#got into a social issues discussion at work

[canofwormholes]

Well, I feel emotionally drained.

[vanessagillings]

I’m posting the ever-so-rare photo of myself alongside one of my characters based on my childhood because today is World Autism Acceptance Day, and I wanted to show my little corner of the internet who this particular autistic person is:  

I was officially diagnosed in February, at age 38 (I’m now 39). A lot of people thought I couldn’t be autistic.  Some people who know me in real life still don’t.  And until around 10 years ago, I didn’t think I could be either, because I was nothing like the stereotype media portrays. I was told that autistics lacked empathy (untrue), and never played make-believe (also often untrue) and only enjoyed STEM.  I was — and am — an empathetic artist -- and make believe?  I can spend days sketching finely bedecked bears brewing tea or carefully choosing the right words to weave tapestries of fiction — though perhaps my hyper focus was a bit of a red flag.  Even so, how could autism describe me?  I was a good student.  I got straight A's. I didn’t act out in class.  I can make eye contact…if I must.  And lots of girls hate having their hair brushed with an unholy passion, right?  Clearly I swim in sarcasm like a fish, so autism couldn't be why I was so anxious all the time, could it?

If someone had told me when I was younger what autism ACTUALLY is — instead of the nonsense I’d seen on screens — I would have seen myself in it.  I didn’t hear that autistics have sensory issues until I was in my mid-twenties, which is when I first began to really research autism symptoms, and I had almost all of them:  sensitivity to light, smells, fabrics, temperatures, textures, and certain touches, all of which make me feel anxious, I fidget (stim), I never know what the hell to do with my hands or where to look, I talk too little or too much, I have special interests, I have entire animated movies memorized shot-by-shot and can remember the first time and place I saw every movie I've ever seen but I often forget what I'm trying to say mid-sentence, I echo movies and tv shows (my husband and I have a whole repertoire of shared echolalias, making up about 20% of our conversations), I was in speech therapy as a kid, I have issues with dysnomia and verbal fluency, I toe-walk, I can't multitask to save my life, I like things just-so, I’m deeply introverted but not shy, I need to recover from all social interaction — even social interaction I enjoy — and I find stupid, every day things like grocery shopping, driving and making appointments overwhelming and intensely stressful, sometimes to the point where I struggle to speak.  It turns out, I am definitely autistic. My results weren't borderline. Not even close. And while these aren’t all of my challenges, and not everyone with these symptoms is autistic, it’s definitely something to look into if you present with all of these things at once. 

So why did it take me so long to get diagnosed? The same bias that exists in media threads through the medical community as well, and because I'm a woman who can discuss the weather while smiling on cue, few people thought I was worth looking into. Even after I was fairly certain I was autistic, receiving an official diagnosis in the US is unnecessarily difficult and expensive, and in my case, completely uncovered by my insurance.  It cost me over $4000, and I could only afford it because my husband makes more money than I do as a freelance illustrator — a job I fell into largely because it didn’t require in-person work; like many autists, I have been chronically underemployed and underpaid, in part due to physical illness in my twenties, which is a topic for another day.  But it shouldn’t be like this.  It shouldn’t be so hard for adults to receive diagnoses and it shouldn’t be so hard for people to see themselves in this condition to begin with due to misinformation and stereotypes. Like many issues in America, these barriers are even higher for marginalized groups with multiple intersectionalities. 

It’s commonly said that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.  This is why it’s called a spectrum, not because there’s a linear progression of severity (someone who appears to have low support needs like myself might need more than it seems, and vice versa), but because every autistic person has their own strengths and weaknesses, challenges and experiences, opinions and needs.  No two people on the spectrum present in the same way.  And that’s a good thing!  No way of being autistic is inherently any better than any other, and even if someone on the spectrum struggles with things I don’t — or can do things I can’t — doesn’t make them more or less deserving of respect and human dignity.

But speaking solely for myself, the more I learn about autism, the happier I am to be autistic.  I struggle to find words and exert fine motor control, but my deep passion and fixation has made me good at art and storytelling anyway.  I find more joy watching dogs and studying leaf shapes on my walks than most people do in an entire day.  More often than not, the barriers I’ve faced weren’t due to my autism directly, but due to society being overly rigid about what it considers a valid way of existing.  My hope in writing this today is that maybe one person will realize that autism isn’t what they thought — and that being different is not the same as being less than. My hope with my fiction is to give autistic children mirrors with which to see themselves, and everyone else windows through which to see us as we actually are.

If you’re interested in learning more about autism or think you might be autistic, too, I recommend the Autism Self Advocacy Network  autisticadvocacy.org and the following books:

What I Mean When I Say I’m Autistic by Annie Kotowicz

We're Not Broken by Eric Garcia

Knowing Why edited by Elizabeth Bartmess

Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, PhD

Loud Hands edited by Julia Bascom

Neurotribes by Steve Silberman

(trigger warning: the last two contain quite a lot of upsetting material involving institutionalized child abuse, but I think it’s important for people to know how often autistic children were — and are — abused simply for being neurodivergent).

Thanks for reading 💛

[thelikesoffinn]

„Astarion ending as the Vampire Ascendant is the correct ending for him, because it is what he wants.”

That is a claim I’ve been seeing pop up more and more often these days. And I think it’s both a very bold and a very odd claim to make.

But first things first: Hello, I’m a licensed social worker! So far, I’ve worked with children, refugees and youths with behavioural issues stemming from bullying and or abuse.

Please be aware that I will be mentioning different kinds of abuse, coping mechanisms, and victim/abuser relationships. If any of this is difficult for you, don’t force yourself through it. My jabbering about a traumatised vampire is not worth your wellbeing, not ever.

I will, however try to stick to Astarion and not use other examples. If, in any case, I do use a non-Astarion example, I’ll add a warning beforehand so that you can skip the part. And I’ll make it clear what will be discussed in the next bit, so that you have a chance to skip it entirely.

This is an effort to make this as accessible as possible for everyone that wants to indulge on a mad woman’s rambling – and I know there’s a few people that like this sort of stuff!

And, uh, there's obviously spoilers for all three acts. Serious spoilers, even.

Before I can get into the whole ‘why Astarion didn’t really want to ascend,’ we need to understand him a little more. And to understand this pretty boy’s brain, we first need to understand the gist of what we’re talking about when we throw around the word ‘abuse.’

“Abuse” is when someone is treated with cruelty, violence, or neglect – often to bad effect – on a regular basis. Repetitively. Check’s out for Astarion, I’d say, but we all knew that already. I mean, if one thing was obvious, it was this.

1. Astarions Abuse

Next we need to look at what kind of abuse Astarion faced over his long years of torment, seeing as different types of abuse will have different effects on the victim.

Not that that is anything we have to worry about with him – Astarion won the abuse lottery, to put it bluntly. In a horrible game of fate, he got everything. He himself indirectly mentions all the types of abuse he faced, albeit never using the correct terms.

The first we properly notice – fitting, seeing as it is often the most obvious form of abuse – is the physical abuse. Astarions scars are probably the biggest tell Larian could shove down our throats, only underlined by Astarion’s tale about the night itself. About how Cazador ‘misspelled something’ every time he flinched or screamed and had to do ‘many corrections. On top of this, Cazador locked Astarion up for months on end and tortured him – or had him tortured – on a regular basis both as a rite and as a punishment.

Next up, we have the fact that Astarion was forced to basically prostitute himself repeatedly. This is what we call sexual exploitation.

“I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master.” – Act 2

Two hundred years is a long time, filled with great many people. Now, we don’t know how many of those people actually tapped into the sexual exploitation and how many he could just lure back with other means, but the fact that it happened a lot is undeniable.

Next we have a form of abuse that we often disregard in adults: Neglect. It sounds odd, I know, saying that a fully grown adult was neglected. They can care for themselves, can they not?

Well. Yes and no.

Adult neglect is proceeded by the condition that one adult has to lean on another adult to fulfil their needs for whatever reason. This could be anything, from disability to income-based issues.  

Seeing as Astarion had absolutely nothing, while Cazador had everything, we can assume this was the case. Cazador had the house, the money, the power. Astarion owns but one pair of clothes, assumedly, that he has fixes over and over again. Fair to say, that’s pretty neglectful. (And it’s one more reason to shower the guy in pretty armour and camp clothes. Go ham, people.)

Last we have the form of abuse we actually get to witness later in the game – emotional abuse.

Once again, it’s undeniable that this happened. Especially since we’re all seeing it in the flesh upon meeting Cazador in his crypt.

“Have you no respect for yourself?”

“I strove for perfection in all things. Even those as imperfect as you.”

“A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts.”

“A pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.”

All Act 3, Crypt

Here we have just a few examples of things Cazador throws in his face. It’s like reading a textbook on emotional abuse, this one (and it’s definitely a reason to throw hands).

Blaming the victim, keeping their sense of self and their self-worth as tiny as possible to make them cower and flee. A true classic.

This pretty much shows that Astarion suffered all forms of abuse we commonly see and it is implied – once again by Astarion himself – that at least a few of those instances were ritualistic.

Now, what does that mean exactly? Well, I fear I need to use a real example here, so please skip the next paragraph.

Ritualistic doesn’t refer to a proper ritual – it can, but that’s mostly a thing for those in a cult. So, we’re not necessarily talking about a ‘Vampire Ascendent Ritual’. A husband, beating his wife every evening after his third bottle of beer is also called ritual abuse. It happens regularly. It is part of a routine. Both parties know what will happen.

I can’t find the exact quote, so I’m working of my memory here, but at one point he said that when Cazador invited him to eat and he said yes, he would be served a putrid rat. If he said no, he’d be beaten.

The way it was phrased made it clear that it happened more than once and that Astarion clearly knew what would happen. So, this can be classified as ritualistic abuse.

2. A Note on Conditioning and Compliance

By default, abuse victims are conditioned to behave a certain way or in a certain fashion. This is a natural response to avoid further abuse.

In Astarion, the thing we see most often is his inherent need to please. Not literally, he doesn’t mind being an arsehole. But he initially feels the need to follow Tav’s orders, even if they go against his own wishes.

This can be clearly seen in the conversation with Araj Oblodra. Astarion very clearly doesn’t want to bite her. He doesn’t. But he will do so, if Tav tells him to. This behaviour is not conscious – he doesn’t know why he does it, he just does – and it is to be expected. This is how he kept himself save for two centuries, so of course he will fall back into his usual pattern when the pressure is high.

This goes hand in hand with the fact that most abuse victims don’t fight. Maybe initially, but not after long term abuse. Especially not after two fucking centuries.

This is true in Astarion – offered by his ‘siblings’ during act 3 and unhappily acquiesced by the man himself. Astarion stopped fighting and, once again implied, cowered, and did as he was told in order to survive.

3. The Astarion we know and love

Obviously, all that abuse does have an impact on our vampire boyfriend. He shows various common signs of abuse and just like with the forms of abuse, Astarion raked every coping mechanism he could find. (Not really, but it feels like it.) It’s also important to note that nearly all of the following things happen inwardly. Astarion is not one of the victims, that tries to rationalise and minimise the actions of his abuser. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll note from the beginning, that rationalisation will not be covered in this bit, as most examples will be important later on. But he definitely does it.

One of his biggest skills is to hide every ounce of fear or hurt behind sarcasm and snarky theatrics. He doesn’t seem to hide his anger much, though, so that’s something! Our boy is cool with anger, not so much with being afraid.

“Ahahaha, now that you mention it….I might have done…that.” – Act 3, regarding the Gur children

“The thing that will decide my fate forever more? Yeees, it’s been on my miiiind. Why?” – Act 2, regarding the Ritual

And there’s many more instances that prove this. Honestly, half his dialogue is sarcasm, so it would really be too long to get into and we all know what I mean, right? We have alltalked to the guy before. It’s obvious that he’s sarcastic to a fault.

This goes hand in hand with his penchant for defensiveness. I would personally state that he’s simply not really good with guilt. When talking about fear, he usually just opts for sarcasm or avoids the topic completely, but guilt especially has his defences going up. This is also when he’s most likely to shove all the blame off to Cazador.

“Don’t look at me like that. Cazadors orders.” – Act 3, Crypt

“I just did what I had to!” – Act 3, Crypt

And don’t get me wrong, he does that anyway. And with good reason. Astarion didn’t have a choice for the most part, but he’s still easy to shove things off.

This kind of connects to his penchant for denial.

Astarion doesn’t really like to talk about most things. He firmly believes he is an ‘action’ sort of person that just does instead of plans, which invertedly just means he’s great at pushing the thinking stuff away. He also likes to get rid of stuff, so that he doesn’t need to face it ever again.

“I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.” – Act 3, about the children

And yes, this partly rings true. He’s probably ashamed and doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s done. But it’s also very clear that he himself simply doesn’t want to face his own actions, something that is just  underlined by his extreme willingness to red rid of the other spawn.

As mentioned by Astarion himself, he’s big on manipulation. I mean, I don’t think there is much explaining necessary. The guy is willing to do a whole lot in order to get what he desires – which mostly revolves around safety and survival, to be honest – and he’s not really shy about it either. And that’s despite the fact that he doesn’t really like intimacy – especially in form of sex.

It’s not a secret that Astarion is not big on sex and anything surrounding it. This goes far enough for people to consider him either ace or ace coded.

A claim that, personally, I’m not super in line with.

Now, it’s not entirely wrong and if this is your head cannon I’m surely not going to stand in your way – but on a larger spectrum, I think he’s more traumatised than ace. And while those go hand in hand sometimes, it’s a bit difficult for the ace community if you attach traumatised characters to them because it can fuel a whole lot of stigma that is honestly neither needed nor wanted. But I digress!

If it comes to his own behaviour, he’s great at minimising his mistakes. Honestly, he’s a master of minimisation. A very obvious and famous example would be:

“’Killed’ feels like a…strong word. Not many corpses have your vigour.” – Act 1, after killing Tav

Astarion. You literally sucked poor Tav dry and left them flopping around, cold, and dead. Killed is exactly the right word and we all know it.

“Quite the deviation from my usual routine. Capture, not lure. I didn’t bring them in with sweet rolls or anything.” – Act 3, Gur Children

This is another attempt at minimising what he did, if a bit less obvious because at this point there isn’t much he can say. But at least he didn’t sexualise the gur children, right? They’re still spawn but whoo, at least that didn’t happen.  

The next point would be dissociation, which is extremely common in abuse victims – of all forms of abuse.

Astarion himself mentioned certain moments that could be classified as dissociation over course of the story, which is probably the coping mechanism I personally expected the most.

The pale elf has a penchant for violence, but he’s not entirely shameless or abhorrently vile, which gets clearer the more the story progresses. So, two hundred years of forced prostitution, torture and doing whatever other horrible things? Yeah, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t dissociate.

Examples of that would be:

“A moment of disgust to push myself through and then I could’ve carried on, just like before.” – Act 2, after Araj

“I felt nothing the moment I handed them over.” – Act 3, Gur Children

“Did you enjoy it? It felt like you weren’t fully there.” – Act 1, Tav after Sex

The latter is generally more of an assumption than actual prove, but with context it does make sense.

The last common sign of abuse we find in our boyfriend would be his low self-worth. It’s a consistent trait that stays over the course of all three acts, noticeable in many different conversations.

We can see it in his reaction to wanting to break up before finishing his story. We can see it in his genuine surprise when Tav picks him over any of the other characters. We see it in his insecurity whenever Tav asks to sleep with another character. He’s fine with it, but he still worries their decision to sleep with someone else is based on something he did.

It eases up ever so slightly after Cazador is dead, but even then he’s still struggling which is once again perfectly illustrated if you try to break up with him.

“Oh shit. I- Did I do something wrong?”

That is the first thing he asks and I think it speaks for itself. He genuinely doesn’t believe he has much to offer and for Astarion, it’s likely that Astarion will always be the problem.

4. "Oh, I tried them all none of them answered.”

Another big thing that’s important to note, is that Astarion was never saved. No one came to save him from Cazador. There was no darling boy on a white steed riding into that castle to rescue him and princess carry him away. Not even the gods answered his desperate calls.

So, he never received any kindness or luck. To him, the world seems as cruel and horrid as before because he didn’t have the chance to experience goodness in two centuries.

But worse than that, he didn’t even get to save himself. Astarion didn’t stand up to Cazador, he didn’t run out of his own might.

He was beaten to near death and ‘saved’ by Cazador, who would become his abuser.

He tried to save someone and, in turn, was locked up and starved for an entire year.

He was abducted by mind flayers, i.e., saved from Cazador, only to end up tadpoled and on the cusp of getting a fancy, squiddy beard.

Anything that’s good, any kindness, any selfless action…it all came with a ginormous price tag.

5. Over the Course of the Story

Astarions behaviour changes a whole lot over the course of three acts – which is important once we talk about his quests climax – so let’s review what we’re working with!

Act 1 Astarion is guarded as fuck. The man has walls around him that are so high, even the gods can touch them.

A lot of his behaviour in act 1 revolves around staying save and staying liked. He lies, manipulates, and flutters his lashes in order to get what he wants and needs. Instead of asking, like Wyll, Karlach and Gale do, Astarion uses all he has to offer to get by. He is still very much in survival mode and tries to weasel his way through an unfamiliar situation with familiar methods.

On top of that, and most notably, he’s absolutely not fond of kindness or selflessness.

#I saved a child and now my boyfriend is mad

Here, we are most likely to gain disapproval for doing the decent thing – unless you sent him outside for a minute whenever you’re being a good person.

And I’d assume that this is because of two things.

First: The very traditional ‘Why not me?’

As I mentioned before, Astarion wasn’t saved. He hasn’t experienced kindness in a very long time so seeing that the world is literally filled with kind people is hurtful. Why didn’t anyone save him? Why was he left to his own devices for so long? Why should he care about others when it’s so clear that no one ever cared about him? No, dead to all of them. If he didn’t get it, neither will they.

“And what am I owed? What about the injustices I suffered? Am I not entitled to anything?” – Act 3, Crypt

“I was in the prime of my life when I was turned. Everything was taken from me too.” – Act 3, Crypt

And secondly is the fact that, as I mentioned, goodness always has a price. And it’s one most people won’t be willing to pay. That’s how his life has been, so why would theirs be different?

This is precisely why Astarion may disapprove of kind actions, but he mostly neither approves nor disapproves if Tav asks for payment. That’s just how the world works.

Once you venture out into act 2, after getting to know him a whole lot more, he starts to mellow a bit – if only towards Tav.

“He’s afraid, so afraid, of everyone but you, who she should fear the most.” – Sceleritas about Astarion

His approval is a lot easier to gain – or at least keep! – and he tends to approve of some more proper actions. He doesn’t throw a fit if you promise to find Mol, he approves of Tav being kind to His Majesty, of saving Aylin and he even approves of Durge apologising to Isobel after threatening to rip her to pieces.

He's slowly starting to open up, allowing Tav to see some parts of him he previously kept hidden. He accepts their offer to help, if hesitantly and, by god, the man starts experimenting with boundaries.

The social worker in me is shedding tears at this. It’s my favourite thing to see in my clients and it’s no different here. Yay to saying no!

Of course, it’s still a bit hit or miss. If Tav urges him to bite Araj, for example, he will only to later notice that he didn’t fucking have to. He recognises this on his own and he calls Tav out on it. Just like he calls them out on not helping him with his Orthon quest.

Good job, chap. Good fucking job.

And the growth-train won’t stop going even as we reach act 3.

In act 3, there’s not many things he disapproves as of right now – those he does, mostly have to do with how Tav treats him and not with anyone else. In fact, he’s more likely to approve good behaviour now, like giving Yenna food or money.

And yes, we need to consider that this could simply be because he gets used to Tav’s behaviour and just learns to roll with it. But it’s also highly likely that he notices that there’s truly good people around. At least one person. And that person is not only good, no, they’re in the process of helping him break free once and for all.

They’re helping him save himself.

By act 3, he has learned that he can absolutely say his piece where Tav is concerned and he’s more likely to disagree with them on certain things. It’s seen during a lot of small dialogue that he’s no longer terribly afraid to be honest with them, willing to listen and talk and he’ll ask for help if he needs it.

“I can do this. But I need your help.” – Act 3, Crypt

Something that can be viewed both positively and negatively is that he’s definitely loyal to a fault. He will stick by Tav’s side, no matter what.

“I really hoped we could avoid being pawns for a dark god, but here we are, I suppose. I’m with you, my dear, wherever this might lead.” – Act 3, After Jaheira confronts durge

As I said, this can be both positive and negative. On one count, it’s a recipe for disaster, seeing as he could be waltzing into a really bad situation for Tav alone.

But on the other side…this is a man who only cared about himself because that is the only person he could afford to care about. He needed to survive. He now has enough room to breathe and the capacity to care for someone else and I’d be inclined to count that as a good thing.

6. The Crypt

All the progress he made in act 2 and 3 is nearly tossed into the wind as soon as the crew enters Cazadors castle.

It’s not an immediate thing, of course.

At first, Astarion tries to stay light and simple and he hides behind flippant tones and relaxed faces. The way he recounts this is almost comically disinterested and the façade is actually quite good.

It’s start’s cracking after we meet Godie, one of the people who tortured him on more than one account, but he mostly manages to remain as upbeat as one can honestly expect for the first half of the journey.

All that, however, is done for the very moment we meet Sebastian. His mask not only slips, no, it full on shatters and there’s none of his apparent lightness left.

Which, of course it does.

The man is suddenly faced with years and years and years of victims. Innocent, unlucky people he lured back to his master over two centuries. People he liked, people he pitied.

“It’s sickening, seeing them again.”

It’s basically a room filled with guilt, exclusively for Astarion. And, as we mentioned before…Astarion is not great with guilt.

The guilt, however, is not where it ends.

No, he’s also faced with reflections of his own past. The spawn pose as reminders of what he did, sure, but also as reminders of what he was.

Weak, desperate, hungry.

There’s an abundance of images of his worst moments, reflected back at him in the thousands. It’s probably like staring into a funhouse mirror, but instead of seeing yourself in a funky way he just sees everything he so desperately doesn’t want to be.

“It should be [who I am]! I don’t want to be like them. They’re pathetic, horrible…”

He’s forcefully made aware of how darn weak he can be, which claws at all the wounds he’s barely had time to close. Something, he of course won’t admit if asked.

“THEY DO NOT [remind me of myself]. That weakness in me is dead, IT’S DEAD. I have a higher purpose.”

The high pressure of the moment brings out all of his act 1 traits in but a few moments. You can pretty much watch how he starts to shut down mid conversation, one of his old walls snapping back into place to remove himself from the situation.

Thing is though, walls usually become a bit brittle after disuse. Especially when talking to a person you don’t usually want to wall out.

Or, in his case, when talking to Tav.

After meeting Sebastian, Astarion shows extreme reactions to Tav nudging any of his weak spots. His reaction varies on whatever choice you make, but it ranges from aggression to defensiveness, to denial and even to downright begging Tav.

“Don’t hate me. I just did what I had to. I swear I did what I had to.”

This probably the most shocking out of all of them, since that is not something we got to witness before. The begging is likely a mixture of intense fear of losing Tav, his low self-esteem and pre-Tav behaviour, since we can assume that Cazador made him beg more than once.

Another old coat he puts back on would also be the least surprising of them all.

Manipulation.

He falls right back into it, using Tav’s affection to get what he want if we trigger the right action.

“If they die and I ascend, I won't have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I'll be free. Truly completely free. Isn't that what you want?”

This, to me, was probably the biggest tell that Astarion was back in survival mode. He’s panicking, for fucks sake, and who can blame the guy? He’s back. He’s about to face down his abuser.

Of course he’s fucking panicking.

Panic leads to an increased craving for safety and, in his case, power. This is why he clings to Tav, why he begs them to love him still. And this is why he jumps head first into the rationalisation pool.

“I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual. - [You can save them.] – What’s the point? They're as good as dead! I thought they were dead. If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. […] They must die. Better they serve a purpose.”

Another textbook example.

They must die anyway. They’re basically dead. No need to save them now. They’re dangerous, I’m doing the right thing by sacrificing them. I already thought they were dead, so it’s not changing anything for me. They’re a lost cause and I deserve  all this power. I deserve it, because I suffered and nothing will change if they die.

So, seeing as we already spoke about his usual behaviour in act 3 – behaviour he showed after we allowed him to breathe and be himself for a while – I think we can fairly easily conclude he’s not thinking straight.

Astarion is right back in survival mode, where all that matters is he himself. If it weren’t for the seven thousand spawns, he might have moved through this more gracefully, but seeing those tipped the scales and Astarion is absolutely losing it.

Remember that for the last section, per favore.

7. The Ascension

“Astarion wants to ascend and Tav manipulates him into doing what they want.”

That is basically the essence of what people often claim and I can’t help but shake my head at such a blatant disregard of everything he has become. This is completely ignoring the change and growth he has gone through over the course of their journey.

Astarion wants to be free. He wants to be safe. That does not mean he wants to ascend.

And the claim that Tav manipulates him into doing anything is even more baffling. We are all aware that Tav is not manipulative by nature, yes? That is entirely on you. You decide who your Tav is.

And then let’s remember: Astarion is panicked. He’s afraid and he’s not thinking straight. His abuser is on his knees before him and he still feels so weak. And there’s seven thousand spawns that need handling.

Astarion is very much not okay right now.

In fact, reading his thoughts just proves this theory.

“You can see the fear in his eyes but also the hunger. The thick smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close is intoxicating to him. All he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom that power brings. The freedom to do anything. To be anything.”

Tav, however, has none of those problems. They can actually see beyond the current situation and they are fully aware what the consequences are. Astarion is not. As we previously established, Astarion is a doer. Not a thinker. He didn’t think this through, not at all.

The only thing Tav is doing – the persuasion roll – is reminding him of the very real consequences he is facing. The consequences he hasn’t thought about before.

"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

And that is the kindest thing Tav could do in this situation. They’re not bodily dragging him away from Cazador. They’re not even telling him to not do it. They’re just offering him the truth. He can do with that information whatever he desires.

“Astarion cries when he doesn’t ascend, that just shows that it was the wrong choice.”

A hare-brained point that I thankfully have only seen once so far.

That crying? That is healthy crying.

That is him, crumbling under the stress that suddenly dissipates. That is him mourning two hundred years of torment. That’s him letting out feelings he hasn’t been able to for centuries.

And, for the love of god, try to put yourself in his shoes.

Two hundred years of torment, ended in but a moment.

Astarion was abused and tortured for so long, afraid for so long only to see his tormentor die just like that.

Cazador died within a moment and all Astarion needed was a darn blade. Of course he fucking cries.

Seeing how pathetic a being the very core of your life’s misery actually is hurts. It hurts like hell because not only are you finally free – free! – no, you’re faced with the fact that this pile of nothing, the thing that’s bleeding out right in front of you…this was what tortured for so long.

This thing hurt you so much. That guy took everything from you, everything you once were, and broke it again and again and again over years.

You were so scared of this thing.

And yet he has the gall and the gumption to die just like that.

It was so easy.

And yet you suffered for so long.

8. Evil Playthrough?

An evil playthrough is really a different setting altogether.

All of this, as you can probably tell, is really only applicable on a good playthrough. Realistically speaking. I’m not sure how the game mechanics handle it.

On an evil path, Astarion never really gets to experience kindness and goodness. Evil Tav will just prove him right in his believe that the world is a vile and cold place, meaning that he realistically would be more inclined to actually want to ascend.

9. Final Conclusion

I think all of this should be enough to make it clear that no, ascended Astarion is not the best ending for the guy. In fact, it is probably the worst. Because it’s just him, running away. He’s running into a lonely and cold state of being, where cruelty and power lord over everything else and he’s running because he’s terrified of being hurt again. He’s running despite desperately wanting to stop running.

“I'll spend the rest of my life running watching the shadows, never feeling safe…no, this has to happen. Here and now.”

And, the worst part is: Nothing about Astarion is left after he ascends. Even his tone of speaking gradually changes, his theatrics fading. He’s slowly losing himself, until there’s nothing but an evil caricature left.

So, in the end, ascension will have proven him right.

That version of him is dead.

[paper-mario-wiki]

Hey I know your clown days are behind you and everything, but I'm still curious if you've got any opinions on The Amazing Digital Circus?

same thing everyone else does i suppose, that its fun and well made.

to be additive to the discussion instead of just saying positive stuff you've already heard, i'll levy a little critique against it, bearing in mind that i do so with positive, constructive intent.

i feel as though in recent times we've been oversaturated with stories and media with too grand a focus on the characters instead of interesting concepts. i think that the character design in the amazing digital circus is colorful and neat, but in the past 3 years how many "it's cutesy looking, but it's actually about existential terror and the cute characters go through trauma, oh no!" gimmicks have you seen in stories? personally ive seen quite a few.

i feel as though creatives are pushed too much to make a marketable face first and foremost, because lingering eyes are in high demand for artwork online these days. if someone is going to move on quick, which is going to be the case with the majority of people, it's much more likely that someone will find it easier to remember a cool design for a character instead of an entire unique sequence of events. that means story-driven things are either made to be more shallow to give more space for character moments, or have a much smaller chance for having their work succeed.

i do not think this is indicative of some mass decline in creative originality, or even the fault of the creatives who make the work. like i said, i thought it was a lot of fun and gave it a small positive review on twitter a few days ago. Gooseworx, as well as the rest of the team who made it, clearly cared for this project. what im talking about is a symptom of the larger issue that is the black-box algorithms that have desolated social networks, and create bad media consumption habits in people. though i wont lie to you and say i havent grown to resent the symptom too.

so to answer your question more succinctly, i dont really think of it that much at all. ive seen this one already.

[copperbadge]

saw the sandwich post. i've worked at 2 different big chains in 3 different cities and you have no idea how correct you are. it's ubiquitous. i don't know what it is about poultry that is feminine but it is deemed so which makes you gay if uou order turkey i guess.

i consider myself an expert in sandwich gender science and i still don't know where tuna salad lies on the spectrum. i hesitate even to speculate.

I received this a while ago (sorry, I need to make a post about how September and October regularly murder my ability to socialize) but I've been thinking about the tuna salad question ever since. I've put it to several people I know who are familiar with the sando gender spectrum and got wildly divergent categorizations and theories.

I'm inclined to think that because it has the word "salad" in it, it's automatically gendered towards the femme end of the spectrum, but among the specific subset of Dudes Who Have Sandwich Gender Issues I also know that tuna fishing is considered quite macho because tuna are large fish, and tuna salad is primarily meat and mayo, which as we have discussed is (outside of barbecue sauce, testing pending) the most masculine of condiments.

As an aside, I had a number of people question my thesis that mayo is seen as more masculine than mustard, and my only explanation for this is that a) American mustard isn't that spicy, negating the machismo of eating something painful, and b) mustard is considered European and therefore effeminate. As a man who used to run a blog about mustard, I understand this sentiment may draw ire.

In any case, it does appear that tuna salad is a floating question mark. We're unlikely to ever serve it at the food tent -- we didn't even serve sandwiches with mayo on them this year because we were worried about food poisoning, and when you throw fish into the mix it just becomes more perilous. I leave it to the brave beings who run the delis and sandwich shops across this great nation of ours to continue to engage in the dangerous business of santhropology in the hopes one day our findings might be of value to the world.

[nadinescholtes]

My thoughts about the celestial family

After watching the last few episodes of the Sun and Moon and Lunar and Earth shows, I'm wondering how weak their family bond is.

Don't get me wrong, the shows are great! There is so much drama and can't wait to see what happens next 🤩

But I like to discuss the Celestia family.

I'm struggling to see social cues and can read situations wrong, but I kind of feel baffled and disappointed in the family.

From the outside, you see a found family with a strong bond and be there for each other. But the inside...

I try to find the right words here.

The family adopts people who did things wrong intentionally or unintentionally in the past into their family and friend group without being mindful of WHO they are/were. Lunar, Killcode, Molten, Clips, Nexus. And as soon they do something wrong again (which you should expect at some point because of their past and trauma) instead of seeing and work what was the cause of it, they reject them and talk about killing them. (Ruin is an exception)

Killcode, yeah he was evil but as soon he became good, Moon sacrificed himself for him. He was no friend or family. He got his own body and lived his life until he died.

Nexus, in my eyes, wasn't evil but was mentally very sick cause of the toxic relationship with the family. He needed to find his own personality but his family and friends were no help, treated him like a nice Moon. In the therapy sessions, he told them about the issues and I think the solution would have been to distance himself from the others and find his own personality. But by his madness, he chose to use dark star power (like taking substances) to feel in control. I think his family did kinda take his control away from the beginning, not just Ruin or Bloodmoon, the control to choose who he is, to build his own personality. But it got worse after Solar's death. And he was killed.

Now little Lunar, who had so much trauma, hanging out with gods who don't feel emotions like him. They can't help him with his trauma or say the right words which can easily cause misunderstandings.

He was seeking his purpose and got in contact with the wrong people. This is not surprising because the first person he looked up to was Eclipse, his abusive Ex-brother. People (not all of them) who grew up with abusive families tend to end up in relationships or hanging out with bad people because they feel a sort of comfort in them.

He got tricked and accidentally hurt Earth and instead of getting the whole picture, his family and friends were already discussing about killing him or not. What? There were so many red flags that he needed help with his trauma with Eclipse and Earth (not to offend her) was not the right "therapist" for that. It was just waiting to go wrong.

Also, has this something to do with what Dark Sun did? Suddenly every Sun or other is lashing out at the Moons. Lunar is a Moon, and now is imprisoned and his family discusses killing or rejecting him. 🤔

I think this family can easily adopt people into their group but they are not able to keep them for long.

If I understood here something wrong, then I apologize.

[haggishlyhagging]

This introduction can serve as a working sheet for a beginning consciousness raising group.

The typical consciousness-raising group is composed of six to twelve women who meet on an average of once a week. Groups larger than ten or twelve are less conducive to lengthy personal discussion and analysis. The consciousness-raising process is one in which personal experiences, when shared, are recognized as a result not of an individual's idiosyncratic history and behavior, but of the system of sex-role stereotyping. That is, they are political, not personal, questions.

Generally consciousness-raising groups spend from three to six months talking about personal experiences and then analyzing those experiences in feminist terms. Thereafter they often begin working on specific projects including such activities as reading, analyzing and writing literature; abortion law repeal projects; setting up child care centers; organizing speak-outs (rape, motherhood, abortion, etc.) ; challenging sex discrimination in employment, education, etc.

The following is a list of topic areas generally discussed. Although listed by week, they are not in any particular order, nor is it necessary to rigidly adhere to a one-week/one-topic schedule. The questions are examples of the kinds of areas that can be explored.

Week 1 GENERAL: What are some of the things that got you interested in the women's movement?

Week 2 FAMILY: Discuss your parents and their relationship to you as a girl (daughter). Were you treated differently from brothers or friends who were boys?

Week 3 FAMILY: Discuss your relationships with women in your family.

Week 4 CHILDHOOD AND ADOLESCENCE: Problems of growing up as a girl. Did you have heroines or heros? Who were they? What were your favorite games? How did you feel about your body changing at puberty?

Week 5 MEN: Discuss your relationships with men-friends, lovers, bosses—as they evolved. Are there any recurring patterns?

Week 6 MARITAL STATUS: How do (or did) you feel about being single? Married? Divorced? What have been the pressures—family, social— on you?

Week 7 MOTHERHOOD: Did you consider having children a matter of choice? Discuss the social and personal pressures you may have felt to become a mother. What have been your experiences and thoughts regarding such issues as child care, contraception and abortion?

Week 8 SEX: Have you ever felt that men have pressured you into having sexual relationships? Have you ever lied about orgasm?

Week 9 SEX: Sex objects-When do you feel like one? Do you want to be beautiful? Do you ever feel invisible?

Week 10 WOMEN: Discuss your relationships with other women. For example, have you ever felt competitive with other women for men? Have you ever felt attracted to another woman?

Week 11 BEHAVIOR: What is a "nice girl"? Discuss the times you have been called selfish. Have you ever felt that you were expected to smile even when you didn't feel like it?

Week 12 AGE: How do you feel about getting old? Your mother getting old? What aspects of aging do you look forward to? Fear? Do you think it is a different problem for men and women?

Week 13 AMBITIONS: What would you most like to do in life? How does being a woman affect that?

Week 14 MOVEMENT ACTIVITY: What are some of the things you would like to see the women's movement accomplish?

-‘Consciousness Raising’ in Radical Feminism, Koedt et al (eds.)

[hyunjinsjeans]

Can you believe it?

Masterlist

Pairing: Felix x Reader

Related: He Knows Universe: Felix ver.

Summary: You and Felix started your family in an unconventional way but it worked out and in the end you even got a little surprise.

Genre: 🧸 Fluff + ❤️‍🩹 Angst and Comfort

Warnings: Mentions of infertility. Mentions of pregnancy. Health issues are discussed. Half-ass proofreading.

Word Count: 3284

AN: Surprise! I played myself with this one (I want what these two have!) Also, full disclosure: I actually wrote this one months before I even got Felix’s He Knows part 1 done… 

You wake up to the sound of your baby girl crying. Your brain does not even register that someone is next to you on the bed, it sparks into "go, go, go!" mode and you jump off the bed to stumble into your slippers and all but run out into the hallway to hear the loud sobs growing louder and louder.

Kiri's cry was desperate, making your heart feel like it was being squeezed in a cruel invisible fist. Your feet carried you in a hurry all the way to her room where you could see her pretty face now all red and wet with tears. You opened your arms at her right away and cooed at the three-year-old.

She put her arms up and let you pick her up as soon as she saw you in the dark. Her sobs started giving way to more silent cries when you held her and handed her the fluffy brown cow print blanket you got her the day you brought her home.

"What is it, baby?" You kissed the top of her head and pulled her up on your hip.

The little girl laid her head on the crook of your neck and you let her settle there while you paced her room from the door to the window.

When people said you were never ready to be a parent, they were right. You knew it already, but adopting Kiri served as confirmation. She was small and sweet, a little girl who knew little more than the system. She was given up as a newborn and although when you and Felix looked for a child to adopt you had anticipated they would probably pair you with an older one, she was what the social worker saw fit. And after almost six months of paperwork and sneaky trips to Australia, you finally got to pick up your daughter at the centre.

You were happy to introduce her to Felix's family and fortunately, Kiri was in a good mood to meet everyone. During the last few days, you have been getting used to life at home in Korea as a family of three. And Kiri has been nothing but happy, her big brown eyes always discovering something to ask about. She clung to you and Felix as if her life depended on it - in a way, you supposed it does, you are her parents now.

This is the first time she wakes you in the middle of the night like this, and you have to wonder what happened? So you ask her.

"Ki, did you have a bad dream?" you rub circles on her back and hear how she calms down.

When you grab a tissue to wipe her face and blow her nose she looked around the room as if she lost something.

"What is it, peach?"

You used her nickname, both you and Felix agreed you would not change her name once you adopted her. She was given a beautiful Maori name that means "fruit", since she loved the soft peaches in Korea you two started calling her "peach".

"Others?" she wonders in response.

You frown for a second and look around, spooked for a moment before a voice of reason resonates inside your head. She meant the other kids in the foster home. When she was in Australia she shared a room with three older girls, it was natural that she was used to wake up in the middle of the night and catch a glimpse of one of the other girls.

"Oh, baby..." you held her tight against your chest. "It's okay, daddy and I are in the other room. You've got us, Ki."

She squeezed her blanket in her tiny hand. You swayed her side to side to cheer her up as your words did not seem to bring her the comfort you expected.

An idea sneaked into your brain and you fake gasped, "I know!" you looked down at her and bopped her pointy little nose. "A glass of warm chocolate milk will fix anything!"

"Milk?" She repeated, interested.

"Mhm!" You inhaled slowly to avoid yawning, "come on, Miss Peach"

You went up to her large crib and showed her the collection of stuffed animals, "are we bringing a friend?" you asked her.

Kiri nodded and pointed at a small rabbit with a pink bow. You reached down and grabbed it for her. Now she pressed the stuffed animal between your chest and her small body.

Once in the kitchen, you went to put her down on one of the tall chairs by the long bar but she protested. A loud panicked scream left her and you immediately held her in your arms. Not too long after, Felix made an appearance around the corner.

His hair was messy from sleeping and he had pulled a white t-shirt on before coming to see what you two were doing.

"Oh, good!" You smiled at him and pointed at the stove, "would you help us warm up some milk?"

Felix's eyes were not yet fully open, but he needed, needing no explanation he came up to you and your daughter and he touched Kiri's head, brushing her soft brown curls back.

"Chocolate?" he asked her in his deep, sleep-filled voice.

Somehow this did not scare Kiri. She looked up and put a side of the blanket under her nose, running it against it with her eyes on the blond.

"Yeah, that'll put us back to sleep in a heartbeat..." Felix looked up at you and showed you a tired side smile.

You watched Felix closely as he put a small pot on the stove and warmed up the milk before adding some powdered chocolate into it and allowing it to come to a simmer. Kiri in your arms stretched her neck to look into the cupboard once you offered to let her pick a sippy cup to drink from. The collection was humble as you had only brought her home to Korea three weeks ago. Still, you showed her the Molang cup and then the Pororo one, she was not super into either so you reached for the Bluey one. This got her attention and she almost dropped her blanket to grab it.

Felix smiled at her when she handed him the plastic cup, he poured a little over half of the cup worth of milk and then split the rest into two mugs for the two of you.

Kiri sat in your lap while you drank the chocolate milk in silence, Felix was sure if he began talking he would end up hyping her up and then you would have to stay up all night to play with her until she fell asleep.

"Hey," Felix whispered a few minutes later when the small girl cuddled into your chest began dozing off.

Your husband grabbed the sippy cup from her hands, catching it in time before it slipped out of her grasp to land on the floor. He put it down beside his mug and leaned over the kitchen bar to check her face. His eyes squinted and he turned to you with a small side smile, whispering again "she's asleep," he looked back at her once more and added, "she's really cute."

You took a sip of your milk and left the mug on the bar before wrapping your arms around her, pulling her closer so she wouldn't twist her neck.

"Yes, she is."

You kissed the top of her head and then watched Felix clean up, washing some of the dirty dishes before coming up to you to help. He grabbed Kiri and held her against his chest to take her to her room. Walking behind him you agreed to bring her into your room so if she woke up again she would not get scared once more. With your baby daughter sound asleep between the two, you and Felix fell asleep quickly.

The next morning you were the last one to wake up, Felix was already making little Kiri laugh. He had grabbed her bunny and made it dance for her, clapping its hands and sending kisses her way. The young child squealed in delight and admired Felix with enthusiasm.

For her good fortune, the two of you were taking a break from work to settle into your new family life. The next couple of days you went everywhere together and even took her to some play dates with the Hwang twins, which she seemed to enjoy more than meeting the younger yet louder Lee Ho-Joon.

You were worried about how she would react when Felix went back to his hectic schedule, and once the time came she was in fact somewhat fussy. She really took a liking to her new Dad and seeing her wander around the house looking for him in the mornings made you feel somewhat guilty. Felix was not much better with it, as soon as he walked through the door he was greeted with the happy yelling of an excited three-year-old, who rather soon began calling him dad. He was fond of the term but you were appalled as she did not call you mom until about the 4 month mark.

Coming into Kiri’s life was a painful ordeal, so her cuddling into you and calling you mommy was the most amazing feeling you’ve experienced.

After you agreed you wanted to have a baby with Felix it did not matter how much you tried or wanted it; your period was still coming and month after month you wondered if you were doing something wrong. A few times you had a late period and those couple of times were the worst. It was heartbreaking when you woke up one morning and saw the red stains of your late period on your underwear. You cried in silence in the bathroom both times it happened, not wanting to let Felix know exactly how useless you were. Because you felt useless. The only thing Felix ever asked of you, and you were unable to give it to him. It was killing you.

And Felix saw right through your strong façade. He knew you were giddy for a couple of days and then you wouldn’t look him in the eye for weeks. He could tell you were growing impatient, then desperate and lastly he saw your light dim. Felix hated what this was doing to you, so he put a stop to it. “It’s hurting you.” He said one day, early morning. You were reading a script in the patio and he drank a smoothie.

You were insistent that you wanted to have a family with him, that it made no sense you couldn’t get pregnant because there was nothing wrong with you. Felix had enough by then. Seeing you grow small and retreat into a quiet sad creature, he could not recognize his wife. He pulled the plug and brought up a new idea to ease your worries. “We could also adopt, you don’t have to go through all this…”

It took a couple of long conversations. You tried your best, gave it your best shot at doing it yourself, you wanted to have that experience with your husband. Bringing life into the world. Having a little boy or girl or whatever they decided to be and have them be half him and half you.

But it just wouldn’t work. And all the trying and trying was hurting you. 

In the end adoption was a great option, it did not matter that you were not blood related, it would be your baby - very planned, wanted and loved. Korea was a bit tricky for those things, especially as both of you had foreign passports, so it seemed easier to try to do it in Australia since Felix was born there, everyone helped with the process. His family and yours, even your managers helped by finding a law firm in Sydney to deal with the legal aspect, and Felix made all the arrangements necessary to travel with you for appointments with the social workers. You were over the moon when you got approved and then a few months later the email came in with information on your match.

It was Kiri’s file.

You did not know what to expect then, but it came as a surprise that she was still almost a baby. Felix was relieved but he liked to believe he would have been fine with an older kid as well.

You were instantly in love. Kiri’s drawings spoke of her sweet nature even if they were little more than doodles. She smiled in every single picture and her light brown curly hair reminded you of the foamy sea that surrounded her native land. Kiri was a Lee the moment you signed the documents and you were ready to give up everything for your daughter the moment her eyes met yours. She was so little and innocent, a pure little thing with no clue of what was going on. She had been all smiles when you introduced her to Felix’s sisters and then she won his parents over in a matter of seconds as she played peekaboo with his mom laughing that high pitched laugh that is so characteristic of smaller children.

You finished shooting for your last movie the year before and you were still not confirmed for the press yunket that would follow this year, you wanted to settle down with your family before leaving Felix and Kiri alone. Your time was spent at home, cleaning and cooking, playing with your daughter, dancing around the living room in your socks, going on walks to the park and occasionally watching a kids show with your daughter sitting on your lap. You laughed plenty in Felix’s absence and Kiri could never complain your attention was elsewhere.

Your career was obviously not a priority when you were growing so comfortable in your new role as a mom.

Kiri is still so dependent of you. Preferring to turn to you for food and asking you to go on walks. She calls you mom or mommy on rare occasions though. Maybe, you reason with yourself, the word mom is more difficult than dad. Maybe, the word mom does not come easy to Kiri, who was only a few hours old when her mother made the difficult decision to give her up for adoption.

But you chose to let her be, and let things fall into place on their own. Felix fell into a comfortable routine as well, would be out the door before Kiri was awake but at night he would play with her as soon as he was through the door again. He loved to read her to sleep and tuck her in. He would kiss the top of her head as she drifted to sleep and then he covered her with the blanket.

“I think she is going to outgrow that crib before her birthday,” you told him one day.

“I know,” his eyes opened wide, “she’s growing so fast!”

“Aww, are you upset that your babygirl has bigger hands than you already?” You teased, hugging him and placing your chin against his chest to have a good look at his unamused expression.

“My babygirl could be the size of Godzilla and I’d be a proud dad, but… I wish she could stay small for longer.”

You smiled at him and let go, turning on your heel to go put on your slippers and get breakfast started. If only you hadn’t felt your stomach float around inside you. In an instant there were goosebumps all over your arms and your mouth went dry.

“Love?” He grabbed your elbow to give you support as you tried to ground yourself. “Are you…?”

“I’mgoingtopuke!” You practically spat and ran into the bathroom.

Felix followed you, concerned, and entered the bathroom just as you emptied what little contents were in your stomach from the night before. He pulled your hair back and rubbed your shoulder as if he could soothe you. Throwing up on an empty stomach was horrendous. You did not look sick when you were done and allowing your husband to clean you up in front of the sink.

You did not say a word to one another until you had finished brushing your teeth and felt closer to normal.

“So…” Felix started, pushing his hair back.

You bit your lip and turned to your fingers, counting. Then counting again. You jumped and turned to him with a glint of something in your eye. He saw you and felt himself shift in expectation.

“Do you want to go to the store or should I do it?”

Felix reasoned with himself and smiled at you.

“I’ll do it, Kiri might freak out if she wakes up and you’re not home,” he grabbed your face and pulled you into him to kiss your forehead.

“Get two, different brands.” You instructed, holding onto his arm.

You let his arm slip from your grasp as you watched him go to pull on a jacket and a cap. 

He walked out the door soon after and when he came back his heart was racing.

He reached you and gave you the plastic bag, speaking while you both rushed into the bathroom. 

“Whatever happens, Y/N, whatever that thing says… love, it’s okay.”

You nodded frantically and at this point you two cared very little about watching each other pee, so he stood there by the bathroom door as you sat at the toilet and opened the two boxes. Felix bit his nails as you skimmed through the instructions before passing them to him. You were in the tricky business of actually peeing on the sticks when a small voice echoed down the hall.

“Eomma?”

Felix jumped and left the paper on the sink, without a word he left to get Kiri out of her crib. Unaware of what happened with her parents, the little girl was thrilled to see daddy was home. She bounced on the crib, small hands gripping the edge of the wooden railing to support herself. Her hands reached for Felix, the strange blond man who had the funniest things to say and the craziest brothers - for all she knew, all of Felix’s members were her uncles.

“G’day Miss Peach!” He pulled her up with a smile on his face.

She allowed for Felix to carry her in his arms as she gave his cheek a loud kiss. Kiri was most definitely a morning person. 

“Mommy?” She wondered soon.

“Hmm, she is busy right now,” he explained, “should we go get something to eat? Are you maybe in the mood for… waffles?”

Kiri’s eyes lit up, she cuddled into her father’s chest and the two found their way into the kitchen where you had left things half prepared for breakfast. He started warming up the waffle iron and was setting up a chair for your daughter to watch from when you ran into the open kitchen with a tear stained face and two plastic sticks in your hand.

“We did it!” You yelled, making Felix turn around with Kiri on his hip.

“Mommy!” She made grabby hands in your direction. “What we do?”

You laughed like an insane person and rushed around the island to take her from Felix’s arms.

“We made a little surprise for you, baby!” You held her into your chest and more tears slipped down your face. “But we’re all going to be patient until it get here…”

Felix took the tests from your hand and stared in bewilderment. It was true. It was happening. His eyes found you again, his entire world was right there. His best girls. You and Kiri. You, Kiri and your baby.

He went to put his arms around the two of you, his world was bigger than ever and his heart felt like it was about to burst with happiness and excitement.

“We have been patient,” Felix kissed your wet cheek, then he smiled at your daughter. “We’ll wait some more…”

The two of you shared a look, aware of how delicate the topic was to tell your young daughter right now. But the thought crossed both of your minds: Kiri was growing up fast indeed, so much so that she was going to be a big sister soon.

——— Likes, Reblogs and Comments are welcome! Thank you for reading!

[enhypencores]

Bleed Me Dry Pt II

READ PART 1 HERE

Lee Heeseung X Y/N

Genre: Yandere Romance/ Thriller/ Stalker

Prompt: "If I carve you into my blood, will you believe my love?"

Word Count: 11K+

WARNING⚠️: Explicit content, profanity, sexual harassment, heated make outs, female stereotyping, use of a derogatory word, violence, lots of blood, aggression, toxic masculinity, yandere, manipulation, mentions of self exit, drugs, unhealthy relationships and mental health issues. Y/N described with long hair and brown eyes.

Cameos: Jake, Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Yeji, Karina, Jaemin and Jisung

A/N: Please read the warnings carefully before proceeding. There's heavy discussions and complex character dynamics. None of it is healthy. This is a work of fiction, please read it as such. If I missed out any, lemme know.

PS: I’d love to hear your feedback <3

Heeseung had gathered some crucial knowledge from a heavily drunk Jake.

“Intelligent and tall. She’s got a thing for them… She had this crush on a dude in the first semester. Told her he was a jerk, didn’t listen, and you know… he broke her heart. His name? Think it was park jeong guk? jeong woo? I don’t know… It was just some guy. She’s stupid…”

He had wanted to punch that knowing look off Jake’s face as he insulted you, but Heeseung tried swallowing down the surging fury.

Because, indeed, you were so stupid. Why had you allowed some loser into your life? When Heeseung gets you, he will make sure to treasure every part of you. He wouldn’t need anyone else. He would use his every breath to cherish you, only you.

Despite the hostility he felt upon hearing of your previous crush, the good news was that Heeseung unintentionally matched the description. He had never been so grateful for his genes until this moment; traits he once considered useless suddenly becoming his most prized.

Heeseung bore a good height, and his mind was like a computer program. At just ten years old, his father had assumed he’d discover the cure for cancer—yet to come true, but everyone in college believed if anyone could do it, it was Lee Heeseung.

A special one, born to lead, a saviour, they claimed. But Heeseung never wanted to be his father’s golden child. He didn’t want to contribute to society or garner the world’s praise. He barely had friends—except for Kim Sunoo, Heeseung’s childhood partner in crime.

To the world, Heeseung was an overachiever, but he knew his excellence was merely a distraction from his twisted mind. His father was the first to notice the disconnect.

Heeseung chose medicine on a whim, a flick of a coin—heads or tails. The boredom in his life drove him to try everything: paragliding, boxing, swimming, drugs and unrestrained, animalistic sex. He had lived countless lives in two decades.

Early teenage years, his father took it upon himself to train his son, instilling social norms and enforcing strict rules as he tried moulding Heeseung into someone 'normal.' Like a dog on a leash, he made Heeseung more human while maintaining a safe distance to avoid getting scratched. Heeseung understood this from the moment he gained consciousness: his father was scared of him. Terrified.

He never discovered what exactly made his father lock his door every night, but whatever it was, it confirmed a small suspicion: Heeseung was unlovable.

It wasn’t anything detrimental really, because Heeseung never felt the need to seek love. Even in psychological terms, a human's absolute necessities were food, shelter, sex, and safety. When he could survive on the bare minimum, why should he look for something as wasteful as love? He'd rather spend time gaming and pretending to outshine the world’s brilliant minds.

Now, Heeseung was tired of the boredom. So tired that he thought to end it. How long could one treck through an aimless journey?

The realisation that he could cease to exist and no one would know his whereabouts made him feel somewhat better. The taste of death brought him immense curiosity. Would he turn to dust and ashes? Would he be forgotten in memories?

He didn’t think anyone would remember him. To his father, he was a trophy; to his friends, a competition; and to outsiders, a freak. His loss would merely be a statistic: a decline in Korea’s population digits, a decrease in the number of distinction holders in the country, and one less student in Seoul University’s register.

That’s what he thought.

Until he came across you.

You, with your brown eyes, small frame, your liveliness and your beauty.

It was a rainy day in Seoul when he was walking past the bus stand after wrecking his father’s beloved car in a deliberate crash. Unfortunately, he made it out unscathed, only injuring the vehicle. Maybe Heeseung had been born with a shit ton of luck, destined to waste it away.

Regardless, thanks to that golden tub of luck, he was able to land his gaze on you. Heeseung unintentionally remembered countless formulae and research, but the one thing he intended to remember—fucking forced himself to perfectly encode in his memory—was the way you looked that day.

Brown hair slightly wet, sticking to your jawline, knitted brows, and wide eyes staring up at the sky in vengeful retaliation. Heeseung stopped in his tracks.

He had never seen an angel angry.

You dialled a number on your mobile and spoke calmly into your phone.

“The bus is running late. Pick me up.” He remembered a sulking pout on your lips.

“It’s raining! I don’t even have an umbrella. You want me to walk?” He remembered incredulous horror written across your features, lips frowning at the caller’s words.

“Fine... Please! There, I said it, now come quick.” He remembered you rolling your eyes, biting your lip and clenching your bag’s strap tighter.

The phone call ended, and you folded your arms over your chest, letting the damp material cling to your bust, detailing the line of your bra as you tapped your foot on the drenched footpath, staring ahead in longing.

That day, an inactive section of his brain burst out with life, that’s all he could theorise. He wanted to devour you, grope your drenched body, kiss your red mouth, force his fingers into your most sensitive tissues and consume your cries.

He wanted to destroy the person on that call with you, bury them within the earth’s deepest pits so they’d never return to you. He wanted the earth to swallow you and him together, so he could hide you away and savour this moment. He wanted to be the only existence to remember you, here, standing at the bus stop, waiting for a ride home.

Why were you here alone anyway? Who was coming?

Heeseung wanted to shadow you from the rain. If he was a part of your life, he’d chase away all the buses—let alone make you wait for one to pick you up. He would stand drenched in the rain if it meant your ass would only meet the covers of his seat.

A booming motion of the car made your eyes light up. Heeseung’s chest knotted up, a foreign emotion bubbling in his throat as a blonde braked his car before you. You hurried to climb into the passenger’s seat, and then he drove away. Just like that.

He hadn’t hurt someone so far in this life, but the urge to drive a car into the blonde grew tenaciously strong. He had never felt such hatred and venom consume his being. The thought of you getting into that car, going away to share a life Heeseung wasn’t a part of left a gnawing anger in his chest.

His heart which hadn’t felt something in so long suddenly felt alive, riveting with twisted emotions. Heeseung didn’t want to live, but suddenly he didn’t want to die either. He didn’t wish to be remembered, but suddenly he wanted at least one person to remember.

That day he came to a staggering conclusion: Heeseung was unfit to be loved, but he wasn’t unfit to love.

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

Peak hours on a Monday afternoon started early. Waitresses ambled from one table to another, carrying orders as the room bustled with young college students, conversing and gossiping while awaiting their snacks. The rich essence of chocolate and coffee beans filled the air, stirring hunger among individuals working alone with their noses in laptops and textbooks.

Heeseung’s lips curved in a knowing smile: if you were here, you’d be one of those unaccompanied goody two shoes, sipping on a chocolate milkshake, jotting things down in your notebook. He pictured your brows scrunched as you wrapped your beautiful lips around the straw, gulping long sips and pulling away with a content smile.

“Baby, can’t we go somewhere more private?”

His jaw tightened, aggravated at the shrill interruption. He feigned a smile, his gaze falling back on the red-haired bimbo who stared at him like he was the answer to her every prayer.

Heeseung grabbed a fork, scooping up a bite of strawberry cheesecake before filling his mouth. His stomach fluttered as he revelled in the sweet texture. Ever since stealing those kisses, he couldn’t stop craving sweet treats. He even bought some candies on his way home that morning, already feeling the withdrawals kicking in.

“But how’ll we do this—in private?”

The girl stared in confusion before she was yanked into his embrace, his warm lips slamming into hers, kissing her aggressively, the sweet creaminess from the cake transferring into her mouth. She moaned, licking his lips incessantly, begging for entrance, but Heeseung dismissed her attempts, his brows furrowed in annoyance.

Nervously, the red-haired girl slid her chair closer, biting her lip as she observed the underwhelmed expression on his face.

“What’s wrong? Are you mad at me?” She sulked, sucking at her teeth, staring up with concern.

Heeseung shook his head and pulled her into his lap. “Did you do something to make me mad?” He mumbled, rubbing his nose down her neck, peppering small kisses to distract her from his response.

“Ah—n-no! I didn’t,” she gasped, her concern melting away already, her head tilting back as Heeseung planted kisses down her collarbone.

“Shouldn’t you be at uni right now?” He abruptly changed the topic, portraying the perfectly caring boyfriend who gave a shit about her life.

“Yeah, but I’ll ask a friend for the class notes,” she mustered up, her breath laborious as Heeseung ran his hand down her thigh, his kisses growing feistier against her exposed neck.

“Hm, are you that smart?” He pressed on, his patience running out. “Thought I’d fucked you dumb already,” he whispered repulsive words, his hand covering her thighs as the girl tightened in his hold, her lips pressed together to silence any sound, cautious of their surroundings.

Heeseung’s gaze changed, a menacing darkness flashing through. “Smart bitches,” he began, his words blunt and aggressive. “Fucking hate them. Running their big mouths all the damn time,” he declared, his bitter tone making her knees quiver in arousal.

“Tell me, baby, you’re not one of those, are you?” He urged.

One way to access a woman’s weaknesses was to put her up against another.

The girl whose name he had forgotten the second she uttered it, shook her head with desperation. Had he asked her to admit to murder, she would have agreed.

“No!” She yelped, alarmed at his lack of interest. “I’m so dumb. Barely passing this degree,” she confessed, her voice cracking as she spread her knees for his attention.

“Hm—really?” He mocked, and she nodded, her body pleading for his approval. “But your course is so tough. You must be so smart.” Heeseung’s tone dripped with sarcasm, his frown hinting at his displeasure.

The girl choked; her breaths alarmingly rapid as Heeseung’s fingers trailed closer to her clothed centre. “But not me—there’s some smart girls in my class. I—I’m not like them, Hee,” she rambled, her eyes screwing shut.

“Smart girls like—yourself?” He threw the bait, challenging her, and she immediately shook her head, her body jolting as Heeseung flicked his fingers against her centre.

“Not me—not me. This other girl—Ah!” She bit her tongue, her body trembling as Heeseung drew faint circles against her clit. “There’s—Y/N!”

Bingo.

“She’s like the smartest—oh!”

Heeseung halted his movement, his teeth gritting in frustration, anger bubbling up his throat as the girl kept moaning into her words, prolonging this ordeal. He hadn’t spent the last three days coercing a second-year pharmacology student from your college to serenade and romance. He wanted information.

The girl’s arched frame twisted at the sudden lack of touch, her wet gaze darting to Heeseung’s in urgency.

“Speak,” he commanded bluntly, his usual sugar-coated tone gone along with his smile.

The girl’s expression faltered, her blood turning cold. “Uh—there’s this girl—she’s really smart, always acing her exams,” she responded reluctantly, her insecure gaze attempting to read his intentions.

Heeseung’s hand slid back down to her leaking centre, his movement more vigorous as he wrapped his lips on her earlobe. “You’re so hot like this—like a dumb bitch for me,” he drawled, sucking her sensitive flesh.

His sudden shift in demeanour seemed like a hallucination, his voice now intentionally low and sultry. “You wouldn’t want to be like Y/N, hm? You’re my good girl.”

The girl was a goner. Her head dropped back onto his shoulder, her eyes shut, and her body trembling from his touch, his previous indifference a distant memory.

“Yeah—I am—so—so dumb for you,” she babbled nonsensically. Heeseung’s flicks quickened.

“That bitch—she’s so smart and talks too much, probably why no one likes her. Such a loser— I don’t know why Park Jongseong’s crazy for her.”

Heeseung’s arm faltered, his body freezing.

The girl, lost in the throes of her arousal, ignored it, urgently pressing her hand down to maintain the pressure. “She’s so full of herself. Bet she’s as virgin as a nun—but maybe—she finally let poor Jongseong have a go, who kno—Ah!”

Heeseung yanked her hair back, his clenched fist tightening and ripping a few strands. His gaze was predatory, chest heaving as he stared down at the horrified girl.

“I’ll rip that tongue out, sweetheart,” he hissed, his venomous tone cutting through and gripping her heart with horror.

The sickening words replayed like a broken record. A searing sting flared inside his chest, his jaw tightening as he thought of that name: Park Jongseong.

Of course, it was the guy from the photos—it fit him perfectly. His arrogant, self-righteous demeanour, that overly exaggerated smile on his face as he held you. It had to be him.

The imagery the stupid girl on his lap painted, her words dripping with malice for his Y/N; everything began to suffocate his lungs.

Heeseung stared down, his hand still gripping her locks as she looked at him with disbelief.

As he released his grip, she winced, her eyes wet with tears.

Heeseung wrapped an arm around her waist like a shackle, holding her captive as he leaned forward and picked up the steaming hot coffee she had ordered. She flinched as he pushed the cup to her lips.

“Drink.”

The girl stared at him like he had grown two heads.

“It’s too hot—”

“Leave one sip behind, and you’ll wish you had listened.”

Her heart raced, body turning cold. Heeseung’s chilling gaze and crooked smile were laced with demonic intent, making her stomach churn. She had never felt her organs shrivel with just the sight of a man’s empty gaze.

She realised at that very moment. She had to obey or else… she didn’t even want to consider what could happen.

She took the heated cup, gulping down her spit to ease the pressure in her throat.

Then she clung to the cup and downed the entire thing. The first rush of liquid scalded the roof of her mouth. Burns trailed down her tongue, to her throat, buzzing all the way into her stomach. Bloody broils flared up, her muscles jolting in agony as pain overwhelmed her cognition. With an excruciating sob, she dropped the empty cup, shattering it on the ground as she tried screaming for help. 

The busy café didn’t seem to notice anything but the shatter, rolling their eyes at the couple’s antics before continuing with their own endeavours.

Heeseung patted her head, smiling in satisfaction. “That’s my good girl.” 

The sobbing girl tore herself from his lap. Standing on quivering limbs, she scrambled to grab her purse and dashed towards the exit.

To Heeseung’s delight, the red-haired bimbo wasn’t so useless after all. He now had a name: Park Jongseong.

Grabbing his phone, Heeseung dialled a number.

“Sim, for your birthday, let’s plan something crazy.”

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

The homeroom buzzed with chatter as students scattered to join their friends at the end of the lecture. While most were preparing to head home, you had to stay back for the weekly council meeting. With your head slack on the table, you shut your eyes and let out an irked groan, wishing you could abandon all your duties and just scramble home.

“Y/N, just resign already. You’re too exhausted,” Yeji, your best friend, called out, rolling her eyes as she zipped up her tote bag.

You groaned again, slamming your head against the table. “You have no idea how badly I want to take your stupid advice,” you whined, rubbing your temples in pain.

Yeji, her pink hair perfectly styled, retouched her lip gloss and eyed your sulking frame. “You take on too much for no reason,” she sighed, finishing her touch-up and patting your head.

“Can’t you loosen up? Look at me, we have finals coming up, and I’m off clubbing with Jaemin,” she gloated, her smile widening at the thought of her boyfriend.

Getting into the world’s best university on an eighty per cent scholarship was tough, but no one prepared you for the strenuous part: upholding those perks. Paired with a demanding course load, extracurriculars and volunteer work felt like a constant nuisance.

“I wish…” you muttered.

Knowing her best friend’s upright nature, Yeji shook her head in defeat.

“Besides that, I’ll be having fun soon,” you iterated, and Yeji instantly grew alert, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“You’re getting a boyfriend?” She gasped, grabbing your shoulders to turn you towards her in excitement. 

“No!” You dismissed, and Yeji’s excitement died as soon as it began, releasing your shoulders in frustration.

“At this point, I strongly believe you wish to die a virgin,” she remarked, running her fingers through her dark strands, her gaze cold. “You even rejected Jongseong,” Yeji huffed.

You winced.

It had been three months since you had been hit by a truck of feelings from the raven-haired boy. Three months of discomfort and pain.

You were introduced to your senior, Park Jongseong, as a good friend of Na Jaemin. The two friend groups had merged, and soon the initial trio—Yeji, Ji-min, and you—grew an acquaintanceship with their group: Jay, Jaemin, and Jisung.

Since you had been to an all-girls school, the first few months of interactions were painstakingly awkward. You felt like an outsider even in a room full of familiar people.

You envied your best friends Yeji and Ji-min for their effortless socialisation skills. Whilst they enjoyed trips and study sessions with the guys, you drew a line, only speaking when spoken to.

In the first year, you were constantly running away from this new world of discomfort. Jay, however, refused to draw a barrier. Like the definition of a headstrong man, he never gave up. Gestures like stopping you in the hallways to talk about his hobbies and inviting you to all his parties showed you that Jay was making a real effort at friendship.

All of it came tumbling down when he confessed to you. The friendship you treasured faded, and you both became strangers again.

“Don’t bring him up,” you gritted, your heart plummeting as you remembered all the distant memories.

You recalled that nightmarish day. You might take this to your grave but Park Jongseong was your first crush. You secretly liked him throughout the farce of friendship.

He held your bag after class, joined extracurriculars like the music society and learned amazing guitar skills. He took you shopping to destress after you failed your lab assessment and played silly nursery rhymes on his guitar to make you laugh. Everything was special until the last day of the second semester.

Jay had asked you to a movie, and as always, you assumed he meant everyone in the friend group, so you called Yeji and Ji-min along.

The moment he saw you walk in with the girls, his expression fell with dismay. Instead of speaking to you about it, he handed the popcorn to your friends and left.

You followed him instantly, but maybe you shouldn’t have.

“Jay!” You chased after him, your heels thudding against the pavement, confusion painted on your features.

He paused in his tracks and turned, his eyes darkening.

“What’s wrong?”

Instead of responding, Jay’s gaze narrowed, a strained chuckle leaving his mouth. “Don’t act dumb now,” he rasped, his voice bitter.

You opened your mouth to question him, but he suddenly stepped close, his towering frame making your insides queasy.

“It’s always the same with you. How long will you pretend?” Jay’s voice trembled with accusation.

“Do you not see me? Chasing after you like a fucking loser. I’ve spent months trying to figure you out. Stop this game of hide and seek!” He roared, tightening his hold on your shoulders as he stared down at you like a wounded wolf.

You felt so wronged and hurt, your throat clogging up with emotions.

Because Jay was right. You were playing dumb, looking past his feelings, ignoring your own to hide away. Your insecurities and fear of disappointment were louder than his words, ringing in your head like tinnitus.

Because you had always assumed someone as rich and well-put-together as Park Jongseong didn’t need to like a mediocre girl on a scholarship.

You felt that breaking his heart might save his friendship, might save you from the pain of losing his love. So you wanted to sever all chances before you even tasted his love.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Tell me, Y/N. Have you ever once liked me?” He questioned, his gaze softening as he held your face in his hands, his pupils trembling with need.

Yes.

Yes!

“No.”

His arms dropped, his gaze dull and empty as he stared into your tearful eyes.

“We’re good friends, Jay. Look, we don’t have to rush into anything—”

You felt chills run down your spine as he cut off your words, his tone sharp and damaging.

“Delete my number. Don’t ever come see me.”

“And if I ever accidentally find my way back to you, slap me awake like this again.”

He tore his arm from your grip and you two never spoke again.

And then a week later, he started dating your friend Ji-min.

“Y/N!” You snapped out of your thoughts, head swirling with flashbacks as Yeji shouted for your attention. “What fun were you referring to?” She shifted closer, curiosity written across her features.

You smiled, flicking her forehead away.

“Jake suddenly wants a big birthday bash for his twenty-second,” you told her, thinking back to this morning when he was talking over the phone with his friends, inviting them to his party.

Seeing you pass by, he called you back, his face glowing with excitement as he ended the call.

“Invite all your friends and their mamas— it’s my 22nd!” He roared, and you imagined he’d burst into a Taylor Swift, ‘22’, any minute now.

“Jake? He usually calls them juvenile,” Yeji giggled, thinking back to the time she had a fat crush on your brother and how she stuck to him like a leech until he shooed her off.

You nodded, rolling your eyes at your brother’s weird mood swings. “He wants to hold a grand party. You’re invited, I guess,” you waved her off, and Yeji laughed, her eyes twinkling in joy.

“Of course, I’ll be coming with my boo,” she winked. “Is it at the house?” Yeji asked, twirling her strands excitedly.

You shook your head, tidying your desk and packing up. “He’s planning it with his friend, Heeseung.”

Yeji gasped at the name as if it had evoked a cocktail party effect, her eyes wide as she held onto your shoulders. “That friend you had a wet dream of?”

Your jaw dropped, eyes wide in fear, darting across the hall to make sure no one heard her. “Shut up!” You yelled, your cheeks flushed red, the memory of your filthy mind fuelling your embarrassment.

Yeji laughed, a playful glint flashing in her hazel eyes. “What, did I lie?” She crudely announced, and you felt helpless, unable to feign innocence. 

The night had left you shaken up. The truth was, you had never felt this affected by a hallucination— imagination, whatever it was, it blurred the lines between reality and fiction. You imagined Heeseung fondling your breasts, kissing your lips. All of it was a newfound hunger.

You scrambled to call Yeji soon after to regain some composure. After a long discussion, her diagnosis was a ‘severe case of ovulation’, and she prescribed, ‘getting dicked down asap’.

After that night, you kept wishing for more hallucinations, but your brain refused to cooperate. You had to rely on a picture you had stolen from Jake’s phone of Heeseung in a black button-down with his legs spread apart on the couch, his lap seeming so inviting that your abdomen clenched with need.

Maybe, you were ovulating. But why was it so intense?

“You know, maybe you should shoot your shot with him,” Yeji suggested, patting your shoulder as she stood alert, waving at the man standing in the doorway.

“My ride’s here, bye girly!” Yeji waved, setting her already perfect hair for the nth time before skipping to the smiling blonde, his gaze practically shooting hearts at your friend. Jaemin grabbed her hand, and they scattered off.

You sighed.

Lee Heeseung, what are you doing to me?

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

Booming music drowned out any chance of conversation. Guests sprawled in like ants to a sugar cube. Faces glowed with joy, arms carried gifts, and gazes sparkled with anticipation as they searched for the man of honour.

But it wasn't the birthday boy they sought. It was Lee Heeseung, the man who had invited the entire university to his farmhouse. It was a privilege, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

During his four years at the university, he hadn’t spared anyone a glance—let alone befriended anyone. When news circulated of Sim Jaeyun’s birthday invite at Heeseung’s, everyone jumped at the chance.

Girls skipped lessons to find the perfect dress, while guys ransacked their wardrobes for branded watches. Curiosity grew almost sleep-depriving. Who was this friend that Heeseung, the man who never let anyone into his circle, deemed worthy of a lavish party? For weeks, the university buzzed with gossip and excitement leading up to this day.

Heeseung’s gaze was fixed on the main entrance, his lips pressed into a thin line. He remained unmoving as over-enthusiastic people rushed to greet him.

He knew the world like the back of his hand. They hated him and despised his arrogance, yet they flocked to him like moths to a flame. All he had to do was give them a chance, let down his guard and the world would surrender in his palms. But it didn’t matter.

As long as he had your attention, the world could be his.

Jake appeared out of nowhere, his arm settling on Heeseung’s shoulder, smiling as his soccer mates walked in.

“You’re ignoring the entire hall,” Jake muttered, his grip tightening on Heeseung’s shoulder to warn him.

Heeseung glanced at the clock for the nth time, his fingers tapping impatiently against his glass. He barely acknowledged the birthday boy's attempt at conversation, his irritation mounting as the clock ticked on without your presence.

“Where is she?” He questioned.

“She had a presentation to finish up,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “She’ll be here with Yeji and Jaemin soon.”

Jake wasn’t stupid. He had once believed he was special to Heeseung. The notorious case of Heeseung’s egocentrism was a popular topic in the university’s hallways. Even his soccer buddies claimed Heeseung was a nutcase with extreme intelligence.

When Heeseung approached the basketball team and defeated Jake, the established ace of Seoul University, Jake developed a sense of respect and admiration for him. Despite everyone’s claims, Jake realized Heeseung’s issue wasn’t indifference or social deficiencies.

Everyone was infatuated, enthralled, and unequivocally aware of Heeseung’s gift; he commanded attention because he was extraordinary. The problem was that Heeseung didn’t care about them, and when people realized this, their fantasy shattered, leaving them scraping for bits of attention and bitter envy.

Jake knew Heeseung kept him around for a reason, but despite his awareness, Jake was willing to be a pawn if it meant catching Heeseung’s attention.

“Jakey Jakey— it’s your birthday!” Jake looked away, finding his best friend, Park Sunghoon, on the other end of the hall with a gift bag. Jake’s smile grew, and he signalled to Heeseung that he was heading over. Heeseung nodded, and Jake scurried off.

Heeseung averted his gaze, staring back at the main entrance. The delay grew unbearable, and he considered heading out to the parking lot when suddenly he spotted Jaemin and Yeji walking inside.

He stood alert, his gaze tensely fixed on the door.

He held his breath as you walked into his line of sight. His body felt the shift, breath quickening. His fists tightened, and his gaze traced your body with unfiltered haste. 

Fuck, that black body-con dress, outlining your curves, hugging your body like a second skin. His grip on the glass tightened. The dress revealed your defined collarbones, and the slit from the knee paired with black-heeled boots showcased your smooth, honeyed legs. Your hair was curled slightly, silky strands falling in waves against your cheeks, reaching your elbows.

Heeseung’s head throbbed as he tried to decipher his feelings. Seeing you walk inside with that dress made something rise in his throat, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. It was worse, mentally and physically damaging.

How fucking demeaning. He was a man who never felt the burn of envy, but a fucking dress had him feeling so weak—so horribly jealous.

He wished he could tear it off and burn it to ashes like the scorching flames in his own blood. He had planned this moment all morning, intending to walk up to you with a smile, but now he found it difficult to breathe, let alone move.

However, the world doesn’t stop. Even if he couldn’t move, you very much could.

Your stray gaze finally landed on the familiar figure, and you walked up to him. You still weren’t mentally prepared to face the man you had been dreaming of for the past few weeks, but you found it unkind to ignore him when he had planned this lavish party.

You smiled, holding out a small gift bag.

“As far as I recall, it’s not my birthday,” Heeseung finally found his voice, his cheeky comment making you narrow your eyes.

“It’s basic etiquette to bring something when you visit someone,” you replied a hint of playfulness in your tone. You caught sight of the gift display in the backdrop where innumerable presents were mounted on the table. “I’ll take it there,” you politely acknowledged.

You were ready to walk off, but Heeseung pulled you back, instantly grabbing the present. Taken aback, you opened your mouth to question him, but he ignored your curious gaze.

Everyone stealing reserved glances at the duo paused, their eyes wide, jaws dropped in amusement. Like a boy opening his Christmas gifts, Heeseung rushed to untie the ribbon and tear through the wrapping paper.

“Heeseung, it’s not that great…” your panicked voice cut through, cautious of everyone’s expectant gaze on your gift. The plea went right through him, and he finally discovered a small clear bottle.

You brought him cologne.

You had racked your brain for days on what to bring him, and you had decided upon a blackberry cologne. The succulent scent carried a sinful aura, an intimidating and enigmatic aroma that perfectly captured Lee Heeseung.

Heeseung ran his thumb over the label. Then he unscrewed the top and sprayed it on his wrist. As he brought it to his nose, his heart felt fuller than before.

He imagined you walking into a Jo Malone store, attentively trying numerous scents until the abundant smells overstimulated your senses as you thought of him. How long did you spend deciding on the perfect one? How long did he manage to fill up your head?

“It’s just a small gift,” you mumbled, analysing his features.

“It’s perfect.” He said it with so much sincerity, you had no choice but to believe him.

“Where’s my gift?” Jake appeared with some of his rowdy friends from the sports club, his arm linked with the ice skater, Park Sunghoon. He pouted dramatically, his bottom lip sticking out. You rolled your eyes at his antics.

“Last I checked, you asked me to buy you a Nintendo Switch as an early birthday present,” you replied. Jake gave you a mock glare. “That was ages ago,” he huffed.

Before you could retort, you caught Yeji's eyes from across the room. She stood by the bar, urgently motioning for you to come over. The alarmed look on her face made you excuse yourself from the guys as you hurried to her.

Yeji grabbed your arm with an intense grip, struggling to catch her breath as a crazed laugh bubbled up her throat.

“You’re kidding,” she gasped. “You were talking about Lee Heeseung!” She roared with laughter, her expression priceless as she turned to you.

You stared at her, confused. “What?”

“Y/N!” She shook you slightly, her wide eyes trembling with excitement. “You don’t know him? He’s popular across the entire district!”

Seeing your blank expression, Yeji took it upon herself to fill you in. She pulled out her phone and showed you Seoul University's popular forum dedicated to Heeseung. As she clicked through the links, you realised the man was practically the definition of perfection.

His father owned a large-scale pharmaceutical corporation, and Heeseung was the sole heir. Despite this parental security, he was at the top of his classes, captain of the basketball team, head of the arts and music society, and president of student affairs. By his second semester, he had already secured an internship at HYBE, a massive healthcare conglomerate—separate from his father’s influence. He was so incredibly intelligent that the college even commemorated his achievements with dedicated newsletter columns and interview sessions.

As you absorbed this overwhelming information, Yeji’s tone flattened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “But, Y/N, he’s known as a player,” she reluctantly added. “Apparently, there hasn’t been a girl he hasn’t had.”

You stared silently at the soles of your boots.

Of course, he was a player. Anyone would drop to their knees for a chance to be with him. You had read somewhere that gravitational pull was the strongest in a black hole, but science hadn’t investigated the world’s pull towards Heeseung. You had only met him a couple of days ago, yet he had already made you feel so unbearably enraptured.

Ruminating over Yeji’s words, you were speechless at your own disappointment. How could he affect you so terribly?

“But—he’s never had anything serious,” Yeji tried to console you, squeezing your shoulder.

Throat tightening, you attempted a smile.

“Who invited them?” Yeji's gasp broke through your thoughts, her mouth hanging open, eyes bulging in shock as she stared behind you.

You shifted, turning to see what had her so stunned.

Your jaw dropped.

In walked a couple, hand in hand, wearing complimentary outfits. A couple you hadn’t spoken to in ages, a couple that haunted your sleepless nights: Park Jongseong and Yu Ji-min.

Your frantic gaze searched for Jake, conflicting emotions swirling across your face as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. Your older brother stood inattentive, engrossed in a conversation with Sunghoon as Jay approached him, wearing a broad smile. You watched them exchange a quick handshake, Jake accepting a large gift box.

“Why would Jake invite him?” Yeji huffed.

You didn’t know—but a gut feeling told you this was meant to happen.

The familiar gaze met yours. He was now heading to the leather couch beside his girlfriend, his eyes trained on you. You offered him a tight smile, your insides trembling in growing anxiety.

Jay was stern, his gaze cold and disdainful. Whilst maintaining eye contact, he pulled his girlfriend to sit on his lap, his grip tight on Ji-min’s waist as she whispered something into his ear. 

Your smile dropped at his immaturity.

You had lost both your friends, Jay and Ji-min, because of your mistakes. You had avoided them like the plague, and something deep within you suggested that the mysterious rumours circulating around the university weren’t just random gossip; they were spread by someone you had once considered as close as Yeji.

Something more sinister gnawed at your insides. 

Heeseung.

Amidst the chaos, you felt someone’s piercing gaze on you. Like a magnet, you found him. Under the blue strobe light, Heeseung stood leaning against the bar’s counter, flanked by a few girls, with his eyes fixed on you, watching like a hawk.

Though he was a stranger—a complete nobody in your world—you still felt he was reading you like an open book. Anxiety washed over you, your throat drying up under his intense scrutiny. If your life was split into meaningful chapters, Heeseung knew it by heart, his gaze uncomfortably invasive, expectant as if judging your next move.

A waiter zooming by caught your attention, and you pounced on the opportunity. Fingers trembling, you grabbed a glass of champagne and downed it in one go, the liquor leaving a bitter burn in your throat.

“Y/N, you don’t hold your liquor well,” Yeji frowned. One drink never hurt anyone, and besides, this was a party—everyone was soon going to lose their marbles.

You turned away, grabbing another drink from a passing waiter.

“Y/N, stop!” Yeji warned. You smiled tightly, ready to throw more alcohol into your system.

In a flash, Heeseung, who had been a good fifty people away, stood towering over you. He snatched the glass from your grasp and chugged it down. You watched in disbelief as he slammed the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, his gaze darkening as he stared at you. Yeji took it as her cue to scram, rushing to accompany her boyfriend on the dance floor.

Your stomach clenched with want. Even simply dressed in a black t-shirt and leather jeans, his expression sour, his appeal was uncanny. He made you forget the elephant in the room.

“So— he bothers you that much?” Heeseung spat, his voice low and venomous.

He had planned to watch from the sidelines. Jongseong’s name was enough for Heeseung to find sources and sniff out your past link. He was told you had rejected the boy, but that didn’t match Jake’s description of your first crush.

It didn’t take long for Heeseung to realise that you really did like Jongseong, your affection reflected in that picture you still chose to keep. The reason you had declined his proposal wasn’t a mystery either. You feared ruining a chance at friendship, and that conclusion made Heeseung sleepless.

Heeseung had orchestrated this party and invited Jongseong, just to watch your heartbreak. He wanted to dwell in the forlorn misery in your gaze, relish in the fury and hatred fuelling your agonised expression. He wanted you to shatter so that you were left with no choice but to find him. So that he could collect those shards and piece you together. For himself.

Yet here you stood, bothered and apologetic. There wasn’t one bad bone inside you, your heart pure like the sunshine that streaks through his curtains every morning.

“How do you know about Jay?” You curiously pointed out, folding your arms and gazing up at the man.

Heeseung flinched at the nickname. Tightening his fists, he responded with gritted teeth. He didn’t need to lie for this.

“Jake.”

One word and your face crumbled, your finger pointing at the blonde who laughed beside his friends. “Why can’t that idiot keep his mouth shut?” You complained, glaring daggers. You couldn’t believe your brother blurted out your business to Heeseung.

“Do you still want him?”

Say it.

Say it, and he’ll burn this place down, along with Park Jongseong, leaving you with nothing—not even a corpse to mourn—just a speck of remains and dirt.

“I don’t.”

His eyes shifted back to their brown.

“I just wish I hadn’t lost my friends.” You glanced down at your shoes, face shrouded in despair as you reminisced the past.

Heeseung watched the sorrow flicker in your deprived eyes.

This was simpler than he had imagined.

“Let’s get the party started!” Jake yelled at the top of his lungs, carrying a huge celebratory bottle of champagne as everyone huddled around him.

Yeji appeared by your side, dragging you towards the crowd where Jake prepared to unseal the wine, like a cake-cutting ceremony. From your peripheral vision, you noticed Heeseung walk up beside you—until everyone, including Jake, roared for him to come forward.

You watched Heeseung shake his head dismissively, but Jake’s adamant smile made him falter. For the first time, you saw a crack in Heeseung’s stern façade, a genuine sense of joy flashing through his expression.

You watched with intrigue as he stepped up, and Jake finally celebrated his twenty second. Everyone cheered as Jake popped the cork and showered Heeseung and Sunghoon with the essence.

Yeji over-excitedly gasped. During her overjoyed dance, she accidentally slipped forward, toppling her glass of wine onto your dress’s front. You quickly wiped at it, but the liquid soaked into the flimsy fabric with ease.

“Shit— sorry boo,” she cried over the music. You shook your head, dismissing her concern.

“I’m heading to the washroom,” you muttered. She nodded, unsure of your words, as the loud roaring and music drowned everything.

You slipped away from the chaos, excusing your way through until you managed to escape to the other end of the hall. You followed the dim hallway, the raucousness dissolving, as you searched for the nearest bathroom. You found a door at the far end with a staircase to your right and sped towards it.

“Long time.”

You turned, instantly freezing up.

Jay stood at the other end, speaking with his familiar calculated baritone. He stepped forward, watching your shocked expression morph into disappointment.

“Oh, seems like you’re not too happy to see me here,” he claimed, now standing a mere step away, his tone dripping with malice. “Is the princess running away again?” The darkness returned, his jaw clenched.

You gulped, standing upright. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” you told him, turning away.

A bitter chuckle escaped his chest. “Of course, you don’t,” he spat. “Now that you’ve found a man, you don’t have much to say,” he claimed, running his fingers through his dark strands, his gaze menacing.

Your throat burned with hostility. “You’re ridiculous,” you huffed. “Following a girl when you’ve already got a girlfriend—seems like I dodged a bullet.” You uttered the words, disturbed by his arrogant nonchalance, and instantly the atmosphere grew with heightening tension.

Your cruel words seemed to inflict some damage as Jay’s body trembled, his fists tightening in aggravation.

Because you were right. He knew it.

As you stepped away, all common sense evaded him. He grabbed your wrist and slammed you to the wall, a gasp wrenching out of your chest as he hovered above, his hands gripping your waist with an iron grip.

“I never needed you,” he whispered, his eyes wide and pained as you attempted to free yourself, but Jay’s grip on your waist only tightened. “I’ve just liked the chase. You were so full of yourself—so pathetic. Nothing about you ever made me feel something—anything—”

A bloodcurdling scream wrenched out of your throat as a shattering sound reverberated within your frame. Your eyes bulged out, heart trashing and body quivering in horror. One second Jay was standing, staring at you like a madman, and the next, he was knocked to the ground, blood splattering against your cheeks, staining your dress and skin scarlet.

Breathe. Take a deep breath. Breathe.

You plummeted to the floor, your knees giving out as Jay’s forehead and neck covered in red pooled on the ground. You internally prepared yourself as you looked up, staring at the perpetrator.

A dull void of a gaze, Heeseung’s hand was wrapped around a half-shattered bottle with its sharpened edges dripping Jay’s blood. Your insides clenched in horror.

Heeseung stepped closer as Jay’s limp frame scrambled to sit up, his gaze chasing the danger, his grip on his head loosening as he spotted the man.

“You—you fucking lunatic—what the fuck is wrong with—”

Jay’s yelps fell on deaf ears as Heeseung discarded the bottle and plummeted to the floor before you, his pupils drained of colour and hands trembling as he caressed your cheeks. His thumb rubbed at the splashes of blood, eyes wide with terror—a terror you had never seen. More than his own actions, his line of concern was the beads of red staining your complexion.

“Hee…” you tried to speak, your throat dry and lips quivering.

“It’s okay—you’re okay,” his voice trembled as he consoled himself, more than anyone, his gaze frantically running over your body.

What you didn’t realise was Jay reaching out to grab the loitering bottle. Heeseung’s warm gaze and words were so captivating, pulling you away from the unfolding catastrophe. Suddenly, the fantasy shattered. Jay smashed the bottle against the back of Heeseung’s head.

You screamed, your body jerking alert as you pulled Heeseung into your arms, sobbing aloud. Jay stood on trembling legs, glaring at Heeseung with a poisonous look before limping away. You tightened your hold on Heeseung, your body shaking despite his grievous injury. The attack was strong enough to lash out blood but not wilful enough to break the bottle like Heeseung had done.

You tried to pull away to check his wound, but Heeseung pulled you back into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

Fuck. He could die right now and he’d be happy. Over the fucking moon. He almost wanted to thank that low-life for brusing him because it worked in his favour.

You gazed upon him with sympathetic attention, like you were gazing upon a wounded puppy. You were finally in his arms, letting him envelop you. He inhaled the scent of vanilla and fresh peaches, his hold on your frame tightening with desperation.

He wanted to consume you.

“Heeseung, let me see your wound,” you softly cried into his shoulder, unable to breathe at the intensity of his clutch.

“It’s not deep—nothing compared to what that moron will take home,” Heeseung arrogantly claimed. His prideful tone made your insides hurl; it reminded you of the initiation. Heeseung had started it all; he had slammed a glass bottle into Jay’s head.

You pushed him back, your gaze stern as you met his aggravated one. “Why?” You cried hysterically, recalling the insanity of the previous moment. “How could you—”

Heeseung’s expression grew colder than ice. “I’ll break every bone he used to touch you,” he declared, the honesty in his tone sending chills down your spine. 

“You literally almost murdered him!” You screeched.

Heeseung cracked a deluded smile. “He’ll wish I had.”

You felt speechless. Utterly stunned into silence. What did that mean? You wanted to assume that his fury made him speak nonsense, that he didn’t mean a word. However, when you stared into Heeseung’s gaze, your stomach turned at the resolute darkness, his words horrifyingly blunt and absurd.

You were about to call him out when you noticed trail of blood slither down the side of his face. You gasped. "You need to get to a hospital,” you urged.

“And explain what?” He scoffed with a playful smile.

You felt bewildered. Of course, you didn't care at the moment! As long as he got treated, you didn't care what lie he spat out.

You glared at him. “You need to get it checked out, Heeseung,” you muttered with concern, noticing the blood kept gushing in thicker streams.

Wordlessly, Heeseung grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, and nodded as he pulled you to stand. You sighed in relief, grateful that he was finally listening. His grip never faltering on your hand, you both turned towards the venue.

Heeseung suddenly pulled you back, ignoring your confusion, instead climbing up the staircase. “What’re you doing?” You groaned, attempting to retract, but Heeseung just kept walking.

Upstairs, the living room was carpeted with posh couches and chairs. You passed by expensive paintings hung up on the wall as Heeseung took you inside a dark room, stalking through blindly until he pushed at another door.

Lights flickering on, you surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings. Heeseung had brought you to a bathroom. You glanced at him in confusion as he shut the door and turned towards you.

“Heeseung, what’re you doing?”

“You said I need to get my injury checked out,” he responded, leaning down and grabbing a first aid kit from the cubby hole. “I’m doing it,” he flashed you a clever smile, his eyes shining with amusement.

Even if you were about to throw a tantrum, you couldn’t anymore. Heeseung’s words, his eyes, his smile, everything was enough for you to sit still and obey. You watched as he stepped towards the large mirror. He casually tilted his head to inspect the wound.

Expressionless, he opened up the first aid kit, grabbing a transparent bottle and cotton pads like a professional, as if he had already addressed such wounds in the past. With practised nonchalance, he soaked the cotton pad with the liquid and pressed it into the wound.

You winced, instinctively jumping forward to grab the bottle from his hand.

“Who deals with a wound like that!” You screeched hysterically.

Heeseung turned, his brows raised, lips pressed in confusion. You put forward your palm, glaring at him. He surveyed your stern expression and, to your surprise, gave in easily, handing you the stained cotton ball without putting up a fight. You had imagined he would claim he knew more—but Heeseung just stared at you passively. You gulped, edging forward.

You knew the wound was deeply ingrained on the right side of his head, but reaching it was an issue. You were a good half a person shorter than him, his towering frame allowing you to reach only his chest. Standing on your tiptoes, you could only make it to his collarbone. You tried pushing up to reach the mark, but it remained physically impossible.

You noticed the amusement sparking in his expression, his lips curving into a gentle smile. “What’s so funny?” You gruffly questioned, and his smile only grew more.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, setting you on the cold basin. He turned, towering between your parted legs.

“There.”

You quickly recovered, ignoring the butterflies fluttering in your chest or the heat stirring from where he had just touched you. You reached up. The angle allowed you to address the wound better.

Thankfully, there was a single cut, slashing down to the nape. You held the cotton against the cut, letting it absorb the blood, and then gently swirled it across.

Heeseung’s breathing suddenly grew heavy, and you flinched, quickly scanning his face for hints of pain. “Is it too bad?” You muttered, your eyes wide and voice reluctantly soft.

He nodded. It was painful, so unbearably agonising like he was thrown into a fuming furnace, burning and dying, then reincarnating and burning every breath he spent in your vicinity.

His fists tightened, his gaze tracing your attentive expression, your lips puckered in deep concentration, hands so gentle, like a mother’s touch—or what Heeseung assumed must’ve been had he ever felt one. The past month he only dreamed of this moment—to have you before him, launched between his legs, attending only to him.

You cleaned up his wound with precision. He had practice, but your touch was magical—a healing balm of its own.

“Have you done this for anyone else?” His question came out gruffer than expected, his stomach twisting as he imagined you perched on a sink like this for someone else.

You finished cleaning up, moving to grab the bandage. “Of course not,” you huffed, peeling the bandaid from the wrapper.

“I just know I’m not supposed to stab wounds like that,” you sarcastically claimed, reminded of him jabbing his head. “You’re the future doctor… you should know this,” you leaned to the side, pressing the band-aid into his scalp.

“They teach us how to treat,” he stated. “Whatever gets the job done,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help but grimace at his words.

“If you don’t treat with the element of pain in mind, you’ll hurt yourself more.”

Heeseung's throat was suddenly tighter than normal.

You wiped your hands with a tissue. Shifting closer, you inspected Heeseung’s injury one more time. You were about to get off the sink when you noticed glimmering bits of glass nestled in his hair. Impulsively, you reached out, flicking the strands.

“Oh—!” You jerked away, your finger cut by an unseen sharp edge that pierced the flesh.

Before the blood even oozed out, Heeseung sprang forward, grabbing your wrist, his gaze wide with horror as he impulsively pulled your finger into his mouth.

An astonished gasp escaped your chest.

Wide-eyed, you watched Heeseung suck around your finger.

At the first drop of your blood against his tongue, Heeseung’s eyes screwed shut, his body heating up, the metallic taste mixed with your skin’s sweetness creating a delicious buzz within his taste buds. Maybe if he drank enough, you'd really become a part of his being; if he fused your blood with his, you'd somehow become his.

He lapped at the drop incessantly, his hand reaching to lock your wrist in place as he covered your finger with saliva.

There was a shift in the air. You felt it in your bones.

As he looked up, meeting your eyes while simultaneously drenching your finger inside his mouth, your body began to heat up. A burn ignited at the centre of your legs, your imagination running wild, your limbs quivering.

Time became meaningless as he revelled in the euphoric bliss. When he noticed you weren’t pulling away or flinching, his muscles clenched with want. Instead, your cheeks were redd, eyes fluttering in bashfulness. Warmth in his blood shot lower, pooling within his sensitive region.

A thrum vibrated his own being as Heeseung popped another finger into his mouth, his sucking growing intense, lascivious, and hungrier. Your body jolted as his slick enveloped your digits, his tongue tirelessly flicking and tasting.

You wanted to intervene and stop this madness, but suddenly you couldn’t find your voice. Your throat refused to cooperate, and your lips denied any help.

His gaze was trained on your expressions, every blink, every gasp. He wanted to memorise the way your cheeks blushed scarlet and mouth opened in silent gasps. You were so beautiful, so perfect, so his.

“Hee—” you managed to choke out.

Heeseung’s hardness jerked in his pants, his body shaking with want. You had just attempted to say his name.

Suddenly, he pulled his mouth away and yanked you to the floor. You fell against his chest, your feet staggering on the marble floor, a stunned gasp escaping your mouth. He didn’t let you process it, his moves sharp and abrupt.

Your jaw dropped as you felt the tent of arousal straining against your abdomen. Your underwear was drenched, muscles taut as the reality dawned upon you. Lee Heeseung wanted you.

“Feel that—fuck—do you feel it?” He rasped against your ear, his hardened tone and body making you forget any coherent response, your body tensing up in his embrace. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful—stunning—so breathtaking. You make me—” His voice cracked as he felt nestled his nose against your neck, sniffing like a dog.

“Make you…” you pleaded for him to continue, craving his validation.

“Make me pathetic—so damn pathetic,” he blurted, his mind elsewhere as he sucked onto your earlobe.

His kisses ran down your neck, and he urgently flicked the hair away to feast. He pressed his lips gently, wanting to savour every moment and worship every inch, but within the first contact, his patience was out the window. He pushed his throbbing body into yours, knocking you against the sink as his mouth opened wide, biting into your flesh.

His mind fell numb as your taste and scent drove him to the brink of euphoria. He found it strange how you turned him into a quivering virgin mess with just this.

Your gasps reverberated in the bathroom walls, your frame quivering.

His touch was desperate, persistent like he was holding onto you for dear life. Fingers interlocked in your strands, body shaking with restrain as his mouth devoured your neck, you felt lost in a sea of pure bliss. You hadn’t had many sexual experiences in your life, but whatever make out sessions you had shared with boys in first year didn’t live up to this feeling, this hunger— from him.

“Ah!”

Every hair on his body stood alert. Your sounds were so pretty just like your body. He knew he couldn’t live without absolutely breaking your resilience. He had to tear through your exterior and drag out the vulnerable girl who moves to his rhythm, sings to his beat and responds to his call.

“Heeseung—Ah!” Your body tensed, his name falling from your mouth as his kisses grew frantic, prolonged. You were so flustered that you felt the world knock off its axis. You urgently held onto his tense shoulders, hoping you wouldn't fall over with the intensity of his want.

Had it been any other girl in his arms, anyone, he’d have thrown her on the floor and fulfilled his depraved desires. He’d have coerced her lust, used and abused her body like a mere object for his release. He wanted to do the same to you like he’d envisioned every night.

But you weren’t any girl. You weren't a momentary escape. For the first time in his life, he wanted it both: lust and love. He wanted to ruin you for everyone— not just physically but emotionally. He wanted your body and your soul.

And you were the sole reason he unwillingly held back, restrained his desire to rip you apart.

Breathless and flustered, you struggled to gather your thoughts. Your body was begging for him, but you couldn’t look past the reality.

This was Lee Heeseung, the hottest playboy, the genius, the most eligible bachelor in Korea—and most importantly, your brother’s best friend. You were calling his name so embarrassingly, and you were certain going all the way, he’d have nothing to do with you after tonight. He was like a forbidden fruit, so effortlessly desirable but never yours.

He will never be yours.

Your eyes burned with tears. You had managed to like him so much, and tonight it would crumble apart. Just the way you had ended up running from Jay, you should run from Heeseung before he takes your heart with him.

Determined, you pushed against him. The sudden move knocked him away, his reddened face twisting in confusion and frustration at the distance.

You quickly stumbled to the sink, splashing cold water on your face. Your complexion as red as a cherry, eyes shining, indicating hints of your previous bliss; Heeseung had littered red and purple marks all over your neck, his saliva still warming your flesh.

Behind you, Heeseung appeared, wrapping his arms around your waist. His eyes locked onto your reflection, his gaze darkening as it traced the curve of your neck. The heat between you intensified, his desire becoming evident as he pressed his aching body into yours. His eyes fluttered shut, savouring the sensation of your soft curves against him.

Embarrassingly, your abdomen clenched again.

“T—this is wrong. Stop,” you babbled, pushing him away, your dejected tone falling on deaf ears as he pressed into you again. “Heeseung—” You turned, using all your force to push him away. He looked up, his eyes clearly unfocused.

The bathroom was getting stuffy now. His unnerving gaze made it hard to breathe. You stepped away, yanking the bathroom door open and rushing out into the bleak room, your breathing unnecessarily heavy. Your body was aching with arousal, wanting to go back into his arms and give yourself up.

Heeseung shot out, grabbing your waist and jerking you into his hold, his heavy breaths lingering against your earlobe. You tried pulling away when suddenly he whipped you around.

With darkness blinding your vision, you couldn’t evade him as he yanked you into his chest and slammed his lips into yours.

The taste of cherries overwhelmed your senses, your body liquifying as he immediately plunged his tongue into your mouth, tasting you.

Every instant in his life had brought him to this moment. He knew it when he kissed your mouth, licked your tongue, traced your gums—he knew you were meant for him. Your beauty was his to ruin. Your taste was his to devour. Your love was his to take.

A strange sensation flared up in his chest, spreading to his heart. For the first time, all his medical knowledge felt useless—he didn’t even feel human because even they could identify sensations.

Heeseung cupped your jaw, his lips trembling as he took in all your taste had to offer. His teeth clashed with yours, and his saliva dripped down your chin, his tongue rolling against yours as he poured an overwhelming flood of unnamed emotions into you.

His erection pressed against your lower stomach as he kissed you breathlessly. Suddenly, he was tearing at his buttons, desperate to feel your skin against his.

His kiss felt urgent, charged with arousal. You felt like you would blow into tattered pieces with the intensity of his touch, his deprivation and lust. Your fingers ran through his tousled strands, clenching for semblance of control as he sucked the soul out of you.

Your lungs flared up in discomfort due to the limited oxygen supply. You gasped, pushing at his shoulders with all your strength. Heeseung’s grip didn’t falter. Your gasps grew more strained and alarming. Only when you felt tears blurring your vision did Heeseung relent.

Both of you panted like dogs, heaving breaths echoing through the room.

“Stop it!” You screamed, pushing him away as you blindly searched for the exit. 

Yellow lights flickered on, the sudden burst blinding you momentarily. Heeseung stood like a barrier blocking the door, his advantage clear as he seemed to have the room mapped out in his head.

Pupils blown out, he panted, his gaze clouded with the need to ravage and devour you whole. His undone button-down hung the shoulders, revealing honey toned chest and tense abs, descending lower into his pants. Your mouth dried up, but you forced yourself to remain unfeeling.

You voiced out, “Let me go—”

“Why?” He asked gruffly. His eyes locked onto your trembling orbs, his brows arching in frustration.

“I can’t have you?” He whispered.

His words were laced with provocation. He hadn’t felt such an urgency to ruin someone, ever. He ached to feel your skin against his. He was hurting to fill you. If you wanted, he would plummet to his knees, stick out his tongue and shamelessly beg, plead. 

You looked at him with indifference. “You’re my brother’s—”

“So what?” He barked, his abrupt interruption making your breath stutter.

He stepped closer until he had you pressed against the wall, his arms on either side, locking you in place. You hadn’t expected him to be this eager. Why did he care? A man like Heeseung could get any woman on earth. One look and they’d drop their panties to the floor. Your glare grew more acrimonious at the realisation.

You pushed at his chest, your fingers grazing his warm skin, lighting up fireworks in your system. “I refuse to be your one-night fantasy, Heeseung,” you stuttered, unshed tears slipping out.

The fury in his gaze collapsed, his lips parting in stunned horror.

This was your chance…to run free, to protect whatever’s left of your heart. Hastily, you dashed to the door, your grip pulling at the handle when suddenly Heeseung was behind you, enveloping your waist.

You screamed and struggled, your feet kicking the air as he carried you away and tossed you onto the bed. You fought against his manhandling, punching and pushing against him, but he just stared at you like you were a weak feline lashing out.

He let you burst out until your energy had depleted and you fell limp.

“You’re fucking joking,” he laughed, disbelief coursing through his frame. “One night fantasy?” He spat, his fists tightening at the audacity of your words.

You stared back, matching his intensity. “Isn’t it famously known?" You huffed. “You don’t touch a woman you’ve had once,” you snarled, your tone dripping with hostility.

That sent him spiralling. “I don’t,” he declared. He watched the spark in your eyes die down, tears running down your cheeks. You attempted to get up, but Heeseung dropped to his knees, his hands scrambling to cup your face.

His heart pounded so hard, that he felt its drumming within his entire being. “You’re not any woman,” his voice cracked, his throat tightening as he kissed your tears one by one. “You’re mine."

He hadn’t said anything more honest in his entire life.

Yet, you looked at him the same—awfully sceptical, disbelieving. He had attempted to pour out his heart, claim you as his, but you gazed at him like he was a liar, a deceiver. Heeseung dropped his arms, anger surging within his blood.

“You don’t believe me,” he declared, his tone laced with bitter sarcasm.

You wanted to so badly—but you had no reason to. Why would he fall for you?

You watched as Heeseung’s gaze frantically scoured the room.

Something ominous was happening. You felt your stomach twist. You called his name, but he turned away, dashing towards the study table. You stared in confusion as he grabbed his car key. 

Without any warning, Heeseung struck the sharp edge into his chest, stabbing himself in his sternum. A scream lurched out your throat, your breath stuttering as you attempted to get to him. He forced the key inside, tearing through the flesh in a line. Blood gushed through the wound, but Heeseung’s concentration remained firm.

“What the fuck— stop-stop!” You screeched, finally getting a hold of his arm.

He didn’t stop, still working on creating the art piece he wanted you to see. You felt lightheaded as you fought against his determined actions. Unable to knock him back into reality, you decided to fling at the key, letting it slip from his grasp.

Horror ceased your chest. The scarred flesh formed a letter— your initial. You gazed up at him, your throat constricting as a soul-stirring chill escalated down your spine.

“If I carve you in my blood, will you believe me?” A pained gaze, a torn heart, a horrifying smile.

Your limbs trembled.

You glanced at the wound, lips parting in silent horror.

This was absurd— absolute madness. You couldn’t wrap your head around it, but you knew it was awfully dangerous like playing with fire or chasing a lion into its den. You should be scared— fearing for your life. You should escape right now when you have the chance. You should run and never look back.

There are many shoulds' you encounter in life, but none of them hold any value when something as desirable holds you by the throat. Someone as irresistibly horrifying as Lee Heeseung. Whatever you did next, you knew your fate was sealed. Even if you ran, you couldn't outrun him-- and somewhere in the pool of longing in your depraved heart, you didn't want to. You didn't want to find a way out.

You leaned down and wrapped your lips around his honey peck, swirling your tongue and licking the scarlet oozing from his self-inflicted wound, surprising yourself as you swallowed it down. 

Life and death stood at a standstill. Had you pushed him away, he’d still have ruined you, broken your soul to pieces and killed himself over hurting you. But you chose to acknowledge, indulge in his pained longing, accepting it like a lover's call, making him want to live more— chase more— love more. 

Vision glazed, heart thundering against his chest, he wrapped you in a breathless embrace.

Amid the chaos, a strained voice invaded the room. “Hee— fuck, we’ve got a problem.” 

Your head shot towards the door, eyes wide with fear. 

Fuck.

Your brother was at the door.

A rampant knock. “Hee— you in there?” Jake's voice spilt into the heated room, your body freezing. Heeseung didn't even spare the door a glance as he pressed himself within your body.

“They’ve come looking for drugs— I don’t know who’s called but the police are searching the place.”

Your eyes bulged out of their sockets, jaw-dropping in horror.

Drugs? Police? 

Instead of concern or a slight hint of fear, Heeseung’s grip tightened on your wrists, and he attacked your lips, invading your mouth. You gasped, caught off guard, your jaw opening in a silent gasp. He swallowed your protests, his hands releasing your wrists to grope your butt-cheeks as he hoisted you up in his arms while sucking on your bottom lip. 

“Bro— are you seriously fucking someone right now?” Jake’s incredulous tone made you want to dig a hole and bury yourself inside.

Heeseung’s grip on your buttocks tightened, his groans purposefully filling the room like a silent message for Jake. His knees gave out, knocking you down, your body crashing into the bed as he vigorously unbuckled his jeans. His warm tongue feasted through your mouth, swallowing your complaints, his head lolling into your shoulders as he pressed wet, hasty bites down your neck. 

Another knock. 

“Fuck— Heeseung get out here! They’ve arrested Jongseong.”

You gasped.

What the fuck?

Heeseung paused.

Through glazed vision, he stared down at you. His lips slowly formed a smile that made every hair on your body rise.

Kim Sunoo had really come through, orchestrating a flawless drug raid, planting the evidence in Jongseong's bags and vanishing without a trace. Jay would waste away five years in prison for drug possession— barely enough to atone for the pain he gave you, hopefully enough to erase the longing that fucker held for you. Heeseung knew he owed his partner in crime a bottle of Soju next time Sunoo visited their shared farmhouse.

“Heeseung, we should—”

Heeseung licked your mouth, holding your trembling body in place, his fingers desperately tugging at your straps. Despite your persistence, he didn’t care for anything at the moment. Someone could tell him that the entire house was on fire or that the universe had collided into a meteor, crumbling to bits and pieces, and he’d still ignore it all.

For now, he will spend every second making you his—until his love is conveyed through his hunger, until his touch leaves scars and burns on your soul, until you love him enough to bleed him dry.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Like A Good Neighbor... | Cillian Murphy x fem!Reader

Summary| She grew up next-door to Cillian Murphy and he was her first sexual awakening. When her dad hosts a promiscuous book club meeting, she decides she's waited long enough.

Warnings| Mentions of Lolita and plays heavily on Lolita-core and daddy-kinks. Large age-gap, dubious consent, p in v sex, stalking, smut. Please read with caution!

It Probably Matters- Interpol 🎶

Born Too Late- The Poni-Tails 🎵

The Perfect Girl- Mareux 🎶

word count: 3082k

Minors do not interact! Does not reflect Cillian Murphy as an actual person- this is pure imagination and projection. Don’t interact if you find mentions of “Lolita” upsetting.

She could see through the parted curtains in his kitchen window that he was home. He was at the sink washing dishes with a towel thrown over one shoulder. His tight black shirt showed the curve of muscles in his upper arms as he scrubbed the pan. She was the girl-next-door type, helplessly petite and needy. She was nineteen and finally getting the stereotypical sex-drive that teenagers were criticized for. She was always horny now, and it felt like an unwavering flaw or weakness that placed her at odds wherever she went. 

Her daddy issues obviously didn’t help the matter… or maybe it was because she was a scorpio.  

She lived alone with her delusional father, who was an Irish author and playwright. He taught literature at the local university and loved expensive liquor. She was going to university for free because her father worked there, but she also stayed at home, trapped in her sexually repressed childhood bedroom. She stayed out of her father’s way when he was home but whenever he hosted “book-club” at their house, she found herself sneaking down the stairs to chat (flirt) with her father’s friends. The “book-club” was for the men in the neighborhood, to give them a social circle of their own, keep them from joining scary alt-right reddit pages by establishing connections with the men around them, something like that she imagined. 

Cillian Murphy was part of this “book-club” that met once a month in her father’s house. He was a middle-aged actor with an A-list repertoire, and yet, he still socialized with the regular neighborhood men, as if he wasn’t acting out some of the books they read each month. 

He was also a bachelor and hideously attractive. She met him when she was much younger, still in highschool and convinced that she would be an actress but discovered quickly that she was more of an artist. He’d given her short acting lessons, reading recommendations, and advice whenever she asked. He was like a second father, a better father than her actual father ever could be. He was the first person she masturbated about. She learned at an early age that she could spy on him from her bedroom window. She watched him read at night on his sofa, she watched him take home other women and fuck them on the couch when he was too horny to take them to bed, and she’d watched him masturbate to porn he projected on his small flatscreen tv. His taste in porn was pretty vanilla and it bored her, but she liked watching him touch himself, indulge himself. It was a serious turn-on. 

And the cherry on top was the book they’d read for that month: Lo-fucking-lita. 

She imagined that he got off to reading about a girl and an older man, that he fisted himself after he read at night, and that he thought of her when he did it. She was his Lo-fucking-lita. She had purposefully avoided the meeting that night, staying upstairs in her bedroom while the men discussed “literature” (Lolita). She wanted them to worry that she would come downstairs any minute while they were discussing such a nasty, disturbing topic. She wanted them to speak haltingly and glance up at her bedroom, she wanted Cillian to think about her and how dirty it was that they had read such a book, all the while she was upstairs. She took a long shower and washed her hair with fragrant shampoo. She moisturized her legs and dabbed her neck with perfume. She changed into her pajamas (underwear, a big t-shirt she’d swiped from Cillian’s house during a neighborhood get-together and she’d ruined her dress with salsa). She let her hair air-dry and rolled on her socks. She heard the men begin to leave, somewhat intoxicated, and watched as Cillian cleaned up his dishes left in his sink. 

When he went back into his bedroom, she flew into action. She put on her slippers and sneaked down the staircase to the first floor. Her father was in the recliner, asleep, so she crept past and closed the side door behind her as she left. She walked the few feet separating the two houses and knocked lightly on Cillian’s door. She knocked again. And eventually, Cillian emerged from his bedroom in boxers and the same tight black shirt. He raised his eyebrow as he opened the door and let her in. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, worried. He glanced over at her house. 

“Nothing, I just need some advice and my dad’s asleep.” She rolled her eyes and he nodded. 

“Yeah, yeah. Come in.” He waved her inside and locked the door behind them. She dragged a finger along the fabric of the couch, searching its surface for evidence of what she’d seen from her bedroom window. 

“This place has changed so much since I was a kid.” She observed (lying of course). 

“Yeh, I’ve tried to update everything, some remodeling.” He nodded. “So, what kind of advice do you need?” He sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter beside her. 

“Mmhm. Fatherly advice.” She shrugged. 

“Oh, so is this about a boy then?” He laughed and rubbed his eyes. 

“I don’t know how much help I can be. Boy’s your age are so much different than how I was.” He shook his head and rested it against his palm. 

“I know, that’s the problem.”

“Mhm?” 

“I don’t know. It’s embarrassing.” She laughed and crossed her arms across her breasts. He looked down at her shirt and pointed. 

“Hey, isn’t that my shirt?” 

“Mmhm no, it's mine.” She lied and pulled down the front hem to inspect the words “Yoko Ono” on the front. 

“I swear I have one just like that.” He walked off to his bedroom and she followed, a skip in her step. He opened his dresser and rummaged through the stack of neatly folded shirts. His clothes smelled like fabric softener and men’s deodorant. He didn’t find it and she gasped. 

“Oh my god, you’re right. I just remembered that you lent this to me when I was here years ago and spilled salsa or something on my dress!” She slapped a hand across her forehead and he nodded slowly. 

“Wow, that was so long ago. I’d completely forgotten.” 

“Here, you can have it back.” She said slowly and watched his eyes widen as she slipped it over her head and handed it to him. Her bare breasts shook from the movement and she smiled. “What?” She asked innocently. He looked away but it was too late, he’d already taken her in, his eyes lingering on her full breasts, waist, and wide hips. 

“What are you doing?” He hissed as if someone could hear and turned away from her. 

“Returning your shirt.” She answered nonchalantly and fixed her wedgie, letting the material snap back against her butt. 

“You can’t do that, Y/N. It isn’t appropriate.” His face reddened as he clutched the shirt in his fist. 

“You don’t like this?” She pouted. 

“Of course not. You’re young enough to be my daughter, I-” He spoke quickly. 

“I think you like it, Cillian.” She interrupted him and trailed a finger down his clothed back. 

“Why?” He sputtered innocently. 

“Because… you’re still holding my shirt.” She pointed to the shirt still in his hands. 

“Christ!” He covered his eyes and tossed the shirt onto the bed. She crawled onto the duvet, her knees sinking into the plush material. 

“If I put on the shirt, will you still give me the advice I needed?” She sat down on her knees and licked her lips. He sighed and nodded into his hands. 

“Yeh, yeh I guess so. Just put the shirt on.” 

When she had the shirt back on, she leaned up against the headboard. “Ok, you’re good.” 

He opened his eyes and exhaled loudly. “Alright, what is it?” His eyes were wildly dark and hungry but he used his acting talent to hide it. She saw right through his performance, namely because his erection grew inside his boxers. 

“It's more of a question than advice, really,” she started. 

“Ok.” He nodded, exhaling again. 

“What did you think of Lolita?” She shifted back into a sitting pose in front of him. “I wasn’t able to stop by during the meeting, so, I want to know.” 

“Fuck, Y/N. Why do I have the feeling that this isn’t what you’re really asking me?” He shook his head. 

“No, you’re right. What I really want to know, I guess, is did you masturbate while you read it? Did it turn you on when you thought about her? Did you touch yourself and think of fucking a younger girl like her,.... Or like me?” She rose onto her knees and breathed against his wide lips. “Would you be Humbert Humbert mhm?” She reached down and played gently with his erection. He withheld his moan, closing his eyes to show how they rolled to the back of his head. 

“Y/N, you can’t ask me things like that.” He protested, but didn’t push her away. 

“I’m sorry. Let me rephrase: Have you ever thought about fucking me?” She traced her tongue around his lips, her hands prodding his erection. 

“No.” He whispered unconfidently and she smiled.

“What’s this then?” She reached down into his boxers and took out his penis, running her hands along the length. He said nothing, fighting his internal desire to stay and come as she stroked him. 

“We-we can’t.” He opened his eyes abruptly and stepped away, still very much hard. 

“Yes, we can.” She reached for him and he reluctantly stepped forward again. “I’ve been thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about you, Cillian. I get so wet when I think of you and my pussy throbs, I have to touch myself.” She whined softly.

He looked down at her lips and breathed shakily.  

“I think that you think about me too, don’t you?” She rose slowly on her knees and kissed him softly, her lips barely resting on his. She reached down to the hem of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head. 

“Touch me, please.” She whimpered and he looked down at her shirt, his hands shaking as they snaked up her chest. 

“If your father found out…” 

“I’m 19. I can make my own decisions.” She kissed him and sucked on his top lip. He moaned against her. 

“Fuck…” He grunted and gave in, abandoning his pitiful battle to deny her. He tugged off her shirt and pushed her back on the bed. 

“Do you want me to say that I’m a virgin? Does it turn you on to think that I’m a virgin?” She smiled and licked her lips seductively. 

“No, don’t say that, Y/N.” He pushed her farther onto the bed and climbed on top of her. 

“Well what do you want me to say, old man?” She laughed and wiggled beneath his weight. 

“Tell me that you want me.” His voice came out as a growl, as he held her down on the bed, his hands stretched out against her’s over her head. 

“Ooooo,” she purred against his lips, “I want you sooo bad, Cillian! Is that what you want?” She licked his lips childishly and rubbed the inside of her thigh up his leg. 

“Fuck, don’t do this, love. I don’t like it when you tease me.” He exhaled against her cheek, his nose running over her soft, plump cheekbones. His erection pressed against the seam of his boxers and he rubbed his crotch against her panties. He could feel how wet she was through the two layers of fabric. 

“I’m sorry, Cilian.” She pouted, her breasts bounced briefly against her open ribcage and he lowered his mouth to swirl his tongue around her nipple. She hummed in pleasure, squeezing her thighs around Cillian to keep him between her. He chuckled. 

“See, I don’t need you to tell me that you want me, I can already tell, but what I want is for you to beg me, practically fuck me by yourself because you so desperately need to feel me inside you.” He kneeled above her and placed his hand on her navel, his thumb teasing the fabric of her waistband. She blushed and wiggled again, her clit throbbing. His thigh was positioned right up against her sex, he looked down and chuckled. 

“I can feel your heartbeat through your cunt, darling.” His hand slid further down into her panties, brushing against the hair at her entrance. “It’s beating so fast, darling. Are you scared?” He pouted and cupped her cunt in his hand, gently. “Are you scared of me fucking you?” He rubbed her clit in small circles, his erection grew harder and she bit her lip. 

“No, I want you to make me feel good.” She raised her chin defiantly and he smiled. 

“Good girl.” He leaned over her and whispered in her ear, “call me daddy.” 

“Mhmm, please daddy.” She started to shake with need as he rubbed her clit. She sat up and forced him down on the bed, straddling him on her knees. He ran his hands up her warm thighs as she moved her hips back and forth against his erection. 

“Have you thought about me as much as I’ve thought about you?” She asked him between kisses.

“God, yes.” He groaned back and moved his hands up to the soft flesh of her stomach beneath her ribcage. 

“I’ve been so fucking horny, daddy.” She moaned dramatically and smiled when he closed his eyes and groaned, thrusting up into her underwear. “I see you when you fuck those women on your couch. I know they aren’t pleasing you like I could, daddy. I touch myself when you fuck them, it gets me so wet thinking of you inside me. I want to make you cum, daddy.” She slithered down his chest and licked the outside of his boxer shorts. He watched her, his pupils shot. 

“You have, eh?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Uh huh.” She mewed and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, exposing his large dick. She spat on it, a long string of drool dripping from her mouth. “I think you’re gonna be too big for me, daddy.” She licked the tip of his cock and he threw his head back, his mouth agape.

“Fucking hell. Look at what you’re doing to me and I haven’t even felt your fucking pussy yet.” He groaned and grabbed a fistfull of her hair, twirling it around his knuckles. She smiled and took him in her mouth, swirling her tongue around his shaft before pushing him down her throat. He moaned breathlessly and panted. She cupped his balls and hummed against his cock, drooling all over him. He pulled on her hair and his panting got quicker as he closed his eyes.

“Fuck, baby. Fuck… ah FUCK!” He cried as she went faster and squeezed at the base of his cock. “You’re such a good fucking girl. Come here.” He ordered and opened his arms to take her. She released him from her mouth and sat on his lap, facing him. 

“Sit on it.” He whispered and twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers. She gasped quietly as his other hand pulled her underwear to the side and directed her to sit on his erect cock. She raised herself up slightly before going back down on him. He slid roughly into her, his girth a little too large. 

“Fuck, daddy!” She cried and her hands steadied herself on his navel. 

“I know, I know, baby. You’re just so tight, yeh?” He pouted and moaned as she wiggled on him. “Take you time, darling. I love being inside you.” He whispered and kissed her roughly, surrounding her in his arms. He pulled her closer to his chest and pushed himself up further inside her and she squealed. She cried out as he started to move in and out of her. 

“Ahh yeah! Oh, please fuck me!” She moaned against his shoulder. 

“Fuck, I love it when you plead me like that. You’re so fucking desperate.” He groaned and sped up, hitting the base of her uterus each time. Her walls swallowed him and squeezed him. It felt so good she couldn’t speak, she could only cry out with each hard thrust. He held her on his lap and he flipped them over and hovered above her. He pulled out and pulled down her panties impatiently and tossed them to the foot of his bed. He took one of her legs and put it over his freckled shoulder. 

“You’re going to take me like a good girl, understand?” He stayed inside her but didn’t move as he looked down at her red face. She nodded eagerly. 

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.” He smiled and started thrusting deeply and quickly but with experienced skill. He looked up as he chased his orgasm, his brows furrowed as he moaned. She gripped his throat gently, encouraging him to fuck her faster. 

“Are you going to come, daddy?” She cried and he nodded. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah. I’m gonna fill you up. You and your little pussy.” He panted and looked down as his cock went in and out harshly against her cunt. He removed the leg from his shoulder and took a pillow from the bed. 

“Lift up your ass.” He ordered and she did as he asked, moaning against the pressure of his stiff cock. He put the pillow under her ass and pulled her hips right against his. He barely pulled out as he fucked her fast and hard. His balls slapped her loudly and she covered her mouth to keep from screaming. 

“That’s it, that’s it. Fuck yes!” He yelled as his movements spasmed. She felt him cum inside her, his hot cum spilling between his cock and her walls. She cried out as she organsmed and shook with each wave of lingering pleasure. Cillian slowly took out his cock and looked down at the cum spilling out of her. 

“That was so good, daddy.” She smiled breathlessly and he chucked. 

“You were so good, love. You were such a good girl for me. So grown up.” He teased her and kissed her, his hands finding the handles of her hips. “You’re such a fucking pillow princess.” He laughed and went back to kissing her. 

[psychotrenny]

When it comes to plagiarism everyone can agree that it's a type of theft but I've noticed this fundamental disagreement when it comes to what is actually being stolen; is it the theft of labour or the theft of property? Some people talk about plagiarism in terms of the labour hours and effort it takes to produce a piece of creative work and how cruel and unfair it is for someone else to profit off that labour without fair compensation. Meanwhile other people talk about creative works as if they are some piece of brain property that belongs to whoever first managed to conjure said ideas out of the ether and bring them into this world, with plagiarism treated as if someone swiped some physical object the creator owns. The former is an essentially Proletarian way of treating creative/intellectual work while the latter is an essentially Bourgeoisie worldview.

For the record I consider the first point of view to be the far more serious and useful one and I this can be observed in the form of specific incidents that end up being discussed. Treating plagiarism as labour theft means the conversation largely focus on the important issues of the ways that people, especially marginalised ones, have their work taken and monetised without permission or remuneration by more powerful and privileged groups or individuals; it focuses on the real material issues of people's livelihoods and fits into a broader framework of social analysis. Meanwhile reifying the concept of private intellectual property, granted by some innate genius or higher power, removes all this material context is just as likely to get you dragged into petty arguments about how someone's OC got totally ripped off by another random person because they drew a character with the same eye colour and like a vaguely comparable haircut. Like I think it's pretty obvious which lens should be used if we actually want to get anywhere with all this

[cherry-pop-elf]

Follow My Lead

Curly x Disabled!Reader

Can be read as platonic

AN: Purely self indulgent. I’m suffering extreme disability issues do to the change in weather and it’s very painful and exhausting. So here we are. Friendly reminder of disability’s existing and lives can still be lived. Thank you

SUM: You were returning to the Physical Therapy center for your weekly appointment. As you enter the designated gym, with its nurses, you noticed someone new. New people in the waiting room, and new people in the gym. Wonder who that new nurse is to…

Warnings: Disabilities, medical discussion, reader’s disabilities are vague but will have issues that are common in the disability community, PTSD, Trauma, Everyone lives except Jimmy, lots of medical discussion, so much trauma Jesus Christ

“Just wait for a few minutes and we can call you back.” The woman would tell you. You would give a nod and returned to your seat in the waiting room. Right next to quite the chipper fellow. With floral attire. There with a much older man. Perhaps his father?

“Hi-!” The floral guy would say, before the older man nudged him. Telling him not to bother the other people here at the gym here. You didn’t mind. People can make the atmosphere here so depressing sometimes. It’s nice to have some sunshine.

“Hello!” You returned, meeting his energy. That had him just beaming.

“You two are new here, aren’t you? First time here?” You asked, as the floral man nodded. The older just let the younger do all the talking. The floral one seemed the social butterfly anyway.

“Yeah. It’s not for us though. It’s for our friend Curly. And also Anya! She’s a nurse. Since she’s a nurse she’s helping him with the other like physical therapists here. He really needs a-lot of extra help. His arms and legs are missing, eye is missing, had so many skin graphs. He’s been through A LOT. So we’re here for moral support.” He explained to you, and you would listen.

Damn that Curly really went through alot. Sounded like he lost the limbs then actually was without them earlier in life. He’s going to have a long journey ahead of himself.

“Swansea here is also helping install stuff at Curly’s place to make it easier to move around in. Like railings, changing door knobs, stuff like that! He’s got prosthetics he’s still getting used to, but he also uses a wheelchair when they make his muscles ache too much.” He would ramble on, and you happily listened.

It was so nice to have someone be so positive. Many able bodied people just treat disabled situations with such mourning and sadness. It was refreshing to have someone have a positive outlook. To be excited to help compared to just mourning and worrying.

“You can come back when you are ready-!” A physical therapist would call for you. As you went to leave, the floral man was quick to call out.

“Oh! I’m Daisuke!”

“Well hello Daisuke. Please talking to you-!” You would wave, before heading back to the gym area with everyone else.

Typically most physical gyms would have a designated nurse for each person, that way you can be watched carefully and monitored for improvement. This gym, however, allowed that people who had progressed to a certain level can work out independently with the gear offered here. As a means to allow more independence, and for them to improve or care for their health by their own speed.

It seems like that Curly guy won’t reach that milestone for ages.

He was very easy to notice amongst the often elderly folks there. The rare younger type, but often it’s from some kind of long turn injury or recovery of surgery.

There you would see a man using the standing bars. Metal bars on each side, and a person would walk through the middle. Gave them the ability to use their arms to keep support instead of using all their weight on their legs.

Just like Daisuke said he was in pretty rough shape. His arms had prosthetics and same for his legs. A eye patch covered his missing eye, and much of his skin still was incredibly rough.

Despite it all, he’s trying. He’s shakily walking through, with his arms on the metal, and he’s taking it step by step. Still trying to adjust to having somewhat of limbs again.

Next to him was a kind looking woman. Her eyes looked like they had seen too much, but her smile said she is willing to keep on living. To spite the world she will be happy.

“There you go Curly. You are doing a good job. Just take it very slow. There’s no need to rush. You will be able to do more once you adjust. How about you finish this walk and we can sit down. Then we can try and use your arms for a while. Legs are the most exhausting.” She would say to him.

She had such a warmth in her voice. A nurse that everyone wished they had after any life threatening event. She was perfect for a physical therapist.

“Shit shit shit-!” He would start to panic, and he would end up slipping. She was quicker though. She managed to grab him by his chest, as his limbs went limp. Just dangling like a doll. He looked so humiliated.

Maybe he needed a friend.

“Hi! I heard you two are new here. That guy in the waiting room, Daisuke, told me a little about you two. Do you need help with like, oh I don’t know, anything? I’ve been coming here for a while now. If you want anyway.” You would offer, as Anya would help him stand back on his bionic feet again.

“Oh that is very kind of you. I think we are alright, for the time being. But thank you so much.” She was so gentle with her words. Clearly each word was truly kindness, and not just words to push someone away.

“I wouldn’t mind it. I….I have no idea what I’m doing.” Curly would admit, as there was still shame in his expression. As if he felt unworthy to be there. To be helped at all. That he just deserved the worse.

Very relatable.

“Oh sure! Oh oh! Maybe I can be on the other side of the bar. You can place your hands on my shoulder and your other arm on hers. We will hold you up ourselves so when you slip you don’t fall.” You offered, as you stepped into position.

Anya would do the same, and made sure there was a hand on his back and one on his chest. To help him keep himself straight, and if he slipped you both can push him back into place.

“Deep breaths Curly. You got this. You are almost to the other side.” Anya reassured, as you smiled as well. Suppose seeing you both trying so hard helped him gain the motivation to push through.

Each step was heavy, slow, and frustrated. He was trying his best, but sometimes his muscle spasms kicked in and his leg would just move the wrong way. You could relate to that. Muscle spasms were so annoying to deal with. Especially in public. People think you are on some kind of drug and question you. Annoying as hell.

It was slow, but you didn’t care. He needed a little extra help and you figured you could offer it. Make things just a little easier for him. It’s rough. You know it so well.

He finally reached the other end, and Anya couldn’t help but clap and beam. So proud of him. So damn happy he did it. Course when she let go he ended up falling into you, but you managed to help him get back up again.

“Sorry! Just you did it! Before you know it you’ll be running and jumping. You’ll be back to skiing in no time.” She would encourage, before bringing the wheelchair over. The two of you helping him sit in it. Such a relief.

“You ski?” You asked, as Anya would help take his legs off. Let him breathe for a while. While she did that, he gave a small nod.

“Before all….this….I used to really be quite the athlete. I loved winter sports. If it was in the snow I was there. Snowboarding, Skiing, ice skating, ice climbing, I used to do it all. Even was a body builder. To think I used to do so much…..” He sighed, as he looked over at his arms. Looking at what was once muscle and bone. Now just metal and specialized plastic.

“Hey….I know you’ve been told this a million times, so I’ll just say it from a person that also doesn’t have the best mobility either. You’ll have good days and bad days. Some more extreme than others. It’s gonna to fucking suck. It’s gonna hurt. It’s going to be exhausting. You’ll have days wondering why you should even stay alive. But you’ll also have days where you can accomplish simple things like making your own dinner. Taking out the trash. Fold some laundry. You’ll get there. It’s gonna suck but you’ll reach it.”

Having someone keep it blunt with him seemed to be what he needed to hear. Was like he learned a mistake about keeping things to sweet. That sometimes you need a reality check.

“Thank you….I think it was very important for me to hear that. Thank you.” He would do his best to smile at you, but the nerves in his face were rather damaged. You wouldn’t be surprised if he needed some more surgery there to.

He’s still going to go through so much, but maybe having someone who can genuinely relate to it all could help.

“Hey, I come here every Saturday. That way when I’m painfully exhausted from it I can just relax and have Sunday be a complete recover day.” You said, as you walked with him as Anya rolled him over to a spot to not bother people. She would soon sit across from him, with a small ball, and the two of them would try and play simple catch with it. Both to help with his arms and his new adjustment with a single eye.

“Think that sounds like the best plan for me right now as well…” He nodded, as that was the way you two could agree on it.

He would do his best to play catch with her, but it kept falling in his lap. His limbs just not moving quite fast enough, and his send of direction never quite there. Was so frustrating, and you understood it.

“Said a million times, I know, but take it from me. You’ll genuinely get there. But it will take a while. Not days. Not weeks. Months if you keep at it. But it’ll get there.” You reassured, as you stepped away. Off to do your own exercises for your own issues.

Was a peaceful gym day like that. Spending what spoons you had to take care of yourself. Every now and again, when taking a breather, you looked over to him. Seeing Anya help him get used to his limbs. Small things like picking up something, catching, even paddy cake. Taking it slow for him.

Once you ran out of energy you would kinda hang out with them.

You didn’t ask him how he ended up like that, you just let yourself breathe. Breathe as he spoke what he wanted to speak about. Same for her.

From what little pieces you could pick out from them it sounded like they were victims of a ship crash. No wonder he ended up so fucked up. That fact he’s alive at all is insane to you. Anya deserved way more credit.

There also seemed to be a shared enemy between them. When a person called over for a therapist, named Jimmy, the way they flinched and looked around like someone started unloading a gun. Whoever this Jimmy was sure made his mark on them.

Once he finally couldn’t go on any longer she would take the arms off as well. Letting what was left of his limbs breathe. He was so exhausted, but he seemed happy. Happy to have made some kind of progress, and even happier he had someone to talk to through it.

“I’ll see you next Saturday.” You smiled, and waved, as you started to leave. He gave a wave of his own, before Daisuke and Swansea returned to him. There to carry his prosthetics and be his cheerleaders.

You were happy for him. He deserved a support network.

He deserved to smile again.

You just knew he did.

[bunni-v1]

Okay so the traumatised!reader not forgiving Jamil was absolutely fantastic!

Would it be alright if I requested the same premise but for Riddle after his overblot (he did insult us, attacked us and was the very first to overblot)?

Overblot Trauma: Riddle Edition

TW: Mentions and discussion of PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Childhood abuse, and most things in that vain!; Swearing!; Mostly un-edited, this took too long to write lol

Info: Ace, Deuce, Grim, Trey, Cater, Riddle x Reader (platonic (especially in grim’s case)); gn!reader, unless I managed to fuck up!

🍓Hi. Yippie, new writing, I did it! Anyway, I went for a different approach than Jamil's part simply because... well... Riddle's whole scenario is completely different! Btw, I wanted to make it clear that I ADORE Jamil, and me giving Riddle forgiveness isn't a bias thing! I simply believe that this is how this scenario would go! Love you all, mwah!

Tags: @kitsun369 @bloomstruck @squidsailing @roseinbloom02

Jamil Part

This year was going to be yours, at least it was supposed to be. You were the top of your class, the best in your field of study, and you had nothing but the best opportunities in your grasp. For once in your life, you were exactly where you wanted to be… until you weren’t.

A horse-drawn carriage wasn’t too big of a shocker for you. You knew that some farmers would try to socialize their horses by taking them through town. Maybe a bit odd for where you live, but you could accept it. Until it started coming straight at you, whinnying as it clomped toward you at Mach speeds. 

You tried to outrun it, you really did. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you, but this horse was determined to ruin your life. And, oh god, did it. 

When you woke up, it was dark and you could hear voices muttering outside your… box? You were convinced you had died, and this was your judgment day in the afterlife. 

But no, it couldn’t be that simple, of course not. Instead, it was inter-dimensional travel, and you were now stuck in a Hogwarts-esque world with no way back home. You didn’t have any ruby red slippers to click you back home, not Toto to keep you comfortable. No, you got stuck with Grim who was anything but a comfort. 

You wouldn’t let it ruin your perfect year, though.

You’d decided to make the most of your shitty situation. You cleaned up your awful dorm, befriended the little troublemaking cat, and even fitted your janitorial uniform so that it was more comfortable to wear. 

Then… you meet Ace, and everything spirals. Again.

Statues caught on fire, chandeliers were broken, giant sludge monsters were fought, and unfair punishments were dished out upon you. That was fine! You could handle that! The monster in the mine was scary, but whatever, magic was going to be scary to you regardless. You could do this! You were going to handle everything life threw at you!

What you couldn’t handle, however, was Ace and Deuce’s tyrannical Housewarden: Riddle Rosehearts.

He was a selfish, entitled crybaby who had a stick shoved so far up his ass you wondered how he could walk without limping. All of his dorm members seemed terrified of him — except Ace, who also had the entitlement stick shoved up his ass, but this isn’t about him.

Riddle caused more than a handful of issues for you by kicking Ace and Deuce out — over a tart. Well, in Ace’s case, it was a tart. It was ridiculous, and it was more trouble than it was worth for you. More mouths to feed, more whining to hear, you couldn’t put up with it.

So you rush Ace and Deuce back to the dorm to find a way to apologize and end up meeting their far more responsible upperclassmen, Trey and Cater. The two of them were far more sympathetic to your position than Ace and Deuce ever were. You wished you’d managed to attract them instead of your bumbling idiots.

Still, they help you, and things are looking up for the idiot quartet… until they aren’t. 

The tarts that Ace and Deuce worked so tirelessly on were mouthwateringly delicious. Marron tarts with extra chestnuts! If they weren’t for Riddle, you would’ve torn into those things!

Things were looking good, especially when Riddle seemed more than pleased to accept Ace’s forgiveness gift…

Then, Riddle, stick somehow shoved even further up his ass than before, blows a gasket because of some stupid arbitrary rule. Something about no tarts on the billionth day of the month… ugh. So stupid.

He tore into Ace, he tore into Deuce, he tore into you. He just kept going and going on and on like a little child. You can’t even blame Ace for punching him, you were about to do it yourself if he hadn’t.

But.. something was wrong. You expected Riddle to just scream louder, but this time he didn’t. He was quiet, and you could see that his face was twisted up in a mix of anger and pain.

The first thing you noticed was the smell. It was thick and suffocating, crawling down your throat like it wanted to rip your lungs out. Only when you saw the black sludge leaking from Riddle did you realize it was ink invading your senses?

You watched with your mouth agape, body trembling, as his body morphed in front of your eyes. The clean, well-presented Riddle you knew changed into a disheveled beast who could hardly be described as human.

He looked dead, with skin so sickeningly pale, and his body moving in a way that it really shouldn’t be able to.

He kept moving, and he kept talking and screaming, so he wasn’t — but no one's skin should be that grey. No one should be leaking ink in the first place. 

The battle against him was a blur, you were simply running on instinct the whole time. Dodging, running, and throwing whatever you could to keep yourself safe. Still, you ended up with quite a few new scars and spent a sizable amount of time in the nurse's office.

Sure you got studentship for yourself and Grim, and yeah you helped Riddle overcome his trauma. You felt for him, you did. He was a good person at heart, and you wanted him to better himself and heal from the scars his mother left. 

But what about you? What were you supposed to do now that you’ve been through that? What about your scars? What about the scars he gave everyone else?

Surely you couldn’t be expected to pretend that everything was fine?

Ace and Deuce

-Ace and Deuce hadn’t seen you in a good few days since the last tea party Heartslabyul held. -You being reclusive wasn’t much of a shocker, you spent a lot of time alone, to begin with, but disappearing for this long…? 

-Now, it’s not like the three of you were absolute best friends at this point, but you had become pretty close up until now. 

-Plus you’ve survived a lot of very scary experiences together… surely that meant something?

-It meant something to them.

-Still, you’d practically ghosted them and it was out of character for what they knew of you.

-Even when they were annoying the shit out of you, you still gave them a place to stay and helped them take care of themselves. You were kindhearted.

-Ghosting your (tentative) friends wasn’t exactly a good sign.

-So, them being themselves, they decide to come to pay you a visit at Ramshackle and wrangle some answers out of you.

-They were not expecting you to answer with tear tracks down your face and eye bags so dark they almost looked black.

-Ramshackle wasn’t any better either. 

-You normally kept it so neat and tidy, but it was messy with clothes and dirty dishes scattered about. 

-It was so weird to see you in such a state since you were so happy and full of life and determination before this.

-Then again, it did sorta make sense. You’d been through a lot in the past few weeks, expecting perfection wasn’t fair for anyone in your position.

-All of you had been through a lot, Ace and Deuce were just better at putting up with it than you.

-Grim didn’t seem to be much of a help either, clearly lost on how to handle human depression.

-Luckily, Ace and Deuce are willing to help.

-By help, I mean to annoy you, but they’re doing their best!

-Ace definitely pokes and prods at you a lot, and complains that you have to get up and go to class.

-It’s annoying, but you know he’s right. 

-If he does take it too far Deuce is right there to put him back in line and assure you that you can take it at your own pace.

-The two of them are so sweet though, seriously. They help you clean up the place so that it's mostly back to its former glory (as much glory as ramshackle can have, of course).

-They walk you to class together every morning, even if you have ungodly eight ams. (You do hear Ace complaining a lot, though).

-They eat with you to make sure that you’re eating — and if you don’t eat with them, they come to your dorm with a full meal that they picked up for you.

-Most importantly, they keep you distracted from thinking about how horrifying the whole overblot was.

-The two of them need the distraction too, though they won’t admit it to you.

Grim

-Grim watches you go through everything firsthand.

-He lives with you, of course, he’s gonna see the rough stuff.

-He could tell something was off at the tea party, you just didn’t seem as involved as you usually were, but he brushed it off.

-He was more focused on eating as much food as possible.

-When you got back to the dorm, however, is when he noticed something was really wrong.

-Normally you’d take a nice long bubble bath, and the smell of your soaps would fill up the whole of your bedroom, but not today.

-You just fell onto your bed without a word.

-Still, it was a long day! Grim was pooped too, he wouldn’t wanna make up a bath either.

-Then you started to cry. You cried and cried and cried until you fell asleep.

-He didn’t know what to do, he never dealt with a crying human before!

-All he could do was curl up next to you and let you cry into his fur.

-You’d be better tomorrow, he told himself.

-But, nothing changed the day after that, nor the next, nor the next.

-By the third day of you laying around he was getting antsy. Would you ever cheer up, and could he help you at all?

-He’s grateful for Ace and Deuce coming around when you didn’t make it to classes that day.

-They explain to him, vaguely, what human depression is and how he can help more.

-Really, he isn’t able to do more than he’s already been doing, but you don’t need much more from him.

-He’s the perfect companion for you, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Cater

-Cater doesn’t know you, okay.

-He would love to get to know you! You’re quite a treat to be around, and you keep his pesky freshmen in line, so he does like you.

-Again, he doesn’t know you.

-He does, however, notice that at the little celebratory tea party, you are not doing too well.

-What he’s seen of you, you were a spunky bitch who didn’t take shit from anyone.

-But, here, now… you were quiet. You didn’t seem like you were really here with anyone in the room.

-He decided to keep a close eye on you, just in case.

-He noticed your symptoms, he’s lived your symptoms, so of course he’s looking out for you.

-Besides, the overblot scared more than just you — you just had a lot more to be afraid of than them.

-When Ace and Deuce wander back to the dorm complaining about how you skipped your classes for the day, a million alarm bells go ringing in his head.

-“Go check on them.”

“Cater- you were listening?”

“Hush, just go check on them! Now! GO!”

-Cater is not your friend at this point, the two of you are acquaintances at the very most, but he knows that you need someone there for you.

-Please excuse him for assuming, but he doesn’t think Grim would cut it.

-He also talks to Trey and Riddle about it all too.

-He knows that you and Trey are closer than he is with you and that he’s more likely to be of help than Cater is.

-Tells Trey to make you sweets that Ace and Deuce can give to you. Also give him advice on what to say in case you seek him out — especially since he’s closer to Riddle, you’re more likely to go to him with your worries.

-However, Cater does not expect you to seek him out.

-He was so busy working overtime behind the scenes keeping everyone together that he didn’t even think that he was part of the equation.

-You sought him out simply because he wasn’t Trey or Riddle.

-Trey would be more sympathetic to Riddle and Riddle was the core of the issue. But your reliable Senpai Cater? Surely he’d be more logical about this.

-You figured that he had something to do with everything since Ace and Deuce don’t seem emotionally intelligent enough to help you with something as sensitive as trauma.

-First you really just want to thank him for his help, but as you talk to him both of you just break.

-You, because you hadn’t really been able to talk about what you’ve been through. Cater, because he put everything on his shoulders as if it was up to him to fix it all.

-It’s therapeutic, to just cry with someone over the horrible things that you’ve been through together.

-You sort of become each other's rock when it comes to recovery.

Trey

-Trey is the backbone of Heartslabyul.

-I know we give him shit for being boring and normal, but he’s the reason anything keeps functioning around his dorm.

-He needs to be normal, because if he can’t keep a level head, who will?

-Sevens, he’s having a hard time now though.

-Riddle is going through his own issues, coping with the fact that he confronted his traumas head-on and hurt so many people doing it.

-Ace and Deuce were the core of the issue, and he could tell that neither of them was ready to deal with whatever feelings they’d been feeling.

-He can’t even lean on Cater like he normally does, because Cater is running around like a madman trying to ignore his own trauma.

-So… It’s just Trey, and he’s having a hard time figuring this shit out because he needs time to cope.

-He doesn’t get the chance to, though, because he has to be there for Riddle more than anyone.

-It’s not like he doesn’t want to be there for him, they’re best friends, but Sevens Trey is exhausted trying to get things back to where they were.

-You don’t even cross his mind in the chaos until Cater asks him to make you those marron tarts you seemed to love so much.

-You must be going through it.

-As he bakes them up for you (making some extras for his dormmates), he thinks about how hard this must’ve been on you.

-You’re not even from here. You were just trying to help out, and you nearly lost your life because his best friend couldn’t control his temper.

-You didn’t deserve that. No one did.

-He was supposed to give the tarts to Ace and Deuce, but after his thinking, he figured it was better he went to see how you were doing himself.

-The older brother in him couldn’t stop the worry from taking over now that you were on his mind.

-He knew that Ace and Deuce got you going back to your classes, and you weren’t so scared that you never came to Heartslabyul, but he wanted to make sure.

-When you open the door you look tired, but light up at the sight of the treats in his hands.

-While you and Grim are chowing down on the snacks he made, you two talk.

-Trey finally, finally, gets to talk about how he’s been feeling — because you are so sweet and so kind that you want to hear how he’s been.

-He gets to tell you how tired he is, how he feels as though he can’t allow himself a moment to deal with his own thoughts, how worried he is about everyone. How angry he was at Riddle, and how happy he was that Riddle was changing.

-It’s cathartic to get it all out, but he feels guilty for dumping it all on you.

-He was here to check on you, not pour his heart out.

-But, you tell him that you wanted him to talk to you about it. Ace and Deuce pretend like it never even happened, so to hear someone else be just as angry about it as you felt good.

-The two of you spend a lot of time together that night — Grim is there too, but this isn’t about him — and both of you feel like a weight is lifted off your shoulders afterward.

-Both of you make plans to bake something together later that week.

Riddle

-Riddle is going through it, okay.

-Not only is he dealing with the physical ramifications of his body twisting around in ways that it really shouldn’t, and the long-term lung issues he’s going to have thanks to all the ink.

-He’s also dealing with the fact that he acknowledged how awful his mother — whom he’d idolized — truly was. 

-How awful he was because of her, and how many people he hurt because he wouldn’t face the music soon enough.

-Still his life didn’t stop. He still had to ensure that he was fulfilling his duties as a houswarden, and he also had to continue tutoring and running the equestrian club and his own coursework.

-His way of coping with his issues is that he works himself to death.

-Sure, he does take time to tell Trey how he’s feeling, and he has spent many sleepless nights in his room crying, but he’d rather be working than doing that.

-So he does. He works and he works and he uses his work as a punishment for himself because he does not deserve a break after what he did.

-He has to make up for the horrible things he’s done to people who simply did not deserve it.

-He’s so busy working that he forgets to make it up to the person that matters most.

-You and Riddle aren’t exactly avoiding each other, but you certainly aren’t seeking each other out.

-You know that Riddle was going through a lot and you’ve already forgiven him at this point, but you haven’t found the strength to seek him out yet.

-The both of you just happen to bump into each other in the kitchen of Heartslabyul. (Courtesy of Trey and Cater!)

-You were waiting on Trey (he promised he would make some sweets with you today), and Riddle walked in (he was also promised sweets).

-It was… awkward, to say the least.

-What do you say to the guy who traumatized and nearly killed you and your friends?

-What do you say to the person who you nearly killed?

-Well…

-“I’m sorry,” Riddle finally said, snuffing out the awkward silence, “I allowed myself to become so angry, and I hurt and scared not only you but myself. I don’t know how anyone could ever forgive me, but I am truly sorry.”

You stayed quiet, mulling over his words. You knew he was sorry, from the way he’d looked at you since his blot. You could only begin to imagine what he was dealing with in his head this whole time. How harsh he must’ve been on himself since the incident — and isn’t that what started this whole thing in the first place? His unnecessary harshness? He shouldn’t be so hard on anyone, especially not himself.

So, you being you — forgiving and understanding — you sigh and place a hand on his arm. He looked at you, shocked at your gentleness.

“It’s alright, Riddle. Sure, you really scared the shit out of me, and yeah I’m still kind of scared of you, but I know you’re a good guy. It’s not your fault that you’ve been through such awful things.”

-You made him cry.

-Good tears though! Happy tears! It’s the first time he felt seen in a very long time, and he promises you that he’s going to change for the better.

-To his credit, he does start to make those changes, and he does so very quickly.

-He begins to be more open with his friends, and he’s more relaxed about the very stupid rules that he used to enforce.

-He goes out of his way to talk to you specifically at this time too. He offers to become your tutor (which you desperately need, since Crewel is well… cruel.), and you two grow surprisingly close!

-You bond over how much stress Ace and Deuce cause you, and Riddle learns how to socialize like a normal person from you.

-(You surprise him with just how popular you are, despite being essentially bottom of the barrel at NRC. He has much to learn!)

[kanagenwrites]

So. Tuesday sucked.

We've all had a chance to come down from the "what the fuck" of it all, and we're starting to see the usual circular firing squad. Lots of lib centrists are doing everything they can to throw trans people, minorities, and basically anyone who isn't a finance bro under the bus, as is (very tiresome) tradition after both victories and defeats in the Democratic Party. I will be 42 years old in a few months, so this is far from the first time I've seen it, and sadly, I'm sure it won't be the last. To the lib centrists and those carrying water for them: This never works. Please stop trying it. Trans issues were not a major motivator; I'll get into that below. Sit down, kids, it's time for Auntie Kana's Fireside Dialectics.

One thing I've noticed is that a lot of my followers are significantly younger than me. (Imagine that, an audience that skews young on Tumblr.) A lot of you folks probably haven't been following politics for very long, and you've been able to participate in them for even less time than that. For some of you this is probably your first election as an adult, and it kinda feels like everything blew up in your face, doesn't it? I was about your age for 2000, when the election was nakedly stolen by George W. Bush, and not much older for 2004, when despite his disastrous presidency Bush the Younger rode a wave of 9/11-brained racism to the last popular vote victory the GOP had prior to (likely) this year. So I get it. I really do.

If you're living in the USA you have probably had a subpar education in politics and civics. This is largely by design - education is horrendously underfunded and there is a sustained attack on the ability of teachers to even discuss things like the Civil Rights Movement, the legacy of slavery in the United States, the genocide this country was founded on, and so on and so forth. Economic education isn't much better; you very likely got a short lecture on basic supply and demand and an argument-from-authority that "socialism doesn't work." All this combines to leave a lot of folks totally baffled as to how something like this election happens.

But it's pretty simple. It's just material conditions. That's it. What the media isn't telling you (because there's no profit in it, and the media is nothing but a clickbait engine when they aren't open propagandists) is that there has been a massive anti-incumbent wave of elections across the world. How massive? Japan's LDP, which has held power almost uninterrupted since the establishment of Japan's postwar democracy, managed to lose their recent election.

And why are material conditions so shitty? That's a complicated question, but a lot of it is the fact that we had a lengthy period of low inflation followed by a period of extremely high inflation due to the absolutely botched response to the Covid-19 pandemic. A bag of Doritos used to be 2.50, and now it's like 6 bucks. That's worse than all the inflation (and naked price-gouging, because there's a lot of that going on too) I experienced in my life prior to 2020, squeezed into the space of a year or two. This smacks everyone in the face every time they buy groceries, and while the government and the Federal Reserve were doing everything they could to manage inflation (and understand what a big deal it is for me, the anarcho-communist, to say that the US actually did an extremely fucking good job of doing it, because every other country on Earth had it worse than we did), they did fuck all to actually improve the material conditions people were experiencing. Wages were not keeping up with the cost of living, and price-gouging wasn't being dealt with.

Remember the 600 bucks Joe Biden still owes you? The American electorate sure the fuck does. Invisible backrooms liberal wonkery does not connect, regardless of whether it works or not, but going back on a promise? People remember that shit.

It's a rare incumbent that could win in an environment like this, especially when tied to a track record of doing exactly fucking nothing to actually help people from the perspective of the vast majority of the population. Kamala Harris was not that incumbent. She was a singularly uninspiring candidate who failed to connect with voters so thoroughly that she was on track to lose her home state in the 2020 Democratic primary. Nobody liked her (except a few very eager and very loud fans in the K-Hive), and speaking as someone who lives in California, I am not surprised she ate shit. She was a terrible choice for VP and a terrible choice of successor for Biden, but because Biden('s handlers) insisted on pretending he wasn't obviously declining before our very eyes, Harris, a singularly uninspiring candidate, had three months to build and run a campaign.

And it was still weirdly close.

Now, there's two possibilities: Either she actually ran an amazing campaign and it's incredible that it was even this close, or Trump is just so loathsome that even in a massively anti-incumbent environment he didn't bring anyone new to the table. Given that Trump is on-track to receive less votes this time than he did in 2020, and how many of those votes seem to have been cast for Trump and no one else down-ballot, I think it's more of the latter than the former. Trump brought the usual suspects, while Kamala successfully drove away voters that even Joe fucking Biden and Hillary fucking Clinton were able to bring home. Not on the left, not in minority demographics, but across the board. After all, if things are horrible and you're being promised that "nothing will fundamentally change," (literally an early-presidency quote from Joe Biden, whose agenda Kamala Harris 100% aligned herself with) and keeping in mind that the average American voter is not nearly so plugged into the minutiae and the day to day of politics (as evinced by the sudden peak in google searched for "Did Joe Biden drop out?" on Tuesday), why the fuck would you bother to vote?

Hopefully you have a better idea how we got here now. The question, of course, is where do we go from here? I will probably continue posting about this from time to time, especially if there's interest, but my advice is this:

We are still here. We will be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, and so on. Plan accordingly.

Things will get fucked up. Things will always get fucked up. That is the nature of things no matter who is running the government. Plan accordingly.

Organize. Develop parallel structures of power and assistance, because the government is likely going to be even more useless to directly assist you than it already was. Our greatest strength is each other, and our ability to care for and help one another.

I have been here before. You will be here again. It always feels like it's the worst thing ever to happen. That never really goes away, but your ability to deal with it, to plan around it, to endure it, and to rise up again on the other side of it and say "No, fuck you" is entirely under your control and within your capabilities. And you will get better at it as you do it. And you are not doing it alone. None of us are.

Do not give up. Do not surrender. This isn't the end, or the beginning of the end, or even the end of the beginning: it just is.

Now go watch a video of a cat doing something cute, or read some smut, or whatever gives you joy. You can't take care of others unless you take care of yourself. That's General Order #1: Take care of yourself.

Solidarity, y'all.

[clockwayswrites]

Not Exactly Cinderella Part 2

Part 1

WC: 818

“You have a thing for black hair and blue eyes, huh?” Dick teased, looking at the guy that Wally had pointed out. He laughed as Wally slapped his shoulder for the comment. “What? I’m not complaining. And you’re right, he does have a cute smile.”

Wally just blushed again.

“Well, come on, I think that most of my official duties are done. Let’s go see what he’s like,” Dick said, heading back towards the stairs.

“What if he’s a jerk?” Wally asked.

“Then we just move on and go find someone else to talk to,” Dick answered easily. “This isn’t a mission or anything, Walls, if you don’t click you don’t click. You can think his smile is cute and not want to do anything with him.”

Wally sighed, though, rather than being comforted by that.“You keep talking like he’ll want to do something with me.”

Dick stopped them at the bottom of the stairs, tugging them to the side. He knew he probably looked a little worried, but he couldn’t help it. No, of course he could fake it, he was a damn Bat, but he didn’t want to. Wally deserved to know that he was bothered by this. If Dick had known that Wally was having these self esteem issues, he would have done something earlier.

Wally deserved to know how amazing he was.

“If he doesn’t want you, it will because he’s straight or not into quick romance or doing something physical,” Dick said. “Or because he’s insane and doesn’t like red heads. Never trust someone who doesn’t like red heads.”

Wally rolled his eyes but he looked more relaxed. “Just because you have a thing for red heads…”

“Walls, sweetheart, you’re amazing. You’re smart and funny and fun. And you’re pretty damn hot too between the red hair and adorable freckles and your runner’s body. If he’s not into you there could be reasons for it, but it’s not because you aren’t an amazing catch.”

Wally let out a breath of air and nodded. “Okay. Sure. I mean, I don’t agree but sure. Let’s go talk to him.”

“Great!” Dick said with a grin. He took Wally’s hand but dropped it as they got closer to their target. The guy must have taken a break from his last discussion and was over to the side with a fresh drink in hand. Dick detoured them briefly to get drinks also; it was important for everyone to feel like they were on the same social page. They settled near the other as if taking a break from the crowd themselves.

“Enjoying the evening?” Dick asked, drawing the strangers blue eyes to them.

Oh, fuck, more adorable freckles.

“You know, I actually am,” he said, seeming surprised by that. As an after thought he held out his hand. “Oh, sorry, I’m Danny.”

Not a socialite if he was leaving off the last name. That was a positive.

“Dick,” he said, shaking the offered hand before backing off. “And this is Wally.”

“Nice to meet you,” Danny said, as he shook Wally’s hand. “You two having a good night?”

“Mostly. We’re finally where we can relax and talk to who we want to, which is nice. Wally here always has to track down the other scientists at these things,” Dick answered for them, pleased when Danny perked up at that.

“Are you scientist?” Danny asked

“Chemist, mostly material sciences but some organic too,” Wally said with a slightly bashful little smile. “You?”

“Bimolecular and biomedical engineering,” Danny said.

At least Dick would have an easy excuse to duck out when the conversation got too technical for him.

“Did they do the same thing with you and keep trying to make you pick one?”

Danny laughed and gave a little shrug. Dick could tell Wally almost swooned at the sound— not that Dick could blame Wally, Danny had a really nice laugh and the crooked smile was downright precious.

“Totally. I though that two of them were going to get in a fist fight over me at one point! Which I suppose at least would have been hilarious. I’ve won so far, but it’s going to be hard to pick a doctorate when I get there.”

“Oh man, good luck. I got my masters last year and stopped for now. Want to get some work experience, you know?” Wally asked. “But it sounds like you’ll kick ass whatever you choose. Where are you going to school right now? Gotham doesn’t really do much of that, right?”

“U Penn,” Danny said. “I’m close enough location wise that my godfather called in a favor for me to be his plus one for this event, but it really hasn’t been that bad so far.

“Who’s your godfather?” Dick asked curiously.

Danny smiled that crooked smile again. “Vlad Masters.”

Dick couldn’t help the way his nose wrinkled at that.

Danny just laughed.

--

AN: Just a little bit of Dick's POV! And oh no, Dick thinks Danny is cute too! Whatever will we do...

Wanted to write more of this, but *waves hand at everything*. But this brings us to the end of the 'new schedule'! It was fun to do but I certainly won't be doing it every week. It's back to just trauma Tuesday for now! Stay delightful, darlings.

[gothhabiba]

I understand what people mean by prison abolition, but what does it mean in practice to abolish the family? I've never quite got it - who is raising children? How does it work? I'm asking in good faith, I've just always been a bit embarrassed to ask anyone

Like positions that are “anti-work” or against “gender,” the thing being objected to is more detailed and specific than the range of meanings that can reasonably or semi-reasonably be assigned to the word in question (“work,” “gender,” “family”)—which is why these propositions and programmes can have a bit of a PR problem. And, as with all terms that position themselves against something (e.g. "anti-psychiatry"), the term "family abolition" can be taken up by people with a range of different positions who disagree amongst themselves on some issues. In general, though, no one objects to "people living together or being emotionally close to each other" or "children not being left to roam about at random and get eaten by wolves" or anything.

Rather, anti-capitalist objections to "the family" tend to hinge on objections to:

parental rights, or "the special legal powers of parents to control major aspects of their children’s lives," which function as "quasi-property interests" more than anything that is in the best interest of children (link explicitly relates to U.S. law). Parents legally control where their children live, whether and where they go to school, what information they have access to, what level of freedom of mobility they have, what medical care they receive and don't receive, and what they may do with their own bodies, and are legally allowed to physically assault their children.

relatedly, the lack of legal autonomy that children possess (this is also often discussed under the banner of "children's rights" or objections to "adultism").

the positioning of "the family" as the only economic or social "safety net" in an economy and a society which provide no other one (creating an artificial "structural scarcity" of care). In a society which is otherwise dominated by "economic competition between atomized individuals," the family must be relied on—and yet, for some people (whose families cannot or will not provide living space or financial support in an emergency; whose families are abusive and physically or psychically dangerous to be around or rely on; who will not receive help or emotional support from a spouse or family unit without making serious concessions on the level of their personhood being basically respected; Black working-class people in whose communities the nuclear family unit has been deliberately prevented from forming by government intervention), the family cannot be relied on.

the way that the positioning of "the family" as the only safety net therefore constitutes economic coercion that works to keep people (especially women and LGBT, disabled and/or transracially adopted people) in abusive or exploitative situations, and that works to create incentives for working-class women (whose employment is generally less secure) to make themselves erotically desirable to men & disincentives for doing anything else.

the idea that housework, gestational labour & childbirth, and childcare are tasks "naturally" falling to the "mother" ("mother" as a "natural category"), such that the social, political, and economic nature of these tasks, and the economic and political discourses that mobilise the creation of our concept of "motherhood," are obscured.

Thus the objection is to "the family" as a unit of social reproduction under capitalism—as a legal, political entity that structures inheritance, taxes, health insurance, "race" and ethnicity, &c., and therefore works as a sort of interface between the capitalist state and the individual.

So the programme of "family abolition" involves, firstly, the control of the means of production on the part of the proletariat (this is a communist programme—the point isn't to remove the safety net of the family while keeping capitalism in place, but rather the idea is that without capitalism this ultimately abusive safety net ought not to be needed); and then the abolition of marriage as a legal institution; the abolition of parental rights; the putting in place of measures for the elderly and disabled to be cared for regardless of whether they have family alive who are both able and willing to care for them; the forming of social networks at will; and, depending on who you ask, the communal raising of children (which involves ceasing to privilege "parent" as a legal title automatically conferred upon biologically creating a child).

Obviously, toddlers who do not yet understand things about the world including "causation" and "mortality" will need on occasion to be restrained from running blithely into the jaws of wolves &c. The argument is just that coercion of this sort should be legitimately in the best interests of the child; not performed by two people who need answer for their actions, up to and including battery of their children, in no way other than saying that they "plausibly believe this to be necessary to control, train or educate their child"; and walked back in measure as the child gains the ability to assert their own desires.

Probably no one has a perfect solution 100% worked out—life is messy, and we don't know what the future will look like—but having a perfect solution 100% worked out should not be a prerequisite for noticing that the current situation is abusive and untenable.