lock properly?  “Bradley, I can't stay here.” 

“I figured you’d think that as much.” Rooster knew this conversation was coming. He knew it was going to have to be one he had with you the minute he saw you standing there looking as if you’d seen a ghost. With his knees on his knees, Rooster watched Odette as she flew off with the fairies, in her own little imaginative world, so blissfully unaware of the imminent danger that loomed for you and her alike. “Let's be rational about this though.” 

“If he’s here? you aren’t safe, Jake isn’t safe, my daughter isn’t safe—“ You were once again putting everyone around you before yourself. “It was so selfish of me to bring you into this.” Wiping away your tears, Bradley brought his arm up around your shoulders as you fell into his chest. Crying. “I never should have let me guard down and I never should have let you get close, because he’s fucking right, I drag everyone down around me.” It broke Braldey heart to see you like this, a woman with such a fire and grace repressed to such a level of self worth it was basically non-existent. “I can't let you get involved with him, he's too dangerous.”

“I think you’re forgetting that I want to be here.” Bradley wasn’t going to argue with you, he knew that would do any good. He knew if he told you to stay that that could come across like he was forcing you to, you were your own person. Beautiful and brilliant in every way. He didn't ever want you to feel trapped with him, that you couldn't make your own choices in life. But he needed you to know truthfully and wholeheartedly that he'd cross oceans and move mountains for you. “So if you’re thinking about running again, just know—I’m coming with you.” 

“What?” You asked as you sat back up, rubbing your running nose on the back of your sleeve. Dried blood that had remained in your nose seeping out as you cried. It wasn't all that attractive, but nevertheless Bradley reached out to wipe it all away with the cuff of his jumper.  “Why would you do that? Your whole life is here?” 

“My whole life is sitting right next to me.” Bradley cooed. “So if you wanna go, we’ll go, but hear me out alright?” You simply nodded in response. “If you keep running every time he catches up? Are you ever gonna be able to move on?” 

“He’ll kill me if I stay.” It was a fact as immutable as gravity. “You and Jake playing heroes and getting the rulers out and saying I'll be safe when I won’t be won't change anything because he's psychotic!” It was one of the biggest contributing factors as to why you hadnt reported Jaidyn to the police when you had so many chances to. 

“What would change if you left now and he just found you in the next town?” Bradley asked as calmly as ever, knowing it was a fact that wouldn’t change if you ran. “If you run he’ll just find you again and you’ll forever be stuck in the cycle.” 

“It's just a high price I'm willing to pay to go free.” You replied, sitting with Bradley in the middle of the park. “Listen Bradshaw.” You smiled, reaching out the cup Bradleys cheek, a light scruff against his cheek tickled your palm. “I really like you, like a lot.” You wanted to say you loved him, truly. But it just wasn't the right time. “You're probably the only man who's ever gonna look at me the way you do and I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me and Dot.” 

“I sense a but is coming.” Rooster chuckled as he leaned into your touch. Admiring you like a love sick puppy. Not trying to hide his admiration for you in the slightest bit. 

“But you’re too good to lower your standards for me.” It left like someone had pulled directly on the strings of his heart. A sharp pain resonating deep in his chest when you said that you thought you weren't good enough for him. 

“Too bad–” Bradley shrugged as he pulled you closer, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “Listen to me okay, because I just dont think it's sinking in.” He wasn't going to let you live a life where you thought you were less than others.

“You're gonna get caught in a mess you won't be able to get out of, Rooster, now that He’s here I can't even begin to imagine the havoc he’ll cause.” Bradley knew you were going to put up an honest fight, it was in your inherent nature. You’d been doing that since day one so to expect any less than a solid conversation at the very least wouldn't be his own fault. Mentally cracking his knuckles and neck, Bradly settled in for a fight, ready to plead his case. 

“Why don't we stop talking about your ex for five minutes and talk about you?” It sounded firmer than he probably meant it to come across, but nevertheless you sat up a little straighter and frowned your brows. 

“Okay.” Hesitancy laced your tone and Braldye immediately softened next to you. He knew this whole situation was hard to be in and would be even harder to navigate. But lucky for you he was pretty good at working a GPS. 

“Your Ex can get–” Before Rooster could get into his novel of a statement as to why he thought you should stay, Dot was leaning against your legs with a pouty bottom lip. 

“Mamma, I wanna go home.” She cooed with tired eyes as her little fist came up to rub at them. It melted your heart as you picked you up. Cuddling her, fixing her hair. Kissing her cheek. She was everything to you. 

“I know baby I know, me too–but we’re just waiting for Penny and Pete.” 

“O’Tay.” Dot replied softly as her gaze turned up at Bradley. “Can I sit on your lap Toosters?” She asked politely. It still amazed you how quickly she’d grown attached to Brdley Bradshaw. It frightened you a little because what if this just didn't work out? Again your daughter would go without a father figure in her life. Not that you were insinuating Bradley was, but he was surely doing a hell of a lot more than her biological father ever did. 

“Sure Baby, here.” Bradley reached out and took Dot from your lap, gently placing her on his as he bounced his knee to rock her gently. She was exhausted. A little girl in a big scary world. Once Dot had settled in Roosters lap, his arms encapsulating her, he turned all his attention back onto you. “Now as I was saying, enough about that pissant.” He started. “I wanna life with you Y/n I don't think I could be any more clear about that.” 

“You're stupid if you think a life with me is worth fighting for.” You chuckled at the sentiment although it made you blush. It made you feel all fuzzy inside. Even while you were staring down the fact that your very dangerous, very unpredictable ex was now in town, Bradley Bradshaw still found a way to make you smile. 

“Okay, you can definitely hold back a little on the degradation there.” He laughed as Dot cuddled into his chest a little more, sucking her thumb as her eyelids fluttered. Listening to the lub dub rhythm of her Toosters heart. “You and your daughter have been nothing but a blessing since you moved here, and it's not my fault you made me fall in love with you, so technically you're just gonna have to accept the fact that you're stuck with me because I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“But what about–” You tried to argue, you just weren't used to being loved. Being wanted, being needed. Bradley couldn't blame you, he hated to compare you to a dog but it was like he'd rescued an abused dog from the shelter. At first they'd be a little standoffish, but soon enough they'd realise they're loved and in a safe place. A home. It was the same premise with you, he just needed to work you over, brick by brick. 

“Fuck your ex Y/n, fuck him!” Bradley scoffed. “He doesn't get to dictate your happiness or what you do with your life or who you choose to love or don’t love or where you live.” You sat silent next to Rooster as he rocked your daughter to sleep. You caught yourself for a moment falling into a daydream where you and Rooster could just play house, be happy and in love without all the drama and fuss. “He doesn't have a claim to you anymore and if he tries to mess with you? If he tries to come near you or Odette or so much as breathes in your direction, there's not a single thing I wouldn't do to protect you both.” It was a massive sentiment. You’d never ask Rooster to fight your battles for you, but knowing he would willingly meant a whole lot to you. More than he’d probably ever know. 

“I think Penny and Pete are here.” You sighed softly as you saw the silver sedan pull up to the curbside. 

“Don't change the subject Y/L/N.” Bradley smirked as he eyed you off, never taking his eyes off you for a moment. “So, if you wanna go, we’ll go and we’ll pack whatever you need and we’ll leave tonight.” Standing up, Rooster readjusted Odette to his hip before holding out his hand for you to take. Helping you stand from the bench you'd been occupying. “But–if you wanna stay? You’ll be surrounded by people who love you and who care about you and who just want you and this beautiful daughter of yours to feel safe and loved.” You weren't necessarily ignoring what Rooster was saying as you walked side by side slowly through the park, but you weren't directly answering his questions either. 

“Jakes just gonna tell me i'd be crazy to leave isn't he?” You shook your head as you let out a frustrated groan. “Fuck this is such a mess–” 

“Oh yeah big time.” Rooster agreed with a nod, pressing his lips together in a firm line as he slung his arm around your shoulder. “He’ll probably handcuff you to the dresser too if you say you wanna leave, but I think we’ll have a solid few hours to remove all the handles from all the draws he could possibly cuff you to before he gets back.” Laughing together as you approached Penny's car, you thought for a second what Rooster would think of Jake if he knew how you and Jaidyn originally got together. You knew Jake hated himself for it, still to this day he’d mention from time to time just how sorry he really is. He blamed himself for everything you'd ever been through. 

“I can only imagine the foul as fuck mood hes gonna be in when he gets home.” 

“That sounds like we’ll be here when he does get home?” Bradley raised a single brow as he walked with you over to Penny's car. Holding a sleepy Dot on his hip. “And well, honestly he has a right to be pissed– I mean, no man should get away with what he's done to you Y/n.” 

“Yeah, but it's not just that.” You sighed as you stopped in your tracks, wondering if you should even tell Bradley what you were about to tell him. 

“Then what?” He asked curiously with a puzzled expression plastered across his face. You pressed your lips together knowing it wasn't all that deep but still gave Bradley another puzzle piece to play with. Letting him in a little more each and every day. Letting him decided for himself if he should stay or if he should hightail it the fuck out of dodge. 

“Jakes the one who set me up with Jaidyn in the first place.”

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

Tags: @a-serene-place-to-be @lilyevanswhore @thescarletknight2014 @blindedbythelightt t @averyhotchner @emma8895eb @blairfox04 @caitsymichelle13 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @teacupsandtopgun @aemondssiut @feltonswifesworld87 @akalei349 @notjustsomeblonde @americaarse

[nana-mizu-shiki]

Kk. So. This isn't so much art but more a poem that I'm going to put into a fic I'm gonna make. Y'know song fics? Like that but with a poem. One I made and am going to give you the context of, I just wanna know if you guys would think a poem song fic would be cool.

The fic promt I thought of was:

What if Tim was dipped into the Lazarus Pit, but twice?????

And then I started coming up with a bunch of stuff listening to music, and I was like:

Thought Process? : Tim died in that desert. The Spleen incident didn't just leave him with a surprise surgery. It left him with glowing green eyes and half-white bangs. But of course, none of the Bats can know that, so, hair dye. Suprise, Suprise, the Pits don't bring Rage, they bring out the worst of a person. Jason? Anger. Ra's? Cruelty. Tim? Apathy. Tim's triggers? Betrayal, Abandonment, Reliance, Expectations Set For Perfection. Because. He. Has. To. Be. Perfect. Inherits Drake I. and Wayne E., slowly trying to cut ties with Gotham and The Bats, fades into the background until The Bats are too late to realize and too late to try to even stop him as he and Ra's make a deal. The deal? Cliffhanger. Up to the reader. And Worse? The Bats don't even realize as he left, taken back with The Demon Head to become his heir, and after months, training under Ra's himself, Returning to Gotham Under the alias of Shadow Shrike, civilian Tim D. W. A. G., although legally Timothy Drake-Wayne. Forever 17, hair shoulders length and bangs white, eyes permanently and mix of ice blue and mint green, flecks of Lazarus neon green passing even at simple glances of those he once called family. Dying his bangs temporarily in public, his vigilante-ism the thing that alerts the others of his return, his change. His Revival. His Death. Blah Blah Blah, Angst Confrontation Shenanigans, Details and Description of how the Pits affect Tim, how the Batfam try to reconnect and makeup, Yadda Yadda, Ends on a sorta cliffhanger thing where the reader chooses which Tim goes to as a Confrontation happens on a roof and Tim chooses between Jason, the Other Bats, Ra's, And Young-Just-Us.

Damn that was a word vomit.

Anyway, the poem is below,

Edit: I kinda realized the poem I'd really long and I'm considering putting this on Ao3 itself lol (*＞∇＜)ﾉ

👇

Green.

Abandoned and left; unthanked for,

Unthanked for?

They're ungrateful.

Green.

Lied and unapologetized to,

Left on Their own, and never recognized too.

Green.

Complete it all,

Raised to be Perfect,

Can never fall,

Always quiet and obedient,

Now Forever Indifferent.

Green.

To bring back the Bat,

Is to travel and turn,

Be ostracized and taken from,

Wings given to another,

Betrayed by those meant to be Their Brothers.

Green.

Betrayed and afraid,

Kicked out and replaced and stolen from a child,

To make a deal with The Demon Head

And to sell Their soul,

All Their worth,

All They've done,

What other choice?

What else is left?

Mentality;

Already on the brink,

Morality;

Like liquid and searching for who it obeys,

Green.

Left to die,

All alone

No longer were they meant to fly;

Sacrificing all their lives,

To help others and then left to die?

Green.

Green.

Green.

Green.

Green.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive with no care. No care at all.

Apathy pulls the teen.

Eyes and vision glowing green all because of a spleen.

Okay so I'm not done but I really want to save this, so pls let me know if you want to read more of this poem or the ideas of the fic it will go to. Thanks for reading (*^▽^)/★*☆♪*.ﾟ+ヽ(○･▽･○)ﾉﾞ +.ﾟ*

[gddmgttsu]

Hello!

(I have a nasty habit of wanting to write only about bad things so let's talk about something else)

I've somehow read all of Dungeon Meshi within the last two days or so. Time well spent I'd say...

The first time I've even heard of Dungeon Meshi was seeing all the Twitter clips from the first episode of the anime. I thought the premise was cute so I decided to take a peek at the anime with a friend.

The first two episodes were alright but at the time it didn't quite grip me as much as I thought it would. While I loved all the characters doing their thing, it was missing something that would really hook me in you know what I mean?

=======SPOILERS I SUPPOSE======

If you haven't seen any of it yet, please go and check it out it's pretty good. I wouldn't want to ruin anything about it for the blind.

After the second episode I just put it off for a bit but a month to so later, I saw a twitter clip or maybe it was a teaser that was about Falin's resurrection. I was astonished to see not a digested corpse coming out of the dragon but a goddamn skeleton of what's left. That was what I was missing in order to get hooked so my interest was fully piqued.

So now I've gotten around to reading the whole thing and MAN was I surprised. The world is so interesting, the characters are all loveable and it gets surprisingly dark every now and then. It touches on alot of themes that I like involving death and the stains of time.

My favorite manga of all time is Berserk so the moment the manga started getting into that stuff I was fully invested.

One of scenes that really stood out to me were Marcille's nightmare and how it sets up that bit near the end. I don't really know much about elf lore and I just beat Baldur's Gate 3 so it was interesting to learn more about how an increased lifespan is just sadness for the elf in question.

Seeing Laois get touched by her nightmare and immediately starts aging and freaking Marcille out just made me go "OH NO IS THAT WHY SHE'S AFRAID" and it makes me sad to think about life without your loved ones.

Another one is Senshi's backstory with the Griffin and how he had to live a long time with that gnawing thought at the back of his head. It thoroughly explains why he's so adamant about eating a balanced meal and how living as healthy as can be is so important to him. I honestly teared up pretty bad seeing those final panels of him eating the hippogriff stew.

I suppose my only nitpicks is that we never really got to hang out with Falin enough. I would have loved to see more of the gang interact with her since from the flashbacks and what little time we do get with her, she's a sweetheart too.

There's also Itsuzumi and how I personally don't think her arc was fully done but at least she had her moment with the succubis.

These are very minor and there are even more minor ones and honestly I don't mind them very much because the story is already like a 10/10.

=========SPOILERS END=========

The volumes kept ending at cliffhangers so I couldn't stop wanting to read more and more so I ended up binging the whole thing.

I'm glad I did though because the manga went into detail a couple of things I've been thinking about recently too. It just nice to see and read thoughts about the little things that bother me right now. Even if it is through a silly manga about eating monsters.

Honestly, the manga influenced me maybe like 10-30% as to doing a bit better with how I treat myself and my health.

To close it off, I gotta say I really loved it and I'm excited to go through it again with the anime. Hopefully my friend won't mind if I drag them with me since I left them at ep2 hehehe.

TLDR: FARCILLE IS REAL DON'T LET THEM TELL YOU OTHERISE

[highfantasy-soul]

Quick list of things I particularly loved from NATLA Episode 3 - Omashu before my in-depth overview

The whole rebellion inside the Fire Nation - love seeing EVERYONE fighting back

"I think that's what they said - I never listened." ^_^

"What makes you think we're outsiders?"

"We ARE Fire Nation, even out here"

"Irrigation, am I right?" :D

Aang darting through a crowd messing up everyone's day - just straight from the animated!

And the first tease of the cabbage merchant!!!

Our Gaang wasting NO time after the explosion to run in and help

Bloodthirsty Teo ready to recruit Aang to carpet bombing the Fire Nation - yet another example of children's morals and sense of self being warped by this war

How proud Teo is of his father!!

Sokka being able to show his interest in tinkering and engineering!!!

And did I spy some ECLIPSE glasses????

Aang's "no, I'm not going to just leave people in trouble, I'm going to stay and help them any way I can" moment

"He's done the impossible" in the most mocking voice imaginable! XD Adore that Azula isn't afraid to mock her father

And Mai and Tylee cameos!!!!

And the Yuyan archers! So many hints to the future here

Katara practicing her waterbending forms even in the background - really showing that she's taking every opportunity to hone her skills - she's not just perfect immediately

JEEEEETTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!

Honestly first thought cart-boy might have been Haru, but once he caught the Mechanist meeting with the spy, my Jet senses started tingling

Jet's combat - perfect! Katara's skills - growing!!

LOVE how there's such a marked upgrade in Katara's control from her single ball of water and big splash of last episode to her controlled twin water ball attacks

Jet's bird-whistle signal

I started giggling maniacally, knowing what was coming!!

And that DAMN piece of straw XD

Sokka saying 'No, my role is to be a warrior and protect the village' with the most heartbreaking look on his face as he sees the skills he truly loves being devalued (or the perception that their devalued) and then Sai reassuring him and his frown turning into a hopeful look on the verge of a smile. Seriously, my heart, guys

Chills every time Smellerbee throws up her hand and shouts "Freedom Fighters!" and the whole camp cheers - really you see how they're a family, a community, healing together the best way they know how

Honestly, everything with Jet is great - him actually giving GOOD advice to Katara, making him a real person rather than someone who only cares about himself - I believe this Jet actually cares about Katara the person, not just Katara the weapon

Also the fact that there's only the small hand-brush as a romantic gesture, the rest of Katara and Jet's interactions keep strictly platonic - nowhere near as charged as all Sokka's interactions with Suki and Yue

Katara's mom smiling in the sunrise D;

Zuko's annoyance at Iroh loving the city XD

And Lotus tile reference!!

Sokka's paper bird!!!

And oooohhh here comes the fighting!

Such a great choice to pit the Mechanist (Sokka) against Jet (Katara) where they're BOTH bad! This isn't a one sibling is right scenario - both their new allies are doing bad stuff! Very juicy and great plot thread/theme weaving

"To prove you're a jerk!" "Oh yeah, well I don't need proof of that!!"

Cabbage merchant tease #2!!

SSCCAARRRFF ZUUUTTAARRRAAAAAAAAAAA

"This guy - again?" *rolly eyes*

Sokka's first mad plan!! Riding the crates to the palace!!

The Zuko/Aang fight - beautiful, stunning, stylized, classic

Zuko being beaten by a woman furious that he's hitting a child

"YOU READ MY DIARY!!!!!!!!" sorry, "YOU HAVE MY NOTEBOOK!!"

MY CABBAGEEEEESSSSSS!!!!!!!

Water HAWHIP!!!!

Iroh's first firebending in the show is him using it to draw attention to him so Zuko can escape :( not to harm anyone, but to protect

Aang's little "Uh oh o.o"

This was the first episode where it ended and I thought "I HAVE to watch the next one RIGHT NOW"

Damn you cliffhangers

[Masterlist of my NATLA thoughts]

[strayflowersstarsandlove]

Horror nights (hanjisung)

DISCLAIMER: these longer writings can be read as both standalones or part 2's/prequels etc if you will.

IF you wish to imagine the characters following a chronological narration of events, this one can definitely be read before "I'm not leaving you". as it could serve as a moment in time that happens before the events in the blurb mentioned above.

WARNING : *mentions of blood and graphic fake movie depictions of brutality

PART 1

You really were so surprised at how unphased Han had been throughout the whole first movie. And how he still looked almost amused if not even bored at the horrific scenes currently displaying on the screen. For someone who's usually so sensitive and jumpy and easily overwhelmed, he looked completely at ease while watching literal bodies being sawn apart. Well, not literally, it was just prosthetics and cgi but the oozing blood and inhuman heart wrenching screams felt pretty fucking real and terrifying in your humble opinion.

Horror movie nights were both your favourite and your least favourite hang outs with your friends. You loved the activity in the fall for it was cozy and chill and required minimal effort and preparation. The most proactive thing you had to do was usually just pick some snacks and drive to one of your friends' houses with your duffel bag ready for the sleepover. Admittedly your favourite part was that it gave you the chance to shamelessly cuddle with the boys and enjoy how warm and protective they felt, Han being the more readily available one seeing that he had been your closest friend for longer.

But to counterbalance all that, your least favourite thing about it all was having to stomach up to 4 and a half hours of usually gory splatter horror movie marathons, either that or some fucked up rather mentally violent psychological thriller that Seugmin would choose and subject to you all even though everyone protested. Even trying to set him up with one of your girlfriends didn't persuade him enough to stop picking such awful films, and actually your girlfriend started enjoying them too so it only brought them closer which to Seugmin meant he was even more validated and encouraged to being a menace.

The real worse thing about this scary movies night tradition of sorts though was that it set the perfect storm for your budding feelings for Han: you weren't really sure when it all started but at one point down the many years of your friendship you started looking at him differently, noticing all those little lovable things about him and seeing him grow and become a young handsome man, the man with the biggest golden heart you knew. You slowly but surely started falling for him and you were now stuck in this uncomfortable limbo where you really wanted to confess but you couldn't bring yourself to cause you were sure he only saw you as a friend, even as a sister maybe.

Him being a naturally physically affectionate person didn't help either. You and the boys were all pretty comfortable in each other presence, had no problem being openly cuddly and close so you being all over Felix or Chan and Han being all over you on a typical movie night never raised any eyebrows except you couldn't help but get all warm and fuzzy and jittery inside whenever Han cuddled you and you were always so fucking afraid it would clearly show on your face. You didn't necessarily want any of the guys to notice too much cause you knew damn well they functioned like one body one mind and that none of them were able to keep their mouths shut.

As another blood coiling scream pierces through the TV speakers you flinch visibly and blink manier manier times, trying to collect yourself when the scene doesn't develop in any actual jumpscares but a mere cliffhanger that seems to be lasting forever and Han must've noticed how on edge you look cause he quietly scoots closer to you on the couch, putting an arm around your shoulder and giving it a little squeeze as you low key shift closer to him, Jeongin sitting on the other side, almost half asleep and definitely not noticing you drifting away from him. You swallow inaudibly and pull the blanket up your knees, absentmindedly making sure to cover Han's legs as well and he grins at you at the gesture, pulling you even closer to him.

And that's when you breathe him in and almost pass out cause why does he have to smell so fucking nice? You could already smell the faint scent of his shampoo from your former spot on the couch but now you can clearly inhale the fresh, sweet fragrance along with the muskier and powdery scent of his clothes and skin, the slightest hint of popcorn on his breath. Also why does his hair have to look so shiny and healthy and soft? And why does his side profile has to look so handsome? With the chiseled jawline but chubbier cheeks and his small straight nose and and pretty eyes so intent on the movie and those damn lips, barely parted, the bottom one sticking out so plump and rosy even in the semi darkness of the room - you are officially spiraling.

One of the characters in the movie suddenly gets possessed by some kind of demon and he tears himself apart, blood and guts spilling all over the scene and you just cannot. If one moment ago you were almost too overwhelmed by Han's mere scent you now literally bury your face in the crook of his neck, trying to cover your face with the curtain of your hair which earns you a soft snicker from him, "you're okay there?", he whispers in your hair, unaware of the shiver he just sent down your spine, you nod and mumble something unintelligible and slowly, ever so slowly lift your head up, quickly checking the screen to see if it's safe again, mainly focusing on the shadowed heads of your friends sitting and cuddling all around on the floor.

Han slips his other arm out from beneath the blanket and gently places his hand on top of yours, "squeeze if you need to", he instructs, his left arm tightening around your shoulder now that you straightened out again. You thank him quietly, your voice barely a whisper, and in a tiny leap of faith you interlock your fingers with his, hoping he won't be too bothered by that which doesn't seem to be the case since he just keeps on watching the movie, completely desensitized to the gore.

A few more relatively calm scenes roll by and you start to reassure yourself into believing maybe now there's a little amount of time where the plot just needs to develop without the obsessive amount of splatter. But just as you're about to almost quiet down completely and possibly fall asleep on your friend's shoulder a fucking ghost face thing jumps into full vision and attacks some other characters by slinging an axe down their backs and the sound of bones breaking and blood erupting everywhere makes you literally jump on the couch and whimper in pain as if you're the one being massacred, a few of the boys either mutter profanities themselves or straight up gasp, "oh my god oh my god ohmygod" you whisper/shout squeezing Han's hand so tight he frowns deeply at you and then he is pulling you into his arms in just a matter of mere seconds.

His embrace his warm and welcoming, you shut your almost teary eyes and focus on his fast heartbeat, "it's gone, baby. It's gone, I promise it's all over now", he repeats over and over again, his voice a very low, soft whisper as he pats your back, "gosh... you're shaking", he adds then, first vigorously holding and caressing your back and then cupping your face and stroking your cheeks repeatedly when he realises you're still so shaken, "it's okay, y/n it's okay, it's all over now, see? They killed him. They're walking away in a field now", he narrates softly, guiding you back on the couch, still keeping an arm protectively around your back.

You gradually calm down but still snuggle close to him, your heartbeat going a hundred miles per hour either from the violence you just witnessed or Han's immediate reaction and strong embrace. You kind of enjoy it, this sort of roller coaster of emotions, the edge keeping you very much alert and sensitive to every little touch and shift in vibration coming off of both you and Han who on the other hand seems to now be fully aware and responsive towards your every move, to every hitch on your breath as you reluctantly try to keep on watching the movie.

PART 2

[grelleswife]

I'm starting to suspect Snake was a lab experiment gone wrong too, it all makes too much sense 🙁 finny got super strength from his, snake was an experiment of maybe mixing dna or something.

Until recently, my pet theory was that Snake might be one of the last remaining descendants of a family or whole clan of folks who were part-reptile. Since demons and grim reapers exist in the Kuroverse, other supernatural elements wouldn’t be too out of place. But I think your proposition fits better with this arc’s theme of nonconsensual use of child subjects for unethical scientific dabblings, reflected in both the present-day action with the F.O.L. kids and Finny’s backstory.

Yana’s been quite coy about the details of the footman’s past. In Chapter 192, however, Snake revealed that he spent an indeterminate amount of time at an orphanage, which he grimly recalls as “a terrible place.” What exactly made this place so terrible, though? Was it awful in the run-of-the-mill Dickensian sense, a place where cruelty, disease, and neglect ran rampant…or, like F.O.L. Orphanage, did it operate as a shady research institute where vulnerable kids were used as lab rats?

Yana’s not afraid to draw upon Disney art, iconic scenes from Titantic, or the exploits of notorious serial killers; who’s to say she wouldn’t borrow a page from Maximum Ride’s book, too?

Based on the agonizing cliffhanger to Chapter 206, the coming months are prime real estate for Snake’s cinematic records flashbacks. We might finally learn the secret to his powers some time in 2024! Whether Snake will survive that long is another story. 💔

[221bshrlocked]

falling again (1)

Pairing: Pero Tovar x Siren Afab!Reader (Harry Potter AU)

Words: 9365

Warnings: Lots of dialogue. Pero is afraid and he shows it through anger and name-calling. Slight bias against another species due to past trauma. Intense making out. Slight nudity. Sort of a cliffhanger?

Prompts: “Maybe you can fool them, but I know what you are.” and “Do you trust me?”

A/N: This is for @pedrostories Celebration who are truly doing the Lord's work by compiling and recommending and being an archive for exceptional fanfiction. I can go on about Digital Archives and how useful they are in the long-run but it'll be boring so this is what I will say: thanks team for all that you do. We really appreciate you and we're happy you're going strong with this account. Kudos!!! Side note, it's been a long minute since I wrote a story, especially one for Pedro's characters, so do let me know how I'm doing please and thank you. #iwrotemostofthisduringhurricanehilary

The blaring horn jolts you awake, nearly sending the bottle in your hand to the ground. You tighten your hold on the neck of the cold drink, glancing at the doorway and finding students making their way across rather quickly. As soon as you look out the window, your heart races at the sight of the view. It’s a long way up the mountain, and even though it’s nearly dark, you can just make out the outline of the old castle.

Hogwarts. 

You’ve heard so much about the school, but now that you were nearly on the grounds, you couldn’t help but wonder how different it looks, how ancient it appears. 

Two knocks sound from the entrance of your cabin, and you turn around to see a young man standing and smiling at you. You smile in return as you grab your luggage and slide the door for him. 

“You must be Professor Longbottom!” The man nods as he extends out his hand to shake your own. 

“And you must be Dr. Fluviu. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

“Please, the pleasure is all mine. It’s not every day I get to meet a well-renowned aquatic botanist.” You smile even wider when you notice him turn away and blush at the compliment, one you would tell him later is much deserved. He gestures for you to walk ahead of him, and you nod in silence before you follow the rest of the students off the train. 

Several students stop your new acquaintance as you make your way towards the carriages, and you wait for him each time he responds to them. You pretend not to hear the teasing comments some of the older students make when they spot you behind him, and when you finally make it to the carriage, you apologize for putting him in such an awkward position. 

“I should be the one apologizing, not you. They are my students after all.” He takes the bag from your hand and places it in the box behind the carriage, ensuring it’s locked before he walks around and gives you a hand as you ascend the steps. You part your lips to respond to him, only to look up and watch two thestrals nudging each other playfully. Your mind frizzles instantly and you turn around to the herbology professor, only to see him shrugging his shoulders at you. 

“You can sit down Doctor, they won’t go anywhere.” He motions for you to be seated, climbing behind you instantly and casting a spell so the winged beasts can journey. 

“Forgive me Professor, but I- I have never seen one before. I’ve read about them of course but…well, I didn’t expect them to look so…so-” You don’t dare blink, afraid that you’ll open your eyes and they will be gone, just a figment of your imagination. 

“Terrifying?”

“Magnificent.”

Both of you sound the word simultaneously, and you look at him immediately, shaking your head out of fear of having him misunderstand you. 

“Hmm, I’ve never heard them described in such a way. But I suppose you’re right. And please, call me Neville.” He throws you another smile then, but it doesn’t reach his ears, almost as if the conversation reminded him of something he didn’t wish to remember. 

“In that case, call me Y/N.” Neville nods at you, and before you know it, you’re chatting about shared interests and discoveries that the two of you have come about in your research. You only notice that your carriage has taken a detour when you can no longer hear the conversations of the other students around you. 

“How come we’ve taken this route?” You ask Neville, only to have him rub his neck nervously and look away from you. He waits until the other carriages are far enough before he responds to you. 

“It is my understanding that not all of your…people, get along and if we were to have gone with the others, we would have needed to cross through the Black Lake. I wasn’t too sure about your comfort level near waters with sirens, and I figured this would be the most comfortable for you.” He’s choosing his words carefully, that you’re sure of, and you reach out to touch his shoulder immediately to set his mind at ease

“That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you!”

“Of course.” He chuckles through his embarrassment and you take this chance to double down on your response, not wanting him to feel awkward around you. 

“There aren’t many out there who understand the dynamics between clans of my kind. I do mean it when I say you’re thoughtful.” The conversation returns to shared interests soon after, and before you know it, you’re arriving just outside the main gate of the castle. Neville continues to be patient with your awe of the building structure, asking you to walk ahead as he takes your luggage and makes his way behind you. When you start asking him all sorts of questions about the history of the building, he answers you enthusiastically, going as far as suggesting books on the castle since its inception. 

“Oh, I forgot about the time.” Neville blurts out when the clock strikes seven times. 

“Are we late?”

“Not fully, but I would rather if you attended the beginning of the night along with the other professors and the Headmistress.” He leads you through the main entrance and asks you to step inside the Great Hall. 

“Where will you go?” You ask when you notice him walking the opposite direction.

“You will most likely meet with Professor Mcgonogall after dinner so I thought it best to take your belongings to your room now…so you don’t have to bring it along with you at the end of the night.” The simplicity with which he answers you sets your mind at ease, and you find yourself thankful that he was the one who came to welcome you tonight. 

“I- uhhh.” You can’t find the right words to thank him for being so friendly, and Neville must notice your struggle because he walks back to you and pats you on the shoulder. 

“It’s not easy coming to a place all by yourself, especially with the task in your mind. I’m glad I can make this process easier.” He smiles at you for Merlin knows what time that night, and you nod at him before thanking him for everything he’s done thus far.

“I’ll see you soon, don’t drink too much Pumpkin juice yeah!” Neville jokes as he makes his way to the staircase, leaving you to a multitude of thoughts. Taking in a deep breath, you fix your clothes before you head towards the large doors of the room he pointed to. As they swing open, you’re met with a sight you never thought would be this overwhelming. 

The memory of your arrival to the castle distracts you away from the task at hand, and you blink out of the momentary haze to avoid falling into doubt for ever coming to this place all those weeks ago. Sensing a pair of eyes on you, you glance to the side and feel your heart skip a beat when you notice Professor Tovar staring at you as he makes his way over.

You smile awkwardly at him, and gulp down whatever nervousness threatening to make itself known before he grows closer. You shut your notebook quickly when you remember what you were writing down in minutes prior, trying to appear less conspicuous as you place the other books above the small object to avoid his curious eyes. 

“G-good evening Professor Tovar,” you hope he doesn’t notice, or even comment, on the clear discomfort about you, knowing that whatever relationship you’ve managed to establish with him is still incredibly sensitive. After everything you’ve learned about him, you couldn’t blame the distrust still underlying between the two of you. When he clears his throat and breaks eye contact with you, you get the sense that he might actually be more nervous than you. 

“Buenas noches,” he grunts softly, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was reluctant to ask you what he came over to say. 

“Is there anything you need from me Professor?” You push your books aside and stand, unintentionally stepping into his personal space and making him take a small step back. 

“No, well…yes. I have some news for you…good news.” His voice is barely louder than a whisper, and if you weren’t so focused on the softness of his lips and how tempting they looked, you would have registered what he’d just admitted to you. The school grounds are quiet enough for you to hear him, except your mind chooses to meditate on how warm and welcoming his lips appear to you instead of whatever he just blurted out hastily. 

“Did you hear me hermosa?” He asks a little louder, forcing you to shake your head and apologize for not hearing him the first time. 

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said…I think I have it.”

The noise across the school grounds grows silent in an instant, and you’re left with nothing but shock and fear coursing through your veins as his admission finally settles in your busy mind. 

“What?” The question barely escapes your mouth, and you refuse to blink out, afraid you’d miss something different in his expression that might prove his confession false. 

“I am not one hundred percent sure of course, but I am almost positive it is finished.” When he speaks again, your knees buckle in and nearly send you to the ground. Professor Tovar embraces you immediately, wrapping his arms around your weakened body and supporting your weight so you don’t tumble to the hard floor of the court.

“Mierda, are you okay?” His voice is music to your ears, nearly as bewitching as your own, and if you weren’t currently attempting to overcome the momentary lapse of your mind and body, you’re sure you’d be committing this very instance to memory. 

“I’m…oofff, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me all of a sudden.” You apologize as you try to right yourself, and even though he’s returned you to your seat, you refuse to let him go, afraid that he’d move away from you and leave you yearning for his touch again. 

“Forgive me, I should have waited for a better moment before I told you.” You finally convince your hands to let go of him, and as you grab for your head to try and still your mind, Professor Tovar kneels beside you and keeps close to you. His grip on your arm tightens when you look up and meet his eyes, and before you can breathe another apology to him, he’s leaning over and collecting your belongings in one arm. 

“Please Professor, you don’t have to-”

“Come with me.” He breaks your train of thought, pulling you to your feet and forcing you to keep hold of his arm as he makes his way back to the castle. You want to tell him that there are students still roaming the grounds and might see the two of you, but as every interaction you’d held with him thus far, Professor Tovar dominates the air around you, not leaving the slightest bit of control in your hands. 

You try your hardest to not let his handling of you affect your heart, but you’re sure he can hear your labored breathing by the time the two of you make it to his office. Whereas you would have found any excuse to not remain in the same room as him alone weeks ago, you now push your body closer to him, clutching onto his arms for dear life as he leads you through the corridors and into the privacy of his teaching rooms. He sits you down on one of the chairs before walking over to his desk, and you take the chance to breathe in deeply without being affected by the deep, musky scent of him engulfing you. 

You’re about to apologize for losing control again when he struts back towards you, dragging a chair directly in front of you and grabbing your chin to raise your head. You swallow down whatever clumsy words were about to fill the air, and Professor Tovar frowns at the minute shift in your expression. He studies your eyes for a second longer than necessary before he opens the vial he brought from his desk and brings it to your nose. 

You have the urge to cough as soon as the scent floods your senses, but the Professor doesn’t let you move away from it, forcing you to remain still as he holds it right underneath your nose until it is no longer a disturbingly-strong smell but a welcomed distraction to your otherwise frenzied thoughts. When your breathing calms down, Professor Tovar moves away from you and relaxes back into his chair, rubbing his temple furiously as he looks into your eyes one last time and sighs heavily. 

“Must I beg for you to stop calling me that?”

His voice thunders through the walls, and you avoid looking at Professor Longbottom, afraid you’ll find nothing but pity in his eyes. You’re not sure how long the argument lasts, but you know it was long enough for the important figures within the paintings and photographs littered across the room to leave. It’s a strange occurrence, one that you cannot help but giggle over. The mere fact that those around the walls felt sorry for you enough to leave the room is rather humorous, and you clasp your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from making any noise, afraid that Neville might misunderstand your reaction and turn against you as well. 

The faux silence of the room is cut abruptly when the doors of the office swing open and the Headmistress of Hogwarts walks out. You look upon Professor Mcgonagall and watch as she tries to form a response in her mind that offends neither you nor her friend whom she just had a “fascinating” discussion with. 

“You must understand, it is out of my hands.” You are aware that is as close to an apology as you will receive from her, and you don’t fault her for not being more forward with the gesture. The last thing you’d want is to form a rift between colleagues, friends even. 

“I know Professor. I would never hold you accountable for another’s...beliefs.” The smile you send her is as subtle as what is in between the lines, and she nods once before walking away, requesting for Neville to join her and leave you to sort out the unavoidable predicament between yourself and the man holding the key to all of your answers. Taking in a deep breath, you gather whatever courage still remaining in your body and make your way into the office of the man who spent the last ten minutes cursing your existence. 

You hover at the entrance, knowing that any wrong move might cause your life’s work to come tumbling down. 

“Professor Tovar, do I have permission to enter your office?” You ask once, words chosen carefully and tone passive enough to not terrify him but assertive enough to let him know you, very much, heard everything he said about you, and your kind. 

You half expected him to curse you, perhaps even go as far as send you flying away from his office with a spell you would have not seen coming. You even prepare your body for whatever repercussions he may force upon you, a judgment unfair to you but justified in his eyes.

But he does none of the things you imagined, and instead, nods for you to enter before slamming the door shut behind you. Neither of you say anything as you stand there in the middle of the room filled with nothing but rage and disgust. His eyes are not nearly as fearful and angry as you expected them to be, and for a moment, you think you may have disarmed him by your lack of a reaction to his offensive words. But the hate you heard spewed about you not ten minutes prior makes itself known in the form of a judgemental gaze. 

“Maybe you can fool them, but I know what you are.” He breaks the silence soon after, his words somehow hurting far worse than any spell he may have thrown at you, even more than what he’s called you before. You’re near tears, but you stand your ground nonetheless, not wanting to show him a sliver of weakness. 

“And what would that be, Professor?” Your question comes out a little more aggressive than you intend, but you don’t bother apologizing for your tone, once again refusing to let him think he can gain the upper hand on you forcefully. 

“Someone that cannot be trusted.” He hisses the sentiment, and you don’t miss the way his frown deepens further at your lack of a reaction. 

“That’s a shame, I really was looking forward to working with you.” You turn your gaze to the ground, hoping your body language conveys that you mean him no harm. 

“Think again sirena.” The nickname is laced with nothing but malice, and you crack an irritated smile when you look up again and see him pouting his lips at you in disgust. 

“What can I do to remedy this…unfortunate opinion of me?” You take a deep breath and will yourself to remain calm and collected, praying to whatever higher power exists that he can see how docile and harmless you are.

“Nothing.”

The single word pisses you off more than everything he’s said thus far, and although you know you should think twice before doing anything that worsens the situations, you don’t bother keeping yourself in check and react to the first thought that comes to mind. 

“Hmm, in that case, I do apologize for what I’m about to do Professor.” It’s the only warning he has before you whip out your wand and swing it in the air. His eyes widen at the sudden motion,  but he doesn’t bring out his wand. You file that somewhere in the back of your mind to thin over later, and narrow your eyes at him before turning around. 

“Accio Veritaserum.” As soon as the spell is said, Professor Tovar is stepping into your space to try and stop you from doing what you’re about to do. 

“Stop!” The order is furious, but you pay him no mind as you take the last few steps towards his desk and pour the potion into a glass of water. You shut the vile when you’re done, setting it aside as you swirl the liquid you’re about to drink while maintaining eye contact with him. 

“There, three drops should do it if I remember correctly.” You’re not sure if he’s angry because of your disrespect of his space or because he knows that he should try harder to stop you from drinking the truth serum, but you pay him no mind as you throw back the glass of water and drink it in one go. 

“Idiota, use of this serum is strictly forbidden.” He walks towards you and grabs the vile, pushing it into his pockets before staring dead into your eyes. You try not to let the reality of your actions get into your head, but as the Professor studies you closely, you realize you’d just given him the upper hand completely. He can learn so much from you about your kind now, and you wouldn’t be able to stop him from doing serious harm. 

Then you remember what Neville said of him, and you will your heart to be at ease. 

“Ask away.” You grunt as the effects of the serum wash over you, and when he doesn’t so much as breathe another word, you take a few seconds to collect your bearings before looking into his gaze to try and maintain whatever fake control you thought you still have on the situation. 

“Ask your questions, Professor. My family history is clearly distressing to you, but I cannot return to The Ministry of Magic without an answer to my theories. So whether you like it or not, we must work together for the sake of our world.” You break the silence, and you’re sure he can till you’re immensely annoyed by the escalation of the conversation. His eyebrows furrow one last time before you watch his body visibly relax, and you almost flinch when he steps back and walks around his desk to sit on his chair. 

“Ask your questions, Professor Tovar.” You say one last time as he takes a seat and motions for you to do the same. 

“It w-wouldn’t be appropriate.” You avoid looking into his eyes, afraid the deep brown shade would convince you otherwise. Thinking he will let it go, you look at the desk holding your books to distract yourself from the sudden intimacy of the air. 

“And if I tell you I long to hear you call for me…not even then?” He leans forward, reaching over and slipping his hand into your own before slowly dragging it to his lips. You watch as he lays the softest of kisses against your wrist, breath hitching in your throat when he parts his lips and nips at the skin above your elevated heartbeat. 

“Pe…Pero,” the man growls when he hears you moan his name, and before you can take your hand back, let alone ask him about the sudden interest in you, Pero slips his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest. You crash against him, barely managing to support yourself so you don’t slip from his lap and onto the ground. 

“Mi bruja, why do you torture me so?” Pero reaches forward but stops himself before he does something neither of you could return back from. His mouth hovers over your own, the two of you breathing the air leaving the others’ lungs as if your life depended on it. Your eyes flutter nervously when you see his dilated pupils begging for you to end his misery. 

So much has transpired in the past few weeks, and you try to place when it all changed, but you know you wouldn’t be able to find the moment when his hatred for you turned into shameless desire, one you could practically taste on your tongue now. 

“Pero…you- you must know that this is because…it’s- it can’t be you.” He huffs out a chuckle, one you’re sure is at his own expense and not your own, and when you try to leave his arms, he keeps his hold on your and refuses for you to leave him. 

“Believe me, I have thought of it all.” 

“Then you know what you must do.” Your breath is shaky, even more so than your advice to him, but as always, Pero surprises you by shaking his head and clutching your waist tightly. 

“I would very much like to kiss you.” His request is whispered against the corner of your lips, and your heart skips a beat at the prospect of finally feeling this man claim your skin.

“Pero…please.” The plea is nothing but a whimper, and you shut your eyes as you lean forwards to give him what he wants, but Pero slips his hand into your hair and drags you away from him. You snap your eyes open and instantly look into his own when you feel the pain expand across the back of your skull. 

“No…you- you must have not heard me well.” He clears his throat and clenches his jaw tightly when he feels you attempt to break from his hold and move forward again. 

“I did…I did Pero. Please, kiss me.” 

“You know what will happen if I do.” It’s not a question, more of a warning really, and you swallow the lump in your throat when you realize what he’s worried about, why he’s so reluctant to follow through with his desires. 

“Yes.” It’s as firm an answer as you can give, and you watch as understanding dawns on him of what your reply implies. 

��What is your age?” You should have guessed this would be his first question, and your attention remains solely on his expression, not wanting to miss a single muscle twitch in case his intentions turn for the worse. 

“Interesting that this would be the first thing you wish to learn about me. By my family’s years, I am at the beginning of the third stage of growth, which, as I am sure you are familiar, puts others at a great disadvantage when I remain in their vicinity for long periods of time.” You don’t falter in your response, knowing that any slight hesitation would mean you’re attempting to lie to him. When he says nothing else, you continue stating the obvious, knowing that he may think you’re trying to avoid the real reason behind his need to know your age. 

“It also puts me in danger since my…abilities are at their most potent, and many bounties would do anything to acquire me.” You know he doesn’t particularly care for whether or not you’re in danger, but you mention it regardless, hoping he can see that you don’t mind sharing such knowledge with him. 

“Have you ever used your voice on another?”

There it is. 

“Never. Neither have I given any part of me to anyone.” Again, you know you need only answer according to the question, but you want him to see that you are willingly cooperating with him, and that he should at least try to be as courteous to you as you are with him. 

“There are enough dangers in this world as is.” You whisper the sentiment and watch as his expression shifts minutely. Perhaps you found something to agree on after all. 

“Where is your family?” It’s a dangerous question, one you know will lead to another one that may put an end to the conversation, but you respond anyway. You had no other choice. 

“None survived the Second Wizarding War. I am the only one who remains from them.” If he notices the hint of melancholy in your tone, he says nothing of it and instead waits a little while longer before he follows with another inquiry. 

“Who raised you then?”

“A pair of muggles in the Southern part of the Red Sea Governorate.” It’s the first time you see him raise his eyebrows in curiosity rather than anger, but the gesture is gone as soon as it makes an appearance, and you turn away to avoid his gaze. 

“That would put you near salty waters…which of the sea families do you belong to?” It was an inevitable question, one you wished he wouldn’t ask, and when you halt on answering him, his whole body becomes rigid again, sitting up slightly in his chair in preparation for you attempting to lie to him. 

“You refuse to answer.”

“N-no, it is not that I refuse. It is that your hatred of me will increase when I do answer your question.” You rub your eyes nervously, unsure of what his response will be when he finds out what family you come from. You wipe the corners of your mouth and stare at the ceiling to try and find courage etched somewhere above. 

“I come from fresh waters, from the Family of Rivers…so that makes me a descendent of Achelous and Melpomene.” You let your words sink in, continuing to study the space above you for a short while before forcing yourself to hold contact with his eyes once more. 

“You…you are a descendent of the River god?” His voice shakes at the knowledge you’ve just bestowed upon him so simply, and when his shock subsides, you nod at him and break the newly awkward air filling the room. 

“Yes.” It’s a reluctant admission, and you watch as he comes to terms with what you’re capable of. 

“Mi río,” Pero growls into your neck, smiling to himself when he feels you shake in his arms as he nips across your heated skin and leaves a trail of wet kisses over every inch of you he touches. The harder he bites into your skin, the tighter you clutch onto him, and when you think you can’t take it any longer, he tugs onto your hair until your eyes flutter open and look into his own. 

“Please Pero.” You whine one last time, hoping that he’d finally follow through with this request and claim you. 

“Give me your mouth querida!” His words shoot straight to your core, and your stomach twists and turns as soon as he pushes forward and traces his lips over your mouth teasingly before swallowing your surprised gasp. You melt into his arms, not bothering to fight for any control as you feel his tongue explore your mouth. Pero tilts his head to the side and moves you to do the same, deepening the kiss further until you’re completely at the mercy of his hold. 

When the need for air becomes unbearable, Pero breaks the intimate moment but doesn’t move too far, waiting until you catch your breath before he claims your mouth again. Before you know it, Pero is standing and taking you along with him, not caring for how aggressive he’s being as he pushes you backward until you hit one of the desks. He leans over you until you’re laying on the table, pushing your thighs wide open to make space for himself and move closer to you. 

“Oh fuck…Pero, you-” 

“That’s it sweet one, call for me.” His voice is laced with lust and danger, a combination you often feared from those who’ve come to know you, but you find yourself unnaturally comfortable beneath him. You throw your head back and moan his name over and over again, dragging your fingers across his arms to his shoulders until you sink your sharp nails into his neck to pull him further into you. 

Pero takes one last look at you, and in a moment of weakness, he slithers his hands across the front of your shirt, and grabs the top of your clothes, unable to hold back from ripping the flimsy fabric down the center and letting it fall away to reveal your skin. You don’t dare look at him, knowing that you will be weak underneath the intensity of his gaze. Pero must read your thoughts because he trails his hands roughly across your nude skin to your neck, silently asking you to meet his eyes. You meet them reluctantly, parting your lips to call for him, only to be stopped by a hand wrapping around your jugular until he has your undivided attention. Your eyes glaze over in ecstasy, and you think that Pero is closing the space to taste you again. 

But instead, he bites down onto the top of your breasts and chuckles devilishly when you twitch against him. 

“Sing for me, cariño.” The request snaps you out of your trance, and you look down to gauge his reaction, perhaps see if he is aware of what he just said to you. 

“And you have never used your voice? Not once?” Even though he knows you cannot lie, the tone of his voice is strictly distrusting, and you sigh tiredly when you realize his inquiries would only increase in aggressiveness now that he knows where you come from. 

“No, nor do I plan on using it. Ever.” You answer immediately, not wanting to leave any room for misunderstandings should you think over your response. 

“What is the true reason behind your visit?” You didn’t expect him to ask you such a question, mostly because you knew the Headmistress had already spoken with him. Still, you continue to humor him for the sake of your goal. 

“I wish to find a way to render sirens powerless…when their abilities have been used on another at least.” He doesn’t bother hiding his reaction, and you feel judged when you notice his expression shift more negatively, as if he wouldn’t be the first to cheer over such a possibility. 

“You seek a poison upon your kind?” You wince at his choice in words, and he must notice how uncomfortable you become because he turns his attention away from him, almost as if he was thinking of apologizing but didn’t want to follow such a thought through. 

“No, not a poison…a way for those of us still alive to have a choice.” You snap at him unintentionally, shaking your head and hiding the hurt swimming in your eyes behind your hands when you look up and see a hint of pity in his own.

“A choice in what?” For the first time since you’ve had the pleasure of speaking with him, Professor Pero Tovar is tame, deferential even. You don’t count on it lasting though and you take a few seconds to collect your thoughts before sitting up and facing him head on. 

“To keep our abilities or our lives. If there is ever to be another war, I- I feel it is better for us to survive without our powers than to die while being used to force more evil into this world.” He nods passively, standing abruptly and walking along his book case until he’s on the other side of the room. When he turns around, he finds you staring intently at him, and you think for a moment that his chest fills with pride at the prospect of having your undivided attention. But you brush the thought aside, knowing there is no chance in this lifetime for this man to ever think well of you. 

“And why come to me?” He pushes his hands into his pockets, leaning against his bookcase as he shrugs his shoulders and waits for you to give him a good enough reason to be in your vicinity for the foreseeable future. 

“Several mutual friends suggested your name when they learned of my goals. They told me you are arguably the best in this field…defensive potions I mean.” You know the compliment won’t remotely affect him, but a part of you prays he’s as vain as any other man, if only so you can take such a route should he agree to helping you. 

“And how long do you plan on staying?” The air about him is much different than a few minutes ago, and you take the chance to approach him so he can see the genuine need you have for him to work with you. 

“Until I am successful in my endeavors…which I will never find if you refuse to help me.” He turns away then, tapping his shoes against the ground lightly as he thinks over every answer you’ve given him thus far. The silence stretches far too long to your liking and you close the gap between the two of you, trying your hardest to meet his gaze so he can see that your goals are strictly honorable. 

“Please Professor Tovar, I will do anything you ask. I will take this serum each day if it makes you more comfortable around me. I will ask Professor Garrin to put a silencing spell upon me so I am incapable of speaking or- or singing.” You swallow the last bit of your pride, telling him that you’re willing to put up with a great deal just to have a bit of his time for the next few months. You hope this is enough for him to believe your intentions, that he won’t use your nature against you. 

The sentiment must shock him a great deal because he stands to his full height and fingers his palms nervously while roaming his eyes over your features. An hour ago, you would have thought he is attempting to size you up, see how much power he’d need to exert to establish his control over your person. But the way he studies you now is completely different, as if he was trying to convince his mind to no longer look for any malicious intent within your words. 

“You would willingly subject yourself to such means?”

“Without a second thought. I need this solution, Professor. I need it.” You reply immediately, furrowing your eyebrows in an attempt to control yourself from jumping to conclusions and thinking he’s agreeing to your request. 

“And you will grant me anything for my cooperation.” The exclamation catches you off guard, but you gulp down whatever fear you have from such a statement and let him know that you would happily meet his terms. 

“If it is within my ability and does not go against my beliefs, yes.”

Professor Tovar takes a deep breath, and without wasting another moment, lets you know exactly what he wants from you. 

“I ask for a single kiss.”

“You have grown silent. Do I take that as a refusal?” Had you not been looking dead into his eyes, you would have thought he was smiling at your expense, or maybe feeling proud at how unsettled he managed to make you in the blink of an eye. You gulp down the terror and panic threatening to take over your soul, and with the knowledge that you didn’t have any way to tell half a truth, you muster up every ounce of courage remaining in your blood before responding to him. 

“No…no I just- there is no way for me to know if you will not do anyone harm when you gain such a valuable skill.” You don’t look elsewhere, afraid he’d use your momentary lapse to his advantage and make matters worse. Professor Tovar doesn’t so much as blink, his expression turning from one of distrust to complete and utter curiosity. You don’t understand why such a shift becomes until he speaks the next few words. 

“So it is true then.” 

“What?” You tilt your head to the side, unsure of where his line of thinking was taking the two of you. Up until a second ago, you thought you needed to find some way of letting him know that this wasn’t an easy request for you, and you were already going as far as trying to figure out how you can convince him that you couldn’t just grant him such a wish. 

“A siren’s kiss can allow you to breathe underwater.”

It dawns on you that he just managed to fool you into admitting something only your kind knew to be true, and what others have spent their entire lifetimes attempting to learn if there is any truth to such a legend. 

But it wasn’t a myth. It was true. And you had just accidentally revealed it to a man who could use this information for his own good. Against you. 

“I- that’s not what I…oh god. What have I done?” You take a few steps back, clasping your hand over your mouth to refrain from crying out in front of him. A thousand scenarios flood your mind, leaving you wondering how long it would take for the rest of the magical world to learn of the value of your kind. You were already hunted for so many things—your tears, your scales, your blood—and this was going to make matters worse, much worse. 

The things that could be done with such a gift. 

“Relax bruja, I have no wish to share such knowledge with anyone.” He must have seen the anxiety overtaking you because he leans into your space to whisper into your ears as he makes his way back to his desk. And although you know he is probably not lying to you, you are still aware of the dangers of what he now knows. There were many ways to learn of this secret, and not all of them were consensual. 

“But you know…you- you know. It does not matter whether you choose to tell another or not. If- if word gets out, if someone forces you to speak of my kind…we are done for.” You rest your weight onto the shelf of the bookcase in front of you, no longer able to think of a single coherent thought now that your plans were ruined over a simple mistake on your part. 

“Do you trust me?”

“I- I was told I can.” You furrow your eyebrows at him, following his every move as he takes out the potion in his pocket and puts it back on the shelf behind him. 

“Hmm, there is a reason this serum is not used so carelessly.” Professor Tovar breaks the growing silence, and you’re shocked to find him grinning at you for a moment before returning to his seat once more. 

“If you do not wish for others to find your potions so easily, perhaps you should hide them better…and a protection spell or two would not hurt.” You know you should watch your tongue, especially since you were still sure he wasn’t planning on aiding you in your research. 

“It is not necessary.” He raises a curious eyebrow at your retort, the smirk on his handsome features remaining for another moment before it becomes a distracting pout once again. 

“Is it not?”

“No one would ever dare to seek a potion master’s work. No one who wishes to remain alive at least.” 

Although his voice is not remotely threatening, the hair on the back of your neck rises at the prospect of what he could mean by such dangerous words. 

“Is that a threat Professor?” As hard as you will your body to remain still, you can’t control it from taking a step back when he leans forward and crosses his hands in front of him. 

“No. It is not.” It comes as a shock to you how easily his curt reply calms your nerves, ones that have been on high alert before you walked into his office. It was a strange feeling, to be comforted by the one who’s been causing you anxiety for the past hour or so. You don’t know what else to say to him now, so you opt to remain quiet, hoping he can continue to lead the conversation and veer it somewhere less intense than where it is now. 

Professor Tovar motions towards the chair in front of him, not saying another word until you walked back towards him and sat down. You inhale deeply, mulling over everything that’s transpired between yourself and the man in front of you. Resting your back against the chair, you cross your legs and fold your arms together, all the while coming to terms with how unproductive your visit to the castle was turning out to be. 

“I need to ask you one last question.” He sighs heavily as he offers you a final claim, one that would have set your heart rate running had you not already come to terms with your failure to convince him of your plans.

“Go ahead, it’s not as if I’m not in harm’s way already.” 

It’s clearly not the answer he expects, and the careless air about you must make him uncomfortable because he grimaces irritatingly and clenches his fists tightly in an attempt to control his reaction to your dismissive statement.  

“What do you value more? Your life, or your abilities.”

“I- I do not know. I never used them, and apart from being able to breathe underwater, I never truly felt any connection to my family. But when my parents told me of how I came to them, I couldn’t help but feel betrayed. My parents, the biological ones I mean…they tried to help the only way they knew how during the war, but what good did that do them? They left me alone in this world, and although I would not take back a moment with the ones who raised me, I cannot ignore my anger.” You couldn’t quite make eye contact with him, unsure of how he would take your confession and whether or not you’d find his reaction to your liking. 

“And when I started this journey, I thought I had made a decision. I would give up my abilities to keep my life as peaceful as possible. But when I got closer to an answer, when I was told there is someone who would be able to help me, I became confused. I value my life, and if there ever comes a time when I would have my own family, my own little ones running around, I would give up those abilities in an instant. I would not wish for them to go through life the way I have.” His question is general enough for you to be as vague as possible in your answer, so you’re not sure why you’re suddenly offering him an answer as intimate as the knowledge he’s come about because of you. The last thing you expected was to ever open up to someone about your personal ordeals, let alone a person as judgemental as the professor. You don’t need to continue, but you feel like you owe him an explanation as to why you’re willing to go through such means to get what you want. 

“But then I thought about it longer, and it occurred to me that I may be disrespecting my parents’ honor…their heritage…for selfish reasons. They left me alone in this life for the sake of the world’s safety. They were so selfless, and- and I do not wish to disappoint them by giving up what they gave me…the only true thing that connects me to them.” If your admissions hold any effect on him, he hides it pretty well, not daring to break your line of thought as he listens attentively to everything you have to say. 

“So…I do not know Professor Tovar. I do not know. Perhaps I will once it becomes a reality, but perhaps I will choose my biology instead. I do not think I will truly know what I want unless it is in the palm of my hand.”

The man in front of you says nothing, and you take it as a sign of his continued refusal to help you. Knowing there is nothing else to be said or done, you nod your head several times at him before standing up and walking towards the door to his office. 

“Forgive me for taking up so much of your time. I- I will see myself out.”

You get a hold of the doorknob, but as you twist it to leave, Professor Tovar blurts out something you were convinced he wouldn’t ever say to you. 

“I will help you.”

“I will help you…so you can have your choice.” You should have noticed it earlier, his accent that is, but you must have been caught up in the tense atmosphere surrounding him that you didn’t notice the melodious tone of his voice, the little pauses he took before he said something deemed “difficult.”

“What- what do you wish for in return?” You didn’t want to be so distrustful, but his perspective changed several  times throughout your little chat that you couldn’t rely on a single confession said after you’ve practically poured your heart out to him. 

“Nothing.” You stare at him, shocked at the dramatic turn of events. He must sense your reluctance in believing him because he rubs his beard nervously before repeating his earlier words again. 

“I want nothing in return.” His voice is even calmer, and you look to the side to mull over how to properly respond to him. 

“If we are to create such a serum, that will be my reward.” That catches your attention immediately, and you narrow your eyes at him in wariness. Of course he’d want to take the credit for such a serum. 

“You wish for your name to be associated with this potion?” The question is neutral, at least you thought it was, but the way Professor Tovar cringes and pouts lets you know otherwise. Perhaps you should have chosen better words after all. 

“No, I wish to go to sleep at night knowing there is now a cure for what killed my sister.” The silence that follows his confession is deafening, and you can’t help the tears forming in your eyes as you look into his gaze and keep it much longer than deemed professional. The deep shade of his orbs softens when he notices a trail of droplets streaming down your cheeks. He shakes his head as he hands you his handkerchief, nodding at you to take it and wipe your skin. 

“Do not waste your tears. They are far too valuable to be shed on a memory of one you do not know.” There is something different about him now, almost as if he was met with the opposite of what he expected to see. You furrow your eyebrows, not once turning away from him as you reach out to hand him back his handkerchief. He shakes his head then, and sits back down. 

“I think it best if you kept that.” You know what the gesture means, and you want to thank him for being so considerate, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a whispered apology, one you’re not sure whether you said it regarding his sister or this whole conversation. 

“I am sorry.” 

“There are some things you should know.” You tilt your head to the side quizzically, watching him as he writes down several things on a piece of parchment, all the while continuing to tell you the steps he will need to take throughout the next few weeks. 

“Yes?”

“For us to achieve anything, you will need to part with many parts of yourself. Your hair, your tears, your blood…perhaps maybe your scales. I will never be left in the room alone with anything that belongs to you, to ensure your comfort of course.” Somewhere deep in your mind, you know what he says to be true. You should have expected such steps even, but as he mentions what he’ll need from you, particularly your scales, you begin to feel a little faint, not because you don’t trust him, but because apart from your parents, you have never once shifted in front of another. 

“I see.”

“And if circumstances call for it, you will need to use your abilities on another…so we know whether this potion functions properly or not.” You make a note to thank him later for halting in his requests to give you some time to take it all in.

“And that is necessary?” You already know the answer to your question, but you want to hear him agree regardless, out of fear of any misunderstanding that may take place. 

“To be sure of the serum’s capacity? Yes.” Your thoughts are incoherent, and you are aware that your facial expression is probably reflecting the sudden unease settling into your chest. If Professor Tovar notices your erratic breathing, he says nothing of it and stands from his desk, folding the paper several times before handing it to you. You take it without another word, mustering up whatever energy still left in your body before you stand and head towards the office door. 

“Think on it, and when you are positive you wish to continue, we will begin.” He says right as you walk out the room into the lecture hallway. You turn around and nod briefly at him before continuing forwards, trying your hardest to not spiral into your thoughts now that you know there is a chance you could fulfill your goal. 

In the midst of it all, you find yourself at the entrance to your quarters. Had you been yourself, you would have marveled at the hallways, and the paths leading to your room, but you weren’t aware of much outside of your mind. And as you enter your room, you’re met with a silence that is eerily comforting to your otherwise anxious spirit. Without thinking much of what you’re doing, you walk towards the window and look out towards the forest, rubbing your temples furiously when you make out the edge of the Black Lake beneath the castle. 

So much has happened, and the confirmation Professor Tovar has given you before you left his office should have put you at ease, but there was still the matter of his knowledge of your little secret. 

You walk away from the window and pace around the room, trying to figure out what would happen if word got out. You were already in danger as is, and the world has come to a point where it no longer cares for the well-being of others, but only the self. 

As you sift through several scenarios, you notice something moving from your peripheral vision. Without alerting the presence in your room, you take your wand out and slowly turn around to face the intruder, only to part your lips in awe at the sight in front of you. 

There, standing in the middle of your room by the window, struts a beautiful patronus, one of a beast you saw a few hours earlier for the first time. You watch as it kicks twice before lowering its head and shaking it at you, letting you know that it meant you no harm. Slowly, so as to not scare it away from you, you walk towards it with your hand held up, wanting to see if it would take those last few steps towards you or not. 

It doesn’t take too long for it to come to you, and you smile at the creature when it flutters its wings and stands just beneath your hand. 

A faint voice emitting from the patronus makes you flinch, but you stand your ground, marveling at the way the beast seems to recognize the hint of fear in your eyes.

“No one will learn what I know. I made sure of it.”

You know that voice. You’ve spoken with its owner for the better part of the night. 

Gods above, this was his patronus. 

There is so much you wish to understand, the first of which is why his patronus is an animal associated with grief and solitude. You get the sense that it may be because of his sister, but you can’t be too sure considering how little he told you of her. It’s almost as if it was a slip of the tongue and he never meant to mention her. 

You snap out of your thoughts when you notice the thestral drawing a pattern on the ground, one you couldn’t quite place since it disappeared right away. It continues to create the same pattern over and over again, and it’s only when it leans down and points at your wand while drawing the pattern that you realize what it is trying to tell you. 

You step away from the beast, heart rate rocketing through the roof at the realization of what this man just did, willingly, for you. 

“You understand what I mean of course.”

You hear his voice once more, and even though you know he’s not physically there to see you agreeing to him, you nod your head and kneel down so you can be face-to-face with the thestral. It’s almost as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and even though you know Professor Tovar to be an honest man, a respectable one as well, you can’t help but wonder whether he was telling you the truth. 

One look into the thestral’s eyes and you know that he was incapable of lying to you about something so important, so vital to your safety. 

He may be resentful and filled with fear over your presence, but with the way the beast was seeking your touch, you know that he was not the sort of man to gamble with your life. 

You smile at the winged-animal, and pet its head, giggling to yourself when it lays down right away and rests its head into your lap. 

Hmm, who knew patronuses were so affectionate. 

“Rest easy.”

[eris-snow]

Deku's birthday series Q n A!

This will most likely be my last post pertaining to the Deku's birthday series for awhile. I'm sorry it came out late! 😭

There are some behind-the-scenes screenshots over on my Instagram if anyone wants to see, so go visit my post after you’re done reading this! https://www.instagram.com/eris.snow/

---

Katsuki, slamming the door open: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Now, I have no idea what you’re—

Katsuki: NO! YOU HAVE EVERY IDEA WHAT YOU’RE DOING. HOW DARE YOU, LEAVE ME WITH THE NERD AND HIS FUCK-ASS MEMORIES. FREAKING. FUCK. YOU!

Come on, it can’t be that bad—

Katsuki: JUST SUCK FACE WITH HIM ALREADY

No.

Katsuki: I will kill you and make it look like an accident, come here you—

---

Hey I’ve always wanted to do one of these.

---

Question: Is there going to be a part 3? Deku birthday series

Ans: Yes, there’s going to be a part 3, and it will be the last part of this Izuku trilogy of Deku’s birthday series! (Because I’m unwilling to milk this more than necessary)

Question: Why the ending? (Aka, why did you write another cliffhanger ending that’s so unsatisfactory) -Revelation

Ans:

The answer to that is that I felt it was a little unfair to have Izuku have Starlight handed to him on a silver platter. Frankly, I want to see him work for Starlight, because she’s worth it, and we haven’t really seen that. Also, angst.

Question: What can we expect in the next part?

Ans:

Definitely more flashbacks from Izuku’s point of view. Also, it will be a happy ending, confirmed. I think it’ll be a little irritating to see things go nowhere if I make a part 4. I really don’t like dragging things out longer than necessary, but the next part should be more Izuku-centric. Plus, there are a bunch of scenes I wanna write that are now unlocked because Izuku remembers, so stay tuned for that!

Question: How did you come up with the story’s narrative? -Secret

Ans:

Honestly, I have no idea. As I was writing the first two chapters, I was bouncing ideas off with one of my loved ones, and it just clicked. I did a little reshuffling, and then ironed out a cohesive storyline. Secret came at like a odd spot of, should I write a birthday series for him, because I did it for bakugou. On Tumblr, it was a lot more popular than I thought it would ever be, and Secret struck a gold mine with my AO3 audience.

Question: Do you relate to Starlight (Y/n)?

Answer: In some ways, yes. Sometimes, you’re afraid to let go of pain when that’s all you’ve ever known, and I wanted to show that. After all, Izuku and Y/n are teenagers. They have no idea what they’re doing, just working with bits and pieces. Kinda like how sometimes, we have no idea what we’re doing at whatever age we’re at. Also Starlight’s internal debate of whether to accept the offer of removing one of her feelings, and dissociating herself. Sometimes, cutting of feelings seem better, especially when you need to steel yourself. But no one should ever cut their feelings of entirely.

Question: What’s next in terms of your content?

Answer:

Er, a lot. First, I need to finish Anachronism and Juxtaposition, because I’ve been delaying doing that. And request, oh, gosh I’m so sorry to anybody who put in a request recently. But, I’ve still got lots of ideas I want to put out! Thank you for supporting me, and I hope that you’ll enjoy my other series! If you have any suggestions on what my long fic should be about, you can ask me on Tumblr or Dm me on Instagram at eris.snow!

Question: What’s next for Deku’s birthday series?

Answer:

Err, I really want to do an audio adaptation of this (Something like a CD drama), because I’ve had offers from really nice people to turn my story into something like an audiobook. I don’t think that’ll be really good for my work, so I kinda want to turn my story into a script and pull strings together to make it into a CD drama, ASMR roleplay, honestly idk what to call it.

Still working it out though! If you want updates or to ask for more questions about that, you can find me at eris.snow on Instagram and tumblr (I post more on Tumblr, like the freak I am). Looking for VAs interested to voice these people, so if anyone wants look forward to a post coming out somewhere in November ish that will release more details!

It’s going to be my first time doing something like that, so if anyone has any pointers, please tell me, I need all the help I can get 😭

PS: This is only tentative. I’ve expressed interest in doing it, but nothing is set in stone yet! However, if there are people interested in this idea, then I’ll definitely take it into consideration whether or not this will, or will not happen!

---

That’s all I want to address. Hope this clears things up for everyone!

[mirrorthoughts]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I got tagged by the lovely @lavender-lotion 💕💕💕 Thank you, dear!!

How many works do you have on ao3?

53, translations (of my own works) included!

What's your total ao3 word count?

I just cracked the 200k with How wrong you are! :D

What fandoms do you write for?

Currently mostly (like, 99% of the time) Teen Wolf, though I do dabble in Assassin's Creed (Desmond lives!!!!!) and sometimes I post original stuff.

Top five fics by kudos:

Wolf Heart

Intruder

Loyality

Dead on Time

Not afraid

All of them Teen Wolf and Steter 😂💕

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I try to answer all of them!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ouf, that's a hard question? I don't like to end stuff angsty - I need my happy endings. So I think currently the angstiest is probably Dead on Time bc of a slight cliffhanger/foreshadowing thingie for the next parts?

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I have literally no idea o_O... As I said before I do like to end on happy endings (or at least something intriguing and hopeful) so I'd say most of my stories have the same kind of happy ending?

Do you get hate on fics?

Luckily not yet! Usually most people mean well and are nice even if they sometimes phrase their words weird. I did get a (for me) lot of comments asking if I abbandoned a certain fic, though, which rankled and baffled me the same way?

It's The little things, which is currently on Hiatus bc I had to concentrate on the Secret Santa I wrote at the time and I decided that I would chance my MO and try to finish the story before I would return to posting chapters! Because the pressure of writing and posting (and not being able to do so) in a certain time frame was burning me out!

So, just for the record: None of my fics/WIPs are abbandoned! If they were I'd write it in the author's notes and/or tag them as such!

Do you write smut?

No!

Craziest crossover:

Probably Hello World, which is currently just the first chapter/more like a prologue because I had too many WIPs at the time and decided to concentrate on other stories.

It's supposed to be a Murderbot Crossover where Peter's a technician/programmer on the ship the Hales own and who makes an AI he's programmed and called Stiles (who got messed up by a virus) into a construct that's learning how to live.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know! Knock on wood and all that!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not by other people! But I do translate my own stuff! I started with writing in my first language (German) and translated my stuff to english, though by now I mostly write english. So if someone wants to read something in German, they can just ask (nicely) and I see that I'll get the story translated!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

not really, no.

All time favourite ship?

I can't really answer that question 😂 I love all the ships I love forever 😂 Even from the fandom that shouldn't be named, I still love the same ships I've loved for years.

But I'll say that Steter has a special place in my heart, since I mostly write them?

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I don't think I currently have a Wip like that?

What are your writing strengths?

I'm good with knitting plot points together and explaining inconsistencies away 😂 Also I do think I'm good at getting a certain vibe across and I have good ideas

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm not good with descriptions - especially when it's about facial expressions or emotions! Also I think I tend to soften the edges of the characters I write - or at least it feels like I do that!

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Depends on how the author's using it? I'm not entirely against it and as long as I get either a translation (i.e. with a foot note or because the character translates the words or at least their meaning), it's a generally known phrase (like Alea iacta est) or you can interpret it by context clues, I'm okay with it! It actually makes me want to dive back into learning more languages, to I'd say that's a plus 😂

First fandom you wrote in?

Vision of Escaflowne! It was a Mary Sue-ish self-insert and is lost to time and me clumsily stumbling over and thus crashing the external harddrive it was saved on 😂 I'm both sad and glad about that 😂😂

Favorite fic you've written?

Aaand ending with a really hard question, I see 😂😂

uuh... I do love most of my stuff, but for some reason one of the shorter ones, No Love Letters, has a special place in my heart? :3 I do like the whole scene - even if it isn't much more! 😂

Low-/no-pressure tagging for @aurevell, @midmorning-bomb, @dear-massacre, @tkwritesdumbassassins, @vmures, @meggie-stardust