#i feel like i have come to accept the way that i look but damn

[peupeugunn]

honestly when you look at it, out of all the yunmeng siblings, jc's not the worst when it comes to dating/courting.

i mean, there's jiang "i sigh and pine from afar and also secretly make soup" yanli and jin "fuck arranged marriages i will love of my own volition and do it so badly that i yell it in front of everyone and then run off to go cry about it" zixuan.

then you've got wei "i didn't realise i was into him even though i constantly described him in an incredibly in love with him way because i thought everyone thinks of him that way" wuxian and lan "i hated him i wanted to ruin him i think his Horrors are sexy i will mourn and get him back and hope he remembers i confessed my love through the mixtape i played for him when he was unconscious years ago" wangji.

on the other hand, there's book!jc who is rumoured to be blacklisted by matchmakers because he knows what he wants and refuses to accept anything less (no matter how we as readers feel about his list of wants). he doesn't seem to have had any romantic anythings at all so either he really hasn't or he's conducted his relationships in such a discrete way that literally no one knows.

then there's cql!jc who has a crush, buys a comb for her, makes his intentions known, takes rejection with understanding even when he's hurt, (has his bodily autonomy violated by his love without his knowledge or informed consent) does his best not to harm her even as they're on opposite sides of a war, and then their romance ends when he cannot realistically offer her or her family safety without dooming his people. and ALL OF THIS heart wrenching star-crossed lovers angst is so quiet and discrete that literally no one knows except the two of them.

no one's doing it like jc and that's a damn tragedy.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Spoiled Brat {pt.2}

Remus Lupin x Gaunt!Reader

Summary: Remus and the reader reunite, but it doesn't go as well as either had hoped. Remus finds himself dealing with an evolution in his furry problem. (There will be a part 3- I'm sorry)

WC: 4895

Warnings: Not proof read. Sexual themes and references, this one is mostly angst and yearning, use of {Y/N}, fem reader, self doubt- let me know if I missed anything!}

Part one

You had no idea where you were going. Not that you would know if you had thought about it, you didn't have a clue about this damn school. You turned every corner and kept pushing through the sharp pain in your calves.

Your mind was racing. What the hell!? Why was he here!?

You turned another corner and ended up in just an empty corridor again. Eventually, you gave in and shoved your way into an empty classroom as you heard his footsteps grow closer. Fuck fuck fuck.

You began to pace. This should have never come home with you. What was he? A muggleborn? You had forgotten that Hogwarts accepts them. Was he a halfblood? No way in hell he was a pureblood, no chances you found someone that similar to you.

During the training over the summer, Mrs. Black made a heavy point of schooling you in infatuation. Well, at least that's what she called it. Longing for someone who you couldn't have. She taught you how to ignore the feelings, how to shove aside such thoughts and remind yourself you had a greater purpose.

You almost felt sorry for her, if she wasn't so vindictive and cruel, she would almost be a sob story.

Though, that was the only thing that helped. She seemed almost.. sympathetic with how taken you were with those lessons. Even a monster can use her heart once in a while. You had used her practice religiously, a rubber band around your wrist, flicked it throughout the day, and if you thought of him, or let your mind wander from your duties, flick it particularly hard.

She seemed to trial off when she noticed just how much you did it. By the dent around her forearm, she knew what she was talking about. What a cruel fix, seemed appropriate for her.

So here you were, pacing, your wrist turned upward and snapping the rubber band repeatedly, not thinking about just how much noise you were making. You were too wound up. You felt like a caged animal, just praying to Merlin that he walked past the classroom and somehow, for the next year, you'd be able to avoid him.

You could never be so lucky.

The door opened with a start and you hissed out at a particularly hard snap of the rubber across your already raw skin. Your eyes locked with a familiar face, you both were frozen. No one dared to move. The sound of his friends running down the hall and gaining on them seemed to catch Remus’s attention. He closed the door quickly behind him and you both held your breath. Listening as his friends all shuffled past the doorway.

Once they got further away, their shouts of Moony’s name fading out, he moved first.

You fumbled for your wand the second they were gone, looking down to your robe pocket and cursing as the colors blended together in your panic, the dark classroom was only illuminated by the moonlight from behind you, you didn't stand a chance. You missed your old uniform. You heard his footsteps, but by the time you looked up his long strides had already covered half the space between you.

You grasped your wand and snatched it from your ruffled uniform, before he grabbed your wrist and took your cheeks with one hand. You pointed your wand to this throat, but his grip on your wrist made you hold it at an odd angle. His thumb dented your cheek and his other turned your wrist. Something that could be seen as aggressive, domineering, but Merlin you knew that touch fondly.

His eyes locked on your panicked ones, he stared into them with so much desperation, your heart was blaring against your chest in a painful way. He moved closer, until his exhales became your inhales. You took a sharp breath in and held it, you could almost taste that familiar tang, chocolate and coffee, just like every night.

Your free hand applied pressure to his shoulder, but you hardly tried. You caved so easily for him.

It wasn't long until his lips were on yours. Your body relaxed on instinct, pressing against his as your wand dropped to the floor. “Mmm…”

He smiled into the kiss and pushed you back until you hit some poor professor's desk. Hand moving from your cheeks to your lower back, taking control as if laying claim to what he was cheated out of over the summer.

Sirius’s words, for once in his life, made sense. You were distracted with Walburga, of course you wouldn't have been able to come over the summer. You didn't hate him. He knew you didn't. It did make him wonder. What was a Gaunt doing hanging around muggle London? It drove him mad, he knew you so intimately, but clearly didn't have a clue who you really were. He wanted to know more than anything, trying to communicate it wordlessly and taking it out on your bruising lips. You gasped when he bit you, and the sharp pain snapped you out of it.

Looking away quickly he took that as a sign you wanted his kisses elsewhere. He found your neck easily, running his teeth along your jugular, bringing that familiar haze to the forefront of your mind. Only for you to snap out of it again when he took a punishing nip at the sensitive flesh. As if to show you that you've done wrong. Like some kind of dog.

You quickly shoved him back, and got a good look at him. He was flustered, hair a mess from what you realized had been your hand tangling into his lochs. You didn't even remember doing that.

“Get off.” You hissed at him and he seemed taken aback by the pure anger in your voice.

He did as he was told, letting go of you and taking a few steps back. He stared at you and you quickly fixed your clothes, hand going up to your neck and cursing at the tender wet mark. That would bruise, you knew that very well.

“Don't ever touch me again, do you understand me?” You snapped at him. The look he gave you made your heart break. He looked so.. defeated, like you had just taken the world away from him. What? Did he assume things would be like it was? That you would just go back to summer? To be that free… You huffed and leaned off the desk, his eyes scanned over you as if he was trying to decipher what was happening. “You need to keep your hands to yourself, Remus. I need you to tell me you understand that.”

He frowned a bit and slowly nodded. “Yeah. Understood.” He mumbled and you leaned down to get your wand.

“I don't need anyone knowing I associate with anyone lesser than.” You were being harsh, you knew that, but you had to. Less he got ideas this was something he could keep alive.

Much to your dismay, he scoffed. “You don't believe that. You're going to have me believe you would go around with a muggle all summer, but a half blood is too much for you?”

Halfblood.. of bloody course he had to be a half blood. You rolled your eyes hard. “I thought you were a muggle I would never have to see again.”

Another lie. And by the look of it, he knew this one too.

“Sure, sure you did.” He huffed at you and crossed his arms.

You had only seen Remus angry twice, once when you were at the beach with your friends and a random boy came over to try and talk you up, while he was standing right next to you. Remus did not like that. He snaked his arm around your waist and locked his eyes on the poor chap before he left.

You felt cocky, having made the usually well mannered, civil boy so angry. You had looked up at him through your lashes, knowing every move that made the boy crazy, and ignored the flirt outright. Like it was a display of your commitment to your situationship.

The second time was when you were at home and one of your neighbors had been making a racket while you two tried to sleep. He found an easy solution to that problem, and even if he took it out on you in a very exhilarating way, he never had his anger directed at you.

Tonight, it seemed like he had a million different thoughts in his head and all of them pointed at you as the cause. You didn’t blame him.

“I'm serious, Remus. Don't make what happened between us anything more than what it was.” You spat harshly and slipped your wand in your pocket, moving to pass him but he spoke up and stood in front of you. It was slow and calm, like he was herding you.

“What was it then? Enlighten me. You are a clever girl, and you never hesitate to tell me what you want.” Remus’s tone was terrifying at first, you had never heard so much strain and anger in someone's voice before. “So what was it? A three month long game? You introduce me to your friends for a little hit of something dangerous? You take me home and beg me to stay the summer for a quick fuck?” Remus had his hands out and threw them around to emphasize his point. You could see how he was clenching his hands, the veins in his arms harsh and visible. “You tell me you love me for a quick. Fuck?”

You snapped your thoughts back to reality, memories rushing back with every ounce of blood in your body, flushing your skin a tint of embarrassing red.

Your eyes widened, lips parting. “I-I never said that.”

“You did. I know because I was bloody begging you to. I had been imagining it for weeks, and it finally happened. And you acted like it was nothing.” He threw his hands down, putting them to his sides as he looked down at you.

“I thought I imagined it. But that look in your eye,” He gestured to you in aspiration, a clear disjointed hopelessness flickering between his eyes and relayed in his tone. “You can't fake that. I fucking hope you can't.”

He could not explain how much it rattled him. Your arms around his neck while he was rutting against you, your soft sounds egging him on. His hands holding you like you were glass, running up and down your legs to map out your figure for nights without it. Just begging himself. Begging himself to just say it. Just to hear your featherlight words piercing him a knife. The worst part? It was true. He knew it to be true.

You scoffed and turned your back to him, trying to hide your glossy eyes. This felt worse than how you expected. “... I wish I could say, I hate to disappoint you.”

Remus gave a laugh at your display. “What? You don't even know the worst about me, and you're this fucked up about it? That's it? That's all I get?” He stared down at you and you ran your fingers through your hair.

“That summer meant the world to me, you can't sit here and tell me you didn't feel a damn thing about it.” He spat harshly.

You pulled at the strands of your hair and laughed. It truly was like arguing with a partner, your mind kept going back to your concerns for him. You know, however, this time, his self deprecation was your fault. You were doing this to him, and it hurt like hell. “Yes!” You shouted and turned to face him, hands held out to exaggerate. “It meant nothing, Remus. Not a damn thing! I had done it before. Plenty of times.”

Remus rolled his eyes and you walked past him, shoving his shoulder as he tried, in vain, to stop you from running again. He turned to watch you open the door, as you looked back at him. His eyes widened and he looked right past you, but you didn't think about it.

“Stay far away from me, Remus. I mean it. I don't plan to ruin my name and my family legacy over a half breed.” Your words were aimed to kill. Glad his eyes weren't focused on you, you'd surely break. If he hated you, he wouldn't be so obsessed with the idea that you two could be anything more than what you truly were. He didn't need to know you were destined for a loveless life of pamper and spoils. He didn't need to know you would be married off once summer ended. He needed to forget that you fell in love with him that summer. In fact, he needed to think it wasn't true. It would just make this worse. “You need to realize that summer was a mistake. You're right, I don't know the worst of you. I don't care to. It's over. Be a big boy and let it go.”

Remus flinched and looked away, taking a small breath and you relaxed at his reaction. Seeing him finally give in broke your heart, but you were doing far worse to him, you were sure of it. You closed your eyes and turned to look away with a long pause.

“Listen-”

“Man, I hate being right sometimes.”

Your head snapped around and you locked eyes with Sirius Black. Now, you knew him, knew him as Walaburga warned you to stay far away from her disgraced son. You took a sharp breath as you looked across the alarmed and unsettled faces of who you recognize as students who were sitting around Remus in the hall. Lovely, so they surely know.

You collected yourself and straightened your back, waving your hand in a dismissive way. A red headed girl who was staring at you with the most confused look you'd ever seen, stepped aside. You quickly brushed past her and turned sharply to make it down the hall. Not wanting to hear the group talk about you. More so, not wanting to hear how bad you had hurt your moony.

~~~

The walk back to the dorms was hell.

He never knew Sirius could be so quiet. The only thing that could be heard was their soft footsteps making it towards the staircase.

What was worse than the silence, was the whispers. The second the five entered the common room, everyone seemed to be alive with chatter about what had gone down merely an hour ago.

“Remus! What was that?” Marlene shouted from her seat on the couch, turning to face him with a bright smile. Mary closed her book on her lap as Marlene began to turn with her knees in the cushions.

“Come on, Remus! You don't just call the new mystery girl by first name and run away!” She called after him as he walked his way up to Sirius and Peter’s dorms. Mary reached up and yanked Marlene down by her ear. The blonde yelped and fell easily into Mary’s lap. Looking up at her with a cheeky grin, much like James, puddy to her girlfriend. “Hey! I mean- Hey~”

Mary rolled her eyes and glanced back to see Lily send her an appreciative look before she followed the boys into what was once their shared dorm room.

She closed the door behind her and looked up to see Remus sitting in his old bed and staring at the wall. She sighed and put her hands on her hips.

James bit his cheek and rolled his jaw a bit. “Hey, Remus, I know it's not what you want to hear-”

“Then don't say it.” Remus groaned and covered his face. His lips still tingled from the kiss. It shouldn't have been this hard. He knew you were out of his league, the moment you mentioned your causal springs in Paris and winters in Australia. Your small comments while you spoiled him through the summer, with gifts and sweets, he knew at least three of his outfits in his luggage were from you. He didn't know if he wanted to frame or burn them.

Lily gave him her soft eyes, the ones that usually made Remus feel at his safest. Now, all he could think about was what it meant to be held by you, just hours after his transformation. True safety was your arms.

“Lily-”

“I know.” Lily whispered and moved to sit beside him on the bed. He looked at her as she placed her hand on his wrist and lowered it. She interlocked their fingers and she traced shapes along the back of his palm. It burned, almost like she was branding his very flesh. Another reminder he would never feel you trace your name in his back again. Like how you had done, on the beach, leaving your initials along his spine when the tan took over.

“How's Moony?” Lily whispered and Remus gave a deep sigh.

“He won't shut up. He's clawing at my throat.” He mumbled and Lily slowly rested her head against his shoulder, hand running up his arm and rubbing it.

“Do you think.. maybe he'll grow to get over it?” She whispered, slowly pressing her nose to his arm. “Like before?” She whispered lower and Remus grimaced.

“It's nothing compared to knowing she's.. she's so close. And I just can't-” He lifted his hands and she let hers untangle from his. “I can't..” He clenched his fists and slowly rubbed his forehead. “I need her.”

“Remus, you don't need her,” Lily tried to interject before she flinched at the look in his eyes. He looked dangerous, like she had denied him something vital. Then she realized, right. Three days, coming on the next full moon.

Moony was on edge. Remus wasn't usually this in tune with him, he did his best to ignore him day to day. But you had been his weakness from day one.

Normally, for Remus, he wouldn't dare say anything to a pretty girl in a record store. One who carried herself with so much confidence and determination. He should have taken note, your expensive shoes for a casual walk, your outfit wreaked of old money and your attitude alone showed you were used to being treated like a princess.

But Merlin, if you didn't have him and Moony on the same page for once. You were just his type, and yet the complete opposite at the same time. He was whipped before he knew your name.

By the time you said his, he was done for.

So he did everything in his power to avoid running into you again. A muggle and a half blood wizard tainted with wolf blood, what a romantic pair. He would do far more damage to who he thought you were then to any witch he'd ever meet. He would never want to force himself on someone so perfect. Then you showed up that night on his walk home and ruined everything. Ruined him.

Yet he still wanted more.

Remus snapped from his thoughts. He noticed Lily’s hesitation before slowly sighing. He shouldn't be taking it out on his friends, he knew that.

Peter snuck his way over to Remus. He wasn't one for many words, but he handed him a chocolate bar. Remus couldn't help but smile, the same thing Peter always did to comfort him. “Thank you.” He whispered.

Lily looked back to James and Sirius, giving a long sigh through her nose.

They both seemed locked in a silent conversation with their eyes. Lily gave a huff through her nose and slapped her hand down onto her lap as she glared at the two.

“Merlin's beard! Your friend is here distressed, say something!” Lily snapped at them and Remus put his hand on her shoulder.

“Lily, it's okay.” He mumbled before Sirius spoke up.

“I would! But James said I'll only make it worse!”

“Because you have a habit of it!” James challenged and Lily scoffed.

“Sirius, say what you must.” She groaned and Sirius bit his cheek before he sighed.

“Well.. she's a pureblood. You described her completely different then how she is now, and she got special training from mother dearest.” Sirius mused as he counted each point on his fingers. “Three strikes and she's been brainwashed.”

Lily furrowed her eyebrows before she looked at Remus who shook his head. James began to gesture wildly at Sirius. “Told you so!”

“She.. she's too strong willed to be broken so easily.” He mumbled and paused. He remembered your words carefully. Every memory of you was tainted and made Moony howl out in desperation for his pack back. His love back. You seemed so real.

You would be so prim and proper outside, Merlin, you used proper dining etiquette at the rundown muggle diners he could hardly afford to take you, like it was second nature. But behind closed doors? You were more of a gremlin then you were a girl at times. Huddled up on the couch in his oversized clothes with your hair a mess and eating cereal from the box. Eyes still messy from sleep and drool still dried on your chin.

He wanted to believe that was the real you. That was the one he fell in love with. If that was you, and it had to be, then maybe not brainwashed but.. the pressure was getting to you. He knew Sirius struggled with it at times, being an heir to an entire dynasty was daunting. That had to be it.

“... I can wait.” He resolved, earning a curious look from everyone in the room.

“I can wait for her to realize I'm worth it.” He whispered, and earned a shocked look from Lily, James seemed ecstatic, Sirius looked bewildered. Even Peter’s jaw dropped.

Sirius slowly smirked. Hell yeah moons, you are worth it.

Lily engulfed him in a hug, smiling bright. Peter clapped a hand on his shoulder, but no one looked prouder than James.

Tomorrow was a new day.

~~~

The second you got back to the dorms you were overwhelmed by the eyes on you. You were aware the bruise was already forming on your neck, so you had wrapped yourself up in your green scarf. Chin high, practiced and poised, you had to remember.

This wasn't Dumstrang. You had actual power here.

You stepped past the couch, glancing over to a boy. He had straight black hair and bright eyes, a lazy smirk on his face. You knew him, you knew every pureblood your father seemed to think it was worth knowing.

“Mulciber.” You quipped and took a moment to pause. He looked you over before he leaned forward, elbows to his thighs. “Well, if it isn't the Slytherin princess.”

His tone made your nose scrunch up, waving your hand dismissively. “Do not address me so informally.” You snapped back and it seemed to only egg on his interest. The voices around you quieting down, as if your conversation was the most important thing in the entire common room.

This would be interesting… By the looks on everyone's faces, the two of them must have looked like dragons raring their fangs at each other.

“Sorry, sorry doll, just saw that Half breed calling you by first name, I was wondering what kind of privileges us purebloods had.” He chuckled and stood up, earning a laugh from the boy beside him, Avery. You crossed your arms and turned to face him with a harsh glare. Even Avery had the good sense to fake a cough in the chillingly silent common room.

“Watch your tongue, Mulciber. I think you forget who you're speaking to.” You snapped and he put his hands up and playfully flinched back, like you were a caged cat hissing more than a Gaunt. “I suggest you learn to respect your superiors.”

“Superiors?” He laughed, walking closer to lean down. He was as tall as a bloody tree, not as tall as Remus, but enough to remind you that your wand was very hard to salvage in an emergency.

“Are you my superior, love? Who's yours?” He smirked and reached for your scarf. Your hand found your pocket, securing your grip on your wand handle. “Let me guess.. that little half breed had some-”

His wrist was grabbed harshly before he could remove the cloth covering up any evidence of Remus’s wandering lips. Your eyes followed the pale arm and your eyebrows raised at the sight of the youngest Black son, Regulus.

You suddenly remembered that old hags warning, that her youngest son and new heir would be at the school, in your house, as if there was not a shred of doubt you would be in Slytherin. That she would inform him to look after you, ensuring your father there was no funny business happening. Just great…

He looked a lot like Sirius, just angry and a bit more feminine. You wonder how two boys clearly so similar could be so different. It was evident, even if you couldn't see the peaking snake tattoo on his wrist from where you stood.

“Back off, Mulciber.” He warned in a cutting tone. You looked back at the offender as he scoffed and snatched his hand away. “Just looking, Reggie.” He sneared with a smirk. You huffed and turned to him with an apprehensive look. Sizing up the boy two years younger than you, he couldn't be older than 16, he still had a bit of a baby face, and a hollow face. Terrifying how much he looked like his mother.

He just gave you a nod and gestured to his side. “I'll take you to your room, Gaunt.”

You cautiously accepted his help, hands behind your back as you walked towards the steps he gestured to. Resolving within yourself to return back to your younger mindset.

Merlin this would be a long year.

~~~

The next day, waking up was a chore in itself.

Remus toughed through it, making his way to the great hall with some prodding from Lily. He couldn't say no, she had traveled all the way from the head dorms to the prefects to retrieve him.

When he sat down, the table felt lively again, but he could still feel all the eyes on him. He caught you at the Slytherin table, you had done your makeup and you were dressed up in subtle jewelry he remembered from the summer before. You took extra care of your appearance, and you seemed to effortlessly have every Slytherin wrapped around your finger.

You seemed so.. fake. So doll-like. You had a harsh and exact scowl, you looked dangerous but alluring, your eyes fluttered despite your clear stoic expression. When attention was given to you, you held it so effortlessly and that made his stomach turn. You used to look so much happier. When you were with him.

Sirius made some comment about your company, it was only then he noticed you were sitting with Regulus Black.

Remus didn't like to admit he could be a jealous person. Anytime you had teased him about his protectiveness, his unspoken claim over what was ‘his’ he would deny it.

Or better, blame it on Moony.

This time, it wouldn't be an entire lie. He felt his worse half begin to tear at the back of his head, shooting a painful jolt down his spine. His grip on his spoon tightened, as he watched you look at the younger boy with a practiced pout. Your eyelashes fluttered again as you played the part well, just a pretty arm piece with a valuable name.

Regulus seemed indifferent to your behavior, but still entertained your presence. More then could be said for most. Acting like a proper pureblood gentleman, and as he leaned down to whisper something in your ear, he heard James let out a shocked squeak.

Snapping back to, Remus looked over to James and narrowed his eyes, practically fuming. “What?”

“Mate.” Sirius prodded and met his eyes. The black haired boys were full of a strange kind of worry.

“What?” Remus pressed.

“Look at your arm mate.” Sirius stressed and gestured to his hand. The one clenching the metal in his palm, patches of discolored grey and long hairs spread across his hand and arm. His nails growing claw like, just a few of them, before they greyed out. His body grew stiff and dread filled him. What the actual fuck? What was happening?

Then the pain came, the very familiar bone breaking stretch of his flesh. He dropped the spoon in shock and gave a sharp hiss.

As shock overtook his anger, his hand began to return to normal. He sighed and rubbed his wrist and looked back up at you and Regulus, watching you get up and Regulus grabbed your bag for you, walking you out of the Grand Hall.

Remus felt a growl leave his throat and he quickly reached up to grab his throat, and his eyes widened. They locked with Lily’s own wide eyes from across from him. “Remus…” She whispered, and he avoided her eyes, looking down at his food.

Great, He thought, another freakish thing she can hate about me.

[maxwell-grant]

The Penguin Episode 7: "Top Hat" Breakdown

There’s a constant referencing of stunted childhood about Mr. Cobblepot – a baby grown enormous, grotesque and as needy as he ever was. The Hugh Hefner of crime. But the Penguin’s sublimated the desire for the tit for a desire for cash, power and empire. And this is why he’s Gotham’s greatest – and most outlandish – gangboss - TheMindlessOnes

The Penguin is the greatest Batman villain for the simple reason that he's the meanest. What the Penguin has that no one else has is a simple abundance of pure, unadulterated spite. In Batman's world there's madness, obsession, will and strength - but ultimately it all comes back to crime, pure and simple. The Penguin's motivations are pure because he simply resents the whole damn world and will not rest until he gets his. The Penguin is a criminal, nothing more and nothing less, with avarice in his heart and hatred in his eye. - Tegan O'Neil

VLADIMIR CVETKO: We wanted Francis to never allow Oz to use his disability as a crutch, and to always have him be strong and move past it and use it to his benefit. But it is isolating. Like, it is. And so he'll never be the same as his brothers. And so there's an inherent jealousy of just his situation that's there - The Penguin Podcast Episode 7

RYDER ALLEN: He loves his brothers, but he loves his mom way more.

COLIN FARRELL: I think he probably all his life feels a little bit broken, and so he's constantly, constantly, looking for his mother's approval and her love. I think he's seen very up close and personal how his mother has toiled to provide for him and his brothers, and wants to give her a better life - Inside Episode 7

Massive props to all the actors here but especially to Ryder Allen, who is absolutely incredible as young Oz. It would be so, so easy to let this take on Colin Farrell's Penguin slip into pantomine but he makes it work brilliantly without feeling at all like an impression. He is so believable he even makes the adult version more believable. Like, that is the same guy, give or take decades of grime and grit and scars, but that's still the same little turd, just before he was truly practiced in hiding his simmering resentment, but already fast learning.

"My big strong bull of a boy", words that in Episode 01 embody such a dark aspect to their relationship began all the way here with Francis simply encouraging her sad little kid with a bum leg. I said as much in prior entries that it's Francis who lights the fire under him, that she is the force that pushed him from mere self-preservation into city-conquering ambition for her sake, and we see the most innocent form of that motivation here. Just a disabled kid whose mom loved him and wanted him to love himself more.

So the previous episodes had already given us small glimpses of what Jack and Benny were like when they were still alive - that Jack was presumably the older sibling and a baseball player and the de-facto "man of the house", given how readily Francis accepted the idea that he had gone downtown on his own to get the power back, and that Benny was presumably younger and more innocent or sweet, given she mistakes Victor for Benny and asks him to dance with her. The opening scene very much confirms and expands on these traits and already raises up Ozzie having a resentment for them, and where does that come from. That cocktail of self-preservation and insecurity and spite and overcompensating that defines him.

Because it's not even just that his mom loves them and he wants her to love just him, it's not pure greed, it also comes back to how little he thinks of himself, and how he's hyper aware of every advantage others have over him - He can't be the upstanding man Jack is, and he can't be the pure innocent source of joy that Benny is. He can't be trusted to talk to Rex like Jack, and he can't successfully drag her away from work to have fun like Benny. He can't go out and be relied on to take care of his mom like good and strong old Jack, and he can't run around the house like sweet and happy little Benny, can't join the three of them when they play and instead has to sit there and stew in rejection over all this love and affection he can't have.

I didn't think we'd get a glimpse of Rex, but the one we get is so fucking perfect. What we see so far shows he was basically just a piece of shit gangster, a cartoonishly evil Greaser extra with nothing special about him, he was just a guy Oz projected hardcore into because he got stuff done for Ma (and he wasn't even great for his mom, he underpaid her! Same shit Victor complained about with his own dad). Oswald stares at his money and his cigar and his attitude and already wants to be chummy with the guy while Rex doesn't even look at him, he talks to Jack only, and Francis doesn't want Oswald to be involved with him. But even so, he's the closest Ozzie has to an older male role model he looks up to.

And so it doesn't matter that Rex Calabrese's car wasn't actually made of gold,, because Oswald will grow up to tell his next little brother, the next Benny, about the gold cadillac of the man who blessed his block. It doesn't matter that Alberto Falcone was 100% right about Rex Calabrese being just a small-time asshole, because Oz elevated him into a post-mortem myth.

Really, he's doing the same thing Sofia does and that Bruce did, elevating paternal figures into personal saints and guiding lights on their great life missions, with Bruce shattered when he learned about Thomas' mistakes and how said failings shaped everything currently wrong with the city, and Sofia describing her abused scared but loving mother as "a force too great for the Falcones to handle")

I think, way more than the murder, this is the part that most speaks to me about this guy being fated to become The Penguin, that on some level beyond explanation this is just what he was going to be, that he can already think of nothing else but wanting to be this guy. Dude came out of the womb wanting to be a criminal.

Crucially important to where this is going is the fact that there was real love between these brothers. They play flashlight tag instead of regular tag so that Ozzie can be included. Jack is constantly trying to protect him, always shielding him from Rex, warning him that he's a bad guy, taking the two in the tunnels to protect them from the rain, telling them that Ma deserves way better than what Mr.Calabrese plays them. Benny wants to play zombies with Ozzie, wants them to go to the arcade and play Double Dragon forever, puts him up first at tag. And even if all Ozzie wants is to stay and help Ma, even if all his brothers do is get in the way of the only thing he wants, he also wants to play with them, he wants for Benny to think that Rex's car is cool, he is proud to tell Jack that he knows about Rex being a gangster, he wants them to like the things he likes and he wants to be involved when they play.

Just as important is the extent to which Oz was genuinely hurt by what they did at the tunnel - that to him, they pretended to include him in a fair game that was actively unfair, they broke the rules by leaving the area and then broke them further by hiding somewhere he couldn't physically get to and cheating at what they agreed to and laughed all the while, and that's why Ozzie angrily closes the door on them at first, to punish them for doing this to him.

Everything they do here, even Oz's decision to lock the door on them, is childish, because they're just kids playing around. Jack and Benny even apologize and say they'll start over, but then, what will become the pattern of his entire life begins. Naturally, we hear a rendition of his theme when this happens.

KEVIN BRAY: I don't think that Oz had an intention of taking his brothers out in that moment. We've all known that child as a child. We've known the child that just strikes too hard or hits somebody with something and never thought the consequences would cut them open and they'd have to go get stitches. And he didn't have the impulse control, you know, to think this through. - The Penguin Podcast Episode 7

LAUREN LEFRANC: In his mind, they go down the ladder into a deeper part of the tunnel because they know it's hard for him to get down there. That's not true, but that's what he thinks, because he personalizes things. And this is reflective of what we see from Oz in 101 with Alberto. Alberto demeans him, and Oz impulsively shoots him. As the water begins to rise and he knows the rain is coming down and he has every opportunity to stop it, he lets that impulsive act become permanent. It's not that he actively kills his brothers. It's that he actively does nothing to stop it. - Inside Episode 7

Penguin with the Iceberg Lounge built atop the 44 Below where the fucked up shit he's covering up happens / Penguin with the Underground Railroad built atop the foundation of his original moiders he's covering up

Thinking about a description that stuck with me from the podcast, that Francis sent him like a stealth bomber into the world. So stealthy that he even bombed her life and she didn't notice

"They're your boys, and they're freezing" For the entire show this has haunted Francis again and again, even right in front of Oz

I kinda expected, given the Pain and Prejudice mention, that Oswald was going to be indirectly or directly responsible for killing his brothers, and that this was going to have a vastly better idea for that concept, and that it did. I've seen lots of people describe this as the show asserting he was ontologically evil from birth and that's, well that's just dumb, and that would be too easy, that attributes foresight and planning to Oz's decision that simply wasn't there, and wildly misunderstands much of the point of the show. Oswald is not beyond reason or empathy or humanity or feeling, precisely the opposite - he is all too painfully human, all too painfully real, in the atrocities he does and the ones he does nothing to stop.

He just is fearless, and I think it has to do with his empathy. You’re going to go, “God, I hate this guy, but I see where that comes from and that does not make it okay.” There’s a sense of tragedy within all of that. -Matt Reeves

Oswald's decision to lock his brothers in a fit of cruel and stupid spite after they insulted him (even if by accident) mirrors his decision to shoot Alberto after he's insulted and his decision to rat out Sofia after being insulted. Oswald walking home and deciding to do nothing while telling a different story, because it ultimately benefits him to do so, mirrors his decade of silence over Sofia's imprisonment and his complicity in Carmine Falcone's murders while telling Eve a different story. It is, indeed, the worst thing Oz has done yet, but nothing about it is fundamentally different than the patterns by which he's acted since Episode 1.

It wasn't that his brothers were mean, not intentionally anyway, or even Oswald was always planning to kill them, he very clearly wasn't. But A: They did something that really hurt and upset and offended him, and so were the first to find out what happens when you do that to Oz. And B: They were the first people to be in the way of something Oz wanted, the only thing he ever really wanted which is his mother's love, and so it's good they had to go. Not a premedidated crime, not even something he actively wanted, but it was a happy acident turned chance, and he wound up taking it and doubling down on it.

It's evil and fucked up to the degree I think works best for Penguin being evil and fucked up: Not sadistic and over-the-top cruel, not the Joker or any of that fetishistically elaborate revenge bullshit he's had since Joker's Asylum, but as someone who profoundly does not care about what he has to do or who gets crushed along the way for him to get what he needs. Does not go out of his way to murder for the sake of it, but will not blink at whatever body count happens to get him what he wants, more indifferent than actively malicious and that doesn't actually make it a lot better.

I believe Oz to this day still loves his brothers. I believe he means it when he says "I lost em too", it's just he doesn't think about the contradiction involved.

As someone who never liked the hypothermia/forced into always going out with an umbrella origin (always thought the latter one was real forced and dumb as far as justifications for the umbrella-theme went), it's cool they actually did incorporate that classic Penguin origin element so strongly here. In the broadest strokes possible, they managed to work in "Penguin's mother lost her family due to hypothermia and so her smothering concerns for Oswald pushed him into situations where he was frequently belittled and mistreated until he became more and more insecure and spiteful and twisted"

That's the cornerstone around which everything is built, the rest of his life. And it certainly is the foundation, or the springboard upon which he is launched into the world, that decision that he makes as a child in that moment, and the reasons why he does it – so that he can have the isolation of his mother's love directed solely towards him." I think he washes his hands of it totally, and has convinced himself that it didn't happen the way it did. It's that grave. But it's in there somewhere – the darkness. - Colin Farrell

Something I should bring up is also the Portuguese title given to this episode: instead of translating Top Hat (which would be Cartola), they called it Manda-Chuva. Manda-chuva is a conjoined slang term for boss, big shot, head honcho, that kind of thing, but it translates more literally to "Rain sender/commander" (Manda = order/sender, Chuva = rain). Like you're the guy who makes it rain in the village, you command the rain and everything else. Fucking excellently horrible name choice here, like it better than the original title.

To quote @book--wyrm

the juxtaposition of the tapdancing and the raindrops and the slamming and the shooting and then the hum of the TV and the buzz of the streetlights (get back home when those go on) and the rushing of the water into the grillthat shot of the jar outside the window, all filled up with water, two toys floating in themthe highest point in his life. when his mom is still happy and whole and he doesnt' have to share her untainted love and he doesnt' have to think about the consequences of what he's done while his brothers are drowning in a sewer under the city

him literally turning away from the camera after the shot of his brothers screaming underwater, turning away from who he might have been—the steady, honest man, and the bright, innocent child as they drown horrifically, to stare at a glitzed and glamoured version of who he will eventually become

Oswald's first crime, the first time he learns he can get what he wants by skipping the line. That he actually can have everything if he just does things a certain way. It's the first time he won, the first time he managed to take out his enemies/competitors and won what he wanted for it, pushing his brothers out of the nest so he could hog mama all to himself.

Nobody has to know, nothing that could be done, they hurt me first, it didn't happen like that, I deserve this, I'm making her happy, I can take care of her.

"The city took them."

All he was doing was punishing them for playing a mean hurtful prank on him. And then he went home. And then at some point realized they were not going to come back, but he kept going. Isn't it warm here, with Ma? Isn't it everything he ever wanted? Look at the tv, the man with the top hat dancing away the night. Isn't it cool when he shoots down everyone in the back? Isn't it cool, this larger-than-life thing he will map his life around, showing him how much it rules to be like this? His very own Mask of Zorro, in Fred Astaire shooting his back-up dancers, The Gentleman Criminal taking form as he commits the most horrific despicable betrayal of his life. The fantasy he will spent the rest of his life grasping for and projecting on pieces of shit like Rex Calabrese and Carmine Falcone in the hopes of one day taking their place, while he at every turn works to destroy and undermine it.

It sprung from a very base animal selfishness, resulting from a perfectly understandable childish impulse, carried to unimaginably horrific proportions set to define the rest of his life. Ozzie Cobb never wanted to murder his brothers, but he got away with it, because The Penguin can get away with anything.

Oswald commits his first spiteful horrific childish self-serving murder, on the same day a sharp-dressed backstabbing criminal in a top hat dances before him and his adoring mother. He's seeing his future, the reward he gets for his first crime, and he likes it very much.

LAUREN LEFRANC: Without it sounding cheesy, love matters to him, and that doing right by whatever the (mafia) family traditionally would do isn't the most important to him. And that there's a brazenness to it, that he can do what he wants, and he can be with who he wants, and he'll make his family a mixed family. And that there's strength in that as well. That makes him a different man than we may have seen in different iterations of Salvatore Maroni -The Penguin Podcast Episode 7

"Fuck your guilt, just bring me an army" - That singlemindedness that makes Oz such a piece of shit, while also making him someone that you can follow and even look up to, a guy who can plausibly sell himself as Da Good Boss. He doesn't give Victor shit for what happened to his Ma, won't hear excuses and he doesn't care for them, we gotta get this done now. Like at the grave scene in Ep3, he doesn't want Victor's apologies, he wants him to get his shit together if he's gonna stick around (by what he thinks is entirely Victor's choice). He has no time for guilt or second-guessing or a conscience, not his nor anyone else's.

"Gentleman" is a term that's only been brought up once in some episodes and in the most bitterly ironic tones possible, here turned against Oswald by Sal berating him for having betrayed his gentleman's promise and thus now he'll get the same deal, which helped put something in perspective: Sal Maroni is right, he is a gentleman. In fact, if anyone in the entire show, if anyone in Gotham, could be described as a "gentleman criminal" the way Oz so desperately aspires to be, it would be Salvatore. And not only does he fail partially because of that, but Oz has nothing but contempt for him, only sees him as a sentimental preening idiot (exactly the way Carmine did) and not only that, he will spend the remainder of the episode dragging him down to his level and causing him to die for it.

I love that Oz tries twice to turn Sal against Sofia and it never works, not even a little. Zero pretense that she's not in control and Sal is fine with it, he just wants Oz dead more than anything else.

Definitely a good time to bring up that, the first time the name Oswald Cobblepot was ever introduced was in the Batman Sunday Classics newspaper strip, issue #119 in 1946, in a story about The Penguin's aunt who raised him, Miranda Cobblepot, coming to visit him after ten years, and him begging Batman to not reveal to her that he's a crook and hold off on arresting him until she's out of town. It's the first time we were also shown anything about Oswald's background and a maternal figure in his life, here seen as comically overbearing as well as completely oblivious to his criminal life, helping fight off mobsters and leaving while telling him to help his good friend Batman take these hoodlums to jail.

Miranda never really showed up again outside of this strip, but some of these ideas eventually carried over to mainline depictions of Penguin's mom, namely his dutifulness towards her and her control over him and her total obliviousness to his criminal deeds, which has always defined her. I bring this up because, while we've obviously seen before that Francis is his confidant and knows and encourages her son's brutality, dancing in giddyness when she hears about the Falcones being killed by him, it's a brutal contrast to her telling Sofia here that yes, she knows full well about the worst thing he had done up until the opening of this episode, she knows he burned alive a mother hugging her son, and she couldn't be prouder. Even now, she is the ultimate force in Oswald's life, the only authority he answers to and his guiding motivation, even as we learn now she was his greatest victim.

Francis burns with such eternal undying spite and hatred, the force that turned her boy from simple self-loathing self-preservation into city-conquering ambition, and she burns so strongly she trounces The Hangman in a verbal boxing match and cracks the façade that will be later shattered in the episode. Francis is tragic and sympathetic and loving only because she is interrupted with bouts of crushing despair and guilt and delude love brought on by her illness literally forcing these feelings on her, because otherwise she would be as good as, if not better, han her son at this. At steamrolling everything and everyone fueled by hatred, and hers still burns strongly at everything and everyone, except the person who most ruined her life.

Dr.Rush subtly but very clearly suggesting having Gia killed, lmao. I think it's good to have just one total pathosless bastard in the proceedings, when every other character has so much tragedy and history and whatnot. He has 100% wholly sublimated his guilt over the Arkham atrocities he was a part of into a drive to help his victim Sofia no matter what, and not actually improve as a person or rectify the problems he was a part of, thus becoming someone who can justify any atrocity because he's doing it in the name of someone else he must avenge and do right by.

A thing that @davidmann95 brought up for last episode that became extremely relevant for this one

this ep also illuminated Oz's true power for me: he understands more than anyone else the power of This Fuckin' Guy, and thus builds all his rhetorical swerves and master plans around painting someone else as that

he can't make people stop hating him, but he can make anyone the person you hate slightly more

His power is hate and spite, as is true of the Penguin, as he gets from his Ma. The one that fuels him, and the one he can stoke on others. Every reason they gave on that meeting as to why he's the most hated crook in town was twisted into an additional reason why they should hate the people he's up against more. Here, Oz tries to turn Sal against Sofia, and it doesn't work, so he buys a distraction by reinforcing his status as That Fucking Guy. Sal has him dead to rights in every sense, and Oz stokes up so much hatred that the guy actually fucking dies from it.

Hey Vic, don't you hate that your parents died over nothing? Don't you hate that the Falcones get everything and you get nothing? Hey Sofia, don't you hate how these old bastards treat you? Don't you hate how our friend Alberto got killed? Hey Crown Point, don't you hate how you've been abandoned? Don't you wish there was someone helping you get back at the bastards that left you to rot? Hey Gangs of Gotham, don't you hate those bastards up town wiping you out even more than you hate me and each other? Hey Sal Maroni, don't you hate ME? Let me remind you of why you fucking hate me so badly your heart's gonna explode.

Brought this gentleman Salvatore down to his level so hard that he made classic Sal Maroni, the seething vengeful bastard who will burn your face off if it's the last thing he does, into existence.

CLANCY BROWN: Oz is an American. He wants to win, and he wants to win on his terms, and he wants everybody to know it. That's why he throws the body out, you know. He throws the body out, for crying out loud. That couldn't have been easy. He throws the body out where everyone can see it.

LAUREN LEFRANC: No one is seeing this happen, so that then you sense Oz's delusion, right? He's talking to a dead man, and then he shoots him anyway, because he wanted to shoot him because he wanted to. And so, he got what he wanted, and he made it happen, even though it's not actually the way he imagined it. And then, what Clancy's saying, he throws the body out and then takes credit, like, "I killed him. I did it." And from that point on, in Oz's mind, he killed Sal Maroni. There is no other alternative. No one else is going to know that Sal died on his own. This is part of Oz's constructed narrative. - The Penguin Podcast Episode 7

I love how Clancy Brown put it, that Sal was all heart and passion and rage and so eventually it just had to go out. Perfect death. He is not the guy who can burn himself forever in the name of vengeance, he is not Oz and Sofia, he is not a Batman villain - he's the guy who dies to make way for them, and here, he dies denying Oz the satisfaction of taking him out. C'mahn man, twice already the big bad bosses of Gotham die before he gets to actually kill them, first Carmine and now this. Popping punk scrub bitch Alberto just wasn't that satisfying, and Sofia's just making everything too weird. With the Falcones gone, this was the guy he wanted to genuinely brag about killing to his mom, and now it's just gonna be another lie and delusion that Oz spins into reality.

Also further contextualizes why Oz is gonna be the guy who picks fights with Mr Vengeance. All he wants is to prove himself, but all his biggest opponents so far died on him before he could get satisfaction. He's happy to profit from the ring and from taking credit for killing Sal, and he may even rewrite his memory so as to delusionally believe he actually killed Sal, but the truth of that moment was personally wildly unsatisfying. He needs to be the big shot who clawed his way up there, he needs to be alone at the top, and he needs to push everyone out of the nest, like he did his brothers.

The station coin he pulls out of the car attached to his lie that the city took his brothers, and the ring he pulls out of the same car with the lie that he killed Sal Maroni

Just once in his life, he wants to say "I got you, I FUCKING GOT YOU!" to a big bastard who thinks they're better than him and died by his hand, and to actually mean it and have it stick, no asterisks attached.

Rules that even before we can fully understand how deep in Batman Villain territory she is, Sofia is dressing up in wild hair and black furs and heavy eye to visit Gia. It is still visibly her covering up and dressing more conservatively than her past outfits, but she is so inseparable from her trademarks at this point that she goes to a children's mental hospital looking like she's hunting down the Baudelaire orphans for their inheritance money.

Sofia fully replicating the same attitude that was weaponized against her to cover up her mother's murder, and then when she sees the scars and realizes the degree to which she's created another Sofia, pivots instead to embracing her while telling her as openly as possible that yeah, I killed your mom and dad, you should be happy I did, they were scum, please be happy I murdered your family, you're free now like me. She won't accept becoming the same monster that they were to her, so instead she opts to become a different one.

As much as Eve was wrong about Sofia being the Hangman, she was right that she thinks in black and white: her worldview is based around compartmentalizing everyone between Victims and Victimizers. She very much placed Eve in the latter category at first and everything she was doing in that conversation at first, prodding her about performing for men, about her relationship with Oz, about her shallow lies to men, about being good at saying what people want to hear, seeing her as an extension of Oz, everything was to confirm and strengthen her already existing bias and intent to kill her, until The Hangman came and in part she realized that killing Eve would firmly make her a Victimizer.

Everyone she has killed up until this point? Victimizer. Alberto, who was very much complicit and aware of the fucked up shit Carmine did? Victim, because maybe he couldn't have known, he fought to keep her alive and get her out, she loved him, and he was killed by a Victimizer. The Crown Point followers of Oz she'll bomb later in the episode? Victimizers. Julian Rush? Victimizer, but he knows his place. Sal Maroni? Victimizer turned Victim. Oswald? Victim turned Victimizer a decade ago. Francis shook her up, but she can still justify doing horrific things to a mentally ill woman because she raised the monster who did all of this to her and is proud to have done so, ergo, Victimizer. But in Gia, her comic book view of morality shatters, because she's confronted with a Victim who is so because Sofia was her Victimizer and this is not fixable.

And to her detriment, Sofia has enough of a conscience to be aware that she created another Sofia, and so she speedruns self-awareness and reverts to the old Sofia, which causes her to start dying on the spot under the weight of everything that has happened to her and she's become. And so it falls to Dr.Rush to actually do what he should have always done for her and save her, as well as put her back on tracks to do the most fucked up thing she has ever done, steering her back into the mindset she needs to survive this.

She wants two wildly contradictory things, she wants to be free from it all and she wants her eternal revenge on her nemesis and she will forsake the former in pursuit of the latter. Her most sincere desire is freedom and peace away from this fucked up world her dad created for her, but she will never make it if she stops, and the only way she will make it is if she buries the part of her father's legacy that is still actively around and ruining her life. All she wants is to be free and she never will be until she kills him, until she kills everything he embodies in her life, and in her quest to kill him, she will most likely throw it all away.

As @book--wyrm put it, "Oswald is pursuing his dreams, and Sofia is running away from a nightmare". Sofia dreams of Arkham, of the yellow wallpaper, of Magpie chanting Haaangman inside endless dark metal walls. She dreams of her mother's corpse, of being hanged and murdered in her place, of Alberto's murder, and everything that causes her to scratch and tear at herself until she wakes up. Oswald? He dreams of Fred Astaire tap dancing and shooting his back-up dancers, and to even think of anything else is unthinkable. Nothing else matters.

But in spite of struggling with a conscience and an understanding of morality that Oz fundamentally lacks, I also like that Sofia is more imaginative in her cruelty than he is. She is sadistic to a careful, measured, elaborate extent Oz hasn't really learned to be yet. Even the burning of Nadia and Taj, as horrible and sadistic and premeditated as it is, was still rooted in self-preservation and a failsafe in case they backed out on the deal and petty revenge for stealing his shit and ruining his deal. But Sofia took the time to have Dr.Rush hypnotize Francis so they could learn the most thematically appropriate location to torture and kill the two and then engineered an outcome just to psychologically torture him before blowing him up, knowing he'd find a way to survive even that and setting this up just to flush him out of hiding.

For those keeping score at home, in this episode, Sofia Gigante attacked his sidekick with a crowbar, sicced her goons to beat him up and steal his shit, kidnapped his mom and had her sidekick, the Arkham doctor who begged to be her Harley Quinn, do hypnotic mental torture on her, baited Oz into a trap within a trap within a fake surrender and with an accompanying speech about how the old game is gone and she is playing new ones, bombed his Batcave and his loyal army, banked on him surviving that so she could send someone to pick him off as he escaped, and is now taking him and his mom to a showdown at a deeply and thematically important place for them, which is also a fucking theater by the way. I've been raving about her being the real Batman Villain of the show since Episode 03 but at this point, she is more Joker than the actual Joker in this saga. She's fully thrown herself into happily and merrily pulling a grand horrible caper on him and his entire life and everything he cares about with little practical consideration to her own criminal empire but extensive thought given into the panache and thematic meaning of what she's doing, it's amazing.

Fun thing to think about, whether Oz would have left Victor to die down there along with everyone else, or really just if he would have bothered to warn him before he bolted to the hole made just for him. We've already seen Oz quickly sell out one of Victor's friends out to die, someone who could have been Victor himself if he had gotten away. We've already seen in the burning of Taj and Nadia how monstrous Oz can be without Victor around. And now here we see how quickly and efficiently Oz can ditch all "the good people of Crown Point", the people who actively put themselves in danger to save him from Sal, to die at a moment's notice.

Credit to @book--wyrm for pointing how the bottom two rungs of the ladder he climbs are broken. The first two bodies he ever climbed over to get what he wants.

And thus we see by their last scene together how Oswald and Francis's present relationship began. The moment he transformed into the amalgamate of everything she lost and needed in her life, when he needed to step and be everything that Jack and Benny and dad and Rex had to be for her, because it's just the two of them now and forever, Kids raised by financially struggling single mothers often very much have to pull double or triple duty and work to compensate for much of what a husband or uncle or support network are supposed to do (speaking from personal experience here), and so from an early age Oswald already had to transform into the character he'd play as an adult.

He has to be the replacement man of the house who leaves her to get shit done for her, and he has to be her sweet boy who tends to her emotional needs, and he has to be her big strong bull of a boy who survived and stuck around and now grounds her in reality so she won't lose herself, and he has to be the provider and caretaker that her husband failed to be, and he has to be her Rex Calabrese who won't take shit from anyone and make sure she gets what she asks for even if it's by illegal underhanded means, and it's too much. Following his first crime and his first victory, we thus get the first moment that Oz began to spin far too many plates to keep his life in one piece and avoid consequences for the shit he put himself and someone else in.

He broke her due to his need for her love, and she broke him due to her need for his love. He turned her selfish and cruel and broken like him, and she turned him into someone who would never, ever grow up and change past this. Oswald's maturity and Francis' hopes died with the two and now, as Oz said to Benny 2 back in Episode 3, "there is just this - survival".

So obviously the climax of the show / Oz's relationship with his mom is gonna happen in a theater club, of course. Of course it's the same place that he swore as a child his eternal mission to do right by her.

Though he lacks the money and the umbrella gadgets and bird armies and supervillain resources, they've managed to firmly establish what the Penguin has in extreme abundance, the superpowers in his soul that allowed him to make his way through the world and win.

Ozzie's failings are human failings, Ozzie's attitudes are human attitudes, everything done in the flashback, even the closing of the door, was fixable. But The Penguin is unmatched at getting away, with an almost preternatural ability to fuck people over to get ahead, to slip from a catastrophe and land right into another one. This is a guy who is, in his own way, every bit the absurd uncanny freak that any other version of Oswald Cobblepot has ever been, and if his lack of evening wear and verbosity makes him distinct from classically-flavored Penguins, everything that matters to the character is and always has been there.

This is a guy who is better than anyone at "the wiley schemes and the quick, last minute escapes, who always has a trap door, an unbrellachute, some other trick up his sleeve to thwart and evade his dark nemesis at the eleventh hour". This is a guy deep in unshakeable childish delusion and devotion to the hustle, who burns a bottomless black hole of ambition in his gut and who was born with cigarette ash for blood and a top hat instead of a heart. He may not have been born evil, but he was born ready. Ready to be the embodiment of Gotham's criminal element, to be a child's idea of a master criminal in much the same way Batman is a child's idea of crimefighter, born ready to do this shit forever and ever.

[lasandra]

Super Massive End Game Veilguard Spoilers Under the Cut!

Seriously. If you haven't finished playing Veilguard, DO. NOT. READ. So I finished DA:tV and I have been really trying to sort out my thoughts... And well...

Sdlkajshdfklajhsdfklajhsdflkjahsdklfjhaskldfjhaskldfhj I CAN'T!!! My dudes I am SO conflicted!!! Solas is the only character I have ever come across that I both love to pieces and want the best for him but I also want to beat him until he is a puddle of bruised yolk and cracked shells. This dude KILLED VARRIC FOR REALSIES! I am not okay with that. My Hawke's GOING to hunt him down when she finds out. If the Tevinter Magisters can get into the Black City then dammit so can she. And when she does, I am not sure even Lavellan can save him. Amelia (My Hawke) has lost so many of her friends/family/loved ones she can't handle this anymore. He also killed God's gift to elves Felassan. It's been over a decade since I read The Masked Empire but I don't remember there being a great reason other than him being upset that Felassan failed. Dude has GOT to stop killing his friends lol. Especially the hot ones. Like. Come on. As if that wasn't enough, he manipulated Rook. I love my first Rook (Carwyn de Riva) so much that I am STRUGGLING to play another playthrough with any of the other Rooks I had planned. To see that he manipulated her with blood magic... Stopped her from being able to mourn Varric with the others properly.... AND tricked her into that prison??? He didn't think she'd be able to get out. Luckily she had plot armor because if she hadn't gotten out I would find a way into Thedas to rip him apart myself. *Aggressive breathing noises* I feel very normal about this, obviously. Seriously though, guys, I came THIIIIIIIS close to tricking him with the fake dagger even knowing that Lanaya (my Lavellan) wouldn't have gotten her happy ending. JUST so I could see the LOOK on his face when he realized ROOK outplayed him at his own game! At the SAME time however... The idea of sending him into the Black City alone... hurts me lol! I don't want him to suffer. Dude has suffered a lot and honestly, I'm not entirely sure his being a friend-murdering ass is *entirely his fault... The longer I sit with everything, the more certain I am that Solas didn't really have a choice. Seems very much like he was sort of bound to the will of Mythal. Maybe I've missed something, I'm not as lore-savvy as I once was. But in the end when Mythal tells Solas that she releases him from her service and only THEN (NOT when Lavellan BEGS him to stop) is he willing to do the right thing? I don't know. It just reminded me SO much of his personal quest in Inquisition where his Wisdom Spirit friend had been bound and twisted against its purpose. If it works anything like what we saw in Inquisition with whoever drank from the Well of Sorrows, who's to say when something was him vs the will of Mythal? It could be a bit of a stretch but, there's certainly room for that interpretation, I think. And if that's the case, then he doesn't deserve the hell that awaits him. It's also the only interpretation I can really accept Lanaya still wanting to be with him. Varric was her friend too. While forgiveness is something I give freely, I cannot imagine reconciling with a man who did what Solas did without him having been essentially forced into doing it. *Sighs deeply* I saw the different versions of his endgame images... Shit man. The only way this man gets a happy ending is with Lavellan. Dude looks so miserable and gloomy in all the other endings. Moire (Trevelyan) was Solas' friend. She wouldn't want to send him off to be alone in such a terrible place. That would seriously eat at her. (Rook wouldn't care. Her give a damn was busted after he betrayed her for the twenty-billionth time.) It can never be anything but a complete and utter rollercoaster with this man! I do think that the ending I got with him was as good as it possibly could have been though, given everything. Sorry for this really poorly written rant. I needed to get this out of my system and it's almost 3am lol.

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

When I wrote about this part during the book club, I talked about how this romance made me feel hopeful and brought me so much joy. And watching this part of the series, I had the advantage of knowing how it all ends, and yet, the way this romance is built, it's almost as if I was expecting a different ending. Cause I felt the same sense of joy watching these two people come together, and I'm sure a small part of my brain was hanging on to the idea that it would be different this time. As if somehow this Young and this Gyu-ho were completely different people and so their story would have a different ending. Foolish, I know, but it's a testament to this show, that I got to be so enamoured with this romance knowing the pain that would follow.

I remember being a wreck when I finished this part of the novel. I felt Young was being so much more honest about himself that he had ever been in previous chapters. But this time I was overwhelmed. The reason of course being, Gyu-ho. There he was. A full person. Not just a recollection of moments told to us by Young, in his words. I could see his smile, the way he looked at Young, the way he slept, the way he brought so much light into Young's life, the way he tried just so damn hard to break through the wall Young had built around himself.

And for a while, he found a way in. Young allowed himself to be open, to be vulnerable with this person. Showing him parts of himself he didn't allow others to see. And what a beautifully normal romance this was. And we were allowed to see all parts too.

I have no doubt Young loved Gyu-ho fully. And if only he loved himself a small fraction of that, anything would've been possible. He doesn't believe he deserves this kind of happiness, and wouldn't even think of fighting for it. 'I'd been too greedy' - Young says when he realizes he won't be able to go to China because of Kylie. Like a sign from the universe, saying, that's enough. As if he'd been living in some alternate reality where he was allowed a small moment of happiness but now reality comes crashing in. And he simply sighs. Like it was somehow expected. So he doesn't fight it. He simply accepts it and does what he needs to do. Don't get me wrong. I'm not condemning him. Nor am I judging the way he chose to handle all of this. I understand it all. But, I wish he was kinder to himself. I wish he could see himself through Gyu-ho's eyes just for a second. And maybe believe that they could find a way.

[seaofreverie]

So busy with Sparkstember that I almost forgot that I go back to school on tuesday

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Actively beginning to catch myself going down thought spirals and this has to be a good sign actually

[medicinemane]

One issue I have is there's a whole lot of things where it's like "I'm actually nearly on your side, I'm very sympathetic to this, I just need one or two issues addressed and then I'd be with you on this... you just have to kinda... walk me through how this thing that feels like a kinda big problem isn't a problem"

And pretty much always it's just kinda like "oh, well it's not a problem, so don't worry about it"

...mhh... yeah... but I need some actual proof. I want to trust you, but I need something that actually deals with it, not to just basically be told to have faith... I have no faith, I'm a faithless person

And it's such a shame cause... instead of being able to work along side people I tend to hover off to the side trying to support it in my own small ineffective ways cause... I just have serious issues no one's ever bothered to address

Just sucks, you know?

[alexiroflife]

jjk men when you aren't feeling well but try to hide it...

"hello! i was wondering if you could write an angst but w comfort fluff headcannon w the jjk men? i was thinking reader has an injury or is sick but she hides it, but they find out. it would be great if you can, but if not i totally understand. your writing is amazing!!!" -anon

gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

satoru gojo: (sprained ankle!)

you're fucked.

you know you are the moment you go to pick yourself up from your boyfriend's hardwood kitchen floors and wince in pain in reaction to the pressure in your left ankle.

you hiss, immediately stumbling back to a sitting position. You look over your outstretched foot to find that your ankle is rapidly swelling, and you curse under your breath.

this is so inconvenient. of all times to injure yourself, you of course had to a day before an important mission. you never handle injuries very well. you are always so quick to brush them off, or at least be in denial about them because you can't stand the thought of feeling helpless or incapable.

especially not when satoru gojo is your boyfriend, who unfortunately knows you far too well to overlook something like an injury to your ankle.

damn. what are you supposed to do? satoru will never let you out of his sight, let alone allow you to go on this mission if he finds out about your injury. as much as you love the way he looks after you, you're not in the mood to accept the fact that you may not be able to walk for a few days without his help.

you try to stand again, stubborn with determination. you grip onto the countertop and rise slowly on your able foot, then lean to press your injured foot down slowly. okay... not so bad! Maybe you can add just a little bit more pressure, and-

"fuck," you curse, sharp pain throbbing through your foot the moment you try to walk. You lift your leg immediately and whimper, leaning your body against the counter. "god dammit," you pout.

you should ice it, you think, but icing it will only make the injury more real. maybe it's not so bad, right? maybe if you just sit down for a bit and push it to the back of your head, it will go away?

you know it's not smart, but truthfully, you don't have the time to worry about a stupid ankle. you're sure you only irritated it. with some rest, you'll be fine.

you hop your way up the stairs with your hand gripping the railing tightly to your shared bedroom and ease yourself into bed. you decide you'll take a nap while you wait for satoru to come home, ignoring the simmering pain in your swollen ankle.

"babyyy!"

you wake suddenly to the sound of satoru's voice singing through the house. you jump and immediately hold in a whimper of pain when you accidentally shift your foot beneath the covers. you can tell solely by the lack of mobility in your ankle that it's, unsurprisingly, gotten worse.

you panic, moving quickly to prop your back up against the headboard. you fix yourself in the most normal possible position you can without agitating your foot, and you turn to the door with an innocent expression the second satoru bursts through with a beam.

"hey, pretty," he walks in and immediately crouches over the bed to wrap you up in a hug. you cringe as his lips meet every crook of your face, his body enveloping you in warmth. "missed you so much today," he sighs.

"missed you too, toru," you wrap your arms around his back. "how was your day?"

"same old same old. the higher-ups only get more annoying each day, if that's even possible," he grumbles into your ear, slumping against you. "what are you doing cooped up here all by yourself? you taking a nap?"

"yeah, I just woke up," you tell him with a hefty exhale, his lips meeting the crook of your neck lazily as he nuzzles into you. "you wanna take one with me, you big baby?" you giggle.

"god yes," satoru agrees. "but first, I'm starving. did you eat while I was gone?"

"nah, I waited for you, toru."

"well, you normally cook, baby, I was waiting for you."

you momentarily freeze and he pulls back reluctantly, not before dotting one more kiss to the crook of your jaw. you had completely forgotten about making dinner, but seeing how you couldn't even walk, those cards were off the table.

he looks down at you with his arms propped on either side of your figure on the bed. your ankle continues to throb, and while you try to hide the pain that you are currently in by shifting ever so subtly beneath him, his sapphire eyes catch the twitch in your brow and the motion of your body beneath his blindfold.

"not that I care if you cook or not. obviously you were tired..." he trails off. "you okay?"

fucking hell, damn those six eyes.

you nod despite yourself, keeping a soft smile as you brush your fingers over satoru's hair. "yeah, of course. just tired like you said. I'm sorry about dinner, it slipped my mind."

"don't you dare apologize," he ducks down to kiss your cheek loudly. "we can go out to eat. make it a date before your big mission tomorrow, yeah?"

you internally deflate. the idea sounds amazing, but going on a date would mean getting up, getting dressed, and walking out the door. you're unfortunately physically incapable of doing any of the above at the moment.

satoru watches the way your shoulders slump and your lips part as if to protest, and he tilts his head in slight confusion. "...or not..." he says slowly.

"sorry, toru, it's not that I don't wanna go, i just don't have the energy..." you excuse pathetically.

satoru's face tells you that he doesn't buy your words, but he complies nonetheless. "that's no problem, baby, we can order in instead."

you sigh and nod with a gentle smile. "that sounds great."

"someone's feeling real lazy today, huh?" he teases, hooking his finger into his blindfold to peel it from his face, revealing his bright irises gazing curiously down at you. "you sure you're just tired?"

"yeah... why?"

"i'm just askin," he says. his eyes dart over you one more time before he pushes himself up with an exhale and tugging at your arm. "come on, let's go to the living room to order."

why the hell does he want to move around so much?!

"um- why can't we just order here?"

a smile quirks on Satoru's lips as though you've made a joke. "cause, we'll be downstairs once the food gets here," he says.

you pucker your lips slightly and tilt your head. "can't we just eat it up here and you can go get it?"

gojo's eyes are now slim with suspicion as he pulls himself back over to you. "i mean, of course i can but you never eat takeout in bed, we always cuddle downstairs and eat."

"I'm tired, can't i change it up today?"

"you know i have no problem doing what you want and pampering you baby," satoru starts slowly. his eyes dash to your legs, and he suddenly notes that he has not seen you bend them in the few minutes he has been home. in fact, you had been rather stagnant instead of running up to clobber him when he entered the room, whether you were previously asleep or not. "but you're acting a little weird."

"no, I'm not," you deny adamantly. you have always been a poor liar, but in the face of Satoru Gojo, your lack of talent in the arena only proves to be more prominent. "you think too much, you know that?"

"you think so?" he raises a brow at you, a hint of playfulness remaining though it is steadily fleeting the longer he examines you. "you think i'm thinking too much if i feel like you're lying to me?"

you press your lips together tightly. "...yes."

"hm," he nods. "come here for a second, pretty," he requests, stepping back a bit to give you room to stand. "just real quick, then you can lay back down and I'll get us that food."

"why do you want me to stand?"

"i wanna give you a big hug," he opens his arms widely. "c'mon, give your loving boyfriend a hug. you'd never deny me that after such a long day."

"come hug me here, then," you roll your eyes, turning to look the other way as heat overtakes your body.

"i want to hold you and pick you up," he argues, knowingly. "just stand and walk to me for one second."

"no."

"no?!"

"no, i don't want to."

"don't want to or you can't?" he accuses, face falling along with his arms. he moves to sit at the edge of the bed beside your legs, resting a hand over your uninjured one. "why can't you get up?" he asks, this time a tad more serious.

"i don't feel like it, satoru, god," you murmur in annoyance, growing agitated with his swiftness to notice that something is wrong.

"don't 'satoru' me, baby, you're the one not telling the truth," he says. "what's wrong with your legs?"

"nothing."

"then stand up."

"no, satoru. stop telling me to stand."

"i will if you tell me what's wrong."

"nothing's wrong!" you shrug harshly, crossing your arms and suddenly taking interest in whatever is outside of the bedroom window. satoru stares at you intently for a moment then back down at your covered legs.

he gazes harshly between the two, pondering, before reaching over to rip the comforter upward to reveal your bare feet. you gasp slightly, jerking to stop him, when your swollen ankle is revealed.

his brows immediately angle and he leans to hastily look over it. "(y/n), what the hell?! what happened to your foot?"

you grow embarrassed suddenly, moving to brush his hands away. "it's not that bad, stop," you say, going to move your leg to the side when you hiss sharply.

"not that bad? baby, your ankle's the size of a golfball!"

"satoru, you're being dramatic."

"what happened?" he asks, concerned. "did this happen while I was gone?"

"it's fine, relax."

"(y/n)," satoru begins sternly. you can tell that you've pinched a nerve. "i'm about to lose it if you don't tell me how this happened and why you were trying to hide it from me."

you frown. "But-"

"Now."

you hug your arms around yourself with another meek shrug. "it's humiliating..." you murmur.

satoru softens slightly. "baby, humiliating? i'm worried about you getting hurt."

"yeah, but-" you sigh and close your eyes, your emotions suddenly getting the best of you. you hate feeling small and weak, as though you can't handle yourself, and you swear every time you injure yourself or get sick, it's the worst possible thing that could happen in the entire world. "i don't know. whatever."

"uh uh uh," your white-haired boyfriend tuts, leaning over the smooth his hand over your leg comfortingly. "it's not 'whatever.' i know exactly how you are. you can't fool me. is this about your mission tomorrow?"

"it's not just about the mission, toru, i just don't- i hate it when i can't do stuff on my own."

"you don't have to tell me something i'm already well aware of." you give him a look. "don't look at me like that. i know you like the back of my hand, and i especially know when you're uncomfortable."

"i get it, toru," you frown.

"why the attitude, hm?" he asks, leaning over to prop his elbow on the other side of you, his body resting against your lap as he peers up at you gently. "it's okay to get hurt- well, no, it's not okay for you to get hurt because it makes me wanna die, but you get what I mean."

your lips twitch in amusement momentarily, leading satoru to grin widely.

"there's that pretty smile."

"it's just-" you huff. "it was such a stupid thing... i rolled my ankle stepping down from closing the cabinets and when it started getting worse, i thought it was so dumb that something so small did that to me so i left it alone. now it's probably twisted, and i just feel really..."

"you're not weak," satoru interjects urgently. "if that's what you're saying, which i'm pretty sure you are. you're far from what i would call weak."

"still. it still made me feel weak. and i'm supposed to go on that mission tomorrow, and i don't know what the hell i'm gonna tell yaga-"

"forget the mission."

"...satoru, i can't just-"

"you can and you will. you have an injury, baby. you can't walk. it's okay, i'll talk to yaga and he'll get someone else on the assignment while I take care of you."

"but the fact that you even have to do that because i was clumsy!" you shake your head and look down. "it's so ridiculous. and i knew you were gonna worry..."

"of course i'm gonna worry, (y/n). no less than you'd worry for me."

"but you're you."

"so? do you worry for me any less because of that?"

"i mean... i know you're always gonna be fine, but... yeah, i guess."

"you guess?" satoru scoffs. "to think, my girlfriend doesn't care about me..."

"oh shut up," you nudge his head away. his grin remains, face turning back to you as he captures you in his soft gaze. "obviously I worry."

"then, there you go," satoru says. his free hand runs over your hip. "i know you can handle yourself just fine and that you're strong as hell, but whether you're going on a mission or stubbing your toe, I'm worrying 'cause i love you."

you pout slightly. "I love you too."

"i know," he beams, kissing your thigh. "so stop with that. as if you'd ever be weak for getting a little boo boo."

"yeah, but now you're not gonna let me do anything," you whine.

"is there really such a big problem with that?" satoru smirks. "try hiding an injury from me again, and you really won't be able to do anything. now let me see."

he pushes himself up to round the edge of the bed. he kneels down and cradles your foot in his hand delicately, fingers grazing the area of swelling. his brow angles. "can you move it?"

you shake your head slowly. "not without it hurting."

"in all seriousness, baby, you need to take better care of yourself. why didn't you ice it?"

"...i wanted it to go away."

"and you walked up the stairs after rolling your ankle?!"

"i wanted to get into bed!"

satoru lowers his head. "what am i gonna do with you? you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days."

"it's really not that serious. i just need to rest it a bit and then I'll be fine-"

"i'm gonna go cook you some dinner, okay? then we can eat in bed and cuddle, and then I'll run you a hot bath later."

"satoru, i just said it's not that serious! please don't go burning down the house because of my ankle. we can literally still order food," you try to convince him, but the blue-eyed man is already on his feet, by your side, and kissing your lips.

"not another word. you're practically dying, now, i have to look after you."

"toru-"

"i'll be right back, i'm gonna grab you some ice and a pillow for your foot."

"satoru!"

but when you call him, he's already zooming out of the room and down the stairs. you sigh and plop your head back against the headboard with a soft smile. as humiliating as you find it to be injured, you can never say that gojo doesn't do everything he can, if not excessively more, to look after you when you are.

suguru geto: (cold!)

shit.

you step into the bathroom for the umpteenth time today to blow your nose, clearing your searing throat as you do so with a groan.

something in you knew this morning that you were coming down with a cold when you woke up to that dreadful scratch in the back of your throat, but the idea of getting sick physically ails you more than actually being sick does.

you're far too busy today to be weighed down by some common cold. you're in between meetings at work as you toss another tissue into the women's trash. You have paperwork to finish filling out by midnight, and you have to pick up the girls later from daycare.

how can you be sick of all things?

you know it's likely because you run yourself ragged more often than you need to, and suguru always tells you to slow down and take a breath, but you rarely listen to him. your life moves at a quick pace, constantly on the run from one task to the next, and you truly do not feel that you have the leisure of giving yourself one second to rest.

you're on the verge of earning a new promotion, and you need the money. you need the opportunities, and the accomplishments to care for the family you've built with geto. just as suguru works tirelessly to manage his cult, you work tirelessly to keep a living for yourself.

you're proud of the work you have done, truly you are, but at times it feels as though you are amounting to nothing, chasing promises of a higher position that have yet to come. despite the haziness of the path ahead, you push harder and harder each day.

suguru hates it, how you drive yourself to the brink of insanity day in and day out, but you can't help but be an overachiever. you can't help but work hard for those who may not even deserve it.

and now, of course, you're sick. you can feel your temperature spiking, your nose is stuffy, and your head is pounding. you want to go home and curl into bed, but you have responsibilities to fulfill. just a few more hours... then you're home with geto, with the girls, safe in bed just to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

you jump when your phone suddenly rings in your pocket. you pull it out to see your boyfriend's contact, and you straighten yourself up as best as you can to make it sound as though you aren't struggling to breathe through your nostrils.

"hello?"

"hey, babe, how's work going?" suguru's soothing voice echoes through the phone and you sigh, clinging to the comfort his tone provides. you miss him. you want to go home already.

"it's good," you lie. "i have a few more meetings. then some paperwork to finish, but I'll be able to get mimi and nana on time."

"actually, i called to tell you not to worry about that. i got finished up here with the group pretty early, so i'll be able to get them later."

you're relieved that you won't have to expose the girls to your germs in the car. "okay, thanks for letting me know. you need me to pick up some food on the way home?"

"no, we're gonna make pizzas later. the girls have been dying to try it making it from scratch forever, so i'll take them to the store once i get them."

"...oh. okay..." you nod. "there's nothing else you need me to do then?"

"just to come home in one piece," suguru says. "i'm trying to take some stuff off your plate, (y/n). you've been exhausted, and you can't tell me otherwise."

"sugu, I'm fine," you dismiss him, only to turn your head into your elbow to muffle a cough. you forget to mute the call when you do so.

"what was that? are you okay?" the dark-haired man questions quickly. "you're not sick, are you?"

"no, no," you deny fast, voice slightly hoarse. you clear your throat quickly. "something was just- stuck in my throat. but I'm fine. i'm not sick."

suguru's quiet for a moment, and you chew on the inside of your lip while you wait for him to respond. you know it's impossible to fool suguru, especially when it comes to matters regarding you or the girls, but you can't handle him worrying over you right now. his concerns would only bring you back to reality, pulling you from this cycle of overworking you've fallen into. you need to keep going. You can't stop, and if suguru knows you're sick, he will make you stop.

"suguru? you there?" you finally say.

"oh yeah, i'm here," he responds rather quickly, and you internally curse yourself. "what time do you get off?"

"uhhh..." you think about it for a moment. it's 3:30 now, and technically you only have an hour and a half left, but since the girls will be picked up by Suguru, you realize you can finish your paperwork in the office. "today's kind of a long day... so I probably won't be home until... 7?"

"(Y/n)."

"i know, i know, but listen, i just have to finish up this paperwork. that's all."

"weren't you just gonna do it at home?"

"well, yeah, but since you're getting the girls, it's kinda easier for me to finish it here..." you start mumbling lowly, knowing that whatever explanation you give is not one that suguru will willingly accept.

"babe, please just come home at a normal time today. you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"i promise it won't be past 7. i swear. just let me get this done, and I'll be home."

suguru releases a hefty sigh, and you can picture him rubbing his thumb against his forehead in stress. "7 o'clock, (y/n). i mean it. if you're so much as five minutes late, i'm coming over there myself with rainbow dragon."

you chuckle softly. "i promise it won't get to that. i'll be fine, alright? i'll text you when I'm headed out."

"okay. I'll see you in a bit."

after your meetings had ended, your cold symptoms grew worse. your coughs were more frequent, a pile of tissues were stacked at your cubicle, and the glare of your computer screen felt as though it was burning a hole into your already aching head.

you feel miserable, and as luck would have it, your boss placed a new stack of papers onto your desk to finish filling out before you went home on his way out of the door.

you're alone in the office now, surrounded by excess assignments, and you can hardly breathe through your nose. you check the time, and its thirty to the time you told suguru you'd be home. you groan, rubbing your hands over your face.

you're tired. your bones are aching. you want to be with the girls, you want to be home, you don't want to do this anymore. you're so burned out, it hurts, and you want to cry and collapse face-first onto your desk at the same time.

just then, your phone lights up with a message from suguru. you open it eagerly to be greeted with an image of the girls beaming up at the camera in the kitchen, hands covered in tomato sauce as they display them to the phone. beneath the photo, suguru types.

we miss you :(

you break, placing your phone down and shielding your face in your hands as the tears flow. god, you miss spending time with them. you're hardly home anymore because you've been so busy with work, and you're yearning to be held by your boyfriend, to hear the girls laugh, to sink into the bed combined with your deteriorating physical state makes you feel worse.

you miss having a life.

you don't know how long you spend crying in your empty office before your body shuts down on you completely. the energy you exerted shedding tears in addition to your long days at work send you into a deep sleep. before you know it, you're knocked out with your cheek pressed against one of your unfinished papers.

the second you failed to answer Suguru's text, he knew something was wrong. he calls, and calls, and calls after twenty minutes, but you don't answer. He wastes absolutely no time in calling up manami to look after the girls before trekking out of the house to you with rainbow dragon, just as he promised.

he's prepared to break a window when he sees the janitor leaving the building. he takes the opportunity to swoop in through the doors after grumbling something about his girlfriend being inside, before making his way up to you.

when he reaches your office, he finds you lying in the only occupied cubicle. His eyes go wide as he studies your slumped figure, walking slowly to where you're seated. he notes the tissues and cough drop wrappers crowding your space, then the tears that coat your lashes when he kneels down.

"jesus, (y/n)," he murmurs, swiftly getting to work and clearing your desk of all your trash. when he's done, he crouches by you again and runs a hand over your back. "baby, wake up for me. come on," he coaxes softly.

you stir, face tightening in discomfort. suguru sees the bags under your eyes and his frown deepens. Eventually, you wake with furrowed brows, adjusting your blurry eyes to the sight of suguru gazing down at you worriedly.

"sugu...?" you mumble weakly, only to be interrupted by a few coughs that rack your chest. suguru's heart aches.

"i knew it," he sighs, eyes hardening as his hand strokes over your warm forehead. "why don't you listen?"

"what are you doing here?" you grumble, picking your head up slowly. you're greeted with a retched reminder of your headache, and you wince, pressing your hand to your head.

"we had an agreement, remember?" he reminds you, and you slowly recall. you move to grab your phone and the time reads 7:15. "i wasn't joking."

"suguru..."

"stop," he immediately cuts you off. "look at you, (y/n). you've made yourself sick."

"it's just a- a cough," you murmur, rubbing your irritated eyes harshly.

"that's bullshit, baby," he tells you rather firmly. "i don't know why you're trying to hide this from me when i knew something like this would happen. we're going home."

"no, wait, Suguru, i didn't finish my paperwork yet."

"do you think I give two shits about your paperwork?"

his tone comes off rather harshly, and both of you notice. he blinks his eyes tensely and readjusts himself, attempting to reel in his anger. his anger for you, over your lack of care for your wellbeing, at your fucking boss for letting you work yourself like this.

"you've been killing yourself for weeks, (y/n). i won't let you anymore. this is the last straw."

"hold on," you urge. suguru looks down at you, befuddled. "i really can't just up and leave my work behind like this. I'm sorry, I can't."

"what's more important to you, (y/n)? being healthy or working yourself to death?" he proposes, almost pained by the latter. "if you cared about your well-being, you would have asked for an extension or at least had a conversation with your dick of a boss about doing this another time. anyone can see that you aren't feeling well, and someone who cares will tell you that enough is enough."

"don't make me do this, suguru," you whimper. suguru's face relaxes when he sees your eyes glossing over. "don't make me stop. I can't stop."

"baby," he curls his brows, holding your cheek in his hand as he kneels before you. "why are you doing this to yourself?"

"b-because, I have to..."

"no, you don't. i've been telling you this for years, you don't have to do this."

"but I need to make something of myself. i have to keep going. i can't just quit, because if I do, then what will any of this have meant? why have i been doing this?"

"you're breaking my heart, baby," suguru exhales. "this job doesn't define you. i see how hardworking, smart, and strong you are. i see the effort you put into everything you do. i see the commitment in your heart. i see it everywhere, all the time, and that is one of many reasons why i love you so much."

your lips wobble as you look into his hazel eyes as his voice and words melt you into his palm. you've been moving so fast all this time, you've been trying to prevent yourself from falling into suguru's warmth, which has always had the power to make you do anything he says.

"but I can't stand to watch you make yourself sick because you think there's more you need to do. this isn't good for you. you know it isn't."

you nod, red nose flaring as you sniff. "i know," you admit.

"so please, please take a break. i'm literally begging you. you need to come home and rest. i'll take care of everything else, just come home. lay down. come back to us. to me."

your shoulders jerk as a few tears drop from your eyes. "sugu, i can't do this anymore," you finally give in. "i don't even feel like myself. i just want to go home."

"then let's go baby, come on," he stands and takes you with him in his arms, pressing your body to his as he holds you. you sink into him, your exhaustion and your sickness finally crashing down over you. "i'm gonna fucking kill your boss," he murmurs into your hair.

you laugh weakly against him, closing your eyes. "later. just take me home, now. please."

"yes ma'am," he nods, kneeling down to pick you up into his arms. you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest.

"m'gonna get you sick," you mutter.

"we can be sick together," he chuckles. "the girls and I can make you some soup. they've been obsessed with cooking lately," he says, leaning over to shut off your monitor before carrying you off to the elevators.

"that picture of them you sent earlier made me so sad. I miss you guys so much."

"i'm sorry baby, i didn't mean to upset you that much. i was only trying to guilt you a little into coming home early."

you slap his shoulder pathetically. "asshole."

"i know, i'm sorry," he kisses your head. "gonna get you all better in no time."

kento nanami: (low iron!)

you have always been a little anemic, and of course that never really posed as a terrible challenge for you until you ran out of iron supplements.

it is your responsibility undoubtedly to keep track of when you run out and when you need to restock, but recently, you've found yourself neglecting the habit.

you never did like taking iron pills, or any supplements for that matter. you feel as though they take too much out of your daily life, as though they're a burden to your existence, and the harder you think about it, the less inclined you are to keep track of it.

it's been about three weeks since you last took your iron, and while you would like to say that you have improved significantly, you would be lying.

perhaps the first few days of not taking your supplements was fine, but as time droned on, the symptoms kicked back in rather quickly. you are extremely tired all the time, you feel lighter on your feet as if you are going to pass out at any given moment, and your hands and feet are ridiculously cold though it is now the summertime, and the weather outside thoroughly contrasts your body temperature.

you're in denial about the changes, of course. you want to be able to feel fine without the crutch of your pills, but the reality of the situation is that you don't, and it's crushing you for some reason.

what's crushing you more is that you know how disappointed nanami will be to find out that you haven't been being responsible in stocking up on your supplements. he would normally keep track of when you run out in addition to you, but he's reeled it in a bit over the past few months because you wanted him to trust that you can handle taking care of something that you've managed all of your life, so he did.

and yet, here you are, trying to hide the symptoms of your iron deficiency that are only proving harder to veil. nanami has already asked you a few times if you are feeling okay over the past few weeks, therefore you know that he suspects exactly what is happening, but you brush him off each time.

"i'm good, honey," you'd tell him. "just had a long day. what about you? how are you feeling?"

you feel like shit lying to him, but you're afraid of being truthful for some reason. he would scold you, and you'd have to resort to the aid of your only weakness all over again.

god, why can't you just be normal?

you've even tried to ween off of the strict iron-sufficient diet that you've been on practically all your life because you feel like you have something to prove, especially in this world of jujutsu. how can you be a sorcerer with low iron? how can something so smell render you so weak? it's pathetic.

you don't want to think about it, in truth. you want it all to just go away. you want to be fine, to feel fine without eating certain things constantly or taking those damn pills, and you try to force yourself to, but it only grows worse the longer you hide it.

you stumble into your home after a long day of teaching and press your back to the door with a sigh. you know nanami won't be home for another forty or so minutes, so you kick your shoes off, go grab a water, and plop down on the couch.

you feel so tired. you pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, leaning back. this is stupid, you think. you're being stupid. just reorder the damn pills.

but something stubborn within you refuses. something within you that must prove you can push past this.

you decide to watch some tv to distract you as you wait for nanami to return home. he suggested cooking for you tonight, so you rest until you hear him walking through the door.

"hi honey," he greets. you turn to smile gently at him as he rounds the corner. your cheeks pinch with happiness, your current turmoil momentarily forgotten when you see your husband approach. you go to stand and walk into his open arms, just like you normally do when he comes home.

you put the remote to the side and shoot up. your mind is occupied only by nanami as you move toward him, but you see his face drop and your vision turns upside down, and suddenly, you're falling.

kento is quick to react, ducking down impressively to catch you in his arms before you can hit the ground. you collapse into him, head dizzy and breath suddenly gone.

"sweetheart?! (y/n) are you alright? are you awake?"

you groan, shifting in his strong arms as they cradle you securely. when your vision regains focus, you're staring up at nanami's worried face, your body resting over his lap. you blink rapidly before realizing what just happened.

"oh shit," you whisper.

"(y/n)," nanami says your name again, caressing your cheek sweetly. "are you here with me now?"

"y-yeah," you nod, moving to sit up and press your hand to his chest. "i'm alright."

"absolutely not," he stops you immediately, pressing against you to lay you back down on his lip. you frown, looking up at him. "don't even try sitting up like that right now."

"kento," you start, growing worried by the tense look on his face. "i'm okay, really. i just sat up too fast."

"i know," he affirms, his thumb still smoothing over your skin. "and care to tell me why that alone is making you pass out?"

you can't find the words to respond as you stare at him, likely as guiltily as you feel. he hums knowingly.

"right," he sighs. "(y/n), how long has it been since you've taken your iron?"

and there it is. the very question you had been dreading.

"...i'm not sure what you're-"

"don't. really, don't," he interjects firmly and you shiver, rather unfamiliar with this side of your doting partner. "i'm still trying to adjust to the fact that you haven't been truthful with me. the least you can do is tell me how long it's been."

your heart drops. "kento..."

"i'm not in the mood for stalling, sweetheart. go on. out with it."

the sternness of his voice hardly matches the way he is holding you and stroking your cheek, but nevertheless, you feel awful. you avert your gaze and shrink into yourself. "three weeks."

"three?" he repeats incredulously, and you nod in shame. "i knew it had been over a week, but three, (y/n)?"

"i know," you mutter.

"why? after you told me not to check after you, to trust that you'd take care of yourself," nanami questions. "this is why i tried to help you. i know it can be a hassle sometimes, and forgetting is one thing, but to deliberately stop taking them when you know how much i worry about it... when you know how important it is for you?"

you bite hard on your lip and look away, brows curling. nanami notices immediately and softens himself, leaning down closer to you.

"my love," he starts. "i don't mean to upset you, but this is very upsetting to me."

"i know. i know, i'm sorry..." you whimper.

"but not because it's about me, (y/n), because it's about you. and you've been hiding this from me, of all things. i don't understand."

"i just didn't wanna take them anymore, ken," you say quietly.

the blonde furrows his brows. "you didn't want to take them? have you not been taking them for years?"

"i have but that's the problem. i'm a sorcerer now, and..." you exhale. "the point of being a sorcerer is to not have anything weighing you down, and this weighs me down."

"if anything, (y/n), not taking the supplements weighs you down more."

"no, i just mean- all of it, the whole iron deficiency, i hate it," you confess. "i'm tired of relying on something to be strong. i'm tired of being tied down to this. i wanted to see if i could overcome it, but i can't. i'll always have this problem, and it sucks, ken," you ramble. "if i could go without taking these pills and still do my job like i always have, then just maybe.... maybe i could be better. and i could prove that i... i don't need those stupid pills, or the extra greens, or the- whatever. just all of it."

nanami looks down at you rather sadly. "i had no idea you felt this way."

"i haven't always felt this way. it's just lately, i don't know, i feel pressured to go beyond."

"darling, your iron-deficiency doesn't make you any less talented than other sorcerers."

"i know. i mean, i should know, but i can't help but feel that way."

nanami presses his lips together, smoothing a knuckle over your cheekbone. "i'm sorry you feel like this."

"it's not your fault, ken. and i shouldn't have kept this from you, i know. i'm sorry. i just felt humiliated by it."

"there's nothing for you to be humiliated by," he reassures you. "your deficiency is no different from any of us having to feed ourselves or drink water in between missions to keep ourselves alive. it's a necessity, and though we are sorcerers, we live off of necessities to keep ourselves physically and mentally able to work. you have a responsibility to yourself. just like the rest of us. just because your iron's a little lower doesn't mean anything about who you are as a sorcerer."

"...i never thought of it like that. i've just been thinking of it as a burden."

"it's only a burden if you view it that way. you are a grade one sorcerer who i have watched climb the ranks effortlessly since we were in high school, all the while with an iron deficiency that you have always taken supplements for. that never stopped you," he says. "the problem comes in when you don't keep up with yourself and take care of those needs. just like how i'd be unable to work if i decided to skip my last few meals and drink less water."

"that makes sense," you mumble, capturing his soft brown eyes with yours.

"good," he nods. "(y/n) you can't neglect your needs like this."

"i know."

"i'm being serious. i'll start checking behind you again if i find out that you're not doing what you need to do to take care of your body."

"i know, ken, i'm sorry, i-" you stop yourself and shake your head. "i just let my insecurities get the best of me."

"then, let me handle taking care of your insecurities. you handle taking your supplements. do we have an agreement?"

you nod slowly. "yeah. we do. i'm sorry for lying again, ken."

"please don't do it again," he sighs, ducking to kiss your forehead. "but i know you wouldn't lie to me about anything else, and that you hiding this was solely out of fear."

you slowly move to sit up, and this time, kento helps you very gradually. he guides you back to sit on the couch and cups your face gently, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "i'll go order some more iron and then get started on dinner. alright?"

you hum with a soft smile. "alright. i love you, ken."

he returns your loving smile. "i love you more, sweetheart."

choso kamo: (broken finger!)

it had fully been an accident.

you should have been paying more attention to what you were doing and at the same time, so should have panda.

it really was an honest mistake. you were standing in the doorway as everyone left the classroom, your fingers clutched around the frame as everyone filed out. you were asking around if anyone had seen your boyfriend, and yuta mentioned that he saw him with yuji earlier that day.

you thanked him, and just as you were about to pull your hand away, panda, who was the last out of the room, slammed the door shut behind him thinking you had already moved out of the way.

but you hadn't.

the door flew into your index and middle fingers and you screamed bloody murder. the cursed corpse as well as his classmates whipped their heads around, and to panda's horror, you were knocking your forehead against the wall with tears in your eyes as your fingers trembled in the doorframe.

"(Y/N), HOLY SHIT I'M SO SORRY!"

you hadn't expected panda to actually break one of your fingers, but you give the freak credit for his unnatural strength. you later find out that yuji and choso had gone out to grab food for you when you see a text from your boyfriend pop up asking what flavor ramen you want the second you learn that shoko will not be available until late tonight.

for the time being, you're given a finger splint and pain medicine as though you aren't freaking surrounded by jujutsu sorcery.

and god, did it hurt! like, really, really hurt. your fingers are throbbing, and the one that isn't broken is bruised and stained with some blood. you wish you could be angrier at panda, but his groveling before your feet on his knees eases your frustration a bit. after all, it hadn't been on purpose.

you're sent home and you are given no choice but to wait until choso returns, and you're... nervous. choso never handles the ailment of his loved ones very well. his spiritual and physical connection to his brothers wellbeings' often causes him to lose his mind every time yuji gets accidentally punched in the face during training, and when it comes to you? well, choso is just the same if not somehow worse.

you remember one time you got a papercut and winced when your finger made contact with soap. choso was quick to your side, grasping your wrist and looking over your hand as though it had been severed off.

one thing you have come to know in your relationship with the brunette is that he would (and has) killed someone for the sake of the people closest to him. he does not mess around when it comes to his family, and he certainly doesn't mess around when it comes to you.

and while you think he can be a bit excessive with making sure you're alright when it's hardly necessary, it's first and foremost endearing, and it only makes you realize that he will go ballistic the second he finds out that someone broke your finger.

he doesn't naively think that you can never go unharmed, though he would be incredibly content with the notion if it were plausible. he's familiar with scars, wounds, fights, and battles, and he knows you're in the very center of it just as much as he and his brother are. but still, he hates it when you're hurt. he wants to protect you as best as he can, or to at least prevent you from suffering any more than a sorcerer already has to suffer. he only wants you to be safe.

so to prevent him from having a heart attack, you decide it's better if he doesn't know about the incident. when you answer his texts before heading home, you mention nothing about your poor finger in hopes of him not finding out at least until after you're healed.

that plan of yours, however, fails when choso comes barging through the door three hours earlier than you expected him to return. your eyes go wide from where you sit on the couch, and you have no time to even go to hide your fingers behind your back when choso marches up to you, agitated.

"uh-" you're cut off when he grabs your arm gently and lifts it into the air, your taped crooked finger showcasing itself to him. you press your lips together at how poorly the plan to conceal this from him has failed. "cho-"

"were you gonna tell me about this?" his violet eyes fly to yours in a fury, and you're almost stunned by how aggravated he looks. his voice is calm, low, but his face is wrecked with concern and almost betrayal.

"...i was, but i wanted to wait because i didn't want you to freak out..." you say slowly, watching him softly. "like you are now..?"

"that's not fair, (y/n)," he frowns and you furrow your brows. "that's not fair at all."

"woah, hold on... are you mad at me?"

"i don't know," he answers you honestly, looking between your face and your trembling hand. "i'm... upset."

"who told you about my fingers, love?"

"yuji got a text from yuta," he tells you, moving to sit down on the space beside you with your hand still cradled in his. "he said that panda was begging me not to kill him, and this was after i had talked to you."

"oh..." you sigh. "okay, yeah, i can see how that looks."

"why didn't you tell me you got hurt? and pretty badly too? where's ieiri?"

"she won't be back on campus for another hour," you explain. "i didn't want you to worry, cho, i figured i'd just tell you after it was better, but..."

"why would you try to hide something from me?" he asks you, suddenly sounding hurt. it's clear on his face that he doesn't understand why you would conceal something as important as your health from him, whether it was small or not. you tell each other everything, and that shouldn't have stopped now of all times because you don't want him to worry.

"i didn't know you'd get so upset, cho, honestly," you tell him. "i-" you stop when a sharp pain shoots through your fingers and you gasp. choso's face drops and he gently sets your hand down to his lap, panicked.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes. "shit, you must be in a lot of pain."

"it's nothing i haven't experienced before," you try to reassure him, giving him a tight smile.

"why does that matter?" choso drags his brows together. "pain is pain. i don't like when you feel any of it."

you melt. "i know. i know you don't, i don't like when you feel any of it either."

"so don't... keep stuff like this from me, (y/n)," he says sternly. "please, i need to know. i don't have the same connection to you that i have with my blood brothers, but i'm still connected to you all the same. when you hurt, i hurt."

"i get it cho, i'm sorry," you nod bashfully. "i wasn't trying to make you mad. i just don't like it when you're stressed out."

"i'm always stressed out," he says flatly, and you raise your brows with a halfhearted smile.

"yeah, i know. so why stress you even more?"

"i'd rather be stressed about you if i'm stressing about anything," he says, looking over your face as the hardness in his gaze washes away. "you know you're everything to me."

"i know, baby," you push out your bottom lip, pressing your free hand to the side of his cheek and leaning in to kiss him. his ears burn when you pull away, and he sighs heavily.

"don't offend me by trying to hide stuff like this. it won't work."

"i'm sorryyyy," you giggle and choso grumbles incoherently under his breath.

his gaze goes back to your fingers and his brows curl. "how the hell do you slam a door on someone's hand?" he hisses.

"it was an accident, cho, he didn't mean it."

"i know, and i shouldn't really be angry at him but i can't help but be irritated because you're hurt..." his fingers graze the tape. "how bad does it hurt?"

"cho, it'll be okay."

"that wasn't my question."

you roll your eyes at his attitude with a soft smile. "it hurts as much as a broken finger would."

"right. sorry," he murmurs.

"you're okay, love, you don't need to apologize."

"i still wish i- nevermind," he refrains himself from discussing how he wanted to be there to protect you from such an unpredictable occurence. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better while we wait? do you need anything?"

"ummm," you try to think. "actually, could you grab a new pack of ice from the freezer? and... the snacks you got me earlier."

the brunette's face brightens slightly with the thought that he can do something to help ease your pain as you wait for shoko to return to the school.

he nods in determination, carefully sliding your hand into your lap and kissing your cheek before hopping up to run to the kitchen. he returns with the items you requested, placing the snacks down beside him and lifting the bag of ice over your hand.

"like this?" he eases the bag down and you wince, nodding.

"mhm. yeah," you strain out. choso watches your face sadly, hating the fact that you're hurting.

"i'm sorry for getting upset," he mumbles. you turn to look at him curiously. "i just love you a lot."

"i love you more, cho," you smile gently, leaning your head against his shoulder. he sighs, resting his chin atop your head as he ices your hand. "and don't worry, i get it. i won't try to hide injuries from you anymore."

"i really hope so."

"now can you pass me those chips please?"

toji fushiguro: (knife cut!)

toji is going to absolutely kill you, and you are dreading the moment he does.

he has always told you not to touch his weapons. even if you see any of them lying around his place because he never bothers to clean up in between jobs. his one rule when you're over is to leave them alone and to let him handle them when he gets back. he doesn't care how much you protest, he doesn't care that you want to help him pick up after himself.

no touching. that is all he asks of you.

and of course... one afternoon when he's out sorting out some finances with shiu and one of his knives is glaring at you from where it lay on the kitchen table, you can't help yourself.

you don't really think anything is going to happen. after all, you're not a baby, nor are you an idiot. you know how to handle a freaking knife and you know where to put it, and yet, somehow, you allow your arrogance with the task to distract you. you're not handling it as carefully as you should be, and the second you hear the keys jingling outside the front door, you panic.

the blade, naturally, fumbles in your grasp, and swipes through the air, over your palm, and to the carpet. you jump, stepping away as quickly as it falls. you feel a sting in your hand and look down to see the fresh gash stretching over your skin. you gape as blood slowly simmers from the wound, befuddled as to how something like this even happened so quickly.

you have no time to clean it when you hear the key inside the lock. you hurriedly pick up the knife with your unwounded hand, place it back on the table where you first saw it, rip a napkin from said table to press to your bleeding palm, and clench it into a fist just as the door opens.

toji immediately greets you with a raised brow, jade eyes eying you oddly as he steps in. "the hell are you gettin' into?" he asks, confused by the way you are standing against the wall when he enters.

you're quick to move into his space to distract him from the vision of his knife and from looking any further downward from your face. you lean up on your tiptoes, normal hand on his forearm as you kiss his scarred lips. "what do you mean?"

"why were you just standing there like that?"

"can't I wait by the door for you to come back?" you bat your eyelashes, and toji grunts, gazing down at you with lidded eyes as his hand comes around the small of your back. "i'm just happy to see you."

"you take a pill or somethin', doll?"

you glare at him. "now why would you ask me that?"

"you're just acting a little too nice, that's all."

you scoff. "i don't know what you're talking about, i'm literally always happy to see you."

"yeah, but i was gone for thirty minutes and you never make a show of it like this."

"why are you making it sound like i don't show you love? you're the one who's mean all the time," you retort sassily.

a smirk captures toji's lips as he ducks down to kiss you again. "that's more like it," he murmurs against you. "still ain't answer my question though."

"i literally did. i told you i was waiting for you."

"sure," he says, unconvinced. his eyes drag down your body and momentarily go to your fist when you swiftly wrap both arms around his neck, pulling him down to crash your lips into him once more.

his brows narrow and as you kiss him, and you can feel the blood on your hand seeping through your napkin. you curse internally, lowering your hand back down behind him as he pulls away.

"not that i'm against this," toji starts, voice dangerously low against your mouth. "but it feels like you're tryin' to distract me from something."

"why would i be doing that?" you ask gently, looking up into his piercing eyes. he hums, dragging himself away from you. he grabs your chin softly and tilts your head left and right, looking over your face. "what are you doing?" you ask.

"lookin' for whatever you're hiding."

"i'm not hiding anything, toji."

"uh huh."

shit. it's never a good sign when toji doesn't even try to pretend to believe anything you're saying, and the way he's looking over your face let's you know that he at least suspects you've done something to yourself that he should know about.

you keep your fist to his back as he looks over the rest of your body with a rather relaxed expression, which only means that he doesn't suspect you touching any of his weapons. yet.

you have to keep his attention away from the knife on the table so that he doesn't figure it out.

"can you stop messing around already? i wanna go take a shower," you try to say, but toji doesn't listen.

"turn around f'me."

"huh?"

"huh?" he mimics you, looking at you unimpressed. "turn."

you suck your teeth. "i hate when you get like this."

"and i hate when you lie, now turn."

you grimance. you can't turn around with him looking down at your hand, and you're sure by now that the napkin you hold is coated red. your eye twitches in that moment when you feel a line of blood drip down your wrist.

god dammit. you're so dead.

nonetheless, you try to keep your palm facing inward as you slip it from his back and turn over your left shoulder, which connects to the uninjured hand. the second your back is to him, you bring your bloody hand in front of you.

"yeah, no," you hear toji gruffly say. your heart hammers in your throat and you know what's coming next. he moves around you to wrap his hand around your wrist and tug at it.

you cringe, allowing yourself to accept your fate when he pulls forward your balled up hand.

"open."

"can't we just-"

"open."

you sigh heavily, slowly peeling open your palm to reveal the red-stained napkin balled in it, the line of blood rushing down your inner arm, and the slice that stretches across your hand.

toji's eyes blow wide, and before he asks you anything, he throws his head over his shoulder to locate the knife that sits on the table. "are you fucking kidding me, (y/n)?" he growls, turning back to face you angrily.

"okay, let's not act like this is so crazy!" you immediately defend, throwing your other arm up. "you leave your shit lying around all the time!"

"and every single time, i tell you that i'll take care of it. what the fuck, do i have to go child-proofing the house now because of you?"

"if you would just be more mindful of how you leave your space, you wouldn't even have to worry about shit like this! you shouldn't even have knives lying around in the first place."

"i'm a grown man, (y/n), i know how to avoid cutting myself with the weapons i use daily."

"you're being a prick."

"oh baby, you must not know me because i'm about to be worse," he grunts, eyes heated with fury, and you frown.

"toji, come onnn, it was an accident."

"what do i always say about my weapons, (y/n)?"

"i just wanted to help you put it away, is that so crazy?"

"what. do i say. about my weapons."

you deflate slightly, uneased by the rate at which toji is growing angry with you. "...not to touch them."

"so why the fuck did you touch them?" he growls, picking up the napkin in your palm and tossing it over his shoulder. he looks over your wound and clenches his jaw. "fucking hell, (y/n)."

"look, i'm sorry."

"shut the hell up and come on."

despite his rage, he leads you to the bathoom with surprising care.

when you arrive, he flicks on the light with his free hand and swipes up a cloth from under the sink. he turns to you, pressing it down to your wound to stop the bleeding. once it seems like it's done, he puts the cloth down and turns on the faucet. "put your hand under," he orders, guiding it to the cool water nonetheless.

the water hits your open wound bitterly and you jump, watching the blood run through the drain as toji washes your arm as well.

"sit," he nods over to the bathtub, shutting off the faucet.

you oblige mutely, shuffling over and holding out your hand. you sit slowly on the ledge of the tub and watch as toji shuffles through his cupboards for a bottle of peroxide, some bandages, and ointment. you dread what is coming, for you know your hand is gonna sting like a bitch.

toji thuds over to sit hunched on the closed toilet lid, leaning over to grab your hand again. you stretch your fingers out and he sighs, shaking his head. "so fucking hard-headed," he murmurs.

you watch him screw open the bottle of liquid.

"go slowly," you plead.

"it's gonna hurt all the same, doll," he tells you, and you pout. "you should listen next time, then maybe you wouldn't have to go through this."

"shut the fuck up."

toji clicks his tongue, glancing at you momentarily before leaning down and holding the bottle over you, grasping your wrist loosely with your hand above his knee. "keep still."

the peroxide comes flooding out of the bottle and onto your hand, bubbling instantly over your gash. you whimper, tensing your body and scrunching your eyes at the sting.

"i know," toji mumbles, smoothing his thumb gently over your wrist. "you're alright."

your fingers dig into your thigh as it continues to burn. toji leans over to put down the bottle and continues to caress your arm, lowering your hand to his lap. he blows over your palm slightly as the peroxide dries, and you eventually open your eyes.

"not so bad," he tells you. he leans himself back to reach for a new cloth then pats it around the gash, drying your hand and your arm. he reaches back again for the tube of almost empty ointment he found and twists it open, squeezing it over your wound. "shit, hold on," he stops. he lets you lift your hand as he rushes to wash his own before coming to sit back down at hold yours on his leg again, now with bandages in hand.

you watch him gently as he works the bandage over you with such attentiveness, a dip in his brow proving his focus. you suddenly feel guilty for making him worry.

"i'm sorry," you finally say again, this time with more meaning.

toji's green eyes snap up at you amidst his wrapping. "yeah?"

"i really was just trying to help you. didn't mean to stress you out."

toji sighs, pausing his movements to look you in the eye. "you need to be more careful. i tell you not to touch my stuff because it's not your responsibility. obviously i know you can yourself, but some of my shit's really dangerous and i don't want you gettin' hurt," he gestures to your hand. "it could've been a lot worse, but still."

"if you don't want me touching your weapons, toji, you should probably clean them up more," you quirk a brow and he exhales loudly.

"i'm seeing that now, yeah," he says. "i'll be more careful if you are. don't need my doll getting a bunch of scars 'cause of me, now."

you smile softly. "yeah. i won't touch your stuff anymore, i promise."

"...how about instead i just... teach you how to handle 'em the right way?"

you perk up. "really?"

"i don't see why not. i'd rather you know how to use some of it than see you scrape yourself up because you don't know how to hold a knife."

"don't be a smartass."

toji smirks, continuing with his wrapping of your hand. "i mean it. i'll sit down with you sometime to show you."

"...how about after we're done here?"

"don't fucking push it."

ryomen sukuna: (fever!)

you wake up in a cold sweat, shivering.

you groan in displeasure, rolling over, slightly discombobulated. it can't be any later than 7 am, but you are boiling hot. you press your hand to your forehead and curse. you're sweating profusely and you feel incredibly lightheaded.

you don't even have the energy to get up, but you know that you need to take your temperature. you shudder, carefully shuffling out of bed and wincing as every brush against your skin feels like the stab of a thousand pins and needles.

you lethargically make your way to your bathroom, the cool air hitting your neck and sending you into a fit of shivers. you cling to yourself, teeth chattering, and reach into your cabinet for a thermometer. with half-open eyes, you pop it under your tongue and make your way back to your bed, bundling up in your blankets and curling into a ball.

it feels like hours before the beep resounds, and you slowly lift it from your mouth to read the little digital numbers.

102.4. perfect.

you shudder in pain, tossing the thermometer to the side and nestling your face in your pillows. you feel like absolute shit, but you can't bring yourself to do much else. you need medicine, water, a cool compress, but none of those things you have access to currently.

you close your eyes as your mind swarms, body throbbing and shuddering with chills though the last thing you need is to be cuddled under the covers. you think maybe it will go away if you get some rest. maybe you just need to relax, to take some time in bed. you'll let sukuna know when-

shit! sukuna.

there's no way in hell or on earth that sukuna will allow you to go untreated if you tell him, but god, you don't feel like letting him know. despite his likely haste to make sure you have everything you need, you can only imagine the snarky comments about your fragility, your strange body, your vulnerability that he''ll spout.

you don't want to hear it. you don't want to hear any of it, because you're sure that if you do, you'll start crying. you're already worn down, clearly, and the last thing you need on top of a fever is your boyfriend joking about your weak state.

you elect to stay in bed and tell sukuna you'll see him another time if he pesters you today.

which of course, he does.

a whirlwind of alarming dreams that you almost thought were hallucinations are disrupted by the persistent buzzing of your phone on your dress. you groan, reaching out a shaky hand to blindly grab the device and answer the call, pressing it to your ear with no knowledge of who you're speaking to.

"yes?" you croak.

"can't answer a telephone call the first time it rings?" sukuna's voice thunders through the mic, and you lift your brows.

"kuna?" you try to say his name normally, despite the constant chatter of your teeth.

"who the hell else would it be?"

"sorry... i was asleep."

"at this hour?"

"...what'dy'mean?"

"jesus, woman, it's 2 in the afternoon. why the hell are you still in bed?"

you reel momentarily at his words. 2 pm? it was just 7 in the morning! have you really been sleeping all this time?

"oh..." is all you can manage to say before a chill wracks your body again. you cringe, curling into yourself and holding the phone away from you.

"oh?" the king of curses repeats. "what is the matter with you?"

"n-nothing," you respond quickly. "i guess i was up late last night. i was c-completely knocked out..." you tremble.

"last night you told me you were going to sleep early because you were tired, you brat."

fuckkkk.

how could you have forgotten about that? you hadn't been feeling well last night, which is likely the reason why you feel so much worse today, so you turned in early. "i- couldn't fall asleep until later, though," you mumble.

"you are attempting to deceive me," sukuna grunts. "care to explain why?"

"m'not, kuna," you sigh halfheartedly.

"what exactly do you take me for?"

you're really not in the mood for this. you're aching at this point, and you can tell your body temperature has only risen. you're so weak. you can barely even process the fact that you're on the phone, and you can't handle sukuna's attitude. not if he's not going to help, which you automatically assume that he won't.

"i'm going back to bed," you say softly.

"what do you mean back to bed?!" sukuna fumes. "seriously, what the hell is the matter with you. you sound ill."

"i'm not i-ill."

"then why do you keep stumbling over your words, woman?" he questions, his voice mellowing out into a steady intensity. "what is it now? your monthly plague? whatever you people call allergies?"

this is exactly why you don't want him to know. he handles these things too crudely, as if it's a burden upon his existence. "y-you ask too many damn questions."

"i wouldn't have to if you answered them. now talk."

"i'm fine, sukuna. i'm just gonna go back to sleep."

"you hang up this phone, i'm at your door in two seconds."

"that's impossible."

"try me."

you know he's serious, but you don't have the energy. you can't stay on the phone with him any longer, trying to speak like nothing's wrong. it's cold. so cold, but you're so hot. you're probably drenched in a pool of your own sweat, but you can't feel it. you want to sleep. you just want him to let you sleep.

your vision grows dizzy as you stare ahead, brows arching in discomfort. you think you press the end call button, but you can still hear his voice picking up in urgency... is he shouting? are you even on the phone anymore? you aren't sure.

your vision suddenly drifts into inky blackness as the phone rests beside you on your pillow. the last thing you are aware of before you slip into unconsciousness again is banging at your front door.

sukuna bursts into your apartment mere minutes after you stopped answering him on the phone. he looks about ready to kill, crimson eyes wide and pupils shrunken as he breathes heavily, looking all over your apartment.

he's stomping to your room and throwing the door open when he sees you laying in the bed. "(y/n)!" he barks, searching for some response from you, but all he recieves or nonsensical murmurs.

he moves quickly to the side of your bed and grabs at your shoulder, turning you over to find your sheets drenched and your face tight with discomfort. he falters, heart jerking at the sight. "...the fuck?"

he presses a hand to your sweat-drenched face and furrows his brows in concern. you're hot. too hot for the temperature of a human being, and you're sweating like crazy, mumbling things under your breath in your sleep he can't even hear.

"the fuck did you do?" he grumbles, starting to internally panic. he scrambles to remember what this could be. he knows of plague, of pestilence, so maybe you're suffering some form of that?

hell, he can't tell. not from a glance. he's not even sure if he knows how to help you. you're entirely too hot for him to brush this off like it's nothing, and you passed out in the middle of speaking to him.

he looks over and sees the thermometer on your sheets and leans over to pick it up. the screen reads a high number, which he assumes is the temperature of your body. curious himself, he prods open your jaw and tucks it into your mouth, pressing the button the way you had shown him when you had the flu to reset the time.

"come the fuck on," he growls as seconds tick by before it beeps, and he pulls it from your lips to read 104.7.

he doesn't know how far it is from your usual temp, but he knows it's high. too high.

he's quick to dial uraume for some more information, and the second he hears that you need immediate medical help, he's picking you up and making a run for it without even thinking that uraume can likely help you.

when you wake, you're blinded by nauseating lights blaring down overhead. "ugh," you groan, feeling light and disoriented. you turn your head to the side and blink, to find sukuna's face staring directly at you rather harshly.

you jump slightly, startled. "what-?" you start, scrunching your eyes to adjust to the sight before you. "sukuna? what are you..." you trail off when you realize that you aren't in your house, nor are you at sukuna's estate. instead, you're in a hospital bed hooked up to a series of fluids.

your eyes go wide as you sit up suddenly, only to be hit with a sudden dizzy spell that sends you leaning back into the bed.

"don't move," he orders, and you turn to him in confusion. never would you have expected to see the day that sukuna sits in a chair beside you in a hospital.

"why are we... what happened?"

"apparently you had a high fever," he answers harshly, fist-propping his chin up over his leg. "too high for you to be seen in my care, and too high for you to be lying in bed as though nothing was wrong."

your heart sinks. "how high?"

"when we got here, tipping past 105."

"...are you serious?"

"i had to come bust down your door to make sure you were alive. i put you on an empty roller downstairs because these fucking dumbass doctors can't see me and i had to get their attention so they could notice you. yes, i am serious."

he sounds pissed. and you hardly want to think of what he means by ‘getting their attention.’

"what do you have to say for yourself? for daring to lie to me? for pretending like you weren't on the brink of a much worse fate?"

"...i..."

"you're so lucky you're unwell, girl, because you don't even want to imagine the things i would do to you as punishment for putting yourself in such a ridiculous situation," he growls. "all you had to do was tell me and i would have taken care of it before it got worse."

you blink, almost dumbfounded. you still aren't all there, but you can tell that your fever has gone down significantly. you're no longer sweating and fewer chills wrack your body. "...huh?"

"did that fucking fever scramble your brain or what?" he fumes, eyeing you sharply. "you should have told me."

you part your lips slightly as you look at him. "honestly, sukuna, i didn't think you'd really... i don't know-"

"care?"

"no, not care. i just didn't think you'd handle it well. i didn't even handle it well myself."

"you believe me to be incapable of tending to sickness?"

"no, i just thought you'd like... not take it seriously."

sukuna's eyes darken, and you realize that you may have said the wrong thing. "in what reality would i fail to take any threat to your health seriously, whether you are frail or not?"

"see, that's what i mean. you always have to slip in something about me being frail."

"because you are. as a member of your species. look at where you lay currently," sukuna grimaces. "that is not an insult to you, it's an observation. it's an insult, however, to everyone else who isn't you."

you relax slightly. "then you were actually worried?"

sukuna scoffs. "why the hell do you think i'm sitting in a human hospital with your sick ass right now? i thought we were past you believing i do not concern myself over you."

you suddenly feel foolish, having forced yourself to suffer in your isolation and simultaneously made sukuna, of all people, worry over you.

"hm. feeling foolish, are you?" he says, reading your mind.

"shut up,," you whine, only to clutch your stomach suddenly with a groan. sukuna sighs as he gently eases your head back onto the pillow.

"i told you not to exert yourself. you give me a headache."

"kuna," you mumble.

"what?"

"can you... take me home?"

sukuna raises a brow. "home?"

"to your place," you clarify. "i don't wanna be here. i just want to be with you. want you to hold me."

"you're such a needy thing," he exhales, toying with a strand of your hair as he leans over and gazes gently at you. "you have medications you need to take."

"then bring them with."

"and if you get sick again? you've only been here ten hours."

"ten?!" you exclaim.

"you were very ill, (y/n)."

you groan. "ten is long enough. i hate hospitals. take me home. i feel better anyway, and if i get worse, i’ll just go to uraume."

sukuna sighs, standing slowly. "after i get these tubes out of you without further damaging you, i will take you home," he says, looking over the IVs that you're hooked up to.

you close your eyes tiredly and nod in acceptance. "okay," you murmur.

he grunts. "let me find some damn instructions.”

"kuna," your hand weakly reaches out to catch his wrist and he stops, turning to look down at you.

"what is it?"

you open your eyes to look up at him fondly, exhaustion welling in your gaze. "thank you."

the king of curses clenches his jaw. he smoothes ahead over your now warm forehead and leans over you. "don't do some shit like this again."

[writersdrug]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of man who:

In your shared home, always sits with his legs spread. Manspreading king. Adores it when you cross your arms and give him a disapproving look, saying there's no room for you. "Course there is, luv. Jus' sit between my thighs."

Refuses to let you do simple tasks around the house, like making tea, folding his underwear, or putting away the dishes. One might think it's a sweet, husbandly gesture - but he's just super picky. You made tea in the microwave once, and now you're banned from ever touching his tea stash. Likes his underwear folded in a specific way, and you don't understand the importance of it. He got tired of you stuffing his underwear in his drawer, so now he folds it himself. And the dishes? Couldn't stand how you put them away. "There's no rhyme or reason to 'em." "I didn't think there had to be, Si-" "Just gimme the damn bowl." Fewer chores? You aren't complaining.

Looks like he's always on edge - and he is, kinda. When he's out with you, he can't help but be alert and watchful, and extremely protective of you. You've tried to get him to loosen up - it's the supermarket, what could happen? - but have just come to accept it as his nature. Plus, you get that giddy feeling when you see other men look straight down at the floor, avoiding Simon's stare as the two of you pass.

Is the grumpiest, poutiest, and most indignant man ever when he gets sick. Doesn't want you doting on him in case you catch whatever he has. But, wait - where are you going? "Get your ass back in this bed - 'm cold." Grumbles like a child when you force him to let you get up to grab him soup, tea, or medicine. And no, he doesn't care how sick he is, he's not wearing that stupid, floppy ice pack hat.

Brings Johnny over unannounced, and you've grown used to it. The moment you hear that Scottish yapping out the front door as the key unlocks, you grab a third plate for dinner - he insists you don't need to feed him, but you always make extra for Simon's lunch the next day regardless, and the last time he'd said that, he ended up grabbing an extra fork and picking from Simon's plate. Which, of course, had Simon up at 1 am making instant ramen because he was still hungry, but didn't have the heart to ask you to make him a decent meal. So, yes, Johnny would be fed.

Loves spoiling you on your birthday. What is a man if not someone who spoils his partner rotten? Orders in food from your favorite bakery, sets all your presents neat and nice on the table (the excellent wrapping job done by yours truly, Gaz), flower petals sprinkled on the ground and the table top (also Gaz's idea), and a seat on his lap so for you while you open your presents. Loves watching your face light up, and each little "you remembered?!" fall from your lips as you open each gift. Scoffs and shifts in his seat. "I's not that much of a fuss, luv..." as you squeal excitedly, but you know he's biting back a proud smile. The blush, he can't even attempt to hide.

Is somehow a magnet for your young nephews. Every time he comes along to your sister's place, he's either making conversation with her husband in the living room, or he's interrogated and cornered by her two sons. And, lord help him, he doesn't understand it either. He'd always expected kids to look at him like a monster, but, especially with these two, that was never the case. They'd ask him for stories about "being in war" - half of the time, he'd make up some not-too-gory adventure, sparing them the details of real war. The rest of the time, he'd talk about "Soap, my mate who blows everything up." And they'd listen with wide eyes and jaws on the floor.

Has scared you unintentionally, more than too many times. He'd come home at three in the morning from a mission, and all he wanted was to quietly peel his dirty uniform off and slip into bed with you. His main intention was to avoid waking you up, because you'd force him to shower before joining you in bed - and he was too tired for that. However, you'd been rounding the corner, up for your 3 am glass of water - you screamed as you saw the hulking, dark figure by the front door, launching your phone at him. He'd caught it effortlessly and shoved it into his back pocket. "What've I told ya 'bout using the bat?" "I was just getting water!" "I coulda been anyone." "Well you're not." "Missed ya, luvie." "Missed you too- but you're grimy. Go take a-" "No." He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests as he hauled you back to bed.

[teaboot]

Okay so like. You know your own name as a kid, right?

You remember how it sounds, how your parents say it, how your friends say it- you learn how to spell it, and maybe even what it means and why it was given to you, and it's yours.

It's not a tangible, physical thing, like your hair or your fingernails, but it's yours. It belongs to you.

So, like. Imagine there comes a point in life where everyone gets their name tattooed to their forehead, or something.

Could be when they're two. Could be when they're twenty. Hell, it could be when they're eighty, or ninety-nine, or whenever. But it's everybody, and it's inevitable, and it happens.

Now imagine the time comes for you, and you get up after and look in the mirror and realize they spelled it wrong.

And you have to go outside and live your life in a world where everybody is so totally used to knowing people's names on sight that not a single person second-guesses that your parents named you Susam, or Ahley, or Benjabib.

And you know it's wrong, every time you hear it, but you can choose to explain every single time- every time you're called in a coffee queue, every time a teacher picks you in class, every time you meet a new person or bump into a stranger or are greeted on the street, by children and employers and door-to-door salesmen and your fucking waitress- or you can kind of just learn to grit your teeth and ignore it.

You still notice, of course- maybe you learn to accept it, maybe you hate it every time, but whether you do anything about it or not, you still know. You know people have the wrong word for you in your head.

You know they still mean YOU, but it's not you.

So what's your solution?

Do you shrug, decide it doesn't matter, and go about your life?

Do you smear the typo over with foundation, pencil in new letters every morning?

Do you stare into the mirror sometimes and think, "wow, I should really get that fixed"?

Maybe you save up your money and get it removed, or covered up, or changed to something else. Maybe the whole damn thing was wrong, and you've been a Jacob running around as a Hailey this whole damn time.

That's the best way to explain it. It's not an easily-provable thing, or a demonstrable thing, or a feeling I can one-for-one substitute as something else-

but that's what it's like to know you're not a girl.

[jammyjen26]

Simon has been fidgeting for the past ten minutes.

He’s sweating bullets while you just stare at him worried.

“You really don’t have to if you don’t want to..” You say, he glares at you and shakes his head with a scoff.

“I promised you. I ain’t goin’ back on my damn promises. Just wait.” He huffs and sighs.

Simon had promised that on your 1st year anniversary of dating, he’d show you his face.

However, now that the day has come. He’s nervous.

What if you leave because of the way he looks? What if you’re not satisfied with what you see? What if you get scared?

So many thoughts, so many insecurities, and so much anxiety.

“I can close my eyes and then you can just tell me when to open them.” You say with sweet smile that he adores so much.

He doesn’t know how or why whenever you look or smile at him, his hearts throbs and skips beats.

He likes this feeling. Makes him feel like a teenager.

After all you are his first serious relationship after all his one night stands.

He doesn’t understand what you see in him and why you love him.

“Alright. Close your eyes for me, blossom.” He says as he stares at you.

You nod and close your eyes.

He wipes his sweat with the back of his hand and then pulls his mask off.

A soft thud on the carpet floor, the cool air filling his face.

He takes a deep breath and taps your shoulder.

“Open up.” He mumbles in a quiet voice that you barely hear.

You open your eyes, you’re met with the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

Brown eyes that look fierce but there’s love in them, light brown buzzed hair, pink plump lips, chapped but they look soft.

“You’re…” You say as you stare at him.

His mind is going crazy, what are you gonna say? Is he ugly? Is he an abomination?

“You’re so fucking hot..” You blurt out.

He stares at you before throwing his head back in a laugh. You’re drooling.

Drooling like he’s a medium rare piece of steak on a gold platter.

The rest of the night is spent with you pampering him and complimenting him each second.

He’s not one to accept compliments and always thought they were backhanded.

When you compliment him and stare at him with those beautiful eyes, he just knows you’re telling the truth.

[targaryen-dynasty]

REDAMANCY.

Cregan Stark x female Targaryen!Reader (Part 4 here)

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept your younger brother’s offer to return to the capital for your child to receive his blessings. And when you‘re finally on the way, it’s your husband‘s duty to take care of you.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; p in v, lactation kink, lactating, pregnant sex, pregnancy, slight breeding kink, praise kink, slight degrading, angst, fluff

WORDS: 3.3 K

NOTES: Redamancy means A love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you, and let me tell you: these two are in love. Thanks to @sylasthegrim, it‘s always good to know you help me with my zero grasp on English!

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

Ravens from Winterfell flying all the way down to King’s Landing has always taken quite some time. And therefore it was no wonder you were surprised that one of your younger brother’s ravens reached the castle not long after you'd informed him you were with child, inviting you to birth it in the Red Keep for it to receive the young king’s blessings.

Being the ever dutiful Lord of House Stark, there was no way your husband would refuse the offer, and once your pregnancy had crossed the seventh moon mark, a carriage and your husband’s entourage were sent south.

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept the offer. Westeros’ capital has brought nothing but pain and grief to you, and you’re afraid coming back ruins the comfort and peace you’ve found far, far away from the castle in the North, in Winterfell. But a part of you misses and longs for your siblings and the part of your family that’s still left, hence it didn’t take too much convincing from your husband.

You’ve lost count of the days you spent in that damned carriage by now, solely accompanied by your maids as your dear husband rides at the front of his entourage, joining his men on horseback. But there’s one thing all days have in common: it’s you being exhausted beyond relief once night comes.

For the longest time you thought your unborn babe to be no-fussy and calm, which proved to be false just one week into the travel. It’s restless, kicking and moving especially when you finally find rest in the bed of the receptive inn you stay in for the night. Your feet are swollen, just like your breasts, and your body provides milk as though the babe has been long born already, and all you crave at this point is for the pregnancy to be over already.

As the wheelhouse comes to a stop, you rub your swollen bump with a sigh, looking toward the door with heavy footsteps approaching. Your beloved husband opens the door, and even though he won’t admit it, he looks just as exhausted as you do.

“Is it time?” you ask, slowly rising to your feet with another sigh. You place your small hand in his large one, allowing him to help you out.

He nods, bringing a hand to the small of your back. “Indeed. We have reached the crossroads. From here we are only ten days away from King’s Landing, which means the end of our journey is in sight,” he replies. “How are you and our son feeling?”

Cregan guides you away from the wheelhouse, escorting you through the crowd of his men towards a large inn sitting right where the river road crosses the kingsroad. And from old tales of your uncle you know it has to be the Bellringer Inn, a place where even your great-grandfather and great-grandmother have stayed at before.

“We do not yet know if this babe will be a boy or a girl, husband,” you chastise him in a teasing manner.

“You are right, we do not,” he says. “But I feel it in my bones. Just call it a father’s intuition.”

You roll your eyes at his words and nudge his ribs with your elbow, yet there also pulls a smile at the corners of your lips. He chuckles at that. “Careful, my love, I am not as nimble as I used to be.”

Shaking your head, you giggle softly. “Do not tell me that you are an old man now, Lord Stark.”

As you make your way through the courtyard and towards the inn, you can feel the curious glances of the passerby; a man of Cregan’s caliber always drew the attention toward him, just like your hair did. But you’re unbothered by it all. You carry a piece of your husband within you, and that thought fills you with a sense of fulfillment and pride.

He looks for the innkeeper as you reach for his hand, pulling it from your back around your frame, squeezing it softly. “Might you join me tonight? I know that you can not leave your men alone, but one night will surely do no harm. I must admit that I have hardly found sleep without your warmth for the past weeks.”

With a gentle, intimate gesture, Cregan brushes his fingers over your swollen bump, before pulling you against his side. “How can I ever be expected to refuse anything my beautiful wife asks of me? Of course I will join you tonight.” Leaning a bit closer toward you, he adds with a quiet whisper: “Your presence has been missed in my bed as well. The nights feel cold and lonely without you by my side.”

Heat crawls onto your cheeks at the proximity and the slight implication that comes with his words, solely interrupted when a stout man with a bushy beard but otherwise pleasant demeanor walks around the corner and welcomes you two.

Upon Cregan’s inquiry about the availability of a room, he hands over the keys and leads you toward your place of retreat for the night. More than once have you told Cregan you’re perfectly fine with sleeping in a tent with him, yet he always came back to your delicate condition, stating he only wants the best for you and his unborn child, and you eventually have given up and accepted it.

The room is decent. Not as big as your chambers at home, but still larger than what you’ve slept in for the last few weeks. Your maids already scurry into the room to bring some of your belongings and clothes to get you ready for the night, while Cregan leans in to kiss your temple. “Let me arrange for my man to sleep outside the inn for the night,” he mutters against your skin. “And then we shall spend the night in warm beds.”

Even with your maids bustling around you, you can’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at his words. The prospect of sharing the night with him is enough to make you forget the soreness of your swollen curves that has become a constant companion over the past few moons.

“I will freshen up in the meantime,” you say, leaning into his touch before he pulls away to take care of his men’s sleeping arrangements for the night. Once everything was adjusted in the chambers, your maids moved to help you out of your clothes, but you refused them, having planned something very special.

Standing in front of the small window, overlooking a stable with a thatch roof and a bell tower, you all but admire how quietly Cregan opens the door, and with the lock falling right into place behind him, the room grows even quieter and the atmosphere becomes charged with anticipation.

“Is everything sorted?” you ask, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“All set,” your husband replies with a low voice as he approaches you.

He comes to tower over your frame from behind, moving his hands over your hips up to your waist. Lifting your head, your eyes lock with his. “Alone at last, hm?” There’s a sultry smile on your lips now, and you gently reach behind you to cup his cheek with one hand. “Now you’re all mine for the night.”

You lean against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths against your back. Cregan seizes the opportunity and brushes your hair over one shoulder before he presses his lips to the crook of your neck. The touch makes you sigh, stirring something inside of you you have had to keep at bay for quite some time. When he brings his large hands to your swollen breasts, fondling them through the thick fabric of your dress, you can’t help but moan, the slight squeezing aiding against the heaviness.

But then his hands and lips leave your body, and he slightly leans around you to look at you – or rather your breasts – and you immediately know the reason why.

The gray fabric has become damp under his touch, two dark spots prominent in the front of it. While it brings a bit of shame to your cheeks, the low rumble that escapes his chest sends a fire straight down between your legs. “I should have warned you I started leaking a fortnight ago,” you admit ashamedly, biting your bottom lip.

“I quite enjoy the sight of it, you know,” he says, voice laced with a combination of awe, adoration and burning need. His hands shift to the lace in the back of your dress. “But let us put this to good use.”

The dress comes undone with ease, falling to the floor in a puddle around your feet. Damp spots are decorating your smallclothes, but this time you don’t mind the sight. Cregan’s hands now roam over your body, tracing the curve of your waist and your growing bump.

Although you know exactly what it is his words are meant to imply, you choose to tease him. “And what is it you have in mind right now, hm?”

His gray eyes briefly flicker to the bed close to you, before meeting yours again. “I have a few things in mind. But for now…” He cups your chin, tilting your head up so he can claim your lips in a slow, deep kiss that’s full of desire and passion. It makes you feel as though the air is sucked right out of your lungs by him, as if you can’t survive without his lips on yours. “How about we make the most of this night, my love?”

“I’m all yours,” you breathe against his lips.

His large hands roam your curves, helping you out of your undergarments, until they settle at your thighs, wrapping around them to effortlessly hoist you up. Although Cregan is quite the bull of a man and appears to be a brute, he possesses a tenderness you wouldn’t expect from him, gently keeping your body against his and lying you down on the bed not far away just as carefully.

Soft, gentle kisses are pressed to your collarbones, igniting a fire within you that has been smoldering for too long. As his fingers glide over your skin with featherlight touches, leaving a burning trail behind, he finds his hands drawn to your full breasts, cupping and holding them, and eventually squeezing them.

More droplets of your milk trickle into his calloused palms, wetting his skin, but he does not care–not when he has you writhing and whimpering beneath him at just the faintest of touches.

Your husband’s eagerness would have almost made you chuckle, watching him rise from the bed to rid himself off his clothes hastily, if it wouldn’t match your own desire and greediness. With his breeches falling to the ground, his cock stands to full attention, hard enough for it to almost seem painful.

His hungry gazes devours your bare form, tall frame slightly hunched forwards as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

“Will you just stand there and watch, my wolf?” you tease, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What happened to ‘let us put this to good use’?”

It’s the teasing lilt in your voice that pulls him out of his stupor like a wave, the chuckle he releases low and throaty. “You are a temptress, my love,” he replies. “You are lucky I am a man of my word.”

“Then touch me,” you whine, words coming out more desperate than actually intended.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Slowly approaching the bed, Cregan bows forwards and grabs one of your feet. He lifts your leg and starts to trail sloppy, open mouthed kisses along the inside of your leg, occasionally nibbling on the skin of your inner thigh.

Your back slightly arches off the mattress, body thrumming with desire. Entangling your hands in his dark curls, you use the grip as reigns to where you want him most, but your husband acts completely unfazed, not allowing you to tug him higher up.

He takes his time, kissing and nibbling your thighs, before he boldly presses a kiss to the apex of your legs, tongue briefly dragging through your folds. It elicits a shudder in its wake, and you can’t stifle a moan.

Making his way up, he licks your navel, and eventually traces the curve of your full breast, circling your hardened bud. Cregan laps up every drop of milk that oozes out of your bud like nothing else than a starved wolf, the edge of his teeth applying just a faint pressure to the sensitive skin to stimulate the flow.

But when his other hand comes up to fondle and squeeze your other breast, that’s the moment you lose your composure, shamelessly smothering him with your breasts. “Gods, Cregan…” you whimper, immediately bringing you relief. There isn’t even time to waste a thought about the indecency of it all, not when it feels just so right.

It’s your mewls, your whispered whines and moans, the sound of you saying his name in such a desperate manner that drives him to continue. “You make me ache for you,” he rasps against your skin, voice thick with desire. Your husband never falters to ignite a fire inside of you with his words, especially when there’s an innuendo hidden between his praises.

Bringing his hand from your breast down between your bodies, he aligns himself with you, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds in a way that makes you bite back a moan and grind against him. You grip his dark curls harshly as he finally eases inside, pushing into you inch by inch, agonizingly slow to make sure you feel him enter you.

His suckling falters with the tightness of your walls embracing him, overwhelmed by pure bliss and a feeling he’s missed for the past few weeks.

Every gasp and whine that escapes you only serves to embolden him further, continuing to tease and taste your breast with unrivaled enthusiasm. It juxtaposes the slow, sloppy thrusts of his hips, and brings you two different kinds of sensations at once.

Cregan has made himself home between your legs, rocking his hips leisurely back and forth. He has dropped his weight on one elbow and leant his upper body to the side, determined to not put any weight on your swollen bump. His lips are firmly wrapped around your bud while his hand teases the other, pinching and squeezing it between his fingers. The proximity is unmatchable, feeding into your constant desire to be as close to him as possible.

You can practically watch him lose every ounce of self control, his suckling becoming more intense and the thrusts growing in determination. His groans and grunts are muffled, and droplets of your milk trickle idly down his chin, getting lost in the dark, coarse hairs.

You fully expect him to say something when he releases your bud, but he’s far too eager to get his fill again. Pinching the perky bud of your other breast harshly, droplets of milk run down the curve of it, only to be traced by his tongue, liking a flat stripe over your skin. He chokes on a groan as the sight has you clenching tightly around his hard cock.

“Please– do not stop,” you whimper, applying a bit of pressure to his head to urge him towards your breast again. “... not yet.”

Dark-blown eyes suddenly flicker up to meet yours, and a shuddered breath leaves your lips. “My my, what a greedy wench I have for a wife,” he chuckles to himself. You don’t take offense, but the statement does make you duck your head and bite your bottom lip sheepishly. “I do not intend to.”

Despite the teasing, it’s obvious your pleas fall upon eager ears as he heeds your command and closes his lips around your bud again. Every hungry pull of his lips draws more and more milk from you, and while relief makes itself known in your breasts, a different kind of pressure starts to settle in the pit of your belly.

Squeezing him so well, you make it impossible for Cregan to move on his own accord, and quickly take over, rolling your hips against his. It’s a race for completion, making your pearl throb with anticipation.

The coarse hairs of your husband’s beard drag over your sensitive skin with his eager suckling, tickling you and causing you to arch against him even more. You have your arms wrapped around his neck at this point, keeping him tightly against you.

A string of yesses falls past your lips like a chant, and the pace of your hips increases as far as your bump allows you to. Your mind grows hazy with pleasure, until your peak washes over you with a loud gasp.

You haven’t noticed Cregan watching you through it all, too focused on the sensations coursing through your body. His gaze is mesmerized, clearly relishing in the relief that’s etched onto your features and the way your walls flutter around his cock.

He pulls back, droplets of milk resting in the corners of his lips, and lifts his body to tower over you. The thrusting of his hips grows sharper now, determined to help you through your pleasure.

“That’s it,” he rasps, one hand resting on the mattress next to your head while the other gropes at your now relieved breasts.

“Once this pup is born,” he emphasized the words by rolling your sore bud between his index finger and thumb, drawing out just a few more droplets of milk. “I shall put another in you to keep you round with my seed.”

Your head grows dizzy, lightheaded even, and you can’t do more than whimper and whine through your peak, not fully comprehending what he’s said.

Cregan snaps his hips into yours once, twice before he topples over the edge with a loud groan, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of you. Cupping your breast, his fingers dig harshly into your flesh.

You continue to roll your hips against his, prolonging his pleasure. Switching roles, it’s now your turn to milk him for every drop, taking everything his cock spills inside of you. Every muscle in his body tenses, until eventually, he collapses to the side, careful not to put his weight on your swollen bump.

With his cock slowly becoming flaccid again, the sensation of his seed leaking out of your cunt is more apparent, causing heat to spread throughout your body. If it wasn’t for you carrying his child already, you would have mounted him to make sure his seed would bear fruit.

Cregan eventually lies down on his back, and you seize the chance to rest your head on his chest. It’s hard to keep your eyes open as his hand softly entangles into your hair, scratching your scalp in the manner that usually lulls you to sleep. His breath is slower now, his chest rising and lowering your head.

“I can not bear to spend another night without you by my side,” you all but whisper, bringing a hand to his stomach.

Your finger trails the contours of his muscles, before following the dark trail of coarse hairs down.

“You needn‘t worry about that,” he says. “We shall not stay in King’s Landing for too long. And I highly doubt that anyone could get me out of your chambers during the time we stay there. Once we arrive, we shall stay together.”

Nodding your head slowly, you hum a ‘mh-mh‘, too engrossed in the feeling of his hand in your hair and the other rubbing soothing circles over your back. Having trouble staying awake, you’re hardly able to process his next words, already drifting off to sleep.

“Let us sleep now, my love. We have another tiresome day ahead of us.“

Cregan Taglist: @nats-whore @aemondsbabe

[lilpomelito]

my favorite thing about Steve is that he’s actually a very confident guy, overconfident I would say sometimes, so in my head he has the shortest gay crisis ever like he realizes on a random Tuesday morning while slowly rotting on his costumer service job that his weird fixation with Eddie and how close he is with that punk dude from the Hideout is jealousy actually, so that means he has a crush on Eddie. Huh, that’s weird, has he had crushes on guys before? Maybe, his friendship with Tommy was intense and weirdly possessive actually, and their fight did feel like a breakup kind off and Tommy did behave like a bitter ex afterwards… also now that he thinks about it his obsession with the captain of the baseball team who was a senior when he was a junior was totally a crush in retrospective. And as he comes to this conclusion he also thinks damn what a waste, I could 100% have pulled him. So that same day he’s driving to Eddie’s place like “hi i’m taking you out” and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s about to be wine and dinned or murdered in the middle of the woods but he’s also a weak weak man for pretty boys so he just follows where Steve tells him to go. They have a lovely date at the dinner and then drive up to the quarry to see the sunset and then a very intense makeout sesh in the back of Steve’s car when Eddie remembers to ask him if he’s even into guys. Steve who already has his hands in Eddie’s pants looks him dead in the eye and says “yeah since this morning I think, but also since forever.” And Eddie who had to spend years slowly crawling his way out of Narnia to even admit to himself he was gay even less admitting it to others just blinks and accepts the fact that yeah, Steve Harrington has always had that vibe actually, and resumes kissing him.

[monstersflashlight]

Day 17. Monster-kinktober: Full moon + Swallowing/Cock Warming

A/N: Inspired by this post by @davinawritings. Also sorry (not sorry) because I feel like this is the 4th werewolf this month but I just fucking love werewolves. Enjoy!

Werewolf x fem!reader || cock-warming, teasing, oral sex, (lowkey) dirty talk

Your boyfriend usually had an incredible stamina, but full moon fucks were out of this world. You always ended up exhausted and so fucked out you couldn’t sit properly for the next couple days. Thanks the goddess it only happened once a month or you’d be fucked… in a bad way (and in a good way).

That’s why you don’t act surprised when he appears in the door of your home office, a huge erection in his gray sweats and the biggest smile on his lips. He looks obscene like that, your wettest of dreams… and he’s all yours.

“You know I need to prep you so you are ready for the full moon tonight,” he offers as an explanation for his sudden appearance.

“I know you do, but I can’t do it right now, I have work!” You try to argue, just for him to walk to you and pull you off your chair, sitting there himself and then sitting you back onto his lap.

You are still facing the computer, but the cock under your hot center is so hard and tempting that you can’t avoid rolling your hips to create a bit of friction. You groan and curse him for chuckling.

“See? Now you can do both,” he smiles and kisses your neck as you try to focus your attention back to the screen.

His hands pull your legs apart as he starts rubbing your clit slowly over your pants. You try to focus on your work, but you are completely unable to read a single line on the email because he’s so distracting. It’s not your fault that dating a werewolf has turned you into a desperate mess every time his dick was involved. He shouldn’t be so good at it if he wanted you to be normal about it.

“You are distracting me!” He chuckles but doesn’t stop, his fingers pressing hard against your clit through the fabric, so good, but not nearly enough. “Ugh, fine. Let me take the pants off first at least, I don’t want them ripped open like last time.” You tell him, your hand stopping his when he tries to open your pants to slip his hand inside.

He laughs at your acceptance, caressing your ass as soon as you uncover it. Your tiny thong doesn’t get the best of treatments, being ripped away in one fast movement before you can take it off. Fucking wolves.

He keeps moving his hand in the way that drives you completely insane, his fingers probing and touching, rubbing and fingering… You are dripping wet around his hand and trying to respond to the damn email. He doesn’t say anything, but he starts breathing harder and harder behind you, his hips pushing up in tiny thrusts that tease you with the promise of a good dicking.

“I need to work,” you remind him, frustrated in every way possible. Especially sexually.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop. Let me just…” You hear the sound of a zipper being pulled down, and then something pressing against your pussy.

“Don’t you-” Your phrase is cut short when he pushes his dick inside your wet heat and you groan. “Fuck, okay, but don’t move, I need to work.” You remind him, again.

You’ve played cock-warming before, he loves to feel you stretched around him, and loves even more when you fall asleep with him inside of you, so he can fuck you as soon as he wakes up. The little somno fantasy was one of yours, but he indulges in it more than enough.

He kisses your neck tenderly. “Okay, honey, I’ll be quiet and still. Do your thing.”

But he’s neither quiet or still. He moves his hips in tiny circles, he “accidentally” rubs your clit with his thumb with the excuse of readjusting your hips for more comfort. He caresses the insides of your thighs until you are panting, his dick buried inside of you.

When you let out a groan, he chuckles, his finger instantly finding your clit and rubbing it until you are coming apart over him. He doesn’t come, he doesn’t say anything. He just stays inside of you as you try to re-focus on the work.

It takes you twice the amount of time as it should to answer all the emails. You know you won’t be able to focus anymore with him there, especially being a full moon. Without saying anything, you stand up before him, his dick still hard as you turn and look down at him. He looks wild, his eyes unfocused and his dick leaking profusely. He’s feral in the prettiest way possible.

He looks at you with reverence. “Please, please, please, honey… I need, I need…” He doesn’t get to finish his phrase, your brain already knowing exactly what he needs. Your pussy is not ready, but you have other perfectly fine holes, and his dick always tastes better when he’s been inside of you anyway.

You fall to your knees in front of him and smile at his leaking cock, your lips coming around his tip instantly. His hips move imperceptibly under you, trying to remain as still as possible as you suck him slowly, drawing his pleasure until he has tears in his eyes and you feel like a goddess. He doesn’t say anything, tries to remain in his best behaviour as you swallow around him, making him moan your name in a filthy way.

“Do you… Can I? Are you gonna swallow, honey?” He asks.

You nod around his shaft, your hand squeezing on his knot as he cries out over your head and spills his seed deep in your throat, making you choke slightly and pull out. It always amazes you how much he can come during the full moon. He ends up coming all over your chin and tits, making a mess out of you (like always).

“Fuck, you look indecent like that,” he says in the most broken way he can muster. You smile, your tongue darting out to lick some of his come out of your lower lip. He groans and picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder and walking you to the bed, his dick hard once again.

Full moon days are awesome.

(You don’t get to go out and run under the full moon because by that time, your pussy is already overflowing with his seed and you are so exhausted you pass out… with his cock still inside of you.)