#i did not defend him just for him to not be resigned

[descendant-of-truth]

Interesting addendum to this that I wasn't expecting: in the English version of Days, whenever Roxas talks about Sora, he's always clearly framed as a person. "Who is Sora," "I don't even know a Sora," etc.

In Japanese, he initially asks about who Sora is, but then switches to asking what Sora is. And it seems to happen not too long after Xemnas describes Sora as "the connection" between him and Xion.

He proceeds to wonder to himself what Sora is, and who exactly that makes him, before going to ask Axel about it. And during that conversation with Axel, he doesn't say "I don't even know a Sora," he instead just repeats the question of "but what even is Sora?"

Which I think adds an extra nuance to the narrative that gets lost in the official translation. Roxas instinctively thinks of Sora as a person, because why wouldn't he, but none of the answers he gets about him frames him as such. So, perhaps subconsciously, he starts seeing Sora less as a person and more of a mystery, this obstacle to his and Xion's lives that he can't seem to get answers about.

And normally, you'd think Roxas wouldn't fall into this trap, right? He's always been the most adamant about defending Xion's personhood, shouting at people when she's referred to as a puppet or an "it." His whole storyline is about asserting himself in the face of nearly everyone he knows dehumanizing him and trying to take away his autonomy.

Plus, he has Sora's memories! If he remembers things that Sora's done, and things that Sora's felt, how could he not see him as a person?

But I think that's a testament to how insidious the Organization's manipulation is. Roxas and his best friend are discriminated against, they're "othered" in a way that's unfair and it makes him justifiably ticked off. But that's the thing: he knows Xion, he cares about her, and of course he knows himself. He remembers things about Sora, but he doesn't really understand him - we never see him processing the memories he has very well.

So it becomes very easy for Sora to be presented as the "other." He doesn't stand up for Sora's personhood because he hasn't seen it, and frankly, he has bigger things in his home life to care about than whether some random guy he knows random things about is being treated well. Sora, reportedly, is half the reason he has so many problems anyway, and at this point in his life he just wants someone to blame.

It doesn't matter that Sora wasn't personally responsible for anything that happened to Roxas. He doesn't know what Sora did or didn't do when it comes to him and Xion, but everyone's telling him he's responsible, he's the connection, he's the reason everything is happening to him. And so, Roxas's anger is directed at an innocent person, someone who's really not much more privileged than he is, instead of solely at his oppressors.

Honestly, the way Roxas views Sora over time deserves a post all on its own, because it's not even necessarily as straightforward as "and then he saw Sora exactly for who he is once they joined together for a while and he got over his resentment." It's more like, his resentment turned into genuine respect, and then into this weird, resigned hero-worship for a bit, before they seemed to get on equal terms towards the end of KH3.

But my point is, Roxas plays a very interesting role in this pattern of Sora being dehumanized, because he ends up contributing to it for completely different reasons than everyone else, and it's not even on purpose. DiZ and the Organization see Sora as a tool, Namine and especially Riku care more about waking him up than how he'd feel about their methods.

To Roxas, Sora is the reason he lost everything. Sora is "what it was all for," which starts as something he hates, and becomes something that gives him a certain degree of comfort.

Because Sora will be the one to figure it all out, right? He can depend on Sora, just like everybody else, because that's what Sora's here for. He's a good guy, he'll find a way to make things right again.

He ends up being correct, but man. At what cost

Anyone else find it fascinating that whenever we're shown Roxas's feelings through Sora, it's just kind of melancholic and wistful, but the reverse scenario always feels like you just walked into a psychological horror?

Seriously, the way it's presented, it's like we're meant to see Roxas as an old friend that we miss talking to, but Sora - our original "old friend" that we would have reasons to miss - is hardly even shown as a person. The contents of his memories feel less important than the effect they're having on Roxas, which is usually Extreme Distress and/or physical pain.

And it's insane to me because KH1 was so whimsical! The memories that Roxas and Xion are experiencing are literal Disney magic! But the way they're shown, with the fuzzy filters and the glitch effects, sort of removes the emotions you associate with them and makes them come across as eerie and unsettling.

Not to mention, Sora's memories rarely prompt any feelings of happiness, the way Roxas's might make Sora extra fond of the Twilight Town crew... which might say more about how KH1 affected Sora's mental health than anything.

(I personally stand by the idea that the story revisits it so much as an analogy for how repeating events in your head over and over can alter your perception of them)

But like. how wild is it that this series found a way to take its cheerful protagonist, and without changing anything about him, turned him into this constant, unnerving presence that haunts the lives of two other characters?

And I think another reason Roxas doesn't feel like he haunts Sora in the same way is because no one really... treats Sora like a person while he's asleep. He's either a tool or an object of affection, and regardless of which you pick, his feelings are seen as secondary to the goal of waking him up. As a result, the narrative focuses entirely on Roxas and Xion's personhood, and unlike Sora, they never stop being treated like people once they're made inaccessible due to the plot.

It's probably a bit late in the story to bring it up by now, but I still wonder if we'll ever see Sora be upset with Riku for sacrificing people in his name. Sure, it worked out in the end, and I'm not sure if Sora's even aware of what happened (how likely is it that he's properly sifted through all of Roxas's memories at this point?) but there's a list of things he could still conceivably be mad at Riku about that he hasn't processed, and I want this to be one of them

[incorrectthots]

Sobbing

[mutantrenegade]

Matt, Let's Talk

Hello photographer matthew, head bitch in charge of hellsite, let's have a chat. Don't worry, I'm gonna be cool about it, just calm down and take a seat, have some tea.

Matt, you did a transphobia.

I know you say you aren't transphobic and for now, i'll give you the benefit of a doubt on that one and assume it's true, but like, buddy, pallie, salt of the earth, sugar lumpkin doodles, you did a transphobia.

You probably didn't mean to do a transphobia and probably don't like that all us trannies are mad at you right now, but you did a transphobia.

I know what predstrogen said you to hurt your feelings, i get it, you aren't used to having people vaugepost about your death like most of the trans people on this site are. But see, what you do is, ignore it. Or in this case. Step back for a second and realize what's happening is a trans woman was feeling frustrated and scared because people on your site had been harassing her heavily for months on end and the lack of response from your staff made her feel like your staff didn't care about her and maybe was actively rooting for the people who wished her harm. And if you think it was unfair that she felt that way about your staff. Maaaaaaaybe it's actually a sign you need to try harder to focus on making this site safer for trans women.

Maybe if your userbase is so fast to assume your staff and you personally hate trans people, maybe you should be more worried about why we have reached this conclusion rather than being mad it's being said to your face. Because this site does feel like it doesn't give a shit about trans people especially trans women.

Maybe if your staff is working hard to ban transphobes from this site, it means you have a larger problem because transphobes are fucking everywhere man. Like they just are. Several of them have shown up in my inbox recently telling me i should harass a trans woman over things that aren't my fuckin business.

Maybe think that if you are crossing social media sites to pick a fight with the person you banned for the mean words, that you might be the one worrying to much about it especially when predstrogen does not know you nor would have any ability to contact you.

And I get that it's scary when people say violent things about you online, they've said them about me. I actually had to contact the FBI once over things people said to me online. It was leagues worse and leagues more specific than what predstrogen said to you. You need to let it go man, you are the CEO of a company, people are gonna be mad at you sometimes and you have to have thicker skin than coming off a sabbatical to dm random trans women asking why they don't like you.

Just like, say you fucked up man. Say that you did in fact do an accidental transphobia and then try and fix the things that made you think you weren't doing an accidental transphobia. It's not that hard man. Just drop the ego, admit you did a stupid, and try harder.

[shippy-from-apocalypse]

Ok im Very sleepy rn it's 2 am bare with me

What do we think Jon would think of How The fandom sees him? And I don't mean this in a pedantic "oh fandom bad because dumbed down and Insert Petty Headcanon Disagreement"

I mean this entirely in a "How would Jon, The man who believes himself to be an Irredeemable monster who is to blame for everything that ever went wrong, react to Just so so many people listening to his shortcommings and ultimately seeing his side"

Like yeah everyone agrees he's kind of an asshole sometimes but he is so beloved by The fans?

I'm sure some people did but I've never seen anyone doubting his humanity or blaming him for the horrors™ he Just clearly understood as his fault? Like yeah Martin tried telling him it wasn't but what I'm getting at is

I love to think about what Jon would do If he saw just the ocean of people who listened to (what he considers to be)

the most unsympathetic person in the world becoming a monster and making choices that brought the literal apocalypse upon humanity

and pretty much everyone saying "he did the best anyone could reasonably expect and he is not a bad person for being caught in the crossfire of an impossible situation with no good solutions"

remember that time in mag 187 a lady grabbed jon in fear and he shouted and presumably pushed her away? and everyone and their mother defended jon's humanity because that was a textbook trauma response i think he would break down crying if he saw that

[wolvietxt]

𝓑UTTERFLIES.

pairing : bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings : light angst, shouting, reader stands up for bucky, kinda open-ended summary : bucky feels weird things in his stomach whenever he thinks about you, he’s convinced he’s getting sick wc : 1.7k a/n : part two here

the avengers tower was a hive of activity. agents scurried in and out, stark’s gadgets beeped incessantly, and the hum of conversations filled the hallways. amidst the chaos, you’d carved out your own little routine - something steady to hold onto in a world that rarely stopped moving. and then there was bucky barnes. he was the quiet one, always on the edges of the action, as though he wasn’t sure where he fit in. you’d noticed him almost immediately when you moved in, not because he tried to stand out, but because he did the opposite.

every morning, he’d shuffle into the kitchen, head down, hair slightly messy from sleep. you’d offer him a soft “good morning,” trying not to sound too eager, and he’d nod or mumble something before retreating to the solitude of the gym or his room. his shyness only made you want to know him more. there was a depth to him, layers you were dying to peel back, but he seemed content - or maybe resigned - to keeping everyone at arm’s length.

still, you didn’t give up. you tried in small ways: leaving him a cup of coffee when you knew he’d be up early, asking if he’d want to join for movie nights, even offering him a quiet corner during team meetings when things got too loud. his answers were always polite but distant. it wasn’t rejection, not really, but it still left you wondering if you’d ever get through to him.

then came the day you overheard something that made your blood boil.

it happened in the common room. you’d been looking for a misplaced file when you caught snippets of a conversation between two junior agents. at first, you thought nothing of it - just the usual chatter that filled the tower. but then you heard bucky’s name, and your attention snapped to them like a rubber band.

“he’s just so… weird,” one of them said, his tone dripping with disdain. “i mean, come on, we’re supposed to trust him? after everything he’s done?”

“seriously,” the other agreed. “it’s like walking on eggshells around him. guy barely talks, and when he does, it’s just… creepy. i don’t know why they keep him around.”

rage bubbled up in your chest, hot and immediate. before you could stop yourself, you stepped into the room, your voice cutting through their laughter like a knife. “who do you think you are?”

the agents froze, their faces draining of color as they realized you’d been listening. one of them tried to stammer an excuse, but you weren’t having it.

“no, i want to know,” you said, your voice steady but sharp. “what gives you the right to talk about him like that? do you have any idea what he’s been through? what he’s overcome? or do you just like tearing people down because it makes you feel better about yourselves?”

they exchanged nervous glances, clearly searching for an exit, but you weren’t finished.

“bucky barnes has more strength in his pinky finger than you’ll ever have in your entire life. and if i hear either of you - either of you - say one more word about him, you’ll be reassigned so fast you won’t have time to pack your desks. understood?”

they mumbled something that sounded like agreement before bolting from the room, leaving you standing there, heart pounding from the adrenaline.

unbeknownst to you, bucky had been standing just around the corner.

he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. he’d been on his way to the common room to grab a bottle of water when he heard your voice. at first, he’d thought you were just talking to someone, but as the words sank in, he realized you were defending him. you were angry - no, furious - on his behalf, and it left him rooted to the spot, unable to move.

no one had ever done that for him before.

days later, the memory still lingered. he couldn’t shake the image of you standing there, fire in your eyes, your voice unwavering. it was as though you’d burned yourself into his mind, and every time he thought about it, his chest tightened. it wasn’t just what you’d said; it was the way you’d said it, with so much conviction it made him feel… something he couldn’t quite name.

that night, he lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. his heart raced, his palms were clammy, and his stomach churned in a way that felt almost… pleasant? but also deeply unsettling. was he getting sick? that seemed impossible - the serum made sure of that. yet the symptoms were undeniable. every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, heard your voice, and felt that strange, fluttering sensation in his chest.

by the next morning, he was convinced something was seriously wrong.

bucky had never been one to dwell on his feelings. survival, duty, and regret had occupied most of his thoughts for as long as he could remember. but now, as he sat on the edge of his bed staring at the floor, he couldn’t ignore the storm swirling inside him. he felt… strange. his chest was tight, his thoughts were scattered, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop replaying the moment he overheard you in the common room.

he should’ve stepped in, said something to those agents himself, but instead, he’d stood there like a coward while you defended him. the memory of your voice, sharp with anger, made his palms sweat. no one had ever spoken up for him like that. people either feared him or avoided him altogether. but you - you’d stood there, unwavering, because you believed he was worth it. the thought made his heart race in a way that felt entirely too unfamiliar.

it had to be some kind of illness, right? he couldn’t be sick - the serum wouldn’t allow it - but what else could explain the way his stomach flipped whenever you were around? or the way his hands fidgeted nervously whenever you said his name? bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. this was ridiculous. he needed answers.

and so, he turned to the only person he trusted to give him the truth.

“steve, something’s wrong with me,” bucky blurted out later that day. they were in the gym, steve halfway through a set of push-ups when bucky’s words made him pause mid-rep.

“wrong?” steve asked, pushing himself to his feet. “what do you mean?”

bucky hesitated, crossing his arms over his chest. “it’s… i don’t know. i’ve been feeling weird lately. my heart’s racing, i can’t think straight, and every time i see - ” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “never mind. forget it.”

steve’s lips twitched into a knowing smile. “does this have anything to do with a certain someone?”

bucky’s jaw tightened. “what? no. that’s not… that’s not it.”

“sure, buck,” steve said, his tone teasing. “you’re probably just coming down with something.”

bucky narrowed his eyes. “serum, remember? i don’t get sick.”

steve’s smile widened. “exactly.”

bucky scowled, realizing too late that steve wasn’t going to be any help. he mumbled a quick excuse and left, his frustration mounting. if steve wasn’t going to take him seriously, he’d just have to figure this out himself.

next on his list was sam. surely sam would have a straight answer for him.

“ you’re not dying, man,” sam said after bucky cornered him in the kitchen. “although, judging by the way you’re acting, you’d think the world was ending.”

bucky frowned. “i’m not acting any way.”

sam raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh. look, maybe you just need to… i don’t know, talk to someone about it. someone who isn’t me.”

bucky groaned. “you’re no help.”

“at least i’m honest,” sam shot back, smirking as he left bucky alone with his thoughts.

it wasn’t until later that night, during a rare moment of quiet, that bucky found himself seeking out natasha. if anyone could give him a straight answer, it was her. she was sitting in the lounge, flipping through a book, when he approached.

“can i ask you something?” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

natasha glanced up, her expression unreadable. “always.”

bucky shifted awkwardly, his fingers drumming against his thigh. “if… hypothetically… someone couldn’t stop thinking about another person, and it made them feel all… weird inside, what would you call that?”

natasha’s lips twitched, and for a moment, bucky thought she might laugh. but instead, she closed her book and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “weird how?”

bucky struggled to find the words. “just… weird. like, heart-racing, can’t-think-straight, stomach-doing-flips kind of weird.”

natasha studied him for a long moment, her gaze sharp and assessing. “sounds like you’ve got it bad.”

bucky blinked. “got what?”

she smirked. “you’ll figure it out.”

and just like that, she returned to her book, leaving bucky more confused than ever.

over the next few days, bucky’s “symptoms” only seemed to worsen. he found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain. the way you smiled, the sound of your laugh, even the little things you did - like leaving a cup of coffee on the counter for him - made his chest ache in the best possible way. it was maddening.

finally, in a last-ditch effort to make sense of what was happening, he sought out wanda. if anyone could give him clarity, it was her.

wanda listened patiently as bucky explained his predicament, her expression calm and composed. when he finished, she tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“bucky,” she said gently, “you’re not sick.”

he frowned. “but - ”

“you’ve got a crush,” she said simply.

bucky’s heart stopped. “a crush?”

wanda nodded. “yes. and from the sound of it, it’s about time you did something about it.”

bucky stared at her, his mind racing. the idea felt foreign, almost impossible. but as he thought about you - the way you’d stood up for him, the way you’d always looked and spoken to him with so much warmth and understanding - he realized wanda was right.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @bbittenapples, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[redflagshipwriter]

Ghost Driver 4

masterpost

Danny was starting to suspect he had kidnapped a child. He rapped his fingers against the steering wheel nervously. Jeeze. That was bad. Was Danny the stranger danger? He hit the brakes hard and turned the wheel hard to pull off a parking trick. He didn’t intend to be the stranger danger!

‘I think that is a human child. Wow, I hate myself.’ Danny turned off the car and resisted the urge to beat himself into unconsciousness against the steering wheel. ‘But he’s been helpful. Maybe it’s fine?’

He put that anxiety away to deal with later. 

“Here we are.” Robin unbuckled gingerly, another nail in the coffin he definitely didn’t have. What kind of ghost would use a seatbelt? Danny wanted to slap himself in the face. Maybe Robin didn’t know what Danny had thought. He hadn’t called him a ghost, right? Not directly. Maybe there was a way out of this social situation that wouldn’t be really awkward.

‘He appeared out of like, nowhere,’ Danny defended himself miserably. ‘In a graveyard! He moves weird- he’s just a spooky little guy.’

It was probably the kind of mistake that anyone could make. 

Whatever. 

He let Robin take the lead, mind and stomach churning. This had been such a weird day. First off, Victor had turned out to be not Victor, and also to be a total knockout babe. Then, Jay did like, a big hero thing promising to keep Danny safe and kissed his hand and—

His face burnt at the memory. Anyway, of course he was trying to find the guy. Anyone would want to secure a date. 

‘I am starting to wonder if he’s dead, though, and I just didn’t notice. The news articles about his death and also the headstone are pretty compelling evidence. Did I fail to notice he was dead?’

In past he would have said “fat fucking chance, I am an expert.” But, uh.

‘It’s not like I’ve never been fooled before. I thought Spectra was alive at first. And...’

He cut a look at Robin. Christ, his chest was expanding. Yeah, he was breathing. Danny wound fingers through his hair and pulled. Real. Human. Child. He grimaced.

 He was going to jail for like, ever. 

“I’m a disgrace to ectology and the afterlife,” he said mournfully.

Robin cut him a surprised look, movement sharp and aptly birdlike. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Danny dismissed. “Get the door open, it’s fine.”

“Like it’s that easy,” Robin muttered, but he went back to whatever arcane stuff he was doing. Because he was not a ghost, and couldn’t just phase through. Danny stuck his hands in his pockets, resigned to seeing how this played out.

It took Robin nearly ten minutes to disarm the security system, but he opened the door to the safe house gingerly. Nothing shot them. 

“Lemme go first,” Danny said, because he sort of still hoped that Batman wouldn’t break his fingers with a novelty bat-shaped hammer for this offense. He edged past Robin and into the apartment. He flicked on a light. “Oh, there he is,” Danny said, relieved.

Robin ducked in under his shoulder shockingly fast. “Jason?” He pulled up short. 

“Yeah, he’s out of it,” Danny agreed. Jason was slouched on the sofa, hand hanging over the side. He had some kind of road rash up the side of his face, scabbing up to his left ear. He had bandages around a hand and his neck. He had stripped down to the sleeveless undershirt and sports leggings. Unf. 

“Nice,” Danny said appreciatively.

“Is he dead?” Robin asked, sotto voice. 

Danny shrugged. “Not more dead than he was before?” He hedged. 

“….Are there quantifiable variations of being dead?” Robin asked. 

Shit. Danny went stiff. “No, finish your milk,” he snapped. 

“I’m… not drinking any milk.” 

Danny frowned, thrown off his groove.

Right. This wasn’t the neighbor’s kid he occasionally babysat. That tactic wouldn’t work to shut down unwanted questions. Or would it?

“Go get some, the kitchen is over there.” 

Robin stood still and looked very offended. That was good enough. Danny pushed past him to check Jason over a little more closely. He noticed a cheap flip phone on the floor near where his hand was dangling. He picked it up to see a message on the screen that said “serry I canf come but I call latert”. It was unsent. He checked. It was almost directed to his phone: Jason had gotten the last digit wrong.

“Aww,” Danny said, charmed. “He tried.” He snapped the phone shut and made sure the guy was breathing and not bleeding through his bandages or anything. Danny checked the color of his fingernails for oxygen discoloration, his heart rate, his pallor. He finished and stood back with his hands on his hips. 

“Well?” Robin snapped. 

Danny shrugged. “His blood is inside? I’m not a doctor yet and it’s not like there’s any equipment here. His pulse is fine, color looks good…” He scratched the back of his head. “I think he’s just sleeping off a concussion.” 

“A concussion?” Robin’s voice went high. 

Jason groaned, head lolling.

“He’s up!” Danny hovered off the ground. “Hey, you undead?” He poked at Jay’s chest gently. 

Jay batted at his hand, poorly. It didn’t connect. “Mm not dead anymore,” he complained, face scrunched up. “Joker’s not dead either. Leave me to suffer.” 

“…Do you want Joker dead?” Danny asked. He cocked his head to the side. “I think we can hide that.” There was nothing saying that a prisoner transferred to the Infinite Realms had to be kept there alive. In fact, it might be more convenient for Walker if the guy fit his usual prisoners’ general description. 

“We can not hide that,” Robin interrupted. Party pooper.

He cut a sideways glance at the child. Hmm. “Isn’t it your bedtime?” Danny asked casually. They needed to ditch him to get anything done. 

“It’s time for breakfast,” Robin snarked. “Look outside.” 

“…Do I have to feed you?” Danny asked, alarmed by the expanding nature of responsibility. He didn’t wait for a response, because it was obvious. When you cart around a child, you have to feed them at mealtimes. What did Jay even have in this kitchen? Danny wasn’t a particularly accomplished cook. He crossed the apartment in a panic to peer around the fridge. 

12 eggs, still within date. Uh… there was some butter in the fridge as well, and milk with two days left. He shook the carton. Basically full. Um…. He opened cupboards in search of carbs. Nothing. 

“Freezer,” Robin suggested. 

Danny checked. “I didn’t know you could freeze bread.” He turned it over in his hands dubiously. “Okay… toast and eggs.” 

Thank god he didn’t have any classes today. He was going to crash so hard once he’d finished everything important.

Jason didn’t react to anything they had said or done. Danny stuck his head out of the kitchenette to squint at him. The guy was still immobile on the sofa.

“Maybe breakfast is what he needs,” Danny decided, dubious. But that was a real thing! People need food to recover. Calories might help him.

Robin perched on the counter and watched Danny with a weird intensity. “I’m just melting butter in a warm pan,” Danny told him. Maybe the kid didn’t know how to cook. “Wanna help? Put the bread in the toaster.” 

Robin didn’t move. “You’d better do it.” 

…weird. 

Danny took out two slices of frozen bread and stuck them in the toaster. “It’s easy, bro,” he said, nonplussed. “Insert, and pull this lever down.” He demonstrated. “Check the time— I’ve got it for two minutes, it probably won’t be enough but we can check on it.” 

He turned back to the fry pan. The butter was bubbling now. He cracked two eggs in. It sizzled pleasantly. 

The sound helped him think things through. How was he going to do this? Skulker might fight to keep his new guest. And Walker- Danny grimaced. Walker had never really forgiven him for that prison break thing. 

‘I might need to lean on someone else’s authority,’ Danny mused. ‘Walker respects other cops. So I should, like, get that police guy to come and ask for the paperwork directly.’

It felt like no time at all until he scraped an egg off onto a piece of toast and handed it to Robin. He put the other on a plate and made one more toast and egg for Jay. 

Robin followed him to the living room,  toast in hand. 

“Go on, eat up.” Danny shoved his own toast into his mouth in one ghastly crunch. His cheeks stuck out as he began chewing on it. Then he plopped down on the floor next to Jay and started prodding his face again. “Hey. Hey.” Poke. “Breakfast.” 

Jay groaned. He unsuccessfully tried several times to bat Danny’s hand away, but eventually gave up and clutched the open-faced sandwich. 

“Gucky,” Danny said, observing the very odd way Jason was gripping the egg directly. Yolk leaked out under his middle finger. But he ate it, though, so it was fine. 

He turned on Robin when he remembered he was there. “Can you get home by yourself?” He asked. 

Robin looked at him with his creepy white eyes. “…No.” His wrist was flashing red. Was that like, a bird message system? Was it some kind of alarm going off because he had gone out of the acceptable Robin roaming range? Robin was pretending not to notice it.

Danny groaned and let his head rest against Jason’s leg. “Fine,” he complained. “Uh. I’ll take you home, then go move the Joker, get paperwork from Walker, and come back to give it to- what’s up?” He looked up through his bangs. Jason had grabbed onto his hair. 

“Joker?” He peeled an eye open. “No…” 

“You heard the man,” chirped Robin. “He doesn’t want you to interfere with the course of justice.”

Jason, Danny discovered, still had the egg yolk in his hand. He discovered this because Jason flung it dead center on Robin’s face. 

“Ha,” Danny said. The child was a downer, what could he say? “I think he wants me to interfere with the course of justice,” he parroted snootily. Even though that wasn’t at all what was going on. 

“Dangerous,” Jason said. He peeled one bloodshot eye open. He looked terrible.

“You look awful,” said Danny. “Lie down- no, don’t get up, what are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you,” Jason grunted. He waved a hand at Robin. “And this hallucination of my childhood innocence.”

“Actually-“

“Sh.” Robin rushed to get the door open. “Support his arm, will you?” 

“You still have an egg face,” Danny told him sulkily. He picked Jason up effortlessly. He ignored the muttered:

“I can fly?” 

from his passenger. “Come in, bird, we gotta get you home before someone murders me.” Danny jangled the keys and sunk down through the floor to make a point. Robin’s shouted “hey!” was muffled through the floor. Danny snickered and settled Jason in the passenger seat.

[writtenbymoonflower]

hey lovey!! 💐 I just wanted to say I ADORE ur writing & I'm currently binge reading all of them <⁠(⁠///￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠///)⁠>. but I did want to request something silly, since I've been thinking about poly!marauders being with the reader. and her calling them "girl" accidentally instead of their usual endearment 😭. and the reason is because her friends use it a lot and it just kind of rubbed off on her ?! I would just like to imagine their confusion 😭 anyways pls have a lovely day/night <33

I love this! Also sorry this took so long. I left my computer charger at home while I was at uni but I got it back!

wc 710

You were laid on the settee, still slightly sweaty from your hot walk back from class. You would’ve reached for Sirius if you didn’t think you would make his clothes damp as well. He was doing some kind of work on his computer next to you while James was in the kitchen fixing you both something to eat. These little quiet moments were sometimes your favorite, just being comfortable in each others silence. Especially considering how your boyfriends could be such chatterboxes.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t enjoy rambling to them, though. You just didn’t feel the need to fill comfortable space with flippant comments. You were almost asleep when you heard the click of the door being unlocked.

Remus stepped inside in his usual meticulous way, hanging his coat neatly on the coatrack, unlacing his shoes and lining them up by the door rather than kicking them off, and placing his crossbody bag carefully on the bench by the door. All before calling out a gentle “I’m home.”

“How was work, love?” James responded from the kitchen, scrubbing his hands in the sink.

“Long.” He groaned. “I’m going to shiv Michael. His unplanned vacation is really disrupting my schedule.” He grumbled. “Going to have to catch up on my classes too.” He sighed, more resigned than annoyed.

“Want me to go to your work when he’s back and give him a hard time?” Sirius said mischievously, beckoning the sandy-haired boy over.

Remus just chuckled softly in response before kissing him on the top of the head. He turned to you, face etched with exhaustion and affection. “How was class today, dovey? Did I miss anything?”

You reached for his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Nothing important. It was just a catch up day.”

He hummed in satisfaction, reaching to stroke your jaw. You leaned into his touch sleepily before your eyes popped open and you jolted upright.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I almost forgot to tell you. Girl, you will not believe what Molly said to me today. I-“ You were cut off by a surprised, if not amused look on Remus’ face and a barking laugh from the kitchen.

“Excuse me, what?” James choked.

You turned around, looking at him confused. “What?”

Sirius was also smiling, holding back a laugh. “What did you just say to Moons?”

You paused, eyebrows raised in confusion. “I said that he wouldn’t believe what Molly-“

“No no no.” James chuckled, cutting you off. “What you said before that.” At your continued bewilderment he clarified. “Angel, you called Remus ‘girl’. Did you not mean to?”

At the realization on your face Sirius breaks down. Shaking with nearly silent laughter. Remus’ eyes just roll into the back of his head, clearly amused but not willing to put on a spectacle.

“Sorry Rem.” You said, sheepishly. “It was unconscious.”

“Unconscious!” Sirius hoots. “Is that what you call us in your head, gorgeous? Are we your gal pals?”

“I think we are. I didn’t realize this was a girl’s gossip sesh in, lovely.” James teased. “I would’ve bought ice cream and wine.”

“The two of you.” Remus admonished, looking at your still shy expression with terrible kindness. “You don’t need to apologize, dove. It was just funny. You’ve never been one to say that before.”

“Not to you.” You said quietly. “I’ve just been talking to my friends a lot lately-“

“You don’t have to defend it. We want you to talk to your friends.” James jumped in to comfort you.

“I’m glad you consider us your friends, baby.” Sirius said, half kindness and half joke. “It shows that you’re comfortable with us.”

“I am.” You reiterated. “But I won’t call you it if it upsets you.” You said sincerely.

“It hardly bothers me, dovey.” Remus reached over to squeeze your hand.

“I just can’t believe Remus is the girly.” James chuckled, forcing his face into a pout. “I’m offended, sweet thing. I thought I was your gossip buddy.”

“You are!” You said severely. “You all are.” You reached for your other two boys. “Now can I please tell you what Molly said?”

“Of course, girl. Spill the beans.” Remus said, deadpan.

It took you a while to stop laughing before you could continue the story.

[soshirohoshinasimp]

Cheeky Bastards.

Summary: Your sons, are even more cheekier than your husband (soshiro hoshina)

Word Count :  600

Cheeky Bastards.

That's what Soshiro Hoshina dubbed your two sons. It was hard to deny the resemblance—they were like miniature copies of your husband, complete with his mischievous smile and sharp wit.

But why "Cheeky Bastards"? Even at their tender age of five, they knew exactly how to rile up their father. Whenever Soshiro returned home weary from work, hoping for a moment with you, the boys would demand their mother's attention, leaving him sidelined. It frustrated him to no end.

What really got under his skin was their triumphant smirk whenever they got their way—those moments when they clearly thought, "I win again."

Cheeky Bastards. 

One day, Soshiro decided to have a serious talk with them.

"Boys, listen here," he began, his tone firm as he knelt down to their eye level.

Your sons tilted their heads curiously.

"We need to learn to share, especially Mama's attention," he explained.

They snickered in response, shaking their heads defiantly.

"Why should we, old man?" the older one retorted cheekily.

In a daring move, both boys simultaneously nipped at his shoulder.

"You little shits!" he exclaimed, taken aback.

Their sudden tears caught your attention from the adjacent bedroom you shared with Soshiro.

"Are you alright?" you asked, picking them up, one in each arm.

The younger one whimpered, "Papa yelled..." 

You scolded Soshiro, reminding him how much they disliked raised voices.

"Honey, they fucking bit my shoulder!" he defended himself.

"Watch your language," you chided gently.

As you lectured your husband, your sons' tear-streaked faces broke into identical mischievous grins.

"Cheeky Bastards," Soshiro muttered under his breath.

Days passed, and despite Soshiro's attempts to bond with them, the boys seemed to revel in their little games. They would steal his snacks, hide his belongings, and even mimic his gestures with uncanny accuracy. It was both infuriating and endearing.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting day at work, Soshiro returned home hoping for a quiet moment with you. As he approached you for a hug, the boys intervened, demanding a piggyback ride from their mother instead. Soshiro's heart sank as they giggled gleefully, clinging to you like little monkeys.

Defeated, he slumped onto the couch, resigned to watching a children's cartoon with them while you prepared dinner. But as the evening wore on, something unexpected happened. One of the boys tugged at his sleeve and offered him a half-eaten cookie with a mischievous grin.

"Sorry for being mean…Papa," the younger one said shyly.

"Yeah, sorry, Papa," echoed the older one, holding out his hand to shake.

Soshiro was taken aback. It was the first time they had acknowledged their antics without a trace of defiance.

He tousled their hair affectionately, feeling a surge of warmth despite his earlier frustration.

"It's alright, boys," he said softly. "Just remember, Mama and Papa both love you very much."

The boys exchanged a glance, their mischievous smiles returning for a brief moment before they hugged him tightly.

From then on, while they remained mischievous and full of energy, there was a newfound understanding between Soshiro and his sons. They learned to share Mama's attention more graciously, and Soshiro found himself cherishing those moments when they would climb onto his lap, fangs and all, with that familiar cheeky grin.

"Cheeky Bastards," he would chuckle, a hint of pride in his voice.

Bonus: 

“Did you apologize to your father?” You said to both your boys

“Yes mama!” they said in unison, obediently. 

[gotta-winwin]

(💬) ... vernon chwe x reader

⭐ starring: vernon

💬 preview: the seemingly 'extraterrestrial' man that occupies Cubicle #218 cannot seem to take a hint - no matter how many flashing signs you throw at him.

tw/cw: fluff, corporate vernon, vernon is an oblivious lil shit, allusions to sex, quotes from b.e.d by Jacquees, shameless flirting and banter

based on an ask (hi + thanks for requesting!) as well as b.e.d by Jacquees MDNI

🪽fic rating/wc: pg 13/ 3.5k

☁️ masterlist & a/n: i am forever stuck in this vernon loop - alas, here's a request that's been sitting in my inbox for awhile, brewing vernon thoughts the whole time. although this fic is entirely fluff, there are allusions to sex so please be mindful of your age and the fic rating.

Vernon would have quit his job a long time ago if it hadn’t been for you. A part of him still yearned for the stage, a trusty guitar in his hands and the sound of diehard fans screaming his name. Instead, he had found himself stuck, circling the corporate ladder, clocking in to work everyday just to sit in his one lonely cubicle, staring at numbers he had only pretended to understand when getting his degree. 

He had his resignation letter signed and ready to go, and he would have handed it in if it hadn’t been for the notes that had begun to appear.

Colorful post-it notes that he’d find in the most random places - first his desk, then his lunchbox, in the pocket of his coat, stuck dead center on his computer screen. It baffled him, yet the notes kept coming, every single day of work without fail. At first he had scoffed, chalking it up to some silly office prank, but as time progressed, the notes became almost a given, as if the notes itself had rooted into his everyday routine. It filled him with anticipation and a reason to clock in everyday. As much as he hesitated to admit it, the silly notes made his day.

Of course, the notes were anonymous. Vernon had no idea that you were the reason he still showed up to work. 

“This is basically workplace harassment.” Anne, your closest co-worker, commented, as she watched you pen your next note to Vernon. She was the only one who knew it was you behind the colorful post-its.

“If he didn’t like it he would’ve told HR months ago.” You argued, ripping the completed note off the pad of bright orange post-its. “Besides, you’ve seen him smile at the notes. Even got a laugh out of him a couple times.” 

“But-” Anne snatched the note from you and read it aloud. “I hope our love will be like the number Pi: irrational and endless.” She shook her head, tsking. “Even for a compsci major, Y/N, Vernon would never find this funny. And if he does- he’s either mocking you, or his humor is just as broken as yours.”

“It’s funny!” You protested, snatching the note back. “Besides, I don’t even know where to leave this one. I’m running out of creative ideas.”

“What’s the point? You just need him to see it, right?”

You gave her a look. “There’s a higher probability of him laughing if he doesn’t expect the note. The less obvious the place, the better. He can’t be actively looking for it.” 

Anne sighed, spinning her chair back to face her work desk. “Compsci nerds.” 

Ignoring her, you continued. “I’m torn between leaving it taped to his water bottle, or taped to his bike.” 

“Of course Cubicle Number 218 Vernon Chwe would bike to work.” Anne rolled her eyes. “How old is this man? Can’t he drive?” 

“Hey!” You protested once again, defending him. “Maybe he just lives close, more cost-efficient you know.”  

Anne sighed. “Tape it to his bike.” Her fingers tapped against her keyboard as she spoke. “He’s definitely not going to be expecting that one.”

Your smile widened, already imagining his little stunned expression. “Okay. Cover for me- I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever.” Anne mumbled, although you caught a glance of the amused smile on her face. 

It was famously known throughout your office that the resident of Cubicle #218, Hansol Vernon Chwe, did not smile. He came into work and left while sporting the exact same facial expression the entire time. But you knew he smiled at your silly pick-up lines, no matter how stupid. And you knew that you might be the only person who knew just how pretty Vernon’s laugh was- even if it was from a distance.

If only you knew just how much Vernon wanted to know who was behind the silly notes that were his pick-me-up each day. 

You: 1 Vernon: 0

“I wanna live in your socks so I can be with you every step of the way.”

Vernon snorted audibly as he read the note, this time written on a hot pink post-it. His neighbouring co-workers snuck glances at him, drawn by the sudden noise. 

He ignored their stares, tucking the note into his jacket pocket for later. He was slowly amassing a collection of them, his desk back at home covered in multicolored post-its, each one from a different day. Sometimes the lines would be so terrible he’d shudder in cringe, but more often than not, he’d find them genuinely funny. 

Grabbing a file he needed faxed, Vernon made his way to the copier down the hall. Someone was already occupying it- and he realized he recognized her, the pretty girl who lived in cubicle #17. 

He could hear the loud music coming from her headphones, poorly hidden under her strands of hair. 

“Charli?” He asked, recognizing the familiar beats and rhythm of the song. 

He watched you turn around to face him, startled by his sudden appearance. “What?”

He pointed awkwardly to your headphones. “Is that Charli XCX? I didn’t think your name was Charli, don’t worry. It’s Y/N, right?” He rambled on, smiling sheepishly. 

You blinked, a little dazed by the amount of words he was suddenly speaking to you. You had always thought, like everyone else in the office, that Vernon was somehow untouchable. Someone so mysterious and way out of reality that the two of you just didn’t exist on the same plane of the universe. But now here he was, talking to you like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“Yeah.” You answered, after realizing you had just been blankly staring at him. “To both questions.” You quickly added, equally awkward. “It’s Charli XCX and my name is Y/N.”

“Great.” His gaze drifted past you towards the copier. “Are you nearly done?” Holding up the file in his hand, he gestured behind you. “I need to fax something.” 

“Oh!” Hurriedly moving aside, you let out a tiny laugh. “I wasn’t really using it. Sometimes I just come in here and pretend I’m busy- to get away from how stuffy the office is. I don’t know why I just told you that.” You were mortified, glancing at him to make sure he wasn’t judging you.

Vernon’s lips were quirked into a smirk, as he tried hard to push down the laughter that was threatening to bubble up inside of him. Ultimately failing, his mouth widened into a smile as he laughed, the sound filling your ears better than any song could. 

“I like you.” He stated, as if it was such a simple thing and didn’t have your heart racing. “You’re funny.”

His smile widened once he caught sight of your open mouth, stunned into silence at the new side of Mr. Cubicle #218 you were currently seeing. 

“Close your mouth.” He mumbled, reaching a hand out to do it for you, his fingertips lightly pressing against your jaw. “You look like a fish.” 

“I- what?” You spluttered, moving a step back. 

Vernon shot you another melting smile, picking up his file and closing the copier. “Anyways, I’m all done. Are you going to hide out here some more?” He kept his eyes on you as he stacked the papers in his hands, organizing them against a nearby table. 

You nodded dumbly, eyes following his movement as he walked out, stopping by the doorway to shoot you a tiny salute before turning away. He walked down the hall with a gait only he had, disappearing down the hallway, leaving you feeling extremely confused, your cheeks oddly warm. 

You: 1 Vernon: 1

“Are you a worm? Cause I’d like to split you apart.” 

Morbid, yes, but you were slowly running out of ideas. Placing the sticky note strategically in his work bag, you scurried off, ducking behind a bookshelf to watch his reaction. 

“Are you a worm-” Vernon made a face as he read the note aloud. “Ew. Weird. Kinky?” He looked up at the ceiling, a concerning yet intrigued look on his face. A chuckle escaped him and you smiled in your success. 

Your work days seemed to blow right by with the joy in knowing you had successfully made him laugh, mind still churning through your last encounter with Vernon by the copier a couple weeks ago. It had both startled you and ignited something within- a longing to know more about him. 

“Looks like we’re the only ones left.” 

You looked up, blinking your dry and strained eyes, spotting Vernon hovering right above your cubicle wall, a tired expression filling his face. You glanced around the office and realized he was right. 

“Has it already been that long?” You wondered, rubbing your eyes as you shut off your computer, standing up to stretch your stiff back. 

You could’ve sworn Vernon snorted at your words. “Do you enjoy working here? Time does fly when you’re having fun.”

You shook your head. “God, no. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” Yeah, you. 

An unspeakable look crossed his face as he grabbed your coat, helping you put it on. “C’mon, we can walk together.” 

“Oh. Thanks- alright.” 

The walk was amicably silent as you fell in step beside him, clutching your winter coat tightly as you both entered against the harsh wind. You spotted his banged up yellow bike across the street and bit back a grin. 

“You bike to work and back?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. You often passed him on your own way to work, spotting him through the windshield of your car. Nearly ran him over once, in your earlier days of working, but you don’t speak of that.

“I do.” Vernon patted the trusty bike with a loving hand. “Never failed me once.” 

A laugh escaped you, your breath hitting the winter wind and turning into a light fog. 

His eyebrows raised. “Are you laughing at me?” His lips quivered up as he watched you descend into laughter once again. 

“No!” You exclaimed through a fit of giggles, clutching your stomach. “Oh god, it’s just- Vernon Chwe- on a bike-”

A clear and infectious cackle of a laugh joined yours as Vernon too, doubled over in laughter. You paused, staring wide-eyed as giggles escaped him, thoroughly entertained by the amusement you had found in his transportation method. 

Passerbys would have deemed the pair of you as mad, with the way you clutched onto Vernon’s arm to hold yourself up as you laughed harder, his own hand gripping yours in the bitter wind. It was numbingly cold but both of your insides were warm, cheeks flushed due to the ridiculous image of Vernon on a bike. 

Y/N: 1 Vernon: 1 The universe(?): 1

“Yo.” 

Your music paused suddenly, jolting you out of your zone. Spinning around in your chair, you frowned up at Vernon, who had somehow swiped your phone from your desk without you noticing. 

“What’s up?” You sighed, taking off your headphones to glare at him. “You didn’t need to pause my music, y’know.” 

“I’ve been sent on a coffee run, wanna come?” He spread his arms open in invitation. “We can take as long as we like.” 

Ditching work for a while did sound like a nice pastime, especially with the lack of work you had currently. “I wouldn’t mind a breath of fresh air, actually. I’m down.”

“Put on your coat.” Vernon handed it to you, watching as you shrugged it on. 

“I know you want to be in my b.e.d, grinding slowly.” 

The last note had taken him terribly off guard and he needed a distraction to remedy that. 

To be fair, you didn’t really know what had gotten into you- the sudden bravado and confidence put into the note had caught you terribly off guard as well. 

“Do you know Joshua? He works in upper management but we’re pretty good friends.” Vernon suddenly asked, walking backwards along the sidewalk so he could look at you. 

You nodded. “I’ve seen him around. He’s very social.” Unlike you, you declined to add. 

“Yes. He’s hosting a social gathering later tonight, and asked if I could invite you.”

“He asked you to invite me?” You shot him a wary look, not quite believing him. You and Joshua barely passed as acquaintances. 

Vernon’s hand reached behind his neck as he rubbed his nape, a sheepish and embarrassed expression on his face. You noticed his ears would turn pink whenever he was even mildly shy. “Okay, maybe I just wanted to invite you, alright?” He turned away, walking properly now to hide his face from your keen eyes. 

A slow smile crossed your face. “Oh, no.” You mimed dread. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you.”

“What?” Vernon turned so fast you reckoned he must’ve gotten whiplash. 

“I’m joking.” Punching his arm lightly, you gave him a lighthearted smile, ignoring the way your heart pounded at the brunt question. “I’d love to go to the little party. You didn’t have to use Joshua to invite me.”

“Well,” Vernon’s ears turned pink once again. “I’d say I’d pick you up and give you a ride home after, but- I don’t think we’d both fit on my bike.” 

Both your lips twitched at the reminder of that night, where the two of you had laughed like it was the first time either one of you had found anything remotely funny. 

“I’ll drive.” You offered, once the wave of silent laughter dissipated. “You can hitch your bike to the back of my car.” 

“Me,” Vernon’s mouth dropped comically as he pressed his hands to his chest. “A passenger princess? How lucky.”

His smile widened as you laughed, and he shamelessly basked in the sound of it. 

Y/N: 2? Vernon: 2? The universe: 1

The smell of musk was the first thing that hit you as the two of you entered Joshua’s townhouse. It was a small, quaint place, decorated to the brim with trinkets and flower pots, overflowing with both people and food. Vernon led the way as you shuffled in, greeting familiar faces and smiling at strangers. 

“I thought you said ‘small gathering.’” You yelled, tiptoed next to Vernon so you could reach his ear. 

You could tell from his eyes that he had no idea what you were saying. “What?” He yelled back, although his voice was carried away by the crowd as well.

“I said-” You felt like you might burst a lung trying to communicate. “I thought you said, ‘small gathering!’” 

He stared at you blankly, blinking slowly, evidently still not in the loop. 

Giving up, you were about to turn away when you suddenly felt his whole body shake, quivering against you as he laughed. 

“What the fuck?” You yelled, this time right in his face. 

“I heard you the first time, silly.” He yelled back, a shit-eating grin spreading wider as he watched your eyebrows furrow. 

“Party Vernon sucks.” You concluded, moving away, only to be pulled back by his hand on your arm.

“Didn’t you complain that I was too ‘mysterious’?” He yelled, laughing harder when you visibly paled. “Yeah, I heard that. But it’s okay. I am very…how did you put it. Sullen, at work.”

Hiding your face, you slapped his chest, causing him to groan in pain. 

“Ow.” 

“Ow.” You mocked back. There really was no answer as to where the sudden childishness came from, but the way Vernon was staring at you- it made reason seem almost meaningless.

He threw his head back and laughed, soundless against the party’s atmosphere but somehow just as electrifying. 

“Have fun, Y/N.” He said, grabbing your hands. “Let’s dance.” 

Y/N: 2 Vernon: 3 The universe: 1

You had always sworn by the fact that driving late at night with the windows down, cold air blowing through your hair was the way to go. 

“Admit it!” Vernon yelled through the wind, glancing at you from the passenger seat. “You had fun tonight.”

“I did.” You admitted. The party had been overwhelming at first, but the later the night got, the more fun you discovered yourself to have. “I haven’t had a night like that in a while.”

You braked at a red light and flipped through your playlist, switching on the one song you knew would get a reaction out of Vernon. 

“I know you wanna love But I just wanna fuck And girl, you know the deal I gotta keep it real I know you wanna see I know you wanna be In my B.E.D., grinding slowly”

The light turned green and you continued to drive, the roads empty and deserted, street lamps illuminating the world in a soft amber. Occasionally, you’d glance over at Vernon, who was bopping his head to the beat, murmuring the lyrics under his breath. 

Oblivious man. 

Reaching over, you turned the volume up, as if the louder the music was, it’d somehow reverberate its message into his skull. Get a hint! You wanted to scream at him. I’m kind of in love with you and want to jump your bones! Hello??

Vernon continued to groove to the music without a care in the world.

“This is a good song!” He yelled in your ear, his voice mixed with the whistling of the air, whooshing past you. 

“I know!” You screamed back. Oh my god. Is he really this dense? 

The song kept playing as you drove, winds calming down as you neared his place. In between the gap of the song switching to the next, Vernon spoke, his calm voice contrastingly the loudness before. 

“I think I’m going to quit the job.” 

You nearly crashed the car at his words, jerking the steering wheel back as you computed his words. “What?”

“I mean,” he turned in his seat to face you, his hair catching the last pieces of moonlight and shimmering against his skin. “I’ve always hated my job. And I already wrote a resignation letter and everything.” 

“Oh.” 

He must’ve noticed your silence, because he quickly continued. “Who knows? I might try being a rockstar or something.” 

“A rockstar?” You let out an astonished laugh. Vernon Chwe seemed to be surprising you at every turn, even when you felt like you'd already figured him out. 

He hummed. “Yeah. It just keeps..calling me, y’know?”

“Well then you should go for it.” You parked into the driveway of his apartment complex and turned to face him. “Really.”

“You think so?” His eyes were sparkling like precious jewels. 

“Yeah. I do.”

Even though you knew that meant your next note would be your last. 

Y/N: -10 Vernon: 3 The universe: -10

The office seemed even colder without the presence of Vernon around you. Even though he had always kept to himself, you could feel the lack of “Vernon” in the atmosphere. How he’d entrance you with the funny way he’d walk down the hall, his countless snack breaks and your shared copier trips. But most of all- it was the lack of notes.

“First day without Mr. Cubicle Number 218, how do you feel?” Anne asked you from her own desk. “Although, I guess he’s not 218 anymore, huh?”

“Yeah.” You stared dejectedly at your computer screen. “This job sucks.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re quitting too.” Anne let out a loud sigh. “I still think you should’ve told him you liked him.”

“I did!” You protested, rather loudly, drawing odd looks from nearby coworkers. 

“You played a sex song in the car.” Anne pointed out, lowering her voice. “That is not confessing.” 

“Well he should’ve put two and two together. The lyrics on the note was from that song.”

Anne laughed. “We’re talking about the male species. They wouldn’t know subtlety if it ran them over with a truck.” 

“Whatever.” You muttered, returning to sulk in front of your giant mountain of paperwork. “He definitely didn’t like me like that anyways.” Sifling through the papers, you sighed. “I’m going to fax these, I’ll be right back.” 

Anne only hummed, too engrossed by whatever she was reading on her phone. 

Opening up the copier, you frowned at the paper already sitting there, a hot pink post-it note with messy handwriting scrawled on it. 

“With all the variables in life, baby can you be my constant?” 

You didn’t remember writing this. 

“Call me ;)” 

A loud laugh escaped you as you covered your mouth, looking around to make sure you hadn’t been caught loitering in the copy room once again. Grabbing your phone from your pocket you fumbled the numbers on the bottom of the note in, raising it to your ear as you listened to it ring. 

“Hello?” You whispered, cupping your hand around your mouth to avoid detection. 

Silence.

“Vernon?” 

The sound of shuffling from the other line reached your ears. “You didn’t think I was just going to leave without saying goodbye, right?”

“Vernon?” 

“Actually, pretend I didn’t say that.” 

Your heart puttered to a stop.

“When can I see you again?” 

Y/N: 0 Vernon: ♾️ The universe: 0

[silvergreenseraphim]

“Obedient Soldier”

[A phrase uttered by Sephiroth in Scene 07-06. As this line indicates, Sephiroth in BC (Before Crisis) was regularly obedient to orders, such as defending the Mako canon and protecting Hojo. Therefore, Shinra valued the worth of Sephiroth's loyalty and treated him like a hero.]

-Keyword Collection, CC Complete Guide, p. 285

“Until then, I will be an obedient soldier of Shinra…”

He uses the term “従順な“ which is described above. He willfully submits himself to Shinra’s authority regularly in spite of inner turmoil and reluctance much of the time.

I see more of this with every update in The First Soldier. Sephiroth calls it his only job. You would say then “Yes, and he is paid for it and treated like a hero! That is why he obeys!”

First. Where is this interest in money? And who is to say he receives it? He was raised and trained by Shinra from his boyhood days. His lack of interest in money is said clearly.

Angeal might have partially misjudged him for it too in chapter one of episode 2 when Bachman asked Sephiroth’s opinion on the situation in Robio:

Sephiroth: “Search for the missing troops. Don’t interfere with the filming. Anything else is not my job.”

Angeal: “You’re a stingy guy.”

Sephiroth: “What?”

Angeal: ”There’s no harm in experiencing things. Don’t just consider profit gain and loss.”

Sephiroth: “That’s not the reason.”

Angeal: “Then tell me what it is.”

Sephiroth: “….”

(Japanese translation) (*Note about the nuance here at the bottom of the post!)

There is another reason Sephiroth focuses so narrowly on his job but he does not want to state it. He does not want to explain why he focuses on nothing else. Why?

His disinterest in money itself was more obviously stated in episode one:

Matt: “We'll have to talk about the distribution of the reward money… fortunately, he (Sephiroth) doesn't seem to care about money.”

Money is not the reason for Sephiroth’s loyalty to Shinra then. You might then say it’s because they treated him as a hero! Like as it was said in the Guide, they valued his loyalty and dealt with him as a hero. But where is it stated that Sephiroth wants that either? No, it is the opposite.

Sephiroth: ”I don’t want to be a hero. I want to live a normal life…”

Glenn: “What did you say?”

Sephiroth: “Nothing. It’s never going to happen.”

But Sephiroth! Since you are a hero, Shinra must spoil you and treat you well? They must give you so much! Is that why you stay with that defeated resignation?

Perhaps you have authority and respect within the military! The fandom has always called him the General….

Ignore that you see the cameras he hates, the false propaganda he knows about, his low sense of self-worth, how he sees himself as a cyborg killer that does not deserve friends. He never experienced the sensation of joy and fun with others until he met Glenn’s team. Ignore that he was trained to be afraid and heartless. Forget that he has memories of Hojo’s pain and training.

And authority?

“Very sorry. We cannot follow orders from others outside of the normal chain of command.”

These are just infantrymen.

Sephiroth’s ability to refuse orders in Crisis Core was also an unofficial privilege that existed under Lazard’s generous command. If it were Heidegger, no privilege like that would have existed and Sephiroth would have had to kill Genesis and Angeal in Banora. Lazard, a man already disloyal to Shinra, had to be in command for that point in Crisis Core to exist.

“Also, there may or may not be a right to veto orders...It seems to be just unofficial though..”

-Kunsel to Zack, CC DMW flashback

Angeal Hewley is also made team leader over “Shinra’s hero” in episode 2 of The First Soldier. Years later Angeal still gives orders to Sephiroth that the hero follows. Sephiroth’s authority inside Shinra is not like a general or even a captain.

Not that then. Perhaps you are living a lavish lifestyle, hero?

….ah, but do I even need to explain why this one is nonsense when this boy was isolated and brought up by Hojo?

”Mom? Why are you in my bedroom?”

-Sephiroth, chapter one, The First Soldier Episode 2, Japanese.

A lab cell near to where Aerith and Ifalna were held as prisoners?

“I’ve never had many opportunities to interact with people.”

-Sephiroth, chapter five, The First Soldier Episode 1, Japanese.

He would not have in the environment Hojo gave him.

“I am a SOLDIER that was raised to stand on the battlefield. SOLDIERs are worthless unless they are strong in body and mind.”

-Sephiroth, chapter five, The First Soldier Episode 1, Japanese.

“You and I grew up in different worlds. The day we understand each other will never come.”

-Sephiroth to Angeal, chapter one, The First Soldier Episode 2, Japanese.

Hojo is who raised him like this! In isolation and cruelty!

“I am the only one who can speak to Professor Hojo freely at any time, who researches the limits of our SOLDIER abilities…”

-Sephiroth to Angeal, chapter one, The First Soldier Episode 2, Japanese.

Did that Halloween event not show us the deeper horror beneath these other horrors? And who they were connected to?

Hojo: “Endure the pain, Sephiroth. You’re not at your limit yet. The more you endure, the more of your hidden strength will awaken.”

Glenn: Hey! Hang in there!

Sephiroth: “I’m sorry. I was suddenly in a lot of pain, but I’m alright now.”

Glenn: “Don’t be so strong!! Rest! Rest! Don’t push yourself so hard just because you’re the team leader!! Just relax!

Sephiroth: “….I’ve never heard anything like that before. It’s just the reverse of what the professor said…”

(Japanese translation)

Who would have ingrained such deep loyalty into the world’s strongest SOLDIER so well other than his father Hojo? Sephiroth does not speak of leaving Shinra until he is close to 25 years. He was shaken when Elfe questioned why he fought and if it was for any reason. He responds to a command from his friend Genesis on immediate instinct.

He is conditioned. That is why he was an obedient soldier to Shinra and why he stayed with them even when he hated his life. He was afraid. Of them and of Hojo!

The First Soldier will only keep showing this. Sephiroth’s friends were his chain to mental stability. When they left and died, he became vulnerable again and Nibelheim was timed just right. How much grief and anger must he have felt learning about how deep the use of his body and mind had gone? Enough to hate Shinra and soon everything.

Shinra is run by greedy pigs who have their dogs and sheep. They have their SOLDIER recruits, their Turks, their Deepground prisoners, their clueless employees. You will find that among these pawns, there are many who try to leave or question the power keeping them in check and that is because Shinra was not so careful enough to condition and lie to them.

They were careful with Sephiroth though because disloyalty from him would be so dangerous. The story shows this well enough.

Out of all of their abused pawns and attack dogs, Sephiroth was the one chosen to be exploited in front of the world and decorated in hero’s ribbons to cover up the scars. He was lied to about the depth of his abuse and given false hope in his two dear friends. He was trying to claw his way to the light and find himself so that he could be a real hero and protect others but there was no hope for such things. His cage was gilded and when he became aware of it, that boy’s heart was filled with sadness and then anger and then hatred.

His life was DESTROYED by Shinra from the start. His loyalty was sown into him mostly by Hojo. This new episode of The First Soldier has brought this truth further to the light and I do not think it was will stop.

Thank you to those who helped me with this post in DMs!

Notes:

*Angeal’s words in chapter one of FS Episode 2 about Sephiroth’s “stinginess” do have a nuance that I do not want to ignore. He can be talking about money gain/loss but also a whole mindset! His words are broadly referring to a narrow-minded and “Scrooge-ish” view of things where there is not much room for anything outside of Sephiroth’s thin focus. That thin focus is Sephiroth’s assignment and the gain of completing it, which could include profit from Angeal’s perspective and would be a reason to complete a mission if we remember his scene with his parents where that is a discussion. The point is to say that Angeal is not only talking about money, but for this post I focused on that aspect of it because of Sephiroth’s response against the entire assumption and his formerly mentioned lack of interest in money.

[yanoverload]

Yandere Serial Killer

Here everyone! Again sorry for the mess with changing the order of release, but it is what it is, anyway *punching yandere serial killer into a pulp cutely*

I love detective x serial killer, but I always wanted to see a defense lawyer x serial killer, you two have the same principle, but took different paths you know? 

Also the hate from one and obsession from the other. Yummy.

Being a defense attorney was a herculean task sometimes.

Accusing people of anything is the easiest part, you thought, but to defend someone you just met a few weeks ago? Exhausting.

But you never got into law school to have an easy job. You made it so far, so you could bring justice to the crooked system.

Your father was accused of a crime he never committed, put on death row when you were still a babe. Never will your family forget the looks of disgust received. It's easy to frame a poor family. Imagine the anguish the rich guy, your dad's boss, the one that actually did the deed, must feel.

As if. He is probably snickering at how his attorney was worth every corrupted dime.

Never should anyone go through the tears your grandparents did when they had to say goodbye to their only son. Never again will your mom be ostracized for being a single mother, the wife of a criminal.

Defending the injusticed was your life goal, to bring the actual monsters to their own consequences was your pride and joy, and damn were you good at your job.

But things got a bit mixed when corpses started to show up.

Before the culprits you helped sentence could pay for their deeds, they would be found dead, put in a twisted artistic display by the freak that did it.

Exhausting.

Thank fuck you had strong alibis and a great reputation amongst the public, because if not, you figured you would be suspect number 0.

Whoever did it, was apparently playing vigilante with your own life. And you hated it.

But people talk. And they were starting to love it.

It's funny how public justice works sometimes. That was never your intent. It started as a form of revenge sure, but it was first and foremost to help the disgraced.

When your dad's old boss was found mushed beyond recognition is when your mind decided enough was enough.

You tell the people closest to you, your police colleagues, other lawyers you respect, the forensic doctors you spent nights with, that you plan to resign.

They tell you not to, that you should keep doing what you love. But you can't handle the guilt anymore. 

Saying goodbye to the police chief after your conversation about the retirement, you find a letter at your doorstep. It smells like fancy perfume. You are certain it is only a family member of one of your clients, but how would they know where you live?

The letter was like those with cut magazine letters, and you feel a shiver down your spine. While you read, you feel like you're being watched.

"Why would you retire? I did for you silly. To see your work, you defend the innocent. You don't understand how we are one in the same.

How would you feel if an innocent was convicted and you did nothing, because you left the law? Because it CAN happen."

You feel your blood rising, and you crumpled the letter full of hate

This motherfucker. They are worse than hell on earth.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Some more facts about him! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Heo Dae-ho (name is Dae-ho, surname is Heo) is a prodigy law student, he has everything, money, looks, and an influential family. 

His mom is a heart surgeon, his dad a forensic doctor.

His parents are strict but loving. They would do anything for their baby boy.

At first they were worried that Dae-ho would be a bum, since even though at school he was captain of the swimming team, had multiple trophies in whatever you could imagine, he had no passion in his steps.

They knew their child was different. But what else could they do apart from loving him and raising him? They also had an image to maintain.

That was until he mentioned wanting to go to law school. Dad was happy, it wasn't medical school, but it was still a great choice.

Mom thanked the gods her son wouldn't touch those in need of medical care, but she would never say that.

His parents are Korean immigrants. He can speak English and Korean, a bit of French.

Never had any flings at college. He is saving himself for you.

Probably has a fanclub of people that love him at college, and one for his.... Other persona.

Has been in your trials before to "learn".

Height: 181 cm (5'11 feet)

[goblin-jr]

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you.

part 3 of 12

Synopsis: rafe apology, wheezie is the best cameron, rainy confessions

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

masterlist

---

The afternoon was steady at the country club. Y/N’s shift had been busy enough to keep her distracted, and with her coworkers absorbed in their own tasks, she’d managed to slip away a few times to shake off the throbbing pain left over from the boat incident. The last thing she wanted was pity—or worse, anyone worrying about her.

But when she turned around to restock a pile of guest towels, she froze. Rafe Cameron had just walked in with his family. She could see them through the grand glass doors of the club’s dining room, his parents trailing behind him, polished and imposing as ever. He looked over and spotted her before she had a chance to slip away, and his eyes narrowed as if he had something to say.

Y/N tensed. She still couldn’t shake off the anger from that night. Her bruises had faded, but her loyalty to the Pogues hadn’t. Whatever Rafe thought he had to say, she wasn’t interested. She busied herself with folding the towels, pretending she hadn’t noticed him watching her.

It didn’t work.

“Y/N,” Rafe’s voice was quiet but firm as he approached, hands shoved in his pockets, his posture almost… unsure. She’d never seen him like this—reserved and even a bit hesitant.

She didn’t look up. “I’m working,” she said bluntly, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. But Rafe didn’t budge.

“Just wanted to talk. About the other day.”

Y/N clenched her jaw. “No need. You said enough then.”

He sighed. “Look, I know things got out of hand. I’m… sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for it to go like that. I didn’t know my friends were going to—”

“Yeah? And what did you think would happen?” She finally looked up, her expression steely. “You show up, insult us, throw a few things around, and expect everything to be fine?”

Just then, a younger girl joined them, glancing curiously between Y/N and Rafe. It was his sister, Wheezie, her wide eyes betraying the same curiosity and innocence that Rafe seemed to lack. The irritation in Y/N’s chest softened just a little as she watched the younger Cameron—a reminder that not everyone in Rafe’s family carried the same smugness or sense of entitlement he did.

“Rafe!” Wheezie chirped, tugging on his arm. “Did you get the book I asked about?”

Rafe’s face softened as he looked down at his sister. He ruffled her hair lightly, which made her wrinkle her nose but also grin up at him. “Yeah, yeah, I did. I had to go to three stores to find it, but it’s waiting for you in the car.”

Y/N watched the exchange in silence, surprised to see this side of Rafe. He spoke to Wheezie with a gentleness she didn’t associate with him. Gone was the antagonistic, arrogant guy who had pushed her friends’ buttons time and again. Here, he was just… a big brother.

“Really?” Wheezie’s eyes widened in excitement. “You didn’t have to do that!”

Rafe shrugged, as if it was nothing. “It’s not a big deal, Wheeze. You asked, so I figured why not.”

Watching him interact with Wheezie, Y/N felt her defenses waver, if only for a moment. There was something unguarded in his expression, a hint of someone who wasn’t just the entitled, reckless Kook she’d come to know.

Wheezie turned her gaze to Y/N, her brows knitting together. “Hi. Do you work here?”

Y/N managed a small, polite nod. “Yeah, just part-time.”

The younger girl’s face lit up with interest. “Oh, that’s so cool. Do you like it?” 

Rafe ruffled Wheezie’s hair, his face easing into an unexpectedly gentle expression. “Not everyone loves work as much as you do, Wheeze.”

Rafe turned back to you and let out a resigned sigh and nodded, stepping back with his hands still tucked in his pockets. “I really am sorry, Y/N.” Rafe’s face softened, but he didn’t defend himself. “I get it. You don’t have to believe me. I just… wanted you to know.” 

“Well, I’d better get back to setting up,” Y/N muttered, sidestepping Rafe and allowing the Camerons to reunite with Ward and Rose. 

After Rafe walked away, Y/N kept herself busy around the dining room, making sure the place settings were perfect and double-checking that every glass sparkled. She glanced up as she heard Wheezie’s cheerful voice down the hallway, joking with one of the waitstaff. Rafe was still nearby, now talking with his younger sister.

Y/N watched from a distance as Rafe bent down slightly, giving Wheezie his full attention as she animatedly told him some story. He smiled at her, nodding and even laughing a little. It was such a simple, everyday thing, yet it felt oddly intimate—a glimpse of Rafe’s life that Y/N hadn’t expected to see.

Why was he… kind of sweet? She hated the thought as soon as it popped into her head, but she couldn’t shake it.

He looked up, and their eyes met for just a second. Flustered, Y/N busied herself with a table setting, heart pounding, wishing she hadn’t been caught watching him like that.

—

A few hours later, Y/N found herself in the storage room. /N made her way to the back, feeling the familiar ache in her ribs from the altercation on the boat. She needed to restock the shelves with glassware for the evening setup, but as she reached for the heavy box, a sharp pain shot through her side, forcing her to stop and catch her breath.

She steeled herself, attempting to lift the box again despite the discomfort. Just as she was bracing herself, a familiar voice interrupted her struggle.

“Need a hand with that?”

She turned, caught off guard to find Rafe leaning casually in the doorway, hands in his pockets as if he owned the place—which, she reminded herself, wasn’t far from the truth. The Camerons had invested heavily in the club, and Rafe’s family essentially had free rein over the entire building. Still, seeing him there felt strange.

“I didn’t ask for help,” Y/N replied, her voice edged with defiance as she let go of the box.

Rafe didn’t seem fazed by her tone. He walked over, looking her over as he reached for the box himself, easily lifting it and placing it on the upper shelf she’d struggled to reach.

“There. Now you don’t have to break a rib over it,” he said, a faint smirk crossing his face. But he softened, giving her an earnest look. “Look, about the boat… I really am sorry. Things got out of hand, and my friends—they can be idiots.”

Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re telling me.”

Rafe looked down for a second, his expression almost sheepish. “You have every right to hate me for that.”

She paused, watching him with guarded curiosity. “Why do you care, Rafe? I mean, it’s not like we’re friends. You’ve got your whole Kook thing going on with Topper and Kelce.”

He shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. “Doesn’t mean I want you to get hurt. I don’t know… Wheezie always says I could be better about that kind of thing.” He scratched the back of his neck, as if realizing he’d said too much.

Y/N couldn’t hide her surprise at the mention of his little sister. “Wheezie? So she’s the voice of reason?”

Rafe chuckled softly. “Most days, yeah. She keeps me in check.” He leaned against the shelf, his gaze thoughtful. “She liked meeting you, you know. Thinks you’re cool for working here. She’s a weird kid, but she’s got good instincts.”

A faint smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. The last thing she’d expected was to see Rafe’s protective side, let alone hear him talk about Wheezie like this. She softened, just a little, feeling the defenses she’d thrown up after the incident on the boat begin to waver.

“Your sister’s pretty sweet,” she admitted reluctantly, shrugging. “I guess you got lucky there.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his tone almost wistful. “Guess I did.”

There was a beat of silence between them, the unspoken tension from their past encounters ebbing, if only for a moment. Rafe glanced at her again, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Anyway, I didn’t mean for any of that stuff on the boat to happen. I get it if you still don’t trust me. But I really am sorry.”

Y/N studied him, the frustration and resentment from the boat incident lingering but softened by his sincerity. After a long pause, she exhaled, crossing her arms.

“Fine. Apology accepted,” she muttered, trying to sound casual. “But don’t think this changes anything.”

Rafe shrugged, a hint of that familiar smirk returning. “Didn’t expect it to. But maybe it’s a start.”

As he turned to leave, Y/N watched him go, her feelings unsettled. She couldn’t shake the impression that, for once, Rafe didn’t seem like an enemy, and the realization left her with more questions than answers. 

—

Y/N’s shift ended later than usual, and by the time she left the country club, the sun was already dipping below the horizon. She started down the familiar path toward home, her footsteps echoing in the quiet of the evening. The air was cool, and as she walked, her thoughts drifted back to the strange encounter in the storage room.

Rafe Cameron. Of all people, he was the last person she’d expected to see there, let alone be willing to lend a hand. His apology, his quiet mention of Wheezie—none of it matched the person she thought she knew. He’d always been a Cameron, a Kook, someone she’d learned to keep her distance from. But today had left her feeling unsettled, like there was something more beneath the surface she hadn’t anticipated.

Despite herself, she couldn’t deny that she was a little curious. What Wheezie saw in him, maybe, or how the two of them interacted away from the glaring reputation he carried. For a moment, she even entertained the idea that Rafe wasn’t as bad as she thought.

But then her mind went back to the people who mattered most to her—JJ and the rest of the Pogues. They’d been her family through every up and down, no matter what. And there were things about JJ, memories she could never share with anyone else, that tied her to him in a way no one else would ever understand.

Her pace slowed as a particular memory of JJ surfaced. She could picture it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

---

They were twelve, maybe thirteen, and it had been one of those stormy nights on the island when the rain fell in heavy sheets, and thunder rattled the windows. Y/N had been curled up on the couch, reading, when a faint knock sounded at the door. She knew it was him before she even looked. JJ always came to her when things got too heavy at home.

That night, he’d been soaked through, his clothes clinging to him, hair plastered against his forehead. She’d let him in, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and led him to the old beanbag chair in her room. He was quiet, almost too quiet, and she knew better than to press him for details. His father, Luke, had always been a volatile presence in JJ’s life—a shadow that loomed over him, especially when things were bad.

They’d sat there together in silence, listening to the rain and the distant rumble of thunder. After a while, he’d finally spoken, his voice barely a whisper.

“I wish I didn’t have to go back,” he’d said, his tone full of something both broken and resigned.

Y/N had reached out, taking his hand in hers. She didn’t have to say anything. The promise was there in the silence: I’m here, and I’ll always be here.

It was moments like those, when JJ had shown her pieces of himself he’d never let anyone else see, that had woven an unbreakable thread between them. They weren’t just friends—they were each other’s safe places.

---

As Y/N walked, she was jolted out of her memories of JJ by a soft drizzle that quickly built into a steady downpour. She pulled her jacket tighter, hunching her shoulders against the chill as the rain soaked through.

She picked up her pace, hoping she could get home before she was completely drenched. Just as she turned a corner, headlights swept across the path in front of her, and a sleek, dark SUV slowed to a stop. She squinted, wiping rain from her eyes, as the passenger window rolled down.

Rafe leaned over from the driver’s seat, brow slightly raised as he took in her soaked figure. “Need a ride?” he asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the rain.

Y/N stifled a sigh, a wry smirk pulling at her lips despite herself. “Thrice in one day, Cameron?” she called out. “Are you following me now?”

Rafe chuckled, leaning one arm over the wheel. “Guess I can’t shake you, huh? Or maybe you’re the one following me.” He glanced out at the rain. “C’mon, get in before you catch a cold. You’ll ruin the club’s good towels.”

She stood there for a moment, watching the rain hit the ground in heavy sheets, then glanced at him through the window again. “You know, I could be stubborn enough to walk home in this,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye.

“Then you’ll be stubborn and wet,” he shot back with a grin. “Get in. I’m not leaving you out here.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, feeling the warmth of the car surrounding her immediately. She closed the door with a soft click, the sound of the rain intensifying for a moment before the windshield wipers kicked into motion.

She looked at him as he shifted into drive, silently grateful for the warmth, but still skeptical of the conversation that was about to happen. “Thanks for the ride,” she muttered, brushing water from her hair as she settled in.

“No problem,” Rafe replied, glancing over at her with a faint smile. The tension in the car was subtle, but Y/N could sense it. The day had been strange, and she wasn’t quite sure where she stood with him—if she was just another face, another person he had to deal with, or if maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than he let on.

The car was quiet for a while, only the sound of the rain and the soft hum of the engine filling the space. Y/N didn’t mind it, though. There was something oddly comforting about being alone in the car with Rafe, despite all the history between their families and the awkwardness lingering between them.

Eventually, Rafe broke the silence. “You know, you’re pretty hard to get a read on.” His voice was low, almost like he was speaking to himself. “It’s like… you’re always in your head, trying to figure things out.”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by the observation. She shifted in her seat, slightly uncomfortable with the truth in his words. “I’m not really the open book type,” she replied after a moment, her fingers absently tapping on the seatbelt.

Rafe chuckled softly, the sound easing some of the tension. “Yeah, I figured. But you’re not the only one who keeps things locked up. I get it.” He paused, looking out at the rain-slicked road. “But it’s exhausting sometimes, you know? Trying to keep everything together.”

Y/N turned her head to study him, her curiosity piqued despite herself. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Rafe exhaled slowly, keeping his eyes on the road. “I mean, we don’t always get to choose how things turn out. Like, with my family. Everyone expects me to be… I don’t know, something I’m not. They put all this pressure on me to be perfect. To do things a certain way.” He glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to the road. “It’s like no one ever really sees me. Not for me. Just the image they want me to be.”

Y/N studied him carefully, noting the weariness in his voice. She didn’t respond immediately, unsure of how to react. Was he being genuine? Or was this just another side of Rafe Cameron who liked to keep people at arm's length?

Finally, she nodded, the words coming out more carefully than she expected. “Sounds like you don’t get a lot of room to breathe.”

He glanced over at her with a small smile. “That’s one way to put it.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment, and there was a brief pause in the air between them, charged with something unspoken.

Y/N shifted in her seat, her mind spinning with his words. “Well, I guess I get it,” she said softly. “We all have our own stuff. No one’s life is as easy as it seems.”

Rafe nodded, the faint smile still on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Exactly. Anyway, you’re almost home.”

The ride felt quieter after that, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Y/N looked out the window, her thoughts a mix of confusion, curiosity, and something else that she couldn’t quite name. She wasn’t sure what to make of the sudden vulnerability she’d seen in Rafe, but there was a part of her that was intrigued. Maybe he wasn’t just the entitled, spoiled Kook she’d always assumed.

The car slowed as they reached her house, and Rafe turned off the engine. Y/N hesitated, not immediately unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Thanks again, Cameron,” she said, looking over at him with a small but sincere smile.

“Don’t mention it,” Rafe replied, his tone easy. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you to the door?”

Y/N’s lips curled up slightly, though she shook her head. “I’m good. Don’t want to ruin your streak of being a decent person.” She opened the door and slid out, but before she closed it, she turned back. “Take care, Rafe.”

“You too,” he said, his voice steady.

As the car pulled away, Y/N stood there for a moment, watching the taillights fade into the rain. She couldn’t help but wonder—maybe there was more to Rafe than she’d originally thought.

[ameliathornromance]

“Okay – I know what this looks like.” Your Orc Boyfriend held his hand out to you, defensively. His face was stained with soot, along with one or two of his fellow cooks, both shooting glares into the back of his head. “But I promise you, it was for a good cause.”

From behind himself, he pulled out a charred and burned mound of… something. Raising your eyebrow, you looked between him and the plate. You weren’t trying to be rude, really, but… for your life, you could not recognise what was on the plate in front of you.

Your Orc looked hopefully at you, but at your confused expression, he let out a sigh. His shoulders slumped, his head hung. “I knew your birthday was coming up.” He said, “and I was able to sort your presents. But then you started going on about cake… so I tried to make one and…”

Cake, to you, was one of the best things in the world. The problem was, every time you had tried to purchase a cake from a village or town since joining the Orc camp, it was always taken from you at the last moment. Sold out at the last moment in a bakery or - when you did finally get a hold of one - was knocked from your hands by accident from a clumsy Orc.

You felt it was wrong to just invade the Orc’s supplies and cooking stations to make your own, so you resigned yourself to a cakeless existence.

Your Orc Boyfriend, who had never had anything but meat for food, was intrigued by the pastry. “So, it’s like a sweet bread?” He asked you once you finished explaining the concept to him.

“I…” you hummed in thought, “I guess so? They’re easy to make, pretty much anyone can do it.” You sighed, “I wish I could have it for my birthday.” It was only two weeks away by this point, the thought of having such a costly present made your mouth water.

“Why specifically your birthday?” Your Orc asked, curiously.

“It’s a human tradition,��� you explained. “You get presents too, but cake is more of a luxury for the common folk.”

After that conversation, you found your Orc evasive.

You knew his routine like the back of your hand; Every morning, he would get up at early dawn and then go out hunting. A couple hours later, he would return with game and crash for a nap in the afternoon. Then, he would rise for dinner and then stay up late to sharpen his weapons.

But for some reason, he would forgo his nap, extending his time out of the camp. The first time he did it, you assumed he was just trying to make sure he got all the game in the area and when you asked the others, they confirmed your suspicions.

You tried not to take much notice of it after that. Although the absence of your Orc began to worry you slightly. Was there someone who was forcing him to leave the camp? If he had been given extra work, he would have told you about it… Right?

Your worries continued until the morning of your birthday. A boom shuddered through the camp ground, causing you to jump up from your bed. Rushing out, fully prepared to defend the camp in case of an attack, only to find the rest of the camp roaring with laughter, their attention directed to the food tent.

Pushing your way through the Orcs, you found yourself standing at the entrance of the tent, Orc Boyfriend covered in soot and holding a smoking, charred lump on a plate.

You knew your Orc was not the best in the kitchen. This was why he was given hunting duties over being in the kitchen with the other Orcs… But you had no idea that it was this bad.

“We don't even know how you blew up the kitchen.” One of the Chef Orcs grunted. The crowd eventually dispersed and the Orcs returned back to their duties.

And so, those were the events that led up to this moment.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to make you happy.” Your Orc looked away from you, eyes downcast to the ground.

Your heart stung at his hurt expression. He really had tried, hadn’t he? Even if it had ended in a disaster. He really wanted to give you that cake huh?

Walking up to him, taking out a handkerchief, you wiped his face free of soot. He still didn’t look at you, as though he were ashamed by what had happened. Cupping his cheeks, you force him to look at you. “Thank you for trying.” You kissed his nose. “It’s the thought that counts.” And with that, you pecked him on the lips. “But, maybe I should be the one to do the kitchen work from now on.”

At that, a small smile overtook your Orc’s frown. “Yeah. That’s probably for the best.” And with that, the two of you made your way back to your tent and opened your gifts.

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[massiveharmonytiger]

So I think Gabe's portrayal was really intelligently done in the show and I'm pretty dismayed at the negative reactions. I'd argue that TV needs more portrayals of abusers that seem harmless and victims that make efforts to advocate for their own agency because that is what abuse often looks like in the real world. Yes, sometimes abuse is as in your face as with Gabe's introduction in the book version (which the show was still pretty true to, I'll discuss that below) and the other portrayals we've seen on TV, abusers being explicitly threatening or violent, victims cowering and showing visible distress, all that usual, tropey stuff. However, I think more education is needed on all the ways abuse is subtle, because this misunderstanding and this view of abuse as this black and white thing is often the reason so few victims get help, so many abusers get away with it and so many of the people around the victim and abuser, at best, are surprised when the find out what's really been happening, and at worst, defend the abuser because they're so harmless, nice, upstanding, pick your adjective and there's no way they're capable of that.

Source: https://www.domesticshelters.org/articles/identifying-abuse/the-silent-ways-abusers-control

I feel like a lot of the fandom has already fallen into this trap somewhat. Gabe from the TV show is too nonthreatening, bumbling, pathetic, silly, idiotic, nowhere near scary enough to warrant getting petrified by Medusa's head. He doesn't look like an ABUSER. And yet we're confronted with so many markers of abuse in that scene.

Gabe is harmless…

And yet he's verbally abusive to outsiders. The guy that leaves as Percy is arriving has experienced an interaction with Gabe that warrants Percy apologizing for Gabe's actions only for him to apologize back because he gets to leave, Percy doesn't. He's concerned. Sure, Gabe is fat shaming and yelling about eating fruit at the moment. The absurdity of the topic doesn't make it any less inappropriate or abusive btw, because its about the abuser having any excuse to display their dominance and power over you even if the subject matter is batshit. Ever see cases where one person in the relationship (usually a man) will police the other's clothing (usually a woman) because it's too revealing, too tacky, too whatever. That's abuse.

Gabe is harmless…

And yet he's verbally abusive towards Percy. He sarcastically greets him with the cruel nickname "genius" and immediately picks a fight with him. Percy refuses to engage because he knows, from experience, what being goaded looks like. Wrap your head around that. Kids older than him are out there having catfights and making stupid "your mom" jokes, but this infant has so much experience facing conflict, he already knows what steps to take to steer away from that kind of drama and stay in safe territory. He only engages a bit when he hears about Gabe answering Sally's phone. Anyone who's answered a friend or partner's phone before will probably consider Percy's anger and indignation a little bratty and unwarranted. The issue here is that Gabe is someone who ignores boundaries. The issue isn't that he answered Sally's phone, the issue is that he very likely did it without permission. Based on Percy and Sally's reactions (Percy is angry, Sally is resigned), he's someone who's regularly done stuff like look through Sally's phone or purse without her permission. Percy makes it clear that this is not okay, and he gets dismissed. Gabe just answers "whatever's ringin'" and Percy is made to look like the one overreacting. This is what abusers do. They're never in the wrong. And then, the cherry on top of the blue icing, he blames the victim. "What're we doing Percy, every time." Gabe's the one who picked the fight, but by the end of it, Percy's the one being blamed. This is so commonplace and anyone who's been through this knows how maddening it can be. This is such a short interaction but they pack so much into it.

Gabe is harmless…

And yet we find Sally sitting outside in the rain on the balcony, as if she's trying to ground herself after a traumatic experience. As if she's trying to bring herself into the present and not dissociate because when Percy arrives she needs to be there for him. She can deal with the Gabe stuff AFTER Percy is safe. I'll get more into Sally's interaction with Gabe in Part 2 because a lot of people were confused by the fact that she was so firm with him. There's an explanation, I promise.

A lot of people also expressed concern that we wouldn't see Gabe's truly monstrous side before he gets petrified but from what I can see, the shows been making great use of flashbacks and exposition, so I'm pretty sure this will be addressed. Percy and Sally are the heroes. It would be counterintuitive for the show to establish that and then not give them a blatant cause for turning Gabe into stone.

[flickering-chandelier]

The Sweetest Con

Pairing: Modern! Rhysand x Reader

Summary: You and Rhys are rival lawyers, but when a case stumps him, you find yourself in a situation you never thought you would be in.

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: Sorry to any lawyers out there, I do not know what I’m talking about lol.

Word Count: 3.2k

All morning you had been steeling yourself, trying to mentally prepare for the meeting that was about to take place, the lawyer that you were about to see. 

Rhysand.

Honestly, you figured you would rather go up against pretty much anyone else in the world. It wasn’t just that he was conceited and obnoxious, which he definitely was. It wasn’t even the smugness that was a constant feature of his face.

No, the real problem was that he was good. Really good. 

And he knew it.

You had been the city’s top lawyer until he showed up nearly a year ago. Suddenly he was giving you a run for your money and competing with you for the clients with the biggest names. 

It was maddening. You hated him. You really, truly hated him. 

Which, of course, he loved.

This case was pretty minor in the grand scheme of things. An ex husband and wife land dispute. Your client, Amelia, was suing Rhysand’s client, trying to get the house. The four of you, the plaintiff, the defendant, and the lawyers, were holding a meeting to see if this could be worked out amicably. You always liked to take an opportunity to avoid playing dirty if you could help it.

Rhysand, of course, was just the opposite. It had taken many phone calls and a lot of pleading on your end to get him to even show up with his client. 

He stared across the table at you now, his eyes dark, unwavering. He was trying to intimidate you, you knew, but you were holding strong. You had never been someone who scared easily. And you were determined. You would not lose this case.

---

You lost the case. 

Amelia folded, giving in, letting her asshole ex-husband keep the house that she had helped him buy nearly a decade ago.

You were furious. Not at her, not at anybody but Rhysand, who had somehow been able to persuade your client that he knew what was best. 

The clients had left, and you had packed up your things, partway out the door when Rhysand purred after you, “Hey, Killer?”

Your shoulders tensed and you turned back to glare at him. “Don’t call me that.”

Rhysand smirked, his eyes dancing with delight. “Better luck next time.”

As you walked to your car, you were absolutely sure. You hated that man.

---

Weeks later, you were combing through files in your office for a case you were working on when your office phone rang. 

You let out a sigh when you recognized the number.

“What do you want?” you asked, your tone sharp. 

A deep chuckle on the other end. “That’s how you answer the phone?”

“When you’re the one calling.”

“Fair enough,” Rhysand said goodnaturedly. “I was hoping you could swing by my office sometime in the next few days. Whenever it’s convenient for you.”

You couldn’t help but pause for a beat in confusion, both at the request, and at his genial tone. “Why on earth would I do that?” 

Rhysand sighed quietly, seemingly resigned. “I need your help.”

His office was about what you had expected. A huge, deep mahogany desk, black armchairs, black drapes to block out the blinding afternoon sun from the window behind him. It was dark and imposing, just like the man himself. As always, he was wearing an all-black suit, and as always, he was looking at you with a twinkle in his eye, like he knew more than you did. 

In this case, you supposed it was true.

“I don’t understand,” you said finally. “What could I possibly help you with?”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair casually, placing his hands behind his head. It irritated you how nonchalant, how in control he always seemed. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, Killer, you’re smart. You pay attention to details, pick up on important pieces that a lot of lawyers would miss.”

You narrowed your eyes at the vexing nickname he had given you, but decided to let it pass. “So?” you asked. 

“So,” he said, drawing out the word, “this case I’ve been working on… it’s gotten complicated. And I could use a fresh pair of eyes to help untangle it.”

You crossed your arms, your eyes widening slightly, unable to hide your shock. “Me? I’m really the one you want help from?”

He blinked. “Yes. Did you not hear what I said?”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you said, “I heard it, but I still don’t understand. We work at separate firms. You and I, we compete for clients all the time. Working together under the circumstances… it’s unheard of.”

Rhysand leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him, his eyes sparking, his mouth curling up into a smirk. “Wouldn’t that make it all the more fun?”

“Fun?” You asked in disbelief. “Working with you?”

His smirk only grew. “Oh, I’m very fun. I promise.”

You bit your lip, your mind whirling. This man bothered you to no end. You would rather work with anyone else. 

And yet… 

It had been months since you had a case you could really sink your teeth into, one that you felt really mattered. On top of that, once word got out that you two, longtime rivals, were actually working together on a case? This could be huge for your career. 

Resignedly, you said, “Tell me everything I need to know.”

Rhysand grinned. “Gladly.”

---

You could understand why someone might want help with a case like this.  It was intense, with contradicting witnesses, no clear evidence, and to top it all off, it was high profile. 

The two of you spent hours in Rhysand’s office, combing over files while Rhysand talked, catching you up to speed. 

By the time you felt like you had a solid grasp of the case, the sun had set. You looked up from the file in front of you, your mind spinning from all of the information. Rhysand looked exhausted, though infuriatingly, still completely put together. 

His eyes softened a bit as he looked back at you, his brows furrowing together slightly. “We can pick this back up tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” he said decisively, snapping the folder in front of him shut. “We're not going to get any more work done if we’re this exhausted anyway.”

You nodded, tidying up the many folders on your side of Rhysand’s desk before slinging your gigantic purse over your shoulder.

You had turned for the door, but stopped short at Rhysand’s smug voice behind you, “You want to grab dinner?”

Narrowing your eyes, you turned back to face him. “With you? Absolutely not.”

His eyes sparkled with delight, his mouth curling up into a smirk. “Why not?”

“I still hate you. Working one case together won’t change that.”

Rhysand laughed. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

For several days, you got through your to-do list at your own office as quickly as possible to give you and Rhysand ample time to pore over documents, make calls, and bicker about what steps to take next. 

It was exhausting working with him. Even though he had been the one to seek out your “fresh eyes,” he still always thought that he was right. 

“I’m telling you this guy’s a dead end. I’ve spoken with him twice already,” Rhysand said, clearly exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. 

“And I’m telling you that you’re wrong. We’re missing something here, I know it.”

Rhysand sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Fine. But it’s too late to talk to him tonight, so we’ll have to pick this back up tomorrow.”

“Fine,” you said begrudgingly. 

He looked at you with resignation as you gathered your things, like he was regretting ever getting you involved. Then, he said matter of factly, “Let’s get dinner.” 

You scowled. “I told you--”

“I know, I know. You hate me,” he said, shutting down his computer and standing up, stretching his arms over his head. “But we both need to eat.”

He just continued looking at you until you rolled your eyes and agreed.

After arguing for several minutes, you finally chose a restaurant that you both liked, and before long, you were settled into a comfy booth with Rhysand looking across the table at you. He always looked like he was scrutinizing every part of you, like he could see straight through to your soul.

You hated to admit it, but his eyes… they shone even in the dim lighting, so blue they were almost purple. You had never seen eyes like his in your life. 

His eyebrow lifted, his mouth curling into a smirk, and you realized you had been staring for too long. Hastily, you opened your menu, scanning its contents, though you could still feel his eyes on you.

Once you ordered, he cleared his throat, pinning you with his stare once again.

“What?” you lashed out. You felt like he was driving you insane.

Blinking in surprise, he asked, “What?”

“Why are you always staring at me?”

He laughed, his whole face lighting up. “I’m pretty sure you were staring at me.”

“I was not,” you countered, but even to your own ears, your voice sounded too high, too defensive.

Grinning, he said, “You were.”  

You just rolled your eyes, desperately trying to think of a topic change. 

“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked suddenly.

That was not the topic change that you were expecting. You looked at him in surprise for a moment, then counted the reasons on your fingers, “You came into town and stole half my clients, you’re the most arrogant and smug man I’ve ever met in my life, you’ve beaten me in too many cases to count and then rubbed it in my face, you’ve given me a weird nickname that I don’t understand, and you clearly hate me.” 

You paused for a moment to look at him. He was gazing at you with the same smug, slightly amused expression he always wore. “Does that about cover it, or do you want me to keep going?” you asked. 

“I’ve never hated you,” he said simply, his eyes softening a little. 

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you tried to put the pieces together, to decipher this impossible man. He looked confident and calm as ever, but somehow, you believed him. It didn’t seem like he was lying. 

“Well. You could’ve fooled me,” you said finally, unable to tear your gaze from his.

“The rest is true, obviously,” he smirked, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “But I thought this was all friendly competition until you kept deciding to tell me that you couldn’t stand me.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say. You felt like your mind was completely blank and it didn’t help that he was still pinning you down with those ridiculously piercing eyes.

“Why do you call me Killer?” You eventually spat out.

His smirk turned into a real smile. “The same reason I wanted your help. You’ve got a killer instinct.”

You snorted in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?” he asked, laughing. “Yes, seriously.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, but you found yourself unable to resist a small smile.

He just smiled at you, and through the rest of dinner, somehow, you felt your hatred for Rhysand dimming. 

---

Things felt… different, after that dinner with Rhysand. You were both friendlier, less cordial. It seemed that you worked better together too, as you would bicker slightly less often. 

He still pissed you off sometimes, to be clear, but it didn’t feel as deep as it did before. The two of you would get dinner together a few times a week now, and you wouldn’t even talk about work for many of them. 

Rhysand and you were… friends.

You were still getting used to the idea. 

Rhysand seemed thrilled. You had never seen him in a better mood than he had been the last few weeks.

As the two of you sat at dinner that night though, you felt lost in thought. There was something about the case that you were missing, something that didn’t add up.

“What is it?” he asked, his eyebrow arching up.

You took a deep breath, tapping your fingers on the table. “We’re missing something.”

Rhysand looked at the table. “What, do you need more ketchup?”

Rolling your eyes good naturedly, you waved him off. “The case, Rhys. We’re missing something about the case.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and listened intently while you worked through your thoughts out loud, going over the notes and evidence you two had found the past several weeks, until it hit you. 

“The cameras,” you said hastily. “We’re missing footage.”

“How would you know that?” he asked. 

You explained your thought process, how you remember seeing a camera in a spot that you never saw in footage that the company handed over. 

“And if they didn’t give us that footage on purpose…” you trailed off.

“They’re hiding something from us,” Rhys finished.

You hadn’t felt like you had a real lead in ages. “We need to get back to the office.”

Rhys shook his head as he pulled cash out of his wallet and threw it onto the table. “We just need a computer. It would be faster to go to my place.”

You were too excited, too focused on the case to argue.

And so, that’s how you found yourself in Rhysand’s apartment.

The two of you were so engrossed in this revelation though, that you hardly noticed. You both sat at his dining room table, leaning in close over his laptop, focused on finding the missing piece that you so desperately needed. 

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed before you excitedly pointed to the screen, “There!”

Rhysand went completely still beside you as he saw what you were pointing to. The answer to all your questions. It was what you needed to solve the case, you were sure of it. 

You hadn’t realized how close you were sitting to him until you both looked at each other in disbelief, your faces only inches apart. 

“You did it,” he said quietly, his eyes shining. “This is exactly what we needed.”

It took all you had to maintain eye contact with him. You felt like you could fall right into his eyes and drown. 

When his eyes darted down to your lips for a moment, you felt your breath catch.

It didn’t seem real, somehow, when Rhysand leaned forward and met your lips with his, bringing his hand to cradle the back of your head comfortingly. Within a few moments, you were balling your fist in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. 

You gasped when he wrapped his hands around the backs of your thighs, picking you up in one fluid motion and carrying you to the couch, his lips trailing down your neck as he went.

Keeping his hold on you, he sat down on the couch, his hands trailing up to your hips as you straddled him, leaning in to kiss him again.

Rhysand. Your mind tried to make sense of it. You’re kissing Rhysand, of all people. And worse, there was fire flooding through your veins, your skin tingling with a need you hadn’t felt in a ridiculously long time. 

And it was Rhysand who was making you feel like this.

When his hips jerked up and met yours, when you could feel just how badly he wanted you too, all your thoughts went out the window, and you just needed him.

As if he could read your mind, his hands started to wander across your body, in all the places that you had suddenly become desperate for him to touch. 

After a moment though, reality began to set in again. Your mind began to wander. This had to be a bad idea.

Rhys felt the change in your body language and stopped what he was doing, leaning back to peer at your face. “What is it?” he asked softly.

“I…” you hesitated, unable to find the words. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” he said, gently guiding you off his lap so you sat next to him. “Are you okay?”

Your heart melted the slightest bit before you could stop it. “I’m fine. It’s just… this can’t be a good idea.”

“We hate each other,” you said, exasperated.

He blinked in confusion. “Why?”

Rhysand laughed incredulously. “You really still believe that?”

Your face heated. No. Obviously not. He had even told you himself that he never hated you. 

With a resigned sigh you said quietly, “No.”

“What’s really going on?” he asked softly. 

Biting your lip, you tried to think of a suitable answer, even when you finally recognized the truth in yourself. 

You had feelings for him. You had for weeks.

And if you let this happen, you would have to come to terms with that.

That, and the fact that he might not feel the same about you. That this could all just be a fun hookup for him. 

You couldn’t live with that. 

And you obviously couldn’t tell him that. 

“Nothing,” you said finally, quietly. “We just can’t.”

Rhysand shook his head. “I don’t believe you,” he said gently. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something?”

“No,” you said, your voice breaking. “You didn’t do anything.”

You hid your face in your hands and you felt him sit up straighter next to you.

“Then what is it?”

“Oh,” he said quietly after a moment. 

“Oh?” you asked, your voice muffled.

“Let me just make one thing clear,” he said, his voice still gentle but slightly more authoritative now. “This isn’t a one-time thing for me. I like you. I have since we met.”

You pulled your face from your hands and looked at him incredulously. “What?”

He nodded, the smallest smile gracing his expression, so different from his usual smirk. 

“Why were you such an asshole then?”

“I was just trying to get a rise out of you! I thought we were playing around, I didn’t know you actually hated me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. This whole time.

The two of you were quiet for a moment before Rhysand said, “This is the part where you say how you feel about me.”

You groaned, unable to form the words. 

So instead, you looked at him for a moment, at those gorgeous, purple eyes that you had become so accustomed to, and you kissed him.

--- 

A year later, you gave Rhysand a quick kiss before you both exited the car and walked into your very own law firm. 

Well, yours and Rhysand’s, of course. 

You got to work together on a fresh new case, one that you were both excited about. One that could really help people.

And you couldn't imagine being happier.

@loving-and-dreaming @birdsflyhome @hanuh @sheblogs @iambored24601 @thalia-as-blog @evergreenlark @ecliphttlunar @bookloverandalsocats @melmo567 @headacheseason @sillysillygoose444 @yourqueenlilith @mariamay02 @halibshepherd @azrielshadows1nger @cigvrette-dvydrevms @andreperez11 @lilah-asteria @marina468

[dr3amfyr-e]

moon, river - c.s. ( w. 1049 )

꒰ cregan will always defends your daughter’s claim ꒱ — cregan stark x reader

୨ ⎯ period typical misogyny. implied trouble concieving children. reader is written to be very influenced by her environment, and therefor uncertain of herself and her self worth. girl dad cregan. cregan's kind of a medieval feminist. i named your daughter for you, sorry. this is very cregan pov, not many of reader's thoughts. umm maybe not canon cregan but it’s my cregan. uhh dialogue heavy. tbh i don't even know what i was writing here. fem!reader. ⎯ ୧

i advocate for creganwives who don’t want to have ten children.

Cregan wasn’t nearly as physically imposing underneath all of his armour. 

You had observed as much before — watching keenly as he unclasped his cape and slid out of the thick leather armour. It was a sight to behold, the muscles in his shoulders and arms as he fought to disrobe. 

He was much different here, in your shared chambers. Lord Stark shed with his dayware, Cregan stood in his wake. 

You had been married for years, and still, your heart fluttered like an infatuated girl when he loomed over the bed, hair damp from the bath. 

Married for years, with two children, and yet — sprawled across the bed in naught but a thin nightgown, you ogle him as he makes his way to bed. 

He's hard to wrangle; he walks the keep and checks on your daughters, among other mindless tasks, before finally getting into bed every night. It gives him ‘time to think’, and makes you senselessly anticipatory. 

Most nights are the same. He curls into you, head on your chest, to decompress. It's sweet, to see such an intimate side of him.

Tonight, in lieu of the typical mindless drivel that lulled you both to sleep, you had been quiet. Cregan could feel the tension of whatever weighed on your mind, but he had not wished to pry.

You rub aimless little circles against his back before finally speaking, “Are you content with this?”

Cregan looks up, lifting his head from your breastbone. He doesn’t speak for a moment, reading your expression, “Content?” When you don’t reply he continues, “Of course I am content. What has prompted you to ask such?”

He can see the solemn, contemplative expression written across your face; the way you gaze down, as if through him, “It is just…” You hesitate, he keeps firm in his stare, “We have been married years, and I have not given you many children. And, no boys.” 

He doesn't reply, unsure how or what to say. True, it is, that in the years you have been married there have only been two children — both daughters. 

“Do you think,” He begins, sitting up more, “That I am discontent because you have not given me a son?” 

Silence hangs heavy in the room. You look guilty; he cannot tell what it is you feel guilty for, but he wishes you did not feel guilty at all. 

Cregan says your name once, his voice low and soft. When you meet his eyes he can sense the resignation — you wish you had not brought this up.

“I just worry, that is all,” You reply, quietly.

His expression stays set. There is solace in knowing him well enough to read his microexpressions; he isn’t brooding, he is concerned. 

He speaks, “What is it that you worry about – my discontentment?”

“Perhaps I have not performed by duty,” You shrug, as if to pass the comment off as nonchalant. Maybe it is; ladies raised to believe their self-worth lies in their good stock and ability to breed and please can talk about such matters with a level of insouciance. 

Frustration blooms in the space between his lungs. He understands the way polite society worms into young women’s brains, and how hard it is to remove that sickness once it's taken root. Still — you surely must know that your worth does not lie within your womb, he thinks.

“Your duty?” He asks, tone firmer now, “And what duty is that? To be bred like a milking cow?” 

The abruptness and near vulgarity of his words are enough to leave you taken aback, blinking at him. Cregan was certainly not one for eloquent metaphors. 

When you seem not to have a response, he begins to feel bad. This isn’t your fault. You were raised to think like this.

“I have not given you an heir,” You’re quiet, almost embarrassed. 

“You have,” He counters. 

“You have no son,” 

“I have Lyanna,” 

A log in the fireplace shifts and crackles as you sit in silence; a scullery maid shuffles by in the hallway. 

He watches you gather your composure before you speak, “And you do not mind?” You sound unsure, he hates it. 

Cregan reaches, sliding his fingers under your jaw to make you look at him fully, “Tell me — if we should have a son, would you be content to strip Lyanna of her birthright?” 

The question feels harsh. He watches guarded confusion swirl into your eyes.

Of course, you would not wish for your daughter to have her title taken from her. But so many others, men in Cregan’s council, mocked the idea. They rued Lyanna’s power, the status she already held above them as a girl of all but five. So it would be no shock if someone insisted she be stripped of her title as heir to Winterfell, and it was frightening. Frightening to imagine someone stealing your daughter’s future and freedom. 

“If it is what you wished,” You answer, resignation thinly veiled. 

“I asked you a question,” He’s firm but gentle. 

You gape for a moment, before answering, “No, never. I could not imagine doing that to her.” 

“And do you think I would?” 

“No,” 

He nods, sliding his hand up to cradle your face. You look ashamed, he tries to soothe it away with his thumb over your cheekbone. 

“Do you think you’ve disappointed me, pet?” He doesn’t wish to subject you to the humiliation of answering such a vulnerable question, so he continues, “You need not worry so much. I do not need a boy; I am more than pleased with things just how they are,” He strokes his thumb slowly, “Do not agonize over something so trivial.” 

He catches the tear that rolls down your cheek.

When you speak your voice is quiet, “You are so good,” And then, “Many lords do not care much for their daughters.”

The thought makes his chest burn; to not care for his daughters? Unthinkable, “Do not praise me for loving my children. Those girls are my world, as are you.” He feels lighter when he sees the edge of your mouth tick up, so he speaks again, “I care not that I have daughters in place of sons — I have, and for that I am lucky.”

He has and he is lucky.