#he did it all to spare me from the awful things in life that comes

[legyt]

He

He is the thought behind the feeling,      the swelling in my chest;      the starlight in the evening,      the yearning when I undress. He is the sound behind the sighing,      the song of every bird;      the tears in all my crying—      the ache in every word.                              — Lang Leav

...

An apprentice—not an assassin, but a Sith apprentice. “Aren’t there only supposed to be two?” he chokes out, his bucket creaking under the strength of his grip.

If the Sith notices, he doesn’t bring any attention to it, instead he tilts his head in a vaguely familiar gesture. “Supposedly,” is all he says, almost ruefully.

Fox could have never been more tempted to punch a man, let alone a Sith, but the temptation was overridden by the fact that he’s alone with a Sith that could very well kill him if he wanted. The thought alone almost makes him go to the other side of the limited space they had, but Fox stubbornly plants his feet right where he’s standing, because he’s a spiteful bastard but he won’t go down against this bastard.

Besides, he still had a particular Temple Guard to find, and looking at the Sith in front of him is just making him boil with rage. Remembering how Ventress and Bane took him right in front of him, bringing him to who knows where Dooku is staying, and Fox still had to find him and get him back.

So he had no plans to die today, even if he had to fight a Sith apprentice, who’s getting on his nerves simply for the fact that he’s wearing such a similar attire to a Temple Guard.

It grates on his nerves, to think that this bastard could parade around with that uniform, and though Fox is well aware how they aren’t exactly the same, the similarities were so obvious that it’s pissing him off.

...

//Febuwhump 2023 Day 13: forced to hurt a loved one

[eyestrain-addict]

Im surprised I have yet to see a jayvik edit to 'Murder Song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1)'. Someone get on this.

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: captive reader, no-name character deaths, Sukuna in general

fem reader

Sukuna, in his true form some thousand years ago, carrying you on his arm so that your feet and dress don’t stain with the blood on the floor. A sea of carnage he’d laid to waste only a moment ago—soldiers sent to slaughter the monster’s concubine, a heathenness whore. They’d fallen no different from flowers trampled underfoot.

It's a tragedy. If anyone could free you from his prison, it would have been them.

A heavy finger catches the tear dribbling down your face before it can fall to join the red below. “Don’t water them with your tears,” he says, bringing the droplet to his lips. “Not even in death do they deserve it.”

You view his second face—the warped array of eyes upon an inhuman mask—as a punishment from the Gods for his vile ways. 

“Did you think I’d find it flattering?” you ask sharply through the sorrow. “Murder in my name?”

Nothing betrays the look in his garnet eyes, nor does the way he holds you. He simply lets you sit there, upon him like a thrown, admonishing him no less—as if he hadn’t just saved your life from a thousand swords.

“I don’t,” you bite out when he doesn’t answer. “It sickens me. I curse whichever part of me attracted such a monster.”

That makes him smile. “I’m afraid that’s all of you, turtledove.” He turns you around in his many arms and lays you to rest like a bride. “From your toes to the finest hair atop your head—I covet it all—like treasure.”

He doesn’t rush while wading through the filth who’d tried to take you away from him, basking in their still-warm blood as if soaking his feet with their failure. He would have made it long-lasting if they’d come close enough to breathe the same air as you. But since you’d begged for him to spare them, he’d acted with mercy—making their deaths quick and all but painless.

The things he does for you.

“Does it frighten you to be the only one I care about?” he asks.

You look disgusted. He finds it rather cute.

 “No,” you reply. “It simply hurts.”

He throws his head back and laughs then—boisterously. The echo rings throughout the temple, even making ripples in the red. When he looks down at you again, he bears a great smile.

“Fine then, as you wish.” Evidence of his amusement remains while he speaks. “I won’t subject you to any more carnage from this moment onward.”

You know better than to take him for his word—especially when that awful grin stretches his face.

“No, I shall rather keep you tucked away where no one will ever dare go looking—and before I even dare come see you myself, I’ll make sure to have washed the filth off first so as not to trouble your pretty head with my savage habits. Now, does that sound satisfactory to you, my Queen?”

He’s mocking you, you surmise—cooing at you, laughing at the way you mourn. But it shouldn’t surprise you. If he can rip people to shreds without so much as batting any of his eyes, making light of their deaths isn’t all that more of an offense.

“All this inanity has given me an appetite,” he states with a hearty sigh—dismissing any further argument. “Let’s find Uraume and eat.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[yawnderu]

"Quit lookin' at me like that." He demands, accent growing thicker by the minute at his frustration.

"Like what?" You manage to gasp out, cheeks swollen and bloody at the beating you just took. Your hands are clasped together on your lap, forced to sir on your knees as you look up at him.

What stared back at you wasn't your loving Simon, no— this creature was much different. Ghost was glaring down at you, eyes cold and devoid of emotion other than pure, raw anger.

"Like a fuckin' lost puppy. Like you don't know what you did." His grip on the trigger tightens, holding the muzzle to your temple.

Please, tell me it isn't true. For the love of God, tell me it's all a lie.

"You leaked our information to fuckin' Konni?" He asks in disbelief, just wanting to confirm what he knew all along. It all connected once he found out; the late night escapades, the detached look in your eyes, how you kept missing every single celebration with the team claiming you were busy. Maybe if he noticed sooner, things would have been different.

Your silence and the way your head hangs low in shame is all the confirmation he needs. His gloved hand grips the pistol harder, the rough material almost merging with his skin.

You don't even have the courage to look at me.

"Everythin' we did together... I trusted you with my bloody life. I told you all my secrets and let you see all of me, and this is how you fuckin' pay me?" He doesn't even wait for an answer, three silenced gunshots ringing in his ears as he dumps the bullets into your chest, looking away before he hears the familiar thud of a body hitting the ground.

Goddammit. God damn it all to fucking hell.

Simon chokes on a harsh breath, the corners of his mouth twisting into a frown underneath his balaclava, jaw slackening. He doesn't dare look at you, unwilling to let his last image of you be a pool of blood with dead eyes.

He cried all his tears when he was a little kid, yet he can somehow feel the familiar sting in his eyes, causing him to sigh loudly and shake his head. His pistol goes back in its holster as he turned to leave, not sparing you a single glance.

Dying alone is a scary thought. You come to the world in a room full of people, your mother's happy face looking at her own creation, nurses and doctors smiling and celebrating you even when all your tiny body can do is to cry.

The thought of death isn't what scares you, no. Being a soldier for the special forces only ends two ways: retirement or going home in a box. That's something you came to terms with a long time ago, when your much younger hand held the pen, signing the contract that sold your soul to your comrades, a silent eternal promise of "we fight together, and we die together".

Your shaky hands grasp at the snow as you drag yourself forward, gear all of sudden heavier than ever; crushing you down like Atlas holding the sky. Your blood leaves a dirty trail on the pure, clean snow, marking you down as an easy target if Simon decides to come back for you— you know Ghost won't.

By the time someone manages to find you, your fingers are purple and your lips are painted an awful shade of blue, body adorned with burns from the cold snow digging into your bare skin. You allow yourself to rest as soon as the warmth of someone's hand makes contact with your skin, barely able to register the panicked scream and loud orders being barked.

Labeled as a hero after saving the country from Makarov's terrorist attack, Simon sported a new brand of chest candy on his uniform. Colorful ribbons adorned the right side of his blazer. His chest is still puffed out with pride as he steps into his small flat in London, all memories of you thrown away, including the ring he kept hidden in a drawer.

''Cute shoulder pads.'' Your finger hovers above the trigger, finally stepping out of the dark.

[pinknipszz]

IT'S BUZZCUT SEASON, ANYWAY

⤷ gojo satoru, ryomen sukuna, and fushiguro toji

SATORU thought it was going to be a harmless prank. hair grows back after all.

well. he didn’t anticipate his “harmless prank” to cause this much emotional distress. 

“it’s so ugly!” you scream, hiding your tear-stained face in your hands in a desperate attempt to forget the horrific image of your sweet, sweet boyfriend and his white buzzcut. entirely dismissive of the fact that you’re in a public setting—a park, actually—satoru quickly scoops you up in his arms with consolation on his lips.

“it’s not that bad baby,” he swears. “it’ll grow back in a few weeks anyway.” you spiral at his words as images of that vile haircut flash in your mind. after putting you back on your feet, satoru tries to pull your hands away from your pretty face, but his efforts turn futile once he hears something along the lines of: “it is that bad!” 

it comes out as a hoarse, incoherent muffle, but he understands it nonetheless.

“i’ll wear a wig!” he blurts out desperately. "there's a shop down the street. we'll buy one right now." your shoulders stop shaking as you fall silent, and for a moment, satoru thinks he made the right choice of words. When you barrel into another fit of loud sobs, however, an unretrievable part of him chips away.

with a heavy heart, satoru sighs and holds you against his chest, cradling your head. he really fucked up this time. people throw him strange looks, but others—especially women—only sigh and shake their heads sympathetically at your anguish. no one can really blame you for reacting like this anyway. 

“SUKUNA,” you gasp in awe at the sight of him. 

you’re hardly seated yet, but the thin glass shield does little to spare him from the bewildered look on your face as you gawk at the short, neat buzz in place of his usual slick back. he feels his eye twitch.

when the officer coughs behind him, sukuna throws a mean look over his shoulder before ripping the telephone off the wall and holding it close to his ear. he only gets to hear your sweet voice once a month, and he’ll be damned if you waste it on his hair. “don’t ask about it,” he gruffs out. “tell me what you’ve been up to.”

you blink once—twice, even—before mirroring his actions and grabbing the prison’s janky telephone (having done this so many times, you don’t even wince when you touch some mysterious residue left by the previous visitor). you try to speak, your lips curling around the syllables of a word, but not a single sound escapes your throat. 

sukuna rolls his eyes at your loss for words. “come on. talk to me, doll.” his light tap against the glass earns him a warning that you don’t quite catch from the officer, but by the quiet string of curses that leaves the receiver, you guess it must have something to do with cutting his minutes. which you absolutely did not want.

“i think it fits you,” you say hurriedly. “you have a nice face, so the buzz works really well.” your delivery wasn’t the most elegant, and you might have even stuttered in between, but sukuna nearly groans when he hears you again. god he misses you. more than you miss his pretty pink hair.

TOJI thinks his life can’t get any worse—or at least that’s what he thought before getting into a car accident last week.

by the grace of god, toji survived with only a few minor injuries, but his hair, now full of a million tiny glass shards, wasn’t so lucky. once he realized that they were impossible to wash out, toji knew there was only one thing left to do.

a loud shriek echoes through the apartment. 

“toji—why are you bald?” you point an accusatory finger at your boyfriend of three years, standing in the middle of your bathroom with a towel around his waist. maybe under different circumstances, you’d be drooling over the delicious sight, but how could you possibly do that when his hair is so close to his scalp!

toji simply won’t stand for this slander. now don’t get him wrong. he loves you more than anything in the world, but the last thing any guy wants to hear is his name and the word “bald” in the same sentence. “i’m not bald goddamnit!” he barks back with equal ferocity. “it’s called a buzzcut. get it right, woman!”

the hilarity of the situation has you doubling over in laughter. there are tears ruining your mascara, but you don’t half the mind to care, and neither does he as tension melts away from his shoulders. toji chuckles and shakes his head at your desperate wheezes.

this interaction could’ve gone much, much worse.

(masterlist) | (a/n: i don't think anyone else in the series would get a buzz tbh)

[kaveehs]

Sweetener — Gojo Satoru

fem!reader, wc 0.8k, fluff, established relationship, workaholic!gojo, first years make a cameo <3

synopsis: gojo had always liked sweet things, you were no exception

a/n: i’ve been so busy lately but i finally finished this piece!!! recently i’ve been missing gojo so much so i had so much fun with this <333

requested by: @the-weeping-author

Gojo Satoru undoubtedly had a sweet tooth.

Sure, he had a variety of pastries and candies at his disposal that he could use to curb his insatiable need for sweetness in his life, but they all paled in comparison to you. From the moment Satoru first met you, he could tell something was fairly different about you.

At a first glance, he could tell you were a bit apprehensive of him. This was nothing new, after all he carried such an intimidating title attached to him since he was young. Despite it all, you always greeted him with a smile and such warm words. There was no doubt that you were a kind girl at heart, but there was so much more to it than that to him. Your compassionate nature didn’t come with a catch, nor did it waiver the closer you and him became, it only strengthened his feelings towards you.

You always thought he had been exaggerating when he had expressed how just you alone could calm his overwhelming sweet tooth when your relationship with him first began, but he truly meant every word of it, no matter how dramatic it sounded.

“Honey!” Satoru called out to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. Of course it was only natural for him to call you something so sweet you couldn’t help but smile. “I didn’t expect you to be back so soon, let alone spare time to visit me at work, how was it?” Before coming to his office, you had been scoping out a new bakery he had been dying to go to, but couldn’t due to being constantly cooped up at work.

“Great, I brought back some things I thought you might like,” you answered, handing him the small box of pastries you’d saved for him. He pulled back half of his blindfold, happily accepting the box into his hands which had been much larger than the pastry box. Just as he flipped open the lid, he noticed a shift in your expression.

“What’s with the sad face, sweetheart? You wanna try some too? You know I don’t mind sharin’,” he teased. His comment caught you somewhat by surprise— you didn’t even notice the change in your face.

“No, it’s not that,” you slightly bit the lower corner of your lip. “I just wish we could’ve gone together. You’ve been workin’ so much, y’know?”

Satoru paused for a moment, placing the treats on his desk as he got up from the comfort of his office chair. “I know baby,” he uttered sympathetically as his arms engulfed your body. “‘M sorry,” he said as he pressed his lips to your forehead. “When I have free time, I promise I’ll take you on the best trip ‘n you’ll have my full attention.”

“You mean it,” your eyes glistened with excitement at his words. A full trip where you could simply enjoy each other’s company, the thought alone was lovely.

“Y’know I don’t like to make promises I can’t honor,” a grin found its way to his face. “Of course I mean it.”

As you subconsciously squeezed him tighter, pulling him closer for a soft kiss, you heard the sound of snickers just as your lips were about to connect… his first year students. You pulled away from him, despite the small pout on his face.

“Before we get to that, I gotta assign my students here, more work. Clearly they seem to have a bunch of time to kill,” he spoke in a sarcastic yet matter-of-fact manner, laughing at their pleads for mercy. “Utahime’s been houndin’ me about your academic performance anyway. Perfect timing if you ask me.”

“Come on ‘Toru, go easy on them,” you remarked while trying to contain your own laughter.

“…Maybe I’ll let the assignments slide for today.”

“And just like that, he folds,” Itadori blinked, in awe at how quick he was to change his decision because of your interjection.

“It’s almost impressive how much control she has over someone like Gojo,” Nobara chimed in. Megumi shook his head.

“It’s nothing like that,” he sighed as if he knew all too well the truth of his mentor’s nature. “He’s just soft. Always has been.”

“Now now,” Gojo cleared his throat, it was telling he had been a bit embarrassed by the back and forth banter of his students. “Maybe I should switch things up a little bit— and teach you all a small life lesson.” This promise of a new lesson seemed to pique the interests of Nobara and Itadori. “When you find the love of your life—” he began as he looked over to you, however his speech was cut off by the simultaneous groans of his students.

“How informative,” you joked, followed by such a genuine laugh that spread to him so easily. Though you did learn something new with his eight words— that he saw you as the love of his life.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be Gojo Satoru’s sweetener afterall.

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 29

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, NSFW, MDNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: poor parenting discussed, Talia may or may not be ooc (if she is, fear not! I have received 2 separate permits, and have been told I may do as I please!), mild cussing, fluff, angst, a smidge of fear

wc: 2.4k

Chapter Selection

“... Babe, I know you've described Damian's mom as a ‘real piece of work', and Bruce told me a bit about how she raised him before he came here, so I do know she's not what I would consider a good mom. But that doesn’t explain why her visiting means we can't go to the manor?”

Jason sighed, setting his phone aside. He cupped my cheeks, purring my name; “darling, light of my life. I mean this in the best possible way. … You cannot be trusted to keep your cool with her.”

I blinked several times, frowning; “what on earth does that mean?!”

“You are … passionate. You love fiercely, and I love that about you. Seriously, I don't want you to think this is a bad thing; the way you love us makes me feel so safe, and I know Damian agrees. But … you've already yelled at one of his teachers, his principal, and Bruce. You will not be able to hold your tongue with Talia. And holding our tongues is necessary with her. … If she believes living at Wayne Manor is making Damian weak, she will take him away 'for his own good’.”

“How on earth would I make her think he's weak?”

“Talia is the type of person who believes attachment makes us weak. The things we care about can be used against us, the people we love are the people who will hurt us the worst. She believes it's better to be feared than loved. She's why he's so good at masking his feelings. Why he doesn't always understand his own feelings; his early education did not include processing and recognizing emotions. But she's … incredibly astute. She's analytical, and brilliant, and terrifying, and … she's his mother; she taught him everything he knew before he came here, and now she can read him without trying, even when he tries to hide his feelings from her. So if she sees how you two are around each other, even if neither of you so much as acknowledge each other, she'll know how you feel about him, and how he feels about you, and we'll probably never see him again.”

I growled softly, clenching my jaw. “… Bitch…”

He chuckled softly, holding me close. “I know. Which is why we have to keep our distance. … She doesn't visit often, and when she does she never stays long. She'll probably be here for a week at most, stalking the kid to make sure he's not slipping, and once she's gone I’m certain he'll show up on our doorstep.”

I sighed softly. “... Ok. … If you see him between now and then you have to find a way to tell him that I’m missing him and I love him very much, ok?”

He groaned softly. “Aw, come on, babe. The Red Hood can't lean in to give Robin a hug during patrol!”

“I'm not asking you to hug him - don't hug him! Just make sure he knows that I'm thinking about him. Please?” I pouted, snuggling against his chest; “for me?”

“Ughhhhh …. Fine. For you.” He sighed, running his fingers down my spine.

I grinned, snuggling against him happily. “Thank you~”

“Yeah, yeah …” he chuckled, kissing my temple. We sat on the floor, curled against each other, for a long while before Jason finally moved us to the bed to get some sleep.

Jay quickly started moving his things into my place. I gave him my spare key and made space in the closet. When I got home from the next girls night some of his clothes were hung up next to mine. The next day there was one of those cheap plastic dressers next to my nice wood one, and sitting on top of it was Jason's cologne, a book, and his deodorant. His shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel joined mine on the side of the tub. We bought more towels and a new set of sheets.

All these little changes made me giddy; his things slotting into position next to mine just felt so right, and I would get used to the weapons that were suddenly stashed all over the apartment. We had a thorough gun-safety presentation that night, and he showed me where everything was. On the next gym-and-range day, we finished training with an exercise where he would, entirely at random, shout “intruder” and time how long it took me to have a weapon trained on him. My best time was two seconds; he had expected me to go for the gun in the drawer, not the knife block in front of me on the counter.

Soon I started packing Jason a lunch for patrol. Mostly because I wanted to take care of him in some way, but a part of me also hoped he'd run into Damian out there and share the cookies I made. He rolled his eyes at me the first time I pressed the insulated bag into his hands, but accepted it anyway. I sent him off with a kiss and a wave, and settled in to wait for him to come home. Hours later I fell asleep on the couch, and when I woke up it was 4:30am and he was unlocking the door. The exhaustion rolled off him as I pulled him into a tight hug, and we collapsed into bed. When I woke up for real around 11 the lunch bag was sitting on the kitchen counter, empty and clean. I grinned, filling it again that night, and Jason didn't offer so much as a token resistance before taking it.

A week and a half passed before he ran into Robin on patrol. Jason assured me that he had passed along my message, Damian was perfectly healthy and definitely missed me too, and he had even been forced to share the brownies I'd packed. I beamed, kissing his cheek in thanks, and we curled up in bed.

The next day, we started looking at houses online. We obviously only looked at what was available in Red Hood's territory; on top of him wanting to stay close to his patrol area, it was on the opposite side of Gotham from the well manicured lawns of Bruce's gated neighborhood and thus the perfect place to set up my clinic. Whether our home or the cave was closer, the bats would never be more than 30 minutes away from medical care. Jason took note of a few addresses he wanted to go check out, promising to swing by during patrol to see if they were securable.

“No reason to arrange a showing if I'm not gonna be able to make it safe for you.” He kissed my forehead, wrapping an arm around my waist. I chuckled softly, leaning against him. I was pretty sure he was the one who would need the most security measures to feel safe in our new home, but I wasn't going to argue. The way he lit up when providing for me was too precious a sight; if I complimented his cooking he turned pink and mumbled it was nothing. I thanked him for switching over the laundry and he sighed happily, nodding. When he saw progress in my training he beamed. And when he came home safe in the early hours of the morning, all anxiety and stress melted off of him the second he was in my arms.

In a lot of ways, life was starting to feel incredibly normal. We were like the picturesque 1950’s family I'd been taught to simultaneously idealize and vilify; until the spring semester at GU started I was free to spend my time how I pleased, and with Damian's mother still in town, that mostly meant finding new ways to feel like I was giving Jason as much as he gave me. I made sure he always had enough treats in his lunches, in case Damian was out too. When Jason returned from patrol I inspected him for any small wounds my first aid knowledge would fix. I doted on him every chance I got, and he doted right back. It was wonderful, truly.

But when he left for work, and I was alone with my thoughts, the stillness in the apartment quickly became overwhelming. At first Damian's sudden absence from my life had been annoying but acceptable. But after the first couple days it started to feel like a rabid dog was using my heart as a chew toy. Why was his mother still here? What was she doing? What was she saying to him? He had been making such incredible progress; he smiled more, he initiated hugs, he accepted them more readily. He was painstakingly tearing down the walls around his feelings brick by brick. It was a difficult process, and he was being so brave, I couldn’t be prouder! But what was she doing to those walls while I was kept away?

It had been two weeks, and I was starting to wonder if she planned to stay for the holidays. I didn't want her to stay for the holidays! I had plans, and I couldn't do my plans if I couldn't go to the manor! Being barred from Wayne Manor meant no Damian, but it also meant no Steph, no Dick, no Tim, none of them! We had decided it would be best if it looked like I was just Jason's girlfriend; as far as Talia knew he was indifferent to the family, if that. So I had to appear indifferent at best as well.

I was still able to go to girls' night, because that was being held at Barbara's home. There was no reason to believe Talia would know or care about that. But I missed training with everyone. I missed finding new ways to tease Tim. I missed Dick's good natured laugh. God help me, I even missed Bruce! He pissed me off, but he was still kind to me for the most part, and he was a good trainer. I wanted things to get better with him, for Jason and Damian's sake. I wanted him to be the dad they deserved, the dad Dick believed he wanted to be. I was pretty sure he had it locked away inside him, he just needed … something. What exactly that was, I wasn't sure; maybe to see how happy Damian was with simple childhood experiences? Or to see the peace on Jason's face when we cooked together. Or maybe he needed to experience some of that for himself. But whatever he needed, I was sure he wasn't getting it, and until Talia al Ghul left I wouldn't find out.

I tried to busy myself with crafting and baking. With the winter holidays on the horizon I really should have started on presents around Halloween, especially considering how many people I was making gifts for this year. But better late than never, so I used the time alone to get started. Jason would be gone for hours, I had plenty of time. Or, I would have if not for the knock at the door.

I jumped, looking up incredulously. I wasn't expecting guests, especially this late at night. Anyone I wanted here had my phone number, and no one had called or texted. I grabbed my phone, just to be sure, but I was right - no unread texts, no missed calls. A moment later there was another knock, this one more insistent.

I grabbed one of Jason's guns and my phone, ready to call him with the push of a button, and looked through the peephole. A beautiful woman was standing at the door, an unamused look on her face. Her clothes were too elegant for this neighborhood, she definitely didn't just wander to the wrong door. I sighed, a sinking sensation in my gut as I cracked the door open just enough to reveal my face.

“... Hello?” I frowned.

She raised an eyebrow; “... is hospitality well and truly dead in this country, or are you going to invite me in?”

“At eleven o'clock at night, in this neighborhood, with an uninvited stranger on the doorstep? It’s dead. Now, would you like to introduce yourself, or should I shut the door?”

She tsked; “I am Talia al Ghul. Why have you been spending time with my son?”

I silently cursed, but forced my expression to remain bored and distrusting; “... Your son?”

“Damian …” she sighed, “I believe he's using his father's last name now, Wayne.”

“Oh, Jason's brother? He's not here.”

“Obviously not.” She snapped; “are you going to let me in?”

“Why? He's not here.”

“I know he's not here! I want to know why you've been spending so much time with him.”

“I dunno about ‘much’. I've met him.”

“You are his emergency contact at that paltry excuse for a school he is enrolled at.”

“Oh, is that what you're so upset about?” I shrugged; “'m just doing a favor for Jay by doing a favor for his dad.”

“... Elaborate.”

“Mr. Wayne is a busy man, I am not a terribly busy woman. Emergency contact at the school was a simple enough thing to take off his plate. Kinda thing that seems bigger than it actually is. He now associates me with his life being ever so slightly easier. He already associates me with Jason, ergo he now associates Jason with his life being slightly easier.”

She frowned deeply. “You are emotionally manipulating Bruce into … what, being kinder to his second son?”

“... I suppose so, yeah. Didn't really think about it that way. 'Manipulation' makes it sound so much more convoluted and … effort-full. All I did was sign a piece of paper.”

Her expression morphed into a small smirk; a very Damian-like expression. “... And you are Jason's … girlfriend?”

“Yep.”

“... Hm.” She nodded once. “... Very well then.”

“... Okaaay. … So are you like, sticking around or somethin'? Do you want to be the emergency contact now?”

“No, there is no reason for that…” she pursed her lips; “establishment to have my phone number.”

I shrugged again. “Alright… Anything else?”

“... No, I suppose not.”

“Kay. I'm goin' back to bed then. Goodbye.” I shut the door, locking it, and looked through the peephole again. She glowered at my door, seemingly considering something, and finally left.

I watched her walk away until she was entirely out of sight, then slowly retreated to the couch to text Jay.

Me: Everything is fine, do not panic; but I just met Talia. 11:20pm

Jason: I'm coming home. Don't open the door to anyone. 11:35pm

Me: 👍❤️ 11:36pm

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[youaremyhome]

The Antimatter of You

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, blackmail, manipulation, DARK. More to add. Read at your own risk!

Notes: 4.4k!! I did it!!! I promise now that it’s summer (and getting fired from my job) I’ll have more time to write/update. Hope it lives up to the hype lol let a girl know ok love ya ❤️

Taglist: @belcalis9503 @ACRAZYBIOTCH374 @fangirlwithlou @malfoytargaryen @RAFECAMERONSBADUSSY @takin-care-of-business @watersquirtpewpewboomm @magnificantmermaid @mk15x @abbybarnesstuff @lavenderhue @dirtytomatoedwrites

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! (And I’m sorry if I missed you, I love you)

The scent of flowers is nauseating but with a knock on your door, Rafe ignores it as best as he can.

It’s been several days since he’s seen you, the longest he’s gone without any physical contact. His texts were met with one worded replies or none at all. Having done a stellar job of avoiding him. Taking new routes to your lectures, roommates answering the door saying you weren’t home, skipping your Ethics class, the seat glaringly empty beside him.

Rafe knew to give you some space – if only for this once. The incident with you, him and Topper had shaken you greatly, no one had ever seen such an argument between the two of you. His best friend had given him a thorough tongue-lashing that morning after your exit. A reminder from Rafe about Topper’s general creepiness towards his sister had him shutting up instantly.  

Before, Rafe had believed you were slowly - but surely - getting used to him being a fixture in your life. He wasn’t stupid enough to think you were fully submitting, of course, but he knew you would be able to get there. With time.

He’s let you have your little tantrum of silence. It was a mistake to treat you so harshly, even if you had wasted a hundred dollars worth of good product.

You’re home alone today. He’s made sure of it. Camped outside your townhome for the past two hours. All your roommates had gone out for various things, filing out one by one. The only one left was the most annoying: Daniella.  

While Louise and Andi gave knowing smirks whenever the group was together, Daniella always had a strained smile. As if she struggled to let him anywhere near you.

To ensure her absence, he had recruited the help of Carson. Telling him to lure his girlfriend out so Rafe could talk to his.

He rasps on the door again, calling out your name.

“Open the door. I know you’re home.” When there’s no response, Rafe fist hits harder. “Open the damn door.”

He repeats your name multiple times as he jingles the doorknob. After a few more tries, he sighs and gives up. It didn’t have to go this way.

The click of the door is quiet, Rafe soundlessly closing it as he pockets his copy of the key. Slyly walking through the foyer, the back of your head appears when he comes into the open living room. The crinkle of plastic as his hands squeeze the stems makes your head almost fall off from how fast you look behind.

“What in the actual hell, Rafe?” Pushing off the couch, you cross your arms. A faint line creased between your eyebrows and Rafe can’t help but notice you aren’t wearing a bra. “How’d you get in here?”

“Spare.” Rafe simply says. “Y’know, just in case of an emergency.”

“Or to sneak in here like a fucking creep.”

“No…for when my girl is ignoring me.”

Rafe lifts the bouquet up, savoring how you take in the view of your favorite flowers in white and faint pink. Taking a step toward you, a minute flinch ticks at your shoulders. Rafe stops.

“Well, you can throw them in the garbage on your way out.” Your ponytail swishes when you twirl back to plant yourself on the couch. “Go away.”

“Aw c’mon baby,” Groaning, he rolls his head back. He rounds the couch, standing in front of the TV. Extending his arm out, he presents the flowers again. “How about you find a nice vase for these, and I’ll make it up to you.”

The stupid comment grants him exactly what he wants, your attention on him. Eyes like needlepoints hoping to puncture him.

“You can do so by leaving.” You turn the volume up, and you focus back on the TV.

It’s the dismissal that has Rafe’s ire prickling his skin, his patience splintering.  

“Alright, that’s enough. I gave you plenty a time to pout.”

Your lips puff with your incredulous. “Pout? Pout?” You swat at the bouquet. “I’m not pouting. I’m fucking pissed and tired of you.”

'Pissed off' he could deal with. The pouting is cute. Your tears are an intoxicating aphrodisiac. But to be tired of him?

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

Rafe squats down, supporting his forearms on his knees as he looks up at you through his lashes. Staring at the upwards angle of your face, he doesn’t have to wait long for your eyes to nervously meet his. Containing his anger has never been his forte. You simultaneously ignite his fire to a roaring inferno and wash it down until there’s only embers left. At the moment, he was between the two.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He blows out a breath. “I, I should’ve never gotten like that with you. Forgive me, angel?”

Leaning the flowers forward, the petals tap once against your bare knees. A deadlock between wills of opposing nature. Your facial expressions switch like the flipping of pages, the language of you becoming easier to understand the more time he spends with you.

“Apology unaccepted.”

Snatching the bouquet out of his grip, you stand and beeline for the kitchen. Rafe rights himself up, following you lazily. Playing his own game of shadow with each step and turn you make. Your slamming cabinets left and right until you find one beneath the sink, almost cracking the glass of a long vase with your force.

His gaze skims over the flimsy material of your sleep shorts, and the way your breasts slope beneath your tank top. Your hands busy themselves with arranging the stems and such, actively ignoring his presence. Hands in his pockets, Rafe takes measured strides until he’s a hairs length away from your back.

“…I never got my hello kiss.”

Your glare radiates so potently that Rafe doesn’t have to look to know it's there. Placing his hands on your hips, he walks the tips of his fingers inward and smirks when a quiver to your lower belly ripples across. Lips kiss at the tension in your shoulders, thumbs molding like dough into your sides.

“I’ve missed you…” His tongue peaks out, tasting the skin there. A hand travels down to play with the waistband of your shorts. “Missed this cunt, too.”

“Rafe – wait,” The hitching of your breath is so sweet he cups you in his wide hand in a fluid downslide. The pinching pain of your nails into his wrists has him stilling, lingering. Your neck stretches as you look back as your features pinch in. “I’m…I’m on my…y’know, period.”

He wants to believe you – truly he does – but lies spill from those pretty lips all the time so…

Frustrated whimpers break loose between your bitten lip while Rafe continues down, your head leaning on his shoulder in defeat. Swirling the tip of his middle finger closer to your hole, the touch of roped cotton has him pausing. A string.

Damn it.

Rafe sighs and trails up your slit to lightly stroke your clit once more before he’s slipping his hand out, keeping it low on your warm pelvis. It rises a rumbled chuckle from him, peering down at your weak glare. This close to your face, he can see all the small imperfections that add to the mosaic of your beauty. Gliding his other hand up, he passes a ghost of a touch to your chest before it lands with a curl around your throat. The addition of it pushes you fully into perfection.

Humming and eyes hooded, Rafe draws out a peck to your lips. The warm, soft contact is barely a kiss, just a need to feel you closer that has Rafe relaxing a fraction. “C’mon then.”

Leading you back to the couch, you resume your previous seat that looks more like a nest with a bundle of blankets, a heating pad, and candy there. Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline when he lays the warmed pad on your lower abdomen, wrapping a fuzzy throw around you then tucking you under his arm, situated to lean against him. Propping his feet on the ottoman, Rafe focuses on the TV which plays some sort of reality show.

Your suspicion rises like steam, muscles strained with preparation for flight. It isn’t until halfway through the show does Rafe feel your body incrementally slacken and by the third, you’ve fallen asleep.

So, if the show happens to stay on there’s no one around to judge.

Rafe likes it when you’re asleep. Can freely stare at you without an icy sneer or bitchy remark to ruin the moment. Just a doll nuzzled deep into the side of him resonating a humming of snores.

His peace is ruined by the vibrating of his phone. He checks the screen.

Ward

With care, Rafe eases up from the couch and repositions your head so it’s against a pillow then heads into the kitchen.

Ward hardly calls him. The proportion of Rafe’s outgoing calls to him weighs heavily unanswered. Taking a deep breath, he picks up.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” There’s an eager edge to his question and Rafe hates it.

“Rafe, checking in to see how you doin’?” Ward’s deep timbre carries easily through the speaker.

“Good. I’m good.” Rafe looks at the back of the couch, smiling. “Yeah, I’m actually at my girl –”

“Listen, bud,” His father starts. “You got any plans for spring break? Wantcha come down so you can help me start up this new project. It’s a big one.”

Rafe pumps his fist into the air silently, excitement coloring his voice. “No, yeah, totally! I can do that. I’m up for it.”

“You sure? This is legit business and I need you to have a clear head. That means no…partying when you’re here, ‘ight? No funny stuff while we do this. Can you handle that, Rafe?”

It isn’t the serious tone of his father’s gruff voice that has his excitement evaporating. It’s the impending disappointment there like Rafe has already fucked up. Ward giving him a chance and still expecting failure in the end. A flash of hurt burns through but Rafe shakes it off, tells himself that he deserves it considering his track record.

“You can count on me, sir. I swear.”

A pause. Rafe thinks Ward might give encouraging words. A squeeze of a hand for support, words he’s heard him tell Sarah.

Only it’s: “See you soon.” And that’s that.

The dual beep from the phone lets Rafe know Ward’s hung up, just as a ‘love you’ was balancing off his tongue. He must be busy today.

“Who was that?”

Your voice rises from the couch before your head pops up, hair all fluffy and ruffled. Eyes are a bit puffy from sleep as you blink them open. The late afternoon sun creates a soft yellow hue through the windows, catching onto strands of your hair, soaking into your skin. Rafe is momentarily blinded by the view that it takes him a second to respond.  

“My dad.” Carding his fingers through his hair, Rafe smiles as the thrill returns. “He wants me to assist with a new job. This is huge for me!”

Yawning, you stretch and get up from the couch. Rafe keeps his body angled to yours, head nodding along to his babbling as you fill a glass of water.

“If he could see that I’m ready – that I’m ready to get serious, I’ll finally be a part of the Cameron legacy. My legacy. It’s about time he’s bought me into the loop…sure I’ve been tagging along since I could remember but this time, he wants my input. I’ll be able to share my ideas and he’ll have to listen.” He sighs, winded. “It’s too bad I’ll be gone for spring break –”

“Really?”

You’re at the edge of the peninsula, hip leaning against the counter as you take another sip. Your eyes shift from his to elsewhere, fingers drumming an uneven beat. Adjacent to you and with his hands braced on the counter, Rafe slides closer. Spreading his fingers apart to reach out a pinky to stroke your own.

“Don’t miss me too much.”

Scoffing, you swipe your hand away. “As if.” Your face softens a little into curiosity. “What does your dad do again?”

Shock rocks at his heart and it's damn hard to keep it in. He can count on one hand the number of times you’ve shown genuine interest in conversation with him.

“He owns a development company. Operates daily with the construction of buildings and those type of things.”

“Oh.” Your eyes are open and inviting, the slightest tilt in his direction.

Rafe steams on ahead, wanting to keep your attention. “Yeah, he started it all on his own. Born on the other side of the island. Actually made something of himself… unlike those dirty pogues down there now.”

It’s automatic to sneer out the slur. He can’t help the disgust he feels just thinking about that side of town.  

One of your eyebrows raises. “Aren’t you, like, fourth generation to attend UNC?” Your chin juts out. “Wouldn’t that mean your family has had, like enough money to go for so long?”

Rafe could crack a tooth from the grinding of his teeth. You’re not the first to connect the dots but you certainly are one of the few to vocalize it.  

“Third.” Rafe sucks his teeth in. “The Camerons may have started out on the Cut, but they grew to be more middle class. Only the truly elite are on Figure Eight.”

It infuriates him to no end of that simple fact. That just before he was born Ward was making his way through the Cut and into Figure Eight, the right side of the island. Where he – they always belonged.

Your eyes roll with a tilt of your head. “So, not really a pogue, not really a kook. Just an ordinary man like the rest of the world. Y’know, stepping on that island is like being in a fucked up alternate universe.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I am not!” The stomping of your foot says otherwise. “It’s the worst place I’ve ever been.”

“It’s the best place.”

It’s amusing to watch your cheeks puff in frustration. “Only because of the little notoriety your family has there.”

A slow smirk spreads out like elastic, leaning into you. “Well, of course, sweetheart.”

With anyone else, Rafe would be squashing them beneath his shoe like a bug for a comment like that. With you, however…he finds he wants to know all your thoughts regarding him, the good and the bad. Suck in all the information he can, leach off every emotion you hold for him. The anger, the disgust, the begrudging pleasure.

At the same time, Rafe doesn’t have to hide behind a polite smile or use his charm to peruse you. He’s his real self. The most based form of a soul he struggles to hold onto. Wants to lay the shreds of his soul at your feet like a sacrifice, irrevocably intertwined together.

A peculiar look morphs on your face. Like when you’re working through a difficult assignment. Unmoving, focused but this time on him, which is extremely rare. Usually, you shield yourself away in a layer of ice that solidifies you.

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back, lashes blinking rapidly to break your connected gazes.

“What are you thinking about?” He angles his head low to follow your eyes.

Rafe half expects the typical retort of: ‘You don’t need to know all my waking thoughts.’

“Just…Doesn’t everyone on the island think he was a true pouge?”

So, you have listened to his rants before.

“People remember and think what they want to. Ward doesn’t have to answer to any of them.” His eyes narrow. “Why?”

Your fingers begin to fiddle with themselves. Twisting fingers in knots, squeezing the tips in a random pattern.

Again, he asks. “Why’re you so interested?”

“What? Now you’re gonna be mad I’m talking to you?”

Sass is a defense mechanism you use often; one Rafe finds the most annoying but just as addictive to combat with. It continues in his silent stare.

“I guess… I’m just confused why you would want to work with him so badly?” Your tone goes from curious to condescending within a blink of an eye. “If my dad treated me like that, I’d want to be as far away from him as possible.”

The straightening of his spine is immediate. “You don’t know shit about my dad.”

“Just that he treats you like shit –”

“Shut up –”

“Bet he’d love to know his only son is a psychotic rapist!”

His eyes bulge. A moment of stillness that enraptures the both of you. The bickering was reeving him up to ravish you across the countertop. Now, his mind whirls from the total 180 you’ve pulled on him. Never has he heard you utter those condemning words before. Rafe didn’t think you’d succumb to that dark truth, let alone say it out loud.

A scoff hiccups deep from his chest. “What fucking proof you got of that, sweetheart?” Shifting closer, your face pinches in as Rafe leers, “Your wet cunt cumming each time I force it in?”

It’s a low blow you take with stride, a flinch before you're sneering. “What about that little coke problem of yours?”

There.

There it is.

The real reason you’ve gone down this path of conversation. Nosing your way into things pretty girls like you shouldn’t concern yourself with. Much less with the intention set in your shoulders.

“You trying to blackmail me?” The chuckle comes low, barely a sound of amusement. “Oh, honey,” Rafe mocks. “You didn’t know he already knows?”

The façade of your bravado crumbles, a half step taken back with weary eyes. He tsks and cocks his head back, disappointed. With a sudden swing of his arm, the back of his hand knocks your glass of water to the other side of the room. The shattering of glass and your shriek harmonize, creating the perfect symphony to his sudden charging to you, arms an unknown mix until he shoves you against the wall.

Both hands hold your throat. Nails pierce his skin and scratch along the length trying to find a better leverage. The squeezing doesn’t stop until your eyes are pleading and swimming in the dark waters of fear.

“I may be a fuck up but I’m still his son.” Jerkily releasing you, your head wobbles on your neck. Hands barricading you in, Rafe lowers his head until your noses touch. Your panting breaths feed his next ones in.

“Don’t threaten me if you can’t back. It. Up!” His final warning is yelled, vibrating against your lips as his palms smack beside your head with each pointed word.

Your tears have gone unnoticed until you curl to the side and his lips taste the salty moisture upon your skin. Normally, the sight of them would soften his anger and harden his cock, leading the situation to hot make-up sex.

It isn’t enough. Not today.

Not when his future is within his grasp, his for the taking. Not with the knowledge of you trying to get rid of him, the idea as pointless as it is terrifying. Going to desperate measures when you should be desperate for him.

With a practiced move, Rafe retches your hair between tightened knuckles and pulls until your neck is a long arch and facing him. He ignores the pain-filled yelp and weak hands patting his chest.

“You want me to force you? Is that it, baby, huh?” Rafe hisses.

He hauls you down until your knees fold beneath you. A sick delight like seasickness rolls down to his groin as he growls. Weak defiance lives in your eyes, frowning with his name on your tongue. It's a tug of war between Rafe’s hand and your struggle to rise, keeping your hair taunt. It’s the sight of him unzipping his fly that has you hitting his thighs with a renewed alarm.

“Rafe! Stop it –”

“Keep fightin’ and you’re only gonna make it worse f’yourself.” Rafe warns another yank just to hear you shriek.

Fisting the base of his cock, he pulls it out through the opening. He aims for your mouth, but you cringe making the tip smear on your chin. Rafe tuts, guiding your head right where he wants, and flexes his arm, sure to hold you in place.

“C’mon n’ open up,” he drawls. “Take your punishment.”

Stroking up to the tip, his thumb sweeps along the ridge and tilts his hips forward, hovering just above those plush lips. Tapping the red flesh on your closed mouth, Rafe splays his hand on your chin and squeezes on the delicate bones until your jaw unhinges with a wail to relieve the pain.

Like a serpent striking, he’s pushing in before you can react. Bumping against the roof of your mouth, the rigids of your hard palate make him jerk with sensitivity and envelop the next few inches. The hot, wet rush has sparks crackling up his spine. All that heat and anger spirals down to his cock, the need to claim brooding in his balls. Grunting your name with each gag you give, his thumb caresses the corner of your lip as he watches enthralled.

A part of him wants to take his time. Use gentle strokes to coax your mouth open, train you with patience to swallow his cock just right.

Instead with a mean smirk, Rafe plunges half his cock in. The clenching of your throat makes it hard to go in deeper, the constriction of your resistance inflames his pleasure. The underside of his dick feels the rippling of your tongue like a wave, chasing after it eagerly. Your high-pitched whines are muffled by the weight of him, gargles of air getting blocked as he teases the opening of your throat.

“Can’t believe I’ve gone this long without fucking that mouth of yours.”

Saliva accumulates, thick and slippery as his cock triggers your gag reflex, spit dribbling down your jaw. Your drool coats him to create a smooth glide, lower abdomen tensing, and stuffing further in. Such a pretty sight seeing you like this, gurgling and coughing between the space of your cheeks and his cock. Eyelashes clumped, a darkening hue on your cheeks, small fistfuls of his jeans. Your gagging clinches your throat, locking him in tight before it flutters open.

Rafe allows you to pull back far enough to catch a breath. Coughing out into shaky inhales, lips puffy from abuse and slicked with combined spit and precum. Standing above you like this gives him the most delicious view of your stretched neck. From the tip of your chin to the swell of your cleavage in an expanse of skin that should be carved into marble.

Words tangle as you stutter and gasp, Rafe hushing you with faux tenderness. “I’m going to fuck ya throat now…”

Weaving his fingers once more into your hair, Rafe pushes back into your avoiding mouth. Your fighting ignites a primal urge of take, take, take within him. A bloating want fills his void. Sticky and black as tar that he wants to pour onto you, anoint you with his devoted desecration.

There is little mercy with the pistoling of his hips, ass clenching in pointed thrusts. Mummering encouragements of that’s it, such a good girl and various pitches of your name, Rafe feeds you his length with a fevered urgency. The squelching of his dick opening your throat layers with his low moans, watching as each inch disappears until your lips are kissing his pelvis.

His hips jerk involuntarily as a tickling of pleasure jolts him, your wet bottom lip moving on the sensitive spot just below his base and above his heavy balls. It feels so good and you’re not even actively sucking on him. Just a soft wet home for him to press in farther, another place he has laid claim to.

Fringes of hair droop between his eyes, almost hunched over as he pulls his hips to ram back in. Wet spots glisten on your chest, staining your tank top. A relentless pace fueled by rage and an ache.

“Fuck – ah – I’m gonna cum.” Rafe says hoarsely and tilts his head back if only to starve off his orgasm by looking away. “My good lil’ slut…swallow my cum.”

Angling your head up, Rafe slides his cock down all the way to the root. Grip tightening on your head, he rocks side to side to wiggle in as much as he can. You're choking helplessly as he fucks so deep, it feels like he might reach your heart. One hand skates down to your neck and palms the bulge, holding it there to experience the swell of it. Minuscule thrusts nudge the back wall of your esophagus, his thumb rubs up and down where the head sits.

The scrunching of your eyes and difficult breaths boosts his ego but he needs to see you. Needs you to see him.

“Look at me.” His fingers press in painfully. Eyes flickering half open, the devastation set in your irises kindles his breaking point. “Ugh,” he grunts your name like gravel between his teeth.

Stilling in the depths of you, Rafe cums.  

Your muscles intuitively constrict and swallow, suctioning him with hot, white pleasure. The wet of your cheeks is like velvet as you drink his cum.

Seconds or minutes pass before he loosens his hold. Loud choking fits break between your breathing once you're free from his cock, covered in a layer of drool and residual cum. Rafe pets your hair, trying to smooth out the knots he’s made.

You’re still crying as he calms down from his high, face nuzzling into his hip to hide. God, he’s going to get hard again with you looking so pathetic.

“Did you learn your lesson, pretty angel?” Dragging rough fingers through your hair, he bunches a handful and barely pulls, your neck like a snapped cord as your head flops back. An index finger tenderly traces down your cheek to your swollen lips.

“Any more empty threats and I’ll rape your mouth until you pass out.”

[katarrinskey]

He holds my body in his arms

He didn't mean to do no harm

And he holds me tight

He did it all to spare me from the awful things in life that comes

And he cries and cries

—————————————————-

COMMISSION INFO



[sunshine-jesse]

In defense of Andrew Graves: Facing Yourself​

Alt title: Andrew Graves: The Will to Plow Her

I think my analysis of Andrew is one of the best essays I've written so far. But since then, I think I've expanded my understanding of his character in a way that urges me to add on to my prior essay. What I intend on doing is further fleshing out my reading of Burial, and going deeper in detail on why I think Decay ends up panning out the way it does. This essay will end up sharing a lot of text with my prior one, but will add enough scattered throughout that I think it merits a complete reread instead of just scrolling down and seeing what's new.

I've focused a lot on Ashley in my past writings. She's my favorite character in the story (and depending on how episode 3 pans out, maybe ever) and I'm pretty mortified by how some parts of the fandom have reacted towards her, so I pretty much made it my life's mission to push back against that. From highlighting the ways Andrew mistreats her, to coming up with justifications for her behavior that aren't just being a manipulative bitch, I really wanted to prove that a more favorable picture of her could be painted than most were willing to.

But in doing so, I've left Andrew in the dust.

In highlighting his flaws and the ways he mistreats Ashley, I think I've implied a level of intentionality to his actions that I don't believe he has. When I say that Ashley did nothing wrong, it's in direct response to the idea that she holds the most responsibility and agency in how their dynamic plays out, when in reality, I believe she has very little. Most of her actions in-story are in reaction to a variety of stimuli that come directly from Andrew, that he has control over and are aware of how Ashley feels about. His refusal to use clear and direct language to deny her most toxic tendencies causes her more and more stress as time goes on, and instead of giving her clear answers he opts to be catty, passive-aggressive, or, at his worst, threatening. Never direct and never clear, except when establishing boundaries over his name after the choking scene. Andrew fails to help Ashley be better in some frankly depressing ways throughout the whole story, especially in their childhoods, so we never get to see where she'd fall short if given a better influence.

...

Kind of. More on that later!

In mentioning his thing about preferring to be called Andrew instead of Andy, I also implicitly mention one of the places where Ashley falls short in their dynamic and could stand to do better: recognition.

This scene says a lot. It's the most heartbreaking scene in the game, if you ask me, and probably the single most profound and well-written moment in the entire story. I could write a whole 2000 word essay on it alone, but I've already said most of what I have to say about it through what I've said in other essays, so I'll spare you all that. Instead, I'll use it to highlight something:

"I had fun."

Their dysfunction is fun to her. She's so used to abuse and alienation that even the most awful, stressful (as far as we know) route of the game is still fun to her. And that's not a sign of her being a secret evil sociopath or whatever; that's actually not abnormal behavior to develop for a lifelong victim of abuse. Those highs and lows, those strong emotional highs and lows are -addicting-. They're -fun.- Part of why abuse victims get into so many abusive relationships is because it's easy to pick up on those patterns of thought and take advantage of them, and the cycle of abuse is often furthered when a victim of abuse tries to draw out mutually abusive behaviors in someone with no interest in having that kind of dynamic.

This is where I'm willing to acknowledge Ashley's manipulative tendencies. Not just as a matter of controlling Andrew for its own sake, purely out of jealousy or possessiveness, but as a matter of trying to further the only dynamic she's ever known in her life. Better the devil you know, right?

That push and pull- that emotional rollercoaster- is all many of us know. And it's all Ashley knows. This dynamic is something she's so used to that she reacts incredibly harshly to any attempt to change it, because she doesn't know that things can be better. Because of this, she refuses to engage with who Andrew really is, and tells herself- and him- that she *hates* Andrew:

This scene is almost as heartbreaking as the above one in a lot of ways.

Andrew putting his foot down about the Andy/Andrew name dichotomy wasn't arbitrary and it wasn't just about his comfort. It was about Andrew giving a clear indication about what needs to happen for their relationship to improve. He's recognizing the cycle between them and wants to put a stop to it, because he's confident that things between them CAN get better and evolve into something healthier. Ashley, not understanding that their dynamic can get better, because their "fun" little push and pull of abuse is all she knows, rejects that. She rejects the unknown, and says- in Andrew's mind at least- that she'll never accept that new dynamic, nor will she accept who he really is.

Ouch. No wonder he looks so sad in that screenshot.

They have a conflict of understanding here, and I think it's fair to pin most of the responsibility on Ashley. Andrew was clear in what he wanted, and Ashley just... Didn't. She didn't see the importance of it ("...whatever that means in practice") and didn't really ask. This gap in communication, perfectly displayed in this scene, is likely what causes the Decay ending. He wants things to be better, and wants to treat Ashley better, and whether or not he understands the ways in which she communicates with him is in part what determines what he sees her as.

But there's a lot of evidence that he always wanted things to be better, that he always wanted to treat her better. But external factors have made it very, very difficult, and I think there are two key points in which he started to shed the importance of those external factors and seek that better relationship, both of which happening in the apartment: The killing of the warden and the 302 lady. In the first case, he was forced to do it to protect Ashley in a way he hadn't done before, or depending on how you look at it, since the death of Nina. But the intentionality was the key point here. After this point, he calls Ashley Leyley, which may or may not seem important at this point, but it's something I'll draw attention to later, so keep that in mind.

Next is the killing of the 302 lady, which is the much, much bigger point. We don't learn much about it until later on- as at first he just gives an excuse about the nail gun that doesn't line up with what we see on the map- but during the dream, it's revealed it was a calculated, intentional killing that he did to make sure there was no evidence left behind, and because Ashley (supposedly) would've wanted him to do it anyway. I say supposedly because Ashley herself doesn't seem to ever want Andrew to kill for her past Nina's death, because he only ever kills for her to defend one or both of them. If you want more evidence that violence for violence's sake isn't something she wants, look at this part in the final dream:

A knife isn't what opens the door, despite it being placed on the ground in that very map. While it seems obvious that the knife (violence) would be the key to solving the puzzle, it's put there explicitly to show you that it isn't. It's not what she wants; what she wants is a flower.

So, why is this important? Why am I centering Ashley- again- when this essay is supposed to be about Andrew?

It's because these two killings are when Andrew's self-delusion over who he really is starts to break down. It's still there, mind, as he still relies upon Ashley as an excuse to justify it, but, as well as what I've said before, the name ultimatum is an implicit confession that the normalcy he finds comfort in is starting to lose its grasp on him. There's a lot that's been said about Andy being something close to a "moral impulse" for Andrew, given his child self's reaction to Nina's death being the only thing he does that approximates a normal moral response to his and Ashley's actions, but if you do think that- which I think is a reasonable thing to think even if I don't necessarily agree- there's something you must also keep in mind:

-He- is the one who doesn't want to be called that anymore. -He- is the one who wants to let that moral impulse go, and Ashley is the one making it difficult.

That reading is assuming that Andy is a moral impulse, which I think is... either wrong or too simplistic. Every time I see that reading, it's from someone who's trying to paint him too sympathetically and absolve him of most moral responsibility. I also find it infantilizing to equate morality with childhood in such a way? But that's another tangent that I didn't sign up to talk about. What I do think, however, is that it's a useful framing device to display his own relationship with morality; the allegory to his child self doesn't have to be there for the general pattern to exist.

When Ashley starts to grill Andrew over the killing of the 302 lady, he gets mad. Very mad. Ashley sees it as pointless, as him covering his own ass, but he genuinely did it for her sake, because he thought that's what she wanted, and that it'd make her happy. But what makes her happy isn't violence- or any similarly extreme action for that matter- it's attention and validation. Something he's always reluctant to give her, despite the fact that he always chose her over the alternatives. But despite making that choice, it's always empty and meaningless, because in Ashley's mind, he never did it for her sake.

And hoo boy, does he not like it being framed like this.

He is perfectly willing to do whatever it takes to keep them happy and safe... but only for her sake. It has to be for her sake. He still needs that traditional role, and he still needs to have a narrative in which he's the good guy- a protector. Because it can't be for his sake. It can't be because that's what he wants. He has to uphold that romantic (in the literary tradition sense) ideal. His darkly romantic idealistic streak colors many of his actions and beliefs. This is most plainly visible in his quip about a double suicide being romantic, but it's also visible within the symbolism present within his dream, such as how he can only pave his own path in blood unless Ashley lights the way. It's visible within his appreciation for poetry, and it's visible with how the cultist within the dream speaks in Shakespearean English.

But the transient nature of this ideal is also revealed within this dream, because there's never a cohesive, guided path, even with Ashley there to light it up. Contrary to Ashley's dream, where you literally have maps showing you where to go, Andrew's dream has many more dead ends and no map to guide him. The symbolic role he acts out gives him no clarity, and there's no overarching narrative; merely a bunch of disconnected symbols.

This is contrasted with Ashley's dream, which has narratives so clear that the story literally gives the dream an episode title.

In a sense, he wants to view himself as an actor acting out a role in a story. He wants his life to be poetic, to represent something greater, and to have a cohesive narrative. This is why he's so disconnected from his true desires: He's more concerned with acting as a representative of an ideal than a person with agency. But every time the mask drops, every time he stops acting, his true self becomes visible. He naturally settles into being comfortable around Ashley, in treating her with warmth and kindness, and their banter becomes much less toxic. As intent as he is on acting out his role, it does nothing for him, and as his dream sequence shows, it doesn't even form a cohesive narrative, because he can't act one out. It's too contrary to who he really is, and what he really wants. But that idealization doesn't just apply to himself, it also applies to Ashley. Specifically, who Ashley is, vs who he wants her to be.

In his unique dream sequence, he sees two versions of Ashley; the child version of her- Leyley- and the adult version of her- Ashley. And the differences in the ways he interacts with the two of them are stunning. Leyley is an obstinate, annoying child. She's the one he NEEDS to take care of, and he hates that. He hates Leyley for what she did for his childhood. He hates that he needs to provide for her. He has the option of trying to kill her, even, over something as small as a candle!

But in the room with all the murders, the gilded cage, he sees Ashley as an adult. This version of Ashley is stuck in a closet that he himself has to open- and to choose to see. Their interactions are calm and friendly. She teases him a bit, sure, but she's still helpful, and they have fun together. He doesn't need her, and she doesn't need him. He needed Leyley- needed the candle- but here, there are other limbs strewn about for him to take. And, crucially, he doesn't even have the option to kill this Ashley for one of the limbs.

And during the choking scene, he lets her go the moment she acknowledges that he doesn't need her anymore. This is the first time we know of that he seems comfortable enough to set a clear boundary, which is acknowledging that their prior dynamic is dead and that they're now Andrew and Ashley, not Andy and Leyley. It's a bit late to express a clear boundary -after- literally acting like he was going to kill someone, but it's the first time we know of that he sets a clear standard for what, in his mind, would improve his relationship with Ashley.

After all, what he wants is to want her, not need her. He wants Ashley for Ashley's sake. Not for what she can provide him. He doesn't even need her for sleep, he just wants her. But Ashley has trouble acknowledging this, because he's never before shown that WANT. Only a NEED. She keeps trying to find ways to make him need her, because she's never seen what his desire for her is really like. She's only ever seen him desiring someone else, someone other than her.

She's only ever seen him as Andy, because she's never truly seen Andrew, only the violence he can inflict on others. But Andrew can see both:

He can see Leyley, the needy, bratty child who always needs his attention, that he needs to provide for. The one he hates and wants to get rid of. The one he kills for to protect.

And he can see Ashley, the one who engages in friendly and cute banter with him. Who comforts and shows him physical affection. The one he loves. The one he kills for to make happy.

He just can't choose which one he wants to see. Every outside influence- from his parents, to Julia, to Nina- makes him see her as Leyley. Ashley herself makes him see her as Leyley too, whenever she brings up all the things he did for her, and calls him Andy, his child self, instead of Andrew, his current self. And as long as he sees that child, he feels like one too, and can never give Ashley anything that comes from the heart.

But he really, really wants to see Ashley as an adult. He wants to take pride in her, how much she's grown, and how driven and competent she really is.

But god damn, does that bitch ever make it hard, because there IS no real difference between Ashley and Leyley. She's grown and changed over time, taking more adult (and stereotypically feminine) responsibility upon herself, but the fact that her temperament and personality hasn't changed much obfuscates that growth. When you talk to Ashley in the closet during the dream after getting the limb, Andrew asks Ashley to come out of the closet, but she refuses to come out because he won't invite Leyley over to play, which is a pretty strong metaphor for how he interfaces with different aspects of Ashley's personality and refuses to accept others. But the reality is that he needs to accept both, or rather, see her whole self as Ashley, rather than just the parts he likes.

In the end, it's him who has to make the choice how to see her. Ashley can only see what she's been shown, but Andrew can choose.

And in the basement scene, he makes that choice.

If Ashley refuses to leave him alone with their parents, that's it. In one of the most critical and important moments of his life, she couldn't give him the space needed to make up his own mind. She couldn't treat him as an adult. She couldn't see him as Andrew. If she does give him that choice, she chooses to acknowledge that Andrew is an adult who can be trusted to make his own decisions, even though she (perhaps foolishly) believes that this choice lines up with her own interests. And frankly it does either way, but in accepting their mom's offer, her chooses to see her as Leyley once and for all. He chooses not to reciprocate what Ashley showed him. He does it because he needs to, not because he wants to. Because it's his duty, not his desire.

This is what results in the Decay ending. Through his inability to see Ashley as an adult, he surrenders his agency and views all of his actions as an extension of his responsibilities, his role, which he no longer wishes to uphold. He dissociates fully from who he really is, acting in accordance with that disconnected, barely-cohesive narrative that exists only within his mind. The game starts to resemble the heartwrenching tragedy that many seem to take for granted that it is, as their dynamic fully doubles down on its painful toxicity. And, in an example of a poetic book end, Ashley's dream shows a double suicide, closing the book on their tragic tale.

It's tragic. It's heartwrenching. It's poetic. It's beautiful.

...Except it's not. Not at all.

It's actually fucking stupid, pointless, and brutal, and Burial shows us that. When we view their spiral as beautiful, we project the same darkly romantic ideal that Andrew possesses onto the story.

But the actual reality is horrifying.

Ashley spends most of Decay terrified of Andrew, the one person she found comfort in. He acts cold, distant, and aggressive towards her, showing pointless cruelty instead of any warmth. All she wants is comfort; all she wants is to not die. She doesn't want to engage in this death spiral at all, and, in her dream sequence, shows none of the same willingness to die alongside Andrew that Andrew does with her. The moment we stop focusing on the end of the Decay dream sequence, which has very striking imagery, and if you choose not to shoot, one of the most beautiful scenes in the game, we can see it for what it really is:

A scared animal running away from a predator.

The moment you see Decay through Ashley's eyes, and not the perspective of some romantic ideal, Decay becomes terrifying, tense, and painful. There is no catharsis to be had in this tragedy. It's easily avoidable as long as Andrew chooses to engage with reality, and not the empty promises of his mother and incoherent narrative of his ideal.

Finding beauty and meaning in tragedy is how we cope with the harshness of reality. But there is no coherent narrative to the tragedies we experience, just like there's no coherent narrative to the ideal Andrew wishes to uphold. It's something we create- that he creates- but it's not something that actually exists.

And when Andrew casts aside his desire for that ideal, and the responsibilities it shackles him to, it grants him clarity that he never had before. He sees the world for how it really is, and acknowledges that nobody- the least of which their mother- is as different from Ashley as they pretend to be.

They're no better than her, and he's tired of people pretending that they are. People are all the same, no matter what ideals they try to uphold and represent. They still sacrifice others in the name of advancing themselves, still punch down whenever they can, and still lay blame on those beneath them rather than try to take control of their lives. They just use those ideals to justify themselves, but Ashley, and now Andrew, reject even the need for that justification.

This is why I believe the story is nihilistic. Not in that it asserts the inherent meaninglessness of life, but in that it grapples with the ideals we uphold and how they obfuscate the reality of the world we live in. The story, intentionally or not, highlights how ideals are often but a pretense we use to justify what we were likely going to do regardless, and how holding to them too strongly can lead to our ruin- and how monstrous they make us look to those who do not share them.

Consequently, this is how I view the part of the fanbase who thinks Decay is a good ending.

(the characters themselves represent existentialism rather than nihilism but i couldn't really fit that analysis in here without it feeling forced so i might cover that another time)

From that point on, their relationship becomes a lot more friendly, lighthearted, and playful. They ironically start acting more like children, but to quote CS Lewis:

"Critics who treat adult as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence."

He's not ashamed of being playful with Ashley, or showing affection towards her. He's grown up. He finally sees her, and himself, as an adult- although he still doesn't show that in full until much later on (more or that later). But in Decay, he still sees her as a child, and to an extent, probably himself. Let's compare the ways in which he reacts to being called Andy. In Decay, he lashes out at Ashley and gets angry, even threatening her. But in Questionable Burial, he calmly says that Andy is dead and doesn't need Ashley's comfort, but still tries to reassure her that she's still needed. He's not ashamed of or hostile towards their prior dynamic, because he's grown past it. He still acknowledges Ashley's need to feel needed, but here, he recognizes its importance to her, whereas he was hostile towards it before.

It's a display of respect towards her feelings.

This interaction doesn't happen in the Sane ending, however. He doesn't play games with her and is just a lot less fun to be around all together. Why is that? Because he still hasn't yet shaken viewing Ashley as Leyley there. He still views her as a burden, as someone who needs taking care of. He's calmly accepted that, too, mind you, but he lacks respect for her because she's still a child, in his mind. But in Questionable?

The vision did more than just make him extremely embarrassed and lay his deepest desires bare. It forced him to recognize Ashley as an adult. When choosing between "Never" and "Never say never," if Never is chosen, the burden of thought is lifted off of him. But if Ashley chooses "Never say never!", he has to reckon with the fact that Ashley is an adult, someone who can consent to those kinds of things. Someone who MIGHT. Someone who has agency, and can make her own decisions. And more importantly… someone who can trust him to make his own.

Whether he desires sex or not is secondary; he's always had those feelings and has always been ashamed of them. But now that the part of him where that shame came from is dead and buried, there's no childish impulse to grow up. There's no attachment to the hate and bitterness he had before. Look at what he worries about when he picks up that she's uncertain or confused about who he is now:

​

It's her feelings.

He wants to be fun to be around. He wants to make Ashley happy. He loves her, and not as a romantic interest or even as a sibling. He loves her independent of all that baggage.

He loves her as a person.

Their relationship runs contrary to societal ideals in some pretty huge ways. So contrary, in fact, that it's hard for some to accept it as anything good, that it can ever be best for the people involved. It's incestuous. It involves them killing and eating their parents. It involves them distancing themselves so much from society that it's hard to believe they'll ever fit in it again. It's chaotic, it's messy, it's codependent, and maybe even toxic. And yet, here they are. They're coexisting. They're happy. They're healing. They're navigating the world in the only way they can: together.

Meanwhile, in Decay, Andrew refuses to allow himself to get closer to Ashley. He surrenders all agency to her, buys into his own narrative, drinks his own Kool-Aid, and may or may not condemn one or both of them to death in the process. Like it or not, the only path where Andrew takes ownership of his life is the one where he's closest to his sister. It's the one where he decides where they will go next, the one where he decides his own feelings matter, and acts in accordance with what he wants instead of how he thinks he should act.

His agency, his freedom, and his growth don't happen in spite of his codependency; they're happen because of it. They can't grow alone. They can't heal alone.

In reading the story, one must interrogate how important those societal ideals are in the face of the realities of what makes people happy. Are those ideals worth upholding in spite of this? Can we really allow people to fall through the cracks in the name of social norms? Can we blame people for taking rash actions when the social contract has failed them?

Or are we so blinded by those ideals that we can't see that people can be happy while blatantly disregarding them?

All I know is that in Burial, Andrew, having cast aside normalcy, now appears to be truly happy for the first time in his life.

Who are we to take that from him?

[songmingisthighs]

Wanbelyn

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. xxxvii - sugar cube

neurosurgeon!hongjoong × reader

buy me coffee ?

where love and peace is held, i never expected for this to happen. i planned and i planned, i expected, and i hoped, but it was never you. you held what i wanted hostage to make room for you, the thing that i needed but has no means of acceptance. deny me, live your best life.

It didn't occurred to you that you had fallen asleep until you felt hands tapping your shoulders gently, slowly waking you up from your slumber.

"Hey, did you fall asleep here?"

Your eyes adjusted for a moment, trying to remember where you were only to feel your lower spine cracking as you shifted in your seat. It was a mistake fallung asleep while sitting on the floor of Hongjoong's bedroom.

Realizing you had let out an involuntary groan that was louder than you intended, your eyes snapped to the boy sleeping in a sprawled out starfish position to make sure that he didn't wake up and thankfully he was still snoring (and drooling) away. "When did you came home?" You croaked out as you tried to stand up in front of Hongjoong who was snickering at you, "Just now. Has Kijoong eaten lunch?" Your head turned to the side to look at the clock that had struck 2.37 so you nodded, "Yeah he ate around an hour ago before I put him down for a nap," you said as you stretched a little while Hongjoong nodded, soon moving to put his work bag by his side of the bed after giving Kijoong a peck on his forehead.

"Hey, you must be hungry. I'll go heat up lunch," before you stepped out of the room, you made sure to turn pn the baby monitor you had put on the bedside table on Kijoong's side before clipping the other on your jeans. As you checked if the monitors were functioning correctly, Hongjoong took notice and furrowed his eyebrows, "Is that his baby monitor??" You spared him a glance and nodded, "Yeah, I've been using it this whole time when I need to do stuff when Kijoong is asleep. I'll go get food ready for you," with that, you left the room.

Hongjoong couldn't help but stare in awe of the way you're taking care of his son with what he could only see as expertise and affection. Though he wasn't that attentive, he noticed the shift in the way you cared for Kijoong. You still held a firm hand but you seem to be more nervous, cautious, even paranoid to leave him all alone. While Hongjoong appreciated you staying at his place to care for Kijoong, he wonderee why you volunteered in the first place. You may have your own reason and he wouldn't dare pry if not needed, but it did made him wonder if this was what Kijoong's own mother do had she been around for this situation. That is... Had she even been around for Kijoong, would he still have pnes?

Trailing behind slowly, Hongjoong watched the way you move around his apartment. Over the course of a month, you had made several changes in his place to the point that it didn't feel like his apartment anymore. It felt like a home. There were more proof of life what with scattered toys that weren't there because Kijoong would usually be at the hospital daycare after school, his stove now have scratches and his pots and pans have scorched bottoms. To add to that, his home smells different. It smells like warmth that spreads through his chest.

"You look like you're deep in thoughts," Hongjoong jumped at the sound of your voice. Though you had your back on him, you talked like you were watching him this whole time. "I'm..." he was trying to come up with an answer but he couldn't think of any. Even when you turned around to place the soup you made on the table, he was still standing there just staring. You walked around the table and pull up the chair he usually sat on, patting it twice, "Come on, sit down, I'll get you some rice," you said and he obeyed.

Once seated, his gaze shifted to the food before him and without thinking, he blurted out, "Is this what having a woman in the house feels like?" Your hand froze mid-scoop of rice, surprised at what he said. "I... I was just wondering about Kijoong's mom," Hongjoong continued. It was the first time he had mentioned Kijoong's mom ever since you started working there.

You were silent when you closed the rice cooker's lid and even as you placed the bowl in front of Hongjoong and sat across him. You were curious, sure, and you've never really had the opportunity to ask him. Thinking about how it was just the two of you and Kijoong was asleep, you decided to ask. "What happened to Kijoong's mom anyways?"

To be frank, you expected him to be taken aback, pausing momentarily, something. But Hongjoong simply chuckled as he reached for a sausage from one of the banchan plates spread in front of him. "Her name was Seo Aejeong and I met her at the hospital by accident the first year I became a resident. She said she was waiting for a friend who's seeing a psychiatrist there and we ended up talking and even exchanging numbers. She mentioned how she wanted to become a doctor too but ended up going against it because she wanted to have a family of her own and being a doctor meant she couldn't dedicate her time to tend to her children even though she had the capabilities. I found that admirable and we started seeing each other outside the knowledge of anyone at the hospital and... Around four months later... Well..." "Even doctors forgot protection, huh?" you teased, causing his face to flare red in embarrassment, "It broke, okay?" he huffed, shoving a rolled omelette in his mouth and chewing aggressively like how Kijoong would when you told him he couldn't have chocolate before dinner.

"We both agreed to have the baby because we were on the same page on most things and after further discussion, we were financially able to anyway. But shit fell apart when I brought her to her first check-up," he sighed and you could tell that what he wanted to say next was more baffling than it is painful. "There, I found out that she wasn't even who she said she was. See, when I met her, she told me that her name was Seo Aejeong, turns out, her name was Kang Minhee and she was the patient of Mingi's Attending and mentor. The life she told me about was half true and half a lie which was made so because she has Borderline Personality Disorder which causes delusion. In this case, she believed that she wasn't Kang Minhee, she believed that she was Seo Aejeong, a girl who went missing in 2002, the same day Kang Minhee got separated from her nanny when they went to a park only to be found at the doorstep of her family's estate 4 days later. Or so people told her because she believed that her rich family paid someone to kidnap Seo Aejeong and pretended like she was Kang Minhee because the real Kang Minhee died. She believed it was so because she had no recollection of her life before that."

You were staring at him with your mouth agape, shocked that this Grey's Anatomy-level drama was part of your life. Hongjoong looked up after taking a sip of his soup, confused by the way you were staring at him, "What?" He asked as if he hadn't just told you what was probably the juiciest story you've ever heard. "I'm sorry, aside from that AMAZING backstory, what actually happened? Where is she now?" Then, that moment, with that question came pain. "I... Well, we did end up having Kijoong and we even lived together. I actually got close to Mingi because of her as he was tasked to keep an eye on Kijoong's mom and he helped me aid her condition because when she gave birth, she got into a rather serious postpartum depression. Her parents wanted to put her in a postpartum care centre not because they thought she needed it, but because they thought the baby would need the attention their daughter wouldn't give them. Nice people they are, Kijoong's other grandparents. They still try to chip in every now and then and while they didn't get to have a relationship with Kijoong, they still send us things. And at first, I thought she was getting better because she did. After a month of being at the postpartum care centre, she came home happier and it even seemed like she was bonding with Kijoong. Until the day Kijoong hit his three-month milestone, I came home after a long shift to find Aejeong... Minhee... She, sitting on the couch with Kijoong in her arms but she was dressed like she had somewhere to go with a paper that signed her parental rights away on the table. She told me that her giving birth to Kijoong was cathartic because, as she said, he allowed her to leave Seo Aejeong behind and move forward as Kang Minhee for her own well-being," he said, smiling bitterly.

You were not one prone to serious violence but at that moment, you really do want to find whoever that Seo Aejeong/Kang Minhee is and beat the living shit out of her. It was one thing to get pregnant accidentally, but it was a whole other thing when she gave birth and realized it was a "cathartic" experience that allowed her to "move on" with her life. Who the fuck does that?

You slammed your hand on the table, effectively causing Hongjoong to choke on his soup, "What the fuck!? She used Kijoong as a therapy tool? I mean I get that she has mental issues but that doesn't excuse anything," you scoffed, crossing your arms on your chest as you glared ahead, making it seem like you were glaring at Hongjoong. After managing to calm his breathing down, Hongjoong waved his hand around, "Okay, it's nothing like that. She didn't use him, the catharsis just happened after she gave birth and I do agree that she needed to get better mentally so... I let her go," he said. You couldn't help but squint your eyes at him curiously, "Is that why you haven't been able to move on from her?" Abashed, Hongjoong averted his gaze, "You don't know how it is to have someone you're so fond of be taken away from you," he muttered.

While you didn't know how it was being him, going through what he went through, you had your own experience.

Leaning back against your chair, you smiled up at him, "Don't you ever wonder why I quit my last nursing job?" Sensing that you were about to tell him something, Hongjoong straightened up in his seat, "I lost a kid and I couldn't handle it," you prefaced, "It was a mistake that should have never happened but it did, it happened because there was a lack of communication happening between the nurses and t was so stupid," you sighed. This intrigued Hongjoong as seen from the way he rested his elbows on the dining table and leaned towards you. You then continued, seeing his interest, "I was assigned a case, a kid with a blood disorder which didn't allow his blood to have a strong flow because they clot too easily so we did a coagulant therapy with heparin. His name was Junhyuk and I think he was around eight years old when I met him. He was the exact opposite of Kijoong but I'm willing to bet he would've liked playing with him," Hongjoong couldn't help but crack a grin at how you affectionately laughed at the memories of Jinhyuk and even including Kijoong in your memories. "Because of his condition, he was prone to having a stroke and he actually came in because he had some clots that could potentially risk a heart attack so he was scheduled for a thrombectomy after seeing that the heparin didn't really do much. The hospital I worked at had a strict morning and night nurse schedule rotation we were in the middle of a restructuring so our night nurses were temps. I left that night after checking up on Jinhyuk and I even made sure to note that he had surgery at 8 am the next day. I should've listed what he could or couldn't have because the temp gave him heparin because it was part of his scheduled medication so when a little mishap happened with the catheter, he bled profusely and because everyone assumed his heparin was stopped, no one suspected that it was the drugs so they opened him up and..." "He bled out on the table," Hongjoong concluded.

"I came to work only to be greeted with the news that Junhyuk had died. I basically had a breakdown and I was given a week off. They did an autopsy on Junhyuk's body and when I found out the cause, I couldn't bring myself to come back to work. I blamed myself for what happened." You had been trying to hide your tears but when Hongjoong slipped tissues into your hands, you realized he was paying every bit of attention to you. "Is that why you were so... Frantic when Kijoong choked on jello? Because you lost a kid?" Hongjoong asked, now finding a new side of you he hadn't taken into account before. "I couldn't let another kid die on my watch," you hiccupped softly. Grabbing your hands, Hongjoong pulled your gaze onto him, "You were not at fault, it was an accident you couldn't have predicted so it's not something you could've prevented. You're only human," he said.

The two of you held hands as you made the realization that you both were not so different after all. You realized why he was so frustrating to you, it was because there was a connection between you two that was amiss for a while.

"Two idiots in a room holding hands, getting emotional over abandonment say what?" you cracked the silence which caused Hongjoong to furrow his eyebrows, "What?" he asked. "What?" you teased. Once he realized what just happened, Hongjoong scoffed, rolled his eyes, and let go of your hands though the grin on his face remained.

The moment was cut short by the sound of soft sobs calling for you from the baby monitor on your hip. "Welp, that's the boss calling," you pushed yourself up and out of your chair, "I'll be back to clean the dishes, you really should consider taking a shower because you smell like cheap coffee and IV drip," you teased, moving past Hongjoong only for him to grab your hand mid-way. You thought he was going to make a snarky remark but your eyes widened slightly at the way he was looking up at you with a soft gaze, "Thank you for taking care of Kijoong and me so well, (y/n). I truly appreciate it," he smiled, causing your heart to automatically skip a beat. Though it was the first time he had ever done that to you, you didn't feel awkward at all. Not even when you squeezed his hand gently, "It's my pleasure, Hongjoong. Really," you smiled back before rushing to tend to Kijoong who had started sniffling and trying to get out of bed to look for you.

It felt nice for Hongjoong to be able to share a person he trusted with Kijoong. For a moment, things felt real. For a moment, it felt like things were where they were supposed to be.

For a moment, he was able to breathe.

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[chaos-of-the-abyss]

I hope you don't mind me asking this, but why do you like Celegorm? I love that you're vocal about how stupid the Feanorian woobification in this fandom is because people who claim that they did nothing wrong or that they're not villains clearly hasn't read the Silm, but while there's still a level of sympathy to most of them, Celegorm is just genuinely the worst and I can't figure out what there is to appreciate about him lol. I'm sorry if this comes across as a bad-faith question, I really want to know how you like him while not ignoring, trying to deny, or worst trying to justify (which I have seen FAR too many people doing) his canon actions

you're totally good anon! i'd be happy to answer this. just want to preface, i perfectly get where you're coming from and why people hate celegorm, because he is, as you say, the worst. he's horrible. he's done awful things to countless people -- and by no means is he the only feanorian to have done that, obviously, but celegorm's actions in luthien's story make him a type of squicky that's unique even among the brothers. he, hm. how can i put this. he deserves nothing. and yes, people who try to justify him are just wrong. stop reading the silm if you want a mass murdering sexual predator to be glorified ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

that said! the succinct answer is that it's all about the vibes lol. all the feanorians are awful people, but celegorm is, imo, that particularly entertaining kind of awful. there's a certain interplay between his successes and failures that i find unbearably endearing (derogatory). he is canonically charming and magnetic and charismatic enough to sway people with his rhetoric, and i love that. i love that he's opportunistic, clever, and sly, and pounces on the chance when he spots it. the fact that his speech in nargothrond is explicitly paralleled with feanor's before the flight of the noldor says a lot. i find it compelling that while, in many ways, celegorm is the most distant from his family -- friend of a vala, a great woodsman and hunter which are two things that neither his father nor his brothers are ever even mentioned around -- he is the only one among the sons of feanor to be directly, textually compared to feanor, and feanor during one of his most pivotal and infamous moments, no less. the guy must be a force of nature when he really wants to be. yet at the same time, he's endlessly reckless, arrogant, and shortsighted, and he does not get to get away with his actions. his plans flop (just like he will continue to flop until his karmic and also really fucking funny death in about thirty years' time, i'll get back to that), his intentions are discerned, and he gets thrown out in disgrace for treachery with the embarrassing declaration "a maiden had dared that which the sons of feanor had not dared to do" following after him. it's that particular blend of hyper-competence followed hand-in-hand by prompt abject failure and humiliation that makes him so appealing to me.

oh and. another thing about celegorm is that he has the added charm of being a fucking sore loser and a petty bitch -- trying to kill luthien even though she spares his brother's life when she'd be justified throttling him and curufin with her bare hands and i just. he's sooo funny. what is wrong with him. so many things are wrong with him. tfw you kidnap and tried to rape this woman and she does you an untold, absolutely herculean grace and kindness that you know damn well you do not deserve and your reaction is to try to kill her for daring to show you compassion. he's insane.

then. then then then then. he gets chased by own dog and runs away "in terror." you know you've messed up when your dog finally has enough of your bullshit and runs you down because he's fed up with all the terrible things you've been doing. not to mention his dog also dies fighting next to a man that he hates, using his last opportunity of speech to say goodbye to said man. like. beren and luthien's story leaves celegorm, as skilled and magnetic as he canonically is, in absolute shambles and it's hilarious. how does one recover from that you may ask. and i answer one does not recover from that.

but that's not even all. after that saga of blunders he hangs around for about three decades doing absolutely nothing of note, then in his attempt to regain some relevancy winds up having the most mortifying death ever. my dude you were the "let's ambush doriath guys" spokesperson. you campaigned for that shit. this was your desire. this is what you wanted. and you walk in there and the guy who's *checks notes* THIRTY-SIX compared to your one-thousand-something KILLS YOU. elves are not developmentally matured until they're a hundred. your killer is like thirty. this is, generously speaking, about an eight year old by your standards. a fucking eight year old kills you. yes i know dior was not actually a child at the time but the fact remains that celegorm quite literally has more life experience than the entire human race and he's done in by the son of a human. then to add second insult to first insult to extreme injury, two of your brothers are also killed in this battle and in the end you all don't even achieve what the fuck you came there to do. THIS WAS YOUR PLAN. how do you lose that badly. holy hell. if i were him i'd stay in the halls of mandos forever out of pure embarrassment. you simply would never see me again. you think i'm walking out into society and showing my face around the block when an eight-year-old ended my life? nah. no sir not me

plus well. on a more serious note, dior is luthien's son. luthien, whom celegorm thought he could control, whom he saw as an object to further his aims and to lust after. he's killed by the son of the woman he tried to rape, and there's nothing more fitting than that.

so! there you have the basic rundown of why i like what's explicitly laid out about celegorm in canon. he's an objectively horrible man, it's just that i find the way he goes about being objectively horrible extremely funny. but i also think he is ripe for exploration in the realm of speculation -- and that speculation enhances what we do know about his actions during b&l and after until his death. aside from the kinslaying at alqualonde wherein all the sons of feanor participate, we see him and curufin acting unambiguously villainous a good bit before the rest of their brothers -- at the very least, they are clearly more willing to do horrible things at the point of time of b&l when compared to the likes of maedhros and maglor. like, they are out here committing actions that no sane person can rationalize as being anything other than abhorrent. it's clear that they've already given up on the idea of being "good"; they've already given up on keeping their hands clean and they've already shed whatever qualms they might have had in the past.

my thoughts on why? this is by no means canon, but tolkien does seem to like giving the legendarium's major villains some sort of arc and some type of insight into what they become (melkor gets history, sauron gets history, maedhros and maglor get history), so i don't see why celegorm should be any different. and for me, celegorm and curufin, especially celegorm, give the impression that they fell into despair and disillusionment far before the other feanorians did. and their response was to accept that they have no way of going back to the people they used to be, that they've already been rightfully damned, and if they've come this far they may as well do whatever they can to achieve what they fell so low for, because what does it matter anymore? it's part of why i think celegorm sees maedhros trying to look at beleriand and the war against morgoth from a larger perspective than just the silmarils, and both disdains and pities him for it. they've already been doomed and they already can't hope to make amends. they should do what they're here for -- and while, in celegorm's eyes, maedhros isn't willing to do what needs to be done, he is. i think that sort of mentality is fascinating. in a way, it's a self-fulfilling prophecy -- maybe if celegorm thought there was any meaning to him being better, or even just any meaning in not being nearly as awful as he resolved to be, then he wouldn't have stooped so low. but he did believe there was no hope for him, he did believe that he could never be forgiven -- and in believing that, he did go past the point of no return, beyond which he truly, legitimately couldn't hope to be forgiven. also, i just personally like the "well i'm a terrible person so i'm going to act like a terrible person"-type villains better than "oh no i'm a terrible person it makes me so sad and full of despair"-type villains (looking at you, maglor). again, none of this is canon, but it's my reading of celegorm's character, and i think it sheds some light on why he's so awful in b&l and afterwards. in his mind, it's already over for him anyway.

i hope this answered your question anon! i like celegorm, and i enjoy his character, because there are shades of a sad tale behind his descent to being the worst, he's entertaining while he's being the worst, and most crucially of all, he gets his comeuppance for being the worst in an extremely satisfying way. i definitely wouldn't like him (or the silm at all) so much if he'd been, like, successful in anything -- but thankfully he is written by an author who knows full well what an utterly reprehensible character he is. and boy does tolkien not spare him from that karma. he is simultaneously a singleminded and relentless fallen prince, a repulsive monster, and the story's laughingstock (one of them anyway). honestly, none of the feanorians tickle my brain quite like he does. i love him and i would beat him with a shoe

[captain039]

PART 3 Tender hearted souls

Hugh Jackman x reader

Warnings: Age gap, slow burn, feelings, hurt/comfort, two fools in love, angst, light swearing, mental health issues, daddy issues, daddy!dom/little girl, plus size reader

Idk how Ryan and Blake act in real life I’m sorry xD

Previous part <-

I’m Australian I speak in degrees fight me xD

Hughs avoided you all day, in his room at his desk, you feel guilty, you don’t know if you’ve done something. You try to bring a peace offering sandwich but he doesn’t eat it. By dinner you’re awkwardly sitting in the passenger seat as he drives to Ryan’s place. You put on some nice black suit pants and a fancy blouse, Hughs got a nice black shirt on and a nice pair of jeans to go with it. Once you arrive he gets out avoiding opening the door for you like he always does. You sadden and open the door yourself and head to the door. There’s a few other people here, costars and coworkers, some you know by name some you don’t. Blake greets you both giving you a hug before inviting you in. You’ve been here before but it still leaves you in awe, their kids aren’t here either. Ryan gives you a hug which you accept and smile as you greet him before he shakes hands with Hugh. You see a few familiar faces from the movie, Emma, Channing, Jennifer too.

“Not everyone could make it, but I’m glad you’re here” Blake says as she leads you to the kitchen.

“You alright?” She asks.

“Yeah I-“ you cut off as she frowns.

“Hugh’s been weird, avoided me all day, didn’t eat the sandwich I made him” you speak softly arms crossing over your chest.

“I don’t know what I did, you know I tease him by calling him an old man, he went all fake Wolverine on me, then tickled me and apologised with this serious look on his face and left” you sigh and lean against the counter looking to the polished floor.

“I know I’m a bit old to be tickled, but I don’t get what I did” you add sadly.

“Ooo, we gossiping in here?” Ryan comes in a smile on his face as Blake sighs at her husband giving him a look.

“Oh it’s real woman stuff, got it” he says holding his hands up and leaving.

“And yesterday” you add.

“I know” she says, her eyes looking at the counter in thought.

“Is it bad?” You ask.

“No, it’s not bad, men have their way of dealing with things, he’ll talk when he’s ready” she offers a smile but you can tell she’s not telling her whole thoughts. You help with the food, mainly sticking by Blake as she introduces you to everyone. You start chatting with Emma and Channing at the table as everyone begins to eat, they’re both nice and funny, you’re laughing and struggling to eat. You glance at Hugh though seeing his eyes pinned on you making you falter a little.

After dinner you hate the avoidance, the distance and want to know what’s the matter. You’re annoyed too, you go up to him as he nurses a beer under the deck.

“Can I talk to you please?” You ask and he sighs but nods. You pass Blake who gives a small nod and smile as you take Hugh upstairs to the spare office room.

“What’s going on?” You ask as he avoids your eyes.

“Hugh!” You say as he finally looks to you.

“What did I do?” You add.

“You didn’t do anything, doll” he sighs, hands on his hips, leg cocked out a little.

“Then what’s the matter? You haven’t spoken to me all day, you didn’t eat my sandwich either” you clench your jaw trying to keep your emotions in check, you weren’t good with adult talking. Hugh sighs again, runs his hand down his face as you wait.

“You know I don’t mean it when I call you old man” you add wondering if that was it.

“You should” he mutters and you frown.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“You should mean it, add disgusting in front of it” he glares at the floor as you frown confused, disgusting?

“I don’t understand” you say.

“You don’t need to” he grumbles ready to walk out the door but you’re quicker. You move in front of it, seeing him sigh and clench his fist.

“What do you mean disgusting?” You demand feeling your eyes well up.

“This” he says like a growl. You don’t know what’s happening till warmth is against your lips. You feel like time slowed like in the movies, Hugh’s lips pressed against yours, his hands against the door caging you in. You forget how to operate, forget what kissing means before you press into him. You grip his collar as he goes to pull back, you tug him closer though pressing your lips to his again.

“You guys ok?” You hear Blake call and Hugh swears before he pulls back. You’re left stunned as he forces himself out the door and hurries down the stairs.

“Hey, what happened?” Blake’s worried as she walks in, hands on your shoulders.

“I-“ you’re baffled frowning when you hear a car speeding away.

“What” you mutter going to the window and seeing his car gone. Blake calls your name but you’re staring at the empty car spot.

You eventually go back down to the dinner party, Ryan smiling happily and inviting you into the conversation, arm around your shoulder. You take small sips of the champagne in your hand and smile or answer when needed in the conversation. Your lips still tingle and you hate that he left. By the time everyone leaves you’re sitting on the couch staring off into space. Ryan’s helping Blake clean up before she joins you on the couch.

“Why’d he leave?” You mutter and she sighs softly.

“I don’t know” she says.

“Can I stay here with you tonight? Please?” You ask and she nods.

“Of course you can, the spare rooms set up always” she smiles softly and you thank her.

“You girls need more woman talk time?” Ryan asks and you let out a chuckle shaking your head.

“Sweet” he says sitting down with a loud sigh.

“Y/n’s gonna stay with us tonight” Blake says as Ryan looks to you.

“Sleep over? Hell yeah” he says and you laugh taking a small sip of the water you’ve got.

“Wanna watch a scary movie?” Ryan grins.

By the end of the scary movie you’re questioning sleeping with the lights on, you ended up under the blanket most of the time and Ryan laughing at you before either Blake or you would slap him. You say your goodnights before heading to the attached bathroom. They always have this spare room stocked with things. You brush your teeth and take off your makeup checking your phone and finding nothing from Hugh. Your minds stuck on the kiss, you sent him a message saying you were going to stay here for the night but got no response. You lay awake for a bit fingertips on your lips, the words ‘disgusting old man’ in your head. He wasn’t disgusting far from it. You had the exact same thoughts, so you were disgusting too? Lusting after an older man wanting him in ways you shouldn’t.

You lie on your side trying to get some sleep hoping tomorrow it’ll blow over.

You awake in the morning feeling like hell not having slept well at all. You can hear Ryan and Blake faintly talking downstairs they were early birds for sure just like Hugh. You check your phone seeing no reply from him and huff. You shower, get dressed before heading down stairs.

“There she is morning sleeping beauty” Ryan grins and you huff at him softly but sit down at the table with them.

“Want some breakfast?” Blake asks.

“I’m alright I think I had like three plates last night” you grumble a bit and Ryan and her laugh.

“What’s your plan today kid?” Ryan asks.

“Im not a kid. And I don’t know” you say shrugging a little unsure whether it was ok to head back to Ryan’s apartment with a probably brooding Hugh.

“Yeah. I think Hugh’s just” Ryan struggles for words glancing to his wife.

“Hugh’s being a man and silently dealing with his feelings” she finishes and you smile a bit at her explanation.

“That” Ryan nods.

“Want me to go check up on him?” Ryan asks seriously.

“Oh, no I mean-“ you struggle a bit cheeks a little red you can’t exactly explain Hugh kissed you and ran off in the middle of the party, not to his best friend.

“Don’t worry too much alright. We’re kid free for the day, do we could go to the beach, shopping?” Ryan suggests.

“Hiking?” He shrugs.

“Hiking? Where in the middle of the city” you say raising an eyebrow.

“Hiking up stairs?” He says and you laugh shaking your head.

“What’s the weather supposed to be today?” You ask.

“Uhhhh like 30? Degrees or something supposed to be warm” Ryan says looking to his phone.

“Could go to beach” you shrug with an offer.

“Sweet beach day it is” Ryan says getting up and heading upstairs.

“Does he ever run out of energy?” You ask Blake and she laughs but shakes her head.

“He doesn’t. He runs in his sleep” she says and you laugh with her softly.

You get ready for a beach day. Getting your swimsuit on underneath a light top with bathing shorts. Ryan grabs some umbrellas, chairs and a cooler before loading them into the back of the SUV they have. You sit in the back as Ryan turns on some music turning it up really loudly and singing horribly making you laugh. It’s nice to go out with friends but you glance to the seat next to you wishing Hugh was there.

Next part ->

[frankenkyle19]

I’ve Always Been Right Here

this is a little fic I wrote about Peter and Erik actually discussing everything because the movies suck and never let us see them have any sort of father/son relationship :(. I’ve been obsessed with dadneto lately so like obviously I had to write this. And sad Peter :( but it’s okay because it’s a happy ending! This takes place after Apocalypse where Erik ended up staying or whatever idk :/ the x-men timeline scares me and I try not to think too much about it. Enjoy!

word count: 1.7k words

Charles had been pushing both parties involved to talk about it. Little encouragements here and there because unbeknownst to Peter, Erik did know that he was his child. Had found out a while ago from Charles himself and decided not to say anything. He had good reasoning but was sure Peter wouldn’t see reason in anything once he found out he knew and hadn’t come to talk to him about it. The poor kid was just as stubborn as he was. 

Charles kept pushing the two of them together. Probably thought he was being helpful but really he was not. The atmosphere between them was always tense, the both of them walking on eggshells around the other, careful with what they said. It was awful for both of them. All the other X-men noticed it too. 

Finally one night after dinner at the mansion Peter had had enough. Him and Erik were the last two at the table to clean up and he thought about it all for a moment before it just became too much and he picked up his plate, slamming it down so hard against the wood that it broke in his hands.

“I’m your son! There, dammit I said it! I’m your fucking son. Remember now? Leaving my mom while she was pregnant because you were so scared to have a family. You left her to figure it all out on her own! And where were you when I needed to learn how to ride a bike or throw a football?! You weren’t there! You’re my father and you’ve…” Peter’s voice broke as he blinked rapidly, trying his hardest to avoid tears as years of anger and resentment flew from his mouth without any warning. 

“You’re telling me you didn’t know? When I broke you out of the Pentagon you just…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he paced back and forth. He had half a mind to punch the stupid son of a bitch right in the face, but he didn’t.

“You never wanted to find me? Weren’t interested in seeing how your kid turned out? Well here I am. HERE I AM!. I was waiting to see how long it would take you to notice but I guess I gave up.”

Silence fell between the two of them, both refusing to look at each other. 

“Peter…” Erik started, trying to de-escalate the situation which was almost comical. He’d never been the level headed one before. 

“I don’t expect you to understand.. My life… I have been through hell. I was trying to spare you from it all. And selfishly.. I was scared.” He admitted, finally looking at Peter now, who was shaking with barely restrained anger.

“I was scared because I didn’t know what to do with a child..” 

“Well you could have figured it out. I don’t want to hear excuses, that’s not… Not going to fix things now. I’m not even sure if things can be fixed. Y’know, I remember seeing you on the news after I broke you out of prison. Something clicked in my mind that you were my dad. I’m surprised it took me as long as I did but I’ve never been known to be the smartest.. My mom told me I should be afraid of you but I told her I wasn’t.. I’m not afraid of you.”

Erik looked at him befuddled for a moment before he shook his head, deciding to sit back down in his chair. This conversation was probably going to be a long one.

“I don’t want you to be scared, Peter. I’ve never wanted you to be scared. I.. I truthfully don’t have an excuse for what I did to you and to your mother. I am sorry.”

Peter must not have been expecting him to apologize so easily because he looked at him in shock, hands shaking around the broken pieces of plate he still held, eyes welling with tears. Shakily he sat down in his seat at the table, setting the pieces of the plate down before he clenched his fists, hard. Dammit! He didn’t want to cry..

“I’m here now, Peter. And I’ll explain it all to you if you want. Any questions you have, I’ll answer them.”

“When did you know? When did you know I was your son?” Peter asked, sniffling softly as he wiped the tears from his eyes before they had the chance to fall. 

“Charles informed me. Well… He confirmed it. I’d had my suspicions since Apocalypse. The way you looked at me… I realized it then but I didn’t want to accept it. Especially not in that moment.”

Peter took a deep breath before nodding. Right now Erik was an open book and was going to answer any of his questions so now was the time. 

“Am I the only one? Kid of yours I mean.. Do I have any siblings I don’t know about? I’ve got my little sis but like.. I dunno it was a dumb question-“

“Nina.” Erik said, a sad look coming over his face. He didn’t look at Peter now, instead he looked at the broken pieces of the plate in front of him. His boy. 

“She was your little sister. She was- Everything to me. My whole world.”

Peter perked up for a moment before the tone of Erik’s voice and the look in his eyes had him expecting the worst. An uneasiness took hold in his stomach now, churning. He felt like he knew what Erik was going to say but he didn’t want him to say it. It would hurt him worse then he’d expect it to.

“She was killed. By humans..” anger rose up in Erik’s voice now as he spoke. He was still so bitter to the humans because they’d caused him nothing but suffering. He recalled that grim day in the woods. How eerily silent it all fell after the fact. The blood on his hands.. It was the worst day of Erik’s entire life and he’d lived through a lot of unimaginable things.

Peter swallowed thickly, zoning out when it was confirmed. He’d had another sister and he’d never gotten to meet her. And now.. she was gone. How weird it was to grieve someone you’ve never met and never would get to. She had still been part of Peter. They’d shared a father after all.

“I-“ Peter started until he felt his voice waver in the back of his throat, eyes burning as he cast his gaze back down to the broken plate. Everything was broken.. Not just the plate, he thought.

He didn’t want to ask how. Knowing she’d been killed was enough. Maybe one day in the future he’d ask for more but neither man was ready for that conversation yet.

Erik moved to pull something out of his pocket, showing Peter the small necklace with a little locket. 

“This is the only thing I have left. They’ve taken everything from me. Everyone I’ve loved.”

Peter’s heart was crushed at the words because… he was sitting right there! He’d always been right here.. Right in front of Erik’s face.. Did he not love him? Did he care at all for him in any sort of way? 

“… I’m right here. I’ve always been right here.. You know how many nights I laid awake crying because I thought I wasn’t good enough for you? Every time me and mom passed a man on the street I’d wonder. Wonder if maybe one of them was you. I wondered why as a child my father didn’t love me enough to stay.”

The words stung. They hurt Erik but Peter was far too lost in his emotions to try and hold anything back now. He’d say what he meant, after all he’d been waiting over two decades to say it. 

“Peter please…”

“No!” He yelled, slamming his fists on the table again, just barely avoiding the pieces of the plate. He moved away from the table now, standing in the middle of the dining room as he glared at Erik. “No! You can’t tell me what to do and you can’t tell me to stop. You ruined my life!! You ruined my life by not being in it!” Peter’s tears fell heavy now. The weight of the past two decades washed over him in waves. A choked sob clawed its way up his throat and he tried hard to not let it out but it did. All of his brokenness was on display. He wasn’t just the weird silver haired speedster who cracked jokes at the most inconvenient times. He was a person with real feelings, many of them ugly.

He pawed at his eyes with the palms of his hands, an angry sigh slipping from his lips. He’d been so focused on not letting Erik see him like this, faced away from him that he also hadn’t noticed that he’d gotten up from his chair and made his way over to him. 

Peter flinched when Erik wrapped his arms around him and cradled his head to his chest. He felt sick because fuck he’d needed this hug for years now. Something he’d never thought he’d get, here it was. 

He tensed for just a moment before he hugged back, practically clutching onto Erik’s shirt as he cried into his chest. Cried into his father’s chest. His dad. This was his dad.. It had all hit him and he was spiraling.

Erik held him through the tears, the quiet sobs that wracked his whole body. He held him through it, still in disbelief that this was the first time he’d held him. He never got to hold him as a baby, never got to watch him grow up. In so many ways he’d failed him. Never again. 

He pressed his face into his silver hair, letting out a shaky exhale. “I’m here now Peter. I promise. I’m going to be here for you from here on out.”

It went on like that for longer than either of them cared to count until eventually Peter pulled away shakily, letting out a half hearted laugh at how wet Erik’s shirt had become after soaking up all of his tears.

Their eyes met, Peter’s brow furrowed in such a similar way to Erik’s that for the first time it was so obvious that they were related.

Erik reached out and patted Peter’s shoulder gently, giving it a squeeze before letting go.

“It’s late, you should head to bed, kiddo.” 

“I know.” Peter zipped around the room, cleaning up the mess he’d made before he stopped in the doorway, glancing back at Erik.

“Hey-“

“Yes?”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight, son.”

[rockingrobin69]

Want

Malfoy did this thing where he only used a finger and a thumb for crisps. He’d wade through mud without a second thought to retrieve Scorp’s ball from the hissing nettles, he put his arm up to the elbow in cold spaghetti sauce on a dare, he rolled down not one but three different hills with Teddy on their hikes, but when it came to crisps, he was his perfect lordly self. A finger and a thumb going in neat motions, barely even crinkling the bag. A dignified amount of crisps pinched tightly, brought slowly into his mouth. So careful and clean and entirely unintentional. He didn’t even know he was doing it.

Harry did.

Harry noticed everything about him. Hard not to when Malfoy was like this, weird and loud and awkward, pathetic and incredible and everywhere. When Teddy adopted him and Scorp (officially, with a letter he’d hand-written, signed with a drawing of, randomly, a horse); when they moved in, and Malfoy’s pyjamas became a recurring vision, llamas and tiny buttons following even in his dreams; when he found the stray cat, named her Nibbles for no earthly reason; when he was a menace, and Harry adored it. Him. Adored—the whole thing, how their lives suddenly became this, tight and uncomfortable and too warm and perfect.

Teddy was no help. He practically had love-hearts for eyes whenever Malfoy walked in the room. All these ‘Draco, look!’ and ‘Draco, can you—’ and ‘Draco, Draco, come sit next to me!’ that drove Harry spare. And Scorp was such a tiny little thing in all his Molly-made-jumpers, babbling with a look of utter importance and following Teddy around, and cackling with joy whenever he was in Malfoy’s arms. And the cat, fucking, cat, always getting kisses and—

No, Harry wasn’t jealous, that wasn’t quite it. He was… overwhelmed with how gentle it all was. Never really imagined life could be like this, didn’t think he’d want it. Discovered he did with such terrifying intensity, that he yearned for something that wasn’t quite nameable, that he somehow almost had. It kept him up at nights and filled his days with this weird, feverish joy. It was soft and itchy and all his. Almost his. So fucking close to being his.

And Malfoy was right there, sitting across from Harry with his ankle on one knee and the bag of fucking crisps and the way he was eating them, almost—decadently, and utterly, helplessly serious. On the rug, Harry realised he probably loved him.

Stretched, leaned slightly to his side until he was touching Malfoy’s knee. “Hey,” he said, swallowed.

“Hi.” Malfoy offered him the bag. “Want some?”

“You eat crisps funny,” Harry said for an answer. “All cleanly and stuff. It’s funny.”

“Oh. Well. Always happy to amuse you.”

He was so ridiculous, with the little stickers he let Ted and Scorp stick on his socks, on the sliver of his leg that was visible. It would hurt like hell to rip these out, all the fine blond hair caught underneath. Harry couldn’t breathe for a moment, it struck him so hard.

It was the middle of August and a really cold day. All the lights in the living room made it look like… something Harry wanted so badly. Instead of trying to make it into words, he leaned his head against Malfoy. Allowed the fingers threading through his hair. The movement so, so gentle.

“I’m picking Ted early from school tomorrow,” Malfoy announced some time later, in this awful voice he used for Scorp, or when Teddy had a nightmare. “He hates the dentist, so I promised to take him on a walk after. Maybe the hill where we went last month, the one with the waterfall.”

Harry hummed something delighted and heartbroken. Buried his face in Malfoy’s thigh, surrendered to the feeling of his hands, of his warmth.

“Harry… I meant, do you want to come with us? Sorry. That’s not—wasn’t quite clear.”

Buried his face tighter.

“Or—maybe we can go another day? Just us. You and me, I mean. There’s this place I think you would like. If you absolutely insisted, we could take Nibbles along on her lead.”

Brought his head up, pouted at Malfoy’s pretty face. “No, that’s…” stopped when he noticed the smile. When he realised that this thing that he wanted was already his. Pressed a tiny kiss to Malfoy’s shin, to a sticker of a star on his hairy leg. “You are,” Harry said, and meant it from the bottom of his heart. Breathed, breathed. Sat there and grinned to himself.

The bag of crisps crinkled. The afternoon went on, lit and weirdly warm. It was the life Harry didn’t know he wanted, that he ached for, that he had.

(If you enjoyed this, I've recently shared the first part of Wonderful on AO3. Consider checking it out for your pining needs).

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Two

Jasper Hale x Reader

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None

Notes: So sorry it took me more than a week to post, life kind of imploded and knocked me off the schedule I had planned. This chapter is honestly just filler so it can get to the good stuff… I plan to take this story all the way to Breaking Dawn at the very least. Thank you for all the love on the previous chapter!! Enjoy!

Word Count: 1695

Series Masterlist

• January 24th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

Thankfully the first half of the day went rather uneventful, although I am disappointed I haven’t had a class with the handsome Jasper Hale yet. I did however, make friends with his adopted siblings Alice and Emmett Cullen. Both of which are gorgeous in their own right, but nowhere near as attractive as their blonde brother.

In English I sat in the unoccupied seat next to Alice Cullen, gratefully so. She seems like just the kind of friend a new girl needs in order to survive high school. I transferred to this place at such a horrible time in the year - almost at the end of my 11th grade. But after just a few minutes of knowing her, Alice caught me up on everything I missed. Turns out I’ve pretty much read everything they had covered this year and then some, fingers crossed that it continues to be a trend in most of my classes.

I learned that the boy walking with Jasper Hale this morning when I so rudely almost killed him with the door to the front office, is his adopted brother Emmett Cullen. A hulking mass of muscle, but a complete teddy bear, he kept me entertained for most of Trig. I can already tell that sitting in front of him was probably a bad move on my part for my academic career, but the guy is an absolute comedian.

Parting ways with Emmett after Math, I made my way to my locker. Digging the wrinkled combination paper out of my pocket, I was studying the numbers right when I bumped into a thin scrap of a girl with brown hair and an orange backpack. Immediately cursing myself I dropped to the ground to gather her notes before they could be stepped on by the stampede of people rushing to the cafeteria for lunch.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry! I-I just wasn’t paying attention, I was looking at my stupid locker combination and-“ I scrambled for excuses, word vomit spilling from my lips.

“Oh um, it’s okay! I’m not the most graceful person, so no worries.” An awkward pause, “Hey, you’re the new girl right?” She asked.

“Unfortunately.” I replied, looking up with a sad smile. I stuck out my hand to shake, “I’m Y/n Y/l/n, you are?”

“Bella Swan, former new girl I guess.” She responded as she lightly shook my hand. “You can sit with me during lunch if you want, maybe us gracefully-challenged should stick together.”

“Oh absolutely.” I chuckled a little, “I’ll grab my lunch from my locker and find you in there.”

“Cool, see you then.” She replied with a half-wave as she continued down the hallway to the cafeteria.

Jasper

One of the convenient things about being a vampire is that we really don’t necessarily need to breathe. In public places packed with humans, I can just hold my breath, but the challenge comes in making it still seem like I’m breathing.

Lost in my thoughts while Emmett and Rosalie drone on about plans after school, I spot the new girl - Y/n enter the cafeteria. I sit up straighter in my seat and observe her shamelessly as she walks unknowingly in my direction, switching paths as she spots the object of Edward’s latest desire: Isabella Swan. I spare a glance to my stoic adopted brother and see him rising from his seat, probably headed in the same direction as Y/n.

Walking up to the pair, I could tell his eyes were only on Isabella. Both girls stared up at him in awe, their emotions giving away that they were surprised to see him seeking them, or rather a certain one of them, out.

“Isabella-“ Edward started but was interrupted by Y/n.

“I’ll… go find us a seat.” Bella didn’t even spare her a glance as Y/n rushed away.

“Bro, you’re staring a little hard there, something catch your eye?” Emmett said, leaning over Rosalie to nudge my ribs. I turn to him and discreetly flash a crude gesture, causing him to chuckle. I love my brother, he just thrives on getting a rise out of me any chance he gets.

Alice smacks my shoulder, “You two behave, she’s shy and I’ll be upset if your rowdiness scares her off.” My adopted sister huffs in slight frustration at our antics.

“As if we need another human in our business.” Rosalie grumbles from her spot between myself and her mate. Crossing her arms, she stares daggers at the back of Edward’s head from where he’s talking to Bella Swan.

“Oh hush, I want more friends outside of you guys, plus Y/n is relatively safe. Cheer up Rose, I’ve already seen you get along with her rather nicely!” Alice fires back at Rose.

“I haven’t even met her yet-“ Rosalie leans forward to argue.

“But you will and you’ll love her, end of story.” Alice says matter-of-factly.

Rose leans back in her seat, huffing as Emmett pats her thigh. She swipes his hand away, not happy that he finds it amusing that she’ll have to deal with another one of her brother’s fixations on a human girl. It’s always so easy to read Rosalie’s emotions, she wears them so boldly and almost prefers to torture me with their intensity sometimes, as if to get her point across even more than her biting words.

I let out a sigh at their exchange concerning Y/n, she’s been here for half a day and already a hot topic for even us.

I’ve been in a trance pretty much since lunch, the two classes following it were uneventful allowing my thoughts to fill with day-dreams of the new girl.

Her hair, the way her oversized sweater hangs from her shoulders, her intoxicating scent…

The bell ending sixth period startles me from my reverie. This girl almost put a me-sized-dent in the door to the front office this morning and here I am obsessing over minuscule details after only seeing her twice.

I gather my notes and writing utensils before filing out of the door behind my fellow classmates. I slow my walk to the next class in hopes that I might catch a glimpse of her before the end of the day. I don’t even know her emotional signature yet like I do my adopted siblings, a handy ability I’ve managed to teach myself to find them in busy situations.

My search for Y/n comes up short, the hallways are mostly empty by the time the warning bell rings for the final instruction of the day. With a small huff I enter my seventh period class keeping my eyes on the floor as I make my way to my assigned seat.

“Glad you could make it in the nick of time, Mister Hale.” Mr. Ellis states rather loudly in an accusatory tone, raising an eyebrow as I sit and the final tardy bell rings.

An almost imperceptible gasp to my right keeps me from replying, I clamp my mouth shut and force myself not to meet the gaze I could feel boring into my back as flames begin to lick down my throat.

Wonderful, not only was I late enough to garner the attention of everyone in the room, but Y/n Y/l/n is in my history class and I can’t breathe for the next forty-four minutes.

• January 24th, 2005 • Home •

Reader

“How was school sweetheart?” My mother yells from the kitchen as I push open our front door, I swear that woman wastes no time when digging for information.

“Jeez, let me get in the door first!” I yell back with a light-hearted chuckle, setting my backpack on the ground by the couch just inside the living room.

“Sorry, I’m just excited to see how everything went.” Her voice is much closer this time and I turn to see her walking down the connecting hallway wiping her hands on a dish towel.

I flop onto my back on the couch as she leans over the back, folding her arms under her chest with an expectant look on her face ready for my response.

“Well, I don’t think it’ll be hard to catch up in-“ but my mom interrupts me excitedly.

“No, no, no! I need the good stuff! Did you make any friends? See any cute guys?” I could burst out laughing at the look on her face and the fact that she’s more concerned about my social life than my academics on the first day of school in a new town.

“Mom!” I drag the word out in exasperation as I smush a decorative pillow to my face to hide the slight heat in my cheeks.

“There’s a cute boy! I knew it!” She practically yells in victory, “tell me everything, baby girl!”

I pull the pillow down enough to reveal my eyes to her, “I almost killed him with a door.” I mumble in a rather sad tone.

“Oh dear God.” She immediately becomes serious, rounding the couch to push my legs off, forcing me upright so she can sit next to me, “it can’t be that bad!”

“I wasn’t looking while I pushed open the door to the front office and he barely caught it in time before it hit him square in the face!” I blurt out in a rush and drop the pillow to cover my face with my hands. “Definitely not the way to start off on the right foot.”

“Oh honey,” she tries to sooth me, guiding my hands away from my face and into her hold, “look at it this way - you’ve captured his attention in a way that’ll be memorable. Sure it isn’t without embarrassment, but now you’ve made a first impression he’ll never forget!”

“Yeah and I’ll probably never hear the end of it.” I mumble as I bury my face in her shoulder, sighing deeply. I hesitate, “We do have one class together.”

The gasp my mother lets out immediately sends me into a fit of giggles, forgetting all about my early morning embarrassment.

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