#how do you come to terms with your own trauma and the trauma you have caused.

[finnothehimbo]

I work on a trauma unit. ICU is more intense care the stuff you don’t go straight home from. You get transferred to us when you’re more stable then we transfer you home, to rehab or to a long term care facility. We get all the severe cases that you will survive.

I’ve seen teen age girls get paralyzed while being driven to a highschool dance.

I’ve seen a healthy 35 year old slip going down three stairs from his porch to the sidewalk (as we all do how many times a day?). He tried to grab the rail and like some final destination shit that swinging C shaped motion of grabbing the rail and still hitting the ground cracked the back base of his head on step. Paralyzed from the neck down. He was on our unit do to caregiver neglect. He had pressure wounds to the point you could see bone.

I’ve seen a women get rag dolled by a car while pushing a stroller through the cross walk. Her baby was miraculously fine. But the rag doll pulled her legs in opposite directions paralyzed from the low back down.

I’ve been on safety watch for a man who knocked on his neighbors door and shot them both. He’d hung out with them dozens of times. They had zero reason to suspect it would happen. He simply had a mental break and told me “I don’t know what happened- one second I’m having papa John’s with my friends the next the cops are saying I hurt someone. I didn’t hurt anyone. I like x and y they’re my friends. they didn’t do anything wrong. But the cops were tasing me and I was bleeding everywhere”. Not even the person who shot his neighbors knew why his neighbors deserved it. It’s that they didn’t deserve it. There was no divine plan. There was no neglect. There was no signs. Something in his brain just snapped.

The thing is denial is one hell of a drug. It says no I’m the medical provider. No I’m not dumb like them. It would never happen to me. When all of these people were living life then things outside everyones control went wrong. If I can tell you anything it’s that One day we will all be disabled.

Statistics are not in your favor to be fully functional past 60. Most Americans live to 78. I’m terrified to be in a nursing home and you should be too. I’ve also worked in nursing homes. Staff will absolutely make you feel like a burden for asking for your burnt grilled cheese to be remade. Currently nearly all of us are all looking at cafeteria food at best. We’re looking at 17 years olds with no licensing taking care of us because they’re some of the few people in the work force who aren’t burnt out and willing to be underpaid for “experience”. We’re looking at care home staff declaring what your allowed to wear in your own home until you die.

Disability rights aren’t a *them* thing. There’s no way you can guarantee you won’t be disabled. Some of our most severe disabilities are progressive so you can stay in the safety of your own home exercising eating right and never talking to strangers and your own body can betray you. That’s a process we have to have therapists come in for on the trauma unit. Your body is supposed to protect you. Then one day it can’t. One day it’s outside of anyone’s control. We’re not gonna un-paralyze you. We’ll teach you how to live again yes. That won’t un paralyze you though.

[rxttenfish]

Omg what DOES Aaravi do as a monster slayer?

the short answer is that it varies with how much of my own stuff im willing to bring in, im afraid

mostly im waffling back and forth on this point right now because if i was a little closer to monster prom canon i might be able to have more fun with it and include a wider variety of situations and it wouldnt be such a downer as it would be in the other case...

mostly, the thing that monster slayers are in the redesign universe is a hate group, plain and simple. a particularly violent and nasty one too, at that - they're focused primarily out of human-majority societies and cultures that have much smaller minorities of other sophonts and/or that contact with those sophonts is new and recent, hence why there's such a strong sorting between "humans" and "monsters". "monsters" isn't a real category in any sense of the word, it's just a social marker for an out-group that is seen as particularly dangerous and frightening and, thus, "not normal". this is also why it doesn't really specify between monsters that are sophonts and monsters that are just normal animals...

primarily this hate group arose out of existing environmental/hunting groups, semi similar to things like forest rangers, and has even common ancestry with witches (or, one of the definitions of "witch"... witch can refer to a human with some innate workable magic, witch can refer to anyone who works with/studies magic as a job, or witch can refer to a supernatural concept/creature which is basically just the trope we have of the witch, as any malignant supernatural person who uses that supernatural prowess for evil. this is different from magic, because magic in this universe is just... another Thing That Exists, not necessarily any different from, say, engineering as a job or study, and belief in the impossible and supernatural is of course going to exist unrelated to that).

as in, there's a fairly universal need in most communities to be able to manage magic somehow. usually there's wildlife or plants that have their own innate pools of workable magic, and those need to be treated and handled differently as a different form of danger in the world, or there's magical aquifers locally, which means that all of that magic is just available as free energy to be used by anyone who has the chance to grab it, and if workable pools of magic aren't regularly maintained to recycle the magic that makes it up, then it can build up wild magic and tends to explode particularly dangerously... so you need someone who has learned how to deal with all of that, and so you get the origins of witches, and the origins of other people specializing to deal in magic and magic-heavy things, and from that you get people specialized in hunting or otherwise managing animals that utilize magic in their biology in some way.

(which, to be fair, nearly everything on this alternate earth is, in some way. magic really is just... free energy for anyone who can grab a little of it, and most life will be able to at least do a little bit of that. humans are a prime example, since even non-innate magic users will still hold and maintain very small pools of magic internally, utilized primarily for metabolism and to offer a slight boost to the immune system and other such things. this is even what souls and ghosts are - just the pools of magic inside of a person that can get shaken loose through particularly traumatic events, although the systems that lead to ghosts are poorly understood (and also different from a soul, the animating supernatural concept... theres a lot of confusing terminology in this universe, and i do that on purpose). it's just that species that either live in or around magical aquifers or are uniquely adapted for it that are magic specialists, where it makes up a much larger part of their biology, and who cannot live without that magic. a human without magic might just be slightly immunocompromised, a demon without magic is dead!)

this is where you get monster slayers, though. because they were a specific movement within this larger group of people who focus on magical life, where they particularly focused on the danger posed by magic specialist wildlife during a time when nonhuman sophonts were being introduced to and "challenging" the dominant culture where they came from, and ended up connecting the two. it's a purposefully very messy grouping without a lot in common other than this specific group targeting them, and their primary goals might be similar to creating and enforcing a human-only community devoid of large, dangerous wildlife around that area that could possibly injure someone. the fact that this also ends up targeting a lot of disabled humans (vampires, zombies, etc, they're just humans who have a specific magic-derived "virus". there's very few benefits to this, it really is just a disability) isn't seen as a problem either in their eyes, mostly because they're also often stereotyped as being dangerous or endangering other people by their sheer presence, so they get sorted in with the other targeted groups as well.

there's also a lot of people and things that we have in real life that would get labelled "monsters" in this specific line of belief, even if i haven't gone into that as much, mostly because i worry that people will think that because i'm writing aaravi as sympathetic that i'm supporting her beliefs or the beliefs of monster slayers too - or that, again, i'm still just in the awkward middle ground where i'm not sure how much i want to go into this and REALLY kill the mood.

(also, because it does kind of miff me when people write fantasy settings but provide some kind of distinction between real wildlife and fantasy monsters in a way that shouldn't actually exist in that fiction. lions and tigers and bears should be considered just as dangerous and frightening as any speculative creatures you put in your work, especially when there's not any one unique feature that tidily separates the world into "animals" and "wildlife". hell this is even what i try to get at with my merfolk, since they really aren't any different from humans, as just another naturally formed sapient animal species.)

and, to be clear, i WANT this to be upsetting. it shouldn't be something comfortable or easy to talk about, let alone witness. it's something that also has to be seen and judged and understood in order to understand aaravi herself, just as much as how you can't understand miranda unless you understand what it actually means for her to be a genocidal monarch who expresses ultimate control over anyone who happens to be under her and is willing to do anything to maintain control in the groups of her equals. for both of them, they're supposed to equally be representative of those who suffer by and under the system they are a part of (aaravi is not allowed to leave the monster slayers even if she wanted to, her being discovered as half-human would mean her potentially being targeted and killed and her family potentially also targeted for association, having her entire self worth tied to her ability to lose her own personhood and perpetuate violence that no one else is capable of or wants to do, or else be blamed as the reason why innocent people get hurt and killed), while also actively perpetuating it (both have a vitriolic hatred of anyone who either "can't do their job correctly" or "isn't hard enough to withstand the pressures of their job", aaravi especially targets and is quick to punish other slayers to try and cover her also being "part monster", she upholds and feels incredibly defensive over her family name and how great her family was at being slayers, she hunts and kills a lot of other people just for them not being human that makes them even more guarded and scared of humans and more likely to retaliate in order to try and keep themselves safe, which also means its harder for anyone else to stop being a monster slayer because even more taboo gets connected to them or being one).

a prime example is actually her grandma, who is still around. aaravi's from a line of monster slayers, which is to say her family was already in this hate group, they were born into it, and aaravi was just the latest in the long line of it all. her mom did work on trying to get out, did meet aaravi's dad and left to where no one else in the group knew where she was, where she could try to start anew and they wouldn't be able to find her, to have a family with someone who she had been taught to view as nothing but dangerous and frightening and not someone to be trusted... and then he turned out to be a garden variety asshole who just... left. never really was very interested in aaravi or salil, got bored with aaravi's mom once she tried settling down after getting out, didn't really do much to support her in trying to remake her life from a brand new foundation, and just left one day without a note or saying anything or anything at all, really.

all of which served as mundane trauma that pushed aaravi's mom back into the monster slayers even harder. it just confirmed a lot of old beliefs that she had burned into her mind after not really helping her to undo or confront them, and she had very little else left to go back to, and she had two kids now that if anyone else learned were the result of her having a tyst with a monster would get hurt and killed as much as she would, serving as a representation of the mistake that had just been confirmed in her mind as such.

it's why it came down on salil so much harder than aaravi, and why aaravi looking so nearly human is so important for the way the story functions. aaravi got pushed harder and harder to both try and make up for her mother's mistake, pushed to become another monster slayer and pushed even harder to be a GOOD one that would be great enough to make up for all that her mother had done while still living up to the legacy that her mom could only think of herself as having ruined, to shove all her monster parts into a deep dark little box that she would never tell anyone else about, who was told over and over how dangerous it was and what would happen if this got out. but salil... salil is much more obviously inhuman, much more obviously something that she can't hide or obscure, and so salil kind of...

well, already their mom was reverting hard onto "all monsters are dangerous and cannot be trusted and NONE of them are EVER going to be good, only lie about it to hurt you even worse", and there was a lot harder... fear, from her, that he picked up on. really, both of them picked up on it, and still aaravi doesn't know and is terrified of the possibility that their mom was scared of them, or thought that they would hurt her, or even outright hated them for being monsters. and because salil was much more obvious about it, a lot more got targeted and felt by salil, a lot more their mom tried a lot less with him, a lot more she just tried to hide him in the house and not tell anyone about him or that he existed. its why when he ran away one night, it was very easy for her to come to the conclusion that he had been found and killed by monsters, and it was very easy for that belief to be passed onto aaravi.

it's also why aaravi's grandma has such a... particular situation. she was also such a prominent monster slayer within that community and group for so long, and so many of the leaders within the community think back fondly of her, but its this very same reason that she can't talk about the amount of doubt she's also felt about it, the mounting regrets and guilt that has built up, the knowledge of what happened to her daughter and to her grandkids, and the knowledge that she can't really DO anything to help it either, even AS someone who holds such an esteemed position and even BECAUSE of it. she's effectively just built up more and more distance from the community over time, isolated herself more and more from these old friends of hers, gone quietly silent in her old age, but its also why shes never been able to fully shake it, and why that connection STILL exists and shes STILL expected to uphold it when it does. she's older than she used to be, more vulnerable, and she has a granddaughter who doesn't have a mom or a dad anymore to look after her, who is at least part of what monster slayers want to exterminate, and there's a lot at stake here that she just can't make herself risk.

so, yeah... i hope this provides a little bit of clarity as to what aaravi in the full redesign verse being a monster hunter MEANS and what she does, because it's not... very pretty, really.

if i write it, i'll likely end up focusing more on the animal side of it, least of all because i can't see aaravi taking miranda on a hunt for a person, but also because it adds in more layers of aaravi feeling disingenuous and doubting herself. she feels like she's lying to miranda, making it more palatable, more acceptable, than it really is, not showing her the full thing and letting herself be judged as is, but also aaravi is ABSOLUTELY not prepared for that conversation and doesn't know how to breach the subject of "i'm basically a serial killer for hire" with miranda, and is equally as scared by the thought of what if miranda actually DOESN'T have a problem with that and doesn't react. but it's also just close enough to still hit that uncomfortable realm with aaravi, just close enough to killing a person that she keeps seeing herself in the eyes of the wildlife, doesn't know which end of the gun she's more scared of being on and doesn't know how to handle any of it.

[nightingaletrash]

Okay I think my first playthrough will be a Dark Urge Monk. I've still got to decide on the race and design, but I think I'll save that for launch day and play around in the CC until I like what I'm working with.

The Dark Urge just appeals to me so much, maybe its just where I'm at mentally or because of the characters I'm enjoying at this point in time, but the idea of someone wrestling with this inner darkness and the constant, draining battle against it... it'll either end with them finding people who help them control it and provide the support they need to keep it at bay OR it'll go pear-shaped and they'll be worse than ever :3

[mostly-imagines]

Things About My Jason

aka things that might weasel their way into details of stories one day, might not

your boy is clocking in at 6’4 + 3/4 inches and about 245 lbs (he’s the only batkid to be taller than bruce). 

he cusses a lot it, usually doesn’t correlate w anger or intensity its just how he expresses himself. he’ll cuss at you sometimes but not at you and he tries his best to never do it out of anger.

he’s never said it out loud but he would drop all the vigilante shit for you in a heartbeat if you wanted him to (i think he’s also the only batfam member who would do that).

you have an agreement in place to never make any big decisions in the middle of the night/post patrol—this came into place after a few too many bad nights had him coming home shaking and panicked about your safety and convinced he needed to leave you alone for good. 

he kind of zones out sometimes, its bordering on dissociation.

you have a black cat, salem, that’s been around since before you and jason had even met. his yellow eyes pierce you in a way that feels like he’s glaring straight into your soul and judging what he sees. he was suspicious of jason for a while but over time has come to love and protect jason almost as much as you.

he has a lot of nervous habits that have built up over years of stress and trauma. he’ll often double or even triple check locks and cameras. his hand tends to go to where his gun holster would be, regardless of whether or not its there. he’s very conscious of your breathing, especially when you’re asleep, and when he’s stressed or upset he’ll try to align his breathing with yours. he worries that you might get annoyed with how often he checks up on you, be it asking directly, texting you, or just looking you over to make sure you’re doing okay, that you’re happy. he’s also made a habit of standing directly behind you when you’re wearing anything short, especially skirts or dresses. You’re not entirely sure if it’s intentional or not.

day to day, he runs on very little sleep naturally so he’s awake early goes to bed late. he used to not focus much on making meals that actually taste good and have thought put into them until he started dating you. he started catering his grocery trips specifically with you in mind and the things you might like. he actually prefers going on grocery trips and little mundane errands with you bc he had no idea that these tiny aspects of life could bring him so much joy and peace. he also buys you new towels and updates your first aid kit constantly, though the latter is more out of his necessity than yours. depending on his mood, he’ll usually either take scalding hot or freezing showers. 

he’s 100% down to let you decorate the apartment however you want, even if you move into his place. his only ask is that he’s left with space to put his books (of which ne needs plenty). if he had to choose, he probably likes a warm atmosphere best, in terms of like lighting and colors. he’s really just not a fan of anything that feels cold or impersonal like the manor can sometimes seem. other than that he doesn’t really have opinions on it, whatever makes you happy he’ll like. but he’ll still happily go shopping with you to find stuff. but really that’ll just look like you saying “ooh look at this” and him saying “great, lets get it” at every single thing you pick up. 

there are unloaded guns and ammo hidden around your apartment and also stocked generously in a closet or two. he cleans them regularly, you think he does it partially as a kind of stress reliever. before you he didn’t have too much regard for his own safety, so he would sleep with one under his pillow. 

he does everything he can to keep you safe and he’ll insist on adding extra locks to the doors and windows, ones the landlord wont have keys to. yeah he’s paranoid so he’ll keep the bed as far from the door as possible and is unrelenting in his insistence that you sleep on the wall side. if you’re too tired to move, that’s okay, he’ll gently move you over himself. honestly though, your apartment is just as secure, if not more, than any of his safe houses. as such, he absolutely can and will easily hack into the lobby security cameras to check up on things. if he has to go away for a while he’ll send one of his siblings to stop by to check on you and make sure you're okay. 

he prefers to wear layers, it makes him feel more secure and comfortable. he does like cutoff sleeves sometimes but only because you like them on him. aside from that, he’s usually not such a fan of showing much skin because of a) his scars and b) he feels exposed to attacks. he has so many long sleeved and warm clothes in his closet that he heavily encourages you to bundle up in some of them when its cold. 

he goes through phases of bad sleep and they can vary greatly in severity. there’s nights he just physically cannot sleep and this usually originates from intense anxiety. these are easier to ease him back from and some simple comforting will be enough to get him to at least try to sleep. most commonly its the nightmares that make it hard for him. it’ll usually be a one-off that he just can’t fall back asleep afterwards. the worst is when he goes through phases of frequent nightmares, like every night, multiple times a night. when that happens, he will do everything in his power to stay awake for as long as he can. you’ve yet to find any techniques that hands down prevent or even slow the nightmares, but you’ve been able to find some remedial measures that work pretty well.

kissing him helps get his mind off scary thoughts (but not joker related) but not just like single peck it’s got to be a whole session to really work. the one that works best is having a hand on one of your pulse points while you sleep, or directly over your heart. unfortunately this did lead to him to accidentally choking you after a particularly bad nightmare. he was absolutely horrified and removed his hands from you completely the second he gained recognition. he actually fully got out of bed and backed away from you. he wouldn’t even hear you out about him not sleeping on the couch and continued to not budge on it for over a week. 

him punishing himself like that made you feel extra bad because that had occurred during a round of the relentless nightmares and you were sure he was still waking up panicked constantly without you there to help soothe him. you actually know for a fact he was because every couple of hours the bedroom door would creak open slightly before shutting again like he was checking to make sure you were there and okay. you ended up having to literally lay on top of him on the couch and refuse to leave him for him to agree to sleep in bed with you again, although he was still not willing to fall asleep with his hands on you for a while. 

he always needs it to be quiet when he goes to sleep so he can stay on alert which usually leads to him waking up to the littlest sounds, which is technically the point. if there’s any kind of white noise he’ll force himself to stay awake. if he does get woken up he’ll go from 0 to 100 like that. he also needs the door to be shut, non negotiable, and really prefers the apartment to be colder > hotter. it also helps that you’ll cuddle into him for warmth.

all of these things are things he did before you met, but he’d also developed some new habits after you got together. he used to sleep in the middle of the bed but now he absolutely insists that you sleep on the wall side so he can act as a protective barrier between you and any incoming danger. unless its after a rough patrol, he tends to wait to sleep until after you’ve fallen asleep. he doesn’t really have a reason for this, it just makes him feel better.

his relationship with bruce is complicated, of course. in my canon, the extent of it is that bruce didn’t kill the joker, prevented jason from doing it, and has made many attempts to stop jason from killing at all. obviously it’s not the fact that batman won’t let anybody die that broke jason’s heart, it’s that his father couldn’t let go of his moral code for a second and avenge his murdered son. the resulting anger stems from so much sadness and grief over his own death and it caused him to isolate himself even further from bruce. on a conscious level, he wanted to be far away from him emotionally as possible to protect himself while still enacting his own kind of revenge towards bruce. and so yeah, he did try to kill batman a couple times, whatever.

on an unconscious level, he’d hoped that bruce would take the initiative to try to close the space between them and apologize, and while jason didn’t know it yet: that was all he really wanted from him. inwardly, he still cares what bruce thinks and wants his approval and affection but its so conflicting for him. it also doesn’t help that it took bruce such a long time to swallow his pride and even consider that he was wrong before he could apologize. a lot of negotiations had to take place before they could even begin to really reconcile. 

about a year later they’d come to a steady, solid agreement that mostly worked for both of them. jason was allowed to kill, but only within his territory in gotham and only under agreed upon circumstances. there’s also a separate rule that jason’s not allowed out on patrol when the joker is loose—it used to be a whole thing before you’d met and oftentimes several bats were assigned to keep him away. even with these guidelines in place, things were still rocky between them and jason had only just started to come back around the manor when he’d met you. honestly you and bruce meeting was a major step in this process and everyone could feel the shift.

his relationship with his brothers is different, but just as complicated. he kind of views dick as being perfect in spite of also acknowledging his flaws. in his head, its sort of like, in comparison to himself, dick had the perfect life with perfect versions of all the same pitfalls jason had to go through. he knows its not really fair to think of it this way, but it’s hard sometimes. all in all though, he does look up to dick a lot. 

with tim, he thinks he’s a crazy rich kid—which, fair—but also in a weird way holds a lot of respect for tim for not being afraid of him. realistically, the way jason showed back up and his relationship  with tim started is insane, so its even more insane that tim was like ‘yeah, chill’ and that probably jump started their bond as brothers more than anything. 

for as much shit as he gives him, he honestly feels really bad for damian and all the shit he was raised believing. he couldn’t quite explain why, but he does see a lot of himself in damian, even past the surface level anger. 

he’s not good at resolving fights, his mind tends to jump to the absolute worst and he assumes you’re done with him, you resent him, it’s all over. it was really bad at the beginning of your relationship when he hadn’t even begun to consider that you love him half as much as he loves you. now, you’ve been able to help him understand that you still love him, even when you fight, and fighting does not equal breaking up. however, he still has trouble taking initiative in making amends. not because he doesn’t want to but more so because he feels vulnerable in ways that terrify him, having to acknowledge and speak into existence that he’d done something wrong feels like setting himself up to be exposed with no defense. 

another part of him feels like he already hurt you and if he tries to remedy things with you, he could just make it worse. So for a while at least, you’ll have to be the one to start the conversation, though not necessarily meaning you have to apologize first. 

as we know, Jason’s not immune to bouts of fear and stress. there’s times when he panics and there’s times when he has full blown panic attacks. the panic attacks are rarer, but much more severe. he’s known to lash out (especially when he’s not at your apartment) and has definitely broken a nose or two of people who got too close/tried to touch him. you’re not sure if it’s an intentional action or not, but he tends to claw at his skin or hit himself in the head when he’s very upset. after going through a couple of these with him, you’ve compiled a thorough list of DOs and DONTs for these times. DONT hold his wrists, move suddenly, touch him without warning, or corner him. DO keep your touches light, words soft, rooms vacant of other people, and loud noises. slowly but surely they’re getting less severe and overcome quicker.

[glamourscat]

Could you please write Bruce and batboys getting jealous when they meet their crush's ex boyfriend? Her ex is as rich as Bruce, handsome and a total green flag. But they broke up in a friendly term. Upon meeting him they got jealous seeing reader and her ex are still super close. Thank you ❤️

Batboys + Bruce and their jealousy while meeting your ex

Author's Note: I decided to do a mix of a headcanon and a drabble for this one, I think it fits the vibes of the request. i hope you like it :) This is also so damn long but i am a yapper at heart

DICK GRAYSON

I see Dick as a very confident individual. I mean, he is self aware, he is beautiful, rich and overall a good guy. A catch right? (let's ignore the cheating for a moment...)

Though, Dick grew up in a rather unstable situation, to say the least. I see him as a person who craves his s/o attention on him, not necessarely 24/7, but enough to remind him "hey, I am here and I love you"

Still, when he does get jealous ━━ for example in this scenario where you're his crush and he is meeting your ex, who's as equally as handsome as him, not that he would admit to it. Rich as Bruce and a green flag on top of that?━━ damn, he is cooked lol.

His jealousy will probably stem from insecurity. Because, if this guy is rich, beautiful and a green flag too, what does Dick have to offer now? If they are on the same level, or worse, your ex is slightly higher than him ━━ truly, what cards are left for him to play?

And so, I think he would feel insecure for a moment and thats where being overly into PDA comes into place. MORE UNDER THE CUT

"You’re awfully close today. I mean, it’s not like I’m complaining, but… are you sure you're alright, Dick?" you say with a small, soft chuckle as you look at the black-haired guy who just linked his arm with yours.

"Yeah… yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I be?" he says, offering a smile that’s a bit too tight, a bit too forced for your liking. It’s not like you're a fool; you know exactly what the problem is. You saw the way he reacted when, walking casually through Gotham, you two happened to run into your ex by pure coincidence.

His eye twitched slightly, and his gaze was darting back and forth between you and your ex. You noticed the way his arm tightened around your waist, as if to say, Back off. If you had any doubts about whether he liked you before, now you have your answer.

JASON TODD

When I think of Jay, I imagine a healed version of him. I know people like to imagine him as this broken soul, and I’m not saying he isn’t; he has his fair share of trauma. But I like to think that from coming back as Red Hood to now, the present Jason Todd, he is a changed man.

He’s no longer the insecure, abrasive teen who swore nothing but vengeance and payback for what happened to him. He has accepted what happened; that doesn’t mean he forgot, nor does this mean he forgives Bruce. It just means he has the emotional capacity to be more confident in his own being.

So, how would he react upon meeting his crush’s ex? Well, chances are, if you’re Jason’s crush, you two are friends. He’s good at many things, but flirting, romance, and putting himself out there are not some of those. By being close friends, he is probably already aware of some aspects of your past, including your ex.

Thus, when he meets your ex, he is probably as nonchalant as ever. Does he feel a bit jealous? Maybe. Will those insecurities that have haunted and stained his past try to resurface, making him second-guess himself? Also yes. But he has grown enough to know he’s better than that.

"Jay?" Your voice is soft as feathers as you look at him. His green-blue eyes are focused on browsing the books on the shelves in front of you two, as silence fills the air in the small bookshop where you two had, by chance, met your ex just moments prior.

"Hm?" he hums, not taking his eyes off the books, but keeping an eye on you with his peripheral vision.

"Are you okay? You're awfully quiet. Did I say something wrong, or…?" You trail off, but he cuts you off.

"Nope, nothing's wrong. I'm just looking for a book," he says, moving to the romance section. "You like this?" His voice is quiet, yet it holds a softness to it as he shows you a book he damn well knows is your favorite.

"I mean, yeah. It’s my favorite. Why?" Your tone is slightly confused, just as quiet as his.

He shrugs as he places the book in the small hand basket he’s holding. "Nothing. Just thought I’d buy it. I trust you and your opinion. If you say it’s good, then it is."

He knows that in that moment, not giving in, not allowing those negative emotions to resurface as they did in the past, was the best choice he could’ve made if it meant seeing your smile—so timid yet flustered—with those rosy cheeks of yours, as you try to hide your giddiness from his words.

TIM DRAKE

Ah, my favorite little gremlin. The issue I have with Tim is not with Tim himself, but with the fandom that constantly mischaracterizes him.

I’m not even going to get into the coffee addict recurring joke, but I want to focus on one thing. "Precious bean Tim". This guy is absolutely unhinged. Dick, Jason, and Damian all had their moments, but Tim? His whole being is centered around being a sarcastic, witty little shit who does the most unhinged things, and somehow, people always give him a pass. (I mean... do we need to talk about his red robin run? Or when he was dating two people at once? Or when it's canon that at first impression people feel judged by him?)

My point is, Tim is literally out of his mind lol. He struggles a lot with his emotions, we see this in his Red Robin run, how obsessive he became over the idea of finding Bruce, someone he cares for. He was spiraling bad.

His jealousy manifests in possessiveness. Mine, mine, mine. Let's not forget that Tim lost his mother, watched his father die too. He is messed up emotionally, because everything that was his has always been taken from him one way or another. First his parents, then robin mantle by Damian and even his best friend (or lover) Kon at somepoint.

"You're pouting."

"No, I am not." He says, while comically enough, pouting more. It had been about 30 minutes, give or take, since you two came back from the movie theatre. Where you and Tim had to sit through an almost 2 hours long movie with your ex as the main lead.

Was he pissed? no, no, no... why would he be? Absolutely no. Him? Tim Drake? Jealous? Pff. Definitely wasn't. And yet, he kept pressing each key of his keyboard so hard, as he typed, that you feared it might come flying at his face very soon.

"If you're jealous you can just say so you know." You say with a half amused grin. If he wanted to act like a brat, might as well enjoy it. "I mean, who wouldn't be right? My ex is after all, rich, handsome, a great ac-" your words are cut off as his face he is pretty much pressed against yours.

When the hell did he come on the bed? He was sitting at his desk just a moment ago...

"Shut up" he scoffs as his cold nose nudges yours, his hand goes to the back of your head pulling you in for a kiss. and what a kiss. His lips, slightly chapped and cold, meet yours with such ferocity you're left stunned. His body has yours pressed on his bed, as he straddles your lap. Your tongues meet as he lets out a quiet little moan as your hands go in his soft raven hair.

"fuck- i am sorry" he pants gulping, cheeks red and eyes wide, as he pulls back after a few moments in a panic. what the fuck had he just done?

"You shut up now." you say with a little grin, equally as breathless as him, as you bring back your lips against his. Losing each other in a kiss that would be just the beginning of a beautiful imperfect thing.

BRUCE WAYNE

Now, Bruce was hard to crack, for me at least. Because, I think depending on the person, the situation and how he is feeling at the current moment, he can be like any of his sons.

His jealousy is not driven by insecurity or possessiveness in the conventional sense, like Dick’s or Tim's would. Not necesseraily.

I mean, we are talking about a man with his fair share of lovers

I think his jealousy would stem from his deep emotional connections and the high stakes involved in his relationships. Sure, Tim, Dick and Jason are all vigilantes too, but Bruce is the Batman. he cannot afford, he does not have the luxury, of dating who he wants just because. It's either flings or a deep emotional connection with him.

We see him getting jealous with Selina, for example, when he feels his emotional connection getting threatened by other men she is flirting with. His jealousy is so damn complex and subtle and sometimes it shows up as in actions and decision making rather than extensive show off of jealousy.

That's why I think if he has a crush on a woman (or man), his attidute will depend on the situation they find themselves in. He might become overall more vigilant, assertive or distant base on how the event will play out.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[idkwhatever580]

Embarrassed

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x enhanced!reader (Reader has powers like Wanda's but pink because I'm the author and I can do what I want, and my fav color is pink)

Prompt: Reader's best friend Wanda informs reader about this new thing she learned with Agatha that amped up their sex life. Reader decides to try it out with Nat, and the outcome is better than expected.

Warnings: SMUT, enchanted strap, bondage, slapping, daddy kink (daddy is not a reflection of your gender just a term I used i swear!) cumming without permission?/warning?, swearing, tmi? (Is there such thing as tmi between best friends?), teasing. Top!Reader (semi soft)

A/N: I already had this in my drafts partially finished but then I got a rq and I thought I could incorporate it into this so yeah :) thanks for the request @keirannoa420 <3 (I made reader afab but I think I made them gn for everything else I hope that isn't a problem!)

Today is a simple day for the Avengers. Almost nobody is on a mission today, so everyone is doing their own thing to decompress and rest. Especially since last week was horrible. It was just mission after mission for you and the others.

From what you know, Tony and Bruce are in their lab, Steve and Buck went on a date after visiting Peggy's grave to give her the monthly flowers, Clint went back with his family, Thor and Loki are back at Asgard until needed, Nat is reading in her library, Agatha is in a therapy session (she is still healing from her witchy trauma, good on her!), Vision is probably floating around somewhere, Peter is with Aunt May, the rest of the younger ones are out and about, while you and Wanda are catching up on a much-needed yapping session.

"Omg did you hear what happened on Sam and Tony's mission yesterday?"

You sit up being intrigued, "No, what happened?"

She giggles at the thought of what happened, and says, "He- he"

She can't even tell you what happened without bursting into laughter. "He what! Oh my gosh stop laughing and tell me what happened!"

Your need to hear what happened overpowering your patience, but Wanda eventually can control her laughs into a soft snicker every now and then, "He had to run into the building instead of his usual flying, and he ended up slipping and falling on his back and rolling around because it was raining! Sam got the whole thing recorded thanks to redwing!"

You burst into laughter at the thought of Tony slipping, this surely hurt his ego more than anything. You gasp and say, "Wait... can I see the video? Do you have it?"

She laughs and grabs her phone, "Of course I have the video! I would say I'm surprised you don't have it, but I forgot your phone broke."

You roll your eyes at the reminder of not having a phone to do your daily social media things, but Nat says you need a break from your phone. Joke's on her, you're just bothering her more. (She secretly likes it)

You're drawn away from your thoughts when Wanda holds her phone to your face, the video of Tony slipping funnier than you pictured.

(volume is not necessary for this one)

You both started laughing so hard that tears fell from your eyes, but you both eventually calmed down and were able to change the subject. "So, how's Aggie? I feel like I haven't seen her in months even though I've only been on a mission for a week."

She smiles softly and says, "She's good. Her twice-a-week therapy sessions are really impacting her in a good way. I think she might be having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the Avengers though. She still gets overwhelmed sometimes. Which is what I was scared about. I didn't want to bring her into this space after nine whole months of secretly dating just for her to regress on her progress, but I think she is getting there. Her communication skills are definitely getting better which is helping me accommodate to her needs you know?"

You smile and nod knowingly, "Yeah, I remember coming here for the first time from being a S.H.E.I.L.D. agent, it was terrifying, but my relationship with Nat only grew from where we were. Something is bound to blossom from her too. Anything else interesting with you two?"

Wanda sends me a small smirk and says, "I've been trying out new spells and tricks to cast and I happened to fall upon an interesting spell."

You raise an eyebrow with a tentative voice, "Interesting how?"

She giggles and says, "Okay, so obviously we talk about our sex lives a lot together, but this spell just made bedroom time way better. It's a spell to make an inanimate object basically a part of you. You can feel it and everything that happens to it. So, I tested this spell out on a certain strap-on that we use and let me just say I've never felt so good before. I think you should really try it on Nat, the first time I did it to Aggie, she literally cried because she felt so good."

You raise your eyebrows suggestively and say, "That is quite the interesting find Wands. I'm impressed. You'll have to show me the spell. I think I might try it out on Natty tonight if I can do it right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a few tries of this new spell with Wanda, you're able to feel everything that happens to the tv remote in your leg. You smirk at Wanda and go to exit the room just as Agatha comes back. You send your goodbyes and almost sprint to Natasha's library, making sure to stop by your room to get a certain backpack.

The joys of having your own floor with Natasha means that the things on that floor are only used by the both of you, unless otherwise provoked. So, you know nobody is going to be walking into this space. This also means that you guys can literally fuck anywhere on that floor, but you are so excited to try this spell on her.

You slow down right before you enter and you saunter in, even though Nat has her noise cancelling headphones on, so you know she won't hear you. You come up behind her and softly rest your arms on her shoulders slowly creeping down to kiss her cheek.

She pulls off her headphones and says, "Hello detka. Do you need anything?"

You simply nod your head and give her a soft kiss on the lips to distract her before carefully snatching the current book she is invested in. She lets go of it but not without a pout, "Baby, I was reading that."

You carefully set the book down after putting a bookmark in. Then you walk around and pull her headphones off her ears which makes her even more confused. Until you sit in her lap and snuggle up to her neck. She softly smiles and starts rubbing patterns on your back. "Aww baby, did you want cuddles?"

You nod your head innocently and she says, "Well I can do that while also reading my book so can I have it back?"

You shake your head, and she realizes there's something else you want. She raises an eyebrow, and skeptically says, "What else is it? Did you do something?"

You pull away from her neck and shake your head, "No, I didn't do nothin', but I'm 'bout to."

She furrows her beautiful brows in confusion but notices the glint in your eyes. She knows this look; she has seen it a million times before. How could she miss it? So, she pouts and says, "Aww is my detka a bit horny?"

You nod your head and whisper, "I want to try something new today."

She smirks and nods, always willing to try everything once, well, almost everything. "Of course, detka, what is it you were wanting to try?"

You smile and say, "You're gonna have to wait and find out."

She rolls her eyes at your antics, but you kiss her on the lips and the words that were on the tip of her tongue fade away quickly.

You both start making out softly, a tenderness infiltrates your hearts that only you two can replicate with each other. The kiss quickly turns aggressive though. Her hands falling to your hips to steady them when they start to move on their own, while yours go to her hair to softly tug on the luscious, fiery locks.

Moans start to spill out of you when your core starts to rub on her thigh, and she starts to unbutton your pants trying to get directly to the source, but you push her away. Before she can question your antics, you reach behind her lounge chair to grab the backpack and wave it in front of her face. She smiles and you both stand up to undress yourselves, not bothering to do it for the other, instead choosing efficiency.

Once she has the strap securely tightened around her hips, you push her back down and sit just before the silicon cock, butt resting on her thighs. "I need you to hold still and be quiet for a moment, okay?"

She furrows her brows and says, "Wait, what are you doing?"

You smile at her and say, "I just need you to trust me so I can work my magic." You kiss her doubts away and whisper, "I think you're going to quite like this."

You cast the spell silently and when it is done, you look in her eyes and there is nothing, but confusion written all over her face. "What did you do?"

You smirk and spit on your hand before softly rubbing the tip of the dildo making her hips jerk. "Woah."

You smirk and say, "Woah indeed. Did that feel good?"

She nods her head and says, "Seriously Y/n, what did you do to me?"

You giggle and say, "I made you be able to feel everything like it is your own."

You shimmy your body down to be eye level with the pink sparkly attachment, and you look up into her eyes with yours being doe like from this angle and you slowly take her length into your mouth.

This new sensation causing Nat to moan helplessly and thread her fingers through your hair. You softly start to play with yourself and stretch yourself out, while making sure to not give her too much stimulation. Once you deem yourself ready to take her, you pull away and Nat glares at you. "Why'd you pull away?"

You smile and kiss her worries away, "So I can do this..."

You grab the attachment and slowly slide yourself onto her. Moaning at the size. She always seems to be so big even when you take her all the time. She moans extra loud when you take her to the hilt, and suddenly her hips jerk and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

You force her to look into your eyes and then you start to bounce up and down while grinding onto her.

Although you are feeling very good, your sole intention is to make Nat feel good today. "How does it feel baby?"

She opens her mouth to say something, but only a measly gasp is heard. After a while, she finally is able to conjure a sentence, "Fuck... it feels- so good."

You smirk and say, "Yeah? You like feeling this pussy clench around you?"

She whimpers and nods her head biting her lip to stifle her sounds. Usually you wouldn't let that slide, but since it is her first time feeling this, you'll give her some grace.

You start to bounce up and down on her cock more aggressively and her hands tighten around your hips. She is completely still excepting the few involuntary thrusts her hips make, which make you moan at the spot she hits when she does this.

Nat's head is thrown back and she finally lets go of her lip, allowing all the beautiful sounds to tumble out of her throat. Her pathetic noises are so hot to you and even hotter when she tries to speak, "Y/n I- it feels, I-"

All of a sudden, her words are cut off with an almost pornographic moan, which makes you so wet because you never hear her be this vocal. Her hips start thrusting into you uncontrollably and her hands are scratching into your hips, not that you care.

You furrow your eyebrows as hers raise in surprise and embarrassment. You slow down and say, "Did you... did you just cum?"

Natasha lets out an exhausted breath and looks at anything but you, until you move her by her chin to look into your eyes. When she sees your eyes, she tears up a bit, "I'm sorry I don't know what's wrong with me! I usually last way longer than that! I wasn't even prepared for it; it just sprang up on me."

She starts to ramble, so you shut her up with a kiss and when you pull away you chuckle softly, "Natty baby, I don't know why you came so fast, but I'll bet you it has something to do with the fact that this spell makes you feel things you've never felt before huh?"

She nods her head, and you smile, "Do you want to keep going or do you want to stop?"

She frowns and says, "I want you to cum."

You smile and shake your head, "That's not what I asked darling, I asked about you."

She thinks about it, and then a nasty thought pops into her brain, and she says, "I wanna keep going."

So, you nod your head, and keep moving and grinding on her, this time she makes it about five minutes before the same thing happens.

You become beyond confused as it looks like she just came again. Once she calms down, you tentatively ask, "Did you just... again?"

Her eyes widen and her face turns redder than her hair. She tears up a bit and tries to shove you off of her to inevitably run off and hide from her embarrassment, but you push on her hips, and she moans again. She still tries to get away, so you cut her thoughts off with soft tone saying, "Darling, don't worry, it's okay if you did, you know? It is a new sensation, and it is normal to have a crazy reaction to it."

She previously covered her red face with her hands to hide, so you carefully pull her hands down and smile at her small frame. "Tasha, why are you hiding from me?"

She finally cracks and says, "Because! That was so embarrassing! I've never finished that fast! So, I am embarrassed because I didn't even get to last long enough to have fun, and don't even mention the fact that you didn't get anything out of it!"

You pout at her with fake pity, "Oh darling," You brush her already sweaty hair out of her face and clench your pussy on her strap making her moan at the feeling, "You don't have to worry about that, trust me, we are going to have fun all night. You'll be begging me to stop."

She timidly nods her head, and you say, "Is that okay?"

She nods and says, "I really want to keep going."

You smile and nod your head, but before you can start riding her again, she pulls you off of her swiftly and flips you over on your hands and knees, slipping right back into your wet cunt.

She leans over to whisper in your ear, "I'm gonna fuck this pussy so hard."

You can only moan in response because she's already thrusting deep and hard into your insides. You consider giving in to her and letting her take over, but you already made your mind up ahead of time and she is not getting in your way. So, with a flick of your wrist, she is flipped over, and ropes appear and tie themselves around her wrists.

You crawl up to her as the pink glimmers fade from your eyes, and shake your head, "Thought you could get away with it huh?"

She doesn't answer and you slap her breast making her jerk and yelp out, "I asked you a question, didn't I?"

She meekly nods her head, and you say, "Then I expect you to answer it."

She nods her head again and you say, "Don't make me ask again."

"Yes! I thought I could get away with it! Please daddy!"

You bite your lip at the power trip you're getting from this, but you make sure to soften up and check on Nat knowing she only uses 'daddy' when she's extra sensitive, "I want you to use the color system just like always, okay? Can you tell me a color?"

She doesn't even hesitate before saying, "Yes! Green, please daddy!"

A sigh falls from your lips at hearing that and you nod your head. "Okay baby, you know I'm not gonna be nice to you right?"

She whimpers and nods her head closing her eyes to center herself. You smirk and flip her over, making the dildo hit the bed when you push her hips down on the bed.

She moans out and you lean forward, your lips brushing softly over the shell of her ear, and you whisper, "Do not cum."

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head knowing she's already sensitive from previous orgasms, and she whines out, "No! Please daddy!"

You chuckle at her desperation and say, "If you're good tonight, I'll find a spell to make it so that you can cum in me too."

She shudders at the thought of being able to "breed" you and both of you feel it, so regardless of how much she already wants to cum, she nods her head and takes a breath to prepare herself.

Right before you are about to start, she yelps out, "Wait!"

You freeze in worry that she doesn't want this anymore, so you pause and look to her and let her speak. Her words come out the first time a quiet jumbled mess so you say, "What was that babe?"

She looks over her shoulder and says a little louder this time, "Can I hold a pillow?"

You think about it for a moment, and ultimately decide that if you're not going to comfort her until after, she might as well have something else to find comfort in, so you nod your head and she grabs a pillow. Once she is situated you wait for her queue and when she nods her head you begin to massage her ass a bit before pulling back and landing a harsh slap on her butt.

Natasha's hips jerk away from your hand, and in turn makes her strap rut against the bed stimulating her. She lets out a mix between a moan and a groan because she feels good, but she also knows you put limitations on her.

You continue your assault on her now red and pink ass, and the lewd sounds that are emitting from Nat's throat are making you more wet than you'd like to admit.

You slap her ass again, and she starts to uncontrollably hump the mattress, and you won't allow her to cum without asking so you grab her hips and lift them from the bed before she can stimulate herself any further. She groans and pleads, "Please. ugh please I need it!"

You simply chuckle and shake your head, "Need it so bad you're willing to give up cumming for a week?"

Her eyes widen at that threat and she whimpers knowing she might not be able to hold back since the last two came out of nowhere, but you lay her back down and say, "two more, then you can cum again."

She nods her head, crossing her fingers that she makes it, and out of nowhere the second to last slap is let out on her skin. It is way harder than all the others, so in turn, it makes Nat almost forget about what you said. Almost.

You hum and rub her ass tenderly, not letting her know when the last one is coming, and the second she whimpers again you pull back and hit her ass so hard it has her shoving her hips back into you.

She catches her breath and rolls around. You tell her to hold still as you are about to disenchant the strap, but Nat says, "Wait, baby, what are you doing?"

You furrow your brows and say, "I thought you said you were done after this orgasm?"

She nods and says, "I held it, I wanna cum with you on my cock."

Her eyes are so sweet and soft you simply can't refuse, so you let her win this time, riding her cock until the both of you come, and then you end up just laying together in a moment of tenderness.

"I love you detka."

"I love you too Natty, I'm glad you liked the surprise."

"Oh, I loved it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist

Taglist

@ilovesnat @ihartnat @marvelnatasha12346 @moistblobfish @justarandomreaderxoxo @lovelyy-moonlight @symp4nat @ale-estrabao

Comment to be added to the taglist!!! I have a list of prompts coming out after this :)))

A/N: I hope y'all liked it!!! (Did you catch my Love and Death reference???) Also, I apologize for the rushed ending, I really needed to get this out.

[obxsummer]

selfish // ghost of you

navigation -- series masterlist

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader (she/her)

summary: covering the 18 months after el dorado, the pogues are home and are attempting to work through life back in kildare. you're dealing with your trauma setting in, and jj's usual reckless decisions are not helpful in the slightest. oh, and it's time to treasure hunt. again.

warnings: s4 spoilers! for episode one, violence, cursing, the usual obx. heavy mentions of trauma/depression/anxiety/ptsd.

-- So, you might be wondering. What happens after you find the lost city of El Dorado, get blown up, two of your parents die, and you’re stranded in South America with a sack full of gold? Let’s catch up.

First, you catch a ride back home, and you sleep for like three weeks. And then when you finally get back, you make peace with the fam… or not really. And after all the loose ends are tied up, the gold.

$1,172,549…Enough money to get you back on your feet and taken care of after what had been the most insane chase of your life. Pope was the mastermind that pieced together a plan and after a heated, overpriced auction, you stood in front of the old Maybank property that had been transformed into a dream. A surf shop, JJ’s new boat, a dock, and a house full of love and friendship.

Granted, things got iffy and your plethora of money dropped quickly (no thanks to JJ’s poor budgeting), and you were already tight in terms of keeping the business alive. So, you were laying low and helping where you could.

While you were glad to be home and no longer on the run, it didn’t keep away the haunting memories that followed. This was the first time since John B went missing that you’d been able to sit with your thoughts and try to process everything that happened. And it wasn’t easy.

“Hey there, sweet thing.”

You glanced up from your spot on the hammock, having been dozing in and out of sleep for a few minutes now. JJ stood in the doorway, his cutoff shirt framing his tanned skin nicely as you smiled up at him.

“Hi.”

He moved to meet you, lips pressing against yours in a warm, feverish kiss. The two of you had just spent the weekend away in Savannah, Georgia while the other Pogues placed the finishing touches on the property and store for opening. They were more than happy to send the two of you off for time away since you were both more touchy and lovey than you had been in a while. It was the vacation you needed and deserved.

“You coming to the race?” JJ’s voice was raspy and he sat on the netting next to you. It was the annual Kildare Enduro, one that JJ loved to get involved in and you loved to watch, but after his last biking accident, you were a bit nervous.

Your fingers messed with the hair behind his neck as you hummed in agreement, pulling him back down to your lips. “Not happy about you racing on that bike but yes, I’m coming.”

One of the few things you all allowed was for John B and JJ to pick out a new dirt bike, given the fact that you only had the Twinkie as reliable transportation. Now all three of the boys had their own, so as long as the van kept running, the six of you had a fair chance.

“You love me on the bike, baby.”

You chuckled at JJ’s words, giving him another kiss before rolling off the hammock to prevent yourself from falling asleep. “I love seeing you on the bike, J. Don’t love you racing on it.”

The beach was slammed with bikes, trucks, and tents for the racers and crowd of the day when you all arrived. You and Kie business yourself grabbing lemonade as Cleo and John B made sure JJ’s bike was ready to go. 

“How was your trip?” Kie asked as she shoved her reusable straw into the lemonade cup after politely declining the plastic ones the cashier had offered. 

You pushed your sunglasses up and sipped your drink as the two of you started walking back to where the Twinkie was parked. “So nice and peaceful. We didn’t do too much but it was a welcomed change in the chaos.”

Your eyes caught sight of Topper Thornton in his red racing gear, no doubt having a stare-off with your boyfriend. The thought of JJ out there racing against Kooks who clearly had a bone to pick with you guys didn’t help your anxiety.

Sarah thanked you as you handed her a lemonade before sitting in the back of the van which had been pulled up to the makeshift track so you all could watch. Being in this new rhythm had been so odd for you, especially after you started to make peace with the idea that you would never have this sort of “normal” again.

“Did you know?”

You looked up to see your brother, John B, staring back at you with a frustrated frown on his face. He had pulled on his racing jacket, which added to your confusion, but you could tell he was pissed at something. And just like that, things had gone to shit again.

You glanced at Sarah, who looked just as confused before shaking your head. “What are you talking about?”

John B sighed and stepped closer, crouching in front of you. His demeanor changed when you tensed, not knowing what was happening. “Did you know JJ bet the gold?”

“He what?” Your voice was deep and angry. JJ’s lack of self-control when it came to spending money had become severely frustrating for all of you, especially when he spent so much to reclaim his house when it wasn’t worth over half of it. “Please tell me you’re lying, JB.”

He didn’t answer and instead, got to his feet to grab the handles of his own bike that had been driven over.

“John B!” You set your lemonade down and quickly got to your feet as Kiara started cussing out JJ’s behavior, Sarah mumbling her agreement. “Are you serious?”

Your brother stopped short, his eyes searching yours as if he could say everything without speaking. He knew you were already anxious about JJ racing, and putting both of them in there was slowly becoming a fearful experience for you. It didn’t make you feel any better when Rafe settled into a spot next to Topper on his bike, revving his engine to make a scene.

“I’ve got him, okay? We’re gonna make it work.”

You didn’t say anything else, watching as he made his way to the starting line and leaving you between two heated girls who had their glares set on your boyfriend.

It had been hard for you to adjust after nearly dying multiple times while in South America. You’d had a lot of talking sessions amongst each other as a group to cope with it, making sure everyone aired all their emotions when they needed to. Even as though you were practically adults, life was still scary, and you’d had too many breakdowns to not acknowledge it.

JJ had taken most of the nightmares and sleepless nights you’d been cursed with, talking you through every bit of it until you would fall back asleep. John B did his best to pull you out of your head, clocking the look on your face when you’d get too deep and try to pull away. He meant it when he said he was working on being better for everyone, but especially you.

It was a process, but it was working. Slowly but surely, you were healing. It weighed on you mentally, but you were so appreciative to have the support you did.

So, watching the two boys you loved the most get into a race with people that hated you, was scary. 

“They’ll be fine,” Sarah reassured as she watched her own boyfriend pull his helmet on before adjusting his bandana around his face. “Does JJ ever think before he does anything?”

“No, never,” You were quick to answer, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not even once.”

Kie wordlessly held her joint out to you, which you took with no objection. This was slowly becoming a horror movie as they took off from the starting line, the roar of the bikes overwhelming as sand flew up behind them. You kept your eyes on JJ and John B as long as you could until they disappeared over the hill and into the treeline. 

“We’ve got some serious contact in the brush. Oh, and it sounds like Topper didn’t like Maybank crowding him there. Taught him a little lesson. Stuffed him like a turkey!”

You groaned, burying your face into your hands as the announcer covered the parts of the races you couldn’t see behind the trees. Not only was JJ losing, he was losing badly.

“It looks like they’re turning around the buoy. We’ve got Rafe Cameron still in front ahead of the group of riders. Cameron seems to have things well in hand. No mistakes and he should take home the Kildare Enduro. There’s Maybank bringing up the rear. Tough race for him and oh, he’s down again in the deep sand!”

Kiara groaned loudly this time. “Fucking shit, JJ!”

“Wait, what’s he doing?” You caught on to the fact that JJ wasn’t slowing down to make the left-handed turn that would put him en route with everyone else and instead had set his eyes straight ahead where the inlet met the track. “Are we seriously doing this again?”

Sarah grabbed your hand, squeezing tightly as JJ approached the jump at full speed. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t take your eyes off the scene as he threw himself and the bike in the air, managing to catch the ground just ahead of Rafe.

“Holy shit!” Cleo yelled as JJ pushed forward, everyone bursting into cheers as he held the lead. The remaining racers turned the corner and you caught sight of John B nearing Topper, the two pushing each other for the next spot. 

Rafe managed to catch up to JJ quicker than you would’ve liked as they hit the final stretch. Things were looking up and you fought the glimmer of hope bubbling in your chest that this may all end up in your favor.

Until Rafe’s tire nudged JJ’s and sent both of them flying in the air. 

“Jay!” You were moving before you realized, only to get tugged back by Sarah and Pope from interfering as more racers caught up. JJ was moving though, and that was the only part you really cared about. 

John B came flying into view next, barely stopping in time to miss JJ’s crumbled form that was in the sand, which gave Topper the door to win. You couldn’t even care about that though, and as soon as the bikes cleared you were flying forward to your boys on the track. You made it to them as John B pulled JJ from the ground, your boyfriend shoving your brother angrily as he mouthed off. 

“Hey!” You yelled and grabbed JJ’s arm to move him as he tossed his helmet aside angrily. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

JJ shook his head and continued separating himself from the group. “I don’t want to hear it right now.”

“Then you’re going to fucking hear it later, JJ!” You shouted after him, anger overtaking your anxiety as the adrenaline wore off. So much could’ve gone wrong and you could’ve lost more than the money. You glared at him, angry tears burning your eyes as he continued to walk away as if it didn’t matter. 

“Hey, hey.” John B’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, tugging you back into his chest as he turned you away from the sight of your retreating boyfriend. “He’s fine, we’re fine. That’s all that matters.”

“Get used to it.” A raspy voice cut off your response to your brother as you shifted to see Rafe pulling himself off the ground next to you. 

“What’d you say?” John B’s hold disappeared from around you before he moved forward to confront the older Kook with a shove. “Nah, man. What’d you say?”

Rafe hit John B back, both boys ready to start a fight instantly before Sarah jumped in between them. “Hey!” 

“This is forever, alright?” Rafe screamed, backing up a few paces. His face was burning red with anger and you feared he would lash out right in front of you. “Y’all don’t get to win.”

You shook your head, placing your hand on John B’s shoulder to keep him back. “We never get to win, Rafe. In case you haven’t fucking noticed.”

“You could’ve killed each other!” Sarah yelled back at him as she continued to force her brother away from your group. 

Rafe pulled himself out of her grip and shook his head. “Yeah, like you give a shit. You gonna kill me like you killed Dad?”

Your eyes widened as Sarah attempted to defend herself from the comment, but Rafe had already walked out of hearing range. Your friends crowded around the three of you, JJ still in his own head behind the crowd where you left him. 

John B shook his head, running his hand through his hair. The last hour had really wiped him out, physically and emotionally. “We are so screwed.”

Kiara nodded in agreement, the displeasure evident on her face. “Yeah. We are.”

“Why are we screwed?”

The question coming from Pope made you sigh and dig your palms into your eyes in frustration. This was the worst outcome possible for something that was supposed to be fun. 

“Just come on, let’s go.” John B led the group back to the van as Pope pushed for an answer that none of you were willing to give yet. Kie busied herself tossing the lawn chairs in the van, John B taking a seat on his bike and replacing his helmet as Sarah waited for him. 

“Do you want me to get him?” Cleo asked you as she nudged her head in JJ’s direction. You followed her movement to see the boy cussing at himself, kicking sand, and throwing an angry fit.

It broke your heart, but you shook your head. “Leave him, he can come home once he’s calmed down.”

That was another thing that had taken a lot of time to figure out, was how to separate yourself from everyone’s emotions. You were such an empathetic person that you wanted to solve the problems and help everyone, but it had taken its own toll for so long that you needed to end the habit. JJ included. As much as you wanted to run over and hug him and tell him it was fine, it wasn’t. 

It wasn’t until you guys were back home, John B and Sarah following the van on his bike, that Pope approached the subject again. “Someone better tell me what happened before I lose it.”

Shoving the passenger door open, you forced yourself out of the car, knowing the rage was coming quickly. “JJ bet the last of the gold on himself for the race.”

Silence echoed for a moment. 

“What the fuck!”

--

The rampage of Pope Heyward was well deserved. The poor boy had done so much to try and extend the gold payout as best as possible and lost in every way. So when JJ resurfaced at Poguelandia 2.0, all hell broke loose. 

“I said it. I said it once, and I said it again. I said don’t touch the last of our nugget. That was it. That was the last of our savings! Do you not care?”

JJ spun around in a fury, his body scratched and dirty with sand from the crash. “Pope, you saw what happened, man! He stole it, okay? He cheated and he stole it. That’s not my fault, Pope.”

“Do you know how selfish you sound?”

JJ laughed, which just pissed everyone off further. “I sound selfish? I was trying to help us.”

“You helped us, you just cost us everything. Thank you!”

You curled into the sleeves of your sweater as you watched your boyfriend pace. How he thought none of this was his fault was crazy. “Jayj, why are you making it sound like you had nothing to do with it?”

He looked at you and all the anger disappeared from his face, leaving the vulnerable boy you loved so much with tears in his eyes. “Okay, babe. Babe. You know me. Okay? I was gonna bet it all. That’s who I am.”

Kiara scoffed from next to you, “You should’ve talked to us first! It was too risky this time.”

“And what were you doing?” Pope’s anger turned toward John B, who instantly went wide eye at the attack. “You knew he had it and you just let him race?”

“He told me last minute, alright?” Your brother attempted to defend himself but it fell on silent ears.

“John B, look, man. You were supposed to cover-!”

“I did cover!”

The arguing escalated loudly between all three boys until you covered your hands over your ears to block it out. You’d never faired well with yelling since everything happened with Rafe, and hearing it from the people you loved made it worse even if it wasn’t directed at you.

Cleo took one look at you and shut it down. “Hey, enough!” Her voice echoed around the space, effectively chopping the harsh words that were being through. “How bad is it, Pope?”

“How bad is it?” Pope repeated the question as he faced her. “We have a $13,000 property tax payment due in seven days. And we have zero working capital. There is nothing. And you took the last of our savings, so thank you.”

Silence followed the heaviness of his voice before he left you all outside. You winced at the severity of JJ’s actions, knowing these consequences affected all of you and it wasn’t like the hot tub episode at the Chateau where it was a rough purchase. 

JJ called your name, breaking you from your thoughts as you looked up at him. His eyes were still red and clouded with tears. “Baby…”

“I’m going to go for a little bit. I’ll be back before dark.” You didn’t leave room for argument, instead taking off in the direction of the dock where the HMS Pogue was. 

You weren’t trying to give anyone the cold shoulder, but you promised yourself you would try to be better about handling your emotions on your own. You needed to process and take care of yourself alone sometimes.

“Hey,” Pope’s voice was soft as you caught sight of him in the boat, looking out over the water. Seems the two of you had the same idea to come out here. He whispered your name when you didn’t answer or say anything. 

You shrugged, climbing in to sit near him as you pulled your sleeves over your hands. “I’m trying.”

“You’re okay.” Pope’s affirmation sent you into tears. Your knees pulled to your chest as you let out a shaky breath. He didn’t hesitate to wrap you into a hug, letting you cry softly. 

“I’m trying really hard,” You breathed out, hating how weak your voice came out. “It’s like the second a voice raises I shut down and-and-”

Pope held you tightly against him, allowing you to have time to get your emotions out. These panic episodes happened more often than you’d like since you had all gotten home an you felt so embarrassed for your friends to deal with them. 

“Just breathe, I’ve got you. I promise.” 

Pope had become an anchor for you since the moment that was shared on the plane to Orinocco. When it had been revealed that you felt left behind after John B disappeared, he took it personally to help where and when he could. You had always been like a sibling to him and it broke his heart to know you were struggling so much.

The two of you sat there for a few until you caught your breath and recentered. The air was brisk as you drove the HMS through the marsh, taking in the sunset as you did. As much as you loved JJ, you were disappointed he had made this decision on his own. He was trying to help, he always was, but sometimes it just didn’t go that way.

“I’m sorry about JJ,” You said as Pope slowed down for the final stretch before the dock. “I know he means well, but it doesn’t always turn out that way.”

Pope shook his head softly. “I know he does too, but his impulse will be the death of him.”

Unfortunately, you didn’t disagree.

--

The house was relatively quiet as you walked in, quietly thanking Pope before making your way up to your shared bedroom with JJ. You could hear the shower running, the light poking from under the door along with soft music that told you that Sarah was likely inside. The bedroom door creeked quietly as you opened it. JJ’s figure was sitting in your floating egg chair, the one thing you’d asked for at the thrift shop. 

“Hi,” You greeted quietly. He immediately looked up, relief flooding his body at the sight of you as he got to his feet.

“I’m so sorry, I-”

You held your hand up, intercepting whatever he was going to say. “Jayj, I know you are. And I love you, but I really don’t want to talk about this right now. Okay?”

His hope deflated but he nodded regardless. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Um, Kie made salad. There’s leftovers in the fridge. I can… I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

You shook your head softly, giving him a small smile before wrapping your arms around his neck gently. “After today, there’s nothing more I want than to hold you and make sure you’re okay. So no, you’re sleeping here. Now come on, macho. Let’s clean up those cuts and get your ass to bed.” 

And then our luck turned, and the Outer Banks Sentinel wrote about us and our journey. They finally excavated the cave we blew up and suddenly, we’re heroes. It’s pretty weird, to be honest. After the ceremony, this old guy named Wes Genrette came up to us with a request. He invited us to his private estate to discuss his proposition. So, here we are. Eighteen months after finding El Dorado, on our way to Goat Island. Back in the G game, for what we hoped was the last time.

--

navigation -- series masterlist

a/n: and we're back!!! send ideas, send requests, and let the angst begin !!!!

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Thingol, Luthien, and Dior’s claim to the silmaril bugs the living daylights outta me and I’m gonna break down why. This goes a bit beyond ownership laws.

Starting with basics. What are the silmarils? Gems created by Fëanor that hold the light of the Two Trees. Who in Beleriand saw the light of the trees and no doubt misses it like a limb? Are here in part to avenge their destruction? The Noldor.

The Sindar never went to Valinor. They might find the gems beautiful but that’s it. There’s no cultural or emotional connection to them beyond ‘pretty stone, look how awesome our princess was.’ There’s no appreciation for what they hold. No understanding that this stone is one of the *last* things that holds the ancient light of the Trees.

The Noldor meanwhile not only saw the Light, they had entire festivals surrounding it. Grew their entire culture, their lives, under and around it. Now the trees are destroyed, their king killed defending these jewels. And this last beacon of hope, a piece of the home they can never return to, a piece of light that will never come back, is being kept by people who can’t even begin to understand the significance of what they keep.

Now imagine being the sons of the one who made this jewel from a culture of people who value craft above all else.

Not only is it light, it’s the result of years of toil and experimentation of your father, the one who managed to do what no one had ever even thought of. Fëanor’s sons would have been the first to see these jewels, probably saw him make prototypes, work equations whilst they worked on their own crafts. Provided what relief they could to his ever working mind and inadvertently gave him ideas that helped solve problems he encountered along the way. Suddenly it’s not only a key part of their culture, it’s something core to their family.

Then Fëanor is killed and in many ways it’s the most important thing they have left of their father. Now it’s a source of memory too, for someone doomed to the Halls for eternity. Who they’ll likely never see again unless they’re killed.

Now from what I’ve heard, Tolkien says the Fëanorions lost their right to the Silmarils when they killed for them. Which makes no sense considering the Silmarils were *created* by Fëanor. Yes the light was created by the Valar, but what, you’re gonna say ‘I created electricity so that lightbulb you made is actually mine.’ That’s not how it works. Fëanor made the casing for the stones and figured out how to hold the light, without aid from the Valar. It doesn’t matter what actions they take, the right to the Silmarils remain theirs and theirs alone. The jewels hold no power of their own, they’re literally objects. Healing objects at most. Morals do not dictate their ownership, hallowed or not.

Tolkien going on to say the right of Doriath’s Silmaril actually goes to Beren and Luthien for taking it from Morgoth gives me frankly coloniser vibes.

‘Oh this thing I stole was originally stolen from you? Too bad. I took it so it’s mine now. Don’t care how important it is to you, your entire culture, and your people.’

Get where I’m coming from?

All in all the whole situation gives me Bad Vibes and I really don’t like the attitude the Sindar have to the Silmaril. In terms of Elwing, I can partly forgive her purely based on trauma response. Fine. Doesn’t make it right, but I understand. But that never would’ve been a problem if her father, grandmother, or great grandfather had the sense to acknowledge the silmaril was never theirs to keep. Don’t like the Fëanorions, (too bad) at least give it back to the Noldor.

[iguana-braces]

That sub!Jayce post really popped off, huh?

Ehehe okay here's my rambly thoughts about it (I'm literally sitting at work clocked out writing this instead of going home because THOUGHTS)

Building my theory off of this post:

And this one with all the examples of how Jayce's love language is clearly physical touch

*Disclaimer: there's a lot about season 2 that irked me in terms of plot and characterization so this is me retconning a little bit and picking and choosing what examples make the most cohesive argument. Like, in season one they're like "Jayce has this brotherly relationship with Caitlyn and him and Mel have this deep, meaningful relationship" and then season two was like "No more relationship building, it's time for trauma now" but, I digress*

First things first, he's a people pleaser. He does what he's told, clearly (against better judgment but like). And he's clearly committed to the people he cares about. HE BROUGHT VIKTOR BACK FROM THE DEAD (AND THEN KILLED HIM) AND THEN DIED WITH HIM AGAIN. You can't tell me that wouldn't translate to an "I'll do anything for you" attitude in the bedroom too.

I already did the bed gif but I also have to draw attention to the following:

Okay but season two, post-horrors!

Mr. Dopey Heart-Eyes McGee is NOT the one calling the shots here.

Season one Jayce? That man is whipped. One glance from his partner and he's on his knees like it's a religion. Whoever you ship him with! Mel, Viktor, both, a secret fourth option--

He spent an indeterminate amount of time alone, in the bottom of a pit. He's touch-starved but also! Traumatized!

Imagine, if you will, that he survives the astral plane. Imagine he goes to find Mel, or Viktor also survives, or imagine your own y/n, OC insert scenario here. Whatever floats your boat.

In such scenario, and in the aftermath of his self-awareness epiphany where he realizes that yeah, he's kinda been used (by everyone really), I think that in regards to any potential sexual relationship, he would have to become more dominant, more in control of the situation. Especially if it's with Mel, since he does pointedly blame her, or even Viktor, who has literally shaped the course of Jayce's entire life since he was a child. The man needs to set some boundaries with people and good for him.

So I think dominant, scruffy Jayce does have a time and a place.

However, I don't think he'd stay that way forever. It's kinda like him trying to be a politician-- it's a different role that he can pull off, but it doesn't fully scratch his itch.

BONUS HEADCANON: Wouldn't it be just so interesting if he survived the astral plane and goes back to whoever, and while he's looking for comfort and reassurance and all that physical contact he's been deprived of, he realizes that he really doesn't like people touching his head.

I hypothesize that in regards to canon relationships, Mel and/or Viktor, once they regain his trust and show that they're not trying to use him again, he's 100% going to be simping for them even worse than before. Like, that relationship would've gone through the fire and only come out stronger on the other side. You might even say it's been vulcanized.... 🤭

From the on, he can go back to letting his walls down around them and letting them be the dominant one because he knows there's solid trust and respect there now.

Feel free to agree or disagree 🤷‍♀️ also please feel free to tell me all your thots about this too!!!

He's got all this beautiful hair that needs to be tenderly pushed away from his eyes by a loving hand, but he's a little fucked up from the times Mannequin/Mage Viktor did that little murder mind meld.

Like, he put his head in Mel's lap TWICE, you know it would kill the man if he couldn't do that anymore because having someone's hands near his forehead is too reminiscent of... well, basically his death.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A fun question your opinion: In each arc, what do you think is the theme of each arc? ( It can be a motif, messages, subject)

These are a mix of jokes and serious thoughts ^^ just to avoid the post from being too heavy overall!

The Rose-Red Tyrant:

Breaking free from perpetuating a cycle of abuse

You are your own person, not a puppet controlled by your parent/guardian

At the same time, you have to take accountability for your own actions (your background can explain your poor behavior toward others but it does not excuse that behavior)

Control that is too constrictive will only push away potential connections and experiences, keeping you isolated and complacent

Anger management classes are good for you, guys

The Usurper from the Wilds:

Let’s play fairly and be good sports!

Judging people for their merits rather than by titles or birth

What makes someone worthy to lead is noble behavior and attiude

Standing up for what’s morally right, even if everyone else seems to be against you

You have value, worth, and hope in spite of what others may tell you and put you down for

It’s totally okay to get revenge on the asshole that tripped you that one time/j

It’s technically not a crime if you don’t get caught (except Leona did, in fact, get caught)

The Merchant from the Depths:

Don’t be ashamed of your past self—embrace it, accept it, and use it as a point of reference for self growth

Be the bigger person rather than becoming a bully yourself

Let your accomplishments speak for themselves

There is no “easy way out” or shortcut; be prepared to face the consequences of your actions

Not everything is as it may seem (think about the “trick” with Azul’s contracts)

… Read the terms and conditions very carefully and think things over before you sign a contract 💀

Schemer of the Scalding Sands:

Wow, this baby can fit so much generational trauma!!

Sometimes you just miss each other’s messages or greatly misinterpret the other’s intentions (Kalim giving Jamil the benefit of the doubt, Jamil obviously being the Bad Guy and everyone else has to point that out to Kalim)

There’s a very complicated relationship between those in power and those without power; this can breed hatred for those at the top

Talent and skill left unacknowledged can fester into resentment

Institutions of higher education can and will accept monetary bribes, what are you gonna do about it?

Not everyone wants to reconcile and make friends; this is okay and should be more normalized

A Beautiful Tyrant:

You can try your best and work hard, but life doesn’t owe you anything (depressing thought, but unfortunately true)

Beauty is not limited to just one’s looks; beauty can also extend to one’s character and actions

Your worth shouldn’t come from external forces; if you are satisfied with yourself, you will always be “beautiful” no matter how you look or what losses you may experience

Public opinion and the entertainment industry are brutal af

Screw gender norms 😤

The Watchman of the Underworld:

The grieving process in general

Moving on from the past instead of fixating on it and letting the past consume your present and hold you back from a future

Learning to forgive yourself

Reaching out and making new support systems/opening up to others to help you cope

Bearing the sins of your ancestors (Shroud family curse)

The Lord of Malevolence:

Change is inevitable, all good things must come to an end; we must learn to accept them and bravely move toward the future

Love endures, transcending race (Sebek), blood (Silver), and time (Lilia)

Self-sacrificial love (Maleanor for Malleus, Lilia for the other Diasomnia boys, Dawn Knight for his own family, etc.)

Is it “true” happiness if it is a fake reality, a convenient dream?

We hate and fear what we do not understand, even though we have the capacity to

You cannot live forever in a happy fantasy world where none of your loved ones/favorite characters leave you, your trauma doesn’t exist, and everything conveniently pans out how you want it to; sooner or later, you must “wake up” and face reality (this point is particularly meta; it applies both in-game and in the real world, speaking to us players and our relationship with the escapist fictional content we consume)

Prologue: Welcome to the Villains’ World and Overall Main Story:

The power of friendship :))

Revisionist history (cuz… y’know… Great Seven and all)

We’re stronger together than alone

It’s okay to rely on others

We may be very different people from very different backgrounds, but it is still possible for us to understand one another

[ivesambrose]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 🥂

1. 2. 3.

Do I dare ask how 2023 has been for y'all?

Pick the image you feel the most pull towards or have been seeing around you a lot, if you feel drawn towards multiple, so be it. 🤍

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at Ivesambrose@gmail.com

Personal services

Winter Specials

Thank you for the tip 🌹

𝓟𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 1

Your central theme is rising from the ashes. You're in the process of the most intense metamorphosis yet. A new dawn, a new day, a new life.

You'll feel empowered, passionate and obsessive about your pursuits. You'll allow the old skin to be ripped off of you and you'll no longer be scared to be you.

This year brings you connections, admires, collaborations, unions both in personal and proffesional life.

There's a certain duality in you that you haven't explored yet, but you will in the coming months.

You'll have good health for the most part compared to the previous year. Your family will be taken care of. The hope and assurance you may have lacked from them will come through. It will feel warm and refreshing. (Goes for chosen family too)

Romantically, you may be focused on your career or just living your life a lot. But someone might want to build a legacy or long term relationship with you.

If you're already coupled, the focus goes to building what you have and looking after domestic affairs and see things bloom.

Proffesionally, you will have your most successful and blessed year. Money shouldn't be a problem and even if it seems like it, your needs will always be met and you'll still have more.

Some of you might enjoy ghe fruits of your labour extensively. This goes for the ones who work solo or run their own business etc

Academically, you might feel a bit disinterested. Might move out from your home or change subjects. Take up something completely new. Might face your fears and push through but make it a point to follow your inner calling for the most part.

Themes centered around relationships and partnerships are significant this year as well opportunities coming out of the blue that call you to heed your intuition and step out of your comfort zone or limiting mindsets, that will inevitably lead to travel, progress and new experiences.

Make the best of this year, it'll feel like you're finally on the journey you've been preparing yourself for all this time.

𝓟𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 2

Your central theme is using your emotions as your guiding force, using it as fuel and not seeing it as weakness. Quieting your mind so you can listen to your instincts more. Healing from things you don't speak of, that you've felt have persistently held you back from your potential and finally taking the lead. You'll feel like the main character in your life finally, instead of seeing everything through the lens of a side character no one remembers.

You'll feel motivated to follow what makes your heart happy. You may be faced with choices a lot this year, a lot of this or that in several aspects of your life. Trust yourself to make the right decisions.

You'll be learning about your mind and body this year, so incase you go through ups and downs in your health you'll be able to manage it but also guide others too.

Romantically, you might as well get your happy ending. I see that you're mostly focused on the complete picture. Not bothered with what is going on in between too much. So you'll get what you're manifesting eitherway.

Proffesionally, a rebirth or evolution will take place. Something new that will grow overtime. You'll be driven about it. So success will be imminent.

Success in academics as well, feeling proud of your achievements.

Themes around revolution, personal development, healing generational trauma, humanitarism, technology as well being open to the unknown will also be prevalent this year.

Learn to make amends and embrace the breakthroughs this year has to offer you.

𝓟𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 3

Your central theme is related to wealth, inheritance, change of lifestyle, receiving help, building a legacy and feeling more secure. Some of you will see a success or change they did not see coming, it was hidden for the longest time.

Some of you may even be leaving poverty behind for a more financially secure life.

You'll find yourself blooming, physically especially. A glow up in your looks and quality of being is going to be imminent. Focus on health, beauty, food, routine etc as well. A lot of you will be experiencing vivid dreams, strange synchronicities etc too will be learning about esoteric subjects, occult or the subconscious mind a lot. You'll also be receiving success and recognition or you might be building your steps towards it that will eventually pay off in the long run.

You'll feel like this old self or image of you has died. You may even mourn it for some time but will feel more powerful, confident and self assured once you're past that.

Romantically, you'll be feeling desirable and might attract a lot of suitors. Your self concept will improve exponentially, so will your standards. So nothing less than what you want. Your intuition will be at all time high. Fear no one and nothing. Some of you might also be moving to a new house too or might end up owning something in your name.

Proffesionally, although you might deal with competition you won't be too worried. You know your skills, you'll have your resources, your work will speak for it self and you will stand out.

Friendship, community, discoveries and gains are also some of the themes surrounding you this year.

Let your imagination create for you. You'll soon realize there's so much power in allowing yourself to receive what you desire by simply being instead of doing too much.

[actuallysaiyan]

Hi again!

Here are the requests for DBZ that I mentioned in my previous ask!

Feel free to write them when you want/can!!!

Dating Vegeta would include headcanon

Dating Future!Trunks would include headcanon

Dating Android 17 would include headcanon

Dating Goku would include headcanon

These headcans can be just SFW or both SFW and NSFW.

It doesn’t really matter to me!

warnings: smut, oral sex(fem and male receiving), mentions of trauma, possessiveness, protectiveness, fluff, vaginal fingering, possible mentions of violence word count: 1.7k pairings: Vegeta x Fem!Reader, Future Trunks x Fem!Reader, Android 17 x Fem!Reader and Son Goku x Fem!Reader a/n: I didn't know if you wanted it all in one post, but I figured it was easier for me to do it like this! I hope you really enjoy!!!

SFW

Don’t expect much in terms of romance. He’s not that kind of man. But don’t fret, he will always be there to protect you and defend your honor.

If you show him any kind of affection, he’ll be so flustered and not sure how to handle it. Usually he gets quite irritated, but in reality he’s loving it so much. He wants you to be soft with him.

That being said, if you were to argue with him and fight as well, he’ll be so happy and so turned on. Saiyans do enjoy a feisty lover and they want to feel challenged.

But Vegeta doesn’t always want to fight. He wants domesticity as well and wants to feel loved just as much as anyone else. Show him the softness of a human lover and he will always come home to you for more affection.

He might surprise you sometimes by offering affection of his own. He’ll be red faced and stuttering, but he’ll offer you his heart and soul when he realizes you’re the one for him. You’ve got a lover for life. NSFW

Vegeta wasn’t the most experienced when you first met him, and he was so shy and flustered the first time you tried initiating anything intimate. His hands fumbled and his mouth felt dry and his brain was blank.

With time, he found the right rhythm and touches just for you. He figured out exactly what you like and became the best at pleasuring you. Even if you are more experienced than him, he shows you just how much he enjoys pleasuring you.

Despite what you initially thought, Vegeta loves to give more than receive. He really loves being between your thighs, tongue gliding so perfectly against your wet folds. He drinks up your nectar like it’s the nectar of the gods.

Vegeta enjoys many different positions, but his favorites are doggy and mating press. Both for different reasons as well, considering they give him different kinds of control and feeling.

Sometimes he enjoys sensual, slow sex where you both take your time pleasuring each other. Most of the time his pace is rough and animalistic. He’s very loud during sex, lots of growling and grunting. 

SFW

He’s so considerate of your feelings, but at times he can be flaky and miss dates. He’s not always the most focused when it comes to those kinds of things, but just know he really means well and never wants you to feel abandoned.

He likes to surprise you with cutesy things. He’ll make you a bouquet of wildflowers, draw you something he knows you find cute, make you a playlist of songs that remind him of you.

Trunks will always have your back no matter what. He will defend you with his life. You are the greatest thing to ever happen to him and he won’t let you slip out of his grasp no matter what.

He enjoys spending quiet time with you. You two can be seen cuddling in his bedroom, watching a movie you’ve both seen a million times over. Or you can be in the forest together, walking around and enjoying nature.

He’s big on romantic gestures and often uses them to excuse his flakiness. He’ll plan romantic dates for you even if it’s not always available to either of you because of the way the world is in your future. Trunks wants you to be so happy either way.

NSFW

He’s good with his hands. Trunks enjoys massaging your whole body first to really get you so relaxed and loose for him. Then he likes to suck on your nipples while he fingers you slowly. You’ll be dribbling all over his hand before long.

He’s obsessed with your scent. It could be part of his Saiyan instincts that kick in, but he loves your natural scent. He rubs himself against you just to get more of it on him. And the scent that comes from your pussy makes him drunk on you.

Trunks likes to act tough sometimes, but he absolutely crumbles if you give him a blowjob. He can barely look down at you as you have your lips wrapped around him because the scene is much too erotic for him to handle.

He’s a big fan of lingerie! Get dressed up for him and show off your body in those silky, lacy bits of clothing for him. He’ll spend so long just admiring your beautiful body and undressing you ever so slowly.

Trunks loves pulling out and cumming all over your ass or pussy. He enjoys looking at you with his seed all over your body parts. If you ask him to cum on your face during a blowjob, he’ll bust right then and there. He views it as marking you up.

SFW

He’s awkward at first. He doesn’t truly believe you’ve got feelings for him. He’s done so much bad in life, he figures his chance at romance was over. But when you show him softness, he’s melting.

Give him time to blossom and he’ll become the perfect boyfriend. He enjoys the closeness of being your boyfriend. He wants you to rely on him whenever you can. He’ll show you he can be so reliable.

Android 17 comes with a lot of baggage, and he never wants to open up about it. He’s ashamed of his past. But from time to time, when he does open up to you, please listen to him. The more you listen without judgment, he will be more open to telling you about his past this way.

If you were to play with his hair while kissing him, he’d be so flustered. His cheeks would be so pink and he’d look away. But he absolutely loves it when you play with his hair and kiss him so softly.

He worries a lot whenever he can’t be around you to protect you. He’s vowed to protect you for the rest of his life. It’s a way for him to cope with what he’s done and how to continue to live for a cause that’s worth it.

NSFW

Android 17 has an obsession with cumming inside of you. When he learned that his sister had a baby, he became a man who was relentless with trying to have his own baby. If you don’t want kids, make sure you get on some sort of birth control.

He loves slow and passionate sex more than fast and rough sex. Being able to take his time with you is the best feeling in the world. He’ll be in missionary position, your legs wrapped around him and all he can think about is how happy he is.

He’s big on kissing you slowly and letting it build into something else. Making out makes him hard like a horny teenager. There’s just something about your warm tongue rubbing against his that makes him dangerously close to busting in his pants.

He may need aftercare after sex. It takes a lot out of him emotionally, so just lay there with him and play with his hair and enjoy the pillowtalk. If it gets too intense in his mind, you can just kiss him and get on top again to let him fuck away the pain.

Android 17 loves to go on and on and on for hours. He’ll exhaust you with his stamina. He is a fucking machine, literally and he uses that to his advantage all of the time. Just remember your safe word!

SFW

He’s not the most clever when it comes to love, but he knows how to show you his affection through actions rather than words. He may come across as really dumb a lot of the time, but he surprises you.

You can expect cute little gestures often. He’ll give you wildflowers, hunt you an animal for you to cook, or even just pull you into his arms after a battle to kiss you all over your face.

Goku is so possessive and protective. Nobody is going to get between you two. He’s going to show anyone who’s interested that you and him are so close and nobody can ever break you up. 

He’s got to have at least one hand on your body at all times whenever he’s near you. He’s also big on hand holding and wrapping his arm around you to keep you close to him as you two are out walking.

Doesn’t always know how to be the most romantic and he might actually ask for advice from Bulma to show him the right things to do or say during a date. He cleans up really good too and looks amazing in a suit. It’s not his favorite thing to do, but he’d do it for you.

NSFW

Goku is needy and wants to fuck all the time. Sometimes it’s even when it’s an inappropriate time. You’ll need to try and get him to behave as much as possible. But sometimes he just wants to shove his hands down your pants and feel your wet cunt against his large fingers.

He loves fast, wild and sloppy sex. Sloppy and wet kisses, snapping his hips so fast and hard, bruising grip against your hips, leaving scratch marks down his back as you try to hold on as best as you can.

Goku eats pussy like it’s his last meal. He devours you like you’re the only flavor he wants on his tongue forever. He’s really good at it too, using his instincts to figure out exactly what you like in terms of getting head.

His fingers slide so deep inside you, reaching places you didn’t even know could be reached just with fingers. He holds you on his lap, fingers deep inside you curling against that sweet spot as his thumb rubs against your swollen nub.

He’s messy with cumming. It’s always a bit inside and a bit outside, just messing up your pussy with his seed. He loves to play with it afterwards, pushing it back into you and then smearing it all over your clit. He’ll easily make you cum again like this after he’s had an intense orgasm of his own.

[novantinuum]

Steven's Breakdown Was Inevitable From the Very Beginning

I feel like the thing that fucks me up the most about Steven Q. Universe and how well conceived he is as a character is that the fundamental building blocks of why he reached his breaking point in SU: Future were laid out as clear as day in the span of legit only the first four episodes of the original show. The writing was literally always on the wall that future him would struggle with matters of self worth and identity in relationship to the others around him.

Let's take a look:

Gem Glow

"Awesome! What are these things?"

Foundational Trauma #1: Steven's home is always either under threat or actively being wrecked by antagonistic forces/beings, and he constantly copes with this by pushing down his fear in favor of a curiosity and silver linings based mindset.

Look at his initial shock when he opens the door and gets tackled by one of these things, and then his response when one of them spits acid:

The kid's freaked the hell out about all this, and while I do think there's a part of Steven that genuinely IS curious about what these lil critters are, I think he's subconsciously using that curiosity as a way to distract himself from his own fears and anxieties. This is Steven actively learning how to ignore the deeper problems in favor of emoting a facade to the others in his life that he can totally handle himself in scary situations like these.

The underlying reason why is incredibly apparent, when you look at the example from the next episode-

Laser Light Canon

"I don't know what a magic lady like her ever saw in a plain old dope like me..."

Genuinely- from the bottom of my heart- I think the above quote from Greg is a moment where his own insecurities around the Gems actually rubbed off on Steven.

At this point in time, Steven may be living with the Gems... but he hasn't started to harness any of his powers at all, so in his own head he might as well be the same as his dad- another human, just one who happens to have a gem! But the way Greg talks about himself... given Steven was living with him in the van for years before moving in to the beach house, he had to have heard negative self-talk from his dad like this before.

And then there's the rest of the Crystal Gems... always speaking of Rose with such reverence as if she were an all-powerful goddess... and Steven can't help but look back at himself, and his gem that won't work... the gem that the others still identify as Rose's...

"Your gem-! You have Rose's gem!"

And maybe he starts to wonder if- without any working powers- he's just a plain ol' dope like his Dad, too.

"Please work... Unlock! Activate! Go! Please-!! Everyone's counting on you, you can't just be useless!"

Foundational Trauma #2: Steven has Rose's gem, and as such, is constantly living under the silent expectation to live up to a standard that he simply cannot ever hope to achieve, because he doesn't KNOW her and he never will.

I want to highlight one of Steven's expressions while his dad is talking about Rose- look at that sad look. My god, I just wanna hug him. This is the expression of a child who has already come to terms with the fact that his only relationship with his mom is through the rose tinted stories that other people tell him about her.

Cheeseburger Backpack

So. Steven has learned so far that he needs to push down his feelings and emote a false veneer of cheer and bravery even when he's afraid, because the rest of the people in his life have expectations and hopes for him due to the legacy of his parentage and he can't bear the thought of letting them down. (And in a sad way, at this point "letting them down" literally just means... being an ordinary human boy. I believe Steven at this stage of the show is flat out scared to be human, because to be human is to fail at being a Gem, and no amount of love and sacrifice in the name of humanity in the seasons to come could've ever saved him from the fundamental fact that the wedge between him and this whole half of his being was already drawn long before the events of season 1 even started. But I digress.)

Let's see where we go from there. Let's check out Steven's first "mission." Or as Pearl puts it about 35 episodes later, his first "test."

"Yeah... they can't all be winners."

This episode is tinted with a little bit of tragedy for me on rewatch, because I genuinely do think the Gems handled the situation as well as they could've. They were supportive of Steven's successful ploys, and (for the most part) responded with grace when he majorly blundered and left the Goddess Statue at home. The main problem, however, is that Steven has already developed a bit of a complex about impressing the three of them-

Foundational Trauma #3: Even when they claim otherwise, Steven has convinced himself that affection from the Gems is transactional, and that when he messes up he's not truly a part of the Crystal Gems.

Of course we the audience know this isn't true- I mean, hell, Amethyst even said as much in episode one after her slip-up ("and you're fun to have around, even if your gem IS useless!")... that the Crystal Gems wouldn't be the same without him. But Steven... the poor kid is a complicated little guy living a complicated life, and whether they intended it or not, the language used they've used around him thus far has not backed up their attempts at fully embracing him, human parentage and all.

Thus, Steven just spends the entire episode wracked with anxiety trying to find creative non-power using ways to make the mission easier so he can convince them he's useful to have around.

Look how nervous he gets even when all three of them are visibly and vocally supportive of his presence here:

This is the face of a boy who feels like he's under constant judgement and scrutiny from those around him.

Blessedly, viewing this episode in isolation, he experiences a brief moment of mental respite where he finally accepts the Gems' encouragement and agrees that his ideas 'can't all be winners,' but this lesson does not stick for him moving forward. A shame, really.

Together Breakfast

"What's the matter, Steven?" "I wanted us all to have breakfast together, so I made Together Breakfast! But everyone keeps leaving..." "Oh, that's nice..."

Taken in context with what we've learned already in the last three episodes, Steven's desperation to spend quality time with the Gems here and his sadness that they keep leaving him alone doesn't just exist within a vacuum. He spends the whole morning watching them shuffle in and out of the temple, or come back from missions he wasn't invited on, and with the disastrous result of the LAST mission he went on probably fresh in his mind it's not hard to understand why this bothers him.

Foundational Trauma #4: Steven internalizes that the price of "not being useful" is that the Gems actively ignore him, meaning that the only way to guarantee their attention is to work as hard as he can to become a stronger member of the team.

I know this screenshot is usually used as a lighthearted meme, but I wanted to include it because I think it's a good example of how Steven's intense desire to impress permeates every facet of his personality at times. Just LOOK at how desperate he is to make Garnet laugh at his joke, to be the one that's at very least "fun to have around," as Amethyst put it in episode one.

The Gems do eventually drop what they're doing to spend time with Steven by the conclusion of this episode, but this only comes after Steven shows his growing strength and "proves" himself by saving their butts from the breakfast monster.

If he successfully gained their attention in literally any other way he might've come away from this episode with a different lesson, but no. Instead, his fears were proven true- the Gems value strength and utility, and if he's not exhibiting that, then what use is he to them?

These fears of his can be seen weaving throughout the foundational fabric of the entire show, but I think Steven lays out what he sees as his "stakes" in the clearest way possible in the episode 'An Indirect Kiss.'

"But- if I don't have powers, then I can't hang out with Amethyst, or Garnet, o-or Pearl, and- I-I can't go on missions!"

And these same insecurities even rear their ugly head as late as the movie.

"I can't believe this... for the first time in years, everyone's in danger, everybody needs me, and- I'm useless!"

Powers = Utility = Worth = Other's love, for Steven. Everything is transactional to the end, which is a hilarious double standard he's set for himself when he's made his reputation as the kid who always listens and encourages and gives others a chance to change, no matter their messy history with him.

__

So let's recap and restate those foundational traumas from Steven's perspective.

One: The only way to cope when your life is constantly under threat is to bury the damage and pretend to be fine.

Two: Everyone expects you to live up to the standards of someone you're not.

Three: The Gems only love you when you're of use to them.

Four: If you ever stop being useful, the Gems won't want anything more to do with you.

In sum, Steven's habit of burying his feelings for the benefit of others was there from the very beginning, not just since 'The Test.'

Those unreachable standards he felt so daunted and intimidated by all his life were the ones set by Rose, at first... but over the course of the series, the dynamic of this shifted. As Rose's influence fell into the background, Steven's rose into the front. And so it's with great irony that- by the time of Steven Universe: Future, the expectations this exhausted, worn down teenager is fighting to once again achieve are the ones HE set for himself. Many of young Steven's selfless actions during the war are quite admirable when analyzed in isolation, but almost none of them are sustainable. He set himself on fire just to save the world, but teen Steven is genuinely unable to see this for what it is yet- as a tragic sacrifice of his own childhood. You can't burn your own ends for others forever, not at all. His breakdown was simply inevitable.

When it comes to the interconnected beliefs three and four, these are exactly why the ultimate confrontation at the end of I Am My Monster HAD to be one fueled by selfless love. Steven is at his absolute lowest at this point- he's everything he fears he's become, trapped in a form that's nearly incapable of reason. He's big and angry and spiky because that's a part of the facade- because a part of him WANTS to scare the Gems away, wants to be left alone forever, believing this the fate he deserves as price for his misdeeds.

In this form, by his own definitions he is NOT useful to the Crystal Gems at all.

But they don't care.

Because it never WAS about Steven's 'usefulness' to them, they simply love him for being Steven.

With this in mind, the conclusion of Steven Universe: Future wasn't just a salve to teen Steven's immediate struggles, it was a salve to the foundational insecurities that have been plaguing him his entire life.

And hopefully... from this point on... his family's shows of love and encouragement will be enough to finally convince Steven that he's more than worth their time...

No matter what path the future leads him on, and no matter what form he takes.

[drdemonprince]

The word “vanilla” comes up a lot in your writing and it’s always with negative connotations.

I fully accept that my own reactions to it are my responsibility alone and no one is making me feel a certain way. But I do wonder if there are ways to have conversations around sexuality that don’t elevate one kind of sex over another in a demeaning way that make vanilla sex almost a running joke.

As someone with pretty severe sexual trauma history for me even having enjoyable vanilla sex is pushing boundaries. To actually be able to initiate, seek out and enjoy sex of any kind has been challenging.

The increased use and acceptance of vanilla as a derogatory term is unfortunate I think as it invalidates the experiences of many sa survivors and makes it feel like sex is only valid if it’s kinky.

In saying that having lots of friends in the kink/fet scene I know they’ve fought really hard to not have their sexual preferences demonized.

So I do understand.

I just wish my preferences weren’t always made out to be boring and dull, and thereby made me boring and dull.

This seems especially prevalent in queer spaces.

I think one of the biggest problems in how people conceive of diverse sexualities is by attempting to place all sex acts upon a single spectrum from "extremely kinky" to "tame." Under this framework, activities like PIV and oral are viewed as neutral precursors to the more racier and extreme forms of sex that a person must "work themselves up" to -- and this obscures that those supposedly neutral sexual activities can be both incredibly exciting to some, and downright disturbing and traumatizing to others.

I am also harmed by this and have written about it on this blog quite a lot.

Like you, I am harmed by the presumption that PIV, fingering, and oral are neutral sexual acts that are lower on the intensity spectrum than things like being slapped or choked. I find receiving oral to be far more intense, triggering, dysphoric, and disturbing than anything in the rape play/primal/dub con/intoxication/hypnosis realm that I enjoy -- because I like and want those things, and I do not want oral.

My problem with oral isn't that it's "boring." It's that it is fucking traumatic for me.

I also find completely un-kinky sex in general to be profoundly alienating and triggering in most instances.

I am harmed by the idea that PIV and oral are more benign, neutral forms of sex, just as you are.

I need language to articulate that the sex acts that most people view as the default are in fact alienating and disturbing to me *as a sexual assault survivor*. In fact, the most common form of sexual assault that I have experienced has been people forcing non-kinky sex on me that they assumed I had to be game for, since I liked the stuff on the more "intense" side of their imagined spectrum.

The cishet, nonkinky world has already created terminology for the views around sex that create these problems, and that's "vanilla." And so I use "no vanilla" to broadcast that I want absolutely nothing to do with anyone who holds that worldview.

I don't think expressing my boundaries (which people repeatedly and forcefully attempt to trample over in all sexual spaces, including kinky ones!) is me derogating people who do not share my kinks. I don't think I'm hurting anyone by rejecting the dominant viewpoint of society. And for what it's worth, I will reiterate again, I don't think people are boring for liking non-kinky sex.

I think that we all benefit from unpacking our assumptions surrounding what sex is or can be, and for many sexual assault survivors it is immensely healing to take pre-written societal expectations surrounding sex off the table.

It's not inherently kinky to reimagine what sexual pleasure might look like, I suppose, but anyone who is doing that kind of deep reflective and interpersonal work is already taking steps to liberate themselves from the cishet power structure that gave us the notion of obligatory "vanilla" sex.

I think that instead of feeling like the term "vanilla" is a thing that you have to defend, you might be better served by simply defending your own right to define your sexuality in whatever ways you choose.

People who are having weird hypnosis fantasy sex are not sneering at you for enjoying what you enjoy. We want you to be free and at ease in your body. What we're sneering at, when we criticize "vanilla," are the dictates that a person must have sex in a certain way, that some forms of sex are more neutral than others, and that we OWE sexual partners certain activities and sexual responses.

"Vanilla" sexual values and assumptions are the enemy of all sexual assault survivors. You don't have to be interested in any remotely freaky shit in order to benefit from us all collectively destroying the notion that certain forms of sex are the default that we owe to people. We ALL benefit from being able to reject the sex acts we do not like as loudly and proudly as we want.

[sailorsoons]

Vengeance (c.hs)

Pairing: Vernon x f. reader

Summary: You always knew you were different from a young age. The only person who has ever been able to understand you is Vernon. When things take a turn for the Choi Syndicate, your long-term relationship is put to the test.

Full Fic Word Count: 21,528

Genre: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers

Type: Smut, Heavy Angst

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Because of the nature of this fic, I have placed them under the cut. Please read them carefully before engaging with this fic.

A/N: This fic is a part of my Syndicates Collection. This will the second installment under the Syndicate Universe, but you can always read this fic on its own. I hope everyone enjoys Vernon’s story as much as they enjoyed Hoshi’s!

A/2: Thank you @daechwitatamic for being an amazing beta reader. I love you to the moon.

Main Masterlist | The Syndicates Collection | Ask | Playlist

Warnings: Because I am trying to overwarn due to subject matter, please read these carefully! General violence associated with criminal empires and criminal underground, mentions of murder and depictions of murder, depictions of punishment from parent to child, depictions of attempted murder (reader’s mother to reader via drowning, vernon’s father to vernon via choking), themes of religious trauma, themes of dealing with a parent that experiences undisclosed/ambiguous religious psychosis, mentions of dealing with a parent who is fighting addiction, kids arguing and getting into a fight (it’s honestly kind of funny, not violent at all), depiction of patricide (cool motive, still murder), heavy internal angst for reader/repressed feelings, grieving the loss of a loved one, explicit language, references to drugs and recreational alcohol use, Vernon does drive a motorcycle after drinking - it is implied he’s using a stimulant to combat that, some puppy love scenes/vernon and reader making out and being teenagers, brief interrogation scene where reader/Soonyoung are harming someone (stepping on their fingers) for information, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving) mild ass play, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, implied breath play, reader experience something adjacent to subspace post-sex.

God doesn’t like strange girls. 

Well, you don’t know what makes you strange and you’re not entirely sure you believe in God. You’re only eight, and even though your mother prays to Him with a reverence reserved only for him, on her knees until they’re bleeding, her body shaking with exhaustion, you don’t think you want to believe in God. 

God is the only man your mother loves. For you, it’s your father. You can’t understand how your mother can pledge herself so wholly to someone she can’t see, someone who doesn’t seem to do much for her. 

Your father is tangible and real, and he does everything for you. He takes you to school in the mornings, he brushes your hair, he buys you the books you need for class, he protects you from her, when she is screaming that you need to purge your sin for Him, that you should prostrate for Him, that dirty nails offend Him. 

Uncooked grains of rice bite into your knees. You try to maintain your balance, not wanting to shift on them any more than you have to. Every time you wobble or try to adjust to lessen the pain, it only gets worse. 

Behind you, your mother’s voice comes out in staccato, her murmurs feverish: No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it. 

The sin this time were the honey cakes the neighbor brought over for your birthday. They were perfectly golden, flaky and brown on the edges and moist on the inside, filling your mouth with sweet, honey flavor. They’d left your fingers a little sticky, the corner of your mouth a little flaky. 

You’d only eaten two of them when your mother discovered you in the living room, shrieking when she saw you indulging. Coveting. Full of gluttony. 

Licking your lips, you shift on the grains of ride. It stings, making your eyes water. Your shoulders ache, neck tight where you hold your hands behind your back. Time moves inexorably as you kneel there, the prayers for your mother’s God washing over you as you pay penance for a sin you don’t understand. 

When the front door opens, you nearly weep with relief. Salvation is here, and it isn’t in the form of God shepparading his followers into heaven. Relief comes in the form of your father storming toward where you kneel, picking you up off the ground and asking your mother what she’s doing. 

Deliverance comes when he gently wipes the grains of rice from your knees while you sit on the bathroom counter. He rubs a rag softly over the dimpled skin, wiping away a little bit of blood where the grains cut through the flesh. He applies a salve and presses a kiss to your head, apologizing. 

“Do you want to open your gifts, Angel?” You nod eagerly, forgetting all about the honey cakes that your mother threw out or the pain in your knees. 

Your mother sleeps in the bedroom, muttering feverishly. You and your father creep out to the kitchen where he lets you open the boxes in the privacy of four walls. He leans against the counter as you tear open the crinkling wrapping paper, liking the way it feels beneath your fingers, the way it crackles, like it’s telling you a secret. 

Popping the lid to the box, you reveal a beautiful gold necklace. The chain is thin but feels strong. It’s long and on the end, there’s a flattened coin charm with a figure of an angel etched into the face. You rub your thumb on it, mouth opening and grinning. 

“Do you like it?” Your dad asks. You nod your head early and he laughs. “Here, let me put it on.” 

You hand it over to him and he loops the necklace around your neck, fastening the necklace. When he pulls away, his grin is bright as the sun. “An angel for my Angel. As long as you have it on, I’ll always be with you and it will protect you.” 

Your mother has her God, but you have yours. And you’re his messenger, his follower, his angel.

-

“You are a demon!” Your mother shrieks, her voice raw and cracking. You ignore her as she leaps at you, slamming the door shut and holding it hard. She twists the knob but you hold fast, pulling your weight against the door so she can’t open it. “Demon! Demon! Scourge of the earth! You are the darkness! God will prevail against you! He will rise up in his righteousness-”

“Is this bathroom taken?” 

Looking over your shoulder, you see a boy around your age looking at you. He’s standing a few feet away down the hall, fingers twisting together nervously as he looks at you and then the rattling door. He’s pretty, with soft brown hair that hangs in his dark eyes. His face is round and his cheeks are flushed pink from hiking up the stairs. 

“Um,” you look at the door as the pounding subsides, followed by wailing. “Yeah, you can’t come in here. I’m sorry.” 

“Do you know where there’s another bathroom?” 

You shake your head. “I don’t live here. It’s Daddy’s friend's house.” 

“Your dad is friends with the Tower too?” 

You nod and he smiles. “Me too. I’m Hansol, but everyone calls me Vernon. Only my mom calls me Hansol ‘cause I love her.” 

You give him your name and pause before adding, “My dad calls me Angel.” 

Vernon grins. “I like it.” 

“Thanks.”

He glances at the door. “Do you need help? I can keep you company.”

You blush. “No, I’m okay. Thank you, Vernon.” 

Vernon toes the ground for a second, the tip of his shoe creasing the carpet. He tucks his hands in his pocket and chews on his lip before he bows a little and says, “Well I’m going to find another bathroom. It was nice to meet you, Angel.”

“You too, Vernon.” 

When he walks back down the stairs, he pauses halfway to look at you. You’re watching him with a grin, butterflies in your stomach when he grins back and waves again before descending the stairs back down to the party - where you’re supposed to be, instead of containing your mother as she cries on the other side of the door.

The party had started off fine with her smiling and having a good time. Somewhere between the first drink and her last, she felt Him again, dragging you to the bathroom to make you choke up the shirley temple you’d had. 

Gluttonous. Greedy. Indulgent. 

Unfortunately, your father had been busy somewhere with the Tower and some of the other men. He has no idea she dragged you to the bathroom for one of her episodes. But even at nine, you know how to fight her off now. She gives up just as easily as she starts, so if you can trap her long enough, usually she’ll scream herself into exhaustion. 

It’s not a good look. Even as a kid you know this. Parties are an important social setting for members of the Choi Syndicate, especially when they’re held at the Tower’s home. The Tower is the most important member of the organization, the boss, the king - that’s how your dad describes it. The Tower is owed loyalty and reverence, and being invited into his family home is very important. 

As a Sword, your father owes his loyalty to the Choi family. You don’t know what a Sword really does, other than it’s supposed to be exactly what it sounds like - a weapon. Your dad doesn’t talk much about his work, but on nights like tonight, he’s on duty circulating the party while you and your mother attend as guests. 

Well, you were supposed to attend as guests until your mother felt the call of God again. It wears on you, having to constantly be responsible for her. You’ve missed so many parties holding her hostage in a room and away from eyes, trying to protect yourself but most of all, protect your dad. If people knew… you don’t know what would happen, but you feel the need to hide her anyway. 

That’s how your dad finds you, leaning against the door and half asleep. He sighs heavily, crouching down as you blink up at him. He touches your cheek lightly and asks, “Ready to go home, Angel?” 

You nod and he grins, scooping you up and tucking you against him. Your savior comes at last. 

-

Afternoon sun bakes on the back of your head. You reach up, pressing your palm to your scalp, feeling the warmth. Sweat slicks your back and behind your kneecaps, running down your legs and making you squirm as you look around the yard, uncertain. 

The yard is filled with tables, beautiful floral centerpieces in each of them. Flowing ribbons decorate the backs of the chairs with balloons tied to each, their center filled with dancing lights that look like butterflies. Servants move about the party dressed in all white to match the birthday theme, holding silver trays with various confectionaries and fizzy drinks. 

Adults filled the yard but there’s a good dozen kids around your age. You only know some of them - specifically the birthday girl, who is the daughter of the Tower. She’s in the far corner of the yard, crouching down near a pond to look at turtles with a round-cheeked boy you don’t know. 

Worst of all is the heat. It is sweltering outside and though there are powerful fans circulating cool air around the yard, nothing is enough to reach you through the layers of fabric your mother has stuffed you in, gushing about how you looked like God’s perfect angel, dressed in white and covered to the eyeballs in fabric. 

“Hi, Angel.” A soft voice makes you turn and you can’t help but smile when you see Vernon. It’s been a few weeks since you last saw him, but you’re delighted and a little shy when you wave. He looks at your dress and frowns. “You’re very frilly. And… covered.”

That you are. The dress is beyond itchy, the white material reading all the way to the middle of your hands and the collar up to the jaw. You are covered from head to toe in the white, restricting material, the skirts of the dress falling in layers of chiffon to the floor. 

You huff and cross your arms, feeling the sweat drip down your neck and back. “My mom made me wear it. I hate it.”

“Do you want different clothes? I have a room here. I bet I have pants and stuff that could fit.” 

That makes you brighten. “Really?” He nods. “Yeah, that would be cool. I hate this dress.” 

Vernon beckons you toward the main house. There are multiple houses on the Choi property, which has more land than you’ve ever seen. Even the concept of a yard blows you away. The Choi family are the kind of rich that is confusing to you, but you like going over to their house, especially when it’s not busy. 

“Why do you have a room here?” You ask Vernon, who opens a door. The security team lets him, ignoring him as he enters the house proper. “I thought it was just the Choi family.”

“It is but sometimes…” He trails off as he leads you through a massive living area toward a foyer with stairs. “Um, it’s hard to explain.” 

“That’s okay. That’s cool, though.” 

He nods. “Sometimes.” 

“Only sometimes?” 

On the second floor, Vernon leads you down two different carpeted hallways until he stops at a door, opening it up. It’s a nice room, if not a little simple. It smells like clean linen and there’s an AetherLink in the corner with a paused game. 

Vernon walks over to the closet, opening the door. The lights turn on automatically, showing how deep the rows and rows of clothing goes. You raise your brows, trailing behind him. Your house is a decent size - and it’s impressive you live in a house, not an apartment - but this is something else. 

Grabbing stuff off the hanger, Vernon hands it over to you. He’s given you white pants and a white flowy shirt to match the rest of the party. You take it tentatively, feeling how soft the fabric is between your fingers. 

“Sometimes I fight with Seungcheol,” Vernon admits. “He’s older and thinks he’s the boss. His mom doesn’t like me much.” 

“Tell them to shut up.” 

Vernon’s mouth twitches, an almost smirk. “Yeah, maybe. The bathroom is there if you want to change.” 

The bathroom is just as grand as the rest of the house. You change quickly, folding your dress and tucking it into your arm, coming out to stand hesitantly. He’s leaning against the dresser, hands in his pocket as he stares at the ground. When you come out, he gives you a small smile and holds out his hand for the dress. You give it to him and he puts it on his dresser before turning to you, appraising your outfit.

“Hopefully you won’t sweat to death now.” 

Your smile is small. “Thanks.” 

“Do you want to see the turtles?” You nod early, pressing your sweaty palms against your pants - Vernon’s pants - to dry them. “Come on.” 

Afternoon sun beats down on the back of your neck as you lean over the turtle pond. There are so many of them, their shells have different shapes and sizes with bellies that are different colors and patterns. Your knees press into the dirt, uncaring if you stain them as Vernon does the same. 

Vernon knows all about the turtles. He picks up each one delicately, letting it grow accustomed to him before placing them in your palm. He tells you their names, their scientific species name, how old they are, when they came to the Choi Estate, and their likes and dislikes. 

It’s like a bubble has formed around you. The party continues onward, but you only have eyes for Vernon, who picks up a small turtle, cradling it in his palm. The turtle is dark green, with thin yellow striating its body and coral red spots blooming on its head. It cranes up to look at Vernon, blinking twice. 

“This is Blush,” Vernon says gently. He brings his other finger up and runs it along the back of its shell delicately. It flinches for a second before it extends its neck upward, as though it wants more. He smiles and continues, eyes fixated. “She’s the newest turtle added to the pond. She’s a red-eared slider, which is why she has this red here. Baby named her Blush.”

“I love her blush.”

Vernon smiles. “We’ve had her for a month. She’s part of the emydidae family which has about fifty species. Her scientific name is trachemys scripta elegans and she’s a type of pond turtle like the others. She’s my favorite.” 

“I can see why.” 

“Do you want to hold her?” 

Before you can answer, a shadow falls over you. Both of you look up to see the Tower’s eldest son standing over you, his arms crossed and a frown on his face. Vernon’s reaction is instantaneous as he quickly puts Blush back on her rock and wipes his hands on his pants, making them damp. 

“You missed singing happy birthday,” Choi Seungcheol snaps. His voice wavers right between adolescence and that first crack of puberty. “And of course you’re with the fucking turtles.” 

“I was showing her… sorry.”

Seungcheol’s eyes go to you. He drinks in your outfit and his frown only increases, making you feel on edge. You don’t like that look on his face, like he’s annoyed with you. He doesn’t even know you. 

Turning his attention back to Vernon he says, “Get up. You’re going to have to explain to my mother who kindly bought you those clothes why you let some girl stain them.” 

“Alright.” 

You look at Vernon, remembering what he had said early about Seungcheol sometimes talking to him like he was the boss. Irritation comes alive in you, thinking of all the times your mother has done exactly that despite her not being the boss of you either.

Turning to Seungcheol you say, “You don’t have to be mean about it.” 

“What?”

“Do your ears not work? You don’t have to be mean to him. He was being nice to me and you’re just being rude.” 

Seungcheol’s ears go red and he clenches his fists. “I don’t have to be nice to him. I’m the son of the Tower-”

“You’re not the Tower though, and even the Tower is nice. My dad says he’s nice. You’re not.”

“Angel,” Vernon mutters, a warning tone to his voice. 

“No,” you tell Vernon. “He’s not being nice to you and you didn’t do anything wrong.” Your mother’s face swims in your vision, the way your knees bleed when she makes you kneel on grains of rice, the sting of a switch against your back when she punishes you. “You’re not supposed to be mean to people who didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Something you say makes Seungcheol’s face thunderous. You watch the darkness cloud over him, his eyes darting to Vernon. The older boy sees something there that you do not, because he goes from angry to full of rage in moments as he crouches down to eye level, looking at Vernon who has ducked his head. 

“This little bastard knows what he fucking did wrong. He was born.” 

Vernon doesn’t move. His breathing is heavy and you see the way his fingers grip his pants, bone white with ferocity. He doesn’t dare look at Seungcheol, who is looking at Vernon like he wants to hit him - like he might hit him. It’s exactly how your mother looks at you for drinking a soda that your dad got you, or how she looks at you when you read a book on the couch. 

But Vernon doesn’t deserve it. Vernon who was nice to you in the hallway when other people ignored you. Vernon who gave you a change of clothes because you hated yours. Vernon who knows all of the names of the turtles in the pond because he sees them as friends.

Looking at them, all you see is you kneeled in supplication while your mother’s shadow looms over you, dominating. Final. Hateful. 

You barely remember leaping forward to tackle Choi Seungcheol. One minute you’re a shaking, angry mess and the other you’re on top of him screaming at him, hitting him with little closed fists that can’t deliver any real damage. 

Seungcheol thrashes under you, several times your size and strength as he manages to knock you off of him. He rolls over on the ground, nose crimson where you landed a single good punch on him. He yells at you but you can barely hear him through the high-pitched ringing in your ears as the rage turns into something all consuming, something you can’t stop, something that makes you want to hit and hit and hit -

Someone knocks you over. There is a high-pitched screaming before you realize that the birthday girl is on top of you, pulling your hair in a rage for attacking her brother. You push back at her, all your rage exploding as the two of you scream like feral cats. You pull anything on her that you can - hair, her dress, earrings - it doesn't matter. You yank and yank until someone is pulling the two of you apart.  

The dark-haired boy that was with Seungcheol’s sister earlier is pinning you to the ground. You thrash in his hold but he’s strong, keeping you down until suddenly he topples over as Vernon crashes into him, sending him to the side. Now Vernon is the one yelling, he and the boy rolling over as they fight for dominance like you and the girl moments before. 

A booming adult voice startles you as they shout, “Enough!” 

Vernon and the other boy scramble to their feet, covered in dirt and grass and blood. Both of them bow deeply at the waist, unmoving as a man approaches. Around him, the adults part like the river at the prow of a boat. He’s dressed in an all white suite with a single, obsidian brooch on his lapel in the shape of a mountain. 

The Tower. 

Behind him is your father, and another man you don’t recognize but looks identical to the boy Vernon had tackled, all high and round cheekbones with intense eyes glaring down at the miniature version of himself. You assume he’s the boy's dad, and by the way he’s dressed, you know he’s important to the Choi family. 

“All of you,” the Tower instructs. “In my office. Now.” 

“Yes Tower,” you all echo in unison.

Seungcheol is the first to march after his father, spine stiff. His sister is right on his heels with the other boy right behind her. He looks over his shoulder once to scowl at you, a warning that you don’t understand before he quickens his steps after her. 

Vernon sighs heavily, looking after them before he turns to you. “Come on.” 

The party goes on without you all and the birthday girl. The strings start again and the adults go back to talking, some of them giggling as they watch your group of stained and bloody kids trekking behind the Tower of the Choi Syndicate into the estate. 

Some of the ground floor is familiar to you. You pass through living spaces and darkened hallways with old fashion sconces before you reach a parlor room with two guards standing on the outside. Both of them look at the Choi siblings fondly, one of them leaning over to check Seungcheol’s nose before smiling and patting him on the cheek. 

Inside the Tower’s office smells like leather and sweet tobacco. It’s not unpleasant but it’s unfamiliar to the heavy incense and myrrh constantly choking the air of your home. Books line the walls behind a sitting area with big, leather armchairs and an old coffee table made of rich wood. 

You kind of like the room, looking around at all the strange gadgets and things unfamiliar to as the Tower clears his throat. He leans on his desk casually, crossing his arms over his chest as the five of you line up, looking at the floor underneath the heavy gaze of the Syndicate leader.

All you know about the Tower is that your dad loves him. He says he’s like family, and that out of all the men in the world who could lead the business to greatness, it’s Choi Moojin. He comes from a long line of powerful men, firm and powerful as the mountain that their name draws its meaning from. Married into the fire and wrath of the Hino family, the Choi’s have been unstoppable since he stepped into his father’s position as Tower.

And now you punched the boy who is supposed to grow into a man and replace him. 

It’s a bad look. You know it is, and you don’t know how much trouble you’re in, but you would do it again. Vernon had been so soft-spoken and gentle when showing you the turtles, pointing out every detail he liked about them, listening when you asked questions.

No one listened to you when you asked questions. He did. And Seungcheol had wanted to punish him for no reason, to make Vernon feel small, to make him-

“Explain,” the Tower commands, voice rough. He points to Seungcheol. “You first.” 

“That crazy little girl hit me!” he exclaims, pointing at you. “She tackled me like a savage-”

“You were mean to Vernon!” you explode, unable to keep silent. “He was showing me turtles and you were being a jerk and you hurt his feelings!”

Both Seungcheol and his sister start screaming at you, though the third boy and Vernon both stay silent as the grave. The Tower interrupts his children again, raising a hand to silence him. They fall into line immediately, bowing their heads as an apology. 

The Tower looks at you and you cower, dropping your eyes. “You’re like your father,” he notes, though he doesn’t sound too angry. “Which is probably a good thing. What did Seungcheol say to Hansol that made you tackle him, hmm?” 

“He called him a bastard. And something about not liking that he was born.” 

There’s a heavy pause in the air. No one breathes, all of you waiting as the Tower deliberates. Finally, it’s his daughter who murmurs, “What’s a rastard?” 

Suddenly, the Tower is laughing. You’re not sure at what but you glance at him from the corner of your eye to see he doesn’t look as imposing as he had earlier. Next to you, you feel Vernon relax. His shoulders drop, less tight and his mouth twitches a little. 

“You kids,” the Tower sighs. “All carbon copies of your parents, I’m afraid. Seungcheol, I want you to apologize to Hansol. You know that wasn’t kind, and you’re the son of the Tower. You know better than that.” 

Seungcheol nods and turns to Vernon, giving him a full ninety degree bow. “I’m sorry for insulting you and being impolite. I was… angry. It’s no excuse.” 

Vernon bows a little. “I accept.” 

“Now how,” the Tower says to his daughter and the boy next to her, “did the two of you get involved? Soonyoung?” 

The boy next to the Tower’s daughter shifts. “Baby got mad that she,” he spits the word out toward you, “punched Seungcheol. So she started fighting with her and I tried to pull them apart. Then Vernon hit me.” 

The Tower looks at Vernon, surprised. 

“I was scared he was going to hurt Angel.” 

“I see. Angel, is it?” 

“That’s what my dad likes to call me.”

The Tower smiles and nods. “Were you just protecting Hansol?”

“Yes. He’s nice and… doesn’t deserve to be punished for being nice.” 

“You have good character, Angel. Hansol needs someone to watch over him. I’m glad he has you.” 

A flush goes through you, white hot. You don’t really know what he means, but you’re pleased nonetheless. You glance at Vernon to see him fighting a smile, his fingers nervously pulling at the threads of his ripped shirt. 

“You all might not know it,” the Tower announces, “but you’re family. Your parents are my closest confidants, my secret-keepers, my best friends. You all will be like us, one day. Sometimes we fight - fighting is good for the spirit. But at the end of the day, we apologize, we make amends, and we move on. It is important to do those things, yes?” 

“Yes, Tower.” 

“Everyone make amends. You’re bound to one another for life. Start acting like it.” 

-

Vernon cradles a tablet in his lap, the diagrams and charts to his math homework hovering above the screen. He sighs, shaking his head as he uses his fingers to spin the hologram around, watching it intensely. The light turns his face blue, reflecting in his dark brown eyes. It makes his freckles stand out more, the light smattering of them dusting the tops of his cheeks and his nose. 

There’s a bruise on his jaw again. It makes you shift uncomfortably. Vernon’s dad doesn’t hit him, but his mad rampages influenced by the number of substances he’s prone to get into every now and again make him difficult to contain. As the only other man of the house, it’s Vernon’s job to do so. 

At least, that’s what Vernon says. You’re not so sure, hating each time you find a random bruise on him, another badge of honor at containing his father’s tirades now that he’s too young to hide at the Choi Estate. 

You’re supposed to be doing homework alongside Vernon, but you can’t take your eyes off of him. The windows are open to the rain, an occasional blast of wind coming in and misting the room with the smell of lotus blossom and petrichor. It’s nice, the steady drip drip drip of the rain on the roof a pleasant backtrack to your studying session, which feels like it has stretched on forever. 

In time with your thoughts, Vernon stretches. You watch the way he reaches his arms upward, sleeves constricting around his biceps which have become corded and strong under Soonyoung and Seungcheol’s careful tutelage at the gym. His shirt pulls up a little with the stretch, revealing a stretch of smooth, pale stomach. 

Flustered, you snap your eyes back to your homework. You should be thinking about history, not Vernon’s stupid stomach or his stupid arms. Both of which, at twelve years old, have become insanely distracting for you. 

Gone is the little boy who taught you about turtles, replaced by a very cute boy that you cannot stop staring at every time you do homework together. 

Thunder rolls in the distance. You look up at the ceiling as though you could see the darkening sky through it. Outside, the wind swells, growing stronger as the full strength of the storm nears. Still, you don’t close the windows. It keeps the room cool in the summer months and you like the scent and feel of the rain. 

A bang startles you at the front of the house. You whirl around in your seat, Vernon’s head snapping toward the entryway where your door is open, blasts of rain coming in. Paper goes flying around the house as your mother stands in the door, soaked and shaking. She’s staring right at you and Vernon, her eyes wide, mouth open.

A chill comes over you. It has nothing to do with the rain. You murmur for Vernon to stay exactly where he is as you peel yourself off of the couch and approach her slowly. She’s dressed in her temple clothes, the fabric sticking to her wire-thin frame. Her hair is pasted to her face and she’s panting, nearly frothing at the mouth.

She looks like a wraith coming to take your soul. 

“Mom?” you ask, tentative. Her eyes dart to Vernon. Back to you. Your stomach sinks. “It’s just Vernon - you know, the Chwe’s son? He’s just here for homework.” 

“Whore,” she hisses, her voice demonic. “Filthy rotten whore, sinning in my house?” 

“No, we’re doing-”

Her hand reaches for you. You’re fast, but she’s like an adder, striking your wrist and latching on. You yank your hand back as she storms into the house, ripping you after her. You stumble and Vernon shoots to his feet, throwing his homework to the side.

“Call my dad!” You yell at him as your mother hauls you to the hallway, her hand like an iron claw on your wrist, threatening to break it. Her anger feels like the wrath of god, but you know her god isn’t real. Only yours is, and you need him now. “Please, call him!”

“Whore!” your mother screeches, launching you through the bathroom door. She lets you go as you fall forward, slamming into the bathroom tile. It jars you, pain blooming in your shoulder particularly. You cry out, unable to stop it as she climbs over you. “Whoring in my house! In the presence of God! O forgive me Lord, for she is wretched and foul!”

“Stop it!”

“I will cleanse the sin from this house, I will rid thee of this loathsome woman, who dares to perform filth under your reverent eyes!” 

Her fingers tangle in your hair and she pulls. You scream, shoving at her. She is soaking wet with rain, dripping on you and turning the tile slippery as you thrash under her like a fish. Your scalp screams as she yanks you toward the bathtub, strands of your hair coming out with the ferocity. 

Your head smacks the side of the tub, making your world spin. For a moment, the ceiling spins on its axis, lights blurry. The pain leaves your scalp for a moment, your mother vanishing from your vision as you get the urge to vomit, trying to roll over and push yourself off the side of the bathtub and get away. 

Thunder rolls above you, shaking the foundation of the house. Your hands slide on the tile as you push yourself up, only to be knocked back down again as she shoulders you into the bathtub. A pitiful noise leaves your mouth as you go down hard on your shoulder. You feel the crack, the pain worse than anything you’ve ever experienced before. 

Crying, you clutch your shoulder, trying to roll off of it, to do anything. Touching the arm hurts, but trying to move is worse. It is a radiating pain, jarring, searing-

Water floods your mouth. You gasp, choking as you lift your head to see that the faucet is running. With renewed panic, you thrash, nearly blacking out with the pain that explodes from the injured arm. Your mother, who doesn’t seem to notice the break, grabs you by the back of your head and shoves you forward. 

The pain incapacitates you. Blots out everything else, your inability to fight back vanishing and replaced with only the knowledge that the pain exists. It increases tenfold. Fifty fold. A hundred fold. 

Thunder pounds against the walls of the bathroom. It shakes the door in the frame, it splinters. You can barely register the thunder over the rush of the water filling your ears, but it’s there, accompanied by the rush of water in your mouth. 

Panic slams back into you. You can’t breathe, can’t see. You flail, sitting upward for a moment to suck in a sharp, painful breath. 

“Have mercy on me, O God,” your mother gasps, her hands on your face, nails biting into your skin. “According to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. I will remove evil from thy house, and embrace your grace and love.” 

Water fills the tub. She pushes you back under and you scream in terror, forgetting to take a breath before your world is a dull roar. You thrash, kicking at her, slapping at her, tearing your nails into her wrists. It’s like she can’t feel pain, can’t be convinced to let go.

Your lungs ache, your nose filled with water. Her grip loosens for a second and you wretch yourself upward, choking and coughing, mucus and bile burning the back of your throat as you hack. The water is near the edge of the tub, sloshing as you try to crawl away from her. 

“Stop!” You scream as she grabs you by the hair again. “Stop! Mommy, stop! Please!” 

Water fills your mouth again. You gag on it, feeling your throat constrict as it fights between needing to wretch and swallow down water. Before your body can figure out which, you’re being hauled out of the water, the world spinning. 

You fall over the side of the bathtub onto the floor, a pile of soaking, trembling limbs. Water spills over the sides of the tub like a waterfall as you choke up the water you’ve already swallowed, vomiting it out on the tile. 

Someone grabs you and you scream in terror, not wanting to go back into the tub. 

“It’s me!” Vernon’s voice wavers, higher-pitched than you’re used to. You get your bearings, lifting your head to see him. He’s next to you, soaked and panicked as he holds his hands out, not touching you. “It’s me.” 

Turning away from him, you look where your mother is lying on the tiles. She’s still breathing, but she’s got a knot forming on her forehead. Behind her, the door to the bathroom is in splinters, entirely kicked through and torn apart - Vernon, you realize. It wasn’t thunder, it had been Vernon kicking through the door. 

A knot forms in your throat as you swivel back to him. He’s on his knees, water pooling around him as the bathroom floods. His hair is soaked, long strands hanging in his eyes, which are wide with terror. He’s panting and there’s a little bit of blood on his hands, splinters visible. 

Vernon, who taught you about turtles and all of their names. Vernon, who always quietly sits next to you at parties so you don’t feel alone. Vernon, who had tackled Soonyoung because he thought you were in danger that time at Baby’s birthday party. Vernon, who liked to sit on your couch with the windows open when it rained because he enjoyed the smell. 

Vernon, who pulled you from your mother’s wrath. Who saved you. Not your dad, but Vernon, this time. A new god. A fierce one. 

When you start to cry, Vernon doesn’t hesitate. He reaches for you, pulling you into him. You yelp when he touches your shoulder and his touch turns careful. He slides himself against the wall, pulling you between his legs to press your good shoulder against him. His chest is warm, the steady beat of his heart underneath your cheek as you press yourself into him, heaving. 

Vernon’s arms come around you, careful not to touch your shoulder. You don’t care if he does. No pain can blot this out, no pain can erase what he’s done for you. He cradles you to him like you mean everything to him, hands pressed to you and mouth against your forehead, murmuring it’s okay. I’ve got you. 

Your fingers twist in his shirt as you try to catch your breath, shaking violently. He doesn’t mind, just letting you use him however you need. A constant force, a guardian who requires no penance, no devotion, no alms in return for his protection. 

“I’ve got you,” Vernon promises, kissing your temple. He squeezes you tighter. “I’m not letting you go. I’ll never let you go.”

It’s how your father finds you when he skids into the doorway, wrapped in Vernon’s arms and trembling as the bathroom floods around you, mother muttering under her breath about the demon in her home. 

His eyes look from your mother to you, and you see it. The realization of what’s happened. Your god turns his vengeful eye on your mother, and you know you will never know her terror again. 

-

Blossom petals fall from the ceiling as your father dips Yoon Minji by the waist to kiss her. Everyone in the pews shoots to their feet, clapping happily as he smiles into the kiss. They don’t overdo it, stepping away to bow a bit to their guests, laughing and happy. You clap from where you stand on the side, one of the few bridesmaids she’s picked for the wedding. 

You think you like Yoon Minji. You don’t know much about her beyond knowing that she is from one of the wealthiest families in the Choi Syndicate, and she’s the current Wisdom to Choi Moojin, which makes her the second most powerful person in the room directly after the Tower. 

Across from you, her son Jeonghan claps politely, placed among the groomsmen. He’s a little bit older than you in his late teens, a spitting image of his mother with her coquettish smirk and knowing eyes. Jeonghan you do like, though you’re not sure you trust. 

Trust is a fickle thing that only two people in the room you’re standing in have earned. One of them is now walking with his new wife back down the aisle from the altar where they said their vows, and the other is sitting stiffly between his mother and father, his dark eyes only on you. 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. You feel warmth spread up your neck to your cheeks as you begin the processional back up the aisle, walking to meet Jeonghan who gives you a raised brow. 

“You’re blushing,” he teases, looping your arm with his as he escorts you. “Is it because a certain Chwe is looking this way?”

You roll your eyes at the rhyme. “You just wanted to make a rhyme.”

“I’m also right.”

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night.”

He grins, turning to you, pleased at your rhyming. “I like having you for a sister. I’ll see you later, go see your mister.” 

“Ugh, goodbye, Jeonghan.”

Your new step-brother lets go. He grins at you, always looking like the cat that ate the canary. You shake him off, knowing that lying to him about Vernon is pointless. The two of you are usually glued to one another’s side, near inseparable to the point that you asked if you could be a guest instead of a member of the wedding party. 

That had earned a hard no from your father, despite how much he likes Vernon. 

Now, though, you’re free to do what you want for cocktail hour. Naturally, this means stealing a bottle of wine from behind the bar when the bartenders aren’t looking and slipping out one of the side entrances outside. 

Balmy air kisses your skin. The sun has long since faded and crickets chirp as you descend the steps toward the massive gardens on the property. The reception will be held in the east garden, so naturally you head to the west garden, slipping your phone out to message Vernon and tell him where to find you. 

A waxing moon hangs in the sky. The entire world looks blue under its light, dark enough to slip away unnoticed but bright enough not to get lost on the cobblestone path, following the tinkling sound of a fountain.

The small courtyard has a massive fountain at its center. The statue centerpiece shows a series of mermaids resting upon rocks, water sprouting around them and showering them with mist. You walk up to the fountain's edge, looking at the glittering coins at the bottom that make the water smell coppery. 

Mist cools your skin from the fountain. You study the mermaids while you wait for Vernon, eyeing the details of each scale, each strand of hair. The artist had a good hand, the careful lines and curves of the stone life-like. 

Footsteps make you turn around. Vernon enters the yard, his hands tucked in the pocket of his suit pants. He looks at ease, walking in that same loping gait he always does. Now that he’s fourteen, he’s a lot taller than he used to be. Still wire thin, but not gangly like he was as a youth.

Tonight, his hair is gelled back. You feel your heart start to race again as he grins when he sees you, a smile only reserved for you. He looks painfully handsome, his suit fitting him just right and a cluster of white flowers that you’ve never seen before pinned to his jacket. 

“Where’d you get that?” He gestures to the bottle of wine as he stands next to you, kicking a foot up on the fountain's edge to lean his elbow on his knee.

“Stole it from behind the bar.”

He shakes his head, laughing and holding his hand out. You give it to him and he turns the label upward, reading it in the moonlight. “This is good shit. They should keep better track of their wine.”

“I’m good at not being seen.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” Vernon peels the foil off the wine bottle, pausing to look you up and down. “I always see you, though.”

As soon as he says it, he drops his eyes. You stare at him, your heartbeat racing as he pulls out a knife to get the cork out the bottle. You don’t ask why he has a knife - you have one too. A beautiful little butterfly knife with a mother of pearl handle and an edge sharp enough to cut a single strand of hair. It had been a gift from Jeonghan, a little welcome to the family. 

Vernon is always like this. He says things that make you stare at him, trying to unravel their meaning. You’re both fourteen and you know what flirting is, but you can’t figure out if that’s what he’s doing or not. Sometimes Vernon just says things and doesn’t mean anything secondary. He’s simple like that, very to the point and forward. Other times, you swear there is an inflection there, but you can’t tell if it’s because there is or you want there to be. 

This is one of those times. Of course Vernon always sees you - he knows you better than anyone else in the world. From the moment he pulled you out of that tub and cradled you to his chest, you knew that you were his. It doesn’t matter if he knows or not. You’re entirely devoted to him - all because he doesn’t ask for it. Doesn’t expect it. 

He doesn’t expect anything from anyone. It’s part of why you like him so much. He believes in keeping to himself and keeping quiet, carefully observing the world around him. Jeonghan thinks it makes Vernon dangerous - the good kind, he had emphasized. The useful kind. 

You think it makes him perfect. 

Vernon manages to get the cork out the wine bottle, his smile electric as he turns to you, presenting the bottle. You clap happily, taking it from him and bringing it up to your lips to take a hearty swig. 

Immediately you cough, making a face as the wine hits your mouth. It’s fruity but it’s dry and tangy, something about it making you shake your head. After a difficult swallow, you take a big breath of air and give it back to him, still coughing. 

“Wine is terrible.” 

He takes it and tilts it towards you, his own cheers. When he takes a sip, he makes a face but his reaction is far less vile than yours. Smacking his lips together he says, “Yeah, not great.” 

Together, you sit on the fountain, sticking your feet in the water. Vernon has rolled up his pants, to the knee, swishing his feet back and forth as you take another sip from the bottle. Your dress is pooled around your thighs, lifting lightly in the breeze. 

Even though the wine is disgusting, you drink it anyway. Let it make you dizzy, turning the world softer. It feels good, this little buzz you have. You’ve never been drunk before but it makes you giggle, leaning your head back and closing your eyes as Vernon takes another swig. 

When you open your eyes and look at him, you giggle. 

“What?” he asks, shy. He puts the bottle down. 

“Your mouth and teeth are sooo red.” 

“Yours too.” He laughs, leaning toward you a little. You can’t tell if it’s the drink or his proximity that makes you dizzy. His breath fans your face - you hadn’t realized how close he was. “Your lips are red like berries.” 

“Really?” 

“Mhmm.” His eyes are dark, something flickering in them as they drop to your mouth. “Wonder if they taste like berries too.”

Your breath catches, heart hammering. “Why don’t you find out?” 

Vernon doesn’t even hesitate. He presses his lips to yours, a little forceful and awkward. You don’t care, shocked that he’s kissing you. You don’t know what to do, but you close your eyes, letting Vernon slot his mouth against yours.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you and the press of your mouths, the fountain spraying you with water as the wind changes direction. Then, Vernon tentatively parts your lips, his tongue darting out to swipe across your bottom lip and you soar.

He starts to pull back but you make a sound, shifting forward to really kiss him. You know nothing about kissing, but you remember Lin telling you and the other girls about it. Baby had told you a little bit about what it was like to kiss Soonyoung, so you try to replicate her feedback, gently licking Vernon’s mouth open.

Vernon makes a pitiful sound, leaning into you. Your noses bump and you grow eager, bringing a hand up to his neck, holding him there. His hands cradle your face, his mouth eager and hungry. It’s messy and clumsy and you’re not sure either one of you really knows what you’re doing, but it’s Vernon and it’s everything.

When you break away, panting, Vernon presses his forehead against yours, nose nudging you. “Tastes better than berries.”

“What’s it taste like?” 

His grin is goofy and he can barely get the joke out when he says, “My girlfriend?” 

It’s more like a question but you already have an answer, nodding and whispering, “Your girlfriend.” 

-

“Ah fuck,” Vernon mutters as you walk toward him, his head thudding against the back of the couch. You don’t hear his voice but you can see the look on his face and the shape of the words on his mouth as you storm over, fingers flexing. “I warned you,” you hear Vernon mutter to the girl he’s been pushing off of him the last ten minutes. 

Vernon watches, eyes flashing when you grab the girl by the back of the neck and yank backward. The girl’s head snaps up, her eyes wide when she realizes who is grabbing her. Immediately she drops her hands from Vernon’s arms and tries to lean away from you, but you’ve got her in a death grip, nails digging into her skin. 

She lets out a sound as you stare down on her, feeling your anger throb in the side of your neck alongside your pulse. The buzz of the alcohol burning through you doesn’t help either, turning your wrath sharp like a knife. Somewhere, you hear Jeonghan collecting bets behind you. 

“He told you no,” you growl. You’d watched Vernon several times physically try to get up from the couch and push the girl off but she’d clung to him, ignoring his protests. “And no is a full sentence.” 

“I didn’t know he was yours.” 

Your nails dig in further and her hands fly up to your wrists, trying to break free as she cries. “The point is he told you no. Now apologize.” 

Vernon watches with dull amusement, brows raised as they flicker between you and your victim. He always seems interested in what your nexk move is going to be, happy to go along with whatever your mood brings out, even if it’s violence. 

“I’m sorry,” the girl says to you and you shove her forward. Her head snaps down, teeth clacking painfully. “Not to me, idiot. To him. Apologize to him for violating his personal space and not knowing what consent is.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

Hauling her off the couch is a task. She’s much taller than you, but you’re strong. Seungcheol has started letting you work out with them, and though he still holds a grudge from that time you punched him in the face as kids, he’d rather you be good at fighting than bad at it. 

Instead of fighting, you let the girl go. She hits the floor like a ragdoll, scrambling away from you. Your fingers are sticky with her blood, the underneath of your nails black with it. She stumbles to her feet, hand going to the back of her neck where she must feel the broken skin. 

“Crazy bitch,” she gasps, looking at you. 

You take a single step and she shrieks in fear, running. You want to chase her, but Vernon’s hand is around your wrist and he’s laughing, tugging you toward him on the couch. Collapsing into his lap, you pout at him, stomach fluttering at the way he looks at you - like you’re everything, the only thing. 

It doesn’t matter that you’re only fifteen. You know that you’re in love with Vernon and that he’s in love with you. No amount of threats by your father has swayed Vernon and no amount of never trust a man from your stepmother has convinced you that you cannot trust Vernon implicitly. 

“Very hot of you,” Vernon assures, his hands sliding from your waist to your ass. He grips you through your jeans, uncaring that you’re in the middle of some gritty ass party in the Lower District. If Baby knew you were here, she’d be so mad you didn’t bring her along. “Kiss me.” 

You do. He tastes like gin and lemons, but he smells like fresh rain, all petrichor and vetiver. His mouth is warm and wet against yours, a little clumsy because he’s been drinking, but far more skilled than that awkward kiss you shared the night your father married Minji. 

Vernon groans under you and you laugh, cradling his face with your hands as you separate from him, nipping his lower lip a little. “Take me home,” you whisper, thighs squeezing around his. “Please?” 

He taps your ass. “Let’s fucking go.”

Outside the world is awash in rain. It’s always raining in the city, turning the streets slick. It smells awful in the Lower District, the water flooding the streets and clogging the drain until it smells like wet decay and piss. A group of men shuffle too close for comfort, making Vernon tug you toward him. His eyes are dark beacons as he watches them pass by, either uninterested in the two of you or deciding you’re not easy targets. 

Standing on your tiptoes, you press a messy kiss to Vernon’s jaw. He smirks but his eyes never leave the men until they’re around the corner. Vernon might be quiet and unassuming most of the time, but he’s the son of a Sword, one of the heavies for the Choi Syndicate. Vernon is far more lethal than he looks, and he’s learned how to use it. 

Turning to catch your mouth, Vernon presses a messy kiss to your lips. “Come on,” he mumbles, tugging you toward the motorcycle parked near the front of the apartment complex. “Let’s go.” 

Vernon slides onto the bike, unhooking a helmet and passes it to you. You swing a leg over, getting on the back and pulling the helmet on. Immediately, the face shield swims with color as it turns on, a mini heads up display projected across the glass. 

Underneath you, the bike roars to life. Red lights glow around the rim of the wheels, casting murky light on the sidewalk as Vernon walks the bike backward. You scoot closer to his back, wrapping your arms around the middle to give him a squeeze. One of his hands drops from the handlebars and pats your leg. 

“Good?” His voice comes through the comms in the helmet perfectly clear. 

“Good. You good?”

“Mhmm.” You hear something click against his teeth. “I’ve got a stim pop.” 

The boys love stim pops. Most of them use them when they’re trying to fight a high or being drunk, the mix of sweet candy and methylphenidate serving as a kickstart to the nervous system. All of the workers under the Choi banner use them, especially when pulling late night shifts or just trying to stay awake. Your father even chews them sometimes, popping one in his mouth when he comes home.

You hate the taste, personally. The candies aren’t sweet enough and you can taste the bitter edge of the stimulant as it melts in your mouth. Vernon, however, loves them. He’s always careful not to overuse them, afraid of becoming too reliant on them. With his father’s history, you don’t blame him. 

Resting the side of your helmet on Vernon’s back, you watch as the world turns into a blur of color. You love the feeling of being on a motorcycle, the world around you becoming nothing but wind and blurring shapes. This late at night, Vernon has to maneuver around people as he drives through the entertainment districts, but once he hits the highway you’re gone. 

Wind rips at your clothes. You can see the speed in the corner of your heads up display as Vernon tops out the bike, shooting across the bridge like a bullet. He’s going way above the speed limit but you don’t care, hugging him closer as he navigates through the night.

Even if city police did want to go after him for speeding, they’d never catch him. Seungkwan had refitted the bike with tons of illegal parts and machinery, making it travel at speeds far above regulations. And even if Vernon did get pulled over, he just needed to tell them who he was - the Choi’s were deep in the infrastructure of law enforcement, near impossible to weed out. 

Nights like this with Vernon feel invincible. As children to members of status in the Choi Syndicate, you’re untouchable. Gods. 

Well, perhaps Vernon is. You don’t feel so much as a god as you do a shadowy angel at his side, ready to deliver vengeance tenfold to whoever stands in his way. It’s been like that since the day he pulled you out of the bathtub - before, even, when you’d punched Seungcheol for him. 

Despite being high-ranking in the Choi Syndicate, Vernon’s family doesn’t live in the luxurious accommodations as some of the other upper echelon. He had lived in an actual home like you when you were kids, but last year had moved to a smaller apartment in the Upper District - still better than most of the population of the city, but strange for someone so close to Choi Moojin. 

Sleep is a stranger to the city. Lights burn in the windows of the skyscraper as Vernon pulls into the garage lift. He plants his feet on the ground, a hand dropping to your thigh to squeeze and hold you close as the lift shoots upward. It jolts you a bit and you hug him closer.

“Gonna break my ribs,” he teases. 

“Good. I’m the only one allowed.”

“Anything you want.” 

It makes you smile. You’d never actually hurt him - you’d rather die than inflict any sort of damage on him. Jeonghan has tried to tell you over and over again that you should have a contingency with Vernon, that if he ever breaks your heart-

You shake your head at the thought. Jeonghan trusts no one and neither do you - but Vernon isn’t no one. 

The lights are off in Vernon’s apartment. His mother is nowhere to be found, which isn’t uncommon, and his father blessedly isn’t home. You don’t think Vernon would bring you back if Chwe Jiyeong was home. You don’t have to ask why and Vernon doesn’t have to explain. Like most things between the two of you, you just know. 

Vernon pulls you toward him as he walks backward toward his room. You giggle, your feet tangling and tripping as you go. You chase his lips with yours, pleased when he lets you drown him in an all consuming kiss, your hands pulling him closer by the jacket. 

Tumbling into his room, you knock something over and he laughs. Pressing your hands against his chest, you send him backward onto his bed. His room is dark, save for the light peeking through the tinted windows. This high up in the sky, the clouds blot out the moon. 

Crawling into his lap, you grin down at Vernon. His hands go to your hips, greedy fingers exploring. His eyes shine in the darkness of the room, hungry for you - only you. You are the only thing in the world Vernon ever looks at with a sliver of desire. 

Leaning down, you plant your hands on either side of his head, dropping your mouth to kiss him again when something crashing in the living room startles you both. Vernon is fast - faster than you even knew he could move. He has you up and off of him in a second, planting you on the bed as he heads for his bedroom door. 

You begin to stand but Vernon holds out a hand, stopping you. “Don’t move,” he whispers. “Stay in here, and do not come out of this room. It’s probably my dad.” 

Nodding, you sit back on the bed. You swallow thickly, watching as Vernon places his hand on the knob and stills, turning his head to listen. At first, there’s just eerie silence. Your heart pounds hard enough that you swear he can hear it thundering in your ribcage. 

Someone cusses out in the living room. Vernon dips his head, sighing heavily as he white-knuckles the door handle. You watch the change come over him, a stone dropped in a still pond rippling a calm surface. He’s tense now, the desire for you moments ago stomped out by the sound of his father knocking over something else in the house, followed by the yell of his mother’s name.

Vernon turns back to you, eyes hard. “Stay here. I’ll get him back to his room and I’ll take you home.”

You nod. You know better than to be disappointed. His dad has ruined your night, but getting to ravage Vernon isn’t as important as this. 

Carefully, Vernon opens the door. A shaft of light falls across his face, showing a moment of fear. Then he’s through the door and it’s closed, leaving you alone as your fingers twist nervously in his sheets. 

Straining your hearing, you listen as Vernon’s steps fade down the hall. His soft voice is barely audible through the closed bedroom door. Silence follows for a moment, then you hear his dad, voice raised. The urge to stand up and go to the door is overwhelming but you stay put, knowing it’ll only make things worse.

Jiyeong hates your stepmother, and by extension, you. 

Again, Jihyeong’s voice raises in the living room. You cannot make out what he’s saying, but it's obvious he’s angry. He’s always angry, though. Angry he can’t kick his addiction to frostbyte and resin, angry the Tower didn’t save his home from being taken by the bank, angry he’s in this apartment, angry that Vernon is here and his mother isn’t, angry at the world. 

Growing up, you’d only seen the angry episodes from Vernon’s father once or twice. Seungcheol’s sister had told you about them, though. How when she was little, she’d be woken up to Vernon being brought upstairs to stay the night while Jiyeong was raving mad downstairs, how the Tower and his Sentinel - Soonyoung’s father - would placate him until morning.

No one placates him anymore. Soonyoung’s father is dead and Vernon is fifteen, old enough to deal with his old man by Syndicate standards. 

A crash of sound makes you shoot to your feet. You wring your hands together, staring at the door intensely, wishing you could manifest Vernon to walk back through. Another loud crash followed by a loud shout makes you flinch, your hand flying to the angel charm on your necklace. 

For a few beats, there’s only silence. 

The silence scares you more than the shouting. Before you know what you’re doing, you’re opening the door and rushing down the hall. 

Light spills into the living room from the kitchen. You smell something burning and catch snatches of foils near the stove top where there’s still an open flame. For a second, you think the apartment is empty, but you hear a grunt and something smack against the cabinets. 

Rounding the counter top, you scream, reaching for Jiyeong where he sits on top of Vernon, whose feet are sliding against the title as he kicks, hands wrapped around his father’s wrists. Jiyeong’s hands are wrapped around Vernon’s throat, thumbs pressing dangerously into his windpipe.

You don’t even think. You lunge forward, grabbing at Jiyeong to pull him off of his son. He thrashes to the side, throwing you into the counter. Pain explodes in your hip but you don’t care, diving back at Jiyeong to pull him off of Vernon. You succeed in loosening his grip and Vernon gasps for air, his face red and strained as he coughs, spittle flying.

The moment of respite is costly - his dad shoves you back hard, sending you stumbling and falling on your ass. It hurts when you land, a pile of limbs and panic and disorientation. It doesn’t matter. You scramble to your feet again, the world tilting as your panic consumes you. 

Jumping on Vernon’s father, you try to pull him off. He’s insanely strong, arms corded and honed to killing perfection, the perfect Sword of a powerful Syndicate. Vernon doesn’t try to fight back - he just pries at his father’s hands, the death grip so strong that he knows it’s his best chance at survival. 

Your nails rend down Jiyeong’s face, you pull at his hair, at his head. It doesn’t matter. He is feral and intent on a single thing, and that’s choking the life out of the person you love most in the world - even more than you love your father, your god, your savior. 

A set of knives catches your attention on the counter. Without second guessing, you grab one, knocking the block over with your haste. Your hand shakes on the handle and you scream when you bring it down on the juncture between Jiyeong’s neck and shoulder. 

He doesn’t stop choking Vernon. Filled with rage and terror, you shriek, gripping the handle as blood spills onto your hand. You rip the blade out and drive it down again and again, ignoring the way blood spurts, covering your face and arm. 

Jiyeong finally lets go of Vernon, who starts coughing as he sucks down air. He twists under his father, kicking away to roll over on his stomach and crawl away. He gets a few feet away, where he stops to vomit. 

You stop screaming. Vernon chokes, spit flying from his mouth as he hacks, trying to get his windpipe to work again. Jiyeong remains on his knees for a second and you realize he’s also choking. His hands are covering the stab wound in his neck, red spelling between his fingers and running down his arms. 

Then, he falls forward. 

Shaking, you remain standing where you are, hand trembling violently, knife in your hand. It is covered in red now, nearly indistinguishable. Heaving, Vernon manages to sit on the floor, sliding further away from his father to press himself against the fridge. His throat is already red and bruising. 

Vernon’s eyes go from his father, motionless on the floor and in a pool of blood to you. Then back to his father. Then you again, where his gaze stays. You don’t know what to do. All you know is that you’d thought he was going to die and that you had to do something about it. You didn’t- 

“I didn’t mean-”

Vernon shakes his head and holds out his hand to you. He says nothing - can’t say anything with his throat - but his hand is outstretched toward you and violently shaking. He’s asking - begging - you to come to him. 

You drop the knife and it clatters, loud in the eerily silent apartment. You rush to him, stepping over the body, foot sliding in blood. You careen forward, collapsing to your knees. Pain shoots up your legs but you don’t care, crawling to Vernon, hands slippery against the tile until you’re there and you’re holding his hand and he’s pulling you to his chest. 

Vernon is quivering, his entire body vibrating as you press against him. His arms squeeze you tight and he turns both of you away from the mess at the mouth of the kitchen, shielding you from it. 

Your hands are on his face, smearing blood and red finger prints across his perfect skin as you inspect him. He shakes his head, as though to say he’s fine. But he’s not fine. His throat is bruised and you don’t know how much damage his dad did and he just watched you plunge a knife into his father over and over again. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-”

Vernon kisses you. It’s brief and quick, but it stops you from spiralling. He shakes his head again, squeezing you harder. Instead of fighting him, you melt into him. Bury your face in his neck. Cry. Cry like you haven’t since your mother tried to purge this world of your existence. Cry because for a moment, you thought he was gone. 

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. When Vernon stops shaking, you finally pull yourself from his neck turning to look at the body. The blood has stopped pooling around it. It’s dark - darker than you remember. Perhaps because it’s drying. Going cold. 

Wiping your nose, you look at Vernon. He’s expressionless, eyes wide. “I have to call Minji,” you rasp. “She’ll know what to do.” You nod to yourself, pressing the back of your bloodied hand to your mouth. “Yeah, she’ll know what to do.” 

-

Turns out that Yoon Minji does always know what to do. You sit at her boudoir, back facing the mirror. You don’t feel like facing the mirror right now. You know that your dark under eyes and hollowed out expression will just stare back at you. 

Minji comes in with a steaming cup of tea, closing the door gently behind her. She is more poised and regal than you’ll ever be, but you like that about her. She reminds you of the knife that Jeonghan gave you when you became step-siblings: a beautiful, mother of pearl handle with a blade so sharp you could cut paper. 

You see that in your stepmother as she hands you the mug of tea. You cup it carefully in your hands, palms leeching the warmth from the cup. It smells like honey and chamomile, perhaps with a hint of yarrow. She’d recently started teaching you the names of herbs and how to smell them out, as well as their properties. 

Vernon would like her lessons, you think. 

Vernon. 

As always, he consumes your thoughts. He is, afterall, the reason why you’re barely able to sleep. Though you’re able to spend all day with him while he recovers from a crushed windpipe and a broken collarbone, you have to let him rest at night, which means him being alone.

You hate it. You know he’s in the careful care of the Choi family’s personal doctor, and Dr. Ymir is wonderful. But you hate being separated from him, and despite screaming and yowling like a feral cat, the Tower had been adamant that you were separated for his recovery.

Vernon hated it too. Nearly set himself back by damaging his throat to scream that he wanted you with him. The Tower had finally compromised and agreed that you could spend all day there if you left for a minimum of eight hours at night to sleep. 

Minji sits on the edge of her bed. She smoothes her silk shirt down and crosses one knee over the other. She’s dressed professionally in a beautiful, pearl colored shirt tucked into black cigarette pants, with pearls in her ears and on her fingers, hair tucked neatly in a bun behind her head. 

She is worlds more beautiful than your own mother, but perhaps your opinion of your birth mother is a little skewed. 

“Drink,” Minji urges, gesturing to the cup. “I’ll help you sleep. If you still can’t sleep, send for me. I’ll get you something stronger.”

Nodding, you sip the tea. Warmth unfolds in your mouth and you do feel yourself relax a little. Your hackles have been raised since leaving Vernon an hour ago, and already you’re looking at the clock to see how long until you can go back.

She notices and laughs. Not meanly, but tiredly, followed by a sigh. “What are we going to do with the two of you?” 

“Nothing,” you mutter into a cup. “We were defending ourselves.”

She waves a hand. “Not about that. Chwe Jiyeong is a motherfucker. The fact that he would dare hurt that child is-” She cuts herself off with an angry sound. “No one will miss him.”

“The Tower will.”

Her mouth thins. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” 

Silence stretches between the two of you. You sip your tea, watching her while she watches you. Her eyes don’t miss a thing. As the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate, it’s her job to be the second-in-command. The know-it-all. The intelligence. 

Minji must be grand indeed. Most women in the Syndicate didn’t have roles like that. The Kim and Yong Syndicates only had men in executive roles. It was mostly the same under the Choi banner, but Minji was different. The Fox, some called her. 

“Do you know why Chwe Jiyeong tried to murder his son, Angel?” Her question catches you off guard. You hesitate, sipping your tea as you think about how to answer her. She notices, her mouth twitching. “Ah. You do.” 

Of course she can see the deliberation in your eyes. Instead of arguing, you ask, “Does it matter that I know?” 

“Not really. I’m more interested in how you know. Did the boy tell you?” 

“No.”

“Pray tell, then.”

“When we were kids, we all got into a fight.” 

She smiles. “I recall. You were very disruptive.”

“It started because Seungcheol was being mean to Vernon. I told him that he shouldn’t be mean because Vernon did nothing wrong, but he called Vernon a bastard and said Vernon had done wrong by being born.”

“I see.”

“Wouldn’t have meant much to me as a kid, but Vernon had mentioned that Seungcheol and Seungcheol’s mom specifically didn’t like him much. As we got older, I wondered why out of all the kids that have family members who work for the Tower, why Vernon was given a space at the Choi Estate.”

Her eyes are glittering now, smile spreading. “And?” 

“Soonyoung was given a room because his parents are dead.” You sip your tea. “His dad was the Tower’s closest friend. Vernon’s dad wasn’t though. He had a drug problem and was constantly disappointing the Tower.”

“So why give Vernon a place to stay, then?”

“Because he’s not Jiyeong’s son. He’s the Tower’s.”

When Minji smiles, you see Jeonghan in her. Jeonghan looks so much like his mother that sometimes it makes you do a double take. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in the Yoon family, and it doesn’t just stop at looks. Jeonghan is the perfect clone of his mother in face, but particularly in mind. 

Which is why you wonder what her motive is when she says, “You’re very bright, you know.” 

It wasn’t a question but you answer anyway. “Yes.”

“Most fifteen year olds would have been very afraid to kill someone.”

“I was afraid. Just not more afraid of him than I was Vernon was going to die.”

“Good.” She stands, unfolding like a lotus flower blooming. “I’d like to put that mind of yours to use, Angel. Clever girls like you are important. Valuable. Mean something.” She pauses and smiles. “I think Vernon might be good for the job, too.” 

-

Nerves twist your stomach into knots. You wind your fingers in your shirt, following Vernon out of the main house and onto the grounds of the Choi Estate. The bruising on his throat is long gone, but Vernon’s voice has only just started returning. 

Not that you’ve heard it, at all. His vocal recovery is reserved strictly for the hours spent with his medical team, going through exercises as he slowly makes progress toward speaking fully again. Thankfully he’s expected to make a full recovery. You remind yourself to ask Minji to give Dr. Ymir a hefty bonus for helping Vernon, especially with how fast his return to health has been. 

You are dying to hear his voice. Weeks spent writing notes and curating ways to communicate has lost its novelty, and now you just want to hear him again. You miss his voice more than you’ve missed anything else, and you’re starting to worry that you might forget the sound of it. The pitch. The raspiness. 

No.

His voice haunts you in your dreams, brushing along your skin like velvet, coaxing you into a restful sleep. Other times, it twists your nightmares, his scream cut off by the sound of his choking as his father chokes him, face turning blue.

The nightmares only happen when you sleep without him. Now that he’s back to functioning health, you’re allowed to spend however long you want with him - in theory, anyway. Though the adults keep muttering about how improper it is for two teenagers to be having sleepovers, it’s easier to let you have your way than to try and pull you apart. 

Everyone remembers Vernon screaming the last time they’d done that. 

Plus, there’s no way that the Tower hasn’t noticed Soonyoung occasionally slipping into Baby’s room after waking up from nightmares. Vernon shares a wall with him now, and sometimes Soonyoung’s sharp shouting stirs you from sleep before you hear the soft click of his door and his footsteps fade toward the youngest Choi’s room. 

No one says anything, though. It’s like the Tower had told the group of you years ago: you’re bound together for life. 

That is certainly true enough for Soonyoung and Seungcheol’s sister, who covet one another like greedy little magpies hoarding treasure. Seungcheol covets no one and nothing, but he’s grown out of the sulky, mean teenager phase and remains a bulwark for the rest of you - especially between you and the adults. 

The first hint of autumn air kisses the back of your neck. Vernon’s fingers are linked with yours, leading you toward the gazebo near the retention pond at the south end of the estate. You both pause as you near the small turtle pond, both of you crouching down to say hello.

They swarm to the edge of the pool, stretching their necks up to greet Vernon who smiles brightly, gently petting each and every one of their heads. You recognize Blush when you see her, much larger in size but just as beautiful with her rouge ears and beady eyes. 

Giggling, you hold your hand out to her, letting her come up to gently nip at your finger. When she decides you have no snacks for her, she ducks under the water, little legs kicking as she vanishes into the murky bottom. 

Satisfied, Vernon stands up and offers you his hand again. You take it, smiling. It occurs to you how genuinely happy you are. It’s one of the few days you have off between school, meetings with Minji, and combat classes led by Old Man Vero and Seungcheol. 

The memory of Seungcheol putting you on your ass the first day sours your mood a little. He’d told you it was for that punch all those years ago, and you didn’t blame him. Now, there’s no bad blood between the two of you. As the future Tower, he takes your self defense seriously. 

You’re also the only one of your group of five who has murdered a fully grown man. 

It’s not something to brag about. There are other teenagers your age in the organization who have killed. Most of them are less fortunate - their parents aren’t high up the rung in the Syndicate or they’ve fallen from grace. Some of the others don’t have parents and are in the Syndicate to survive. 

Death isn’t something you want to think about while with Vernon though, so you shove it away as he walks up the steps of the gazebo. Wisteria trees surround the building, the purple leaves draping the railings and stretching through some of the windows. A few yards away, the pond ripples as a family of ducks swims across. 

Vernon sits on the bench, tilting his face upward into a ray of sun. You sit close next to him, pivoting so you can face him directly, eyes scanning his face as he closes his eyes to enjoy the warmth. 

A smile tugs at your lips. Your entwined hands rest in his lap, his tumb absently rubbing back and forth across the top of your hand. He is so beautiful. He’s regained some of this tan back now that he’s somewhere he can go outside and enjoy the sun. His freckles are a little darker for it, skin a little more flushed and glowing.

Glinting gold catches your eyes. You smile when you see the gold chain peeking from the collar of his shirt. You know the angel that you used to wear is tucked under his shirt, a new talisman for protection. You’d given it to him the night you’d saved him from his father, clasping the chain around his neck with bloody, shaky hands and promising that it would bring him protection. 

You reach out toward Vernon with the hand not holding his, fingers brushing the top of his cheek bones. He doesn’t open his eyes but he grins and turns toward you, letting your fingers trace his nose, the shape of his brows, his lips. Your fingers stop at his mouth, pinching his lips together in a pout lightly. 

He chuckles but doesn’t laugh - not really. You wish he was able to, aching to hear his voice again. 

Vernon’s eyes flutter open. The sun hits him just right, turning his brown irises into molten gold. Your heart beats a little faster as you lean on your palm, watching him. He has the most incredibly eyes, turning from brown to burnished gold in the right light, and-

He interrupts your thoughts and says your name. You blink once. Twice. Not Angel. Not any other nickname. Your name. In his raspy, but deep voice, that is soft as velvet and oh oh oh. 

“You-” Your voice catches. “You shouldn’t talk unless you’re able.” 

He says your voice again and your hands squeeze his, turning into a vice grip. “I’ve been practicing,” he whispers, and you lean forward, not wanting to miss a word. “I can start talking again. Just wanted you to hear me before anyone else.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He nods. “I promise.” He pauses. “Are you going to cry?”

“No.” 

He laughs - actually laughs - when you turn your face away from him to look at the pond, eyes flowing with tears. He pulls you close to him, leaning into your space. He smells like rain and earth, petrichor and vetiver. Vernon says your name again and you look at him, heart hammering. 

“Vernon,” you whisper back, like an answer to the way he says your name. 

He shakes his head and you frown, questioning. “Hansol.” 

Only my mom gets to call me Hansol and it’s ‘cause I love her. 

Now you are definitely crying. It makes him laugh because he knows you hate crying, but he is the only person in the world who can move you to tears. He’s the only person allowed. 

“Hansol,” you murmur. 

His smile lights up the entire world. 

-

“Hansol!” You screech, tripping over the shoes he left by the door. You kick the boots, sending them flying into the entryway. “You motherfucker, stop leaving your shoes in front of the fucking door!” 

No one answers your complaints. Huffing, you toe off your boots, slick with rain. They’re heavy and caked in mud, messing up the rug at the front of the door. Instead of leaving your shoes where anyone walking in can trip over them, you pick them up and put them on the shoe rack like a decent human being. 

Simmering, you walk into the house proper. The lights are off but there’s a vetiver candle on the counter in the kitchen, filling the house with a scent that smells exactly like Hansol. It lessens your stormy mood a bit as you get to the stairs, climbing them two at a time to get to the second floor faster.

One of the smaller guest houses on the Choi Estate has been taken over by you and Hansol entirely. There are only two bedrooms on the second floor, but that’s all you need. A single room for the two of you to share, and one room for the egregious amount of weapons and paraphernalia to do your jobs. 

The paraphernalia room - or the Pew Pew Place, as Mingyu calls it - is heavily locked with a bioscanner and a digital padlock. You pass it as you walk toward the tiny, spiral staircase in the corner of the hall. You climb it, careful not to tip over the hand railing that is far too low, ducking into an attic turned greenhouse of sorts. 

It’s really Hansol’s rain room. There are some plants hanging from the ceiling, their waxy green leaves spilling over the sides and thriving in the sunlight when it pours through the glass ceiling. Now, the ceiling is misty and awash with rain as it taps on the glass. 

A record player stands against one of the walls, a massive shelf of nothing but records expanding to the side of it. There’s also a small coffee cart and sitting area for when Seungkwan or Mingyu want to come over. 

The object of your ire - and now affection - is lounging on the green chaise by the window, hands behind his head as he stares up at the water sluicing down the roof, his headphones on and making him unaware of you standing in the entryway. 

Sighing, your anger immediately melts. Instead of yelling at him for the shoes, you walk toward him, feeling the exhaustion wear you down. Anger and exhaustion are the only two things you seem to feel lately. Even your love for Hansol sometimes seems blotted out by the size of your anger, which has turned into an ancient creature that you’re unsure how to control. 

For now, you will it away - beg it to leave. It’s easier to do when you’re sinking into Hansol’s lap, startling him from his reverie. You smile as you lean down, laying on his chest. He wraps one arm around you while the other pulls off his headphones, the music pausing as he does. 

Hansol is warm and smells like the rain he’s watching - soothing, making you forget about everything for just a second. Underneath your cheek, you feel the steady rhythm of his heart, one of your favorite sounds. 

Instead of saying anything, you both just lie there, you on top of him while he holds you, content to run his hands absently up and down your back. It’s nice. Moments like this lately are few and far between, the world spinning so fast that it’s hard to stop and take a second to just hold him. 

As if it can sense your moment of peace, Hansol’s phone starts to ring. You hiss and he groans. You want him to ignore it. He wants to ignore it. But you know that ringtone anywhere, and despite wanting to keep this moment for longer than five minutes, Hansol reaches into his pocket to answer Seungcheol’s phone call.

“Yes, Tower?” 

You bury your face in Hansol’s chest, which vibrates when he speaks. “Got it. Yeah.” He sighs, running a hand down his face. “Alright.”

He hangs up the phone. “Tell him no.” 

“You tell him no. He’s actually afraid of you.”

“Seungcheol isn’t afraid of anyone.”

Well. That isn’t explicitly true. You wouldn’t say that Seungcheol is afraid of you, but he’s certainly wary. Wary in the way someone might be a bomb that is under their roof. Wary in the way someone’s exotic pet has started to corrode under animal instinct. Wary in the way one might be when one of their prime killers recently lost the only person she ever really considered a mother, setting her on a warpath. 

Your jaw works. Yoon Minji had been the last connection you’d had to your father. Somehow, losing her has felt worse.

It wasn’t like your father, who had finally withered away from cancer. Minji had been picture-perfect health, if not a little old and weary from running the Syndicate while Choi Moojin withered away to sickness after his wife’s passing. Minji was built of different stuff. Strong in the face of death. A force to be reckoned with as her friends aged out of life without her, leaving her to be the steadfast Wisdom manning the helm.

Then the Kim and Yong Syndicates had struck like snakes in the night, a move only cowards were capable of. The only reason the Choi Syndicate hadn’t fallen to the treachery of the Kim’s entirely was because of the Tower’s daughter. Her forced marriage to Kim Yujin had ultimately been the Choice Syndicate's saving grace, her call coming only two hours prior to the coordinated attack, a warning that an overthrow was in process. 

It had been enough time for most people. 

It hadn’t been enough time for you or Jeonghan to get to Minji. Not enough time to figure out why they knew where she was or how to get her. Now, you were both trying to stay adrift in the aftermath of losing your shared anchor - Jeonghan worse than you but you… worse than you expected. 

“You okay?” Hansol’s voice brings you back to the present. Only Hansol is able to drag you out of those churning waters where your eldritch anger lurks, waiting. Watching. Hungry. “I gotta go soon but if you’re not good-”

“I’m good.” Lie. “I’m just sleepy.”

“Cheol is working us to death.”

Except it isn’t the Tower working you to death. The Tower isn’t putting you to work at all. He is actually staunchly avoiding you, letting the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate wield you like a weapon of vengeance instead. 

Yoon Jeonghan takes aim at his enemies often these days. 

Vengeance. That is what your stepbrother had called it when he started gathering his list of soon-to-be-dead in his office. Vengeance for his mother’s murder, vengeance for trying to take out the Choi Syndicate, vengeance for anyone who had anything to do with any of it. 

It isn’t traditionally the Wisdom’s job to dole out punishment and retribution, but Jeonghan is still actively looking for how the Kim family discovered the Yoon family safehouse, something that could have only come from inside. 

Which means the Kim family have a Watcher inside the Choi Syndicate, someone with access to the inner circle. Someone you trust someone you know, someone who- 

Anger begins to twist your insides again. Hansol sees the change in you, his eyebrows creasing as he looks down at where you lay on his chest. Instead of looking at him directly, you press your cheek to his chest and close your eyes, listening to his heartbeat, trying to let it ground you. 

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

No. “Yes.” 

You don’t dare look at him because you think Hansol sees right through you. You’ve never hidden anything from him, and you don’t quite know why you do now. Why you pretend that you’re not eroding inside, why you hide the ancient anger that becomes so raw that you can’t stand it. 

Shame. 

Shame that you cannot get rid of this feeling inside of you. Shame that you’ve never felt like this. Shame that you don’t know how to tell him what you’re feeling how to articulate that you feel wrath so intense that it makes you suffocate, makes you see red, makes you-

“I gotta go,” Hansol says softly. You cling to him a little tighter reflexively. His laugh vibrates through you, followed by a heavy sigh. “We’ll be okay, right?” That makes you look up at him sharply. His face is serious, eyes dark. “We’ve been through shit before. This stuff with the Syndicate war - we’ll be fine?” 

“Of course we will.” 

It feels like a lie.

Carefully, he extracts you from him. You don’t want to let him go - you never do. But you peel yourself from him anyway, trailing after him as he goes down to the second flood of the house into your padlocked room. You can’t bring yourself to part from him yet, silently handing him a gun over the counter and running your hands along the inseams of his jacket to make sure he has what he needs.

It’s a bit of a ritual. Usually, you’d be doing it together. As Rooks of the Choi Syndicate, you and Hansol have unique jobs. Collecting debts, reminding people of their debts, and applying pressure are the main responsibilities of your positions. 

Applying pressure is a gentle way to put it. You find what makes people weak, and then you hurt it until they’re begging you to stop. You salt their wounds, you kick them when they’re down, you make good on their promises. It’s work that requires an inability to feel guilt and a willingness to go however far the Tower needs you to go. 

You and Hansol are good at that. Minji had trained you to be good at that, becoming two of the best assets for the Syndicate - especially now that it was a time of Syndicate war where the Chois were facing down the Kim and Yong families simultaneously. Now was the time to apply pressure and to ensure that everyone who had promised to be loyal to the Choi Syndicate was keeping their promises - especially now that Seungcheol had stepped into his father’s role. 

Syndicate war makes people unsettled. It’s a time of uncertainty, especially among the city officials and law enforcement trying to assert control over the Syndicate families. While the Syndicates hold no political power in the city, they have wealth, assets and connections, making them very competent and powerful puppeteers. 

Ensuring that those who threw in their bets with the Choi family still intended to do so is paramount. As is eliminating anyone who so much as thinks about switching sides, undermining the Tower, or trying to leverage the conflict for their gain. 

Hansol stops at the doorway to kiss you goodbye before he leaves. It’s soft and lingering, like he would rather be raked over hot coals than go do whatever errand Seungcheol is sending him on. You don’t blame him. There aren’t that many people in the family that do what the two of you do, and Hansol is the Rook that Seungcheol trusts the most, his brother by bond - and by blood, though most didn’t know that. 

“Will you be home tonight?” Hansol mutters the question against your lips, unwilling to part from you just yet. He tastes like vanilla chapstick, lips soft and supple. You shake your head and he sighs. “Alright. Let me know when you leave here.”

“Yeah.” 

He kisses you again and steps away. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

When the door shuts behind Hansol and you’re left to your own devices, the wrath begins to stir again. 

-

Sickly sweet incense hangs in the air as you near the lounge. A beaded curtain separates the main hall from the lounge beyond, parting with a soft, clicking hiss as you slide through the strands. The cloying scent of incense is far more intense in the room, accompanied by the smell of something sweet burning. 

Pink, velvet couches crowd around a small table. On the table is a smattering of bottles, a pipe with half burn resin in it, a spilled bag of frosbyte, and a handful of cash. Your boots stain the carpet with mud as you tread to one of the couches, throwing yourself across one as you wait. 

“Be with you in a minute,” a soft, feminine voice comes from beyond another beaded curtain. 

While you wait, you look around the room. There’s a small personal bar shoved in the corner with miscellaneous brands of liquor. In a room as cheap as this one, there are no holograms or high-tech lights to entrance patrons - just a shitty disco ball that barely refracts the light with some music skipping as the internet goes in and out over the speakers. 

At the soft clack of the beaded curtains opening, you drop your gaze to the back of the room where the room’s renter comes through. At first, she enters the room with a coy smile, the silk robe falling off of her shoulder to show milky white skin. 

The second she sees you, she tries to turn on her heel and go back to the room. 

“Leaving so soon, Rosalind?” 

Rosalind stops her retreat immediately. Like the perfectly practiced entertainer she is, she spins and fixes you with a plastic smile. You’re no whore, but you know a whore’s smile when you see one. She approaches you with a lazy gait, appearing at ease, but when she sits, it's a hairsbreadth too far away and there is a slight pinch in her shoulders.

“Nonsense,” she assures you, dropping the soft affectation in her voice to her heavily accented, naturally voice. “I just didn’t wanna wear this fuckin’ wig if its just you.”

Lie. 

“You know I love the black hair,” you agree. She has on a silvery wig now, giving her the illusion she’s some sort of moon deity. There’s a shimmer to her skin that makes her ethereal in the right light, but with the shitty disco ball, it looks tawdry. “How’ve you been?”

“Business is slow. You Syndicate-types have everyone up in arms.” Leaning forward, she gestures to the abandoned pipe on the table. “You mind?”

“By all means.” 

You watch her as she picks up the pipe. Her hands shake a little, either from the shitty resin she keeps smoking or from the anxiety of seeing you sitting in her lounge. It could be either, it could be both. She lights the end of the pipe and inhales, coughing brutally for a second, the wet sound of her lungs a result of smoking low grade shit. 

After a few more tugs and another coughing fit where her eyes water, she puts the resin down, leaning back to spread her arms along the back of the couch. “What can I do for you, Angel girl?”

“Nothing. Just checking in on you.” 

“Oh?” 

“You’re not officially under the banner of the Choi Syndicate and I’m fine with that. But you’ve helped me in the past - I like to ensure that those who help me stay protected.” 

Her mouth twitches upward. “Are you getting sweet on me?”

“I’m always sweet on you.” Your gaze sweeps the room. “If you did want to be under the Choi banner, I could give you better accommodations, you know.”

“I don’t like to be controlled by the Syndicates.”

“So you’ve always said.”

Leaning your head against the back of the couch, you sigh. Looking up at the ceiling, your eyes trace the water and smoke stains. This room really is a piece of shit, but it’s belonged to Rosalind since before you were an official Rook under Choi Moojin, and then Choi Seungcheol. 

There used to be a sort of charm to the room. You always thought it looked like one of those cheap collages that Baby put together in her mood boards with white lace, red velvet, plasticky hearts and quotes from all of the romance movies that she liked. It had always felt nostalgic. 

Now you see it for what it really is - desperate to be something it's not. 

Your fingers drum on the couch. “You’ve always admired your independence,” you eventually say. Rosalind watches you, finally at ease. “I admire that about you. I didn’t have much independence growing up.”

“I don’t think most Choi’s do.”

“I’m not a Choi.” 

“You’re practically married to one.” You cut your eyes over to Rosalind and she grins. “Yeah, I know about the boy.” 

“Of course you do. You know a lot of shit.”

“That's why you’re so sweet on me.”

“Yeah.” You laugh airly. “It is.” 

Silence stretches between the two of you. From down the hall, you can hear the heavy grunt of a man fucking into something. In a proper brothel, you’d never have to hear the sounds of anyone else fucking - unless that thing was specifically requested. 

“When did you tell the Kims where Minji’s safehouse was?” You ask, turning to fix your gaze on Rosalind. Her smile drops. “Since I’m so sweet on you I thought you’d be willing to ask.” 

“I don’t know where Yoon Minji’s safe house is. I didn’t like the bitch but I’ve never sold her out.” 

“Hm.”

 You look back up at the ceiling, feeling eerily like you’re at a therapist appointment. You’d started going as a bit of a joke with Jeonghan, wondering what would happen if you told her snatches of your life. You leave out the murder, of course, but you’re pretty sure she knows. 

The thing your therapist is most interested in is your relationship with Hansol, asserting that you’re codependent. You’re not entirely interested in what it means or that it’s bad. Of course you’re codependent on Hansol - there is no one else in the world you want or would rather trust. 

And yet you’re here, on a rampage that he is unaware of. 

 “You know, Rosalind,” You say airly. “I would believe you except… I have a really good instinct for this shit. It’s what makes me good at my job, and it’s why you always respected me.” 

For a second, she doesn’t answer. Then, she changes her tone of voice, earnest. “I would never sell out Yoon Minji, Angel. I don’t want the Chois as an enemy.” 

“There it is again.” You sit up and point at her. “Do you know that when you lie, you take a tiny little breath right before? Like someone might do right before they jump from a cliff.”

“I’m not lyin-”

“Lie again and I will cut off a fucking finger like that bitch Yoon Minji taught me.” 

“Angel,” she begs, sliding off the couch to her knees. Her hands are rubbing on her thighs, shaking her head when she looks at you. “I’m telling you, I swear on my life.”

You stare at one another. Sweat gathers on Rosalind’s brow. The synthetic strands of her wig stick to her forehead. Her eyeshadow is smudged, her lipstick not done right, a little bit overlined. You see the glue holding the fake lashes to her waterline, the separation of the body glitter on her skin as she starts to sweat. 

Clapping your hands on your thighs and standing, you announce, “I believe you.” 

She nearly collapses with relief. “Really?”

“No, but it was funny to see how relieved you are. Soonyoung!” 

A series of crashes echoes from the hall. The wall vibrates as someone gets knocked into it, followed by heavy footsteps. Soonyoung comes crashing through the beaded curtain, dragging a young woman by the hair after him. The tape over her mouth keeps most of the screams to muffled grunts as she twists in his hands, her nails wrapped around his wrist where she tries to get him to let go. 

Rosalind lets out a sound like a wounded animal but she doesn’t dare move. Soonyoung throws the girl to your feet, sending her tumbling into the coffee table. Things fly off the surface, crashing into the already stained carpet. 

Whimpering, the girl crawls away from you toward where Rosalind is kneeling, staring at her with an open mouth and tear-lined eyes. Before the woman can make it far, Soonyoung steps on her fingers, making her wail and thrash.

“Stop!” Rosalind screams, spittal flying. “Stop!”

“This is who the Kims offered to protect, right?” You ask Rosalind as Soonyoung applies more pressure to the woman’s fingers. She goes rigid with tension as the pain wracks her. “This is your daughter? Got into a nice ass school two weeks ago - a boarding school, even. All the way across the world.”

“Please,” Rosalind begs. “Please.”

“I thought to myself, Rosalind has had all this time to ask me to protect her kid. Never once asked the Chois to do it. And then suddenly she’s accepted into something you can’t afford so very far away… and I wondered. Who is this woman’s dad?” 

“Angel, please.” 

“No daddy on the birth certificate but… she looks so much like Kim Minchan’s niece. They have such pretty eyes in that family.” 

Rosalind is openly weeping now, the sobs wracking her body. You stare at her and feel the ancient anger inside of you curl in pleasure, teeth clicking as you get ready to strike. The violent ocean that has manifested as your wrath is ready now, waters churning, waiting, hungry. 

Slowly, you crouch down to Rosalind’s level, staring at her across the coffee table. “Who fucking told you where Yoon Minji’s safehouse was, Rosalind?” 

She shakes her head. You look up at Soonyoung, who looks like the devil with his white-blonde hair and beady, black eyes. He leans on his foot, crushing the girl’s fingers under the toe of his boot. She screams, thrashing again. Surely they’re broken by now. 

“Stop!” 

“Tell me,” you coo, nodding sympathetically. “Tell me, Rosalind. Or I’m going to kill her in front of you. Alright? Tell me.” 

Rosalind nods. Her makeup streams in black, inky tendrils down her face. She struggles to suck in a breath, coughing through her resin-ruined lungs. You watch with predatory stillness as she manages to suck in a breath, nodding to herself again. 

“Jung Lan.”

You frown. “Jung Lan is dead. He was murdered protecting Choi Moojin.”

She shakes her head. “The son. Junior.” 

Sucking in a breath, you look up at Soonyoung. His eyes are storming, the churning waters of his violence the same as the thrashing anger inside of you. It is, perhaps, the only time you’ve ever related to Kwon Soonyoung. He glances back to Rosalind, eyes narrowed. 

“Tell me what he told you.” 

“He didn’t tell me with the purpose of giving it to the Kims. Just ran his mouth while he was here. Said his old man deserved the house she was given, not Minji. Said it was in Cascade. That’s it. I swear that’s it. Please.”

You nod at Soonyoung and he lifts his foot from the young woman’s hand. Her fingers are crushed and bent at odd angles, bruised under the heavy weight of his foot. He looks at you and you give him a curt nod. Expressionless, he pivots and marches from the room, vanishing with a snap of beaded curtains.

Rosalind sags in relief, collapsing inward on herself as she sobs. Her daughter starts to crawl to her and you let her, watching the way she folds herself into her mother’s lap. The way you might fold into Minji’s lap, in another life. 

In that life, where you were born to her, maybe, instead of the woman who gave birth to you. In another life where you and Jeonghan still had a fierce figure to lead you through the trenches of this fucked up mess. In another life where she wasn’t dead and you could lay your head in her lap to let her comb your hair. 

It doesn’t exist - never existed. Even alive, you don’t think that was in your future for you and your stepmother. But she had made you tea and comforted you, had taught you how to weaponize what little skills you had, turned you into something that could protect Hansol no matter the cost. 

“Thank you,” Rosalind whispers, crushing her daughter to her. 

“For what?”

“For sparing her.”

When the first electric pulse of a gun being fired and screams come from down the hall, Rosalind looks at you, wide eyed. You grin, the rage taking shape on your face. “I didn’t.” 

-

It’s dark when you get home. The clock floating above the holoscreen stand says it’s just past four in the morning, which is earlier than you thought you would get home. Every part of you is tired and dragging, each step weighed down more than the last.

Dissatisfaction follows you, haunting your every step. You feel the weight of its presence as you try to run away from it to the second floor, shoving it away. You feel no better after ridding the world from the woman who’d traded secrets, along with the entire establishment. 

You don’t feel guilty. You’d done it eagerly and with Soonyoung’s help. They had deserved it, not only for betraying the Choi Syndicate, but for having the nerve to pretend to be neutral for all of these years, benefiting from servicing all three of the city’s main syndicates. 

The problem with neutrality, though, is there’s no one to save you when death is on your doorstep. 

None of it makes you feel better, though. You don’t feel justified. You don’t feel like you did a good job. It doesn’t feel like a box that has been checkmarked. Your anger asks for more, wants more, needs more. 

Hansol is asleep in bed when you come in. He doesn’t stir, too heavily knocked out to sense you. Here in your home in the heart of the Choi Estate, there’s no reason to sleep light for fear of intruders. Here, in his home with you, he can be completely at ease.

You stare at him as you change into a sleep shirt, leaving nothing else on. He looks at peace, face completely relieved of the stress of his evening or the constant frown he’s started to wear around you. Hansol looks like his younger self when he sleeps, face swollen where it’s smushed against the pillow, mouth parted as he snores a bit. 

When you crawl into bed, he stirs. He blinks those round, gentle eyes at you, immediately recognizing your home. His hands seek you, stretching across silky sheets to grab you by the hips and pull you close, needing your warmth. He smells like vetiver and petrichor, immediately soothing the unsettled feeling nipping at your heels. 

It isn’t enough.

As Hansol’s eyes drift shut, planning to go back to sleep now that you’re here, you lean forward and press your mouth to his. You feel the question in the curve of his mouth for only a second before he relents and kisses you back, lips tired and slow, a little lazy. 

You tangle your legs with his, hooking your knee behind his to pull him flush to you. He grunts, but goes with the flow, his hand sliding up your thigh to rest on your hip, fingers tentative. You want more of him, need more of him. You want to drown in him until this - this whatever it is eats you alive and leaves nothing less. 

Hansol senses your need because of course he does. He knows you better than anyone else in the world, and when your mouth turns desperate, he understands. Instead of asking questions, Hansol comes alive, rising up from sleep to lean over you and push you down into the mattress. 

A soft sound leaves your mouth and he drinks it down, gentle mouth turning into bruising hunger. 

Yes. It vibrates though you as his teeth scrape your bottom lip as he sucks on it gently. Yes. When he drags his nails up your thighs, scratching. Yes when he leans his weight into your hips, pinning you to the bed underneath. 

This is part of why you love Hansol. He’s able to flip the switch he needs to meet you halfway, to offer whatever salve you need to the burn, whatever fire you need to rouse you. It’s an instinct of his, a calling that he answers every time. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, keeping him close. His kisses are needy and messy, turning to more tongue and teeth than anything. You thread your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly. It earns a groan from him, his warm breath ghosting across your slick-bitten lips as he mouths across your jaw. 

Hansol grabs your thigh and wraps it around his waist. You squeeze, pinning him to you while he lets go of your leg, hand drifting to your bare ass to squeeze generously. You tug his hair in response and his laughter comes out in a huff of air. 

Attaching his mouth to your neck, Hansol slides his hands under your shirt. His palms are warm but you shiver at the feeling of his rough calluses scraping against your soft skin. He drags the tips of his fingers along the curve of your breast, teasing and light. 

“Don’t,” you growl, fingers going tight in his hair. “Not tonight.”

He bites you sharply, making you moan and arch into him. His tongue soothes the sting of his teeth and you feel his grin against your skin as his mouth drifts toward your shoulders. 

Hansol listens, though. Instead of teasing you with his feather-light touch, he flicks his thumb back and forth over a nipple, making you shiver. Being in his hold feels so good, the violence of the night fading to the background as Hansol’s hands and mouth numb the anger. 

After over a decade together, there is nothing he doesn’t know about you. He knows the way you like to be kissed, the way you have a sensitive spot under your ear, attaching his mouth to it and sucking greedily. He knows you like to be scratched and bitten, that you need to feel nothing but him for a moment of peace.

Hansol peels the shirt off of you. You don’t even feel the chill of the room, just the heat of his hands turning you over to press your face down into the mattress, his teeth and lips on the back of your shoulder, his other hand hooking behind your knee to pull it upward and spread you open. 

Your fingers dig into the mattress as Hansol sinks down, pressing kisses to your spine. It feels like you can’t stop shaking, only focused on the way his tongue darts out occasionally to taste your burning skin. His hands don’t stop either, squeezing the back of your thighs, skimming upward to gently squeeze your ass.

The ache for him is nearly unbearable by the time you feel the first, soft lick of his tongue on your cunt. You sigh, melting into the mattress as he prods lazily at your entrance before dragging back down to your clit. He knows exactly how to work you, mouth attaching to you and sucking leisurely, like he has all the time in the world to do this.

And he does, doesn't he? You and Hansol have whatever time is fated on this earth to spend together, so why should he rush? Why should he not enjoy the way you shake under the buzz of his mouth as he licks and sucks at you fervently, his hands running up and down the back of your thighs as he drags his nails along your skin. 

Reaching back with one of your hands, you sink your fingers into his hair. Hansol hums appreciatively, the buzz of his mouth against your pussy making you moan his name. He’s messy with it, devouring you in a way that makes nothing else in the world matter. You writhe under him, face hidden in pillows, short of breath.

The muscles in your lower stomach start to squeeze and you feel the force of your orgasm coming. Hansol can tell by the sounds you make, his hands turning firm as he keeps you pried open at the thighs, pressing his face further into you.

Your fingers tighten in his hair and you come with gritted teeth, screaming into pillows that smell like him. He continues to mouth at you, eager to work you through the full length of your orgasm. It sends you into overdrive, muscles twitching, legs shaking, lungs barely able to take in a breath. 

With a final, messy kiss to your pussy, he peels away, taking under a minute to shed himself of his clothes. Heaving, you lift your face from the pillows, feeling sticky drool on your chin to turn over your shoulder and look at him. 

You can barely see him in the darkness of the room, but you can just make out his shape as he shuffles to you on his knees, hands pumping his cock slowly. You make a desperate sound and he huffs - laughter, you know. He slides a hand underneath your thigh again, hitching one knee up high on the bed while the other is pressed flat. 

Hansol keeps your leg pinned there, stretching you open, muscles expanding as he presses the head of his cock into your entrance. His name escapes your mouth in a whine, feeling the way your walls spasm around him as he sinks in. The position has him hitting deep. You feel him everywhere, feel the way he invades your senses. 

“S’good,” you whisper when you feel his hips press against your ass. Your cunt flutters around him, trying to accommodate for the stretch. “Fuck.”

He hums in response, keeping one hand on your thigh to pry you open and the other on your hip to hold you in place as he retracts, the slide of his cock sending your eyelids fluttering. 

Hansol sets a hard pace from the jump, each one of his thrusts targeted and on point. He punches the air from your lungs and you become a panting mess under him, barely able to breathe. He puts his weight into it, leaning over you to stretch your leg higher up on the bed and crush you to the mattress the way you like, the way you need.

It feels safe here, jolting under the weight of him as he fucks into you hard, his grip tightening on you as you whine and clench around him. You dig your fingers into the sheet, twisting and tearing as if it can release the tension coiling inside you, begging to be let out.

For a brief moment, he slows his pace, pulling away from you. Your eyes snap open, ready to fire off a question when you feel him pry you open to spit onto the tight rim of your ass. You suck in a tight breath of air and hear him laugh before he presses the pad of his thumb to the ring of muscles there.

“Oh,” you breathe, melting. He doesn’t press his finger in, just keeps it firm on the seam of your ass, adding pressure and stimulation that sends you into a thoughtless daze. 

“Yeah,” he grunts, picking up his pace again, cock hitting deep. “Oh.” 

You don’t have a response - know that he’s teasing you, having sensed your brief moment of annoyance in the split second it took him to add another element of pleasure. You know Hansol will never disappoint you here wrapped in sheets that stick to your sweaty skin, sheets that smell like him, but you’ve always been quick to protest, quick to strike first. 

It doesn’t bother him. Nothing about you bothers him after this long together. Not you coming home and waking him up, needing to be fucked into the mattress to forget the hate coiling inside you. Not you being utterly useless tonight, letting him do all the work as he brings you to the brink of coming again. Not you reaching back to grab the wrist of the hand he has on your thigh, your nails digging in so hard you make him bleed. 

Hansol takes it all. Takes your shaking orgasm, takes the way you moan his name, takes his time as he fucks you through your high before he drops the hold he has on your leg to hold your hips to the bed instead. Takes the breath from your lungs when his thrusts turn from hard to brutal, hips crashing into you, forcing each breath from your lungs. 

The world goes blank. There’s just you laying in a bed that smells like petrichor and vetiver, breath coming to a screeching halt as your face presses into the mattress. He keeps you pressed there, a hand sliding to the middle of your back to keep you pinned, the other working the clenching rim of your ass.

If you could make a sound, you might scream. Instead, you shudder under him, coming violently and without air, ears ringing and blood rushing. It’s exactly what you were looking for, a specific high that only Hansol can give you. 

Eventually, he rolls you over and you gulp in air. You’re barely aware of anything, floating in the dizzy space between. A hand laces with yours, squeezing your fingers. You squeeze back, letting Hansol’s grip keep you tether as you gain your bearings. 

Slowly, you come back to the present. You blink your eyes open, despite how heavy they feel. You could fall asleep any moment, spent and toeing the edge of the nothing sleep always brings. Hansol is looking at you though, a look in his eye that sparks a little life in you.

“What?” you ask, voice barely above a raspy whisper. “What’s wrong?” 

Hansol’s hair is damp with sweat, pressed flat to his forehead. His eyes are dark and simmering with something unreadable but intense. 

“I should ask you that,” he answers after a pregnant pause. “What’s going on?” 

The question sours your efforts to forget immediately. His concern shatters the illusion that you’d let him fuck into you, removes the numbing you’d practically crawled into his lap for. With his worry comes the sharp stab of reality, all the anger and wrath and ugliness that you keep trying to shove down rearing its monstrous head.

“Nothing, Hansol.” Your words crack like a whip and you let go of his hand to roll over, turning your back to him. “I was just stressed.”

“So tell me what you’re stressed about.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but we have stressful jobs.”

“You are not stressed over your job. Don’t sell me that. You have to be honest with me. You said we’d get through this shit together. You gotta talk to me, Angel.” 

Your heart starts to pound in your chest. You are suddenly painfully awake, body riddled with the tension Hansol had just gotten rid of minutes ago. Sweat slicks your skin anew, but this time from the anxiety of how close you feel to tipping over. 

“Can we just go to sleep?”

He scoffs. “I was asleep until you crawled in here looking at me like you were going to die. Why are you shutting me out?”

“I’m not shutting you out. You were quite literally just inside me.”

“Stop twisting what I’m fucking saying. I’m asking you to be open with me and no amount of you being a bitch is going to make me shut up. I know that’s what you want.” 

As always, Hansol is absolutely correct. He doesn’t miss. It’s what makes him such a good Rook, but makes him a good life partner. And he is your life partner. You’ve never said any vows at an alter and there’s no ring on your finger, but Hansol has been your soulmate and your partner since long before he pulled you out of that bathtub. 

And here you are hiding from him, crawling to him to beg him to numb you without any reason why, taking but not giving, demanding but not paying him back. Here you are trying to piss him off into silence, being as frustrating as possible to get him to give up and decide he doesn’t feel like fighting this battle.

He knows it. You know it.

A fissure appears on your resolve. Hansol says nothing, his words doing all the work for him as you mull them over. He doesn’t have to press you further - he knows the blow he’s dealt has worked, waiting in heavy silence as the facade you’ve built over the last few weeks starts to crumble to show him the ugly thing you’ve been keeping to yourself. 

“I’m angry,” you whisper. It comes out shaky. Scared. He doesn’t dare breath or move, letting you pour through the cracks he’s made. “I’m angry and I don’t know why and it’s like I can’t stop being angry. I feel it like it’s a thing that is alive, like I can’t get rid of it.”

You suck in a shuddering breath, feeling the way you’ve started shaking. You zone out as you speak, vision narrowing to a specific point of darkness in the bedroom. “I feel hate like I’ve never felt before and I swear it’s going to eat me alive. It’s like - it feels corrosive and like I can’t satiate it but the only thing that offers any relief is killing anyone who had to do with Minji’s death.” 

Hansol shifts behind you. He doesn’t move closer but you feel his hand move across the bed. He presses his palm flat to the base of your spine. It grounds you, makes it easier for you to continue, “I don’t get it. It’s not like she was my mom. She didn’t - she didn’t give birth to me but she didn’t try to drown me. She didn’t see me as something to be disposed of. She… saw me and embraced me, and thought I was useful. Liked me.” 

Clever girls like you are important. Valuable. Mean something.

Minji’s words left an impression on you. You think about them often, letting them replace the bible vowels your mother used to hiss as you. So many of your memories of a motherly figure are Minji teaching you how to read body language, Minij showing you how to look for the subtleties of deception in financial documents, communications, miscellaneous tidbits. 

“My dad was my god,” you whisper, voice quaking. “But Minji - she was an entity. She taught me how to fight back and keep what I wanted most protected. And they just… killed her in her bed, Hansol.” You realize you’er crying but now you can’t stop. “They broke into her house and killed her in her bed like she was a fucking dog and not Yoon Minji, the Wisdom of the fucking Choi Syndicate.” 

Hansol’s hand drags up and down your spine, slow and hypnotizing. You close your eyes, violently shivering as everything that’s been growing inside of you rushes out in a tide you can’t dam. “All because some stupid fucking kid ran his mouth to the wrong whore. Do you know how angry that makes me? She should have been safe, and a fucking nobody is why she died!” 

Instead of comforting you with words, Hansol deems it’s safe enough to grab you. He pulls your back to his chest, hooking his chin on your shoulder to bury his face in your neck. He’s warm and he feels safe, arms wrapping around you as you seethe. 

“I hate that I’m angry,” you hiss. “It feels so fucking stupid. People die all the time and I don’t care but this one bothers me and it makes me feel ridiculous. Makes me feel stupid - she was Jeonghan’s mom not mine. But I want anyone who had anything to do with it to die, Hansol. I need them to.” 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Then we’ll kill them.”

Hansol says it so simply. Because of course to him it is simple: you need to feed this desire for revenge or it will kill you, thus it needs to be done. Of course he doesn’t think it’s stupid, doesn’t think you’re being irrational. To Hansol, it doesn’t matter what you want - he wants it too. 

To be loved by Hansol is to be loved entirely, without ifs, without buts, without any stipulations. He takes you exactly as you are, and it makes you break in his hold. He’s the only other person in this world who wants you exactly as you’ve been created.

And maybe that’s why you were so afraid of letting him in to see this. You’ll never get rid of that tiny, irrational fear that he’ll decide he’s seen enough. Nothing you’ve both been through has been easy, and loving you comes with so many obstacles that you don’t know how he doesn’t get tired of overcoming them. 

“You’ll have whatever vengeance you need,” Hansol promises. He nuzzles to you closer. “I’d do anything for you.” 

Once upon a time, your mother thought her god superseded everything. She swore her god was omnipotent, that he would save her and punish the evil around her. He’d never done anything for her, though. Never answered her prayers, never struck down anyone who raised a hand against her, never opened up the skies to cleanse the earth from evil. 

Your god answered your prayers. He struck down those who wished you harm, he erased those who stood in your way. He loved you and rewarded you for your love in turn. He cleansed you. Protected you. Allowed no weapon formed against you to prosper. 

Hansol was your god, and you were his vengeful angel. 

SYNDICATE ROLES

Tower - title for a Syndicate boss Wisdom - title for the second-in-command to a Sydicate boss Sentinel - title for the main military leader of a Syndicate Riots - title for a member of the Syndicate responsible for sowing discord Swords - title for a member of the Syndicate who is a fighter/military role Chariots - members of the Syndicate who make deals/act as business brokers Rooks - members of the Syndicate who collect debts/lead the extortion practices Justices - members of the Syndicate on the legal counsel Hanged Men - members of the Syndicate who betrayed their Syndicate Watchers - members of a Syndicate who are spies/informants Patrons - citizens who pay homage/have an alliance/are under the protection of a Syndicate Vanguard - official members of the Syndicate who don't have specific roles but do work for the Syndicate

TAG LIST

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[bhaalble]

I like that Last Unicorn quote as much as the next guy but I do always wind up feeling a little detached from analysis that paints Astarion's disapproval as purely envy. Partly because. No one's doing this for Lae'zel for instance even though she has similar disapproval and similar trauma (all she can remember is a hostile physically and emotionally exploitative environment which expected perfect strength and obedience from her or else she would be punished or killed). But also partly because it feels pretty detached from everything he actually has to say about it.

The thing about Astarion is he loathes weakness. He loathes sentiment and he loathes dependence. You can see this when he actually opens his mouth up about the people he disapproves of saving, but also incredibly loudly when he talks about the other companions, as well as his fellow spawn. If Lae'zel submits to Vlaakith he talks scornfully about how some people just come to love their chains. He's confused and put off if Wyll submits to Mizora to save his father. In every conversation with his fellow spawn (at least when hes not actively manipulating them) he's dismissive and harsh, and clearly he's perfectly willing to sacrifice them for the sake of himself.

There's an obvious origin point of those feelings, of course. Cazador's abuse is designed to actively kill off empathy in his spawn, both towards each other and towards victims. The last time Astarion prioritized someone over his own skin he got locked in a tomb for a year. We can see glimpses of it with the other spawn too, how his siblings are (apparently uncompelled at first) willing to drag Astarion back to their master for their freedom, how Petras' first dream of freedom is getting to drain another person dry. Astarion certainly doesn't seem to feel any real sense of solidarity with them, likely because Cazador understands that them building a community is a threat to his authority the way it was to his own master.

I'd also argue its Astarion projecting his own self-loathing outwards. So much of his quest is about his desperate attempt to escape from who he was. He's been given a chance to slip free of the limitations of being a spawn. He clings to that because of course he would. He also instinctively begins to run over everything in his path, because if there's anything he has learned over the past 200 years its that good things can always be taken away unless you make sure to remove any and all possible threats to that scrap of well-being. He's disdainful of people in need of help because they represent who he fears to go back to being! He calls his siblings "poor fools" while refusing to confront the fact that had it not been for the tadpole he would be in exactly their position, forced to cling to the hope that Cazador is telling the truth for once because escape isn't an option either way. He becomes irritated when Tav slows down to help the unfortunate because they represent roadblocks on his own path to safety.

There's an idea in mental health stolen from airplane safety: that you shouldn't help anyone else until your own mask is secure. What they don't tell you, speaking from personal experience at least, is that PTSD, especially for long term trauma, has a way of making you feel like your own mask will never be secure. And while that's scary, and it sucks, and there should be the utmost patience for it: no one is going to realize that mask is secure for you. Eventually you are going to have to accept the fact that you are breathing just fine. Eventually you are also going to have to accept that people asking something of you isn't them endangering you, even if it can sometimes (often) feel like it. It doesn't make you obligated to help them. But it does mean you have to stop reacting to them like a threat, because not 5 minutes ago that was you.

I think the idea that he's only mad because he's jealous is a gratifying fantasy. He didnt feel safe before, but now through your PC and the power of love he'll feel warm and cozy enough to forgive you for not being there to begin with. But I also think Astarion cannot live in a reality where he's never pushed back on. His instinctive self-protective movements are a coping mechanism, yes, but coping mechanisms developed under survival conditions can also be a way of keeping you frozen in your trauma. Outside of the environment they were necessary for, they can even hinder you from growing in the ways you need to grow to move past what happened to you. Sometimes, you need to stop a baby tiefling from getting crazy murdered by a snake because it turns out. That can happen to anybody not just people who are weak and stupid and deserve to die anyways not like me I'm normal-