#he cannot be domesticated i'm sorry he's a pain

[dimensionalspades]

Valentine application: [For Daud]

Name: Yoshitaka Hinoka Age: 35 Do you like to cuddle?: Yes Can we make-out?: Please A night in or dinner out?: A night in Ice cream or chocolate covered strawberries?: Chocolate covered strawberries! What makes you a good Valentine?: A proud healer and florist all in one. I'd ask you to point out the last redhead you've seen in Dunwall. Would you cook for me?: Absolutely! Would you let me cook for you?: Do you know how to cook?

. "Thought you were asking to join the whalers."

. "Don't know where we'd get chocolate-covered strawberries. As for redheads, I know one other, but she's less of a healer and more of a cutthroat."

. "No, I don't know how to cook."

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part twenty-three

summary: you were back in the capitol, and you would be damned if you didn't try your hardest to make it worthwhile.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 5.1k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: yayyyy s3 is here!! this has SO much potential and there is so much i want to do with this from here but i believe this will be the last season!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

You had the train car all to yourselves. Few peacekeepers were allowed to leave in the wake of the murders, and for that you were thankful. You were able to let Tybalt out to explore the car, but he mostly stayed on your lap.

You felt guilty about taking him, you didn't even want to ask until your mother insisted, and Coryo wouldn't deny you bringing him. You thought about maybe taking him to a vet when you arrived. There were hardly any in Twelve, none of which made time for domestic animals that weren't livestock of some kind. You had to assume that in the Capitol that was a completely different story, so maybe this would be good for him.

It was dark by now, and Coryo was fast asleep on the bench next to you, head pressed to the window. You suspect he hadn't slept at all the night before.

"Sejanus." You whisper. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah." He replies quietly, sitting across from you at the small table.

"Are you okay?" Your question is met with a few beats of silence.

"I was meant to go with them." He whispers. "I didn't want to go back there."

"The Capitol?" You ask. "Why not?"

"It's not my home." He answers simply. You can hardly see his face in the dark, but you can tell he's sad. Grieving the life he could have had.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Sejanus?" You whisper, leaning forward to try and see him.

"Hm?"

"Was Lennox going too?"

"No." You can see the shadow of him shaking his head in the dark. "He was only going to bring some supplies for us out to the cabin at the lake and leave them for us to pick up on our way."

You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. He couldn't have left. You knew you couldn't bear it- and your parents would not cope well losing another child. You thought he wouldn't do that, but you weren't confident enough to say for certain. You'd much rather have a rebel for a brother than never see him again. Though, to you, helping friends was hardly an act of rebellion.

"What... what are you going to take?" You ask, hoping to change the topic. It was nice to have him talking again. "At the university, I mean."

"Medicine. I'd like to be a doctor, I think. I want to help people, maybe out in the Districts."

"Of course." You grin. "That's so like you. Your patients will be very lucky people."

"It'll never be enough." He shakes his head and you frown. "I can't help everyone. And everyone outside the Capitol needs it so bad. Did you know my father is the head of munitions in District Two? I'll never be able to make up for the pain my name has caused. Never."

"Well..." You look down at the cat curled up next to you. "You saved Tybs. I can't even tell you how much that means to me. Everything you do will mean so much to people. Even if it's just one person, I think that is more than enough. To try is more than enough."

You see the ghost of a smile twitch on his lips. "Thanks, Y/N. You're gonna do good things, too."

"How unhappy is he who cannot forgive himself."

Sejanus sighs. "Extremely."

A few hours later, it was your turn to sleep. At least, to try. It was hard to get comfortable, curled up on one of the benches with a bag of your clothes as a pillow and Tybalt insisting on sleeping on top of you.

You were just drifting off, you could hardly keep your eyes open, when quickly a nightmare jolts you awake. Bang! The sound of a gunshot- in your dream state you know it's the bullet that found a home in Cole Harlem. The next 'bang' was the sound of your head hitting the table next to you when you shoot back up, unintentionally scaring your cat off of your side.

You hiss, placing a hand on the side of your head and rubbing it through the pain. "Ow..."

"Y/N? Are you okay?" You hear Coryo ask quietly, followed by footsteps across the centre aisle of the train car.

"Mhm." You hum, trying to squint to see him in the poor lighting. It must be almost morning- there's a blue wash beginning to paint over everything onboard, including his form as he's crouched down next to you.

"Let me see..." He says softly, hands already lifted ready to touch you. To see if he can help.

You move a little closer, dropping your hand so he can gently cradle your face in his larger ones, using a finger to turn your head to the side as he examines the bump on your temple.

It's impossible for him to see in this lighting, but if there was blood he would be able to tell. "Just a bump." He whispers. "You'll be alright."

You just nod slightly under his grip, eyes searching for his in the dark. Neither of you want to move. Being this close to you, having you come home with him is a gift he wouldn't dare miss by blinking too slowly or letting his hold on you drift.

"Nightmare?" He asks quietly and you just nod again. Without a word, you're moving back on the bench to the window and he is sliding into the spot next to you. "Do you think you'll be able to get back to sleep?"

"No." You answer softly, giving a slight shake of your head.

"Can I ask what it was about?" He asks. "Tigris always told me talking about it helps."

You chew your lip, looking away from him and down at the empty table. "Cole."

Coryo tenses next to you, his jaw clicking from the small movement. "I... I am sorry." He doesn't know what to say besides that- and he feels like telling you that dirtbag deserved it would do little to help the situation.

"Can I tell you a secret?" You whisper, voice mostly steady.

He nods, watching you expectantly. You take a deep breath. "I'm glad he's dead."

You must be a changed woman. It was hardly like you to say something like that- let alone feel it, but keeping it in would just keep you up at night. Coryo wouldn't hate you for it, you're sure.

He looks at you, head tilted while he confirms with himself that you did, in fact, just say the words he heard. You were the most gentle soul in Panem, he was sure, so what on earth could he have done to you to make you say something like that? Now he was more sure than ever that he did deserve it. "What did he do to you?" His gaze softens as it finds yours, and you slightly shake your head.

"It's... kind of a long story." You whisper.

"I have all the time in the world for you."

He sees the ghost of a smile tug at your lips, and you look down at your lap to process your thoughts. "He just... doesn't, didn't know how to take no for an answer." You try to explain it briefly, but the way Coryo's eyes widen makes you backtrack. "I mean, no. I'm sorry. He didn't hurt me. Well, he did, but not in the way that that sounded like." You take a deep breath. "He asked me if I would like to go on a date with him, and I said no, thank you, because I knew him and I knew he had a temper and I didn't think we would work. So, he would wait outside my school and follow me home everyday. He kept asking, I kept saying no, but he didn't listen. It only made him more mad."

It was a rare occasion that you felt so numb talking about someone who had died. "Then, about three months before the games, I guess he couldn't take the rejection anymore and he dragged me away and... I don't know how to describe it... beat me up. I suppose." You laugh dryly, only noticeable to Coryo because he was watching. "Lennox found us, really got into it with him and then had to literally carry me home with his own black eye and bleeding nose."

He nods slightly in understanding, holding himself together from throwing a fist through the window. He was right. That piece of human garbage did deserve it. Now he had every right to be glad he was dead, and so do you. It makes sense to him now, of course you'd only be pleased with a murder if it was someone who had hurt your brother- the fact that he had hurt you the way he did had nothing to do with it.

"You have every right to be happy." He tells you. "Shit, to be honest now I'm wishing I shot him myself."

"Coryo..." You sigh, frowning at him.

"Too far?" He laughs, and you can't help but join him.

"Yes!"

"'Kay, sorry, love. I'll keep it to myself." He raises his hands defensively, cocking his head to the side.

You're quiet for a moment. It's torturous for you both. "He's the reason I went in after you." Your voice is lowered now, noticeably. "He said that I had to go out on that date with him after you left, otherwise I shouldn't be shocked if my Pa ends up executed for treason."

Coryo swallows, staring at you in absolute shock. It just kept getting worse.

"I was terrified, I didn't know what to do, I couldn't be alone anymore. You would have left the next morning and I would have been with him. And I knew he wouldn't have let me talk to you ever again, and I was so scared you would hate me and you'd never know that I didn't have a choice."

"I could never hate you." He says, taking the calculated risk of reaching out to touch your hair, rolling the ends of the soft strands between his fingers. "It'd break my heart, but I wouldn't hate you."

"That's almost worse." You laugh quietly, eyes locked on his hand at your side.

"I'm glad you're coming with us. I don't know how I could live without you." He glances down at your lips, only a shadow in the dark as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Morning without you is a dwindled dawn." You agree, and that's all he can handle before he has to kiss you again.

He's so gentle when he holds your jaw in his hand and presses his lips to yours that you aren't sure if there really was a static shock that accompanied it or if that was just your body reacting to his skin on your own.

"I love you, Y/N/N." You almost swallow his words, smiling against his lips. "You know that, right?"

"I love you too, Coryo."

You tried to get as much sleep as possible over the two day ride, waking when the sun rises and you could feel the heat on your skin. You could see the tall buildings that made up the city in the distance.

People say that a ride back always feels faster, because you're familiar with the path; that your mind chooses to forget the uneventful sections. You believe it. The ride home had felt like it took an eternity, but this time it felt too fast. You were nervous; scared, more than excited. Even though this is supposed to be a good thing.

If Coryo had just asked if you would like to go with him, what would you have said? No matter how many hours you put into the question, you really don't know. Not until Cole threatened your family, anyways. You would have had to turn him down, then. Regardless, you were never given the privilege of a choice.

This isn't about him. You have to remind yourself. This is about saving your family, in more ways than one.

Maybe it really was a good thing that Cole was shot. You curse yourself for even thinking such a thing, but with him alive the only possible outcome was him having your father killed. You could only be the perfect girlfriend for so long- you knew him, one mistake from you and he would make true on his word. Then you would have to marry him in order to have another income. Your winnings from the games would only take you so far on your own.

You're not sure if it's the swaying of the train that's really making you sick.

You would get your answer an hour later when your train crossed the bridge over the river, and the Capitol was in full, glorious view.

You could physically feel the blood draining from your face as you stare out the window, unable to look away. You looked like a deer in headlights.

"Y/N/N?" Coryo hums, placing a hand on your leg. "You okay?"

You nod slightly, but you're hardly processing what's happening around you.

He frowns, leaning forward to be able to get a closer look at your face. You look like you're about to vomit or faint or both. "Look." He smiles, patting your leg and pointing out the window. "That tall building there, you see it?" You nod slowly, watching where he's pointing. "Up on the top floor there's a restaurant with big floor to ceiling windows that overlook the river and the mountains. It's beautiful." He's never been there, but he's heard it's incredible.

"And over there, that smaller, longer building is a mall." He tells you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and sliding closer as you continue to follow his hand. "On the outside there's this ice cream shop that makes the most amazing flavours. Literally anything you can imagine." He chuckles slightly. "I'll take you there."

You smile slightly, and the colour begins to return to your face with a slight rosiness in your cheeks.

"After the tunnel we'll pass the university." He grins. "It's a really nice campus, you'll love it there. They have a massive library."

You close your eyes as the train plunges into the darkness of the tunnel, nodding slightly.

"What would you like to do? We can go anywhere."

"I... today I'd just like to go home." You answer quietly.

"Of course, love. But another day, sometime in the future."

You think for a moment. "Is there a vet here?" You ask and he nods.

"I'd like to take Tybs to get looked at. He's not sick, or anything... but he's never been to the vet before so I'd just like to make sure he's in good health." You explain.

"Yeah, we can definitely do that." Coryo agrees. "And there's this bookstore that's three stories tall, you'll love it." He adds.

"Can I meet your cousin?"

"Yes, love. Of course. She'll live with us, you'll be the best of friends." Coryo explains, squeezing your shoulder. He hadn't yet considered you meeting his family, he didn't even have the chance to tell them you were coming. It would be fine, he knew that. They had the room and the funds to support another person now, that wasn't even a question. Tigris had been dying to meet you, wanting to know every detail about you before the games and especially in his phone calls home while he was in Twelve.

He realized suddenly that maybe he should be worried about his Grandma'am. He knew she had a prejudice against people in the Districts, she had voiced as much during his mentorship. She had even influenced a similar attitude in him his whole life- but you were different. You weren't like them, and she would have to learn that, but that didn't make him any less nervous about what she might say to you until then.

"I'm excited." You tell him, forcing yourself to only think about the good things to come.

Your hands are shaking as you pull into the station. You can already see it's a different one than you were pulled from last time, the first place you met Coryo. You grab your bags, holding the one containing Tybalt close to your chest as the door opens and you walk out. He wasn't too fond of getting back inside after having the freedom of roaming the train car, but you were grateful he was not a very temperamental cat.

Mostly, the station was deserted. There were a few peacekeepers here and there, but you still felt as though all eyes were on you.

You didn't notice when your friends were greeted by their waiting family members, still looking around and processing your surroundings.

"Y/N/N?" Coryo's voice brings you back to reality, and you realize you hadn't taken a single step away from the train yet. "Come here."

You smile as you walk over, eyeing who you assume to be his cousin.

"Hello, there." You grin, giving a slight wave but still holding tightly onto your cat.

"Y/N." Tigris smiles, her blonde hair draped over her shoulders in meticulously styled curls. "It's so amazing to meet you! I'm Tigris, Coryo's cousin."

"Yes, you as well." You nod, trying to mask your nervousness with a smile. "How are you?"

"I'm amazing, I am just so pleased you're here. What a great surprise!" She claps, and you take in her outfit. You've never seen such fine materials, outside maybe the silk scarf Coryo gave you that is now tucked in the old suitcase sitting next to his feet. You wonder if she made the clothes she was wearing, remembering he said she was a designer.

"Coryo has told me so much about you. I've been excited to meet you."

"I really wanted to come see you before the games but I couldn't get away from work, I'm so sorry this is the first time we're meeting." She says and you swallow, nodding slightly in response. "Will you be staying with us?"

"If... if that's okay." You say, looking to Coryo who nods.

"Of course that's okay." He answers on her behalf, but she nods in agreement.

"Yes, you're always welcome. We're so happy to have you."

"Thank you." You breathe a silent sigh of relief.

"We should get going, yeah?" Tigris says and you nod, adjusting your hold on the bag in your arms.

They start to walk, already talking about all the excitement of the trip when you get a tap on your shoulder. You jump slightly, turning and pulling your bag closer to your chest.

"Sorry, dear. I didn't mean to startle you." The woman smiling sadly at you must be Sejanus's Ma. He's standing with her, so it was the only assumption you could make.

"It's okay." You reply quietly, smiling at her politely.

"Y/N, this is my Ma." Sejanus introduces you, confirming your suspicions.

"Nice to meet you." You smile, and she brings her hands up to place on your shoulders, gently rubbing them.

"It's so good to meet you, dear." You feel so greatly comforted by her already. "Sejanus told me you would be staying for a while."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You call me Ma." She quickly corrects you, and you match her smile. You could cry- the burning behind your eyes is telling you that you just might. "We know damn well how hard this transition is, so if you need anything at all at any time, you call us. Okay? We'll help you however we can. With anything."

You smile at them, tears filling your eyes. "Thank you." You sniff, and she pulls you into a hug.

Graciously, and awkwardly with Tybalt still between you, you accept. You never want her to let go.

"Of course, dear. You'll always have a home away from home with us if you need it."

"I can no other answer make, but thanks, and thanks." You say, tears flowing now. You never seem to stop crying- but for the first time in a long time, it was from real happiness.

"Twelfth Night." Ma says as she pulls away, still holding your arms.

You laugh slightly, biting into your bottom lip and nodding. "Yes! You've read it?"

"I brushed up after Coriolanus came around asking for Romeo and Juliet." Ma shrugs, letting you go and letting Sejanus give you a hug as well.

"Coryo has our number. Call anytime, I mean it." He tells you and you nod against his shoulder. "But I'll see you soon, okay? We'll hangout all the time."

"All the time." You agree as he lets you go. "I don't want to keep them waiting, so..."

"Yes, of course. It was so good to meet you." Ma smiles.

"You as well, Ma. I'll see you soon I am certain." You wave goodbye and catch up to Coryo and Tigris, who stopped just a little ways away to wait for you. "Sorry..."

Tigris wipes the worried expression off her face. Coryo probably just had to explain why you were there. "Don't worry about it! Ready to go?"

"Yes." You grin, quickly wiping your eyes. "Lead the way."

There are so many things that you hadn't considered on the train ride. Such as, where was the nearest post office? Or how is Tybs going to handle being indoors constantly? You'll have to get him a litter box- you've never had one before since he was mostly an outdoor cat, and would he need toys now that there probably wouldn't be mice or birds for him to hunt?

Also, there was the immediately obvious fact that the stares you were getting were endless. People even stopped you asking for pictures on the way back- Coryo had to tell them no. Several times. It wasn't any longer than a twenty minute walk.

Everyone seemed so excited to see you, to talk to you. Or, talk at you, rather. It was uncomfortable, but it was so different than what you were used to at home. Especially after the games, people tended to literally cross the street to avoid talking to you. Here, it was the opposite. You were some kind of celebrity. You knew Capitol people liked the games, but you didn't know it was like this. You tried to be polite, but being celebrated for something so awful is hard to swallow. You almost preferred the shame that came with being avoided.

"Is it normally like that?" You ask quietly as you walk into the lobby of a tall building, the floors and pillars lined with white marble. You had never seen anything like it.

"I'm not sure." Coryo answers honestly. "You are the first Victor to ever come back, but like I said, people loved you. Thousands of people watched just for you. That's why I won the Plinth Prize- you boosted the viewership beyond what's ever been seen before."

"Oh." You answer simply, following them into a set of silver sliding doors in the wall.

"When we get up I'll make you something to eat, you guys must be starving." Tigris says as the mechanical doors slide shut again, and you tilt your head.

"Uhm... I-" Your question is halted by a steady shake of the small room you're in, and it feels like you're moving.

Coryo looks over at you and your wide eyes, furrowing his brow. "What's wrong?"

"Are we moving?" You ask, looking around. You're surrounded by mirrors, only seeing endless reflections of the three of you.

Tigris covers her mouth to hide her smile, and Coryo laughs. "Yes, love." The two of them look at each other briefly. "This is an elevator, in a second the doors will open and we'll be at our apartment."

"Oh, wow." You laugh slightly, in a small amount of shock.

"I didn't even think that you might not know what it is, I'm sorry." Coryo chuckles, gently rubbing circles onto your back as the doors slide open again and just like he told you, you were somewhere new.

"That's okay, I just have a lot to learn apparently." You giggle, shaking your head as you step out of the so-called "elevator". You look back inside it as the doors slide shut. "So, how does it work?"

"Honestly, I am not entirely sure of the mechanics of it but there's a motor up top, and when you press that button it lifts to you and then lowers to where you want to go." He explains as Tigris pulls out her key to unlock the door. "It didn't work for over ten years, so it's kind of new to me too."

He's trying to make you feel less embarrassed, and that makes you smile at him. "I see. That's neat."

"It is, isn't it?" Coryo grins. He was in absolute awe of you everyday, but now that he's realized that there are so many things you don't know, even as the smartest person he's ever met, and that he wants to show you absolutely everything. Had you even tried ice cream before? What else would be new to you? There were certainly no cars besides peacekeeper trucks in Twelve, not that he had seen anyways, so it must have been jarring for you to see civilian vehicles on the walk back. He should have asked.

As adorable that it was that there were things you had never seen before, it almost worried him in a way he hadn't considered before. You would need him around a lot- not that he minded one bit. He had liked that about the games, he knew where you were while you were caged up at the zoo and he could leave and come back with the comfort of knowing you would be there waiting for him.

His thoughts are interrupted when Tigris gets the door open, shouting for their grandma'am. He takes a deep breath, smiling as he holds the door for you. It is good to be home.

"We have company!" Tigris calls out as you walk in, and you look around focussed on keeping your mouth shut as not to physically gawk at their home. Their apartment was beautiful, with a somewhat open concept and halls that spun off in all directions from the main foyer.

"Oh, lovely! We haven't had company in ages. You should get the tea on, dear." You hear his grandmothers voice before you see her, sparing a glance at Coryo. If he's nervous, he doesn't look it.

She looks like the sweetest old lady, her white hair matching the shade of her silk robe and slippers. "Oh, Coryo!" She smiles, heading straight to him and giving him a hug. "How we have missed you..."

"I missed you too, grandma'am." He sighs, gentle as he hugs her back. When he lets her go, it seems like she has noticed you for the first time.

The excited smile on her face fades instantaneously as she looks you up and down. "Who's this?"

"This is Y/N. You remember I told you about her, right?"

"I do." She nods, a sour look on her face as she stares at you.

"Hello, you must be Coriolanus's grandmother, it is so lovely to finally meet you." You smile, readjusting your bag so you can hold it in one arm in order to extend your hand to her to shake. She doesn't take it. "You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Snow." You continue when she doesn't answer you, holding your smile and trying not to seem terrified. It was like the lead-up to the games all over again.

"What's in her bag?" She asks Coryo when she sees it move, ignoring you altogether as you awkwardly drop your hand.

"That's Tybalt, her cat. He's the softest thing, you'll love him." He smiles, an apologetic look in his eyes as he glances over at you. This is exactly what he was afraid of.

"A cat?" His grandmother gasps, taking a step back with a hand to her chest. For a moment, you were scared she was about to have a heart attack.

"Grandma'am, you love cats!" Tigris says, stepping back in from the kitchen with a kettle in hand. "Y/N, come join us in the sitting room. I'm just getting some snacks together."

"Not feral ones!" She replies, appalled.

"Oh, he's not feral, Ma'am." You assure her. "Unless you're a mouse or a bird, he's the gentlest animal alive."

"Coriolanus Snow how dare you bring these... these strays into our home!" Now she's talking like you aren't even there, and you can't help but laugh nervously.

You look away, anywhere but at either of them. Maybe you would be calling Sejanus and his Ma for somewhere to stay by the end of the afternoon.

"They aren't strays." He defends you quickly, frowning. Okay, this was what he was afraid of.

"Here, come sit, Y/N." Tigris says quietly, placing the kettle back down and guiding you out of the room with hands on your shoulders. "I am so, so sorry." She whispers as you walk away.

"It's quite alright." You insist. "She didn't know I was coming, it was all so short notice. I completely understand." She didn't even know you were staying yet.

The sound of Coryo talking down his grandmother faded into muffled sounds as Tigris closes the door to what looks to be a bedroom. "No, no it's not right." Tigris frowns, shaking her head. "I don't want to make excuses for her but the war and the dark days were so hard on her, a lot of the blame was placed on the people from the Districts. She lost both her children and she never really came back from that."

"No, I do understand." You smile sadly. "I'm so sorry you and your family went through that. It must have been so difficult."

"The war was awful for everyone." Tigris shakes her head. "Please, don't apologize to us. No one came out of that unharmed."

"Do you mind if I let Tybalt out?" You ask, eager to change the subject.

"Please." Tigris grins, clearly just as relieved that you weren't horribly offended by their grandmothers behaviour. "I'm excited to meet him."

You smile, crouching down and opening up the carrier for him to hop out. He does so promptly, taking advantage of the opportunity.

"He's so cute!" Tigris squeaks, crouching down to pet him. He was a little jarred at first by new surroundings, but he quickly accepted them when she began petting him. "It'll be so nice to have a fluffy friend here."

"Thank you for being okay with me bringing him." You smile, taking the time to look around the room yourself. Everything looked hardly touched, all sparkly and new with corner windows lighting up the space beautifully.

"Our home is your home." She smiles, standing up again and Tybalt is quick to run over to you, rubbing up against your legs. "That applies to both of you. Grandma'am will come around."

"Thank you." You smile. "The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience."

When she smiles, you can see outside of the blonde hair how her and Coryo are related. "You truly are something else."

"Oh, I hope that's a good thing..." You laugh.

"Yes, absolutely." She laughs. "I'll go get that tea going again and get the guest room all set up for you. The bathroom is right across the hall if you need it, and Coryo will come get you when grandma'am has relaxed a bit."

"Thank you." You say again, watching your cat hop up onto the desk against the back wall.

She gives you a quick hug. "Welcome home." She says softly, shutting the door behind her as she leaves.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs, @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore , @strawberryflavouredkisses

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Broken Heart Syndrome

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: After Matt stood you up at dinner, you are tossed down a rabbit hole of agonizing thoughts. As so often, you turn to the bottle to take the edge off, though this time, you make the decision to confront at least one of the objects of your anger. To your drunken mind, at least, even the worst decisions make sense.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST, Heavy on the angst (18+), graphic descriptions of domestic violence (involving a belt, too), allusions to sexual assault, mentions of homicidal ideations, self-hatred, alcohol abuse (and everything that comes with it), argument between friends, Reader says some mean things, suicidal ideations/depression

Word Count: 4.9k

A/n: I'm sorry you had to wait so long for another chapter, but it took me a very long time to finish editing. There are parts in this chapter that hit very close to home, and I can't just post it without saying a thing or two. If you or anyone you know struggles with domestic violence, there are organizations that can help (check domesticshelters.org, for example). The same goes for mental illnesses; don't be afraid to seek out help if you start noticing symptoms. Check with your doctor or healthcare provider. There is absolutely no shame in asking for help. You've made it this far, and I am so incredibly proud of you. It was important to me to share that with you. Read at your own risk, please!

Read Chapter 14: Broken Heart Syndrome here on AO3!

In medical school, they teach you that a broken heart can quite literally kill you. Acute emotional distress can overstimulate the heart, causing the left ventricle to collapse. Takotsubo cardiomyopathy looks like Japanese takotsubo, an octopus trap. Still, those without medical expertise know it as Broken Heart Syndrome—because three words are all you need to understand what emotional hurt can do to the body. 

A lot of the time though, the human psyche compels a person to find other ways to deal with the pain that eats away at them. Bad coping mechanisms can be just as deadly as a physical disorder. Self-harm doesn’t fix the actual problem, it only distracts your mind momentarily from what is truly hurting you. 

Like with any other disease, a broken heart will get worse if it’s not treated. Either, the organ literally stops pumping blood as it should, or it drives you to a point that would easily get you a free 72-hour stay in the psych ward. Emotions are unpredictable like that.

As a doctor, you know everything in the human body is connected. If the body is sick, it will affect the mind; if the mind is sick, the body will suffer, too. Mental illness can be just as deadly as any terminal condition. If pain and trauma are not properly dealt with, chances are high that ignoring it won’t make you any better. And alcohol or drugs are never the solution to a problem, they only cause one problem to branch into a million more—and then you’re fucked. 

You are aware that self-harm is the first thing a desperate person with a history of trauma will turn to, but it’s so much easier. In practice, life is fucking vile; it’s a miserable existence that is slowly killing all of us, and you would much rather burn the skin off your bones while you’re still alive than face the very demons you’re trying so hard to run from. You know that’s a sick mindset to have, and if it were anyone else confiding these thoughts in you, you would refer them to the Department of Psychiatry to get the help they need. But you… you cannot be helped. Not anymore. Because you don’t want to be helped. It’s all useless anyway. 

The door to your apartment slams shut with a deafening crack of the hinges. As soon as the world is locked behind a deadbolt, and the city has disappeared, your back hits the wall.

A minute ago, he texted you. You prayed for an explanation to a God you don’t even believe in. You prayed that it would all make sense and your brain is spinning in nauseating circles for no reason. You just have to sober up and everything will be okay, you thought. But then you unlocked your phone with shaky and stupidly needy fingers, relying on a hope that stemmed from this childish need to be loved after the one parent you’d had left failed so miserably, and his words drilled into your brain like a sharp knife. 

“You deserve better,” he texted. “I’m sorry.”

What a weak excuse. It’s supposed to be your choice, deciding what or what not you deserve. With one text, he took that from you.   

It was stupid, you think, to get your hopes up. You were just starting to believe that you could finally move on. The weight on your chest felt less heavy with him there. Matt was never supposed to appear in your life, but then he did, and for the first time in a very long time, you felt like your life mattered again. He put a smile on your face. You don’t remember what it is like to be happy because you never really felt happy before. Since you can remember, you have been running for the sake of survival. Anything you have done up until now was a mere act of self-perseverance. 

With Matt, it felt different. He understood you because he, too, seemed to be only existing, trapped in a cage of his trauma’s making. 

You were dating again, albeit reluctantly and fighting back like a cat on steroids—but you were dating again. If you wanted your effort to mean something, you had to get over what happened. It’s not that easy, of course, but you believed her when she talked you down from the ledge. 

You should have listened to your gut. Everyone in your life will eventually end up leaving or hurting you, or both. You’ve been rotting away for so long, there is nothing left of you to give. He touched your heart once, and now you’re falling apart. 

Because there’s not enough of you there to love. 

Because no one wants you. 

You slide down the wood of your door. If only the floor could open up and swallow you, the pain that traps the oxygen just before your lungs could end. And if you could only cut out your amygdala or sever the connections in your prefrontal cortex to stop being this miserable about a man you barely knew, you would. 

The tears running down your cheeks are silent. Dry. They taste like poison on your tongue, but your skin feels almost numb to the burn. You can’t scream or sob because there is no air for you to breathe. You’re drowning on dry land, and the rapid drumming of your heart echoing in your ears is the only sound that exists. It isn’t steady like a clock; it is a ticking time bomb in your chest threatening to explode—threatening to turn into an octopus trap and kill you. 

There was never anything left to endure for. You have been torturing yourself every passing day like a fucking masochist, watching yourself on the big screen like a puppet without the intention to stop. 

Icarus flew too close to the sun, but boy, you flew right into it. You would have made Matt the sun if he had stayed around for long enough, made yourself dependent on him all over again, and you would have drowned regardless. Maybe it was all for a reason; maybe Claire was right, after all, to push you to see the truth for yourself—how foolish you’d been—but why does that reason hurt so damn much? You barely knew him enough to care, and yet you did. It makes no sense. 

You deserve better. If he truly believed that, he would have said it to your face. 

The phone slips from your stiff hand before you can reply. Every muscle in your body strains, stretching over bone and lighting every cell and every nerve on fire. You can’t move. You’re sure you are going to die like this, a mess on your living room floor. 

He broke your heart; Matt Murdock took it right out of your chest and smashed it up because you dared to want more. He wrapped his hands around your neck and suffocated you. He gave you hope, and then he took it away, and that is something you’re sure you will never be able to forgive. What kind of man doesn’t have the decency to tell the truth before it’s too late? 

You tear at your dress, hoping to inflate your lungs somehow. The walls around you threaten to cave in. Everything seems larger than life, suddenly. Even with your hands stretched out before you, you can’t stop the avalanche. 

This isn’t about Matt. It has never been about him. Cracks in the broken foundation of an already shattered heart don’t hurt as much as the first crash, they only add to the agony. How messed up do you have to be, you think, for your brain to not even notice the difference between getting stood up and having the ground ripped out from under your feet? You were never good at math, but perhaps you are the sum of your actions, after all.  

A car honks outside. The bright headlights flash through the gaps in the blinds on the windows. You remember how they hit him one night, reflecting off the pure white of his dress shirt. His chest was heaving then. 

“What the fuck were you thinking, huh?” he had bellowed, drowning out your repeated sorry’s like a tsunami wave. “You embarrassed me in front of… of everyone. My boss, the whole hospital—and you think ‘sorry’ is going to fix it?”

You can’t quite recall whether the lights were white that night, or if they were red and blue, and the only thing louder than his screams were the sirens of cop cars rushing by. 

“You’re never gonna learn,” he’d said, crouching down before you, and he looked like what you would imagine the devil to look like if he were human. “You’re always going to screw up because you, my love, are absolutely and utterly fucking incompetent.”

On second thought, maybe there were sirens outside. They sounded different from your quiet sobs. He forced you to keep your eyes open, to watch as he undid his belt, and against every bone in your body, instead of running, you stayed rooted in place. You stayed there until he grabbed you and threw you into the coffee table. 

The vase stayed intact, thankfully, as it tumbled and fell, but you could see your reflection clearly in the porcelain. You watched him come up behind you, and all you remember is how hollow you were; you were so fucking hollow your heart could have screamed and it only would have echoed before it would have died. You were bound—bound to him. 

“Get up.”

You could have grabbed the vase and smashed him over the head with it. 

“I said,” he repeated, “Get up.”

Your hand slipped from the porcelain, and you got up. It was like he knew you wouldn’t have the guts to kill him. Lord knows you wanted to; some days, you were so close to stealing a knife from the kitchen and slashing his throat while he was asleep. You’d watch him choke on his blood with a smile on your face, you thought, but as soon as the handle was in your hand, you realized that you couldn’t. Not even when you thought about the belt, the feeling of him on top of you as he took whatever the fuck he wanted from you over and over again until he drew blood. 

It should have been enough to make you snap, all the abuse, but you physically couldn’t touch him. At first, you thought you loved him too much to hurt him. Your feelings were complicated and you were hardly aware of how dire your situation truly was, but eventually, you came to the realization that the inability to jab a knife into his jugular had a different reason entirely. 

You had no money, no power, no life outside of him. He seized all of your income. You didn’t own a valid passport, a bank account, or a car. If you had killed him, you would have been a fugitive and a thief. If you had left him, you would have found yourself jobless and disgraced with nowhere to go. No friends, no family, no love. And so every time you wished him dead, the knife wandered back into the drawer. He owned you. 

Toward the end of your relationship, you used to imagine the sirens were coming for you. If you had filed at least one report, maybe someone would have heard. Maybe they would have paid more attention to the cries for help from the neighboring apartment. Maybe then it would have never come this far.

The past can change your future, but you can’t go back in time and change the past. If we could, life would be so much easier. 

You manage to crawl from the door to the couch where there’s a half-empty bottle of tequila hiding in a paper bag. You need to forget to remember how to breathe. 

The burn of liquor blazes through your taste buds, taking them apart and putting them back together all the same. You choke on it when you try to swallow. Nothing has ever tasted quite this bad, but you can’t stop. The dull ache fills your chest, even if it’s just for a second, and you need more. You can’t stop because if you stop drinking and open your eyes, you will see his face again. It’s worse than dying; at least in death, there is peace.

You drink until the already half-empty bottle is empty, wiping the tequila from the corners of your mouth. You sniffle, you gasp for air, and you sob into the dead quiet of your apartment. Matt should not have the power to hurt you this badly. 

The drunker you get, the more his face starts to blur. All faces start to blur. 

“Stupid fucking idiot!” you curse under your breath as you storm into the kitchen, tearing through the liquor cabinet that used to be full but now resembles more of a black hole with stray bottles of vodka all around. 

Drinking pure vodka is like pouring disinfectant directly onto an open, gushing wound. The only difference is that alcohol only works to kill off unwanted bacteria on the outside; it doesn’t exorcize the demons in your head. 

Time keeps running, and the liquor keeps flowing, and you don’t remember which way is up anymore, you only know that it won’t stop fucking hurting. Fuck Claire, fuck Matt, and especially, fuck him. Fuck everyone and God and the whole fucking universe. You just can’t do it anymore.

The cold air hits your face when you stumble out of your apartment complex. Your brain is jumbled, and the world is turning a little too fast. All you know is that the walls were caving in on you, and your veins were swelling with the heat of fury—like you were drowning in your blood. Vodka makes you dumber, yes, but it also singles out one singular emotion for you to obsess over, and you won’t be able to rest until you get it all off your chest. 

A cab pulls up to the curb. You only have a handful of cash, but it should be enough to get you where you want to be. No, where you have to be. 

You catch your reflection in the rearview mirror, makeup smudged and reeking of alcohol and despair. What the driver must think of you—a lonely woman in the back of his cab with her hand clenched tightly around the bottle of maze in her bag, thinking she’s so subtle about how terrified she truly is underneath the mask of anger that drives her. You can never be too careful, never too mistrusting when there are men involved.

The car comes to a halt only ten minutes later. “Are you sure you should still be drinking?” the driver asks, nodding toward the liquor store across from you. 

You scramble with the cash in your hands. “I’m not here to drink,” you manage to say. “I’m visiting a friend.” And you point upward to the dark windows above.  

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” You hand him the money. “Keep the, uh, change.”

He is about to protest, wanting to tell you that you overpaid and you might need to pay for a ride back, but you slam the door on him before he can get a word out. You don’t need a stranger to tell you what to do. 

The curb feels unsteady under your feet, almost like the ground might open up and swallow you whole. When you eventually manage to find the door, you almost break the door as you force your way inside. The lock has been broken for quite some time, so a key isn’t required for entry, but there is something about the wood tonight that proves trickier to open. 

Every step up the stairs knocks the air out of your tired lungs. It’s late, and rationally, you know you shouldn’t be here in your current state, but you’re angry and you’re drunk, and you want answers. At least for one of the many shitty things wrong with your life lately, you need to find a reason or you will continue sucking on the bottle of vodka until the lethal limit doesn’t exist anymore. 

On the fourth floor then, you slump against the doorframe, utterly exhausted. Your head is spinning. Your stomach is churning. How many drinks you’ve had before you got here, you can’t even remember, but you are starting to feel the deadly concoction wanting to purchase a ticket for a ride through your esophagus. 

You hammer your fist against the wood. Once, twice, even a third time. No answer. You try again, less gentle this time. Once, twice, a third, a fourth, and a fifth time, and then you lose count. You knock and knock and knock until your knuckles feel like splitting open, but you don’t stop—you use your palm, waiting for the creaking of the floorboards to tell you that someone, anyone, is home. If you could scream, you would have already, but your throat is burnt dry. You abuse the poor door until finally, you hit the air. 

“What–” Claire stops halfway, her eyes falling upon your slouched frame. A meow sounds from inside the apartment. “Liv?” she asks. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s 2 am!”

You didn’t realize how late it has gotten, or how long you must have been crying and drinking and crying some more. 

“What happened to you?” 

She was asleep. You’ve been trying to call her for days, but here she is, perfectly healthy, wrapped in a robe that isn’t hers, and she has been asleep while you were losing your mind. You were hoping something happened to her, that she didn’t ghost you for no discernible reason, but from the looks of it, she did just that. Yes, she looks miserable with dark circles under her eyes and the room behind her a downright mess, but your mind refuses to be anything but irrational right now. The burning hot anger is back, coursing through your veins at a speed almost too much to handle. 

“What happened to me?” you snap. “I’ve been trying to reach you for two fucking days, and you’re asking me what happened?” 

“Shh!” Claire pulls you inside. The door slams shut behind her, much louder than your voice could ever be. “Jesus,” she says. “Quiet down.” 

A pause. Under her gaze, you almost feel small. Scrutinized, even. “You smell like a fucking distillery,” she adds after a moment of just staring at you—staring as if she had any right to.

“That all you have to say?” Your mouth falls open in a snarl. “Well, fuck you, Claire! Fuck you!”

She flinches, your harsh tone leaving a sharp sting behind. “Okay, maybe we can just sit down and have a conversation like normal people.”

“Unbelievable,” you say. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Normal people. You don’t know what that word even means anymore. You don’t know what anything she says means. You look at her and all you see is alarms blaring in your head, warning you, screaming for you to run, but you are tethered to the ground in the very position you put yourself in.

She utters your name and your entire body recoils.

“Don’t call me that!” It is toe-curling how foreign the word sounds. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, too, like acid raining from the sky. It burns; everything fucking burns. “You know, All I needed was my friend. I needed my friend and you weren’t there,” your voice cracks. “You told me I had to get back out there, and I did. ‘Cause you said it was the right thing to do. I believed you, Claire. I put on this stupid dress and these stupid heels and…” You sob, the memory rubbing salt in the open wound, “Matt fucking stood me up!”

Claire stops dead in her tracks. “What?” she asks.

You laugh through the tears, a sound of complete and utter desperation as you find yourself at a never-ending crossroads. You never learn, do you? 

“He stood me up, okay?” you say. “I went to dinner, he didn’t show up, and then he texted me that we’re not gonna work out, so…” You throw your arms up. “I hope you’re happy. Whatever you were trying to achieve, it obviously worked. I trusted you, and I trusted him, and it kicked me in the ass. Fucking congratulations!” 

It isn’t fair to blame her for his actions, by any means, but you’re just so angry. Your blood is boiling, turning into liquid as thick as tar, and it poisons you from the inside out. You want to scream at him; you want to scream at Matt and ask him why, fucking why did he do that? But you can’t bring yourself to text him, too drunk to make any rational decisions. The voice of reason in your head is a fuzzy, blurry mess. All you want is for this endless cycle of bullshit to end.

Cliare lowers her head. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” she says. “I– I never… I never wanted this to happen.” 

Is that guilt you’re hearing?

“I swear I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. I mean, if I’d known…”

“Save it,” you cut her off, every word from your mouth becoming increasingly slurred. “We both know you wouldn’t have come running ‘cause you clearly had more important things to do. I don’t even know who you are anymore. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have gone to bed without making sure I wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere, and now you’re moving into some nurse’s apartment with a cat you’re allergic to, calling in sick and ghosting me. Me! I’m your best friend, for fuck’s sake, and you weren’t there!”

“I told you, I’m sorry. I had some shit going on, and I just couldn’t–”

You scoff. “You’re lying to me, again!”

“Please, Liv, you have to believe me,” she says. “I didn’t know this was gonna happen.” 

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t…” Shaking your head, you tangle your fingers in your hair. You want to pull every last strand out one by one and feed them to the dogs, maybe that will give you your sanity back.

You hate not understanding. You hate not being able to read the person you thought you could trust. She swore she would never lie to you. What can you believe in if even her word is now hanging in the balance? You don’t know, and that’s something you hate, too—not knowing. The helplessness that comes with a dead end makes you want to cower in a corner, smaller than anyone has ever made you feel, and die.

Claire’s silence sounds like nails on a chalkboard. You swear you can hear your heartbeat, or maybe that’s your own. The blood is rushing in your ear. You’re standing on hollow ground, and it’s shaking—a ship lost at sea. You have to pinch yourself to stay alert. To stay awake. But the vodka in your system has already made you sick. 

“Woah!” She catches you before you can stumble over your own feet. 

Gravity is tilting your body toward the ground, but your body wants to rush toward the door. You have to run, you think. Why, you’re not sure, but you have to run.

“Hey,” Claire says. “Maybe you should sit down.”

You shrug her off. “Fuck you!”

She lifts her arms above her head, but it is not a motion of surrender. Far from it. She’s giving up and giving in to the anger that is creasing her brows.

“Well, fuck you, too!” She steps away from you. “You come here in the middle of the night, drunk off your ass, and you expect me to just take it? I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna indulge you. Not when you’re acting like a child.”

Your palm hovers above your churning stomach. “How dare you?” you snarl. “I’m not the one acting like a fucking toddler.”

“Have you ever considered that there are things I just can’t tell you? That sometimes, you just have to trust me? I never wanted you to get hurt,” she says. “After the other night, I figured you didn’t need me anymore. If that’s what you’re so mad about, sue me!”

“I did need you.”

It’s her turn to shake her head at you. “No, you didn’t. You decided to go on that date. You didn’t need me for that. But I didn’t…” She takes a deep breath, and her eyes remain guilty as sin. “I never wanted you to get humiliated like that.” 

You are too drunk to process the implications of her cryptic statements. To you, they’re just a series of words on a very fuzzy billboard in your mind; you loathe what you’re hearing. Because you believe her, even though your better judgment is telling you to abandon ship. To jump into the ocean and let it take you away.

“Yeah, well,” you say, “I still did.”

Some scars never heal. Fresh ones tend to tear the ones that haven’t closed yet open, and then it hurts so much more. 

Claire lowers her voice to a more mellow tone then. “I met a guy, okay? Like you, I met a guy, but he screwed things up for me and now I’m stuck here until shit has blown over. That’s why I’m hiding.” She sounds almost like the same woman she was a week ago. Before the world stopped turning. 

“I wish I could tell you everything, but I’m trying to keep you safe,” she says. “I’ve always just wanted to keep you safe.”

“And how’s that turning out for us?”

She scoffs. “Not good, apparently.”

Your knees begin to buckle, unable to hold your weight any longer. Claire reaches out. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Fuck off!” you try to shrug her off again.

“How much?”

“Just… Tequila. Vodka. Half a bottle, quarter, I don’t know.”

“Jesus, Liv,” she says. “You’re insane.”

You roll your eyes. “Fuck you,” though the words hold a lot less power now.

“Would you stop? I get it. You’re mad. You don’t have to keep insulting me.” She gently guides you over to the couch. “You know, all I wanted was to do right by you, but I can’t be there all the time. Some things, I have to deal with by myself, and yes, I’m sorry for not being there, but I would’ve been if you really needed me.” 

Claire reaches for your coat and pulls it off, much to your dismay. She ignores your scoff, anyway. “I would’ve dropped everything if you’d just called me tonight. You didn’t have to drink yourself into a coma to make your point.”

“I’m fine,” you protest. 

You thought she was done helping you, but her good heart betrays her every time. It’s infuriating. You don’t want to be coddled. You don’t want to be treated like a patient—you’re not. You did this to yourself. The world is spinning. Your stomach feels like a pool of toxic waste, but you did this to yourself, and you’d rather lie in your misery than have her fix it. 

When you try to rise to your feet though, all thoughts fade to black. Your ears start ringing. You blink, trying to get rid of the ocean that is flooding the world around you, but night quickly settles in. You can’t see. 

“You’re not fine.” Claire pushes you back down. “You’re gonna sit down and you’re gonna let me help you.”

You open your mouth to make a snarky remark, but you’re starting to panic. The room is too dark. Your heart beats to the rhythm of mere milliseconds, and you swear you can taste it on your tongue. 

“Do you want to turn into your father?”

The audacity, you think. The words sting worse than a thousand needles in your body. They sting worse than a headache. They sting worse than a knife to the fucking back.

You don’t want to turn into your father. You have never wanted anything less. You want to scream at her. You want to leave. You don’t want to be anywhere near here. But you’re paralyzed on Claire’s couch with her towering over you like the caring nurse she is, and you have nowhere to go. Your body has nowhere to go. 

You did this to yourself.

She tests the pulse on your wrist, then again on your neck. Her voice is starting to fade into the background. The last thing you hear is her berating you for being “so fucking stupid” with the concern of a thousand armies before your thoughts entirely, finally, dissipate. 

The world turns quiet as your body slacks, falling victim to the alcohol in your bloodstream, and it’s the most peaceful you have been in years. 

Thinking nothing. 

Being nothing. 

You wish you could stay like that for the rest of your life. You don’t want to die, not really; you want to think nothing, be nothing, and just float for the rest of your life in a space where no one can ever touch you again. Where he doesn’t exist. Where you have no memory of your father, of the things he did to you. A space where not even Claire exists, and where you can pretend that Matt never stumbled into your godforsaken life, either.

You want to cease to exist. You want the world to end. You want to drown in alcohol until you can’t feel a thing anymore.

In the end, though, life is an endless, vicious cycle; no matter what you do, you won’t escape it until you’re dead—actually dead. And no amount of alcohol could ever change that. 

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred @echo-ethe @kezibear @peterbarnes @littleagxs @silas-aeiou

[mysticstarlightduck]

Writing Share Tag!

I just started writing the first (out of three) main chapter of Kye Thalax's backstory and I am so sorry for my boi 😭. I don't wanna suffer alone writing these chapters - and they are important for his character arc as a grown-up later on - so I'm posting a snippet of his backstory Ch.1 for feedback and whatnot here!

BUT MAN I AM SAD. I cannot wait for Kye's Revenge Arc after writing these backstory chapters 🔥

(Also it is a pretty dark Backstory snippet so, TW for - Dark themes, Abuse/Domestic Abuse, and Lady Eldora being the shittiest mother and wife in the entire galaxy. Though I'm being honest that whole villain is TW in her own right.)

Kye peeked into the war room, standing on his tip-toes to peek behind the obsidian black stone doors, watching the conversation unfolding within with anxious, flitting eyes.

"You are seriously the most worthless man I have ever met," Came Eldora's voice, his Mother's voice, condescending and sharp like a razor, "I gave you one simple task at the gala last night. All you had to do, was look pretty and convince those stupid diplomats to bend the knee."

She chuckled, dark and bitter, and Kye hated how the sound made his Dad's shoulders curl in on themselves as the young man stood before her. After the short, pause, Eldora continues, rage visibly building up within her, as she tilts her head, "And somehow you manage to make a scene and embarrass me in front of all those people!"

She ends her sentence with a yell, shoving the young man with such force he is basically thrown across the room, toppling some chairs and a vase, before hitting the wall. There was a yelp of pain as he watched his Dad push himself off the wall with some difficulty, and, even though hidden by the doors, five-year-old Kye could see Damen's hands beginning to shake.

"I'm sorry Milady," His Dad's voice is flat and pained, and despite the fire in his eyes, he does not rise from the ground as he speaks, keeping his head bowed. "Y-You're right. I have failed you. I… I am sorry."

Kye felt his heart sink as if drawn to the furthest reaches of the planet's core. He willed his small, kid legs to move, but yet, he remained rooted in place, fear - or some sort of innate self-preservation wisdom - keeping him from trying to intervene.

Eldora growls, striding forward with thundering steps that send a shiver down Kye's spine until she's standing over Damen. "Y'know, one day that 'I'm sorry', isn't going to cut it." She grasps his chin, claws digging into his pearl-white skin, "You're lucky you are my consort and you need to look presentable. Though you'd better know how to act like it, or there'll be worse consequences. Understand?"

Kye saw as his father nodded fervently, the young man's bright blue eyes staring emptily at the warlord, fearful "Yes, Lady Eldora. Forgive me."

Tagging: @winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling @agirlandherquill, @anoelleart @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers @i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid, @finickyfelix

And I'm also gonna leave this an OPEN TAG!

Supernova Initiative Taglist (-/+): @ray-writes-n-shit, @sarandipitywrites, @lassiesandiego, @smol-feralgremlin, @kaylinalexanderbooks,

@diabolical-blue @oh-no-another-idea

@cauliflowermaterial, @clairelsonao3, @sleepy-night-child

@thepeculiarbird

@the-golden-comet, @urnumber1star, @ominous-feychild @anyablackwood, @amaiguri,

@lyutenw, @finickyfelix, @elshells, @thecomfywriter

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[respectthepetty]

ALERT ALERT!!! TAIWAN REQUEST ASK INCOMING!!!

Please can you recommend to me your top 5 Taiwan BLs? I saw you posting about a few and wanted to know when you would recommend please?! is it always enemies to lovers?

Thank you in advance colour genius!

WHY ARE THESE ASKS ONLY GETTING HARDER?! First, y'all wanted my Top GMMTV actors, then it was Top GMMTV pairs, and now you are coming for my heart and soul with my

Top Five Taiwanese BLs!

That's like making me decide who is my favorite Backstreet Boy (it's Kevin) or telling me to choose my favorite child. I don't have kids, but I feel this is very similar. I love all of them equally for different reasons. Taiwanese BLs are my favorites because they have the best parents, high heat, some (but not all) enemies-to-lovers, and serve domestic bliss, so forcing me to pick between them is painful.

But I'll do it!

However, I'm gonna finesse my way into having more than five, yet still only technically giving you five.

The Ones That Couldn't Be Considered:

First, I will not count HIStory 4: Close to You in this list because it is my favorite BL. Period. It is not fair to these other BLs that they can't be a strategic hot ass mess with the gusto that my beloved HIS 4 had.

Next, Oh No! Here Comes Trouble isn't a BL, so I can't count it, but it was queer to me. I watched it for Your Name Engraved Herein's Tseng Ching-hua, but when Guang Yan said "This comic is not only about my high school life, but also about my heart," their love became canon for me, and I knew I wasn't moving past this show. When I write my book If You Just Don't Wanna Admit It's Queer, That's On You, the masses will see exactly what was there all along.

I can't include Red Balloon because, quite simply, I don't remember it well enough since I watched it when it was released in 2017, but I still feel it in my heart, you know? Edward Chen, the opposite lead in Your Name Engraved Herein, and Jason Tauh of HIStory 5: Love in the Future were the younger leads, so if Gagaoolala brings it back, I'll watch it again to see how they have both evolved.

I can't put my finger on why I won't include DNA Says I Love You, but I think it's because I don't classify it as a BL, yet I don't know why I don't classify it as a BL because it is a BL. It is! But . . . I don't know bruv. Either way, it's slow but good!

See You After Quarantine?'s entire runtime is a little over an hour. That's one episode of a Thai BL! It's cute, quick, and creative, but I cannot use up a spot on an eighty-minute series even though it was good. I'm sorry boys, I'll see you after my Hot Tops!

The Ones That Made the List:

#5 - About Youth

I hate singing, but the songs (and singing) in this series were GOOD, so much so that I still listen to the theme song. The characters (except Ye Guang's shitty parents) were also good, but Ray was my favorite. It was just serious enough to not seem trivial but was still light and enjoyable, and Xu Qi Zhang's mom and pink Converse deserve some appreciation.

#4 - Be Loved in House: I Do

That argument in the street that spilled over into the office the next day is one of my top five fights! In case you haven't watched it, Real got upset because he believed everyone was hiding a relationship from him, so Shi Lei called him out on his hypocrisy since they were basically in a relationship yet hiding it. Real misunderstood, but that made Shi Lei more upset which lead to him screaming at Real in the office asking if he even thought about them as a couple. Then Shi Lei's mother and that coming out scene! AND THE FLOOR SCENE! So many amazing scenes. So little space.

#3 - We Best Love

Although I prefer No. 1 For You, it goes hand-in-hand with Fighting Mr. 2nd, so I'm counting them as one for this list. The second part gave us the office slap heard around the world, and that superb drunken confession, but the first portion really delivered a cohesive story about pseudo enemies-to-lovers that had satisfying pacing and great side characters. The show also had color coding, so if it weren't for the promise of a third season that has yet to be delivered, that time jump and the reasoning for the separation, it would have been No. 1 For Me.

#2 - My Tooth, Your Love

As soon as Jin Xun An said he knew a good therapist, it was over for these other BLs. Jin Xun An is such an adult and does not have time for tomfoolery, which pushed Bai Lang to grow. A majority of BLs openly express that one of the leads is a mess from trauma, yet gives the message that the other person should and will love them regardless. Not this BL! Jin Xun An said he would love Bai Lang through it, but he didn't allow Bai Lang to treat him like poo or make excuses for his behavior while kindly pushing Bai Lang to treat himself as seriously and as gently as Jin Xun An did. Oh, and the side couple was intriguing as well.

#1 - HIStory 3: Trapped & HIStory ?: Freed

You notice how all the other couples on this list are right next to each other, probably holding each other likely in bed? NOT THESE TWO! Mis tóxicos fell in love in the woods while handcuffed to each other after running away from their kidnappers while Kinn was still dating Tawan and Porsche was sexing up customers behind the bar (KinnPorsche). Mis tóxicos were not trusting each other, yet willing to fuck while Dr. Bun was still in the big city and Tan wasn't even on his radar (Manner of Death). I'm not making a comparison; I'm making a statement that this show changed me and what I now crave from other shows. If a man isn't willing to kill for his guy AND possibly kill his guy too, then is it really love? I have demanded for FOUR YEARS that my boy Tang Yi be released, and one of these days, Taiwan will deliver us what we all deserve -

HIStory 15: Freed WHEN?

[dballzposting]

Was thinking again about the bizarre scenario that this post ended with in which Trunks has an ex-girlfriend drop a baby at his doorstep and Goten steps in to help him deal with this. Well I have more to say abt it .....

I think a lot these days about the nature of health and humanity so that's why I shoehorn dragon ball characters into such trying yet domestic situations. Sorry

READ ON TO DISCOVER TRIALS & TRIBULATIONS OF SON GOTEN & TRUNKS BRIEFS NAVIGATING THIS FUCKED UP SITUATION....TOGETHER!!!!

Well first of all the way that the infant's mother does not ask for money or resources, even though Trunks is rich, is sort of what dictates Trunks and Goten's decisions about this. Trunks's first impulse is to Give It Back or Give It Away but Goten is first and foremost stricken by how this mother only wanted to abdicate the responsibility altogether, and all privileges therein. It honestly fucks with his head a bit.

I don't know if this will make sense and I'm just spit-balling here but: Goten was raised by Chichi who freely expresses (and weaponizes..) her strong emotions, and most of her emotions have something to do with the importance of family and motherhood to her. And since she is This Way, Goten grew up feeling that these sorts of matters are to be revered or honored or most astutely FEARED, becasue his mother had a poor tolerance for her feelings and behaved as if they were All So Dire, and so that's the impression that Goten got.

Because of the other people in his life and the prevailing mindsets and his own experiences and training, Goten has minimal experience with being emotionally-stunted or fearful of his own feelings; but that initial impression of DIRENESS that he got from his mother is not wholly removed from him, and it has been repurposed into "Oh, it's just the emotions around motherhood that are dire like that." Because those are the emotions that he has not had himself and so has had no re-contextualizing experience with to teach him that they are tolerable like the rest of life.

He knows by now that his mother is batshit crazy but also, when he turns to the world, he does receive the same input that "actually motherhood and child-rearing are very important and delicate things" so he just carries on like "Okay, so it really must be that dire to experience. Okay."

His perception isn't ... WRONG, and a respect for motherhood is a respect for humanity, but his understanding does involve that core of emotional violence from his mother, and that part isn't necessarily universal or beneficial. But like honestly that can be ironed out. He's honestly fine to keep it, even. Like it's close enough

So: When Trunks calls Goten in an anxious fit and says around the sounds of a baby crying that SOMEBODY HAS DROPPED AN INFANT ON THE DOORSTEP OF HIS PERSONAL HOME-AWAY-FROM-HOME IN THE METRO-WEST-SUBURBIA-INTERSECTION and that THE DAMN THING HAS HIS EYES and he DOESNT KNOW WHAT TO DO, well... OBVIOUSLY Goten heads over there as fast as the wind. And as they try to discuss What To Do, Goten is really disturbed that ... a mother could do this?

....He didn't know that that was within the range of options for a mother.

Trunks doesn't understand it either, but moreso from the perspective of "I am BUSY and have 0 experience with CHILDREN so WHY would ANYONE think to DO THIS TO ME..?"

There is a lot to unravel here from Goten's POV: Trunks, why weren't you more careful? Trunks, weren't you also a bastard child? Trunks, aren't you rich, is this really a problem? Trunks, she's not even asking for child support money, doesn't that tell you something about the practical likelihood of this mother being in this child's life? I can't understand how a mother could do this. I cannot fathom the pain she is in, should I be crying about it on her behalf? I don't know if she knows her limitations and is being responsible, or if she is immature and we should be angry with her. Trunks, can't you see that this isn't necessarily about blame or fault, but about the morbidly-misplaced infant who is currently undergoing more emotional pain than any infant should?

I think of Goten as being really emotionally intelligent becasue of his lifestyle and becasue of his nature and becasue Thats What I Want To See And Write About Right Now Just Personally .... So he has the wisdom to know that all of his vexation is just GOING TO HAVE TO WAIT. He has the grace to allow himself however long it will take to subtly work out the perplexment and inner knots. He doesn't need to know everything right now. Becasue right now he has a fucking job to do.

JOB #1: HOSE DOWN TRUNKS

Goten is a real one and he and Trunks are Ride or Die TO THE MAX. Goten hears the slightest edge of nerves in Trunks's voice and he is THERE. He doesn't even think about it. He just assumes the responsibility of compassion becasue that's just what they do for each other. Goten is a very good friend

Trunks is obviously freaking out hardcore, and even though Goten is 100% ready to make this his own problem too, he still allows himself the courtesy of being removed enough to Keep His Head On Straight. He can offer the clarity of an outside perspective and the support of compassion which is exactly why Trunks called him first before calling anyone else. Goten breaks it down pretty simply.

The mother has behaved extremely in order to remove herself from the picture; she is no longer a player. You cannot rely or fallback on her. Forget about her.

You have money and resources, so stop panicking.

You can't keep this a secret from your family forever, but if you need some time, you have enough room and food and money here to get by alright without them for a short while; it's just the issue of needing a caretaker.

We don't need to involve a third party right this second, I'm here and available to help sort this out while we settle into the situation and figure out a best course of action.

This is your problem but don't think of it that way; it's much more a problem for the baby than it is for you. This is life and death for it. You and I can both respect the severity of that.

You can give it away if you want but you know that that won't last long, at some point this child will need to know the context for its Saiyan blood.

You're my best friend and I have no other obligations in my life right now; if you can't miss work then I will stay here and help figure this out. This is your child, and whether or not that matters to you is ultimately up to you, but I think that family matters, and I think that the needs of this random infant is bigger than whatever we have going on in our lives. I know that we can spare the few weeks or months it will take for us to set up a functioning game plan.

So they agree to forget about the mother as a player and potential helper; to avoid involving Trunks's family yet (Trunks's wish); and that even though this is so sudden and they are so unprepared, whatever they feel about it has to go on the back-burner for now because the needs of the situation persists no matter how they feel about it.

JOB #2: DEAL WITH THE BABY?

It would be very wise to involve an experienced caretaker right now. Even just calling up Videl and Gohan would be helpful.

Goten wants to do that, but he also doesn't want to argue with Trunks about it right now. Necessity calls, and the first few days are Goten handling the baby and telling Trunks to Calm Down and Get Some Rest and Go To Work and Act Natural and Clear Your Head and We Can Regroup In A Few Days. Ultimately if Trunks continues to feel violated then this may blow up further, so Goten respects his wishes for secrecy IN THE MEANTIME. He is fully planning on revisiting that later, because, NECESSITY CALLS, and what do THESE TWO KNUCKLEHEADS know about dealing with babies?

Well, Goten was a well-loved baby himself, and is necessarily intimate with his own inner sensations of vitality by virtue of his warrior status, and so he takes to the task intuitively, honestly. He quickly busies himself with cultivating a sense of safety and comfort for the baby, he pays very close attention to its feelings and internal states, he projects a presence of serenity and grace ...

This soothes Trunks, too, who actually listens when after the first hectic day Goten tells him to "go get some rest."

Trunks takes the opportunity to leave and sleep readily - this is all just so fucked to him. Goten is able to remain peaceful even while trying to calm a baby who is Not At All Accepting The Efforts right now, and the sight disturbed Trunks. That's his best friend who used to play in dumpsters with him. What is he doing being a better parent to Trunks's child than Trunks is? This shouldn't be happening to either of them. This isn't who they are. This is so fucked.

So he sleeps it off and goes to work and he comes home and Goten has in that time turned the house into the friendliest space he could cobblefuck/conjure. He has acquired milk formula and pacifiers, a crib, diapers, anything he could remember seeing around when Pan was born. He is wearing an apron and has started dinner but is currently sitting down and holding the baby and trying to soothe it, becasue all day he has been trying to soothe it, because it has been separated from its mother and it has been refusing to eat, and Goten has now committed to being a constant presence of warmth and serenity so that eventually the baby will accept his help. Goten "knows nothing about babies" supposedly but he knows VERY MUCH about what it feels like to be a human/Saiyan, and to be so small and dependent, so he is applying all the wisdom and discipline he's learned over his life.

He sees all the missteps and faults and voids of knowledge, but Trunks sees behavior that is far better than what he was putting out there initially. Goten is sympathetic but remaining unaffected by the violent anxiety that the baby is expressing, because he knows that if he gets worried and tense, then he will no longer be a safe container for the baby's pain like he is trying to be. He knows that this is very difficult for it, and he knows that this wound may leave an emotional scar, and he knows that it won't accept Goten as a caretaker until it's ready to, and in the meantime Goten is just trying to prove himself and rock the baby in his arms to facilitate what he hopes is a progression toward a feeling of safety and the prospect of regulation.

He is the only fratboy in the entire universe who could try to pull this off because he is one of the better warriors in the universe, and physical training and discipline IS emotional training because all the organism is one being. Also he is very respectful of the human condition and of motherhood in general, so it was never a question of IF he could commit himself to the task, but of HOW SOON he can move in.

And Trunks feels awful for thrusting this problem upon his BFF like this but he also feels a myriad of other things like Fear and Stress and Shame and Violation and an indecision around whether or not to Accept & Bond with this child and Indecision about Everything and ultimately an Exhaustion, so he just. Lets Goten's calm demeanor make everything okay.

Oooookay. So.

This just sort of goes on like this for a short while.

Goten becomes completely invested in his new responsibility. It's superficially comical; a fratboy with the freshest fade and biggest muscles, wearing an apron and feeding a baby from a bottle. The want to call Gohan or Videl or Chichi or Bulma or any qualified caretaker has gone unattended. the given reason is that, well, maybe it's not time to yet. The real reason is a mix of apprehension, a desire for quiet, and the good old classic Saiyan impulse of "Hey, wait, maybe I could do this myself, just gimme a minute - let me self-improve, hold on, I think I'm learning, I almost got it, just give me a minute." It seems irresponsible, but Goten is at the point where he really feels like involving more adults into the baby's life may just confuse and stress it, and it's not like there is anybody else who could magically heal the severed bond that the baby had with its mother.

Trunks oscillates as he processes: he is sometimes relieved to have Goten, sometimes disgusted, sometimes ready to call in reinforcements, sometimes ready to jump ship entirely. He sometimes makes dinner and sometimes watches Goten do it with a baby on his hip. Sometimes Trunks never comes home and stays at Capsule Corp for a night or two. He goes to work every day and takes showers that never feel long enough. Sometimes he escapes to meditate or train alone, but the clarity and peace is disturbed when he comes home to a distraught baby who never giggles and who has his eyes.

Trunks is sometimes mature about this and sometimes not. At once when he would impetuously demand to at least hold his child ("if this is SUCH a big deal and I HAVE to keep it, after all-"), Goten would respond simply and assertively with "OUR baby."

Now, though, a few long months in, when Trunks extends the effort of patience and grace of tolerance to hold his baby, Goten genuinely hesitates. He looks fretful and doesn't budge. Trunks thought that he had been a bit more respectful in his request this time - after all, it was a request, not a demand - but he senses from Goten's response that maybe he was still too immature, still unrealistic about what he could handle and what he could not. But, need this be a big deal, I mean - it's his, isn't it? Is it a big fucking deal for him to just HOLD it? What is he missing, here?

when Goten speaks, it's like how one whispers softly in a library, and Trunks feels slighted at being indirectly asked to watch his volume in his own home. He feels like he's being shamed, and he rejects this, becasue - is this REALLY a big deal, or is Goten just getting too deep into this and being dramatic?

But Goten tells him that hey, this baby is REALLY sensitive. Sure, it eats now, and clings to Goten like a baby should, but it seems to constantly rely on that presence, and it is easily disquieted, and it takes a lot of rocking to put it to sleep. Goten feels like he's put a lot of work in, and that the baby has come a long way to learn to seek out Goten's face and arms for comfort, but it is not yet wholly trusting, and it cries more than it smiles.

So Trunks sits on the couch next to him and tries to mirror the peacefulness that Goten is always putting out, but he is anxious inside, and that comes through. Goten carefully moves to pass the baby over to Trunks, and he moves slowly, and he tells the baby what's going on in a pleasant tone, and the baby furrows its brow, and Trunks recognizes it as an expression of his own, and he tries to gently take the baby into his arms, and his guts tighten when he hears Goten tell the baby "this is your father," and Trunks lets the baby look at him, and he tries to hold it right and quell the trembling of his nerves, and he gently rocks it at Goten's prompting. And the baby looks confused and sort of upset. And then really upset. And then it turns to look for Goten and reach out to him. And Goten is always careful to be responsive to this baby and so he knew that it was upset to go into the arms of the clearly-stressed-out-and-therefore-unsafe Trunks, and he knew to standby and be ready to take it back at any second. And this he does so. And Trunks stands up and leaves the house. Just fully walks out the front door

Trunks doesn't think of it in this way, but he is living what his father had lived through: he has a bastard child, but is not ready to become a father and pass the torch yet; he is not done with himself, with his arch, with his life.

Trunks is working a job he hates and has not yet found what he should be doing instead. He is not in love with machines like his mother is, and he is not perfectly suited for endless battle like his father is. He hasn't fallen into swords as his calling yet so he has no inkling of ever running a sword-training dojo - he just really has no idea what to do. He's always liked Having Fun and Chilling Out and Fucking Around and he's done quite a lot of that. In fact he's done that his whole life. A lot of which has been with Goten. Now Goten is acting as a mother to Trunks's bastard child becasue Trunks isn't good enough to take care of his own fucking problem. He's too immature or selfish, he's not serious enough, he's too cold even - he has no girlfriend or wife, he has no instinct to settle, he hasn't a familial bone in his body.

He knows how to meet bare minimum, he knows how to exist in shadows - he knows how to play the role of a son but cannot marry that with his own individuality, he cannot excel in his parents' paths nor follow his own, he cannot be someone his parents can be proud of. His sister is much more fit to do all that and more - Trunks can't decide if he feels hindered by the ceiling of his upbringing and parents' expectations, or inflamed by it to grow. His sister seems to be doing great though, and she is fierce and competent, and she never once asked Trunks's help for anything past the age of 6.

Trunks hasn't found himself yet. How could he be responsible for another? Not to mention - he has no experience with being needed.

Eventually he returns to tell Goten all of this. The baby has been put to bed and Goten is cleaning the kitchen, and Trunks walks in and tells him that he is so sorry for making this Goten's problem. He understands that they're ride or die but Trunks can recognize that he has not been bringing an equal amount to the table, even though it was his problem to start. He feels like pure shit about it. And he's sorry for keeping his emotional distance. He feels resentful for that fucking baby and he's sorry for not being able to reconcile with and move past that. And he's sorry for feeling violated by a situation that he himself wrought and that he should be able to HANDLE becasue he is an ADULT. He's angry at himself for still feeling like a lost child on some level, an for being so irresponsible as to have not yet resolved that.

He can see that this is more important than all that, and he is sorry for his incompetence regarding.

And he tells Goten that he is a WAY better parent than Trunks could EVER be - and, y'know, he's GRATEFUL for that, perhaps even feels a strange love for Goten for being there to raise his child, and that weirds him out, but anyway - y'know ... He knows that this can't be true, but he'd rather that it just be Goten's child instead. And Trunks is ride or die and would totally help him out any way he could, but also, yknow, when Goten's family or love interests step in to help, Trunks would, yknow, take his leave. And be grateful for that. Becasue he's no good at this. And he doesn't want the responsibility. And he can't tell if that's selfish or not.

........Aaaaand Goten. Lets him say all of that. Dries his hands. And then he sharpens his gaze. And just says exactly what he means and what needs to be said:

"I'm not a mother, I'm a 23 year old man who is unemployed and unmarried. 75% of the contacts on my phone are party-chicks and dude-friends. Three months ago I was doing keg stand enemas, and now I'm a broodmare. I'm nurturing a child that is not even mine. My body is rock-solid with hella muscles and I'm here trying to mimic the soft warmth of a mother. What I am is a guy who is doing his best - and you can be, too."

That really just cuts through the bullshit. He could also tell Trunks that he is good enough and that he needs to be kinder to himself because "we really don't have the time for you to be all locked-up and self-absorbed, like, if you could get going on the process of self-compassion then that would be great because we really need a second emotionally-available person right now..!"

It comes out now (or a little later when Trunks is willing to listen) thaaaaat ......... Hey! This has been EXHAUSTING for Goten!!

Not even just for the baby, but Goten has had to be calm and capable and soothing for TRUNKS, too!

A little is fine, but this has been going on for a few MONTHS now, you know!?!

And, Oh, the STRESS. Goten knows that if he worries too much then he will end up sending mixed signals to the baby, so he's had to make peace with the prospect that he could "fail" or that essentially the baby could never learn security or comfort. So Goten has accepted the situation as it is; there is an infant in distress, it is not his, it is his best friend's, Goten will do what he can to make sure it survives, he will do what he can to heal its heart, but it is undergoing quite the ordeal and Goten is untrained in such matters SO; this is reality and whatever happens happens.

But, also, Goten has necessarily BONDED with this baby, and he can follow its feelings closely, and- OH, he really does STRESS becasue he DOESN'T KNOW if he's actually HELPING OR NOT? Sometimes he feels like the baby is receiving comfort more readily than before, sometimes he feels like it is starting to withstand the stress of daily living without needing constant comfort, sometimes he can leave the room and return and the baby has not yet started crying in that time, sometimes the baby seeks him out in a way that does not feel so hopeless or needy, sometimes it cries in his arms in a way that feels purifying - but other times it goes cold on him when he misses signals, sometimes it rejects him, sometimes it won't eat, sometimes it becomes desperate and needy and will not be soothed, sometimes Goten starts to feel desperate and hopeless himself!

He wants to be there for the baby, to be a reliable regulator, but how can he when the baby has endured rejection and is now of the reflex to sometimes reject those that care for it?

I do think that there is a day where it starts to feel okay. The baby smiles and giggles and trusts that when Goten leaves the room he will be back soon. Goten starts to feel like it's not the end of the world when sometimes things happen that have the baby feeling ignored or violated, and that in turn invokes a phase of coldness and rejection by the baby - becasue Goten knows to just be patient and to tolerate it alongside the baby, and the baby will live through it. That's all Goten can do. Just continue modeling that it's alright, feelings are forgivable, his love is unconditional, and that life is tolerable.

But even beyond the baby: this situation has given Goten a LOT to stew on and process. His ideas about family and motherhood are being tested, and his best friendship is being twisted and tried. This is a lot for Goten to handle, but they have decided to not tell their families yet, and Goten cannot rely on his BFF for the emotional support - so he has been isolated in this. All he can do is soothe and rock the baby in silence and let the rocking motion soothe him as well. All he can do is remain calm and let things process in the back of his mind in their due time. All he can do is keep breathing and moving mindfully. All he can do is keep moving forward.

He has kept his DAMN MOUTH SHUT this whole time out of consideration for Trunks and a desire to keep the atmosphere calm and balanced. But, yknow, now that Trunks is opening up to him about his stress - Goten will go on ahead and share his.

Trunks says that he feels bad for making this Goten's problem, and to that, Goten has two insights:

1.) Stop calling it a problem! There are no problems, no mistakes, no failures; just what you do and don't and how you feel about it. Shifting around blame and derisive declarations unto the abstract concept of the "situation" e.g. THE PRESENT REALITY removes yourself from your much-needed presence and involvement. It takes away what you can DO about it, now.

2.) Okay Well if you feel bad for making this my problem then maybe you should consider returning all the hugs and kissies and pets I've given you and all the DINNERS I've cooked for you. Maybe *I* need to be soothed and rocked and kissed and pet in order to deal with what I'M going through. I can't keep being a mother to YOU AND your child. It's not MY FAULT that I wasn't there to make you use a CONDOM, Trunks!! I'M SORRY THAT YOU DIDN'T LEARN FROM THE CAUTIONARY TALE OF YOUR OWN CONCEPTION, TRUNKS!!!

Now that we're a few months in, it's time to say that - this really isn't what either of them ever meant to ask out of the other. They have always been each other's go-to for senseless, reckless, and wild thrills. They've given each other intellectual stimulation and emotional mediation, sure, but their default state is HEY DUDE CHECK OUT HOW HARD I CAN PEE. This whole situation wasn't necessarily in the cards for them. This isn't how they love each other!

But, they can both come to accept that This Is Just How It Is. I think that they can both be strong enough to adapt.

And, with this out of the way, they can start working more as a team. Turns out this shit doesn't HAVE to be miserable. Turns out that when you're honest, your vitality and excitement for life returns. Trunks becomes more involved with his child. They involve their family members and receive help and share joys. Goten is freed up to be able to connect with friends and ladyfriends again, and Trunks becomes more realistic about what he wants out of his life.

It's fine. Not a big deal.

End post.

Everybody stay graceful and lovely <3 Thank you for reading my post

[nothinghere368]

SPOILERS!

Alright I finished ofmd 2 last night. After four or five hours of sleep I still feel like a mess and cannot think straight. And here's my first reaction to the last episode.

Okay so they created one of the most attractive amazing character in season 2 (yes I mean Izzy Hands) and we can see his pain, his softness, his humanity and his struggle, but we also know he's trying to change. He's not really move on okay, drinking in the morning and lying to himself (shark did this) but clearly he's getting better, at least he knew the meaning of love and who he loves (the crew). Everything seems to be back normal and in a good way!

And then they decide to kill this character. Why the fuck are you doing this??? For the record, I can accept main character's death. I just don't understand this, all of this. I really don't think he died like a hero, more like die for nothing. Yes, he is a representative of the old way, a part of blackbeard and yes he pushed ed too hard in s1, but is that mean he has to die at this moment? Cause if I'm right, they literally spent four episodes showing us this poor suicidal man can change, can be loved and be in a super healthy relationship with EVERYONE. He finally realized he had a weird and toxic relationship with the one who never appreciated him and started to pursue his own happiness and even enjoying his little moment. So tell me, why he wants to die? what's the point to kill him like that?

One more thing, we knew Izzy is the best first mate and swordsman. You really believe he would leave a loaded gun for a hostage? And why he is the one to escort the prince? It's almost like shouting to everyone "hey look! wooden leg! I'm a pirate!" And now comes to the most heartbroken scene, that apology. Dude, you are basically a single mom who survived the domestic violence and tried your best to protect your kids from the demon, oh and you lost a leg for that and you chose to apologize to your ex husband before you die?!?! Why?! I loved Edward this character. I really did, but sorry you had no right to say the word "family". You don't treat your family like dogs or ask your ONLY family to shoot you dead even though you knew exactly he had love for you and can never do this, or maim your ONLY family.

I just feel sorry for the character, maybe a little bit furious about the script? He's not a tool or a dog, he's a real person that deserved so much more.

[eowynstwin]

I'm really sorry to ask, but can you please elaborate on what you mean by "domestically adjusted"?

Don't be sorry, I'm glad you asked.

What I mean when I say "domestically adjusted" is twofold:

Comfortable in a civilian, domestic environment, as if his trauma never happened, and

Settled into a conventional, heteronormative home life.

In the first place, I have similar domestic trauma to Ghost's (not that it's anyone's business), and I am intensely averse to creating any similar kind of environment for myself. I have no plans to get married and procreate. I do not want to subject myself to circumstances that, in the past, have harmed me.

I realize that everyone's reaction and response to domestic trauma is different. Some people will recreate the circumstances of their abuse because it is familiar to them, and it's easier to remain in a discomfort that you know, and can predict, than it is to seek or create a safe environment when you might not even be able to recognize safety at all.

But Ghost wears a fucking skull mask. He covers his entire body in black (incidentally the color of mourning). Does that fucking smack as someone who'd be willing to get married and have kids? Someone who presents himself as literally being dead?

Ghost isn't Ghost because he likes the goth aesthetic. Ghost is Ghost because he underwent such an intensely traumatic experience that he had to create an alternate self in order to fucking function.

In the second place--I'm fucking tired of straight people. I'm tired of the immense amount of pressure there is from straight people to conform to the nuclear model of family. The nuclear family has caused me nothing but pain, both as a victim of abuse and as a queer person. And I am INCREDIBLY tired of the suggestion, in this fandom, and within the context of my own experience, that having a nuclear family is what's best for Ghost.

It may be obvious by now, to those of you reading, that I project heavily onto Ghost, which I will freely admit. This includes my own queerness. I interpret Ghost as a bisexual man, partly because I long to see my bisexuality reflected in my favorite characters and partly because I truly believe it makes his story far more poignant.

So within that context, observing the very straight domestication of Ghost in this fandom makes my teeth grind. There seems to be very little room (specifically within the x reader genre) for a queer model of love and intimacy with Ghost, a model that prioritizes something other than marriage and children.

This fandom is determined to shove Ghost into character archetypes--the boyfriend, the husband, the father--that are foundationally heterosexual. It really seems that most of this fandom cannot enjoy any other narrative of love for Ghost--or, in fact, any other character in this franchise. This treatment is not exclusive to Ghost, although my thoughts on that are another post entirely.

tl;dr, marriage, children, and a white picket fence are anathema to Ghost's character and lack any sort of value toward his narrative, whether you look at him through the lens of trauma, queerness, or both. And I'm tired of being nice about it.

[monstersinthecosmos]

okay so i just finished IWTV....... oh my god!!! oh my god. it's embarrassing how insane this book made me. for the last 50 pages or so i was regularly taking breaks to run laps around my apartment like a lunatic because i physically could not handle all the pain and angst and despair coursing through my body LOL. i got so immersed in the story i forgot pretty much all of the background for armand you'd given me (and i can't remember most of it even now!!! my mind is in shambles) and still, very organically...... he became my favorite. even despite all of the. you know. and maybe even more so BECAUSE of it. i've just never witnessed an evil so heartbreaking!!!!!!!!!!? THE ABSOLUTE DEVOTION?????? DERANGED AND UGLY AND UTTERLY BEYOND REASON????!!!! FUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!! i'm sorry for vomiting all over your inbox i genuinely cannot conjure up any resemblance of coherence atm!!! THANK YOU FOR POINTING ME TOWARDS SUCH LUXURIOUS PAIN i LOVE it i want MORE! <3 <3 <3

oh my god OH MY GOd ,... omg... 🥹🥹

WELCOME WELCOME YES THIS HOW I FEEL EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE I WISH I KNEW WHERE TO EVEN START 

(I really feel like just answering with this meme and not subjecting you to a wall of text but I'LL TRY !!!)

GOD LIKE WHAT THIS BOOK DOES SO SO WELL AS LIKE IMMEDIATELY GROUND FLOOR OF THE SERIES LETS US ALL KNOW THAT ALL CHARACTERS COMMIT EVILS AND ARE NOT GREAT PEOPLE BUT THEY ALL WANT TO BE LOVED AND ARE TRYING LOL. 

LIKE LOUIS MOVES FROM ABUSIVE PARTNER TO ABUSIVE PARTNER UNTIL HE’S FINALLY SO DEAD INSIDE THAT HE CAN BE BY HIMSELF AND WALK AWAY.

AND LIKE IT’S SO HARD BECAUSE YOU SEE HOW CLAUDIA FREED HIM FROM LESTAT, AND THEN ARMAND FREES HIM FROM CLAUDIA. AND SOMETHING THAT ALWAYS FUCKS ME UP SO BAD IS THAT ARMAND HAS SUCH A SKEWED MAP OF APPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR BUT HE’S NOT EVIL. HE’S TRYING HIS BEST, IN THE BEST WAY HE KNOWS HOW.

Wait hang on I’ll take caps off I’m so sorry lmfao I’m just really worked up. 

I think there’s a sort of meme-ier version of this like Armand going “hi 🙂 I killed your daughter 🙂 you can kill all my friends if you want 🙂 I won’t stop you 🙂 do you like me? 🙂"

But it’s actually SO TRAGIC god. Like I read IWTV as a story about domestic abuse and the family cycle, personally, and I see Claudia as an Oedipal figure. Louis is unable to get away from Lestat until Claudia makes it happen, and Claudia winds up being so cold and cruel and he’s stuck with her until Armand frees him. And there’s a lot of conversation about like, Armand being manipulative or what he did to CREATE this, how did he push them both where he wanted them, etc, but the thing that gets me is that when Louis wants to break up, Armand lets him leave.

And like SKIP WHAT I’M ABOUT TO SAY IF YOU DONT WANT A SPOILER BUT LIKE I DID MENTION THIS IN MY OTHER POST  —— but if you read Lestat’s book and get the background on how he and Armand met, it’s sort of the opposite where Lestat destroys Armand’s coven and Armand is so devastated about it, vs 100 years later he ALLOWS Louis to destroy a coven. AND HE GETS THE GUY!!!! In TVL he like BEGS Lestat to be with him and Lestat isn’t interested lol but he gets to keep Louis this time.

IDK IDK IM JUST REAL EMOTIONAL. 

And like !!!!!!!! God idk. If you read more of the books you get so many indications about how people in Armand’s life don’t respect him, and a lot of times people write him off because he looks like a teenager. They don’t take the danger of him seriously, which makes him even more dangerous. But it’s so heartbreaking reading IWTV and seeing how Louis respects him so much, and sees him as wise and calm, and needs him! 

And like maybe Louis is uniquely qualified to not judge people for looking like children because he has spent the last 90 years with a vampire child and respects her as an adult, you know?

If you keep reading you’ll see how much Anne Rice like retcons or how much the continuity flops around so like EVERY book will have a Doylist vs Watsonian conversation like, she never comes out and says that Armand looks like he’s 17 in IWTV and in the later books it’s a huge point every time he’s on the page just HE’S SHORT HE’S 17 HE LOOKS LIKE A CHERUB etc and maybe that’s because she hadn’t decided that yet but also maybe Louis is the only person who fucking respects him. :) 

[fantasyloverisabel]

The Defiant Cycle-Prologue

An idea of an AU( I am new to writing fics so there will be mistakes) I had and it spiraled out of control, if anyone has questions I'll gladly answer them, especially if it won't be a important later on :)

The world fragmented, and all was dark except for the shine of the Heavenly Pillar. And at the center we have our "Hero" of the day, the nameless sacrifice who shall only receive a name once he is dead. As he looks onward with steel resolve, he heads into the Pillar. His creator talks and comforts, but he cannot feel. For what can he feel when this is all he's known. He cannot yearn or urge for something he never had. She's praising him, and calls him a name, "Feng Shan," he looks confused. There's a brief flash of white, then its dark.

-

This scene is familiar, everything is fragmented, the nameless sacrifice, looks onwards yet again, but hesitates. There's a monkey, a small monkey, with an older one. He looks at it again, then at the elder one, and feels an ache. He shrugs it off and jumps into the Pillar. He sees his creator, what was her name again? He thinks then asks "I know I've never asked, but could you tell me your name?" She looks at him in astonishment, but fixes herself quickly, "Nüwa, my name is Nüwa little one," she says with smile.

He looks at her and thinks back to the monkey, would she be something like the older one he saw. "Can I ask you something, Nüwa. What was that older monkey to the young?" Nüwa gives a smile, squinching her eyes. "A mother, the older one was a mother to her own." A mother? Is that what she is to him? Or is it something different. "It's time to go child, may you rest peacefully." He looks pained as though he wanted to ask her something. But took his role with slight reluctance.

-

It's different, the scenery is the same, but the sacrifice is different, no Feng Shan is different. He is standing before the Pillar, yet isn't jumping. He looks back and sees the mother monkey lifting her infant up, cradling and cooing. The ache returns, he looks to the Pillar then back at the domestic scene. He takes a step forward, and makes his way towards the monkeys. The mother looks hesitant but allows him closer, he kneels down and holds the infants hand. There was something new, something warm, his face was starting to hurt, he could feel something wet sliding down his cheeks. He slowly brings a finger up and touches the corners of his mouth feeling a curve, then feeling the water coming from his eyes.

Yes, this time is different. He looks back to the monkeys and then the Pillar, "Goodbye,". He runs to the Pillar and jumps. "You were taking awhile my child," He looked at his creator-no Nüwa, and nodded. She looked slightly concerned but didn't say much more. "It is time child, for the next cycle to begin," With reluctance Feng Shan accepts his fate, and once again sees black. Wait, once again?

-

It's repeated, it's repeated so many times that he cries now when seeing that face. When he sees those gems, when he sees the tail end of the serpent. Thinking to himself, why, why can't he have something like that monkey? Why can't he have a family, why can't he decide things on his own. Why was he never given a choice.

He looks onward at Nüwa, and feels resentment. Before she began the next cycle, Feng Shan asked of her. "Why would you make me, if only to kill me. Why would you have me save your children, when I can't even walk amongst them?" Nüwa sighed, "I was hoping you wouldn't ask these questions child. It may seem unfair, but you're helping others live and grow." Feng Shan snaped "But I'M not growing, I'm….I want to live." Nüwa looks down with sympathy, and reaches to him, but stops. "It is your destiny child, I am sorry."

Feng Shan then looks at her with unbridled rage, "Just end this cycle already."

It's dark again.

-

Over and over again, that's Feng Shan's life. Over and over without end. When can he rest? When can he finally have something for himself, why can't he be himself. As he yet again stands in front of the Pillar, an idea forms. Risky but if done right, maybe, just maybe he can finally attain what he wants. He exhales, then jumps.

A flash of white, and he sees her domain, he then sees the gems move. And her tail unravels. Nüwa looks to him in concern, as though he's somehow regressed. but then lifts her hand.

A flash of black, more akin to closing your eyes. And then white, he was still in Nüwa's domain. With her being none the wise, he sees his body, and the fractures were healing. The idea worked-he had successfully separated his soul from his body at the right time. There's a barrier lifting up from the barrier, and he rushes out. And he sees it.

He sees a world he never saw before.

So Feng Shan(封禪) is not going to be his final name, I only named him that as both a placeholder and for the fact that it was an official rite offered by the Son of Heaven to pay homage to heaven and earth. So it was just a play on words.

[huanglaoshu]

I also had to be similarly firm with Jeeves, who had repeatedly hinted his wish that I should take a cottage there for the summer months. There was, it appeared, admirable fishing in the river, and he is a man who dearly loves to flick the baited hook. "No, Jeeves," I had been compelled to say, "much though it pains me to put a stopper on your simple pleasures, I cannot take the risk of running into that gang of pluguglies. Safety first." And he had replied, "Very good, sir," and there the matter had rested.

...

I shook the head. "Out of the q., Jeeves." "The young lady tells me the fish are biting well there just now." "No, Jeeves. I'm sorry. Not even if they bite like serpents do I go near Steeple Bumpleigh." "Very good, sir."

-- Joy in the Morning, chapter 1

"His lordship is placing one of his own at your disposal, sir. He instructed me to say that he wishes you to proceed tomorrow to Steeple Bumpleigh -- " "Steeple Bumpleigh!" "-- where you will find a small but compact residence awaiting you, in perfect condition for immediate occupation. It is delightfully situated not far from the river --" It needed no more than that word "river" to tell me what had occurred. On his good mornings, I don't suppose there are more than a handful of men in the W.1 postal district of London swifter to spot oompus-boompus than Bertram Wooster, and this was one of my particularly good mornings. I saw the whole hideous plot. "Jeeves," I said, "you have done the dirty on me." "I am sorry, sir. It seemed the only solution of his lordship's problem. I feel sure, sir, that when you see the residence in question, your prejudice against Steeple Bumpleigh will be overcome. I speak, of course, only from hearsay, but I understand from his lordship that it is replete with every modern convenience. It contains one large master's bedroom, a well appointed sitting-room, water both hot and cold --" "The usual domestic offices?" I said. And I meant it to sting. "Yes, sir. Furthermore, you will be quite adjacent to Mr. Fittleworth." "And you will be quite adjacent to your fish." "Why, yes, sir. The point had not occurred to me, but now that you mention it that is certainly so. I should find a little fishing most enjoyable, if you could spare me from time to time while we are at Wee Nooke."

--Joy in the Morning, chapter 4

I had foreseen that some explanation of my presence might be required, and was ready with my story. My lips being sealed, of course, on the real reason which had brought me to Steeple Bumpleigh, it was necessary to dissemble. "Jeeves thought he would like to do a bit of fishing. And," I added, making the thing more plausible, "they tell me a fancy dress dance is breaking out in these parts tomorrow night."

-- Joy in the Morning, chapter 7

It's not dissembling if you're telling the truth, Bertie.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

💌 for Kauri please? (hmm possibly with Owen hmmm)

(Also, from Anon: (I'm not sorry for who ever gets involved with this) 💌 & Owen - apology sex

CW: Owen is an abuser and uses abuser logic, emotional abuse, emotional manipulation, domestic abuse, pet whump, box boy, bbu, dubcon

-

Sometimes, there are moments like this.

"I'm sorry," Owen says, and lays a hand on his back. Kauri doesn't look at him, keeping his chin resting on his knees, arms around his legs. Tears still blur his vision, hot and demanding, even as his eyes ache and his head throbs from the ones he's already cried. His lip throbs, one his wrists is already bruising visibly, only a few hours after Owen's hand had been closed around it. "Hey. Kaur-Bore... you hear me?"

"I hear you," Kauri whispers, but he doesn't look. If he looks into Owen's green eyes, he'll fall all over again, and he knows it. The warm hand at his back rubs gently, up and down, and Owen shifts closer, leans in to press a kiss to his hair. Kauri has to lock his jaw to keep from tilting his head into it.

"I wasn't thinking," Owen says, lips barely moving against a black curl. It makes Kauri shiver, liquid warmth pooling inside of him. "I wasn't. It was stupid of me, Kauri, so stupid of me. I was the rocks for brains this time, yeah? Not you, this time it was me."

Kauri takes a breath and tells himself Owen doesn't mean it. He never means his apologies. His eyes closed, he pretends he's somewhere else, with someone else, that it isn't going to end the way it always, always ends.

Apologize. Hurt again. Apologize once more. Round and round.

"You nearly broke my arm," Kauri says. His voice stays steady. "Right in front of the neighbor down the hall, you nearly did."

"You're my pet, it's none of his fucking business what we do." Owen sighs, moves around in front of him. Kauri senses the shift in the weight on the bed. When Owen's hands are on his, he lets them be pushed down to balance himself, lets owen slot between his legs. The sapphire and white-gold necklace he wears for a collar shifts, too, a jewel in the hollow of his throat. Owen pushes him onto his back, and Kauri doesn't stop him, but he doesn't go eagerly either.

He keeps in mind his swollen bottom lip, bitten to bleeding. The ache in his arm, wrenched nearly out of its socket. The terror as he'd been shoved back into a wall.

"I was just saying good morning," Kauri says. He can feel Owen looming over him. "I don't even know his name."

"Kaur-Bore." Owen shakes his head, and there's a patronizing little smile in his voice that Kauri can see without ever having to open his eyes. "You and I both know that you don't have to know anybody's name to be a little slut around anyone hot. I know what they train Romantics for."

Kauri's chest twists in a new kind of pain. "Mr. Owen... I'm made for you."

"Yeah, because I'm the one who keeps you here. If I let you walk away, you'd be sucking off some guy on a park bench in a week or less. It's not your fault, Kaur-Bore, it's just how you're made."

Kauri swallows, again and again, until all the words that clump together in his throat are forced down. He forces down the tears. He forces down, beneath that, a white-hot anger that he cannot afford to show. "You hurt me," He says instead, and there are so many layers to those three words he knows Owen can't begin to hear.

He just wants to be loved.

He wants to stop having to force down his thoughts and pretend they don't exist.

He wants-

He wants to say good morning to a neighbor without feeling eyes on his back and a hand closing tight around his arm.

"I know." Owen is quiet, and then takes his hand and pulls the bruising wrist to his own mouth, kissing along the place where you can damn near see fingerprints. "I know I did. I'm so sorry, Kaur-Bore. I'm so sorry. You were just saying hello, right? You didn't mean anything by it."

"I didn't-... I didn't. I just... wanted to pretend, for a second, that-... that-"

"That we're a real couple?"

Kauri opens his eyes, and catches the lopsided smile Owen wears, bittersweet and with some anger Kauri can't quite fathom underneath it.

"I wanted to pretend that, too. I wanted to be a real couple," Owen says, voice low. "But I have to settle for pretending, like this. Pretending is hard, Kauri. It makes me... makes me angry, sometimes, having to pretend. That you're not the real thing."

If being called a slut had hurt before, then being reminded that they aren't even really a couple hurts far, far more. "I'm not him," Kauri whispers, and his own anger rises, too.

"No. You're not Vince. But... but we can pretend. I can be better at pretending." He rubs a thumb over Kauri's swollen lower lip. "I bit you. I'm sorry for that, too."

Kauri might like hearing it if he thought it meant he wouldn't just be bitten again, and apologized to again, over and over until nothing means anything unless it's touching him.

"Mr. Owen..." He's going to crack apart. Shake down into powder, disappear entirely. He throws his arms up around Owen's shoulders, and feels the way Owen briefly tenses and then relaxes down on top of him. Covering him with his weight, and warmth. He can feel Owen from forehead to knees. He isn't alone. Not here. Not right now. "Please. Please just... let's stop talking about it, okay?"

"Okay, okay. But you believe me, right? That I'm sorry for losing my temper?"

Kauri swallows.

No.

"Yes," He says out loud, with all the sincerity he can fake. He's an amazing liar.

All the sluts like him are.

Owen grins. "Good. Good, good... now... let me show you just how sorry I really am..." He kisses Kauri's jaw, over his neck, sucking on the skin there until Kauri starts to move against him, rolling his hips in short little lifts. They both start to harden, and when Owen pulls back to take Kauri's shirt off he raises his arms. He drops his hands down to undo Owen's zipper. Their mouths meet and his lip burns where it burst but it doesn't hurt as badly as the bright hot pain in Kauri's chest.

He buries himself in it, in his hand moving against slick hot skin, in Owen's hands pushing his legs up, bent at the knees until he's nearly in half. He loses the pain to cold slick liquid on fingers inside of him, to the pleasure of Owen using one hand to open him up while the other strokes him off with steady certainty.

Owen kisses him, and he moves his tongue just right. Arches his back in a perfect show of lust, lust he even makes himself feel, after a while, because being wanted, and wanting, is better than facing what his life really looks like.

"I'm so sorry I hurt you, Kaur-Bore," Owen whispers against his hair, deep inside of him, hitting just right over and over until Kauri scratches fingernails down his back and cries out for more. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry, I won't hurt you again."

Yes, you will.

"I know-... I know-... Mr. Owen, please, h-harder-"

At some point, he forgets the pain entirely, and all he feels is Owen's skin hot and sweaty, his own electric and charged like lightning at every lingering touch, and the way he is so full of Owen there isn't any room for anything else.

"I-I love you, Mr. Owen-"

"I know," Owen answers. The headboard rocks against the wall in time. "I know, I-... know, fuck, good boy, Kauri, good boy-"

The loneliness in him is buried by the overwhelming crest of pleasure and the way he calls out Owen's name.

In the middle of that single moment, he... almost does believe that Owen really is sorry.

Maybe Owen believes, just for a moment, that he's Vince.

Maybe they're both pretending this is real.

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @burtlederp @nonsensical-whump @whump-tr0pes @autophagay @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

[1whitewitch1]

TW - DOMESTIC VIOLENCE - personal story

Domestic violence is a fucking plague here in Australia. A woman a week is murdered by her partner or ex partner. Every female friend or woman I know has at least experienced behaviour that is toxic and bordering on abuse to full on physical, financial, emotional abuse. 1 in 3 women have experience DV, and I bet that the REAL stats are way higher. 1 in 5 experienced sexual assault, same thing goes for the stats being much higher in reality.

I was abused by my first bf from 15-17. It is a big part of my radical feminsim and why I love this community. I cannot imagine a girl that age going through that shit. Let alone the horrors that happen to women with immensely less privilege than I.

I was trapped. In so much pain, constantly and I had no one. People told me I was overreacting to things he would say, my own mother told me that I just needed to show my love better in order for him to stop being controlling, teachers and mandatory reporters ignored clear signs and on one occasion me literally telling a GUIDANCE COUNSELLOR that he was controlling, I was afraid, I had no friends left, (I didn't say I was abused because I didn't think I was at that point). The education department later did not deem that she should lose her job even though the abuse continued on for a year afterwards. When I broke up with him at school one day, our head of year came looking for him because he ditched and I had to explain what happened and opened my phone (it had been on silent because I knew he was harrassing me) and the teacher saw the messages he was sending (I'm gonna kill/cut myself yada yada yada). Her and our schools principal made me sit in the office while they called an ambulance and the police, while I sobbed my fucking eyes out and repeated over and over and over again "he is going to hurt me, he is going to kill me." Their response was "No he won't, he will appreciate that you cared about him." They were blind.

I was dragged around on the floor by my hair. I was punched in my back, stomach, arm, leg, neck. I was kicked. I was held up against a wall and strangled until I saw black and almost passed out. I was spit on. He screamed in my face, he held a pocket knife to my leg and throat, he cut himself in front of me, he threatened suicide, this all happened several, several, several times. He made it impossible to see anyone because I was being bombarded with constant messages from him. And all the physical stuff was only really in the last four months, the emotional abuse began about a month after we started dating (14 month long relationship) . Anyway I'm sorry for the rant, it's hard lately :(

[cute-girls-from-vns-anime-manga]

I wanted to add, I do understand the mistrust thing. I actually had people prey on me 10 years ago and basically human traffic me. I'll never forget reaching out to every single person I considered my friend to help me out of the situation since I didn't have anyone, but no one gave a shit. I even had one so called best friend tell me she has stuff in life she's enjoying and all I did was bum her out. I really got the short end of life since I was born with very extremely abusive parents who gave me the boot after hs and cause I didn't know what love was I had a very abusive ex bf. No one wanted to help me and to this day I sometimes wake up and wonder how I didn't die. Ok sorry if that's triggering, but I do want you to know I completely understand the issues with trust. My last therapist wasn't a good fit either, but she wasn't a shit fit like the one before. I'm still searching around for therapists, but I have to stop and cope better so my mind doesn't destroy me too much from the trauma I have. I've even been told I may need life long therapy since what happened to me was very traumatic and not many people are ok after events like that.

That sounds horrific I cannot imagine that kind of pain to be trafficked like that but that isolation fear and being ignored while you cant ignore the pain is very familiar.

yes did slightly trigger the parts of my own memories of attempting to reach out or feeling abandoned to suffer in silence. I was strangled by my own brother in front of my mother and while she did at least pull him off of me no one checked up on me no one asked if we shouldn't live together anymore no everyone just moved the fuck on and since we were really hard on money at that time no one questioned us sleeping in the same room that night, two months later he did it to me while I was driving. Then he came at me one last time I was so scared I grabbed a kitchen knife to just frighten him away...he called the cops lied his ass off and got me arrested.

I just wanted to not have his fingers wrapped around my throat again and for that I got thousands of dollars in fines told I was the domestically abusive person lost my place of residence for two fucking weeks. That was the climax of the abuse the way he slowly pushed himself to be comfortable enough to do that took 22 years.

No ones pain is worse or better we all just have been though shit that left scars. We should hug each other and be better rather than compare.

[moodysullie]

Hey Sullie! I just want to thank you for all those danny bunch content!! I have two questions for you: What are your favourite roles by him and do you have a most favourite gif/pic of his?❤️❤️

Hellooo ❤️ I'm happy that you like my DB posts. Imma be real, I think I joined this fandom like suuuuuuper late, but when the time is right it's like 'that's it I've fallen to the bottom of the pit and there's no way up so I'm DEFINITELY staying' 😂

As for your questions:

1) favorite roles by Daniel Brühl: I couldn't choose only one 😭 so here's my as-short-as-it-can-be list.

- Niki Lauda in 'Rush' is guaranteed for the 1st place. I'm not a fan of F1 nor have any knowledge about it at all so I cannot say if his depiction of Lauda is accurate or not, BUT he gave one hell of the performance. Until this day, I'm still amazed how he could channel his emotions and his acting under those make-up & prosthetics. The hospital scene was a highlight. Solid AAA+++

It's sad to know that not only his fans were disappointed (in the Academy) because he didn't get an Oscar nomination, but it affected Daniel as well and it hit him really hard (according to his ARTE documentary). I know 2013 was a year filled with masterpieces here and there in every aspect, especially actors, I just wish he could get one among other nominees as well.

- Laszlo Kreizler in 'The Alienist' because there are uncountable amount of inner conflict in Kreizler. Again, I haven't read the book so I have no clue of the original, but I really like how he portrayed the alienist at that time. The healer of the mind who couldn't heal his own. A doctor who was capable of inflicting pain on others, even though it's unintentionally (he's a victim of domestic violence). A man who wanted honesty from others by telling them to face their demons but he, himself, couldn't bear the pain and face his own.

- Alex Garel in 'Eva'. There were so much subtlety, so much nuances in his performance, very repressed (in my opinion, which is totally in-character) and it paid off in the end (shoutout to Sergi Belbel, Cristina Clemente, Martí Roca & Aintza Serra who were writers for this movie.)

- Escherich in 'Alone in Berlin' because he could convince me, make me feel sympathetic for the inspector.

Man, I'm such a sucker for genius with different sides and shades in one person. Complex characters are my thing. 😂

2) favorite pic/gif of DB: NOOOO DON'T HURT ME THIS WAY 🥲 most of my fav are when Daniel was in film festivals, press con, masterclass or anything film-related. He looks sooo in the zone, like it's where he belongs.

But right now? This one

Why? Easy

I like Daniel.

I like men in white shirt.

I like men with this hairstyle (I am completely forgot how it's called at the time I'm typing this.)

I love cats.

And I like when someone I like playing with cats.

End of the story. 😌

(Also, I write this at 2am in my time so sorry for any misspelling or anything else. 😴)

[whatsnewalycat]

Just Dumb Enough to Try

Chapter 25: Pitch Dark

Word Count: 4.3k+

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Tags / CW: swearing, cheating/infidelity, domestic abuse, smoking, kidnapping, pregnancy, tension, cops, gore and violence, I don't really want to say anything else to prevent spoilers but I think if you've made it this far you'll be fine???

Chapter Summary: The search comes to an end.

Notes: Chapter title from "Pitch Dark" by Chelsea Jade. FYI: the playlist for this chapter is a banger. I'll post chapter 26 probably on Friday this week because I'm going to the WWWY festival in Vegas next weekend (pray for me I am very neurodivergent why am I doing this). I cannot belieeeeeeeeeve we're almost to the end of this story. I'm a proud mama. OK ANYWAY HERE YA GO!

[ Masterlist for Series ] [ Taglist ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ AO3 ]

8734 177th Rd, Laredo, TX July 31, 1998

After you’re roused from sleep by creaking footsteps outside the closet door, and come out the other side of your subsequent full-body panic attack, Dan drags you out into the foyer again.

The foyer, with its dusty hardwood floors, and cobwebs, and fucking yellow wallpaper, and the woody ammonia mouse piss smell. Morning sun hits the other side of the house, making the vacant room all dim natural light and shadowy corners.

He deposits you in the same spot he did yesterday, his presence suspiciously neutral as he sits down facing you and takes the gag out of your mouth. You take a deep breath of air and choke on it, triggering a coughing fit. Fearing the metallic, rotten wad of fabric being stuffed in your mouth again, you gasp out, “Sorry- not- trying,” when your seizing lungs let you.

He pulls a chocolate chip granola bar out of his pants pocket and opens it, ignoring the coughing completely. You note that he’s in a clean set of clothes and is no longer covered in blood. On his skin and hair, though, faint red stains remain.

It reminds you of Halloween 1995, when you dressed up as a vampire. You bought a tube of fake blood for $1 at the local drug store to smear on your face for dramatic effect. The red dye was unforgiving and left your face tinged red for a week, no matter how hard you tried to scrub it off your skin.

Again, you wonder if it’s Javier’s blood. But unlike last night, the thought doesn’t make you spiral. Because something happened.

I hear you, cariño.

The words play on repeat in your head. In the midst of your good morning panic attack, you were praying to God or anybody, his voice cut through the fog, crystal clear. It perplexes you.

Dan pinches off a chunk of granola bar the size of a quarter and brings it to your lips. You open your mouth and grab it with your teeth, trying not to be too obvious about how hard you’re avoiding touching your lips to his fingers. Between bites, he tips a plastic water bottle to your lips and you take sips.

He gets up and retrieves something from behind you, then sits down, crossing his long legs in front of him as he sets a first aid kit on the floor between you. You flinch when his hands land on your shoulders. He doesn’t react to the involuntary movement, just murmurs, “I’m gonna remove the rope to clean your wounds. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Ok,” you exhale in a shaky breath and watch the wallpaper like you expect it to do something. He moves methodically, untying the knots around your ankles, then your wrists, then your shoulders. His blonde curtain bangs hang loosely in front of his face, swaying from side to side as he tends to you.

Steady hands crinkle the weak plastic of a disposable water bottle when he twists it open, then pours some water over the lacerations. He dabs them with paper towels in an attempt to clear the wounds of debris. The pop of a cap being pried open makes you flinch, then he advises gently, “This is going to sting,” before he pours rubbing alcohol on the wounds.

Sizzling, searing pain rips a howl from your hoarse throat, and, even though you try your damndest to sit still and work through the pain, your feet smack against the dusty hardwood floor with a mind of their own.

“I’m not trying,” you whimper when he stares at you with a clenched jaw, deep blue eyes drenched in annoyance at your outburst.

He shoulders soften as he sighs, “I know.”

The searing pain fizzles out to a faint sting. He applies goopy ointment, then wraps the wounds in gauze. Once the rope burns are cleaned and dressed, he moves you closer and has you face him so he can clean your split cheek. The first couple of times he reaches out to touch you, you flinch.

Eventually, though, the movements don’t seize your breath, and it feels... strangely intimate. He’s calm, face almost appearing sympathetic, when you whimper helplessly at the rubbing alcohol burn this time. It dawns on you that the man you’ve spent the last four years with is still there somewhere.

You try to make casual conversation like you have across the dining room table hundreds of times before, asking him, “How was softball?”

To your surprise, he responds to this with a shrug, “It was fine. Average, I guess. We played a scrimmage, went ‘n’ got some drinks at Cowboy Slim’s after.”

“How is your new glove working out for you?” your throat feels raw and bruised when you swallow hard, tiptoeing into the realm of non-violent interaction.

“Kinda sucks, not gonna lie,” he mutters as he tapes down the gauze on your face, “Still breaking it in. So pissed I lost my old one. That one was perfect, I had it for so long.”

“Yeah,” you nod, staring forward at the yellow-tinged wallpaper, “Sometimes you lose things and just… have to move on, you know? It’ll get better.”

He stops moving, and you can feel his eyes burning into your profile. Abruptly, he stands up, picking up the first aid kit, carrying it out of the room down the hallway.

You inhale sharply as you remember the unattended front door. As you saw when you were ushered into the foyer, you can’t be more than a dozen steps away from it. There are creaks at the back of the house as he rummages around for something.

He might not notice. How much of a head start could I get?

Before you can think twice, you clamor to your feet and turn around, taking a step towards the screen door. Your bare feet are silent as you take another quick step.

Then another. A few more. Each step gives you a fresh surge of adrenaline.

Two steps away.

One more. You’re so close.

When your fingers touch the door handle, a creak sounds from directly behind you, and you hear the metallic click of the safety being pulled back on a revolver. You freeze.

“If you move, I’ll shoot you right in the fuckin’ skull,” Dan growls from behind you, burying the barrel in your hair. The cold metal circle presses flush against your bruised scalp. Your heart thuds in your chest and your field of vision goes white with panic.

He speaks quiet and calm as he instructs you, “Put your hands up.”

You comply, extremities breaking out in tremors as you slowly raise both arms at your sides. One of his hands encloses your wrist.

“Unfucking believable,” he grunts as he puts the safety back on the handgun and the cold circle of death is pulled away from your head. He brings your hands down behind your back, securing them in place with a zip tie, making you wince as the plastic digs into your fresh bandages. You can’t decide if this is an upgrade from the rope or just a different kind of hell on earth.

“Do you have to use the bathroom?” he asks as he turns you around to face him. It was a mistake to try escaping. His features are shadowed again, steeped with fury.

You ponder his question briefly, taking inventory of bodily functions you’d been completely neglecting to monitor, then shake your head.

With this, he yanks on your arm, leading you back to the closet. When he opens the door, you step inside obediently. He closes it. Your legs shake when you try to squat down into a sitting position, and you end up toppling over backwards against the wall behind you.

With a groan, you shimmy your ass to the floor and accept this as your seat. You stare at the slit of light shining under the door. Thoughts bounce around your brain like it’s a pinball machine.

“Did you love him?”

You wonder whose blood was on Dan yesterday. The red stains on his skin and hair. Was it even blood?

“Well that was pretty fucking stupid, wasn’t it?”

You wonder if there’s anyone searching for you. If Claudia or your parents know you’ve been kidnapped. If your parents would even care.

Something tickles your face.

Probably a spider.

You wonder what the odds of surviving a black widow bite are.

A shudder runs down your spine as you remember the cold circle of a revolver pressed against your bruised scalp.

You wonder what the odds are of surviving a kidnapping are.

Probably about the same as a black widow bite.

Your thoughts take a sharp turn, and you remember that it’s Friday, then wonder when The X-Files will start airing on Friday nights again.

Will I ever find out what happened to Agent Fox Mulder’s sister? Will he and Scully ever kiss?

This summer, you wanted to see The X-Files movie, but it came out the same day as The Truman Show, which you wanted to see more.

What if, instead of spiraling into an existential crisis while teetering between tipsy and drunk from giant margaritas, you gabbed Javier’s ear off about the possibility of extraterrestrials?

He might not have witnessed you bearing your soul, spilling your guts across the table in front of him (I don’t want to have to gut you, too ) as you came to the realization that being with him was the first thing you did for yourself in a very long time. Would you have come to that conclusion if the two of you had seen a different movie?

In his car two weeks prior, he talked about how, back in 1993, he didn’t like to be around Michelle other than “the fucking, yeah. Not like you…“

“What do you mean not like me?”

“I like being around you.”

“I like being around you, too.”

And it’s clear to you then, that it doesn’t matter what movie you saw, or where you went, because it would have resulted in your breath on his, hot and pleading for him to fuck you. You could have done anything in life, and you would have ended up tangled together in bed, Javier playing with your hair as you write love notes onto his skin.

It’s kismet.

This thought brings you enough peace that the erratic pinball that is your stream of consciousness settles into a lull, and you close your eyes. Maybe just a little nap. It’s not like you have anything better to do.

—

The sound of the hardwood floor creaking outside the door wakes you.

You blink a few times before coming to grips with your surroundings, realizing you’re propped up in the corner of the closet, settling into the dust and spiderwebs. The door groans open, spilling sunshine into your enclosure, and you hum with relief as the (relatively) cool air hits your sweat-drenched skin. You’re groggy and delirious when Dan asks, “Do you have to use the bathroom?”

You take a bodily inventory and determine that: yes, for the first time in probably 24 hours, you have to pee.

When you nod, Dan hoists you up and folds you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, then starts carrying you down the hallway in a direction you haven’t been yet. Your head is spinning, dazed, like you’re in a dream.

He comes to a stop and lowers your feet to the ground. You think he does, anyway.

Your feet are numb phantoms, but you’re upright and semi-stable. The muscles you can feel scream in protest. You roll your head on your shoulders to squint and find Dan’s face, and when you do, he has a mask on again. Neutral as he guides you backwards through the threshold of a room, until the backs of your knees press up against cold porcelain.

He lowers you down onto a toilet seat, then pulls your shorts down until they meet the zip tie at your ankles. The big, shiny, red button gifted to you from the crows slips out of your pocket and clatters onto the ground.

You swear you can hear cawing.

Your face falls and you frown, voice coming out in croaks like your vocal chords are shards of glass, “Oh no, I didn’t feed the crows today.”

He says nothing.

You expect him to leave, or at least fucking turn around to give you some privacy, but he kneels down in front of you, one hand helping keep you steady as you weave back and forth, pulled by the weight of your spinning head. It’s not until your body releases a stream of piss you realize his other hand is in the toilet bowl.

He’s giving me a pregnancy test.

Not able to emote yourself properly in your delirium, you scrunch your face up and shake your head, asking with curiosity in a hoarse whisper, “Why?”

“You’re not fucking leaving here until I know whether or not you’ve been knocked up,” he growls.

That’s gonna be a problem.

—

Middle of Fucking Nowhere, Laredo, TX July 31, 1998

Someone broke the news of your disappearance to the media. Probably some fucking blabbermouth. Javier knows it’s bad when he finds himself pushing his way through throngs of people as they gather around the established perimeter.

As he reaches the blaring yellow crime scene tape, he scans the area for Detective Anderson. A petite blonde woman in a neat, fitted pantsuit widens her eyes as she spots him walking up beside her, then lays her hand on his forearm as she asks, “Excuse me, are you Javier Peña?”

This catches him by surprise.

He turns to face her and takes a step back, surveying her short stature as he answers, “Yes.”

He shouldn’t have answered.

“Do you have anything to say about the photos of you and the missing woman?” she questions, pulling a pen and a pocket notebook out of her smart navy blazer.

“No,” he snaps as he turns away to face the blocked off crime scene. He picks out Detective Anderson standing at the back of a cop car, hovering over a map, marking things off with a dull pencil as he talks to a few other law enforcement officials.

“Do you feel responsible for her abduction?” the woman questions next. Javi can feel the heat rising to his head.

The fucking balls on these people.

He steps over the crime scene tape and approaches Detective Anderson. Greg follows his lead, holding the list of empty properties under his damp armpit, while Claudia stays behind the barrier to shoot daggers at the blonde news reporter.

The Webb County Sheriff looks up from the map and nods at Javi. Anderson follows his gaze, then waves Javi and Greg over. They make room around the map for the newcomers.

“Sorry about the circus,” Anderson grumbles sideways to Javi, then clears his throat, “No blood in the car as far as we can tell, so we’re working under the assumption that she’s still alive. Organizing a search of these areas here,” he taps the eraser of his pencil to the areas circled on the map.

He starts dictating specifics about who he wants where, and the men nod as they listen along diligently.

Greg looks over the map, then flips through his papers, cross-examining the two documents. He prods the map in two specific areas with his sausage fingers, explaining, “We searched the empty properties here earlier today and didn’t find anything,” then points to two other spots, “These two haven’t been cleared yet, we can go check 'em out if y’all haven’t already.”

“Fine by me,” Anderson nods, which surprises Javier.

With this, Greg and Javi double back towards Greg’s truck. Anderson catches up with them, tapping Javi on the shoulder. Javi stops and turns to the detective, who instructs, “If you find anything, call right away and we’ll be there in a jiffy. Especially if you find the suspect. Don’t confront him. We don’t want any bloodshed.”

Javi’s mouth forms a flat line and he nods, “You got it.”

He doesn't mean it.

—

The two properties in question are on the same country road, about a mile away from each other and where Dan’s car was abandoned, forming an equilateral triangle on the map. Greg parks at the mid-point of the subject properties at Javier’s suggestion to approach with stealth, not come roaring down the driveway in a pickup truck. He wants to get you out alive. If you're not already dead.

“No blood in the car as far as we can tell, so we’re working under the assumption that she’s still alive.”

There’s hope. He’s been tortured by the unknown for the past 26 hours. The notion that he spent a decade avoiding serious relationships while in Columbia, only to come home, fall in love, and have her ripped away, is driving him fucking mad.

Javier’s hands shake as he lights a cigarette and their ragtag search party of 3 starts off towards the first house. The gravel road crunches and stirs dust up under their steps. He wipes beads of sweat off his forehead with back of his hand and grimaces at the sun that’s beating down on them.

Claudia glances to the cigarette clamped between Javi’s index and middle finger, “Can I have one?”

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he comments as he digs the pack out of his back pocket and holds it out to her. She plucks one out and presses it between her lips. Javi flicks his shiny silver butane lighter ablaze, holding fire to the end of the cigarette.

She inhales deeply, then exhales a plume of blue smoke, “I quit when I was pregnant with Michael, but my nerves are fucking shot. I need it.”

Javi nods in understanding, taking a drag, then tells Claudia, “I tried quitting a few years ago, but I couldn’t stick to it.”

“It’s fucking hard. If I didn’t have that motivation, I’d probably still be a pack-a-day smoker,” she scoffs.

“I think I’m going to try to quit again,” Javi announces.

“Yeah?”

“With the baby and all. I don’t want this shit around the kid,” he tilts his head and considers something he never had previously, “Plus, I should probably try to stick around for them as long as I can. Don’t want lung cancer to take me out at 50.”

A toothy grin spreads across Claudia’s face and she nods, “How are you feeling about it? Being a dad?”

The acid that was previously at a simmer in his stomach shoots up in his throat at a full boil. He clears his throat to lessen the feeling, then admits, “Fucking terrified. What if I’m not… I don’t know, good at it?”

“I’ll let you in on a secret: Nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing when they become a parent,” Claudia chuckles, taking a puff off the cigarette, “You’ll do great, I know it.”

Javier takes a drag off his cigarette. His eyebrows press together as he asks her, “How do you know?”

“Javi, look at what we’re doing right now. All you’ve done in the past day,” Claudia gives him a reassuring smile, “There’s nothing you won’t do to make sure your family is safe.”

Although he doesn’t point out that it was his own ignorance that put you in danger in the first place, he supposes she’s right. You’re part of his family, and he won’t find peace until you’re home with him.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and one corner of his mouth upturns.

—

The first house was a bust.

While they did find approximately 17 feral cats in the barn, there were no humans in sight. The search party is silent on their route to the second house. Claudia and Greg shoot concerned glances back and forth, eyeing Javi from behind as he blazes ahead of them.

Javier ignores the fatigue settling in his bones and the burning in his calves as he quickens his pace. There’s a decent chance you’re at this next place. He remembers what you looked like in his dream. Beaten to shit.

What if you’re not there? Or worse, what if he’s too late? Would he be able to live with that guilt?

When the 8734 mailbox comes into view, he goes from a brisk walk to a jog. The driveway is long, winding back from the road a quarter of a mile, Javi estimates. Claudia and Greg catch up to him when he stops and crouches down upon hearing crows cawing. He thinks he sees a pair of fat, black bird loitering in front of the run-down rambler.

“She’s here,” he tells them, squinting up at the home, once again cursing himself for not seeing a fucking optometrist.

Greg crouches down further, “Do you see them?”

“No,” answers Javier as he pulls out his pistol to verify it’s locked and loaded, “Crows.”

While Claudia nods knowingly, Greg tilts his head and furrows his brow, “Crows?”

“Just trust me,” Javi sighs, then looks between Claudia and Greg, “Ready?”

—

Dan pulls you to your feet and steadies you against the sink as he tugs your shorts up over your thighs, sticky with sweat and streaked with dirt. He doesn’t button them, just shimmies them up to your waist and then hoists your dead weight over his shoulder again, carrying you into the adjoining room.

Without warning, he tosses you onto the floor like a rag doll.

Your back hits the dusty hardwood floor and the wind is knocked out of you. The ceiling is spinning above you. You’re gulping for air like a fish out of water, only able to rock from side to side as you try to curl into a protective ball and suck in air at the same time.

Your clamp your eyes shut and spin in the darkness.

When you open them, he’s standing over you, head spiraling like you’re being flushed down a toilet drain. He pulls you up to your knees by the zip tie around your wrists, and you don’t even feel it cutting into your swollen hands. The spinning slows and you’re able to take a broken breath in, out, slowly, his face centers and stills in your vision.

“You fucking bitch. I would have given you everything ,” his eyes bore into you, darker by the second, and you meet his stare with your own, trying to muster the illusion of bravery. He holds his hands to your shoulders to ensure you don’t topple over.

Then they come up to your throat.

As you realize what he’s doing, you scream and try to get away, only falling backwards for a moment before he catches you, spindly fingers wrapping around your neck. He squeezes down and holds you suspended. You wheeze when you try to breathe around his grip. A smile creeps across his stone face and he clamps harder.

Panic.

Telling you he loved you in the park. Making out in the photo booth.

Can’t breathe.

Hand resting on your bare leg, fingers drawing sweet nothings onto your skin. Playing with your hair.

No noises, no airflow.

Kissing your knotted wrist that was once a gaping wound.

You try in vain to rip yourself away.

Can’t move.

His lips against yours. Silky dark hair your fingers comb through. The slope of his nose. Dimpled smile. Bedsheets that smell like the love of your life. Puppy dog eyes.

Buzzing in your ears.

“I hear you, cariño.”

Sizzling. Ringing. Popping.

In a tunnel, all you can see so far away, surrounded by black.

Flashes of people you love: Grandma, brothers, Claudia, Javier. Jellybean.

Energy drains from your body and you feel your eyes start to flutter shut, even though you can’t see anything anyway.

-BANG-

You fall onto the ground, collapsing in a heap, gasping for air. Choking. Coughing. Your arm is wet and sticky and scarlet.

It’s blood.

You search frantically for its source, then see Dan.

He’s laying the floor, staring at you. You’re gasping for air, heartbeat exploding in your chest, trying to kick yourself away from him and the impossibly dark red circle expanding around him.

His blonde hair is a gushing, black, viscous spring. A waterfall of it spills down across his face. Pooling the darkest red in his mouth, gaping wide. Streaming over his open, vacant eyes. Not vacant like they were before.

No, this time, they’re vacant as in dead.

You scream but it’s silent and sets your throat on fire.

Just the whistle-high pitch like a teakettle that’s almost ready to pour. Then there are hands on your body, pulling you away from the pool of blood. You buck away from the contact in a frenzy of confusion.

The grip anchors in your shoulders and shakes you.

Your whole body goes numb and your ears start ringing. Because you see him then.

He’s wearing a gray polo shirt, hair wild and flying in all different directions, just like the last time you saw him. It feels like a lifetime ago. Dashingly handsome, looking more terrified than you’ve ever seen him.

Javi. Holy shit it’s him.

Your ears come out of the tunnel and tune into earth, and you hear him saying your name, mumbling, “Baby it’s ok, I’m here, I’m here, I got you, it’s ok.”

Someone else cuts the zip ties on your wrists and ankles, and you throw your arms around him weakly. He pulls you in, burying his face in your neck, hugging around your chest so tight, you start to cough again.

“Fuck, sorry,” he gasps, then he lowers to the floor and pulls you onto his lap, stroking your dirty, blood-soaked hair. Your body wracks with sobs when it dawns on you that this is real.

It’s real. He’s here. He’s alive. You’re alive.

He cradles you in his arms and yells at Greg to call an ambulance. You inhale the musk of his sweat and curl into him as your body heaves. His lips on your forehead, promising, “You’re ok, you’re safe now.”

[ Next Chapter ]