#but kind of only for that moment in isolation

[wolvietxt]

𝓓RAWN TO 𝓨OU !

pairing : logan howlett x fem!reader  warnings : reader has a cat mutation, fluff, hurt comfort, past traumas, shy!reader wc : 1.8k

logan’s first mistake was being nice to you. 

you’d only been at the x-mansion for a couple of weeks, still getting used to the overwhelming energy of it all. after years of isolation and trauma, being thrown into a lively, bustling environment like this felt like stepping into a different world. you’d barely been able to keep up, senses overloaded with all the new faces, noises, and scents around you. everything was too much, too loud, and you felt like a stray cat caught in a storm.

it was one of those days when you were trying to find a quiet corner, somewhere to hide from the noise. the rec room was packed; laughter, conversations, the clatter of cutlery and plates filled the air, setting your nerves on edge. you sat in the corner, tail flicking anxiously, ears flattened against your head as you tried to drown out the chaos. you could feel your claws digging into your palms, a desperate attempt to ground yourself before you bolted. 

but then you caught a familiar scent - woodsy, rugged, with a hint of cigar smoke. it cut through the haze like a lifeline, something steady to latch onto. you turned your head and saw him: logan, walking through the crowd with a beer in his hand, that permanent scowl etched onto his face. 

you didn’t even think twice; you just got up and followed him. 

he didn’t notice you right away. he was too busy glaring at the world, lost in his own thoughts as he made his way through the mansion. it wasn’t until he reached the stairs that he paused, glancing over his shoulder and finding you trailing behind him like a shadow. 

“the hell’re you doin’?” he grumbled, eyes narrowing as he took in your anxious stance, the way your tail was flicking behind you, betraying your nerves. 

you froze under his scrutiny, unsure how to explain it. a soft mewl escaped you, one you hadn’t meant to make, and his scowl deepened. but he didn’t tell you to go away. instead, he just let out a resigned huff, turning back around with a muttered, “fine, just... don’t get in my damn way.”

you stuck to his side after that. 

logan found it annoying at first - he wasn’t exactly a people person, and having someone constantly following him around like a lost kitten was grating on his nerves. but no matter how many times he tried to shake you off, you’d always find your way back to him. it was like you had some kind of sixth sense for where he was in the mansion. if he was in the garage, you were there, perched on an old crate, watching him work on his bike with wide, curious eyes. if he was out back, smoking a cigar, you were sitting a few feet away, basking in the quiet comfort of his presence. 

he didn’t get it. 

“don’t you got somewhere else to be?” he’d grumble every now and then, but there was never any real heat behind it. 

you’d just shake your head, a small, shy smile on your lips. “i like being here... with you.” 

and maybe that was the turning point, the moment he stopped trying so hard to push you away. it wasn’t like you were causing trouble - you were quiet, easy to ignore when he wanted to be left alone, but always there when he needed an extra hand or just... someone to share the silence with. 

the others noticed, of course. 

“she’s like your little shadow, ain’t she?” rogue teased one day, leaning against the doorframe of the garage, her eyes twinkling with amusement. 

logan just shrugged, wiping the grease off his hands. “she’s harmless,” he muttered, like that was enough of an explanation. 

“she’s cute too.” rouge muttered under her breath, a smirk forming on her face. “hey, do you know why she’s even following you around in the first place?

“i got no fuckin’ clue. says she’s just drawn to me?”

the smile on her face grew tenfold, “oh logan...”

he shot her a confused look, her teasing eyes only twinkling more, a little snort that she seemed she couldn’t hold in forcing it’s way out.

things took a turn one night when you showed up outside his door, clutching a blanket to your chest, looking more skittish than usual. it was late, the mansion quiet except for the distant hum of the generator, and logan had been looking forward to some peace and quiet. 

but then there you were, eyes wide and pleading, ears drooping like a scolded cat. 

“what is it?” he asked, voice gruff, though there was a flicker of concern in his gaze. 

you shifted on your feet, not meeting his eyes. “can i... stay here tonight?” you whispered, so soft he almost missed it. “i... i don’t want to be alone.” 

logan stared at you for a moment, torn between his instinct to tell you to go back to your own room and the strange, unfamiliar urge to protect you. finally, he just let out a heavy sigh, stepping aside to let you in. 

“fine,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “just for tonight.” 

you nodded quickly, slipping past him and settling on the floor next to his bed, wrapping yourself in your blanket like a cocoon. he watched you for a moment, the way you curled in on yourself, small and vulnerable, before turning off the light and getting back into bed. 

but it wasn’t just for one night. 

you kept coming back, night after night, until your pillow and blanket became a permanent fixture in his room. logan didn’t say anything, just grunted in acknowledgment whenever you slipped in after dark, but he never turned you away. 

“you know you could just take the bed,” he said one night, half-asleep, his voice a low rumble in the darkness. 

you shook your head, though he could barely see it. “i’m fine here,” you whispered. “i don’t want to be a bother.” 

logan just huffed, turning over, but he didn’t press the issue. 

he didn’t realise how used to your presence he’d gotten until you weren’t there. 

you’d gone on a mission with some of the others, promising him you’d be careful, but he couldn’t shake the bad feeling gnawing at his gut. he tried to distract himself, burying himself in his usual routines, but everything felt... off without you trailing after him. 

when they brought you back, bruised and bloodied, something in him snapped. 

“what the hell happened?” he growled, stalking over to where hank was tending to your injuries, his fists clenched at his sides. 

“it was my fault, lo” you mumbled, not meeting his eyes. “i... i thought i could handle it.” 

logan just shook his head, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “you’re not fuckin’ ready for this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. 

you flinched, your ears flattening against your skull, and he immediately regretted his harsh tone. 

“dammit,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “i didn’t mean it like that. just... don’t scare me like that again, alright?” 

you looked up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable, brimming with unshed tears, and he felt something tighten in his chest. 

“i just... i feel safe with you,” you whispered through your watery expression, so soft he almost missed it. 

logan’s expression softened, the anger draining from his face. 

“yeah, well,” he muttered, looking away, “you are. safer, i mean.” 

one night, as you were curled up next to him, your tail wrapped around his leg, you murmured something that made his breath hitch.

“i’ve never felt like this before... safe, i mean,” you whispered, your voice so quiet it was almost lost in the darkness.

logan went still, his heart pounding in his chest, but he didn’t pull away.

“yeah?” he asked, his voice rough, unsure of where this was going.

you nodded against his chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his skin. “with you... it’s different. i don't feel like i have to look over my shoulder all the time. i’m not scared when i’m with you.”

he was silent for a moment, trying to process the weight of your words. the confession hung between you, fragile and tentative.

“you mean that?” he finally asked, voice gruff, his hands tightening around you just a bit.

“yeah,” you breathed out, turning to look up at him, eyes wide and honest. “you... you make me feel like i’m not alone anymore.”

logan swallowed hard, the raw vulnerability in your voice cutting right through him. he wasn’t good with words, never had been, but he knew he didn’t want to mess this up.

“that’s all i need,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, and logan felt something warm and unbreakable settle in his chest.

logan swallowed hard, the raw vulnerability in your voice cutting right through him. he wasn’t good with words, never had been, but he knew he didn’t want to mess this up.

“i don’t know what the hell i’m doin’,” he muttered, looking down at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “but i’ll stick around if that’s what you want. i’ll try... for you.”

you smiled softly, leaning into his touch, your heart pounding in your chest. you could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way he was still holding back, afraid to take the next step. so, you did it for him. with a hesitant breath, you lifted your hand to his face, gently tracing the rough line of his jaw with your fingertips.

“logan…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. his eyes softened at the sound of his name, and for a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you charged with something unspoken. 

slowly, he dipped his head, bringing his face closer to yours. you could feel the warmth of his breath, the way it hitched slightly, as if he was still unsure. but then his lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative, as if he was afraid of breaking you. 

the kiss was gentle, almost shy, a stark contrast to the rough edges that usually defined him. his hands cupped your face so carefully, as if you were something precious and fragile, something he never wanted to lose. your eyes fluttered shut, a soft sigh escaping you as you leaned into him, feeling the warmth and tenderness he rarely showed to anyone else.

logan’s thumb brushed against your cheek, a silent question, asking if this was okay, if this was what you wanted. you answered by pressing closer, your lips moving against his in a slow, careful dance that spoke of trust, of finding solace in each other. 

when he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction, his forehead resting against yours, eyes still closed. he stayed like that for a moment, just holding you, as if he was afraid that letting go would mean losing this fragile connection.

“you’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured, voice rough with emotion, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on your skin.

“maybe,” you whispered back, smiling softly, your eyes shining as you looked up at him. “but i think i found something special too.” 

logan just held you tighter, his lips ghosting over yours once more, a silent promise that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

🌀 logan howlett : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[dissapointu]

you’re a speedy bitch babe-

anyways! What if- what if jinx had a girlfriend that was affectionate! I assume Jinx is touch starved and to have a girlfriend that loves to cuddle, hold hands and etc!

That sounds so sweet and heartwarming for Jinx! Need this for her

• Cuddles: Jinx would absolutely melt under the attention of an affectionate girlfriend who loves to cuddle. She’s used to being alone, used to feeling abandoned or isolated, so your constant affection would overwhelm her in the best way possible. At first, Jinx might be hesitant, unsure how to handle the kindness without feeling guilty or afraid of being vulnerable. But slowly, she’d come to crave it. After a long day filled with chaos and unpredictability, she’d seek out the quiet comfort of your arms, curling up against you, her head resting on your chest as you run your fingers through her hair.

• Holding Hands: Jinx would be delighted by something as simple as holding hands. It would be a small but powerful gesture for her. She’d likely want to intertwine your fingers tightly, as if afraid to let go, afraid of losing that connection. At first, she might be jittery or fidgety, not used to the steadiness of love. But over time, holding hands with you would become a grounding force for her, a reminder that there’s someone who’s not going to leave her.

• Physical Affection: Jinx, while chaotic and unpredictable, would become a lot more tender with a girlfriend who showers her with love. She might cling to you during moments of insecurity, holding you tight when she’s afraid or when the voices in her head become too loud. She’d love when you trace your fingers down her arms or lightly graze her skin, even if she can’t always verbalize how much it means to her. There’s something about the way you touch her—soft, gentle, full of warmth—that brings her a sense of peace she doesn’t often get from anyone else.

• Spontaneous Affection: As someone who craves attention and affection, Jinx would get a little playful with it. She’d surprise you with spontaneous hugs, jumping into your arms, or wrapping herself around you in tight embraces. She might bury her face in your neck, hiding her face because she’s shy or overwhelmed by her feelings. Sometimes she’d need reassurance, needing to hear that you love her and that you’re not going anywhere. She might ask for a “just because” kiss, insisting it’s to “make her feel better,” though it’s clear she just wants to be close to you.

• Tender Moments: Despite her wild personality, Jinx’s affection would be full of tenderness. She’d seek you out in quiet moments, wanting to be close even when things are calm. Maybe she’d sit next to you, not needing to speak, just enjoying the simple comfort of your presence. She could be a little clingy at times, but in her mind, it’s because she knows how rare this kind of love is and doesn’t want to let it slip away. Her girlfriend would be her anchor, the one person who can offer her the stability and safety she’s never known.

• Building Trust: At first, Jinx might struggle to fully trust you with her vulnerabilities. She’s been through a lot and likely has difficulty with intimacy and dependence. However, over time, your patience and unwavering affection would slowly break down the walls she’s built. She would start to feel more secure, understanding that you are there for her no matter what. When she finally lets her guard down, you’d see a side of her that’s both playful and sweet, a side that’s only reserved for you.

• Jealousy and Protective Moments: Jinx, with her fiery and possessive tendencies, might get a little jealous at times, especially when she sees others giving you attention. It wouldn’t be a malicious jealousy, but more of an emotional reaction because she’s so used to being overlooked and alone. You’d quickly reassure her with your affection, maybe pulling her in for a kiss or hugging her tightly. In return, she’d shower you with even more love to make you feel just as wanted, clinging to you like a lifeline.

• Playful Side: Jinx would also have a very playful side when it comes to affection. She’d probably initiate tickle fights or challenge you to silly games just to get you to laugh and be close to her. Her love for you would be fun and carefree, and she would enjoy the little moments—holding you in her arms, kissing you on the cheek, and even laughing at how she could never get enough of you.

Drabble to go along with it:

The air is thick with the scent of metal and gunpowder, but you hardly notice. Not when Jinx is curled up beside you, her head nestled in the crook of your neck as she lets out a content sigh. She’s shaking slightly, a nervous habit you’ve come to understand. But tonight, there’s a calmness to her, as if your touch is the only thing grounding her to this moment.

You pull the blanket tighter around both of you, your fingers gently grazing through her wild, messy hair. She hums softly, pressing herself closer, her small hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as if she’s afraid you might slip away. You’re used to her chaotic energy, her explosions of excitement, but moments like these? They’re rare.

“Stay close,” she murmurs, her voice so soft it almost breaks your heart. She’s usually all bright eyes and loud bursts of energy, but when she’s like this, when she’s vulnerable and small in your arms, you get a glimpse of the person behind the wildness. She’s just a girl who needs affection, love that doesn’t come with expectations or conditions.

You tighten your hold on her, kissing the top of her head lightly. “I’m not going anywhere, Jinx,” you promise, your voice steady and calm. You feel her breath hitch against your chest, the weight of her emotions pressing down in the silence. She’s used to being alone, used to living in a world where love is unpredictable, fleeting. But you’ve shown her that it doesn’t have to be.

Her fingers trace small patterns on your arm, and you smile softly. She doesn’t always know how to express it, but the way her body seeks you out—the way she pulls you closer, always searching for more—says everything.

When her hand slides into yours, fingers intertwining, you hold on tighter. You can feel her pulse, fast and erratic, but steady under your touch. “I like holding hands,” she whispers, almost sheepishly, as if it’s something she doesn’t deserve. But you squeeze her hand reassuringly, silently telling her that this—this tenderness, this connection—is exactly what she deserves.

She tilts her head up to look at you, eyes glinting with something deeper, something softer. “Promise you’ll never leave?” she asks, the question almost tentative, a quiet vulnerability she hides behind her usual chaotic grin.

“Promise,” you say without hesitation, brushing a lock of hair from her face. You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips as you lean down to kiss her forehead, gentle and warm. She melts into it, her body relaxing fully against yours.

For once, in the stillness of the moment, there are no explosions. No chaos. Just you, Jinx, and the simple comfort of affection. And as she buries her face in your shoulder, holding onto you like you’re her anchor, you know that you’re the safe place she’s always needed.

And you’ll never let go.

[fateandfragments-fanfiction]

Step by Step - Reader x Halsin

Baldurs Gate 3

When Reader inadvertently glimpses into Halsin’s memories, she’s forced to confront not only the depth of his feelings for her but also the walls she’s built around herself.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

[Name]'s fingers trembled as she wrapped the bandage around Halsin’s forearm. The gash wasn’t deep, but it had bled enough to warrant her intervention. She avoided his gaze, focusing on the movement of her hands rather than the warm, steady presence of the Archdruid seated before her.

“You need to be more careful,” she muttered, tucking the edge of the cloth into place. “One of these days, you’re going to run out of luck.”

Halsin chuckled, his voice rich and unshaken despite the minor injury. “I will leave the fretting to you, dear [Name]. Nature is both harsh and forgiving, as am I.”

She snorted softly, stepping back to collect her satchel of supplies. “Forgiving isn’t the word I’d use for someone who takes on an entire goblin camp alone.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his gaze softening as he studied her. It wasn’t the first time Halsin had caught [Name] off guard with his directness. She braced herself for whatever thoughtful observation he might offer next.

“You’ve tended to all of us with care, yet you rarely allow the same for yourself,” he said after a moment. “Why is that?”

[Name] stiffened. She bent to pack the last of her salves, avoiding the weight of his attention. “I’m fine. I don’t need—”

“You don’t need anyone,” he finished for her, his tone gentle. “But that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t benefit from it.”

Her jaw tightened, the words on the tip of her tongue sharp enough to draw blood. But when she turned, the look in his eyes stopped her short. It wasn’t pity—she hated pity—but an earnest curiosity. He had a way of doing that, cutting through her usual defenses with an unrelenting patience that both infuriated and disarmed her.

“It’s not that simple,” she said at last, her voice quieter now. “Some wounds don’t heal just because someone says kind words.”

“No, they don’t.” Halsin nodded, his expression understanding. “But some do heal faster when shared.”

She looked at him for a moment, caught between irritation and something much softer. He wasn’t wrong, not entirely. She’d seen it in the way he carried his burdens—not alone, but with the strength of those he trusted at his side. It was a stark contrast to her own philosophy: survival through isolation.

She sighed, reaching out to help him to his feet. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Only because I care,” he said warmly, and she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips.

As their hands met, something shifted. A rush of warmth—no, not warmth, something deeper—coursed through her, pulling at the edges of her awareness. She gasped softly, her grip tightening on his arm as the world tilted.

It wasn’t her surroundings that changed but her perspective. She wasn’t in the forest clearing anymore; she was somewhere else entirely. Memories. Not hers. His.

A cacophony of emotions struck her all at once—laughter, grief, triumph, and loss. She saw a young Halsin, his hair shorter but his eyes just as bright, standing before a grove of oak trees. She felt the pride swelling in his chest as he spoke words of druidic magic that bound him to the land. Then the crushing sorrow of a battlefield, blood soaking into the earth as he knelt over fallen kin.

And through it all, there was a constant: his reverence for life, for balance, for the beauty in even the most fleeting moments.

The memories shifted again, faster now, until they landed on something that made her breath catch. It was her. Halsin’s memory of her. She saw herself through his eyes—focused, resourceful, determined even when the odds seemed insurmountable. But there was more than admiration in his gaze. There was affection, deep and unyielding.

“[Name].” His voice broke through the haze, grounding her.

She blinked, realizing she was still holding his arm, her knuckles white against his skin. Slowly, she released him, stepping back as if burned.

“What...what was that?” she whispered, her heart hammering in her chest.

Halsin’s brow furrowed, concern flickering across his face. “You saw something?”

She nodded, her hands curling into fists. “Your memories. I—I don’t know how, but I saw...” She trailed off, unable to meet his eyes.

“You have a gift,” he said after a moment, his voice steady but laced with intrigue. “A rare one, to see into the minds of others through touch.”

“It’s not a gift,” she snapped, the rawness in her voice surprising even herself. “It’s invasive. I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he said gently. “And I am not upset. If anything, I am...grateful.”

Her head shot up, confusion etched into her features. “Grateful?”

He smiled, the kind of smile that held more weight than words ever could. “It is not often we are afforded the chance to see ourselves through the eyes of another. Whatever you saw, I hope it was enough to show you what you mean to me.”

The air between them was thick with unspoken words, the kind she had spent years avoiding. She didn’t know what to say, how to untangle the knot of emotions that had taken root in her chest.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” Halsin agreed, his tone kind but firm. “But perhaps it is what you needed.”

The weight of his gaze was too much, and she turned away, her arms crossing over her chest. She felt exposed in a way she hadn’t since she was a youngling, stripped of the walls she’d built so carefully over the years.

But even as her mind screamed at her to walk away, to retreat back into the safety of solitude, her feet remained rooted to the ground.

“[Name]',” Halsin said softly, his voice drawing her attention despite herself. “I will not push you. But know this: whatever burdens you carry, you do not have to carry them alone.”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. The words were there, just out of reach, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. Not yet.

Instead, she turned back to him, her eyes meeting his with a newfound clarity. “Don’t make me regret this.”

A hint of a smile touched his lips, but he didn’t press further. “Never.”

For a moment, the forest was silent, save for the distant rustle of leaves in the wind. [Name]'s hands fidgeted at her sides, her mind warring with itself. She wanted to run, to find solace in solitude like she always had, but something about Halsin’s presence rooted her in place. He didn’t prod or demand; he simply existed, a calm and steady force that made it impossible to deny the weight of the moment.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” she admitted, her voice low, almost inaudible.

“With what?” he asked gently, though he likely already knew the answer.

She gestured vaguely, her hands fluttering before dropping uselessly. “This... thing. This connection. The way you look at me, like I’m... like I’m more than I am.”

“You are more than you believe,” Halsin said simply. “Perhaps it is time you allowed yourself to see it.”

Her laugh was short and sharp, lacking humor. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is not,” he conceded. “But nothing worth having ever is.”

That infuriating patience of his only made her more restless. She turned away, pacing a few steps before stopping short. Her hand found the trunk of a nearby tree, the rough bark grounding her. “I saw everything, Halsin. Your memories. Your pain. Your joy. And—”

“And my feelings for you,” he finished for her, his voice steady. “You saw those as well.”

“Yes,” she hissed, turning back to him. “And I don’t understand why. Why would you feel that way about me? I’m not—” She cut herself off, clenching her jaw. “I’m not like you.”

“No,” he agreed, his gaze unwavering. “You are not like me. You are fierce and clever, resourceful beyond measure. You’ve faced things most would run from, and you’ve done it with strength and resolve. That is why I care for you, [Name]. Not because you are like me, but because you are wholly yourself.”

His words struck something deep inside her, a part of her she had long buried beneath layers of cynicism and self-preservation. She hated how easily he dismantled her defenses, how his kindness left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“I don’t need you,” she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “I’ve survived just fine on my own.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But needing someone and wanting them are not the same.”

Her breath hitched, the simplicity of his statement catching her off guard. He wasn’t asking her to change, to become someone she wasn’t. He was offering something she hadn’t dared to consider—a partnership, forged not out of necessity but out of choice.

She looked at him then, really looked at him. His expression was open, his golden-brown eyes filled with a quiet strength that steadied her own racing thoughts. He wasn’t pressing her for an answer, wasn’t demanding anything of her. He was simply waiting, giving her the space to decide for herself.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, she wanted to let someone in.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then let us learn together,” he said, his smile soft but unwavering. “Step by step, at your pace.”

She hesitated, the weight of her fears pressing down on her. But then she remembered the warmth she had felt in his memories, the way he had seen her—flaws and all—and chosen to care for her anyway. Maybe, just maybe, she could let herself believe in that.

Taking a shaky breath, she stepped closer to him, her hand hovering uncertainly before finally resting against his uninjured arm. “Step by step,” she echoed, her voice steadier now.

The warmth of his skin beneath her fingers steadied her further, though it sent a strange flutter through her chest. Halsin remained still, his presence a quiet reassurance rather than an encroachment. She didn’t pull away, not immediately, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself be present in a way she hadn’t allowed in years.

“You’ve seen my memories,” he said softly, his tone devoid of judgment or expectation. “I can only imagine how overwhelming that must have been.”

She nodded, her fingers tightening slightly against his arm. “It was... a lot,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t just that. It was how much you feel, Halsin. Every loss, every victory—it’s all so... raw.”

“That is the nature of life,” he replied. “Pain and joy are two sides of the same coin. To know one is to understand the value of the other.”

She huffed softly, her lips curving into a wry smile. “You make it sound so poetic.”

“It is poetic,” he said with a faint chuckle. “Even in the harshest of moments, there is beauty to be found, though sometimes it takes time to see it.”

[Name] let her hand fall, though she didn’t step back. “You see beauty in everything, don’t you?”

“Not everything,” he said, his gaze meeting hers with a quiet intensity. “But in you? Yes.”

Her breath caught at the sincerity in his words, her usual defenses threatening to rise. But instead of retreating, she stood her ground, forcing herself to confront the vulnerability swirling between them.

“You’re not going to let me run away from this, are you?” she asked, her tone a mixture of exasperation and something softer, almost hopeful.

“No,” he said simply, his smile returning. “But neither will I chase you. This is your choice, [Name].”

She tilted her head, studying him as if searching for cracks in his resolve. But there were none. Halsin was exactly as he seemed—unwavering, patient, and infuriatingly kind.

“Step by step,” she murmured again, the words feeling more solid now.

“Yes,” he agreed. “And I will be here, every step of the way.”

The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the scent of moss and earth. It was grounding, reminding her of the life she’d built through grit and survival. But it was also a life that had left her lonely, disconnected from the very people she fought so hard to protect.

“I don’t know if I can be what you think I am,” she admitted, her voice quieter now.

“You already are,” he said gently. “And if you doubt it, I will remind you until you believe it yourself.”

[Name] shook her head, a small laugh escaping her. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to things that matter.”

The weight of his words settled over her, not oppressive but steadying, like the roots of a great oak anchoring her in place. She felt her chest tighten, the knot of emotions she had worked so hard to bury threatening to unravel entirely.

And for once, she let it.

“I can’t promise I won’t screw this up,” she said, her voice rough with emotion.

“Nor can I,” he replied. “But that is the nature of growth. We stumble, we fall, and we rise again, stronger than before.”

Her lips twitched into a hesitant smile, and she found herself stepping closer still. “You make it sound almost worth it.”

“It is,” he said with certainty. “And so are you.”

Before she could overthink it, [Name] reached up, her hand brushing against his cheek in a gesture that felt both foreign and natural all at once. Halsin’s eyes softened, his hand rising to cover hers.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the world around them fading into the background. It wasn’t a grand declaration or a sweeping gesture, but it didn’t need to be. In that moment, it was enough.

“Step by step,” she said again, her voice steadier than before.

“Together,” Halsin replied, his smile warm and unyielding.

And for the first time in a very long while, [Name] allowed herself to believe it might be true.

~Fin~

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When ones goes to therapy, one turns the hard truths they learn into a fanfiction. Hope yall enjoyed!

[arvandus]

The Beauty of Broken Things

Barbatos x GN!Reader

Content warnings: SFW; reader with (vague) mental health issues; Reader has self-deprecating thoughts and low self-esteem; hurt/comfort; lots of dialogue; romance; first kiss (cuz I'm a sap 💚)

Author's Note: Not me coming out of hiatus to drop this at 1:20am on a weekday. ANYWAY.... I was going through it a month or so ago and this was very therapeutic and self-indulgent to write. Hopefully you'll find some comfort in it as well. 💚

You creep into the RAD greenhouse under the cover of the Devildom darkness.  The warm yellow lights, usually on to allow students to observe and take notes,  are turned off for the evening, causing the devildom flora to transform from something familiar to something alien, branches reaching like arms and long, pointed leaves stretched out like grasping fingers.

But despite the sinister threat of danger that is interlaced in the native plant life, it still feels comforting.  The gnarled limbs and black leaves feel more protective than threatening, arching over your head to provide a canopy of privacy in the quiet, uninhabited space.

Usually the greenhouse is a bustle of student activity, with botany classes often perusing the aisles with their notebooks and art students lingering with their sketchbooks.  But classes had long since ended, the busy chaos of academia ushered away by the sinking of the large Devildom moon, bringing with it night within night.

You need this.  You need the silence, the privacy, the darkness.  The House of Lamentation doesn’t offer it.  The Demon Lord’s castle is also not an option as you don’t want to impose purely for the sake of self-isolation.

No, this is perfect.  It is safe, safer than losing yourself in the real forests that press against the outskirts of the Devildom.  It is a place for hiding, a place for becoming invisible.  It is a place that makes you feel small, from the tightly clustered plants around you to the vast starry sky that slowly rotates high beyond the confines of the glass ceiling.  You could almost pretend you’re a bug, an insect, or some other small life form who’s only purpose is to exist in the here and now, moment to moment. 

Maybe then you could find peace in your mind; maybe that voice of sickness and lies that whispered louder than any demon would fall silent.

Not all days were this bad.  But the added stress, the fatigue.... you knew it was only a matter of time before you found yourself dangerously close to that pitch black rock bottom. You felt it encroaching, a shadow teasing the edges of your mind, and you knew... you knew you had to find somewhere to gather yourself, to work through it without interruption or curious eyes.

This helps.  A place of quiet, of privacy, of nature, even if the nature isn’t your own.  In its own alien way, it’s perfect.

Perfect, but also lonely. You both love and hate it, glad to be unnoticed for once but vulnerable against the rare isolation.  Rare, but not unfamiliar.  You sit with it; let it soak into your bones.  Like putting on old shoes that still fit, worn soles perfectly conformed to your feet, your mind eases into accepting that familiar ache, a feeling not often experienced anymore, but still deeply rooted in old memories and dreams.  The old loneliness hollows you out, slows the blood rushing through your veins as your mind eventually quiets to a low hum of white noise.  It brings its own twisted kind of peace; not the healthy kind that heals and rejuvenates, but the broken kind that separates you from yourself, an act of cutting rather than mending.

If you could turn to stone in this moment, you would.

But not even this will last forever, your quiet reverie interrupted by the sound of the door to the greenhouse opening and closing.  The sound of the click and the creak of the hinge is startling against the endless quiet, and it makes you jolt.  You fight the irrational urge to hide within the surrounding shrubbery, as if such an act would truly hide you at all, and instead curl in on yourself with arms and legs crossed on the stone bench where you sit.

Whoever it is, is as silent as a ghost; you hear no footsteps, nor sounds of breath.  Whoever it is does not speak, so you know instantly it is not any of the brothers or even Diavolo.  But you feel their presence, and you know they feel yours.  There is an awareness in the air that wasn’t present before, the atmosphere going from one of empty quiet, to buzzing consciousness.

A moment later, a familiar pair of polished black shoes come into your field of view, attached to a familiar set of legs that stand formally in a way that only a royal butler could accomplish.

You look up and your eyes meet Barbatos, who stares down at you with a calm, curious expression and a slight tilt of his head.  He’s still dressed in his RAD uniform, but his white gloves are removed, likely tucked into the interior chest pocket of his tailcoat.

“MC,” he says gently.  “I did not expect you to be here. You do know that the RAD campus is closed, yes?”

“I know,” you reply. 

Even so, you make no motion to move, your body still curled within itself protectively.  It isn’t so much to protect against him, but to hold onto that feeling of smallness that helps to separate you from the ache in your chest and the cacophony of your mind. 

“Why are you here?” you ask.

“Some of the flora require care after school hours, so I tend to them prior to locking up for the evening.”

“Ah.” Your sour mood strips you of your warmth, your words fading away as you retreat back into yourself.

Barbatos stares at you for a moment longer, before gesturing to the bench. “May I?”

You return his stare with your own before moving over just enough to make room for him.  The bench is small, comfortable for one, a slight squeeze for two, but he sits nonetheless, seemingly unbothered.  The proximity of him is a brand and a blessing, the heat of him surprisingly comforting while your heart thuds harder in your chest.  You’re rarely ever this close to him, any prior instances of physical contact occurring out of necessity rather than choice.

You both sit in silence for a long time.  You aren’t sure if he is expecting an explanation from you, but you couldn’t give one even if you wanted to, the struggles within yourself too tangled to fully unravel, especially with how weathered you feel.

Finally, after a few minutes, he is the one to break the silence, the smooth richness of his voice breaking the quiet that sits like a bridge between you.

“I often find the Devildom flora more beautiful in the dark.”

It is an olive branch, and you take it, a small smile curling the corners of your lips.

“Me too,” you reply.  “It feels more natural this way. When the lights are on, it feels like we’re trying to force the plants and flowers to be something they’re not.”

Barbatos stares at you for a long, quiet moment before returning his gaze ahead of him.  “Indeed. Things are more beautiful when they are allowed to be themselves.”

A sentiment you share, and yet it isn’t one you can extend to yourself, and it cuts you.

“I wish that were always true...” you mutter.

It’s a thought whispered past private lips, and you regret them instantly when his keen, green eyes, nearly black in the darkness, flick back to you.

“Why would it not be?” he asks.

You shift uncomfortably and swallow the lump that suddenly manifests where your voice is supposed to be.

“I don’t know...” you finally mutter evasively.

You feel his eyes lingering on you, and it feels as if he can read the dark thoughts that live there, shadow where sunlight should be.  But if he can read your mind, he doesn’t say so, and he doesn’t pry further.

Instead, Barbatos does something that you do not expect.  His hand covers yours, untangling your fingers from your tightly clasped palms that sit in your lap.  His touch is warm, warmer than you thought it’d be, and you can’t help but wonder how different his body really is from yours when it feels so human.

You watch as Barbatos twines his fingers with yours, a simple but shockingly intimate action.  It’s surprisingly comforting, fulfilling a longing within you that you didn’t even realize you carried so heavily until just now; an anchor of companionship, unwavering in its simplicity, gentle in its unassuming nature.  There’s a lack of expectation in Barbatos’s touch, a quiet acceptance of the here and now, of the you of this moment, rather than the ‘you’ that you always present to others, or the ‘you’ that others expect of you.

It makes something within you surrender.  It forces the dissociation from your mind, pulling you instantly back into reality, into your body. Barbatos’s tenderness, given freely without price, carves a space for itself within your chest, and it hurts, the sudden sharpness of vulnerability an open wound.  That vulnerability is unfamiliar, raw, terrifying. It calls forth your fears, makes the voices of wrongness sing louder than ever, listing all of the ways you are undeserving of this moment.  And you’re angry, angry at their presence, and their ability to ruin even this for you, to taint something peaceful and beautiful with something so ugly.

The tears finally come, blurring your vision and spilling over silently onto your cheeks.  More come immediately after, and you sniff, your nose starting to run as you wipe at your face.  A handkerchief appears within your view, and you take it, your heart too shy and embarrassed to look at Barbatos properly or even offer him a mumbled thank you.  But he shows no discomfort or disdain for your tears or lack of manners. Instead, he sits quietly with you, waiting patiently as he holds your hand securely within his own, his thumb rubbing soothing strokes on the soft skin between your thumb and index finger.

Quietly you cry, and quietly he waits.  Each second longer that you cry is a confession of your imperfection, your brokenness, and each second longer that Barbatos stays by your side is an acceptance, a forgiveness.  And so, without even speaking to one another, the very act of this shared moment provides a cleansing of your heart that you’d never felt before.  Each drop of salty water is a purge, a release.  There’s an amusing irony to it; an exorcism of sorts in a place where God isn’t welcome, supported by a creature who’s existence came from darkness.

The catharsis brings release, and the release brings fatigue.  The rigidness of your spine gives way to something more pliable, and you lean your head against his shoulder as you continue to weep, albeit gentler now that the worst of it has passed.  Barbatos lets you, his thumb barely missing a beat in its strokes against your hand.  He makes no effort to increase his physical reassurance; no arm around your shoulder, no leaning of his head against the crown of yours.  You’re grateful for it, not quite ready to be touched so completely.  Maybe soon... after all, the thought does entice you... but not yet. Not when your heart is still raw and tender.

No, this is perfect. It’s just enough.

Finally, the floodwaters of your heart recede, and you wipe away the last traces of wetness from your cheeks with his silk handkerchief. It’s damp with tears and snot now, and you know you’ll have to wash it before returning it to him.  You fiddle with it with your free hand, your thumb tracing along the cursive B that is sewn into its corner with dark thread, the color muted to black in the dark.

Your hands are still intertwined with each other, your head still resting against his shoulder, and you’re grateful for it as you find the courage to finally speak, your eyes still trained on that cursive B.

Your voice is quiet, hushed by hesitancy.  “Barbatos...I have a question...”

“Hm?”

“When I die, and my soul leaves my body.... does.... does that mean that the mental illness won’t be there anymore?  Does that part get left behind?”

“Ah,” Barbatos says softly, his voice rich with understanding. “I see.”

You sit up, although his hand still holds yours; after all, you haven’t pulled away yet.  But your eyes... your eyes are downcast, the shame of your breakdown too heavy regardless of Barbatos’s tenderness.

Now that you’ve finally confessed your fear it becomes easier to speak, and the words come more freely.  “I’m just... I’m tired of being this way.  Feeling this way, thinking this way.  It’s always there, like this big, lurking monster that I can’t escape from. Except it’s a part of me. I don’t know who I am without it. And I’m—” tears choke your words, but you force yourself to continue even as your eyes once again brim and sting.  “I’m just so afraid that it’ll never go away. Even when I die, and my soul is separated from this broken fucking body—”

A long, slender finger covers your lips, halting your impending tirade of self-loathing.  It forces you to finally look at him, and you’re surprised to see how deep the concern goes within his dark gaze.

“Shh,” he says.  “Don’t say such things.  It does the richness of all that you are a disservice.”

His words stun you into silence, and you stare at him wide-eyed.  He holds your gaze for a moment longer before taking the handkerchief from your clenched fist.  You start to protest, embarrassed at the state of it, but he ignores your concerns and uses a relatively clean spot to wipe away your new tears.

You fall silent as he cares for you, and in that silence, he begins to speak.

“You humans so often like to label and categorize things, an attempt at making sense of the world around you when you’re forever doomed to know so little. Lines of comparison drawn on a beach, not realizing that in the end, it’s all made of sand.”

You frown. “I don’t understand.”

“What you’re speaking of is a sickness of the mind, correct?”

“Yes, that’s one way to put it...”

Barbatos takes your palm in his hand and turns it face up.  “I’ve heard you humans often use the term ‘mind, body, and soul’ as if they are all separate.  Back when I spent time in the human realm, humans treated the soul as synonymous with the heart and the mind as synonymous with the brain, both housed within the body.”  With his finger, he draws one large circle, and within it, places two dots vertically spaced from each other.

You stare at your palm as you ponder his words.  “Yes,” you say, “that idea still lingers... sort of...”

 You take his hand in yours, and draw your own circles – a small, a medium, and a large, all inset within each other like a target.

“I think... I see the soul and mind as synonymous of each other, in way, that they depend on each other. Or...”

 You hesitate, your fears surfacing again as you stare at Barbatos’s open palm.

 “I think...” you continue slowly, “I think I’m afraid that they’re the same thing. That the soul only exists because of the mind. If that’s true, then if my mind is broken, then so is my soul, and I’ll be carrying that brokenness with me forever.  It’s like... trying to forge something using a metal riddled with impurities.  The integrity will always be compromised, no matter how beautiful the shape in the end.”

Barbatos’s open hand closes around yours, cradling your fingertips that still rest against his skin. He turns your hand over palm up again.

“Imagine this” – he draws a large circle – “is your body. And this” – he draws a smaller circle within it – “is your mind.”

You wait for the third circle, but it never comes.  You frown.

“Where is the soul?”

“Everywhere,” he says.

Your gaze lifts from your open hand to his eyes.  He smiles back at you in quiet mirth, then drops his gaze back to your hand.  His fingers retrace over the larger circle he’d first drawn into your palm.

“Your soul,” he repeats, “is everywhere.”

Confusion once again surfaces in the contours of your face. Barbatos stares at you for a moment as he searches for the words in a way that you can understand.  His eyes sink deep beneath the surface of you, and it makes you shift beneath his gaze.  After a moment he blinks, his amusement returning.

“Perhaps it is my choice of words that is unclear,” he says. “Allow me to try again.” 

He pokes your forehead with his index finger.  “Your mind is not the same as your soul the way you fear.  It is simply consciousness, self-awareness provided you by your biology,” he explains.

“You mean my brain.”

“Yes.”

“So my mind is just another part of my body.”

“Precisely.  Your body is merely the medium through which you experience this life, whether it’s through your senses, such as sight and touch, or through your consciousness.”

He returns to your hand, his fingers tracing the invisible large circle for a third time.

“Your soul, on the other hand, is a different thing entirely.  It isn’t something that can be contained to one organ within you.  Not your heart, not your brain.  It’s deeper than that, richer,” he says quietly, as if sharing a secret.

His touch travels, his fingertips gliding feather-light across your palm, up your wrist, following the tendons and veins to your forearm where goosebumps begin to awaken across your sensitive skin.

“It’s energy.  It’s life,” he continues. “It’s eternal, and it’s woven into every fiber of your being, a golden thread holding you together like the universe’s most exquisite tapestry.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers curve around your forearm until he holds it within his hand, his thumb rubbing gently against the soft skin where your veins rest beneath. His words enrapture you, his touch enthralls you. If there was ever a moment in your life you could stay trapped in forever, it would be this one.

But the moment is short-lived.  Barbatos’s soothing touch halts mid-motion, his expression turning blank, as if he suddenly remembers himself and realizes the growing intimacy of the exchange.  He withdraws his hand, and it leaves a cold emptiness where his warmth had been.

You ponder his words, but it only leads to more questions.

“My soul is everywhere...” you mutter.  “But Barbatos... if it’s woven into my body, then how...?”

“How does your soul pass on after you die?”

You nod.

Barbatos holds his chin in his fingers thoughtfully.  “You are thinking too literally.  Perhaps it is my own failure to find the right words.  Human speech doesn’t offer enough nuance to fully describe something your kind still struggles to understand.”

He ponders a moment longer, his brow knit together in concentration.  Finally his head lifts and his gaze meets yours.  “Ah.  Perhaps we can describe it as such.  Your body is made of matter, correct? And if you look deep enough, you know that all matter is made up of atoms.  But not even atoms ever completely touch.” He takes your hand in one of his and holds it up, your palm facing him, as he brings his other hand within a hair’s breadth; close enough to feel the heat emanating off of him, but not actually touching.  “There’s a negative space, ever present yet so infinitesimal that you’d never know it’s there.”  His hand finally touches yours, his fingers aligned with yours as he splays them out.  “It is this space that your soul exists, interwoven, encapsulating every atom of what you are.”

You’re staring at your touching hands, wide-eyed now, as you take in what he’s told you.  The scope of it feels nearly too vast to properly comprehend, despite how hard you try.

“It’s all very... complicated...” you mutter as you finally lower your hand back to your lap.

“Hm, is it?” Barbatos replies with a curious tilt of his head.  “Here then, another example, but simpler.  If you were to lose a limb, would it damage your soul?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re separate.”

And finally, it clicks for you. 

Barbatos smiles.  “Precisely.  So, if a lost limb will not damage your soul, then why should a damaged mind?”

The weightlessness of relief begins to spread from the center of your chest, and you release a long, deep breath.

“I see,” you say.  “So when I die...”

“When you die, your soul continues on, transformed, as your body decays.”

The balloon of relief breaks and you do a doubletake.  “...transformed?”

Barbatos nods.  “Yes, by your experiences and choices in this life.”

Once again that despair rears, the dark void opening beneath your feet as you cling to your dwindling hope. You once again wrap your arms around yourself protectively, as if you are the only one who can keep yourself from falling, despite the presence of the demon directly in front of you.

“But... Barbatos,” you protest, “sometimes mental illnesses can cause people to make bad choices.  Wrong choices.  Hurtful choices.  If those can impact the soul, then wouldn’t that mean the soul does get damaged? Or tainted?”

Barbatos falls silent for a long moment, and you avoid looking into his eyes, your gaze downcast.  His hand reaches out and covers your forearm reassuringly, but your arms remain crossed.

“As a demon, I cannot attest to how just the Celestial Realm’s rules are.  I, for one, find them to be rather suffocating and arbitrary, lacking in nuance.  But even I would be shocked if such things weren’t taken into consideration when it is time for a soul to be set upon the scales of judgment.”

Scales of judgment... the idea makes you nauseous.

Barbatos’s touch to your forearm is replaced by both of his hands on your arms just below the shoulders.  You can tell from the way he moves that he is ducking his head lower in an attempt to catch your avoiding eyes, but you keep  yourself hidden lest your tears return.

“MC....” he says softly,  “are you worried that you will be judged unfairly when your time comes?”

It takes a moment for you to find your voice, and when you do it’s thicker, heavy under the weight of emotions.  “Maybe... or maybe I’m worried I’ll be judged fairly.”

“If you do not go to heaven when your time comes, then the Celestial Realm truly is run by fools.”

His words surprise you, and you finally catch his gaze, amusement beneath a raised, sarcastic brow.  Your skin grows hot and you avert your eyes for a different reason, your shoulders lifting slightly in subtle retreat.

“Well,” you continue, “you said yourself that the soul gets transformed during this life.  I’ve made some not-so-great choices, so far.  I’ve done things I regret; hurt people I’ve loved and even people I didn’t.  What if my soul is not as good as I hope?”

Barbatos gives a soft scoff of amusement, his brows pinching up in the center as he stares at you in wry amusement.  “My dear, the very idea that your soul is anything but good is quite literally an impossibility.”

Your tension loosens slightly. “How do you know?”

The corner of one side of his mouth quirks up slightly. “Well, to start, I am a demon. And as one of the oldest demons, I have devoured countless souls across my lifetime.  If anyone is to be an expert on the quality of a soul it would be me.”

Something about the way he talks so simply about his violence, combined with his intimate kindness, makes you feel lightheaded.

It takes an extra heartbeat for you to find enough air in your lungs to speak.  “And, uh...what does a demon such as yourself consider high quality?”

Barbatos stares distantly, and for a moment he feels ancient.  When he speaks, his voice seems almost otherworldly, holding a resonance to it that wasn’t there before.  “It varies from demon to demon.  Some enjoy the flavor of corruption upon a soul, some prefer the sweet, crisp freshness of innocence and purity... but all human souls possess something that ours lack, something that makes us crave.  We’re drawn to it, in the way your human realm plants are drawn to sunlight.” He pauses and shakes his head.  “No, perhaps that analogy is too mild.  It is more how the Devildom’s Succubus’s Kiss lures its victims into its choking vines with the sweet promise of fruit.”

You swallow for a moment, your throat suddenly dry as you stare at your now empty palms where your longing for him sits abandoned.

“You make it sound as if humans are the dangerous ones,” you chide.

A half-hearted attempt at a joke, but Barbatos chuckles nonetheless.

“Yes; perhaps you are.”

You can’t tell in this moment if he’s referring to ‘you’ as in humanity, or ‘you’ as in something far more personal.  It only makes the curiosity sharper, honed on the whetstone of your pining.

“And my soul...” you continue, “what do you sense, Barbatos?”

Dread immediately follows your bold and vulnerable question, fearing what he must inevitably see in you.  Is Barbatos the type to enjoy the flavor of corruption, to find value in broken things?  Or is he more of a purist, always a keen eye for perfection?  You fear you already know the answer as you take in his crisp RAD uniform, his perfectly smooth features.  Your gaze falls downward, an attempt to hide what you’re sure he already knows.

One heartbeat, two.  Then your chin is being tilted up by his thumb and forefinger until your eyes are forced to meet his.  There’s a hint of luminescence in them, the green noticeable now where it wasn’t before, pushing against the dark monotone of night that previously washed his irises in near-black. His eyes are searching, seeking, finding, and you can feel the magic, the power that unravels every defense, every barrier.  Finally, his gaze settles, the green quiets to a deep, sleeping forest of pine in winter.  It’s peaceful; soothing.

If Barbatos’s earlier release of your arm was to provide distance from the growing intimacy between you, then the attempt was in vain.  Because now the affection in his gaze is unmistakable, the deep shadowy green cradling you the way his fingers cradle your chin. It weakens you, makes you feel like putty in his touch.

“You glow,” Barbatos whispers, “like sunlight trapped in ripples. It’s blinding, and yet so beautiful I find it impossible to look away.  I can feel it in you, emanating like heat from a hearth, and it makes me long for a home I’ve never had.”

The hum of his voice makes you shiver, goosebumps forming across your skin.  The adoration in his eyes falters briefly, the lingering green fading to black, giving way to a dark, ancient sorrow.

“I think,” he continues, “it’s a glimpse of what heaven must feel like.  A small piece of divinity passed down to you from your ancestor.”

His fingers release your chin, but the vulnerability remains, if not slightly muted due to the distance imposed by the lack of physical contact.

“I am different from Lucifer and his brothers in that I was never an angel.  I came into existence exactly as I am, and as such I’ve never known divinity.  And yet... despite never knowing it, there is still a strange... hunger for it.  It is a peculiar thing to miss something you’ve never known.”

“You... long for Heaven?” you ask him.

Barbatos tilts his head thoughtfully, his gaze absent somewhere past your shoulder. “Not so much Heaven the place. It’s more so the purity, the grace, to feel that sense of wholeness that the divine offers. It’s why we are drawn to human souls.  Angels, you see, are far too potent. Too much divinity hurts a demon; it can even kill them.  But you... you humans have just enough of both worlds within you to allow us a taste.  It can be rather addictive, especially for younger demons who have not yet had enough millennia to control their hunger.”

His pupils dilate in the dark as he refocuses his gaze.  His eyes meet yours and linger for a moment before slowly drawing down to your parted lips.  “You are a rare case indeed.  More potent in your divinity than the average human, but not enough to hurt.”

You quirk a smile at him.  “Barbatos, are you saying I’m irresistible?”

It is a joke, one you feel comfortable making because of its ridiculousness.  But then he gives you a smile you’ve never seen before that makes your stomach drop and your body awash with heat.  There’s a directness in it, a challenge presented in a wry upward turn of the lips and the glint of teeth in the faint starlight.

“Perhaps,” he says.

You try to brush him off with a scoff and break eye contact, feigning interest in the shape of the black leaves that arch over the both of you in the darkness.

“Now you’re just teasing me,” you mutter.

“Oh? You don’t believe me,” he comments. “Perhaps there is more I can do to convince you then.”

Your heartbeat falters, tripped by hope, and you keep your eyes above and around lest you combust right in front of him. 

“Convince me?” you question.

You’re attempting to feign indifference, to protect yourself from the inevitable rejection you know is coming, because surely he’s not... he doesn’t mean.... he wouldn’t... that look in his eyes earlier... affection yes, but that can mean anything...

Barbatos takes your chin in his fingers and pulls gently until you have nowhere else to look but directly at him. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, into him.  There’s a flicker there, a glow of swirling green, like nebulae trapped within his vastness.

“Indeed,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath upon your parted lips.  You realize he’s closer than you anticipated, closer than ever before.

 Your lightheadedness is returning, and your genuinely afraid you’ll faint, so you force yourself to keep speaking.

“What kind of convincing?” you ask.

He smiles that smile again, the one that turns your insides molten.  “The kind that doesn’t require words, since you seem to doubt them so fervently.” 

His thumb draws gently across your lower lip, his half-lidded gaze transfixed.  “Would you like to be convinced?” he mutters.

You swallow and answer honestly. 

“Yes.”

Barbatos’s eyes return to yours and his lips curl into a soft, genuine smile.  He closes what’s left of the distance, his warm lips capturing yours as his fingers release your chin in favor of gently cupping your jawline.

You close your eyes and reciprocate, your hand resting against his chest.

It’s gentle, soft, and for all of his heavy flirting just a moment ago, it is as unassuming as when he’d first held your hand.  It washes away the last dredges of worry, calms the ever-present unease that always lingers.  The clouds of your mind finally part, even if just for this moment, and for the first time in a long while, you feel feather-light as a peaceful warmth spreads from head to toe to the tips of your fingers.

When your lips part, Barbatos keeps his hand on your cheek and plants a gentle peck to your forehead.

“Now, believe me when I say you are beautiful.  Believe me when I say that you are good.  And most importantly, believe me when I say that I am always here for you.”

Your choked by emotion, your eyes once again burning, but this time for a different reason entirely.

“Even when I’m being sad and pathetic?” you ask, your voice cracking slightly.

Barbatos  puts his forehead against yours as his lips curve into a tender smile.

“Especially then.”

[majoryeager104]

what about touya x a reader with family issues? you can choose what type of issues but they would understand each other so good ykkkkk butttt how would he found out if he didn’t know reader? i just love your touya content

thnx anonymous bestie and yess I love this idea 🫶🫶🫶

Summary: Touya gets into an argument with you, not realizing that he’d flesh out memories of your past. Warnings: language, toxic and abusive family traumas, angsty but it ends in a sweet way

a/n this is partially based off of my own experiences, but it was actually nice to write this, kinda helped me rant yk

“Do you realize how stupid that was!?”

“Im sorry”

Touya groaned in exasperation at your response, shoulders tense as the one sided argument rolled on. You’d nearly gotten hurt on a mission, again, and he had to swoop in and save you, again. He didn’t want to fight, but your apologetic deflections and blank expressions were making it harder for him to reach a conclusion. It was like you’d shut down under the pressure. It was worrying, not something he’d ever seen you do before, and it concerned him the way you loosely resembled some kind of abandoned puppy left in the cold. “Stop staring at me like that!” He snapped, rather loudly, biting his tongue as he saw you flinch, your eyes glassy as you nodded, blinking slightly as you attempted to look away, your eyes flickering back at him “please don’t yell, I’m s-“ you were cut off as he stepped towards you, grabbing your shoulders, a determined concern painted across his face. “Stop. Apologizing” he said sternly, his brows furrowed slightly as you managed a trembling nod, looking down to avoid his gaze. He sighed in defeat, all frustration now gone as he watched your tears fall from your now hidden eyes “Why are you crying?” He asked, softer this time, trying to coax you into decompression. You sighed, a shaky, shuddering breath, trying to calm your nerves “hey” he said, pulling you close, squeezing you against him “why’re you scared?” he asked quietly, rubbing you back as he rocked you back and forth, your trembling movements confirming his suspicions- you had looked like a deer in headlights because you essentially were one at that moment, but he couldn’t figure out why. Did he say something too harsh? Was it his face? Was that what scared you? Where was this coming from? After a few minutes, he got his answer, sitting next to you silently on the couch. Your parents had always been especially strict- you’d grown up knowing that anything you thought you had, they could take away. Privacy, friends, even your childhood toys, the few you had. And what was scarier than the way they’d treat the things you loved, was the way they’d treat you afterwards. Yelling, screaming, blaming and gaslighting to the point where you couldn’t handle any of it anymore. It was less of a physical abuse and more of a mental one, something you were yet to bounce back from. You’d shut down under this kind of pressure because you’d never known how to fight it, fawning under the mental torment of your fathers booming voice as he shouted over all your thoughts, leaving you frozen in place, and terrified. Or as Touya described, a deer in headlights. He sat and listened as you listed the isolated childhood you’d lived, how you’d never gotten to have friends, because every time you thought you had them, you’d be ripped back into the bubble of your parents idea of a firm well structured household. How they treated you like some type of soldier to be disciplined at 6, how they taught you to be “mature” by burning away any semblance of childlike wonder you had left at 7, how they belittled you into being “respectful” by resorting to shouting at you when you talked too often in public at 8, taking your stuffed dog, the only toy you had left at that point, and burning it in front of you to punish you for having the audacity to try and talk back at 9, making you into less of a person, and more of a mouse, if anything.

It sort of reminded him of his own traumas- the back and forth of Enjis affections, how he’d praise Touya one moment, and toss him aside the next. How Enji let him watch as Shoto took his place. How his punishments were of the same kind of isolation as your own. How he only had Natsuo to talk to, but even then he was left alone. Alone. That was it. You were both alone.

But he now supposed he was lucky, as now you had each other He nodded, holding you as he listened as you spoke- you were conditioned not to talk back, conditioned to crumble under the words of those who deemed themselves worthy of doing so, just because. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that…sorry, pretty” he said, pulling you closer, glad your tears were finally gone, your eyes still slightly pink, even in the dim light of the room as the two of you sat in silence for a moment

“you know…” Touya finally spoke up, finding something to say as you peered up at him, blinking in the low light. “…you don’t need to be scared of me…please don’t be…I’m not gonna do that shit to you, you know that?” You were silent for a moment as you watched him, his mouth opening again as he fully collected his thoughts “its okay though…you know how my childhood went…guess we’re both traumatized huh?” He chuckled, playing with your hair. “We were both just kids conditioned to be walked all over… so I know how you feel… I won’t yell at you like that again, I promise.” He smiled softly, pulling you impossibly closer. He couldn’t help but feel bad for how he’d put you through that, but he also couldn’t help but be glad he’d pulled you back from it. The way you bounced back from that suppressed fear made him hopeful- like maybe you wouldn’t have to fear it anymore, and maybe he’d be able to help you get to that point…or maybe that one day he’d be able to do the same with his trauma too. But he settled in, pulling you closer on the small space of the couch, because that was a story for another time, and right now he owed you some make-up cuddles.

(Man trauma dumping through fanfiction is peak 👌😌 and Touya being perfect once again was also peak )

[yanderefarm]

I had a random idea involving prisoner yan so I’m here once again in your inbox:3 be prepared this will probably make little sense

with the scenario of final boy reader there isn’t a lot of room for like domestic fluffy moments, which is something I love don’t get me wrong, but prisoner yan might be annoyed at his darlings refusal of his love! :(

Imagine having him in a basement somewhere isolated, out in the woods somewhere. You’ve beaten and bruised him, broken his bones, taken his limbs, starved and drowned him. The whole nine yards, anything your sadistic brain can think of :3, but then it’s like a switch flips. You’re finally being tender with him for the first time and after all the harsh treatment it’s like a breath of fresh air! But the love doesn’t last long and as soon as he’s even partially healed it’s right back to torment. You make him think he did something wrong and that’s why you are no longer affectionate. Repeat the cycle, drive him mad with confusion on what he’s doing wrong. After long enough soon he won’t be able to tell the difference between the love and the abuse :3

does this make sense 😭 I hope it does I was thinking about this all morning

-🪐 anon <3

honestly i love this idea.... good way to break him.

i also imagine like the reader having no one else in their life anymore. everyone else has kind of abandoned them after the trauma took its toll on their mind so the only thing even resembling a family or love is the prisoner. he has what he's always wanted even without intending to, he's the center of your universe. so everytime a major holiday comes around or you're just so exhausted from all the endless abuse. you are genuinely sweet with him, not even as the act but because you just want to hold someone and love them for a moment.

a quiet peaceful thanksgiving dinner, he's cuffed to a chair so he can't stand up and he has limited movement of his arms. the little clank of the chains always reminding you it's not normal but you keep acting like it is. or a Christmas spent curled up by the fire, he's bound and gagged while you cuddle against his broad chest. you even got him a Christmas present and one you bought for yourself for him to pretend to give you.

it's sad how desperate for the little bit of normalcy you are. how you cling to the man who took everything from you because you have no one else. how deep down a part of you knows that you can't kill him even if you want to because somehow you've formed a sick sense of love for this monster. he knows it. he knows you love him. he takes every bit of abuse and torture in stride because he knows that you're just showing him how deep your love burns.

he promises if he gets free he'll kill you, he describes all the horrific graphic things he'll do with you as he kills you. but deep down a part of him knows that killing you would be the kindest thing he could do, its the only way he could properly reciprocate all the love you've poured into him. even if he fully intends to keep your corpse as his girlfriend.

[shanspitcoca]

BOWERS GANG HC

Summary You date the Bowers gang, but now they love for you is being shown to anyone who wants to get a sense of how the relationship with them works. What the cameras didn't film and what Stephen King didn't write.

Warning It was not revised, in each situation their tragic end was avoided (like going to Henry's house and being killed), english is not my first language.

Henry Bowers

You and Henry met at school. He wasn't used to being nice to people, but you were sent by the principal to help Henry with his studies. At first, it was really hard. He was rude, hated you, and embarrassed you in front of others. Until his hate turned to love, you didn't give up on him and you didn't hate him. Your sweet eyes made him see the light in the darkness, and he was confident that you could become his.

And it wasn't very difficult, because he protected you and took care of you, he invited you to go out with him and the boys and you became part of him, which made you open your heart. And with that came the rumors; "she's fucking them all!" "gang bitch!" "doesn't she have any shame?", but the truth was that you didn't care anymore and that improved for Henry too, he loved you enough to be nice to people when you asked him to.

Henry shut up everyone who was spreading rumors about you and made sure things between you were careful, he saw you as a sweet deer and didn't want to dirty your soul even though everyone already thought you were filthy.

But he hadn't even changed 50%, not at all! He took out the fights you had on your friends and sometimes his hatred was so great that he would even beat up poor street children, and that scared you. He felt absurdly jealous of everything and everyone, of his father who would praise you when he saw you "she's a good girl, keep her." of your friends when they tried to talk to you "why did Marsh the bitch called you?" and of his friends "is she going with us?". He couldn't hide it anymore and felt like he had to keep her away from everyone.

But of course she would use her persuasive skills to her advantage. “You can’t isolate me from the world!” “I’ll kill myself if you do that” were enough for Henry to change his plans, and it worked. That afternoon Henry was coming home, he had gone out with the guys and was walking down the streets, heading towards the farm. Henry had gotten off two blocks before your house and you saw him passing by as you were sitting on the porch eating ice cream, he had bloody bruises on his face and his clothes were dirty.

“who did it to you?” - she shouted from her porch

He made a few turns toward her, he climbed the small stairs to the porch and she stood, opening the door and leading him into the living room. They sat together and she touched his hand as they both remained silent. Henry would talk if he wanted to.

Henry wasn't the kind of person who usually talked about his feelings, but that day he even cried. Jealousy, anguish and fear surrounded him and he would be beaten again when he got home. But you said it only once and clearly and directly. Henry didn't like to talk much, especially when something hurt him, he would tell you with his eyes and sometimes with his touches.

“if you hurt them again i won’t be your girlfriend anymore.”

She then broke the silence, while he still looked down but at that moment something touched his heart and he laid his head on her chest, and she automatically held him.

His eyes moved away from the floor and went to your face, with confusion reflected in his blue irises. That day he promised not to fight without reason and not to be humiliated by children. You gave him a sweet and passionate kiss, which he obviously reciprocated and the simplicity of his love made you love him more and more.

Deep down you were the only proof of kindness that existed in his world.

Patrick Hockstetter

With Patrick Hockstetter, things are different. You were neighbors and became close when you were 8 years old when your mother started babysitting Patrick when his parents were at church. He hated going to church because he had to left the comfort of his home.

Patrick started hanging out with the Bowers gang which at the time was made up of Henry, Victor, Belch, Peter, Jard and Moose, but Henry didn't really like Moose and so he was quickly kicked out of the gang, until Jard moved out of town and Peter left the gang because he loved Marcia.

He started to feel desire for you when you guys still kids, well, you were messy and strange children and sooner or later it would end up happening, a little kiss. Patrick then grew in love with you but of course he would never admit it. He often went on “dates” with other girls and to be blunt he also took them to bed very easily. Sometimes you asked him to read some books, which he never did. He didn't have time for that bullshit, he skipped classes to be with the gang and spent the rest of the day with them, the little time he had he spent with the girls he wanted.

Patrick never actually admitted to liking you because he wasn't sure if it was reciprocal, he also never let Henry invite you to a ride around Derry with the gang because he knew what Henry's intentions were. Patrick felt obligated to take care of you and was preparing to tell you the truth "Im into you” he hoped to say it quickly and matter-of-factly, if you said "Im into you too" he would kiss you but if denied him he would say "do you think I was serious? dumbass"

That midday you went to the barrens, it was disgusting but you liked it there because it was quiet and you could read your books without worrying. But before you completed your arrival you saw Patrick standing looking around, "Is he looking for someone?"

“I'm not in that direction, silly” - you softly shouted and he turned back glancing at you and smirking

Now he had given up on what he had to do and sat down next to you on a rock not too close to the water but not too far either. You were wearing a white dress and brown boots that matched his and until that moment he had remained quiet. He was gathering his courage and suddenly moved, sitting next to her.

“i think im into you, doll” - it didn't go as planned, he sounded passionate and his intention was to sound cocky.

But you didn't answer, for the first time you didn't answer him. You sat next to each other and you laid your head on his arm, opening your book to the marked page. He was almost blushing, totally regretful even though your presence had done him well he was waiting for your answer.

“no amount of fire could challenge the fairytale he had stored up in his heart.” - she smiled and glared him when she finished - “Gatsby.”

“doubt tho that the stars are fire doubt thou that sun doth move doubt truth to be a liar: but never doubt i love.” - he looked down at the ground, kicking a few pebbles as his boots and hers brushed against each other - “Hamlet.”

she chuckles - “you read it...” - he didn't look at her but he could feel her sweet smile on him as she touched his hand and they both intertwined their fingers

“I read every single book you asked for…” - he then plucked up the courage to look at her and in a few seconds they kissed, it was a lascivious kiss but so genuine that they couldn’t help

Victor Criss

You and Victor met in seventh grade, he had been hanging out with Bowers ever since and you had math class together. You treated each other like arch enemies, you were smart but he was smarter than you, you got A's and he got A+'s, you applied to be the student council leader and he was the one who won just for being who he was and he gave up the position because he didn't really want anything to do with it.

But both of you were chosen by the math teacher to present the math competition, which you didn't like because you wanted to have participated in the competition but he loved it because he hated being seen as the nerdy bully. That day, something sparkled in his eyes and you noticed it, the way he looked at you while you performed and the way he loved every second of that time with you, you laughing at his jokes and covering for him when he got nervous and couldn't finish his sentence. Was it passion?

After that day, you started sitting closer together in class and you did all the pair work together. For the first time, the gang didn't make fun of him for being into a girl, they supported him.

Victor is an only child and his parents love him very much. He used to be a rebellious son and sometimes a little ungrateful, but after you appeared in his life and he introduced you to his parents, everything changed. You matched clothes, smoked together, studied together and had simple but full dates of conversations, smiles, stares, kisses and touches. He loves you more than anything and you know it, he doesn't usually kiss you in front of other people but whenever he does you get goosebumps, in a good way of course.

You were feeling lonely that morning and decided to go to Victor's house. You walked a few blocks since he didn't live that far away. When you got to his house, you rang the bell. "Damn, I'm going!" in an angry shout. He hated it when people didn't have patience. He opened the door and declared you with a smile, you had a bag in your hand with some cigarettes and board games. He blushed when he saw you and apologized for shouting.

“are you going somewhere?” - you entered in the house, closing the door and sitting on the sofa and you asked when saw him wearing his black boots, which he usually only did when he was going out.

“i was going to Henry's house” - he was untying his laces and throwing his boots into a corner of the room - “but be here with you is better”

They went upstairs and as they passed through the hallway and entered his room she threw her bag on the table. They threw themselves on the bed and she took off her shoes before getting under the covers and they lay there for a few minutes caressing each other until the phone rang.

He stood up and walked to the hallway to answer the phone. You didn't hear him very well but you ignored him and just focused on observing every detail of Victor's room. The green wall, the posters, the messy study table, the closet with the door open and shoes that prevented it from closing, the TV with the video game controls on top and the books on the nightstand. He then came back, sitting on the bed and looking at you.

It was Henry, he was angry because I didn't go to his house - he lay down again, squeezing himself between her arms - he doesn't understand...

With Victor everything was calmer and after a few minutes of him smelling your neck, leaning on your shoulder and you stroking his hair, you fell asleep. There was no talking for hours and arguing or much less wasting words, you dozed deeply without thinking about what awaited Belch for having agreed to go to Henry's house.

Reginald Huggins

Oh, but Belch are so sweet. He loves you more than anything and it all started at Greta Bowie's party. He had gone with the gang but was on the couch, bored, talking to Victor while Patrick and Henry bothered some girls. You and Belch had already had an interaction, it was when you were walking down the street coming back from the bakery and saw Belch standing leaning against the famous blue 1977 Pontiac in front of the supermarket, probably waiting for the gang to return.

You introduced yourself to him and started chattering, which he hated at first. “I wish I had a car but my parents don’t have enough money.” “I like Chevrolets.” He wanted to roll his eyes and leave you talking to yourself, but for a minute he decided to be nice and it was the best choice of his life.

At the party you sat next to him on the couch, smiling at him and he automatically smiled back without paying any more attention to what Victor was saying.

“i think gossiping is her only talent, because this party sucks!” - you shouted loud enough for him to hear since the music was drowning out everyone's voices

That was your biggest step, you and he started dating for good and that would lead to a future marriage. He loves every bit of you and your personality and would give you the world if you asked. You shared many things in common, including extracurricular classes, which made your love only grow stronger with every second you both spent together.

You had never gotten along with boys before Belch and meeting him completely changed the course of your life. Belch is an only child and lives with his mother and his mother raised him very well. Despite being one of Derry's typical bullies and rough with other girls, he treated you like a princess. His mother and you were the only women he treated well and the only who called him "Reggie" and he loved every letter when you called him that.

His friends always made a mess of his car and he never really cared about it, “Okay, they made a mess, I’ll clean it when I have time” but with you everything changed. Before he invited you for the first ride on the road he cleaned the entire car, inside and out. And then he did this every day until his friends stopped making a mess, he keeps pictures of the two of you in the glove compartment.

Belch could have gone to Henry's house like Henry asked, to shoot some bottles but Belch said no for the first time. Now you're in the blue Trans Am, although his friends had a higher priority when it came to rides, when you were there the car was entirely yours. He let you drive and was careful behind the wheel when you were in the passenger seat, but that didn't last long. Belch likes to speed up, and make you scream and your hair swing aimlessly out the window.

And that was what was happening now. There were no words for that moment, you were feeling the breeze of the wind on your face while the sun said goodbye to the humans causing a beautiful painting in the sky and a unique light on the earth. The bushes around the road screamed the peace that you both loved to feel when you were together.

“id ride to the moon in this car with you, honey” - she tried to get her hair out of her face as the wind blew harder and harder, which failed and made her burst out laughing

“I'll take you to every single place you want to go” - he says a little loudly as the breeze and road noises almost made them sound inaudible

[futuretrain]

very good post, thank you. i love the idea of fuyumi, but her execution is very shallow and isolated, if it makes sense? and not in the way that the childhoods of todoroki kids were isolating, but in terms of storytelling. all of the todoroki siblings are like that, including shouto, because each of them and their experience and trauma get evaluated separately, and then they simply have to come together to stop touya. they talk for a bit, sure (like the very and i mean *very* brief discussion that shouto and fuyumi got to have after the family dinner in the endeavor agency arc), but we don't get to see them have much in way of interaction together without endeavor being just. there and dominating the panel space and sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

it's disheartening, because it leaves so much unaddressed. each of the siblings circle their recovery/processing around endeavor, when, considering how the subplot of the todoroki family started, it should have been about the siblings, together. shouto said "i forgot all about you", and that helped him self-realize for a moment as a whole person, not one part of a quirk and one part of legacy expectation.

and yet endeavor's presence entirely dominates the subplot thereon and to the very end of the story. the todoroki kids become extensions to endeavor's character and tools to prop him up as needed, and fuyumi, especially, i feel gets it terrible. she gets to say once that she feels a lot of the same as natsuo, yet she never gets to actually express it - it's just a throwaway line. what she is written to do (and what is never explored in relation to shouto himself or his relationship with fuyumi or fuyumi's mental state and thought process) is create convenient opportunities for endeavor to engage with shouto in a non-professional atmosphere. it's fuyumi who gets used to organize the family (and interns/friends) dinner during endeavor agency, so endeavor doesn't have to force his son who's just declared that he won't behave to him like his son during the internship to endure his presence in a personal setting, because that would make endeavor look like even more of a selfish insincere dick. it's fuyumi who gives endeavor shouto's phone number so endeavor can blow his phone up with messages during school hours(!!!), so endeavor doesn't have to work to obtain his number in a different and more intentional and forceful way, because that would make endeavor look like even more of a selfish insincere dick.

i feel like you may be on to something with the fuyumi-eri comparison, because they are characters who are used as plot devices/props and as ways for the story to answer difficult questions without really answering. for fuyumi, it's this. for eri, it's the unspoken question hovering menacingly over the entirety of mha: what should be done with people whose quirks are too strong and dangerous. even though i find the saving of eri very powerful and an overall very good moment, the logic itself that deku uses - saying that eri's quirk is healing him, ergo it's a kind quirk, ergo eri deserves to be saved - i find very dangerous, for the simple reason that it refuses to engage with the possibility that someone's quirk may not be capable of kind things, so the answer in the end by exclusion posits that people whose powerful dangerous quirks cannot perform good actions do not deserve to be saved. and that idea permeates the story till the end - if only toga had known love before, if only she'd been better, she would've wanted to be kind - to give blood instead of taking it. afo could've been the kindest quirk. till the end, the story refuses to consider that a person may not be kind, and still deserve salvation, and only dreams of worlds where that they were just kinder, so as to fit the profile of someone who deserves to be saved.

TW: ABUSE, CHILD ABUSE

“He wants to air this dirty laundry to the world does he…? Dabi, you fiend…you’ve been waiting for this moment…when they couldn’t prevent mass destruction…and faith in heroes is wavering.” - chapter 292

I truly, wholeheartedly, believe that MHA as a story upholds the myth of the perfect victim. I do not want to discuss if Horikoshi did that on purpose, or subconsciously because of inner bias – I find no meaning in doing so. For me the execution of an idea, in the grand scheme of the narrative, holds more value than the intention of the author. I’ve also had my fair share of people infantilizing Asian authors in the anime community for their poor writing decisions for one lifetime. It’s patronizing to both the author and the people reading it. Whether or not Horikoshi intended for his themes of abuse to paint the picture they did does not matter, because that’s how it reads as.

MHA puts victims of abuse in narrow boxes and softly dictates what’s an acceptable reaction to said abuse. Victims are continuously walking a tightrope between being deserving of compassion and sympathy and being unredeemable monsters who are too far gone and are only good for martyrdom after being put down.  

Eri fits the clean cut depiction of abuse victims that media usually gears towards. She is untouched by the cruelty around her - she preserves her innocence and kindness. She isn't assertive, but rather meek and passive. She doesn't fight back with force. And when offered help, she is receptive to it. That is not to say that Eri's depiction doesn't have a place in fiction, or that her portrayal can't be representative of the experiences of some - as we all deal with trauma and the inhumanity people throw at us differently. We see the same thing in the portrayal of Fuyumi, who shares many of the qualities discussed above. The same thing applies to her - i personally love the idea of all the siblings having different reaction to their childhood trauma and abuse. It shows that victims are not some type of monolith.

But the narrative treats the "forgiving" or "receptive to help/support" victims of abuse with more grace and with much more kindness. if you are willing to forgive, or the very least be quietly tolerant, the story grants you a happy ending. Forgiveness isn't a bad thing, it is an individual choice - but an abuse victim shouldn't have to do it for them to have a happy ending.

In a vacuum Eri and Fuyumi's character arcs and depictions of abuse are good but it becomes a problem when that's the only experience and type of victim we ever hold in high value or recognize as valid and deserving of compassion. Which the story reinforces.

Touya and Tenko's backstories aren't pretty nor comfortable or easy to sit through. Their responses to abuse aren't either. Reactive abuse is very much real.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The Loudest Silence

YA contemporary

a newly Deaf-Hard of hearing girl moves across the country and starts a new school, struggling with navigating her disability and love for singing and lost friendships - determined to not make any new friends for the year she’s in Florida

and a boy struggling with family expectations and anxiety, after being made the fútbal captain even though he secretly ways to be on broadway, who quickly befriends her

bi & aroace-coded MCs

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

[ TRUST ] for a scenario where sender’s muse is the only one receivers muse will let close. ( Robin )

✧ ━━ 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐂 𝐈 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃

The gargling prayers and pleas had long begun to mingle into a single, choking drone bleating from the mangled body below him. He had lost count of the strikes; how many times his blade had wedged itself between Haruko's ribs or plunged down into her precious heart. Not that it much mattered, anyway, for Robin found himself captivated by the shift; that pathetic whimpering and weeping was a welcome reprieve from her previously barbed words. It was an unfortunate truth that Haruko's voice held an unsettling power over him, and it seemed she had only searched him out to indulge in her advantages. Pity for her that he was not a patient man. Taunt after taunt she berated him with rather scornful observations that burrowed quick into his mind to hide away. It was simpler this way; the guttural noises that filled the space were far more satisfying than those verbal knives she had earlier hurled at him.

Anything to get her to stop talking about it.

"It" being merely an answer he did not want to hear, a resounding "yes" where it should have been a sharp "no". The way she looked at him when she said it too, so confidently, so sure of herself - even now, splattered in blood did she appear happy. As if his violent reaction had simply validated her stance.

Do you truly perceive me as a man capable of such gentle ministrations?

𝒀𝒆𝒔. ... 𝑰 𝒅𝒐.

His aching knife hand, however, finally found pause when a single stick crunched behind him; a deliberate act, of course. Robin knew that his usual visitor would never actually accidentally reveal themself, they were far too clever for that. They thrived on the thrill of the chase, the unseen dance of predator and prey that Robin was usually all too pleased to take part in. But by now the remnants of life now splattered around him had stained Haruko's beautiful dress from the soft ivory of the Holy Virgin into a sickening garden of crimson offal, and her killer found it difficult to turn away from it all. A quiet, very small, flicker of relief fell over him though, as he recalled the horror of his previous encounter atop the clock tower. He could not handle another episode like that — perhaps it was a good thing he had expelled all of his emotion onto her.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐, 𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔, 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖? 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒊𝒕, 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒍𝒆����𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒔, 𝑺𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓.

You are ignorant. Now I beseech thee; rush homeward to your husband.

The gentle downward tug on his lip alerted him to the sticky strands of bloodied saliva that grotesquely connected his mouth to the gaping, festering wound leaking unceremoniously from the lovely column of Haruko's neck. Another step from his Ghostly companion, and before he could stop himself - an animalistic bark erupted his throat as he snapped his head towards Ghostface. Wide eyes glinted in the lowlight of the backwood like shards of glass, while stained fangs bared; like some starving animal prepared to defend it's kill at all cost.

After a moment, the revelry fell to a haunting lull, leaving only the sound of his ragged breath. With trembling hands, Robin slowly removed the blade from its gruesome duty, quick to yank it free from Haruko's breast, and tossed it into the dead grass beside them to be swallowed by the earth itself. Then, with a desperate urgency, he brought the length of his sleeve to his mouth, wiping away the evidence of his insatiable thirst. As if that could erase all of what had been seen.

"I fear dying an obedient lap dog. I fear being trapped in a cage for eternity."

Was he what Ghostface feared most? A starved ratling scrabbling around in desperate search of its next fleeting morsel? Stuck forever at the mercy of his God ...? Even if it was so, the Grave Walker persisted with ludicrous devotion, returning time and again. Was it from some twisted sense of care? A foolish idea Robin thought rather stupid. Or was it to jeer at him? Somehow that was worse. No. No. Not you too. Robin hated it. He hated this vulnerability, this clarity that stripped away the blur he had mulled in over the centuries, all of it lost the moment his vision crossed that woeful mask. He loathed how intimately aware he was of his own sharp, cypress gaze softening — dissolving, like the last vestiges of daylight spilling into a tranquil, sun-kissed lake calm enough to reflect the abyss of Ghostface's hollow eyes.

━ 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑩𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇.

Ah yes, that had been the last, delicately placed attempt at pity that broke his demeanor; the absurdity to grant him such kindness. To act as though he was merely a pitiable, pathetic welp — a fragile thing deserving of mercy! To want … mercy for him. Over and over. In and out. Ruthlessly he sought to reclaim the dignity that had been stripped away by her impudence, plunging cold steel into her delicate form until his arm had begun to ache and strain from the motion. Each stab was a vicious attempt to get the maiden to take back the foolish words that had ignited all of this chaos; to let his mind forget about what he was.

But she never yielded.

Haruko just … watched him without any fear in those navy gems she called eyes; even dulled by the veil of death she held a gaze that seemed to pierce through the last sparks of his soul, as if challenging him to reconsider the depths of his madness. Haruko had died hours ago; that much was evident in the rigid chill of her body, still he found himself consumed by a twisted compulsion to continue, to savage what remained of her until — wintry brows suddenly furrowed downward as a wave of frustration crashed over him once he turned back to the corpse, horror momentarily gripping his heart once he found the her already half lost to the Entity's spindling legs dragging it deeper and deeper into the dirt.

Confusion clouded Robin’s features as he gawked at the woman's death mask, taking note how the once-familiar contours of her visage had been nearly obliterated by the devastation he had wrought upon her. How could it be then, amidst the horror he had inflicted, that Lady Kovacs' spirit still seemed to weep? He could hear it. Echoes of soft whimpers drew his gaze to the stark canyons of her bronze skin where the blood had retreated, leaving traces of a raw flesh in their wake. Long, winding rivulets of skin emerged from the red-stained landscape, each one carved its mournful path along the curve of her body. But his ascending gaze found no storming clouds above, nor even the faintest sign of rain falling from the oppressive gray heavens.

It was as if the very notion of tears was foreign, something he was incapable of understanding let alone feeling; so instead he could only stare bewilderedly at the droplets falling onto her face.

"I … "

Too many words were fighting along his tongue, yet as soon as his mouth opened to allow their freedom, a wave of nausea surged through him and twisted his stomach in a vicious knot of protest. The Sin Eater was practically trembling in his spot, paralyzed by his own weakness. Each breath now a struggle as he fought against the tremors that threatened to overtake him. By now Haruko's beautiful face had shed away and curled those pretty lips back, and Robin was unable to rip his gaze away from the worm cleansed smile before him. And equally helpless was he to stop the constant repetitions of Haruko's deep voice in his head. Suddenly, fueled by a surge of rage and desperation, he propelled himself to his feet, fists clenched at his sides as he spat his fury at the lifeless form under him. “Shut up! I’m in no mood!”

Up came his boot to crash down onto her body, snapping bones and squelching in the torn insides now out. Eventually her cadaver was shattered enough that it disappeared entirely into the Entity to leave the two ghostly figures alone amidst the destructive scene that had been left behind. A hat thrown, once neatly tucked and braided hair now a waterfall of soft glistening snow; and Robin's furious tears streaming down his cheeks as he collapsed back down onto his knees and squeezed his hair in frustration, his stare flickered around him, as if he were pleading with an unseen audience for understanding, "Just, everyone shut up! — I need to think."

Each tear clung to the gentle curve of his lashes, each one settling and shimmering like dew kissed pearls upon lily petals. With a heart pounding in trepidation, Robin turned his gaze upwards, his eyes searching for answers, for comfort, for anything to make sense of the havoc swirling around him. Now along with Haruko's words he also wrestled with the disbelief of Danny’s presence; the thought of his friend returning felt surreal, surely it just an apparition born from the depths of his fractured psyche. A cruel trick, a twisted jest played by his own fraying mind. Why ever would they return to him? Let alone stay after seeing such a revolting display of despair. Of something so dreadfully human. He couldn't envision a reason for them to stay. Kindness wasn't something he was given. Mercy was not something he was given. So, just as the weight of his misery threatened to crush him, Robin's voice finally emerged — a whisper, shaky as a newborn fawn, crossed his trembling mouth:

"A-Are you real … ?"

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I feel like if one wants — and is trying to give themself — a mental disorder by using the label of “transid,” then they are probably already disordered in some other way that they are in denial of; because it‘s more stigmatized, or “less interesting” than the neurotype they’ve chosen to mimic… which is sad because they’re masking in two different directions at that point: one to hide their illness, the other to create an illness… which will lead to more illness. Bleak, to be honest.

[genspiel]

.....................well now i'm just thinking about how echo and noise could've provided a really interesting exploration of mental illness and trauma and stigmatization but canon kinda missed the mark on that one huh

[monster-noises]

I love second hand book shops, I got to them frequently and always leave with Something and have a good time just peakin around

But i gotta say

It's one of the Worst spots for me in terms of imposter syndrome

I feel like everyone's uneasey with my presence as though i'm a stranger who just stumbled into their inner sanctum and they're.. they're gunna let me stay but they're gunna be weirded out the whole time and breath a sigh of relief when the Strange Unwelcome Freak Leaves

It also happens at record shops and sometimes at small antique shops or cons+festivals

Just this immediate foreboding of being Angrily Tolerated in a Space I Don't Belong

[website-com]

i got a ds as my christmas present a few years back with a copy of animal crossing (which is considered a bad version of the game btw) and something i keep coming back to is these little objectively somewhat pointless interactions like going for a coffee. you just go to the cafe, and buy a cup. you drink it, and you leave. i always say goodbye before i go. im trying to say thanks. i cant really see any practical reason for doing it, it is objectively just a money suck, but i love doing it. at first i thought the little bird who runs it might open up to me but he doesnt seem the type, but i still like him, so i go and visit him. it feels so real. like he remembers me but doesnt like talking about it. its such an incredibly special and intimate feeling. i wonder if other games at the time were able to cultivate this or if it was unique

[v-arbellanaris]

i think the problem (?) is that the only kind of (fictional?) love that interests me is the kind of love that changes the world. the kind of love that derails the narrative, the kind of love that changes everything -- not necessarily by how special or unique the love is but by the very mundanity of it. the love that grows, not in spite of the barren lovelessness of Before, but out of it. i think that's why I'm always so invested in ships that are two people diametrically opposed to each other, or enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, or two people on separate sides of the morality issue coin, because i love it when love... not that it changes a person but it allows the person to Become. the space, the grace, to change. to love the monster, to love the unlovable and the intolerable, is to make it something other than a monster, than unlovable, than intolerable. i love it when being loved at your worst, ugliest, most horrible self is what makes you want to be someone worth loving. like is this ANYTHING to anyone or

[starlooove]

No bc Jon makes me SO SAD like idk man the fact that it isn’t even just someone who looks like his dad but technically WAS his dad that did all that to him like imagine him having a nightmare or smth and Clark goes to help him out cause obviously and Jon gets MORE scared bc the person he’s looking at isn’t his dad who’d die before hurting him, but his captor of YEARS back in his room