#i fucking resent everything these people took from me and i resent my parents for not protecting me when i was young

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

BLOOD FEUDS, ANCIENT AND MODERN | RYOMEN SUKUNA.

�� tags ; no curses au, blood incest, use of honorifics (oji-san) abuse (mostly verbal / emotional), classism, grooming / generally predatory behavior, large age gaps (20+ yrs), blood feuds, imbalanced power dynamics, white collar crime, afab + fem!niece!reader, uncle sukuna, the word rape used in text, non/dubcon (not noncon necessarily), fingering, petnames (little one, kid, little lamb), thigh-fucking, and other things, very horrible and gross sukuna behavior 18+

this is very dark and it deals BRIEFLY with sukuna being very predatory to reader when she's UNDERAGE / young. nothing explicit happens WHILE she is underage, but sukuna does leer at reader and it is mentioned. please proceed with caution !!!

PLEASE HEED THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED!!!

✮ wc ; 10.3k (???????????)

✮ a/n ; thank you vic @saintshigaraki for always indulging my nonsense and also tomfoolery. kissing you.

i'll be honest lads this one got away from me BAD jksdfhjs. i think its interesting at least.I KNOW THE TAGS ARE WICKED but i promise its like. kind of sexy at least.

also yes the title is from the rdr2 soundtrack shhh

✮ synopsis ; blood is thicker than water. resentment, you think, is thicker than both.

Bastard.

An intimately familiar title, lacking tooth and effect. It's meaning eroded with time and usage - and a moniker you've wielded proudly for as long as you can remember. You don't recall much of your life before it became part of you.

The daughter born of wedlock. Bastard daughter. The only remaining stain to your family's reputation aside from your late father.

Your mother often tells you that you were her hardest child to birth. When you were littler it was a story relayed to you with affection, and but now it's with such bitter hatred you can feel it lodged in your throat.

The most important element is the predestination in it. You came into the world kicking and screaming, throat hoarse and violent. From birth, you knew you were half-forged with bad blood and came into the world trying to be absolved of it. It's shaped your life, your relationships, everything about you.

The other half of your DNA, the good half, is from your father. Before you were a bastard, you were your parents' only child. Your father was a good man. The best you know. An average, humble man. From a generation of other working class men with a tough job in construction. Your best memories come from when he was still alive.

A quiet life, untainted by the residual bitterness of your mothers heritage. You lived away from it, outside of it. The mother in your memories from back then seem like a dream now, some mirage from long ago - disinterested in anything but you and your father. Your mama and papa. Your father took good care of you both, and your mother loved him madly.

You lived as a normal family in a small apartment just outside of Gifu for the first seven years of your life. You attended a small local school and had friends with crooked teeth and messy hair.

Your childhood was mostly happy if you break it up into pieces like that. Blissfully uneventful.

There's a concise break of change of what your life was versus what became of it. Your fathers death the splinter in the wood, separating the two halves.

The worst of your childhood, of course, came in your fathers passing. Not just because of the loss, but what it made of your life. His funeral welcomed people of all walks of life with the most notable absence of your elusive mothers side of the family.

Another old memory you have with your mother is looking at her face during your fathers wake. The deep darkness of her eyes, sunken in and hollow. The first time you ever found her terrifying instead of comforting. While the world mourned your father, your mother—you think—mourned her life.

Forced into single motherhood with no prospects and no career, your mother decided it was best for the both of you to return home.

You think the worst of your life started there.

Your mother's side of the family has never welcomed you with open arms. You wouldn't come to know why until much later. You were a child then. There's no way you could've known about feuds that deep.

The only thing you knew was that you were hated vehemently, and nothing could change that.

Your grandmother's estate was always frightening to you in your childhood. You've yet to grow out of that feeling despite living there for the last fifteen years. It's remained unchanged since you moved in and the lights in the hall never seems bright enough. Jade green painted walls and white tile floors. Some rooms have classically Japanese flooring and heirloom paintings from the Heian era. Others modernized with sterile whites and grays and house plants that add no life to it at all. Stretched wide with tens of rooms, and easy for a child to get lost in.

A sinking abyss. A terrible place. A dark labyrinth. Anxiety inducing to even think about now. No place for a child your size or your age.

The best way to describe your childhood after your father died was cold. Removed from your life in the suburbs and placed among other rich kids, you became overtly self-conscious of the differences between you and them. Them being anyone who grew up wealthy and your other extended family. You were constantly reminded of your place as the bastard child. Later learning how your mother left her fiance many years ago for your father, your poor and worthless father.

(You theorize any warmth that your mother had for you was buried in your dead dads casket. Living there, among them, made sure she'd never find it again.)

Your mother is the most complicated part of your life. You don't have a time for when she gave up on raising you. There was a year when she tried, you think. For the most part, you lived in that house utterly alone. 

At first that abandonment was miserable (as it would be to any child, certainly) but a time came where you were glad you saw so little of her.

Your mother, who you had once loved and thought highly of, became a pitiful prey animal in the four walls of your grandmother's house. Small and anxious and utterly hateful. A bunny born with some cosmic knowledge and horrific understanding that its destiny is to become food for a wolf. Viciousness between her siblings, no doubt fostered by your grandparents and their establishment, tore apart the aspects of her your father mended and ruined her. You were too little to stop it. 

Blood feuds that ran bone-chillingly deep plagued most of the interactions with your extended family for as long as you've been a part of them. Your mother has exactly four siblings. Two sisters between her with her as the middle daughter, and two brothers. One of which is estranged so completely you don't know his name.

And the other being your Uncle Sukuna.

Your hatred for your aunts and their children came to you rather naturally. For every gala and ball and charity fund your worthless bloodline ever raised, came catty arguments and verbal abuse from the shallow mouths of your beloved cousins. You had nothing to prove to anyone in that house. You were detested since your birth and your grandparents made no small effort to show you through as much neglect and verbal lashing as they could get away with.

Rotten girl. Cursed daughter. You're the reason your mother is like this. You're the reason she is miserable. You should've been buried with your father.

Compared to the experience of your grandfather ripping into you at age ten for simply being alive, your cousin's commentary on you was remarkably uninteresting. You resented them for being nuisances, though, with the exception of maybe one who bucked it out of that place as soon as they could. Just like you planned too.

For a long time, Sukuna wasn't around enough to have a real presence in your consciousness. You tried not to think of your extended family more than you had too. You got used to not knowing about your relatives living there, but there was no one so elusive as him.

It was as if, increasingly, you heard whispers of his name at everything you were forced to attend.

The first time you ever meet your Uncle, you're freshly sixteen. It's the birthday party your mother throws for you each year in an effort to show how close the two of you are to the rest of your relatives.

The first time you see Sukuna in person, the only thing on your mind is how much he stands out from the rest of your relatives. He's a head taller than the tallest person there, and he's...bigger. He's not clean or neat, scruff lining his chin. Old, dark eyes. Visible tattoos that reek of disgraced son and hardly of prodigy.

At sixteen, you understood intimately what your family considered to be gold standard. Your uncle was antithetical to it. His very existence a paradox to the ideas you've had been hammered into you for years. Dyed hair, piercings, tattoos - his suit jacket undone to expose his chest. Lacking respect and formality and dignity. 

He was a lot like you. You got that impression, somehow.

When your eyes met with your uncles for the first time, you had your second fully formed thought about him.

Dangerous. Like an alarm. Like a ringing bell, throbbing through your skull and pulsing through your teeth. Some part of you just knew that he was a very dangerous man. Not just a wealthy one.

The first conversation you ever had with your uncle proves to be the most significant. Brief, yet - tonal in all ways. The gold standard for how he viewed you. How he would view you.

How he would treat you.

("So you're the new brat,"

Your uncle is an imposing man. You are sixteen and slightly tipsy, which is the least horrible thing you could be since your other cousin is coked out in the bathroom upstairs. You sway, staring at him. You think that's disrespectful.

He's the kind of man who might kill you for that. Might hit you. But you don't find it in yourself to challenge your defiance when you're far from sober and even father form happy. You lean your weight to one side and hum.

"New bastard," You correct him, and take another sip of the flute of champagne in your hand. "My worthless fathers, worthless daughter."

Sukuna pauses, his eyes widening before his lips break out into a grin. You wonder if it's because you're drunk. You think he's staring at you. Your eyes are too blurry to tell but you think he's gazing down the low dip of your top. At the curve of your chest. Leering at the body you've yet to even grow into.

"Tenacious," Your uncle says, and takes a long drink of his sake. You stare at the edge of his glass, carmine eyes gazing so deeply at you - you think you'll throw up. "You're your mothers daughter. Through and through.")

The night of your sixteenth birthday, your uncle announced he'd be opening a business venture in Tokyo. All this time he'd been doing work overseas, but seeing family helped finalized his decision. You remember the look on his face when he announced it. Remembered his eyes searching on you through the crowd as he held the mic up to his lips. How he named you the main reason, one conversation and he grew so fond of his little niece. That you were a clever girl, and that even though he hadn't known you long - he was sure you'd go so far.

Happy Birthday to you, little lamb.

You remember best the feeling afterwards. How the crowd went nearly silent. Hundreds of eyes darting your way in seas of strangers. All the attention people hadn’t paid suddenly mattering, all the congratulations. You remember how they crowded you and how your uncle came to your rescue with a cheeky grin and air of nonchalance.

You remember feeling sick. You remember the chill creeping up your spine, bile in your throat - all wet eyes and nausea.

Your uncle is a dangerous man. And you, the uninteresting bastard daughter, had caught his full attention.

The next four years of your life would pass so slowly, you often wondered during them, if you died that night and you'd live through these days as punishment for the crime of existing.

A little after your birthday, your uncle moved back to Japan permanently - in a residence not far from your grandmother's estate. He became a permanent fixture in your life. Many things came with that reality, none of them being especially pleasant.

You learn three things in the four years you spend with your uncle in your life.

The first is that your uncle is more powerful than you can really understand.

Through conversations at your kitchen table about his escapades abroad, you learn nothing of the work he actually does. Only what it involves, who it involves - foreign governments and people much more powerful than your family. Your uncle has ties to the Gojo family, and the Zenins'. Your time here teaches you that they make up two halves of private militarized arms and they work domestically and internationally. The only thing you need to know about them is they are filthy rich, richer than your own family and twice as corrupt.

And Sukuna works with them. Knows them rather intimately, from the pictures you've seen of Sukuna and Gojo Satoru drinking together - two prodigal sons with silver spoons and unsettling demeanors.

The second thing you learn is that your uncle's power and influence extend past all borders and include your grandparents and relatives. In the years he'd been away from home, he's garnered a formidable reputation. You never cared to notice it before, but it's all you can see now. Every arrogant, vapid relative you have the displeasure of calling family sees your uncle as some sort of king. The golden ticket to grandparents approval. A wishing well for all their hopes and dreams - so long as they appease him.

They fawn over him. Sukuna knows it. But they're all so busy trying to get on his good side they never catch his subtleties. Never seem to notice the cold sarcasm and biting edge to his questions. They pander and peacock to him constantly, but not one of them has sense enough to understand him a little deeper. Except you, incidentally. That's part of your problem

The third thing you learn about your uncle is that he takes pleasure in your cleverness no one in your life has since.... who knows? Since your father died, you think.

And you are clever. A head smarter than the rest of your family and a try-hard in all aspects. You graduated highschool top of your class and got scholarships into better schools. It was never about proving your worth of course, but about survival. You wanted away from this place, and the only way to cut your ties completely is to carve a life for yourself. Academia, education, using your name to make connections - you've been working silently on it since you were in middle school.

The only person who'd ever noticed your accomplishments was Sukuna. In between his work, he'd visit you in your room. You grew close in one sense of the word. It was a secret kept between you - but Sukuna often reminded you of it. That he saw you for who you were when no one else did. That his interest in you exceeds your own understanding, and it'd be in your best interest to remember that.

Some half-way between threats and affection, for four years - your uncle remained at your side. Uneasy as you were, he'd never try to advance on you while you were still in highschool. Some part of you knew he wasn't above it. Rather his interest hinged on getting to know you.

Your uncle is above all things manipulative.

Rather he preferred to keep you on your toes during the duration of your time together. To get close but not too close. To get to know each other openly. Your uncle made sure everyone in your family knew of his fondness for you. He'd keep you close to his side or follow you around, always in public places with a million eyes. He'd whisper to you, laughed and asked questions.

You hated being the center of attention, so Sukuna turned it on you any chance he got. It made it hard for you to refuse him, but mostly it made it hard to go under the radar without his protection. It made it hard for your relatives to insult and berate you.

You hated it. You hated accepting his kindness, because you know your uncle well enough to know that everything in the world came with a cost. And that this protection is little more than luxury, promised to you as long as you played nice.

And you always did play nice. But you were cautious. Never alone too long in the same room. Never somewhere too late. Never drunk, never high. Always within distance of a door. Sukuna was a dangerous man, and you may be a bastard but you're no fool.

It'd work for years. You evaded any real alone time with him for years. Years.

Until earlier this year where your mother had made arrangements for you to spend the summer with your dear old Uncle - in his villa, far from the safety of Japan's main island.

In the years of your uncle's favoritism towards you, no one has been more pleased than your mother. You've come to hate her for it. Your relationship hasn't been good in years and for her to suddenly attempt to be your mother again felt like a mockery.

(It mostly felt like a betrayal. You didn't think she could betray you a second time after she all but abandoned you the minute she stepped foot in that house.

Like something possessing the corpse of the mama in your dreams, your seething hatred towards her started then you think.)

You'd spent years indifferent to her, but it was this change that made you hate her down to your bones. You were furious about the decision. Furious she didn't bother asking, furious about all of it.

About everything.

An entire summer alone with the man you know to be most dangerous to you. You wouldn't put it past Sukuna, to plan this around you - but it didn't make it any less frustrating.

("You'll be going with your uncle," Your mother says, hardly listening to you. There's a baby on her hip, your half-brother and a vacant look in her eyes. You feel your jaw tighten. "We've already made plans. Your stepfather,"

"Your husband." You correct. Your mother gives you a tight-lipped smile.

"We are going on a family vacation. Your grandparents wouldn't tolerate you here alone , so you're going and that's final."

"I don't need to live with you," You seethe, fighting the urge to grab her and punch her. You've never been violent. Your mother makes you homicidal. "I can find my own fucking place, I'm twenty I don't need-"

She slams something. Your half-brother makes watery eyes. She stares at you distantly, righteously angry. Whether she's earned that anger or not, it makes your mood worse. .

"This is the least you could for me. For us." She hisses, turning around. You think of killing her. "For all the shit you put me through."

"What I put you through? Fuck you," You admit, your throat burning like a star falling through the atmosphere. Then, through a shaky breath"There's something off about him, mom. Do you understand what I'm fucking saying? Where you're sending me?

Three expressions pass over her face. The ghost of grief, some kind of solace and then more vacancy. She swallows, turns around to keep folding baby clothes. Her voice trembles. She knows she's sending you to your doom. Knows what waits for you as soon as you go.

"You're going. We need this." She says, and still doesn't turn to look at you. Her voice is so frigid it doesn't sound like hers anymore. "That's final."

You shouldn't be shocked by it anymore, but it doesn't make it easier.

You slam the door on your wait out. You hope their plane crashes on the way there.)

You tried your best to worm your way out of the situation before the semester closed out. But Sukuna, three steps ahead of you at all times, made sure that wasn't possible. Your uncle owned a villa out on an island, private - and the bags had already been packed. You'll like it there, he assured you so many times, it's comfortable. There's a good view and the kids in the place will remind you of the kids you grew up with.

(It's hard not to notice the ways in which Sukuna tempts you into wanting to go. Though there's nothing, truly, that could make the experience a pleasant one - it's posed to appeal to you. A place to remind you of your childhood. You try not to think about it.)

Despite your protests, despite your vehement frustration - there was nothing you could do but go. If you didn't go with Sukuna, it'd be enduring 3 months alone with your grandparents. You could try to crash with friends but the friends you've made so far wouldn't dream of being so polite and you dare not think of burdening your childhood friends with your family problems. They deal with enough as is.

The last option was running away. You're desperate enough to entertain it. You do, several times - considering what the worst outcome could be. All scenarios end with Sukuna coming to find you, because he's crazy and connected like that. Even if he's deliberate in not displaying those parts of himself, you know his apathy to be a facade.

You know him well. He knows you well. It feels like a competition to see who can outsmart the other that you were forced into with no say.

So, come the end of your third year of college - a driver picks you up right as your finals are finished to take you to the airport. A private jet, a nauseating display of wealth just for your uncle to torment you with you're sure.

On the plane ride to a small island on the coast of Japan, you think to yourself that all gods in the world must've abandoned you before you were ever born.

__

The first few weeks of your stay in the island of Nii-jima prove to be uneventful.

For a small island, it's still governed through something related to Tokyo. It's not the city or even the country, some quiet and relaxing in between. There are people here who've lived for generations and others who are only touring. Your uncle's villa though, is far from all life - and a few miles out from a beach.

You can hardly understand what a single man needs such a big house for. There's staff there too, though less than at your grandparents place which you're grateful for. You've met six of eight, two of them people who take care of the yards and garden.

Sato-san is the woman you see most often. The one cook Sukuna has and the woman who's been working longest. She is kindhearted and sturdy, often bringing her grandchildren with her. She's quiet and motherly - and so warm you're unsure of how to behave around her. Your uncle is seemingly fond of her which is saying a lot. She speaks highly of him. 

It's been so long since you've experienced something like maternal warmth, you're awkward around her. You try to not be too attached, try not to be fond of anything in this house because you know something horrible and dormant lies within it and you do not want to stay. Don't even want to entertain the idea of staying.

But Sato-san is good to you, with wrinkles and sunspots and a bright laugh. Her grandchildren are so well-behaved you wonder about how they were raised. A girl about seven and a boy about four, always quiet and inattentive. You've grown fond of them too, despite how bad you normally are with children. They're easy to be around.

You're frustrated mainly because you don't hate being here. The people are kind and welcoming and everyone locally is pleasant and good. You've been in the city too long, with insane people too long, and everything feels refreshing. The bus here is free and you can be at the beach whenever you like. You've made friends here - organically, with no strings attached. .

For the first time in your twenty years of living, you even have a guy you think is cute. It seems small, but back home everyone knows who you are. You've never had a relationship work out for one reason or another, but here? Here no one knows you, and the boy you meet at the beach with his friends is just a boy.

You don't want to like being here, but you do - and you don't want Sukuna to come back and he will. Nothing ever works out for you.

The worst of your luck you think builds on the edge of that thought.

You come home tonight doing a lot of things you would not normally. 

For one, you've gotten yourself drunk. The reason being the cute boy aforementioned invited you down to the beach with his friend. You justified going thinking if you were going to be miserable all summer - a single good memory wouldn't kill you.

You had fun. Your swimsuit is underneath your short skimpy clothes, and you sat in his lap and made-out with him all evening. Got to pretend you were a normal girl and you got to kiss for the first time. You still reek of alcohol and his cheap cologne. Blissfully uneventful. 

When you stumble into the foyer of the house with blurry vision and hear the T.V. playing, you know it instinctively that peace is going to be short-lived. You know that your uncle is home, and that he was waiting for you.

All the hairs on your neck raise. A shift in the atmosphere makes it hard to think clearly. Your lungs barely get enough oxygen in them to keep you upright. You think of leaving. You think of running up marble stairs to your room in hopes he won't catch you.

"Brat," Is yelled from the living room. Right, as if you'd ever get so lucky. You jump in your skin. "You home?"

Your stomach churns. You feel sick.

"Come to the living room."

You go obediently when Sukuna calls you, trying not to stumble over your two feet.You don’t think there’s more options than fearful compliance. 

Your uncle is watching Scarface on the big flatscreen on the TV. The subtitles are on in Japanese though you don't think he needs them. He only barely turns his head to look at you, his interest piqued when he sees what you're wearing.

You feel sixteen again, self-conscious of your body and womanhood. He hides it even less than he did the first time - the leering. He notices your skimpy shorts and top, the bottom of your bikini. And he grins, and stares but doesn't say anything.

"Oh?" He says, calm and casual, glancing back at the T.V. "Finally went and had some fun did you? Thought all that studying turned you into a bookish little shut-in permanently."

You don't say anything, arm clutching your other self-consciously.

"Did you need something?"

He snickers, low and predatory. "Come on. You're here to spend time with me so let's spend time together."

You don’t bother asking where he’s been for the last few weeks.  Your gut churns, feet heavy as they drag you to the far end of the couch. Sukuna stares as you sit hesitantly. You have no doubt he's going to make you move, but he's kind enough to leave you alone for now.

"Have fun on your..." He gives you another knowing look then laughs. "Outing?"

You aren't sure how to respond. "Just drank with some friends."

"Friends," He mimics, feeling the words out in his mouth. "The kind of friends that smudge the lipstick off your mouth, huh brat?"

You flush suddenly, embarrassed - and Sukuna barks a laugh. You don't know what he's expecting you to say there so you opt for nothing.

"Sorry," Is the only thing you can manage. Placating. He lets out a puff of air through his nose and relaxes further. There's an air to him, of nonchalance, that unsettles you more than if he was angry or unpleasant. Your throat bobs.

"You're a big girl now," He comments - sleazy and indignant. His indecency towards you, about you glints like a star. A sharp canine and piercing red eyes examine you from his peripherals. "Now that you're showing off it's only natural boys flock to you, hm?"

You can't explain the way this comment makes you feel. So much said with so little. The gap between is and has always been miles wide except sometimes it's not. Your uncle is unusual. Cold-blooded, manipulative, ruthless. There's no warmth in him in a comfortable, loving way. 

There's even less of a normal relationship between you.

But you both exist in this space with... similar awareness. Of the world. Of yourselves. There's a conscious intelligence to him that's reflected in you - that you are both fractured parts of your grandparents bloodline in two separate bodies. That self-awareness affords him a presence. In your mind. In your fear.

You are undoubtedly related. Sukuna revels in that.

It’s rare to see that kind of awareness in your family. You’ve never felt threatened by people dumber than you, even if they had more power or money. Vapid and shallow and useless - there’d never been anything that could win you on. It might sound cocky, but it’s true. It’s been true. 

It’s why Sukuna frightens you. He has everything, but above all - he’s smart. And hard for you to read. 

You swallow, shakily - your eyes looking down at your hands. In a profoundly long beat of silence, the movie plays. A fair bit of gunshots echo through the loud speaker and they startle you.

"You scared? Come sit closer, then." He tells you, less than asks you.

You stand and sit next to him, still a distance away. Sukuna remains unmoving. You don't know what to do with yourself.The silence seems to stretch for miles and minutes. Sukuna just watches the T.V. and stares at his phone - occasionally answering messages. You stay like that for a long time. 

"Need a smoke," He says, and it's not really directed at you. "Maybe later. Wouldn't wanna make you sick."

"People smoke around me all the time."

"Do you smoke?"

You shake your head, too tipsy to lie. He laughs at that. "Not even weed?"

You don't bother mentioning legality, you both know it doesn't matter between your lineage.

"Don't like the taste."

"How interesting. What a straight-edge kid. Most I've seen you get is drunk and this is the drunkest I've ever seen you. Still sober enough to talk clearly though."

"I just drink socially,"

"Ohh," He says, and then grins a little sharper. "A little shot of courage to fuck that little college boy then?"

This makes you jolt. "We didn't fuck—"

"No?" He looks genuinely surprised at this, though it's mild. "Poor kid must've wanted too if you came around him wearing that. Unless he came in his pants soon as you sat on him. Boys that age do stuff like that,"

The comment about his age reminds you of how old your uncle really is, and something in your chest flares hot.

"It wasn't that either—I've never-"

He cuts you off. "You're a virgin?"

You flush, stopping yourself from answering and he laughs.

"Ohhh, that's good. Very good," He grins, so genuinely pleased it makes you shiver. "I like virgins. Easy to please."

"That's—It wasn't for you."

For the first time in your relationship, Sukuna bridges the gap between you. He sits up and forward, his hand finding the bare skin of your knee. He rests it there, his thumb circling the flesh.

"Don't touch me," You hiss. Sukuna tightens his grip, but not threateningly. He turns to look at you that time, and you can't help but look back.

There's something in his degeneracy that horrifies you. It's fondness, you think. Genuine fondness.

"You sure?" He licks his teeth in a way that reminds you of a wolf. But not one that's starving. There's no desperation in his actions, but a self-assurance. Wolves don't often survive alone, but Sukuna has. And he hungers with the confidence of a predator who has killed all that stand before him. That's never been told no to what he wants to eat.

Your heart stops. Your voice a low whisper. "Stop,"

"You say that but you came in the house looking all desperate for sex and approval. You always look like that. Have for a little longer than what's normal for a girl your age,"

"I don't look like that!"

"You would've fucked that little college twerp if you stayed wouldn't you? Nothing wrong with honesty, brat."

Before you have a chance to understand what goes on around you, Sukuna changes position. You've never gotten a chance to feel and experience how strong he is - not like the way he's manhandling you now. You gasp at the arm around your waist and back. He pins you to the couch in a swift motion, not sure how he's done it, the alcohol making you dizzy.

Sukuna has never crossed the boundary with you like this before. Your heart is thumping loud, beating against your ribs. The source of it eludes you. If it's fear or discomfort or some other thing entirely causing such noice. 

There's a certain blase in his attitude that makes you forget momentarily about the taboo and gives way just to the tension between you. You feel it for the first time with his body pressed against you, all hot and heavy. He smells of cologne, but it lacks the acidity cheap ones tend to have. There’s strong hints of cigarettes and aftershave accompanying it. Appearance wise, he has lines in his face like a man in his forties. 

You don't know what's wrong with you. With a relationship so fucked up from the start, you thought crossing this line would feel different. You think you want to throw up, but you're completely calm. 

You want to be disgusted. You want to thrash and kick and scream and fight. You squirm away from him, the threads of what's left of your moral conscience urging you to do so. Like a last ditch effort to keep you sane. 

But there's just. Something. Something so inevitable about it that your heart doesn't beat at all. The panic itself feels hollow in nature. You are a rotted log and Sukuna has ripped the soft wood out of you with relative ease. But you’ve been that way for a long time, and nothing hurts. Not really.  

It's relieving in the worst way. 

"Get away from me,” You whisper again with noticeably less fight. Sukuna looks at you bright-eyed.

"You're a good kid," He says. The genuine praise knocks the air out of your lungs. That disgusts you more than anything else happening between you so far. "Interesting. A lot brighter than the other kids in our family."

Our family. You wince. .

"Stop, this is—" You don't know what word to use. He's your uncle and you're his niece and he's been gazing at you like this for god knows how fucking long. "Stop."

"You've got something going on behind your eyes at least, even if you're still just a wet-nosed and angry little housecat," He says, staring down at you. He's so imposing. His facial hair and his various tattoos. Everything about him, down to his bones. "But I can't tear my eyes away from you at the same time. You know that?."

You do know that. You cast your gaze away.

"I applaud how cautious you've been. But it didn't make a difference in the end. You know that too, right?"

You don't say anything.

"Clever little lamb you are, indeed. I like that about you." He hums, leaning down closer to you. His face is inches from yours. "You should be smart enough to know how this ends. But you know, you've been so entertaining to me this whole time I feel like I should at least be a little nice. So I'll offer you something. A deal of sorts, we can even write it on paper."

This catches your interest and he knows it does. He knows. You’re cut from the same cloth. And this place has made you lose your character, just like it always does. So if it means your survival and sanity or your morals, one comes before the other.

He grins at you.

"Come stay with me. Here in Nii-jima and back at my estate at home. I'll take care of your expenses and whatever else. I have better connections than the old hag," He says, leaning down even closer to you. You can smell him. He's intoxicating "You can be away from everything. I'll even let you have boyfriends and girlfriends over. You can throw sleepovers. I don't care. You can do whatever you want."

"What's in it for you?"

You can feel his knee press up against your cunt through your shorts and you gasp, hand going up to his shoulder. "This. Been thinking about this tight little cunt for a while now. You'd have to be at my beck and call. We'd be the closest uncle and niece in all of Japan," He snickers.

You wince at the reminder. You hate yourself for considering it. "Why me? There are plenty of women who are dying to fuck you."

He scoffs a little. 

"Once we get you a little farther from the trenches kid, you might start to understand me. Wealth, fortune, fame - all of it's fucking boring. I came back to Japan prepared to leave again but you made me stay. Not much more to it than that."

"You're fucking your blood-niece out of curiosity? Your sister's daughter?"

"My sister never did anything good with her life except marrying your father and making you." Sukuna says, and laughs lightly. You hate how validated it makes you feel. Your skin crawls. "I'll have to thank her for it. She'll be pleased.

You make a face at him, uncertainty. Apprehension. Fear. Frustration. Everything you’ve been compartmentalizing comes bubbling to the surface and making your head feel weighted with lead. You want to kill everyone and everything including him. You want to run away from this place. You want to go home, though you don’t know where that would be anymore. They demolished your old apartment years ago. 

You think spending a few years getting fucked and used might be less miserable than the suffocation of living with your mother and your baby brother and your grandparents. How much abuse you’ve endured already vs. what awaits you when their true heir starts to walk and talk horrifies you. 

You look at him. 

“You’re horrible.” 

“Tell me something new.” 

“I hate you. I don’t…want this. Any of this. I want to go home.” 

You’re just venting. Really. You’ve made the choice already. 

“Has there ever been a time where it’s been about what you want? I doubt it. But if you stay with me, appease my wishes for a while, well,” He laughs confidently. “You’ll get something, at least. Better than what you have.” 

“The contract. Are you serious about that?” 

He laughs at you. “Sure. If it makes you feel better, you can draft it and I’ll just have my lawyer sign. Bring your defenses. Whatever. Don’t really care as long as I get what I want.” 

“And that’s me?” 

“Seems like it,” 

You purse your lips. It seems like a rash decision to make in the moment, but truthfully your heads never felt so clear. Even with the alcohol. 

“...Fine.” 

Sukuna hums when you agree. It feels anti-climatic somehow. Not that he’s not expecting your yes but that you’ve come to accept it so easily. It’s not like this takes away from the coercion, from the awful feeling of being violated. Sukuna was going to rape you whether you liked it or not. This way, at least, you get something out of it. This way it’s something you choose. Something tangible results from your inevitable doom - the fate your mother damned you to. 

It affords you some plausible deniability too. In truth, you’re afraid for yourself. You’re afraid of what will happen when he finally does cross the line completely. You’re afraid you’re going to accept it, that it’s going to feel pleasurable, that years of repressing yourself will come back to make sure you never return to normalcy. 

What will become of you when Sukuna has his way with you? Will you become a more apathetic version of yourself? Is it possible? Will you sober and feel like scrubbing your skin clean in the shower? 

The worst outcome, you think, is nothing so horrible happening. The worst outcome is knowing you’ve fallen far enough for none of it matters at all. 

Sukuna grins down at you. “What a well-behaved niece I have. Good girl. You’ll do well living with me.” 

You make a displeased face at him, but your breath catches in your lungs soon after. Your uncle leans in to kiss you and you close your eyes trying to get away from it. But it’s true that your body has been burning up from the inside since you came back home - a dull throbbing between your legs turning you all kinds of stupid. 

When Sukuna kisses you - your first thought is that he’s unexpectedly gentle. 

You didn’t think he’d care about kissing to begin with. In your head you thought he’d tug off your shorts brutishly and fuck you without any prep. You were readying yourself for tears and pain, for screaming and crying - the sharp sobs of your own voice piercing your ears. 

A gentle press of lips startles you from your drunk haze. You can feel the scruff of Sukuna’s face on your own, your arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. The taste of cigarettes and something else mildly smokey fill your mouth and make you dizzy. Sukuna tastes like kissing a man - or what you might’ve imagined that to be like. Not a boy, but a man. You feel his strength, your hands splaying at the base of his neck and feeling the faded undercut of his neck, the texture of his dyed hair. His weight shadows you, his strength making you feel fluttery. 

He doesn’t tease you all during the kiss like you’re expecting. Nothing goes the way you expect. He kisses you in slow, short pecks and escalates to his tongue dipping against your lips - a little added element to his deep kisses. He kisses like he’s been doing it for longer than you have, with experience and finesse. You’re all but too conscious of everything little thing. About the sounds you make, about knowing when to breathe, about trying not to get wrapped up in the pleasant euphoria. 

All you can think about is how good he is at it. Effortlessly good. You think part of you latches onto it to avoid thinking about what’s happening. Denial feels pleasurable at least. 

You kiss like that for so long, your lips have swollen - sticky with spit and saliva. Sukuna has a self-satisfied smirk on his face when he pulls away from you, laughing at the flush in your expression. 

You hit him lightly, looking away from his face. 

“It’s a wonder you’ve kept your virginity,” He says, chuckling. “A kiss and a dirty old man like me could’ve taken it from you.” 

“Shut up,” Your reply is weak. He laughs against your mouth, and you can’t get over the intimacy of it. You hope you’re deluding yourself but then he kisses the corner of your mouth. Hot, warm air tickles against your jaw and neck when he presses his lips there too and suddenly it occurs to you how real it is. 

You don’t think your uncle is capable of warmth or love or anything that doesn’t come from coercion. But fondness. Maybe fondness. 

He spends more time doing that than what’s comfortable. Relishes the feeling of you in his arms, his bulge grinding against your clothed cunt but not forcefully. Just with enough pressure to make you gasp once in a while when you don’t have a mind to fight it. 

“I won’t take your virginity tonight,” He says declaratively. It surprises you. “You’ve got three months with me. It’d be boring. I’ll give you something else.” He looks at you then, then grins impishly. “What do you want?” 

Your eyes widen, suddenly unsure of yourself. You push away, brought back to reality by the questions. 

“How would I know?” 

He blinks at you. “I know you said you were a virgin, but did you really mean in everything?” 

You pout at him all of a sudden. “So what. I didn’t have that kind of time.” 

Sukuna barks a laugh. 

“Huh. I thought you were a goody two-shoes out of necessity but you really don’t do a damn thing in that house. Not even a boyfriend to do hand stuff with?” 

“Ugh. No, alright? I don’t have time for that kind of thing like I just said.” 

He laughs a little breathless, sitting up for a minute. You’re wondering what it means for you. Sukuna pulls you up along with him. He sits down again with his legs spread before looking at you. He pulls you into his lap with relative ease, until you’re half-way pressed into him with your legs over his thighs. You stare at him, feeling more exposed in this position. You get a closer view of his neck tattoo, realizing how far down his back it must go. You go to ask him what he’s doing - but he’s undressing you before you can. 

Confident, large hands trapeze down your back as he finds the end of your overwear and pulls it off - leaving you in the microkini you wore to the beach. It barely covers your nipples. You made the choice to wear it, yet seeing Sukuna examine it so closely leaves you wallowing and regretful. Still, he’s silent as he does something similar with your jean-shorts. A hand lifting your legs up enough to roll the cheap, denim shorts and discard them right on the marble floors. 

You’re still half-way over his lap - sitting on his thighs but you’re naked now.

You feel yourself growing self-conscious. Never mind that it’s the first time anyone’s seen you this naked, who exactly you’re showing it to makes you want to throw up. He stares for so long you wonder what he’s thinking, a lazy grin splitting his face. A hand nudges your thighs apart, moving your leg to give Sukuna more access to you. With an arm around your waist, his hand cups your cunt, rubbing it softly. You shift nervously. His thumb moves then, rests at the hood of your clit, pulling up to look closer at it. You hold back any noise as he examines you, bent pointer of the opposite hand brushing over the hair on your skin with a laugh. 

“Unexpectedly, it’s pretty,” He says and your eyes shoot wide open. “Good job brat.” 

“What are you,” You pant, your breath hitching as you close your eyes.”staring so much for it?” 

“It’s mine to stare at.”

You don’t think of your uncle as particularly possessive. It’s more like he believes in that so much, so unshakingly nothing else could be true. You wonder if there’s more to it. He didn’t seem angry even after you told him about seeing a boy. 

But comparing the two, Sukuna outclasses him in all ways that it should matter. He must be confident about that. 

He spreads your thighs a little further. You’re half tucked into his side now - an arm around the back of his neck and shoulders. Sukuna ducks down a little, nudging his nose against your neck and scraping his teeth lightly against your throat. He doesn’t do much other than… touch you. Not directly. His other hand, the one not secured around your waist, rubs at your pussy but not in an attempt to pleasure you. It’s exploratory and intimate. He’s just touching you in a way that’s making you restless. And the angle he’s bent down, the proximity gives you a better view of him. From the side where you sit in his lap, you can see the tattoo again. 

You shudder then, pussy suddenly clenching in a way that leaves you ashamed. Your uncle notices, though he doesn’t look up. 

“Thought of something, brat?” 

“No.” You deny, vehemently. He spanks your pussy but not hard. You jolt in reply, a shock traveling up your spine. 

“C’mon now,” He hums, predatory. “Don’t lie. That’s not fun.” 

“Y-your tattoo,” You say, suddenly feeling the influence of alcohol in a way you hadn’t all evening. “It’s…big.”

“Into bad boys or something, kid?” 

You frown. “You look like a yakuza.” 

This makes him laugh, more genuinely than you’ve ever seen him laugh. “Getting warmer, I guess.” 

You don’t say anything to that. Instead spurred by the sudden confidence. “Why aren’t you…touching me?” 

He looks at you surprised then tilts his head. “Is that what you want? 

“I don’t want any of this but it,” You squirm again. “Feels weird.”

“Sounds like you want something, at least. Go on, tell your oji-san what you want.” 

You scrunch your nose up at him, a familiar feeling of disgusting flitting through you. It fades as quickly as it comes.

“I’ve never put a-anything inside,” You admit, suddenly feeling self-conscious. 

“That so,” He hums. His middle finger slides down the wet seam of your cunt as you tell him this. You nod but you don’t think he’s really listening. His hand is warm, and big - and his fingers are thicker than yours. One of yours may as well make two of his, no end to how imposing he is. You don’t protest as he starts to touch you. You simply take a deep breath, holding onto him a little tighter. 

With your head turned towards him, Sukuna leans in again to kiss you. It’s deep from the beginning this time, and a little rougher. He bites lightly on your lower lips as his middle finger dips down towards your sex. Your insides are throbbing, hot and wet as you feel some friction. It’s the first time anyone else has ever held you in your life, every touched you directly like this. Against your will, your body is sensitive to the stimulus. Everywhere he touches you goes alight, and the kiss makes your tummy flutter. A tender feeling of want spreads you open, tears you apart right in front of him. 

With parted lips and a heavy head, you kiss him as his middle finger dips down low enough to penetrate you. A soft gasp pulls from your throat. 

It doesn’t feel unpleasant.

“I thought it was going to hurt more.” You admit, feeling him inside of you. It’s a new sensation but it’s not bad. 

“It shouldn’t hurt if you’re aroused enough. And wet enough. You seem to be both.” 

You frown at him, face pinching. It’s washed away quickly by the sensation of him pushing deeper. It’s hard to describe it as anything other than feeling something inside of you. Deep in a place you didn’t think it could go. You shake a little, trying to get adjusted. Sukuna does it carefully, slowly - thrusting in even strokes and keeping you focused on kissing so you’re not too conscious of it. 

He’s not thoughtful, not really - but you can tell that he’s going slower for your sake and that makes your heart stammer uncomfortably. The last word you’d ever use for him is kind but he’s not being horrible and it’s unsettling you. 

Once one finger goes in and out smoothly, your uncle starts to add another. You feel it that time, the stretch of it - gasping hard at the sudden sensation. Your breath catches in your lungs, hand clutching at his shoulder for purchase. He pulls away from your mouth, his breath near your ear. 

“Easy, little one. Give it a minute.” 

“It feels different. It’s,” You can’t form the words as two fingers penetrate you in full, slowly being eased inside of you until Sukuna is knuckle deep. Your breath hitches. “Not like it hurts.” 

“It’ll feel good in a second.” He says assuredly, voice smooth and raspy against your ear. You feel combative at his confidence, but then a minute passes of him rubbing along your insides and something strikes against you like lightning. You pause, blinking confused as Sukuna laughs. “There it is,” 

“There what is?” 

“C’mon kid, I know you’re too busy with school but you don’t know something so basic about your own body?” 

“What is it, oh.” 

His other hand toys with your clit, rubbing it in slow circular motions as he gauges your reaction to the touch. You jolt from the sudden pleasure, getting used to it slowly. You didn’t realize how badly it was throbbing to be touched until he does it in full. Your mouth dries up immediately. Little shocks of electricity spark up through you as his hands go full in on your body. The combined pleasure starts to uptick, something building slowly but surely. It goes from not feeling like much to feeling like something. Feeling physical. 

Your mouth drops open in sudden shock, eyes lidded as you moan unabashedly - unable to keep the sound at bay. You own a vibrator, use to cum quick and hard just to curb the feeling. You’ve had orgasms on your own but nothing has ever felt like this before. It’s undeniably satiating, mimics the feeling of eating something and nearly making yourself sick on it. You go slack-jawed, your nerves on fire. 

Two fingers curled against your silken walls and another two toying at the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs leaves little room in your brain to think. The only thing your body seems to remember is how to moan and whine - make these pathetic little noises you’ve never heard in your life. You didn’t even know you could make. Oddly enough, Sukuna is quiet through it. He makes grunts and little affirmatives but he’s mostly silent. You mostly hear the sound of your own voice. 

The sound of your own wetness. You can feel the sticky sensation of your arousal but you can hear it even better. It’s lewd to listen too, wet smacks mixing with the pathetic bleats of your voice make you feel hot all over. Skin prickling with heat and sensation. 

“I knew you were sensitive but haah. If I would’ve fucked you today, you would have cried.” 

The thought drifts idly by about his cock and your whole lower half reacts to it by going weak. It aches just thinking about anything bigger or longer entering you than his fingers. 

“Figure an insolent little kid like you isn’t much of a crybaby. I’m sure I can make you one.” 

You don’t even think about asking what he means. 

“Feels,” You make a gasping noise, body suddenly going tense. “Hngh, fuck. Feels so good, holy fuck.” 

He groans a little. “I’m being too nice to you. I really should be balls deep in your cunt already and I’m not. You gonna cum for me, huh brat?” 

You nod your head dumbly, unable to retort. To think of anything but the sensation washing over you.”Go on. Do it. Cum for your perverted oji-san.”  

Something about the depravity of it sets your mind numb. Your body goes tight, every nerve firing off at once as you grip onto his shoulder and let the feeling of euphoria wash over you. Your whole body is so stimulated it’s numbing. The feeling of pleasure crashes into you, leaves your spine arching - mouth dropped open and nearly screaming. Your sanity melts, fades off completely and your brain feels like it’s gone empty. You close your eyes so hard little splashes of white show up in your vision, like you’re seeing T.V. static. 

You think you scream. You don’t know. You just know that you’re cumming, hard, just from his hands and you’re terrified of what else he’s good at. You don’t think it boils down to sensitivity as the waves of your first orgasm ripple through your body. 

You lay in his arms, sweaty and limp. Your vision is blurry with tears as you open them to look at him. Sukuna is rubbing your side, taking his fingers into his mouth. You look at him surprised as he does. He grins. 

“Tastes good, kid.”

You flush. “Shut up.” 

“Don’t think I’m done with you quite yet.”

Sukuna guides your hand to his pants, over his bulge. You gasp a little at it. His size through clothes is astounding to you. 

“I’m not so generous to leave with nothing, you know.” He pats your thigh, moving you from his lap. “I’ve got a better idea than trying to teach you anything today, so try to hold still.” 

You don’t know what he’s talking about until he guides you on the floor. You’re confused until you feel him position you  - facing towards the couch with your knees spread on the floor. In doggy, you realize a little too late, your upper-half supported by the couch cushion. You feel more confused than you felt a moment ago. 

Sukuna positions himself behind you. You can’t see him, but you can hear the soft rustle of his clothes moving as he stands on his knees behind you. More than that, you can feel his cock resting on your bare ass. You gasp, feeling the weight and size slide against your curves. Sukuna does a breathy little laugh at your reaction. He’s huge. 

“Don’t cry kid. I told you I wasn’t gonna put it in tonight and I meant that,” He hums. His hands come to your hips, all of a sudden pushing them together. “Push your thighs together as tight as you can.” 

You listen to him. You can do it with some effort despite how weak your body feels. You lean forward on the couch for support, bringing your knees together and pressing your thighs. You don’t understand what it’s for until something hard pressing along your spine moves down the curve of your ass. You gasp aloud as his thick cock pushes between your thighs, tip catching against your swollen clit. Your whole body is covered in goosebumps. Sukuna moans low in his throat, resting his head on your shoulder. 

“Fuck, that’s it.” He hums, sounding pleased. “Keep them tight for me, alright girl? Try to at least.” 

Sukuna is wordless as he grips your hips, your flesh dimpling under his bruising grip. You're silent, your voice threatening to spill again as you try your best to listen to him. You keep yourself tight and firm, your hands gripping the couch cushions as Sukuna pushes his cock between the fat of your thighs and starts a pace.

The angle makes you gasp, body feeling weak at the way it touches your clit with each bump. Sukuna doesn’t hold back at all. You’re not being penetrated but the weight behind each of his thrusts makes you feel like you’re being fucked. The bruising sensation of skin against skin - the hard muscles of his own legs smacking against the softness of your thighs. 

Most embarrassing is the way the position makes you conscious of your uncle's cock. You knew he was huge before, but the way he’s thrusting. Where it reaches when he does thrust makes your throat feel nearly tight. You can’t stop thinking about the fact it’ll be inside you. You can’t imagine taking it in your hands - the girth and length of it fucking impossible. And he wants to fuck you with it? Take your virginity? 

He’ll stretch you so open if he does. You can barely think of it fitting in you. When you do, your whole body shudders in a horrible and pathetic way - a new wave of arousal striking a strange chord. As he bumps and ruts against your clit and your mind fills with such lewd images, a new wave of lust starts to pour through you. 

It’s unhelped by the feeling of Sukuna’s cock - getting so close. The throbbing with each thrust and the low, throaty groans he keeps vocalizing against your ear. All of it proves to be too much for you. It shocks you when you feel yourself grow hot all over again. Not even being touched directly and so soon after your first - a mere few minutes. 

And you find yourself with all your muscles tight, your hand reaching back for Sukuna as you plant your face against the cushions and let him fuck hard between your thighs. You feel incoherent, stupid and so fucking horny. You’ve never experienced it. You can’t think of what to moan, so you choose his name. 

This makes him laugh as he bends over you, his teeth biting your shoulder blades. 

“Gonna cum again from this brat? Aren’t you fucking easy? Come on, cum with me. Just like that, take it. Fuck, that’s it. Good. Good girl.” 

It’s the last bit of tension that pushes you over the edge, whether you care to admit it. Your voice breaks as a second orgasm washes through you - more intense but much shorter than the first and you nearly fall limp. You only barely manage to hold yourself up as your uncle keeps thrusting relentlessly. 

You can feel him twitch hard between your thighs when his orgasm finally hits. You shake as you feel him squish the tip between your thighs - hot ropes of cum spurting against the swollen mound of your cunt and dripping down your thighs as he finishes. He smacks your ass as he finishes, making you yelp. Your whole body is rife with exhaustion, finally coming down from high-highs and low-lows. 

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun together for the next few months kid,” He says, almost affection in his words. You’re too exhausted to reply, looking at him over your shoulder. “Let’s get along and do our best.” 

“You’re a sick-fuck, oji-san.” 

“And you’re a whole lot like me, aren’t you kid?.” 

[finalgirlmoment]

Noteworthy details about the first two PJOTV episodes (spoilers)

First of all, every single of them ATE DOWN. just wanted to throw that out there, i'm so so impressed with the cast, everyone was perfect and gorgeous and i'm completely sat for any and all future installments. A fine piece of media. Let's begin.

Percy's confusion and bewilderment finding out that he's a demigod. "You fell in love with God.... like, Jesus????" LMFAO but seriously his frustration in this moment, thinking there's something actually wrong with his brain, feeling lost and confused and hurt and BROKEN. the struggle in that moment is so relatable to people discovering they have some sort of mental illness or neurodivergence, especially when they weren't believed/listened to etc and i think walker played this part beautifully

GROVER AND PERCY PLAYING MYTHOMAGIC TOGETHER. GROVER AND PERCY PLAYING MYTHOMAGIC TO TRAIN PERCY. I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING OFF ROOFTOPS THE IMPLICATIONS THAT THIS HAS???? ARE YOU ACTUALLY JOKING??????? IMAGINE SEASON 3 PERCY FINDS NICO AND THEY HAVE THIS IN COMMON???????????!?!?!?!?!? FEELING SEVERELY FRANTIC AND MASSIVELY UNWELL ABOUT THIS

luke's empathy towards Percy throughout-- his apologies for what happened to his mother at the bottom of Half Blood Hill, him telling P that he relates to the nightmares, the restlessness, the ADHD..... so fucking sick and fucking twisted, I will be sobbing at the ending, gorgeous job on both ends on making this relationship feel very warm and authentic and the trust starting to build. this will H U R T.

CLARISSE. she's so gorgeous and vindictive. Her beauty took me off guard initially, but she's such a spiteful little badass that I completely fell in love with her. I CANNOT WAIT to see more of her characterization, especially into season two. perfection.

Percy burning the blue jelly beans- the thing he'd miss most- out in the middle of the woods at night in a damn can, just to pray to his MOTHER. *sobbing intensifies* i couldn't ask for a more sweet, heartfelt, honest moment. the perfect addition. 10s across the board

Percy's ANGER. OH BOY this was one of my most favorite parts. I feel like we see Percy as a very happy-go-lucky kid altogether but I loved, LOVED to see his frustration and agitation from the very beginning. Everything is so confusing and foreign and all he knows is that 1. he's been betrayed or left behind by everyone he knows and 2. he's been ignored his whole life by his godly parent. His mission is to MAKE HIS DAD SEE PERCY, at ANY COST. Before he even knows who his dad is. He is entitled to feel ALL of this anger and hurt and resentment!!!!!!!

Annabeth calling Percy "sunshine". TOTAL CULTURAL RESET. I gasped. The dawn of a new age of Percabeth. I will be screaming into my pillow about this for the foreseeable future.

The entire characterization of Percy throughout the capture the flag scene. His contrast of being just a kid- flossing (lol), peeing the woods, petting a gecko, just vibing and hanging out VS. being thrown suddenly into attack from his peers that don't care about the rules, surprising himself and everyone around him with his finesse in battle, quick instincts, swordsmanship..... i'm weak fr. I can't wait to see him grow, train, become stronger and more confident.

Overall, I'm entirely floored and beyond happy. I can't wait to see more. 10/10

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine as you walked into the grocery store, pushing the cart in one hand and the other holding on into the little boy you are to look after for the day, your phone rings causing you to look at the little guy before he gives a nod, letting go of your hand and holding on into the cart as the two of you pushes it forward as you grab your phone with your empty hand.

"What's the matter?" You spoke as soon as you answered the call from Shoko. "You with Megumi?" "Yeah, Gojo left him with me, he and his lover was sent into different mission and there was no one to look after him. Why did you call?" "Just checking up on you.."

Imagine in the middle of your call, you realize something was missing. Megumi is missing. Where is Megumi? "Hey, I got to go." "Alright. Take care... Suguru was last spotted in there, that's what I actually wanted to say." "..." Then the call ended and you took a dep breath. So what if Suguru was last spotted in here? What's important is that you LOST Megumi. You're fucked. Though it would be refreshing seeing Gojo's reaction over this. Such a same he was out on a mission you couldn't even call him.

Imagine, the funny thing is that in the process of making your way into the customer service, you spotted a child, a little girl in the corner looking lost and guarded up. Looking left and right, making sure that you had it right that she was lost as a couple of adults passed by her with a care. You decided to approach the child. "Hello little one, are you lost?" As you get down on your knees to be on the same level as her, she backed down a bit, looking at you with trembling almost scared gaze that was soon filled with familiarity? Curiosity. "...Yes." She utter as she kept looking at you. "Well do you mind coming with me? I'm looking for my child too, lets go to the customer service together and wait for your parents to come and get you, hmm? How about that?" "... Okay." "Oh, I forgot to ask but you don't have to answer if you feel uncomfortable. What's your name?" "Mimiko..." "You have a beautiful name." You said with a smile and tap her in the head before offering a hand.

Imagine by the time you manage to make it to the customer service, cart on one hand full of grocery bags while the other was holding on into Mimiko, you spotted a little boy with a bored look in his face. It was Megumi. "Oh goodness, Megumi. I'm glad you're safe." You said with a smile on your face as you let go of the cart, keeping one hand into holding Mimiko while the other reach out to mess up Megumi's spiky styled hair. "You picked up another child on your way here?" "Darling, you are a child too, just where did you wander around to get lost?"

Imagine in the middle of giving information about the lost little girl with the people in the customer service. "Mimiko!" A familiar, a very familiar voice made you halt for a moment then you continue despite the fact that he just utter the name of the girl who was lost. For a moment, anger, rage filled your veins but you took a deep breath to calm yourself as you look at the two child close to you, Megumi holding the hem of your pants and Mimiko holding close to you like she was embarrassed.

"Mimiko! I told you strictly to stay by my side! Do you know how worried I a-!" "Mister, mind your tone, you're scaring the child." As much as you want to walk away, as much as you want to hold Megumi by his hand and pretend all of this isn't happening, the way the little girl, Mimiko was holding into your pants makes your heart ache. Funny a few moments ago, you were kind of resentful of her knowing this girl, this child was one of the reason, the breaking point of everything in which he end up turning his back to all of you, leaving you all alone.

"Who-- (Yo-Your name)." The words he was about to say as you turn around to face him. How long was it since he have seen you in person. No, wait. Is this a dream? It should be for there is no way on earth you are actually right in front of him. But you are, and he was aware of this, all of his senses were telling him you are in fact right in front of him, face to face, just within his reach. And as much as he want to pull you in his arms. He couldn't do that. He can't. Oh god. Oh god how much he was forcing himself to stay still, resisting ever muscle in his body to prevent himself from launching himself at you. It's been so long. It's only been months since he have left but damn, fuck, he missed you. And the fact that you are right in front of him and that he couldn't do a thing physically hurts him.

Imagine ignoring him, (eye color) iris looking down on the other looking similat to the girl on your side but with a different hair color. You gave her a smile before once again kneeling down next to the little girl on your side, Mimiko. "Darling? Why don't you go over Mister?" "..." "He didn't mean to get mad okay? He was just worried about you, it is also your mistake just like Megu over here that you stray away from your guardian okay?" "... really?" "Yes darling, really. Go over there to Mister, okay? I promise you, he's a good person, he's not going to get mad at you just because of a simple mistake."

Imagine, Suguru doesn't know what hurts him even more. The fact that you refuse to acknowledge him or the fact that you said he was a good person when he knows he's not. Not when it comes to the people he killed, not to those friends he have left and disappointed, and not to you whom he left with nothing, not even a word, he left and ever looked back even after all the things both of you have been through, even after all the love that was given. How could he still be a good person to you?

Imagine as Mimiko finally gain the courage to make it back to stay by his side. He watch you tap the two girl by his side, completely ignoring him or so he thought when his purple iris meeting a pair of (eye color) ones. The world around the two of you seems to stop as so much was said into the unsaid. Then you turn around, you turn around like you did not just ask him by the looks of your eyes which says 'You're not going to chase after me, will you?'

Imagine as you walked away, hand holding on into Megumi's little hands and the other still pishing the cart out of rhe grocery. You stop but did not turn around. "Suguru." Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He almost replied back to you by mistake. "This day never happened." Funny as it may sound, he too agreed this day never happened. But it already happened. "Also." This time you glance back slightly. "That's a nice twin girls you got there, take a good care of them. Okay?" "I think I'm doing a great job actually." "Good." He basically choses them over you, that should be the right answer for both of you but why does it hurt?

"Are you okay?" The little hand tried squeeze your big ones causing you to chuckle. "I'm okay." "..." "I'm okay Megu." You gave his little hand a squeeze back. But you're crying is what Megumi wants to stay but could only shut his mouth, hoping his little yet gentle presence might be enough for you to calm down. It did help, and you're very much appreciative of it. But knowing you aren't enough to make him stay and that once again you were hoping he would chase after you but never did. Hurts. It hurts like shit.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2023°

: honestly super close into making an actual series of Geto x Reader but im fucking busy at the moment, fuck college. Also I got reslly inspired bu this TIKTOK fanart so I decided to make this.

[witherby]

Ah, you're thinking in regards to Batlantern au has me both intrigued and curious, Chef.

Sincerely,

— 🐟

Intrigued and curious? I'm eager to sate your dark passenger, my pretty fishy ~

I play with a lot of AUs in my mind that I don't have the skills to bring to fruition. But I also don't think I'd like to see them written by other people because I have such a specific vision that I'm almost nervous to share them. Does that make sense? Likely not. It's okay though.

Long and rambly post about one of my aus ahead!

The one I daydream about the most I affectionately call the "Second Chance AU." Because is Bruce is literally brought to an alternate universe after years of whump. *I put my Evil Chef Hat on*

This Bruce is Batman, but Alfred was not a good guardian to Bruce. He raised him military-style and with tough love, instead of with soft hands and kind eyes. Bruce grows up very touch-starved and socially withdrawn. He doesn't adopt a "Brucie" persona, he's just a quiet CEO that keeps his head down and does good without recognition during the day.

He still becomes Batman because despite all the shit Gotham has put him through, that's his city and he wants to leave it better than he found it.

When Dick's parents die, he takes him in as his ward and raises him as best he can, but he's even more emotionally stunted in this universe so they don't build as tight of a bond. Then Jason steals the Batmobile tires and he takes pity on him and brings him in, too. Then he finds Tim stalking him and reluctantly allows him in on the Batman secret.

Bruce does not want to raise child soldiers. He doesn't make any of them his Robins, instead pushing them to seek therapy and build normal lives and childhoods for themselves while he goes out and protects the city alone. This works on Jason and only half-works on Tim.

Dick resents him for this. He has the acrobatics and early Talon training to be a good fighter but Bruce won't let him avenge his parents' deaths. He still becomes Nightwing but under Alfred's secret tutelage, because Alfred is more than fine with this child wanting to learn discipline through combat.

Conflict arises, Bruce and Dick have a falling out, and Dick emancipates himself and moves out permanently. He's off fighting crime under his own terms and on his own turf in Blüdhaven.

Jason still dies, as a civilian victim this time due to a Joker scheme. In an explosion, in a robbery gone wrong, as canon fodder in a firefight or something, idk take your pic. Joker kidnaps Tim at the same time this happens and turns him into JJ.

Everything is super fucked. Bruce has been ex-communicated from one son, had to bury another, and he did rescue Tim and try to deprogram the Joker-fication from him but it doesn't work. Bruce has spent so much time and attention on Tim trying to help him recover that Gotham stops becoming the main priority and falls to the wayside. The streets are chaotic. Rogues are running around un-checked. Alfred gets outta dodge and considers Bruce a failure for not having been enough to solve the city's problems.

Bruce is alone, and he's dying because during an attempt to talk to and help Tim/JJ, he had an episode and stabbed an unarmored Bruce in the chest and ran off laughing. He can patch up this wound no problem and keep going, but he's so distraught at having lost his entire family at this point that he doesn't see it worth the effort. Gotham, Dick, Jason, Tim, it's all been in vain. He does not want to live to see his fallen world break apart any further. So he lies down, wraps his arms around himself in a fascimile of a hug, and allows himself to bleed to death.

In another world, another universe, Bruce has just died. Not by the same means, but by accident. He was on a mission with the Justice League and a villain with a lucky hit got him in the head. Brainwaves showed no activity in the med bay after the battle and he was declared braindead, so his family reluctantly took him off life support and he passed away.

The heroes, distraught and needing Batman because this one had contingencies but not as many as they'd hoped for, turn to magic and science. They scour worlds that have Batman's they don't need, or for Batman's that wouldn't be missed.

And they find one. A Bruce, despondent and dying in a world that doesn't care for him. They pluck him up, they patch his wound, they save his life, they let him sleep, and they wait for him to wake up.

When he does, Bruce thinks he's in a weird variation of Heaven. Dick is here! Jason is alive! Tim isn't JJ! There's a fourth boy here with his features! What's going on!?

He's told he was taken from his world and brought to theirs. These people are pleading and bargaining with him to not be angry, to at the very least help them out with plans and contingencies for future world-ending events before they send him back.

"Back?" He blurts, looking so very sad. "I have to go back?"

And everybody exchanges looks with each other. They look at him. They look at each other. Because this is the Best Case Scenario. A Batman willing to stay? Hell yes!

Now they just need to figure out why he's so distant and looking at everybody like they're about to scream at him. Alfred offers him tea and Bruce asks him if he's feeling okay. Dick smiles at him and Bruce's eyes get misty. Tim laughs at something and Bruce stiffens. Jason is just Sitting There and Bruce keeps checking if he's breathing.

This Bruce is traumatized to shit and doesn't know how to accept love from these people. These people are also grieving their Bruce, so they're acting a little weird around him, too.

But when he needs to be Batman, he suits up and gets the damn job done, and he's good at it. Almost better than the one they lost, because he's so used to working alone he has to be better to compensate for no backup.

Also, because I'm predictable and can't not have any Batlantern, Hal was in love with his original Bruce before he died. He knows he shouldn't be making moves on the new one, but...God, they look the same. They have the same soft heart. They have the same dream of bettering Gotham, and by extension the world. This one's just Bruce but to the left. And he seems so grateful to be in a world where his family is around, even if it's not his original one, that it's terribly endearing. How can you not fall in love with that gentle idiot?

There's so much more world building to this, and Bruce has so much guilt about being given a second chance with these people, and Hal is also guilty for falling in love with New Bruce, and I roll them around in my head all the TIIIIIME. I love love love this au. It's a personal project so cultivated towards my enjoyment it's not even funny. I love the AU blorbos.

[katz-chow]

Coming from puff puffs blog 🤧🤥 hope you don't mind 😝🙈🙉 ur also totally gaining a new follower..

WHAT ARE YOUR HEADCANONS ON SOAP? 🥰🥰🥰 unless you've already done this before then I am so sorry 😓

relationship with soap headcanons

warnings: sfw, fluff, some angst, relationship arguments, family trauma mentioned, religious trauma, homophobia, bad dad

a/n: my fav cod man is soap so this took my top priority!!! i think about this man a lot, 09 and reboot version. reboot is my fav though, realistically, he's who i would actually get with. here’s all the things i’ve thought about him, there’s probably more tbh… OK OK HERE :))

childhood hcs

johnny soap mactavish comes from a large family of 5 siblings, he's the second oldest. it's elsie, him, blair, callum, and olivia.

growing up in a family of mainly girls got him on that respect women juice. he would always have to make sure his younger siblings are ok and aren't you know, being bullied. his parents were adamant on 2 year age gaps between them all.

his cousin, jack, was an sas operator and that was what made him want to join. they had to call security forces to arrest him out at some point because he kept sneaking in to watch them do stuff lol

elsie left for uni with her bf to live in soho when johnny was 16, the same year he would talk to recruiters around his hometown, driving hours and then getting rejected the same day due to his age

9th grade (year 10) chemistry got him obsessed with stem and its *explosive* results. he aced chemistry and then took advanced chemistry and physics just because he loved it so much

after this, as soon as he turned 18, he went to sign his papers THEN graduated school (he's just like me fr). his mom was so worried for him, especially when her sister told her about the danger that jack would get himself into. in the end, he promised he'll always call her and his siblings

his dad's an ass, hes an alcoholic, a cheater, a *bitch*... he would always take the kids to church on sundays and twisted the religion into a reason for his behavior. claiming that johnny's mom being at home was just "their culture"

she makes a killer shepherd's pie though

always had had some sort of love-hate relationship with the catholic faith. on one hand, it was nice to know there's always at least someone watching out for him, but after hearing the constant belittlement from his father, claiming he wasn't "manly enough" for not willing to give his life up in the service, he started to resent the “all merciful”.

he ended up blaming god for all his faults, letting him take accountability. this especially happened when he got diagnosed with adhd when he was 17, his dad didn’t believe in mental health. his mom was only a bit better about it, they both refused meds for him.

he's bisexual, leans towards women though. found this out after a truth or dare game in junior year (year 12) and some beers in a closet

at one point, callum acccidently let it slip at dinner when johnny had first moved out that he had met a cute guy and their dad screamed and yelled at the whole family, especially their mom, about "raising a fucking whore of a son, dragging the family down to shite"

blair called and told johnny a few days later and johnny rushed his work as quickly as possible and begged his chain of command for a few days off to go back home to his family

his family gets loud…like really loud. there’s 7 people what do you expect?

it gets especially bad when it’s sunday morning and you gotta get 7 people awake and looking their church best for an hour and a half 😔

johnny is the quickest everything there is, which has its downsides too. he could run and swim the fastest in the family, but he was also the quickest eater…meaning he’s on dish washing duty. he’s quick at that too so by the time everyone’s finished, he’s washed all the other dishes that took to make dinner

broke his arm chasing a cat through someone’s yard (he was 14)

had a goat scream and kicked him because he wanted to give it a hug

he got a part time job at a local bakery in 10th grade (year 11). the pay wasn’t much but neither was the work really. olivia, who was 9 at the time, made him promise that he’ll get her a doll to have tea with. her tea set had 4 cups but only one of her, so she must get another one to join her! he kept his promise; he ended up getting three dolls for her

he can make amazing soda bread and brioche loafs now too, still keeps a starter from the owner of the bakery to this day

he had a mountain bicycle that he would take everywhere. had room behind his seat for packages and his backpack, which he would tie down. that thing had such a loud bell too, would ring constantly to “let people know hes coming and get ready”

was terrified of selkies for some reason, always had the window closed and made callum sleep by it while he slept by the door

wasn’t much of a troublemaker, but would get into trouble with his adventurous heart.

got lost in the woods once and after a while of fake courage, he sat down and cried until elsie found him. he was 20 yards (13 meters) away from the clearing 😭😭

laugh at that guys, mf was 15

personality & relationship hcs

johnny is such a fun lover. he’s handsome yeah, but what makes ppl flaunt over him is his humor. he’s what jessica rabbit said “he makes me laugh”

such a charismatic and charming person, gets it from his dad. he could talk about just about anything, also the type to strike up a conversation with a stranger at the grocery store. then end up with their number and a date or helping them dog sit

this isn’t always a good thing though, one time before he was medicated, he would talk on and on, his story becoming incoherent due to the amount of self-interruptions he made, that a group of guys got so annoyed at that pub, they punched him.

he was young, 19, and couldn’t fight, so he didn’t win and came back to the barracks with a nasty black eye

he likes to be the big spoon, has to hold something in order to sleep

feel like he’s the type to wrap his arms around a pillow and lay on his stomach to sleep

speaking of sleeping, he HATES sleeping with socks on. he tried it one day and he just shivered at the feel of it, woke up and his socks were missing (he found them under the bed)

i also feel like he sleeps like a log, unmoving once he finds his comfort, i also think it's because he had to sleep in the same bed as his siblings at one point and he didn't want to wake them by moving, so he got accustomed to being a still sleeper

one time he accidentally got into a fight at a bar when a guy kept being misogynistic and was arrested and kept in jail for the whole night until one of his civilian friends bailed him out

johnny's the type to race you in the rain to the car. again, he's quick so he's always ahead of you but then he slips from the rain and ends up all wet and muddy and in the car.

his favorite thing to do is hear you laugh. he'll do anything to hear you laugh.

whenever you're sad, he'll purposely stub his toe or trip down the stairs or make you kiss his "owie" (a papercut) to get you to cheer up. like yeah it hurts like a fucking bitch but seeing you sad hurts more than a silly tumble

number one date event is city exploring and hopping. like cafe hopping, pub hopping, museum hopping, restaurant hopping, anything that makes you get up and get going with time to sit and chill at the same time.

feels like he can eat a lot, he's the type to eat your food if you end up not liking it or being too full

when he gets home from missions and the initial excitement of seeing you dies down, he also dies down and nap for hours until it's the middle of the night and he gets up to eat something.

he loves naps. feels like he needs a nap time every day if it was possible

he's a very kind lover, he's easy going so its not hard that sometimes people take advantage of this and push his buttons until he can't take it anymore

causes a huge blowup because he can have a nasty temper whenever he bottles stuff up and pushes things aside

not a physical manifestation of anger, but definitely a verbal anger, will say things he doesn't really mean just to say it and realize right after the words leave his lips that he fucked up

but he'll stake out in front of the guest bedroom in which you've locked yourself in until you come out and he gets the chance to forgive you

the type to stand in the rain and hold a sign saying sorry right outside your window, a very cheesy romcom style (gaz made him watch them)

he loves you more than anything and loves you even more than you can keep up with him and laugh at his jokes, no matter how awful they are

he wants 4 kids by the way

[that-random-outsider]

Family line is so fucking Red coated istg

Credit for this entre thing is from @199DegreesOfGay on ao3 I completely agree with your statement so I'm breaking down the song.

This first line could honestly go two ways of course this line could obviously go for the Queen of Hearts but I like theorizing so I'll let you know when we get to a more speculatory party sound good? Okay, so yeah Bridget was obviously not a great mother in the original time line. She was likely extremely distant and cold, only ever fetching her when she needed to and even then it wouldn't be anything loving or caring, because "love ain't it" she'd probably treated Red with that mentality too. Never showing her any real affection or care unless it was out of anger or contempt. There's also one of her most iconic lines "I loose my temper you lose your head." The queen may be regal in this franchise but she's always been violent, and while we don't know if Red’s abuse was physical or emotiopnal (likely both honestly) I wouldn’t be surprised if she found other ways to blow off some steam

Okay now for the speculation we don't really get to see Red’s father, but I feel like people often tend to forget there was a King of Hearts at one point. Like I mentioned this before but I was watching a bunch of movies about Wonderland to understand Red better and in both iterations there was a King. Like I know there's a bunch of theories that Hook might be Red’s father but just for the sake of speculation. He was likely really weak from what I saw, and probably was a laughing stalk in the queen’s court if I'm being honest.

I'm not sure what his relationship with Red might have been like while he was around but he likely didn't stand up for her much in fear of the Queen of Hearts. He probably didn't say anything for the most part, but with silence comes resentment. I wouldn't be surprised if his anger slowly began to fester over the years after being looked down on for so long. And I also wouldn't be surprised if Bridget was once a witness to that anger and lost a temper of her own. In Alice in Wonderland 2010 the queen of hearts is implied to have chopped off the head of her king, and while the two queens are so vastly different in personality I honestly would not be surprised if that was one of their few similarities. But like I said this part is mostly all speculation.

Ignoring the part about the kids this is basically Bridget’s story in a nut shell. She took so much without so much as sheding a tear. Uliana and her gang ruined her life in so many ways so many times. She lost everything to them with a smile on her face, and even after that she never let herself crumble. When she was a kid she refused to let anyone see past her smile, and when she became the Queen of Hearts she swore off showing any signs of weakness. But no matter what stage of her life she was in I'm convinced not even Ella truly saw her tears.

I say they're just the ones who gave me life But I truly am my parents' child

THIS PART!!! This is what in my opinion RoR was really about after everything. It's about Red trying so hard to prove she's nothing like her mother, while only ever being allowed to see herself through the lens her mother forced upon her. Red wants so badly to believe that she could be good, that she is somehow worth saving but in her mind if she can't even see it herself how could anyone else?

She's in the constant limbo of trying to be her own person while also having given up on believing that she could ever be more than the queen of hearts daughter. You can see it in the way she belittles herself so casually in the movie. When she tells Maddox that she’s a lost cause, or how she doesn't argue when Chloe says she's just like her mother. It's her worst fear and only destiny, like she's just waiting for the moment she cracks just like her mother had. It's why she needed to believe that becoming the queen of hearts wasn't the only future for Bridget and herself.

Bro just this as a whole I feel like encapsulates Red’s relationship to the Queen before her and Chloe rewrote history. Like I touched on this in my night falls fanfic but I mean Bridget like canonically threatens Red throughout the movie. I feel like I remember it happening twice but don't quote me on that. I mean she never said anything specific but I doubt that when your mother say "get it right or I'll show you punishment" she'll let you off with a slap on the wrist, and I can't help but wonder how many times Red had forced herself to say whatever her mother wanted to hear to get out of said punishments. Or even worse, what she's forced herself to do to pacify her on angrier days.

Honestly aside from occasional snark we don't even see Red openly oppose her mother in the movie except for when she stages the coup or when she says "I don't want to be anything like you" but even then she was really cautious with her words and her timing when she said that. Hell her entire song about being a rebel, and not following her mother's command was sung in a mask and hood as she hid in the shadows, because yes while she really loves to rebel and she really does believe that what her mother is doing is wrong she truly is afraid of her mother.

To put it simply she'll always be the daughter of the queen of hearts, no matter how much of the time line gets destroyed she still watched that blood spill, and I can't imagine how much that hunts her most nights. (or could I? This is giving me ideas for angst but moving on)

It's hard to put it into words How the holidays will always hurt I watch the fathers with their little girls And wonder what I did to deserve this

I imagine that after the timeline is changed Red and Bridget start spending the holidays with the Charmings and I cand only imagine how much it probably hurt the first year because she could have had this. Watching Chloe and her family be so loving and sweet, seeing them care. Red never had that, she never got to wear cheesy matching sweaters, or watch corny movies with her parents, she never got to ignore her mom when she warned her the hot cocoa might be to hot to drink, or stay up late waiting for Santa to come. Except apparently she had because the life she remembered wasn't hers at all anymore and she hated it. Why didn't she get this timeline from the beginning? Why didn't she get this mom? Why didn't she get this life? Didn't she deserve it too?

How could you hurt a little kid? I can't forget, I can't forgive you 'Cause now I'm scared that everyone I love will leave me

Everything, every trauma she went though was real, the scars may have vanished from her skin but never from her heart. I can't imagine her ever seeing Bridget the way she is now completely as her mother, or at the very least not for a long time.

This woman even if it wasn't her technically, she hurt Red. And even now I feel she wouldn't be able to trust that she doesn't still has the compacity do so. She'll never truly be able to trust Bridget not in the way most daughter would at least. And I don't think those sixteen years will ever truly just go away. She's still slowly unlearning everything the Queen of Hearts taught her about love with Chloe's help and most likely keeps up walls around Bridget. She honestly probably terrifies her

Oh, all that I did to try to undo it All of my pain and all your excuses I was a kid but I wasn't clueless (Someone who loves you wouldn't do this)

When Red first meets Bridget I honestly can imagine her feeling betrayed. "Everything I do is for you" that's what the Red Queen said before she staged a coup and destroyed the one chance Red had at getting what she wanted more than anything. Her freedom. And she'd say that all the time too, "I just want the best for you" "this is for your own good" "you'll thank me when you're older" we're leaning into speculation territory a bit here but just bare with me. I couldn't help but notice this trend whenever I was watching Qoh scenes she truly believes that everything she does is to protect Red, to prepare her for how the world will beat her down by beating her down first. Or better yet teaching her to take over before it could even get the chance to.

In her mind it all about survival but with Bridget as her mom Red realizes just how much she was missing. She realized it was okay to care for someone you love. That it didn't make her weak and that her old mom never needed to be so cruel All of my past, I tried to erase it But now I see, would I even change it? Might share a face and share a last name, but (We are not the same)

Okay long one but pretty self explanatory right? More than anything Red wanted her mom to love her for who she is. Not as "the future queen of hearts" but as "Red" her daughter the one she was supposed to love unconditionally, the one who she was supposed to care for, and support without question. She used to dream of a mother like Bridget since she was a kid, but now that she has one she's realized that nothing's changed.

She's still terrified that she'll never be good enough for anyone.(especially Chloe) The coppery smell of blood still hunts the castle with it's stench. She still flinches any fear when her mother tries to give her a hug. Her mother might be different but her memories stayed the same. It was as if nothing changed at all. Even so, one good thing did come out of it. Because If they could change Bridget's fate, maybe there's a chance she could escape her own

[possiblyunhinged]

I'll probably still be bleating about this until my last breath, but I’m one of the many “lucky” people who had an incredibly traumatic childhood — relative to the country I live in, of course, because God forbid you say you had a rough time on the internet without some jobsworth reminding you how worse others have it.

I grew up with an abusive parent. The other one crumbled under the weight of their own trauma and still struggles with severe mental health issues. My brother started terrorising me pretty young — right after I was diagnosed with panic disorder at the age of six.

School was impossible. I flitted between friendship groups because my absences were so long, and by the time I returned, the friends I’d had were giving me the silent treatment.

But the single most traumatic thing I experienced — the thing that shaped almost everything about me— was poverty.

It was the one thing I couldn’t reason with. I couldn’t protect myself from it. I couldn’t hide my poor diet. I couldn’t hide my constant anxiety about whether we were going to be homeless. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t gnawed down to the bone by the fear of watching my mum have panic attacks in Iceland, realising she’d miscounted what was in the cart, that she didn’t have enough money, and that she had to pretend she’d brought the wrong card.

I couldn’t explain that to the few friends I had. My family grew tired of my mum’s inability to “snap out of it,” tired of her mental health making it impossible to get back on her feet.

And honestly? That’s why I have so much resentment for the left — despite objectively having very left-wing beliefs. Because the middle-class, Russell Group folk who populate the conversation don’t fucking get it. They argue like they’re giving a speech in a movie.

Poverty almost took away the only parent I had left.

Even now, I live in abject fear of the future. I have an embarrassing scarcity complex. I don’t think I’ll ever be good with money. And trying to explain that to a world that deliberately misinterprets the causes of poverty — the same causes that have put millions of UK families in this position — feels impossible. Unforgivable, even.

The shame this country injects into people who are struggling is inhumane. It writes us off. It tells us we’re lazy, unworthy, and broken — not just economically, but morally.

I genuinely don’t understand what’s hard to grasp. We punish the most vulnerable in society while billionaires and the ultra-wealthy hoard more than they could spend in a lifetime. How can any morally intact person justify that? How can anyone be surprised when we see rises in violent crime, poverty, anti-social behaviour? What do they expect?

[candyskiez]

Saw ur also a ???% fan… 👀

Care to share your thoughts around him? Or headcanons if you have them? :D

1. You just noticed? I have NOT been talking enough about him then. I will rectify this immediately. (This is a joke you're good)

2. SO.

These will be scattered. Because I am a very scattered person.

I will flip flop between if I like the disconnect between ???% and Mob better as a plural thing or an allegory .I like both! Both is good! He's so fascinating as an allegory but also he's the most accurate representation of being plural I've ever seen and it's not even canon. So like. Two cakes!

I will always be insane about the manga version of confession arc. Hold on I need to talk about this in detail or I'll actually die.

His fucking. His fucking talk with Mob. "And you were never...never...looking at me." WHAT IF I SCREAM. Literally everything he says to Mob is so interesting and also relatable as shit whether you view it as plural or as an allegory. Both is good. Like you can view him telling Mob he forgot to protect himself and all that shit as like "You only do these good things to ease your own guilt. You don't actually want to be around people. You're selfish. This is who I am. I want to be able to exist without trying to be normal. I want to be able to be seen and not be harmed for it. I am tired of everyone ignoring this part of me because they prefer you. Would they actually do what I've done for them, or are they using me?" Like. Holy shit. It's so so fucking OW especially as an autistic person. But also as a system it's so easy to read him going "You pushed all the memories you didn't want onto me. You let me handle the things you didn't want. You shoved everything onto me, and I took it with stride because I loved you. You let me take all the hard things so you didn't have to face them, because you're a coward. This is my body too. This is my life too. Why don't I get to have that? Why do I have to give it up because you don't want me? They're my family too. You don't get to decide I don't deserve to exist because you hate yourself too much to admit I'm here." Like. Its so easy to read it as him being a protector who is SO fucking resentful of all the shit he's had to deal with, all the memories he has to hold alone, all of the shit he's experienced, and not a sliver of gratitude. Like goddamn does it remind me of my experience being a system. Either way the distance from him and the relationship between him and Mob has been my favorite part of the show since I started watching. And the manga is even more interesting and it's so!!!!!!!!!!!

More confession manga thoughts!! Him saying "Ritsu is my little brother. He was calling me Nii-san." Is so. He said that when Mob asked who he was. He viewed that as a solid part of his identity. RITSU is a massive part of his identity. Does he view Mob as not Ritsu's brother then? Does he feel like he was cheated out of his own family? I wouldn't be surprised nor would I blame him for feeling like that.

And even more confession arc shit. Hi. Thinks about how ???% in the anime at least had to steel himself before raising his hand at Reigen. He hates him but he still cares about him. He hates him but that guy raised him as much as his parents did. Clawing at the walls.

Actually y'know what I haven't talked about my thoughts on Reigen and ???% with anyone but the friend that I watched the show with and that is a tragedy that will not stand. ???% hates Reigen so so much but also cares SO much about him. Thinks about he passed out the second Reigen told him his parents were fine, and contrast that to him saying that he can't listen to Reigen in confession. He knows that if he listens to Reigen he'll believe him and that fucking terrifies him. He'll follow after Reigen because he means the world to him, because that man raised him, because he just wants him to be proud of him so fucking badly. He'll go back to being miserable and trapped, and everyone will go back to pretending he doesn't exist. He's terrified of Reigen, I think, because he knows Reigen is a good liar. Reigen can make him believe things. And he doesn't like that. He doesn't like how gullible he actually is. That's why he doesn't trust anyone- he's gullible enough to believe anything, so he has to distrust ANYTHING, no matter how much sense it makes, because he knows he can't trust his own judgement. He's been tricked before. He'll be tricked again. Don't trust anyone. Don't trust anything you see. This is another thing that works with either autism or plurality. The autism trauma of being lied to and deceived as "jokes" constantly turning you into a trust issue riddled mess that doesn't trust your own judgement or view of people, or a traumatized protector who FORMED to help you deal with people taking advantage of you and now distrusts everyone you love because "it happened before, it'll happen again, i wont let it happen." Or both!

God. I just LOVE ???% y'all don't understand. He's everything to me. Please god read the manga. I don't know if the translation I read was completely accurate, but I love the manga and anime both so so much. ???% is my favorite character as anyone who knows me can tell you and I will never shut up about him. My GUY

[deafknell]

If you took a random 10 minute section of both Joshua and Otto's lives and viewed it as an outside observer, what is the probability that Otto would appear as the more pathetic man?

My gut was saying Otto easily, but thinking about it? Equally difficult to tell.

Joshua's internal monologue is extremely depressing. He spends every second berating himself and critiquing the people around him all because of his lack of self worth. Since he's alone a lot of the time, those thoughts can range from just being the ultimate hater to being the most miserable man around. In that regard, he's pretty pathetic, in how he's so openly hostile to Subaru and implicitly hostile to Reinhard over their treatment of his brother. He's got codependency issues up to his neck with how he tries to raise Julius to live a life Joshua couldn't.

This posts gonna be a long one, bear with. Arc 8 spoilers (up to c24) under the cut.

He's so fixated on Julius being perfect for his role it shatters him that they're not in sync. The whole debate about his role of head of house sticks with me heavily. "It was exactly that, handed over. Never stolen." The clinginess Joshua has with Julius is immense. The only thing that really offsets it is, well, he gets to know a wide range of people through him. Tivey and Hetaro are his closest friends, while he's fond of people like Mimi, Ricardo, Cecilus, and Schult. He's able to spend time playing with the triplets in the garden without being as controlling over what Julius does by the time canon rolls around.

Even for people he's not fond of, like Anastasia, Joshua's the one who pushes Julius to go after her when he fucks up and upsets her. He's the one who takes up a sword for the first time in 10 years to protect her because it's what Julius would want, even though he's terrified and weak and thinks she's an awful influence on him. Joshua grows up a lot between his obsession as a child to his obsession now, both in how he handles Julius with others and in how he is by himself. So while he's very much a pathetic person, there's a number of times he's actually... respectable, given his awful circumstances.

It makes me wonder how messed up his dynamic with Julius would be if they never met Reinhard when he was 9.

Otto, on the other hand... He's a lot more put together on the surface. You disrespect Julius to Joshua, he'll be foaming at the mouth, but you disrespect Subaru to Otto? It's not as obvious stepping over that landmine. In terms of situations, though, Otto's a lot more pathetic to me when you compare the two and their dynamics with the others.

Comparatively, Otto's had a far more nuanced upbringing than Joshua. His parents are so sweet, and his family's generally supportive of him, despite everything. He's struggled with his DP and later with Diadora and Russell's shit, where Joshua's just been plagued with ill health and a very warped family dynamic for years. They're somewhat direct opposites in how they're brought up in that regard.

By the time he meets Subaru and eventually joins the Emilia camp, he's been through some awful stuff. Frufoo's a massive pillar of support but in terms of healthy communication with people? He's been drinking at the bar regularly, which is a pretty telling sign of how things are for him. His attachment comes on quick, as people like Pluto have spoken about in their ottoposting (which I would highly recommend!!) from writing a suicide note over deciding to help Subaru all the way to making himself almost indispensible to the camp, despite telling everybody his plans of leaving and running his own store.

Joshua's fixation on Julius comes out of a mix of resentment, survival mechanisms and genuine loneliness, I feel. He's so afraid of being left behind that he tries to make himself integral to Julius, and I think part of that is also reflected in Otto's behaviour to the camp. How he asks all of them if they're worried about him over and over because he wants to feel wanted. Subaru gives him that, leaves him plenty of room to just, latch on and it feeds massively into his own issues of self worth and loneliness.

Don't get me started on how poorly he reacts in arc 8 when that closeness is indirectly (contrary to Otto's own belief) challenged by Julius. How quick he is to lash out and paint him as an outsider, that this does not involve him when it very clearly affects Julius the same as everyone else there. Julius and Emilia's light, able to believe that people are fundamentally good, where Otto nips at Subaru's heels like a lingering shadow.

Both Otto and Joshua are extremely pathetic people. They'll lash out at people, barking at whatever hand comes near them, and then project that rage unto themselves before the thought of talking their problems out dawns on them. I think between them, 10 minutes with Joshua would be a lot more tame for me, if solely down to me being much more fond of Julius praise than Subaru praise. Though sitting through 10 minutes of self hatred vs 10 minutes of whatever's going on in Otto's head is enough to drive anybody insane.

If nothing else, at least Joshua didn't make me read this line with my own two eyes:

[shin-meddlesome-hero]

Some of my notes from watching Zeta Gundam very, very slowly (up until ep. 34)

(Needless to say that it contains spoilers and that I get very annoying about the female characters because that's my thing)

-I'm 6 episodes into Zeta Gundam and I still don't know what to make of Kamille. On the other hand, it took me a look at some screenshots of SD Gundam Kamille to know that I'd die for him.

-I was very surprised to see Kamille openly declaring that he's autistic. Why don't we have more of that?

-20 episodes in, now (watching v. slowly). So... Z isn't exactly that great about women... right? 0079 left me gladly surprised on that front, but my expectations were super low. Maybe I should turn off that part of my brain while watching this.

- I hate to say this about a female character but so far Beltorchika is so annoying. Wake up, sis! You can't fix the dude, you barely know him! He's not opening up to you, and please leave the 15 year old out of your problems with Amuro!

-"I learned karate and how to make Mobile Suits to become a man!". Kamille isn't beating the transmasc allegations /J

-It makes sense that Kamille resents her mother for apparently caring more about her job than her family, but this does speak more of that general anxiety about women in the workplace than of anything else. Might be a common cliché at the time, still don't like it.

-She's allowed to be a terrible mom, but maybe for other more nuanced reasons? Also the fact that Kamille mentions that Fa made things that his mother should've done for him... it's gonna be really awkward if Kamille/Fa is the endgame ship.

-So, if both Kamille's parents were responsible for the development of the MK-II, then when he fights in it, one can say that his parents are still protecting him. On the other hand, we could also consider the MK-II as Kamille's little br- *gets shot*

-Ep 21: The titular Zeta Gundam appears. -Male Feminist guy is creepy. -Bright has the vibes of an exhausted High School teacher. - Fa rescues Kamille in space. This two are soo endgame

-Bright: Emma, you should do something about Kamille and Fa. Emma: Nah. I'm not Kamille's mom, besides, teens like to make drama as a form of recreation.

Emma is so cool. (Also, she and Reccoa should kiss)

-If there's a fanfic out there about Bright Noah being a clueless high school teacher/principal, please let me know. That's like the perfect AU for him.

-Girls can also fuck up in the battlefield and get slapped as a form of military disciplinary tactic! Hashtag equality. (But seriously though, I wasn't expecting Fa to become a pilot. Interesting).

-In the comment section of the dubious site where I'm watching this show, people are saying that Zeta is ahead of its time. And yeah, in many aspects it is. On the other hand it took Gundam 40+ years to have a girl protag. Suletta Mercury should've been invented like 30 or 20 years ago.

-Meanwhile, Scirocco is high-key trying to get Jerid killed and failing. They're both huge losers.

-Also, Kamille is slowly and steadily growing on me.

-Kamille becomes more mature and thoughtful. - The story brings Katz to be the new impulsive boy who fucks everything up. -Katz matures after a couple of episodes. -Now there's a pair of annoying kids whose only purpose is to awake Fa's maternal instinct (???) It never ends!

-On the other hand, I did enjoy those five seconds where Quattro was babysitting those kids. Would've preferred more of that.

-I love that in-universe everyone refers to teenage drama as "recreation". Even Kamille at some point admits that he and Fa are engaging in such recreation. At least their relationship is evolving in a healthier way than Amuro and Fraw's in 0079.

-Between Reccoa possibly having feelings for Scirocco and Mauar protecting Jerid, it's evident that in this universe everyone suffers from having Bad Taste in Men. Y'all could do better, queens!

-Also everyone punches and slaps each other so much. And it's not a love language. It's just another language that everyone just use. (There's even a punch compilation in tumblr, it's hilarious).

-I really hope to eventually get an explanation of what's up with those kids that Char brought from Earth, because so far their only purpose is to fuel Fa's maternal instincts.

-Episode 33! We're finally meeting those funny guys from Axis. This is also full of high quality Char moments.

-*Char has flashbacks of him playing with toddler!Mineva and also gets angry when he realizes how much they have manipulated her* Aww, daddy Char.

* Char unnecesarily beats the crap out of Kamille, five minutes later* Hey! What the hell, Char?!

-Char: "I have never betrayed anyone in my entire life! Ever!

lol, a classic.

-Help! Char is starting to have a similar effect on me as the one that other horrible and pathetic fictional white men have on tumblrinas.

-Seriously though, if UC Gundam were more popular in the western hemisphere, Char Aznable would totally be a Tumblr Sexyman. *shudders*

-Me: I see, so Reccoa actually has a death wish, she recklessly jumps into the battlefield on a desperate attempt to find her own demise, but she doesn't know it.

Z Gundam: Actually Scirocco is brainwashing her with space magic and she's sexually frustrated with Char.

Wha-?

-Reccoa has so many death flags that I'm always surprised whenever she survives. Her fake "death" and its consequences were really well done. I particularly liked Kamille's reaction.

-Maybe the most effective death flag in Zeta is being close to Jerid. That's more letal than the birthday song or being near Amuro's range.

And that's all for now. Join me next time as I try to watch Z less slowly so I might be able to watch "Char's Counterattack" before Christmas 2023.

[thetoaddaddy]

I dont think i ever really explained why I like the idea of Jiraiya living a more troubled/neglected childhood. Honestly I just like the juxtaposition of the rich girl from the most influential family, the tragic orphan full of resentment, and the white trash hick from the slums.

Have I hooked you? Long sorta in this essay I will type of explanation of my reasoning post. Trimmed so you don’t have to suffer through scrolling a big long post unless you volunteer to it. And I welcome reblogs with your own thoughts added to it or comments. I like having these kinds of discussions.

It makes for a fun dynamic and puts together three very different social classes that make up the Sannin and the most common 3 classes of society. Tsunade has everything from money, social status and livin in the rich how dare the neighbours put up an extra twinkle light we’re contacting the police neighbourhood. Orochimaru lost his family but lives fairly okay being a ward of the Hokage/state plus as a genius kid with potential to end the war with his big fucken brain and lack of empathy he would most likely be treated more special. Jiraiya hiding his money in the floorboards of his room cuz he knows his parents will steal it to buy into their addictions and he’s well aware no one really expects him to be nothing more than a failure.

Plus we don’t have any characters who have a troubled relationship with their parents in this way. Yeah we got dead parents and asshole cold distant rich clan expectations parent tropes. But not too much on poor and abusive. Which is weird cuz its pretty common to be low income with some garbage parents. (Not to say that’s the case all the time of course) Nor do we see much for alcoholism or similar addictions just ruining a family. The most he ever speaks about his parents in canon is that they were civilians. Kinda cold imo. Like I get that most likely kishi figured no one cares that much from where Jiraiya came from but that throw away line had me thinking and this headcanon came out.

So it’s pretty poetic that Jiraiya grew up full Glass Castle from a nothing neglectful civilian family and made something of himself with his own determination rather than being crutched with clan powers or high blood relations. He’s a nobody who proved people wrong and grew beyond his upbringing. His life we see on screen has always been pretty born under an unlucky star/he had to claw his way for anything he’s wanted and nothing was ever given to him. So it makes sense to me anyways that his early life was just as claw his way out from falling off the face of the earth. He could have just picked the easy way and not rise above being some drunk gutter rat that is just a direct product of his upbringing. But he focused on trying to get out rather than keep the cycle going. He picked the academy and proved he was not just above the curve but the grit he already had from surviving his broken home made for a determined courageous motherfucker. With that he became rich and renowned. All on his own.

I think that gives him more interesting motivation than the canon basically being ‘on my quest for pussy brb🏃‍♂️’ Like damn can we please uncreepy him kishi i stg. And I like to ignore his railroaded prophecy ass I must find my destiny stuff. That ruins his accomplishments. Honestly as a fairly empathetic person who grew up poor and hungry why wouldn’t he take pity on three war orphans and try to do good by them where he was never given that comfort? It’s far more compelling and interesting story than some crazy old toad told me to do it and I took those words so fucking literally it led the rest of my life.

I like to imagine he’s simply more wayward and never felt satisfied staying put(especially with all the horrible memories Konoha gives him). It also makes more sense for him to have this kind of chip on his shoulder over being some average guy who had an average upbringing. He can handle himself not just in battles but in dealing with the more uncomfortable situations like traveling through poor areas with the know how.

Like he knows how to speak crackhead and the slum folk clock him as one of their own. I wouldn’t call it street cred or anything. He just has the street smarts beyond that of an average person and it shows. Plus in some verses I like to think he travels hoping to find love as well. Can’t find one’s soulmate staying put in a village can they? ;)

Not every character has to be tragic I know. And this is just what I think. You don’t have to agree with me or accept my interpretations. He could have easily just brushed off the subject cuz he keeps people at an arms length. Which he does for the most part.

But I feel like with the Sannin era we were left with such well cooked and seasoned snippets that it became kinda frustrating that the rest was kinda undercooked or plain still in the damn deep freeze. So we get brain zoomies and try to fill in the big ass gaps. I want to know how three of the most interesting and important ninja of the shinobi world grew up. It’s fun to imagine and make these types of interpretations. Even if it is answered one day in a mini series or a book, I’ll still probably prefer what I and my moots cooked up. Cuz honestly we put more care and deep thought into these characters than kishi does at this point 😭

[joonslfttiddie]

Be Mine

Eleven

💜Fic Pairing: BTS Member x OFC

💜AU/Genre: Dark Romance | Demon Member

💜Warnings: (for entire work; not chapter specific) Mental Illnesses/Troubled Childhood/Alcoholic Parent/Mentions of Domestic Violence/Physical Violence/Stalking/Gore/Mentions of Blood/Sexist Remarks/Derogatory Remarks/Detailed Murder/Murder of an Animal/Language/Adult Themes/Sexual Themes/Mind Control/Telepathy (invading thoughts w/o permission)/Fingering/Masturbation/Manipulation/Alluding at Drug Usage

💜Rating: MA

💜Word Count: 4,143

Kamryn Graham

Kamryn. I’m so sorry.

The words lingered in her mind as she opened her eyes. Everything felt distorted—her emotions, her trust, her vision. Blurry at first, but after a few blinks, it began to clear. Looking around the room, she found herself still at Jimin’s place, fully dressed, and laid across his sofa with a soft throw blanket arranged neatly over her legs. Across the room, she saw him squatting down, cleaning something from the floor. Thump. Thump. Thump. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. It was so loud she wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. And he must have as his head whipped around, eyes meeting hers. There he was–her Jimin. That person from before? Nowhere to be found.

There he is.

“Kamryn.” He dropped what sounded like fragments of glass clattering in a dustpan, then rushed to her side. When she involuntarily flinched, shifting her body away from him, his jaw clenched. Confusion flickered across his face. But it didn’t last. Pain followed. Then regret. Then, the crushing weight of self-loathing. Each emotion surfaced in waves as if he couldn’t stop them from showing. The sight almost made her cry for him as the emotions radiated off of him and through their connection. “Kamryn. Fuck. I- I’m so sorry, Kam,” he said while searching her face. Was he looking for the same hate he felt for himself? He wouldn’t find it. While Kamryn felt that he purposely tried to intimidate her, that he wanted to hurt her, that he hated her–she didn’t hate him.

Jimin lent his strength when he noticed she was trying to sit up. She sat there, eyes on the blanket, fiddling with her fingernails again. Jimin took her hands in his, still kneeling in front of her, silencing her nervous fidgeting with his firm grip.

A sound fell from her lips—something between a laugh and a sob as if her body was unsure of how to react. “Jimin. What the fuck was that?” Her voice quivered slightly, and tears began to dance in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to see me that way. The darkness… I’m usually able to control it, command it, but lately, my powers have been glitchy. Like they want to control me instead. Fuck.” He paused for a moment while Kamryn observed him. He was fidgety. Shifty. Uncomfortable. Jimin looked deeply remorseful, and she could identify the guilt that weighed heavy on him.

“I’m not talking about that. I know what the fuck that was.” She paused for what seemed like minutes. “Why did you do that to me?” Her voice cracked, and it felt as if someone was squeezing her heart. “You did that on purpose, Jimin. It felt like…like you hated me.” The shock that flowed through their connection was the validation she needed. Even if it were for a split second, he despised her, resented her, and wanted her to feel it. Well, he succeeded.

“Honestly, I don’t know what to say. At this point, anything I say will just be an excuse.”

“Say something…anything.” The last word came out on a breath, barely audible.

“I don’t know. I was stupid. I– For a moment,” he stammered, still holding tightly onto her fingers. “Kamryn. I can feel myself…changing. I told you that I wanted to be good for you, but all of the emotions that come with that are foreign to me. It’s like two people inside of me. Like I'll be ripped apart at any moment. My heart. My soul. My mind. There are moments where my evil resents you, and I fucking hate myself. This is so hard, and thoughts have crossed my mind, making me wonder if it is all worth it.” He pulls her hands to his forehead as if praying to the goddess that has captivated his heart. He then places tender kisses on the backs of her hands. “Please. I still want to be good for you. I want to love you in ways neither of us knew possible. But-” When he looks into her eyes, the tears he’d be trying to fight have gathered to fall down his face. His voice is raspy and forced when he speaks. “I’m scared.”

Did he think this would make her fold? While she appreciated his vulnerability, she couldn’t let him off like this.

“Scared? You’re scared, Jimin?” She scoffed. “I thought I was going to die,” she nearly whispered as tears continued to fall into her lap. Her body reacted the way it should have, as if she was in immediate danger, face-to-face with a demon. “Do you even know what that felt like? I chose to trust you, and for a moment, you made me regret that.” The heartache caused by that sentence transmitted from Jimin and caused fresh tears to fall from her eyes. “I thought I’d made a mistake.” Even in that situation, with his distorted features and horrifying words, she trusted him. She knew that he wouldn’t hurt her and found herself experiencing all his suffering from his inner turmoil. He was trying so hard. So hard to resist the malevolent pull that their bond trembled violently. The words that he spoke aloud during that moment contradicted his inner dialogue.

Jimin, pull yourself together! You’re scaring her. Look at her sweet face…she’s terrified. The way you’re treating her right now. Is this what love looks like? Stop!

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what made me think I could do this. I can’t do this, Kamryn.”

“Can’t do what?”

This.

Nah. Fuck that. Man the fuck up and say that shit out loud.

His eyebrow lifted in response, but it was so quick Kamryn felt that she could have imagined it. His grip on her hands tightened, both because he didn’t want to say the words aloud and because he loved when she spoke so confidently. She was so powerful, so unrelenting, so direct. So…demanding. And he loved that shit.

“I just don’t want to hurt you. I can’t be with you when I’m like this.” He looked over himself as if his flaws were visible on his skin.

“Like what? What Jimin?! Didn’t you tell me that this is just how you are, light and dark? Up and down? In and out, right? You can’t change who you are; we both know that, but you will change the way you treat me. I won’t tolerate that shit again. You will not purposely put me in that situation again. And if you don’t want to hurt me, Jimin… don’t.” The commanding simplicity of her words lingered between them as he looked into her eyes.

The heat coming from him caused her breathing to hitch as her nipples began to tingle and harden beneath her dress. She didn’t want to think of what was happening between her thighs as she’d opted against wearing panties. As if on cue, she could see in his eyes when he realized what was happening to her body–he could smell the lust on her. The sexual tension was palpable, an involuntary craving for one another that neither of them could stop, even mid-confrontation. “Let go of my hands,” Kamryn spat.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jimin answered with a growl, falling right in line with Kamryn’s orders.

“Shut up. That wasn’t a question.” With his head hanging low, he remained silent this time. “Do you hear me speaking to you? Look at me.”

“Yes, ma’am. I can hear you,” he answered, this time with unwavering eye contact that caused Kamryn to shudder.

“After the way you acted today, do you think you deserve to touch me?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t.” While she had him eating out of the palm of her hand, she could discern that there was something else behind his answer. He was trying to let her go because he didn’t think he deserved her.

“Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t ask you to think for me, huh?” Kamryn continued to tease him, using her hand to fan herself as she removed the blanket from her lap, revealing the sun-kissed glow of her moisturized legs. Her skin was a rich chocolate that closely mimicked the hue of the leather couch she sat on. And Jimin responded immediately; though she was unable to see the erection growing under his slacks, the desire growing between them was nearly tangible. Her confidence grew, and she felt like she could do anything under his gaze. Thoughts were going through her mind that she’d never even thought to consider, but she felt comfortable enough with him to say and do as she pleased. “And why are you trying to look all pitiful kneeling down like that? Should I pity you, baby?” Her head tilted with an analyzing gaze scanning his body like a lioness inspecting her prey.

“Ye- No, ma’am,” Jimin tried to answer, obviously distracted and confused as to which question he should answer.

“Ye—No—” she mocked, dragging it out with a smirk. “What’s wrong, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

After clearing his throat and attempting to clear his mind, he answered, “Yes, ma’am, it is a good thing you didn’t ask me to think. I’m not trying to look pitiful, and I don’t think you should pity me at all. The cat does not have my tongue.”

She snickered, then said, “Not yet, at least.” The surge of hunger that flowed through their bond and the flash of gold in Jimin’s eyes had Kamryn leaking, ready, and having a hard time stalling him out. With the point of her heel, she dug gently into his thigh. “What the fuck are you thinking about, huh? I am highly aware of what you have going on, remember?”

There was no way he could deny it. He frowned from the pain, but it also made it dick twitch. "I want you so badly, but I’m trying to restrain myself. I know you are aware of my feelings.” She could tell that Jimin was fighting for his fucking life; his composure was like putty in her hands.

“But you want me to feel you in a different way, huh? Tell me about that. What do you want me to feel, Jimin?” Her voice brushed over him like a cool breeze, a wave of desire rushed through them again, causing them both to shiver.

“I- I…” He swallows around the lump in his throat, “I want you to feel me… dipping into your wet pussy slowly. Until you’re full of me, ma'am. With each stroke, I want you to be aware of every ridge… every vein… every inch of my dick sliding in and out of your wetness. Caressing your walls as I make my way to the very depths of you. I want it to sting just a bit.” His voice has that familiar crackle, like burning embers in his throat. “But, only enough to make your pretty mouth fall open–a moaning mess underneath me–calling out my name. Inconceivable pleasure flooding and intoxicating you. I want you to have earth-shattering orgasms that leave you sopping wet, sated, yet still begging me for more. Over… and over… and over again until you’re crying, desperate that I stop. Ma’am.”

At this point, both of them were nearly gasping for air. Her eyes were heavy with want as she stared at him through her lashes. Kamryn had nearly climaxed from his words alone, and she could feel her slick pooled between her, her dress, and the couch. She dragged her heel from his thigh, slow and deliberate, skimming up his torso until it pressed into his chest. He held firm, not wavering from the pressure. It was as if the anticipation of her next move was suffocating, and his chest heaved as he panted faster.

With one firm push, she knocked him flat on his back, the impact rippling through them both. The slight pain she’d just caused came to burn alongside her need for him in the pit of her belly, but she wouldn’t give in that easily. Not today. Now standing, she towered over him and shoved her heel in the same place she just kicked. This point of view allowed him a direct view of her sopping wet, glistening pussy and the wetness that leisurely dripped down her thigh.

“Did you seriously think that would turn me on?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It looks like it turned you on.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thoughts of you always do.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, twisting the heel deeper into his chest. “Always got some bullshit apologies or something charming to say, huh? Maybe I should put that mouth to better use.” With her hand on her chin, she pretended as if she was in deep thought before coming to an epiphany. “Hmm. Let’s see how sorry you are. You want to be a good boy for me?”

Kamryn straddled Jimin’s nodding head, her heeled feet planted just above his shoulders while he looked up in sheer amazement. “I will admit. I’m willing to do anything and everything you ask of me. But this? Tasting you on my tongue is something I will do because I want to… need to. So,” he said, caressing her legs, “May I taste you, Miss Kamryn?” Without a word, she sank to her knees, her legs maneuvered under his arms, and she lifted herself above him. She saw his eyes darken with desire just as her dress covered his face like a veil. With his shoulders wedged between her calves, now resting on either side of him, he held her by the waist, guiding her body to sit completely onto his waiting mouth. She allowed him to consume her. His hands roamed, gripping and kneading the softness of her thighs as he lapped, sucked, and dipped his tongue in and out of her pussy like a man who’d studied her anatomy–studied how she likes to be eaten–for years.

Hastily bunching her dress in one hand, she needed a clear view, no longer obscuring her sight of the fiend beneath her. His eyes were closed, but when he suddenly opened them to look at her, she gasped as he was seemingly looking into her soul. Still caught off guard by the new golden hue-he was hypnotizing. His tongue circled her clit before she pulled away, leaning back to rest her ass on his chest.

Ravenously, he stared up at her as she admired the sheen on his face caused by her juices. With a wicked smirk, she pulled the strap of her dress down her arm, allowing the fabric to slack, revealing the swell of her breast. With one hand, she pinched and twisted her nipple, and with the other, she fisted his hair, guiding him back where she needed him most. She placed him at her entrance, shivering as he traced her inner lips before plunging his tongue back inside.

Her body responded immediately, legs quivering due to his relentless ministrations. “Jimin,” she whispered but whined when he pulled away just as her orgasm was about to overtake her. Dragging out the moment, he sucked and licked at her lips, cleaning up after himself as if he couldn’t get enough. Just as she opened her mouth to protest, her breath hitched, and her eyes widened. Instead of running away, she remained. Spellbound. She watched as his tongue stretched unnaturally long–slithering back inside, deeper to tease at the base of her cervix, caressing her favorite spot. Her head fell back, and a sound she would usually be ashamed of crawled up her throat–deep and guttural– as she unabashedly rocked into him, surrendering to his hunger.

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit,” she groaned breathily; using his locks as reins, she pulled him deeper as she rocked her hips to ride his face. She was about to cum, and of course, he knew, indicated by the low, throaty growl he released. The sound caused the hairs on her neck to stand, and as he continued to groan in delight, it sent her over the edge.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” she moaned as she came long and hard, spilling satisfaction across his tongue. Jimin didn’t let a drop of her go to waste as he drank her in, slowing down but never stopping as she trembled and convulsed above him. Kamryn’s phone vibrated in her purse on the table but she couldn’t be bothered at the moment as she continued to ride out her high.

Pulling air between her teeth, she reveled in the pleasure being administered as she winded her hips. Each time her clit brushed against his upper lip, her second orgasm continued to build as surges of electricity coursed through her body.

“Just like that. Eat this pussy, baby. I deserve it.” And Jimin obliged, wanting nothing more than to please her, swallowing all that she had to offer him. She knew he was at the edge of his own climax, and the feeling only intensified the moment. Minutes later, another wave came crashing against her, sending her under to succumb to its pressure. She breathed deeply, savoring the feel of his tongue slathering pleasure within her walls until she was satiated. “Okay. Okay, that’s enough,” Kamryn moaned from the overstimulation. He didn’t stop, instead pulling her tighter, continuing to devour her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

Hungry. Need…to feed. 

The slight smirk that graced his face, for only a split second, was haunting.

Writhing, she tried to at least remove his suction as it was too much. His glowing eyes shined with a desire that was unfamiliar as his nails bit into her skin as if staking his claim. “That’s enough,” she whined, but it was as if he was in a trance, unable to hear her words– only focused on savoring her taste.

More.

“Jimin. Stop!”

That seemed to do the trick as he released her clit with a pop. His head fell back to thud against the floor as he stared up into nothingness, mouth still wet from her. It was like he wasn't there-just a void shell of the man that she'd grown to know. A gold shimmer traced his irises before they settled back to the rich honey Kamryn was used to, as if he was returning to himself. Her pulse was still racing, but now, it wasn’t just from pleasure.

“What the fuck, Jimin?” She moved to sit next to him on the floor as her legs continued to tremble, not just from the overstimulation. There was something darker. The deviant hunger remained, clinging to her. “You didn’t stop.” Her voice wasn’t angry but quiet. Completely unnerved.

“I–” He shook his head as if he was unsure of what words should follow. She studied their connection and his face, watching as his jaw flexed before he shook his head again. She found no regret, no remorse, no shame–there was only confusion. Like he was just as lost as she was, unsure of what had just happened to him.

Tracing the dents left by his grip on her thighs with her fingertips, she said, “That wasn’t you just being stubborn, Jimin.”

“I know,” he admitted quietly.

Releasing a shaky breath, Kamryn found a cozy spot next to Jimin and cuddled into his side–an attempt to push the moment away for now. Without thought, he pulled her into him. Closer. Tighter, as if she was the only thing keeping him tethered to himself. She laid on his chest, unable to quiet the thoughts in her mind, humming to keep them to herself for the moment. Was this a sign to stop? To stop trying to step into her power? She knew it would be impossible to stop dealing with Jimin. They were in too deep, literally bound together. What has she gotten herself into, and what kind of monster had she created?

Unable to see his face, she was also unable to see the tears that filled his eyes as he stared at the ceiling, rubbing his fingertips across her scalp through her thick cloud of curls. They both laid there in silence as their breathing evened and their pulses slowed, pretending as if they both didn’t feel the shift that just occurred. This was more than a game of give and take—more than just an exchange of power.

The silence was broken, startling Kamryn when her phone vibrated in her purse again. Then again. And again.

“Fuck. May I use your restroom,” she asked politely like she wasn’t just barking commands and grinding her pussy on his lips.

”Ye- Yes, of course.” She stood, grabbed her phone, then slowly made her way to the bathroom. When she returned, Jimin was sitting in the spot she found herself earlier, manspreading with his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. He seemed to be in deep thought until he saw her coming closer with a look of concern on her face. “A- Are you leaving?”

“Why isn’t she picking up after calling so many times? Mariah asked to meet her at Clove at 6:30, right?” Kamryn questioned aloud. “It’s only 6:13,” she mentioned, her heart racing as she dialed her friend back again. Finally, she answered. “Mariah? Mariah. Why are you crying? What's wrong? What? Who is that? I can barely hear you. Hey, who is this? What’s going on? Are you at Clove now? Okay, please stay with her. I’m coming.” The other person puts Mariah back on the line. “Everything is going to be okay. I’ll be there in just a bit. No. No, I won’t hang up,” she continued her conversation, finding herself whispering along with her friend.

She looked at Jimin, her hand trembling as she held onto the phone as if it were a lifeline. In a way, it was, anchoring Mariah to her.

Will you help me? Please?

Of course! Let’s go.

Grabbing his keys from a side table, the pair rushed out of the door. Jimin pulled her toward the stairs.

“We have to go, Jimin. I need to get to Mariah.”

“I know. Trust me, okay?”

She nodded but hesitated to take his hand reaching out for her. Something was off with him. And trust? Trust was something so very fragile between them at the moment, yet she allowed him to lead her into the stairwell. It wasn’t long before she realized why as he picked her up, causing her to gasp in surprise and close her eyes, awaiting what was to happen next. Suddenly, she could feel wind whipping through her hair, then…nothing. She opened her eyes to see that they were already on the ground floor. How had they gotten here so fast? Faster than humanly possible and certainly quicker than it would have taken for the elevator doors to even open.

Kamryn’s panic after hearing her friend’s voice, so small and helpless, didn’t leave a moment for her body to react to the sudden change in speed, to even ask questions, or even be surprised by this. Though, she could tell that something was wrong as they made their way to Jimin’s car.

“Jimin?” She whispered away from the phone.

“Let’s go, Kamryn.”

She slid into the passenger seat and watched as he jogged to his side before getting in.

“Are you okay? Something seems–”

“Fine,” he said dismissively.

They rode in silence and were pulling up to Clove within ten minutes.

Park Jimin

The fear and worry that tugged at their connection had Jimin just as focused as Kamryn, trying to get to Mariah as quickly as possible. But something else was pulling him there. An excuse. He needed to release. There was too much power surging through him, and he was coming to realize where it was coming from. Kamryn. She was changing him in more ways than one, and while on some days he felt like he was becoming a little bitch, other days he found himself out of control of the hellhound that threatened to eat him whole. This was something he’d never experienced, a power that may be too much for him to handle.

When they pulled up, Jimin followed Kamryn as she rushed through the small crowd, making her way to the women's restroom. Like her own personal bodyguard, Jimin waited outside the entrance when she burst into the bathroom, yelling out for her friend.

“Oh my God! Jimin!” Kamryn’s shrill cry was all he needed to hear before rushing in behind her. Inside one of the stalls, Kamryn had found her friend slumped, fully clothed, on the toilet. She looked confused and weak like she would pass out any second, barely holding on to her phone. “Mariah, what happened? Are you okay? Did somebody hurt you?” Mariah was slurring, hardly even mumbling at this point, as her eyes roamed around the stall aimlessly. Next to the stall stood the lady who was on the phone earlier, dressed like the other bartenders.

“She came in with another girl, but she had to leave. When she did, a guy joined her at the bar, and they had a drink. She didn’t even finish hers but seemed to get drunk instantly. I knew something was wrong when she slid from the barstool to stagger her way here. I grabbed her things, including her drink, and put them behind the bar before I followed her back here. She asked me not to call an ambulance.”

“Oh my God, Riah, baby. What happened?”

That word kept pulling him out of the moment. God. God? This was the second time she’d called out for Them, yet he was the only one there to help. He scoffed.

“I’ve seen this so many times. I believe that she’s been drugged. I was just about to give her a piece of bread with hot sauce. Then an aspirin and a bottle of water.”

Kamryn looked around to find the items the woman had mentioned and the piece of bread in a napkin in her hand. “Girl, what the fuck does this have to do with anything? Bitch… hot sauce?”

“Answer her,” Jimin said calmly to the woman as he tilted his head menacingly. “Amy,” he said smugly after reading her name tag.

“I– It–”

“It, what?” Kamryn was obviously distraught.

“It– It’s a cocktail,” the woman said, but her words sounded more like a question than an answer. “It will help lessen the effects of the drug almost immediately. I promise.”

“Okay. Okay.” Kamryn gave her consent. Her uneasiness and fear only seemed to fuel the fury that raced through Jimin. Amy had Mariah take the pill and down it with some of the water before she fed her the red, soaked bread, which nearly made her vomit.

“I know it’s gross, but you have to eat as much as you can, okay?” Amy was very calm, instructing Mariah. After she’d finished most of the bread, she chugged the rest of the water, with a lot of it coming out the corners of her mouth. And just as Amy had promised, she seemed to be coming back.

“Riah. What happened?” Kamryn had her hands extended, ready to catch her friend as she slowly lifted herself from the seat with Amy’s assistance.

“What does the guy look like?” Jimin asked Amy while helping to move Mariah out of the stall and to the sink. Kamryn immediately enveloped Mariah in her arms, allowing her to cry as she shed hot tears of her own.

“Like a fucking ferret. It was fucking Jameel,” Mariah stated, muffled, with her face into Kamryn’s shoulder.

“Jameel?!” Kamryn obviously knew who Mariah was referring to. Jimin watched her eyes widen in the mirror at the revelation. She pulled her friend away to look her over, pushing her hair from her face and wiping her tears away. “Jameel, Jameel?”

“Yes,” Mariah said as her shoulder bounced from her sobs. “He asked if he could get me a drink. I agreed because I know him…I knew him. I thought I did. But after I drank half of it, I started to feel funny. He started talking about how he wanted me back. Of course, I declined, but he said to just wait. Like I didn’t have a choice. I shouldn’t have– I shouldn’t have–” She cried even harder, to the point where Kamryn just pulled her into her chest again.

“Shh…don’t you dare make this your fault. You did nothing wrong. He is the piece of shit. Not you,” Kamryn said while rubbing swipes up and down her friend’s back.

While Jimin hated to hear that something like this had happened to Mariah, he was thankful to Amy and glad to see that her concoction was working to neutralize the drug.

“Um, sorry guys, but I have to get back to the bar. Come find me to get your things and I would strongly recommend that you still go to the hospital to get checked out.” The woman exchanged hugs with Mariah and Kamryn while they expressed their gratitude.

“Thank you so much,” Mariah said through her tears. “Tonight could have ended very differently had you not helped me.”

Amy wiped a few rouge tears of her own before leaving the friends to continue where they’d left off. Mariah turned to splash cool water over her face.

“Jameel? What the fuck? We haven’t seen him since-”

“Since our six-month anniversary. Right. We were here, and his boy tried the same shit on you. I hadn’t talked to him since then when he reached out to me the day after, talking about how he was sorry about what happened and all this shit but wouldn’t give his boy’s name up so that we could press charges. Talking about how he ‘had been punished enough’. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Mariah and Kamryn were unaware, but Jimin knew exactly what he was referring to. He was talking about how he’d found his homeboy’s clothes folded in a bathroom stall with him still wearing them. Jimin was seething more by the minute. Kamryn felt it, grabbing his hand and squeezing it lightly.

Babe. Just say the word and I’ll handle it.

They locked eyes in the mirror over Mariah’s head as she dipped down to rinse her face again, and with a slow raise of her eyebrow, Kamryn smirked.

Show me.

Show you? Show you what?

His face mirrored hers; a grim smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Show me your evil. Handle it.

Excitement burned through his veins like liquid fire. The presence inside him stirred, salivating, stretching its claws. It had been waiting for this. Waiting to be fed. Jimin turned on his heel, left the bathroom, and slipped into the crowd unnoticed–then he was gone. Just a haunting shadow of nightmares, off to hunt his prey.

A/N:

Hey, Boo… heeeeeeey! I hope that you are doing well. Thank you all for being patient with my inconsistent posting. Please charge it to my head and not my heart. I had a blast writing this chapter 😏 and I hope that you enjoy it as much as I did.

Thanks to @moonleeai for beta reading this chapter! 💜🫶🏽

Okay. Love you...byeeeeeeee!

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Thirteen (Part 1)

(I don’t know if I’ve already used this gif... sorry :/)

Summary: Decisions were made.

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Bad words, violence, ~ daddy issues ~, mentions of brothels and prostitution, slight mentions of political conditions from the period, trauma, nightmares and people drinking alcohol 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: And yeah, I needed to split in two parts. There’s no huge cliffhanger here because I know how slow I can be while writing, so let’s just say that this is a... prelude.

I mentioned that before, but now it’s more than official. This story have 2/3 chapters left, which makes me sad-happy-satisfied-unsure. Let’s see where it goes from then on, huh? Love ya! 

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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There was this boy with green eyes and good grades at school. He used to like History and Sociology, but everyone knew he had a tendency for something more than teaching. Without a mother, though, no one would be surprised if he turned into one of them.

Since his childhood, ‘them’ became a fear. ‘Them’ became easy money but almost a vow to a cause - the parents used to keep the kids at home after 10pm, turn off the TV when the news were too desperate or visceral. He might’ve even met Virginia Vallejo during his college years, after all the communist mess, and recognized her when Pablo turned into a thing. She was there. Always had been. Sometimes he wondered if her name would be marked on books like those he liked to read in school for choosing a side.

If he was an adult during the communism time, he would be one of them. His abuela talked about this a lot, but never in a depreciative tone. She knew better than to be on the side of the ones who took a lot from her. Because of this, everytime someone asked about Escobar or the gringos around the country, he never had an answer - because Pablo wasn’t a communist, but the other side wasn’t good either.

His abuela passed the year before; cancer. Being a doctor, he felt bad for not being able to help, for not doing enough to give her more time. There was nothing left.

That night, he did an exception to watch the TV. It wasn’t Virginia Vallejo nor any other journalist there. It was him. And he was angry because it was him. Him, with all the pomp and style and the face of someone he could recognize in the mirror, using such big words like ‘peace’ and ‘justice’ as if he knew a thing about honorable feelings or true promises.

At the end of three days in retreat, with resentment bubbling up inside him, he was in the supermarket when he saw her for the first time. Any detail that might have crossed his imagination didn't do this woman justice; he only knew her by a small fraction of guesswork and, in the end, by genetic bliss, she looked nothing like him. But he knew it was her. He fucking knew.

--------------------------

The decision came in a thoughtful, perhaps even calculated way. On the way, he had attended Comuna 1 and heard someone say that some time before, some American agents had passed by there and one of them almost died. A woman, strong enough to take the brunt, someone who became an exception - with all the lukewarm hope that existed during the days after that meeting in the supermarket, he felt afraid that she would become a target and lose everything again.

There, as he walked out with the lab coat and a suitcase of equipment, he looked up to see the armed kids on the rooftops, wielding weapons longer than their arms and staring blankly. He remembered his mother, when he found her after a long time in a corner of a border bordeaux to the point of overdose, and how he had left her so far away from himself as a way of forgetting that disturbing image.

He saw Escobar's painting on the wall. He saw the children again.

The letter would reach her in less than a day.

--------------------------

“You really are different from your father.”

The comment made you roll your eyes, but for some reason you didn’t engage in her provocation. Rejecting the cup of coffee was more of a personal preference than any judgemental decision - you already had the privilege of being able to talk with Noonan without so much bureaucracy.

Still, she didn’t take offense to the declination. She smiled, sat comfortably on her seat.

“I like to keep it all professional.”

“Doesn't the environment seem professional?”

“The office? Oh no, the office is really fine,” You nod your head, making a show of crossing your legs and faking interest. “I don’t want to elaborate and take more of your time but… The decoration is… neat.”

“Thank you.”

When she openly invited you to come by, you knew why. Perhaps dinner happened. A comment. She was informed about Juan Marcos, in that sarcastic voice your father had. Perhaps Noonan needed to be sure. You weren’t like him, of course, and certain things needed to be contained even if you knew the metrics and weren't childish enough to mourn so much about the systematics. What you could tell, for sure, was that your father always sold you low, so she decided to make her own assumptions.

“... Thinking about the politics of it all-”

“I’m not into it.”

“Diplomacy?”

“Yeah, those… big words you use sometimes. I’m an agent. It’s basically my job to be at least 60% dumb for that stuff.”

Noonan smiled at your sarcastic tone, watching the way you just kept that neutral expression with a voice full of venom. It was risky, but she wouldn’t go too far.

“I just need to be sure we’re on the same page. I’ve seen your last report and it honestly worried me.”

“It wasn’t my intention.”

Perhaps the words ‘sabotage’ and ‘murder’ were the ones way too big for someone like Noonan or the fucking government of United States of America, but you still couldn’t get the need of such inconvenience because of one report from one agent. Everyone knew the operation and you had the obvious perception that the USA agenda didn’t include explaining methods of persuasion during these types of… conflicts.

“What we are doing here, this… job by all means, it’s something delicate. We have a lot in the game, suddenly because there’s this inconvenience and we can’t get rid of it.”

You kept quiet. The lack of reaction made her blink a few times in expectation, then sigh in defeat as if you needed to say something.

“I think you should understand that this isn’t just a question of who should do what. We need to win. And to win, we need a firm team, one that can deal with everything with resilience.”

That was the first time you felt threatened by any of them. Your differences with Carrillo, the target you all had behind your backs, the situation with Juan Marcos… It all could take your job, but it didn’t. That moment, when Noonan got back to her professional stance (the one she liked to use with Peña more often than not), you felt the shiver of having someone stabbing you on the back.

And to know that this person was your father just made you more aware of your tense nerves.

So you did something worse.

You played the game.

With a subtle movement, you caught the cup of coffee between your fingers and took a small sip.

--------------------------

You felt suffocated. Disgusted. You got this bothering itch from the insides, like a weed that wouldn’t leave your skin. Between leaving the building and going back to Medellín, you tried to pull the nicotine patch out of your arm at least five or six times. It didn’t work, though. And you knew you would feel bad if you tried to pull the thing off again, so you decided to stay as still as possible.

Which wasn’t much.

And as the days passed, as the raids went on and things kept happening at full speed, you started to feel harsh, difficult to deal with. You tried to bury that conversation as much as you could, but with every body found, every lead to take one more person down, you couldn’t react anymore.

When your mother called, you told her - she deserved to know because she would understand you. Then she sighed, probably scratched the back of her neck, and said something that made you warm and cold all together.

“Good thing you’re not like him or me. You’re a third thing.” She commented. “God knows that if I was in your place, I would have made his life hell and I wouldn’t regret it.”

Your sleep schedule became worse. Almost every night, you saw Juan Marcos dead, then him coming at you ready to take your life, then that Montoya boy and the expression of fear on his face. Sometimes, it was Pablo. The bodies on that grave. Images of Peña, Steve and… Fuck, and Carrillo… All of them died. You would wake up crying. In the morning, you would sigh in relief to see all of them there, in one piece, alive.

But when it was your father, there wasn’t much to see.

That was something you’d never told her. That if you ever pictured your father being a fatality, you couldn’t have a proper reaction.

You woke up with a gasp, seated on the bed and sweating. The curtains hid nothing of the light coming from the outside, with a freezing breeze coming from it. You noticed, then, that what woke you physically was the sound of festive crackles from the street. There were laughs, kids giggling - it didn't take long for someone to scream at them and the noises ceased.

You still had your jeans on, unbuttoned and gripping your legs. That made you groan, passing your fingers through your hair and rubbing your eyes in frustration. On the clock, four in the fucking morning. You knew you wouldn’t sleep after this.

Defeated, you got up from the bed and made a beeline to the kitchen, where you grabbed a jar of water. Hands shaking, you didn’t dare to have your way with a cup - you drank right from the fucking jar. Then you gulped, gulped, gulped… Until it burned your throat and lungs. Until you coughed because some of the liquid spilled over your nose and chest, almost drowning you.

The floor was wet. From the water or your spit, you couldn’t tell, perhaps both. You didn’t know why you stared at it for so long, but that was it: you in the middle of your kitchen watching the water spot wetting your feet.

Your hands were still shaking.

--------------------------

You felt the ground first - the stiffness of the floor, the dirt from the road, the burning sensation from abrupt contact.

In the end, when they took you to the hospital, there wasn’t much to see. You left with a bruise on your forehead, another on your cheek, then some on the body and the shame of having been hurt by falling from a roof. At least with Juan Marcos you had the thrill of a good hand-to-hand combat story.

How stupid of you, having made a mistake and found the concrete alone, out of pure distraction.

Carrillo sent you small glances during the whole process - always checking, always aware of his surroundings. He didn’t come closer, though. He didn’t even ask. You felt stupid again, because you wanted him to have a reaction, at least one with just enough warmth as the first time you got injured.

“You know-”

“No, I don’t know. And for the sake of my job, I would rather not know.”

You didn’t raise your eyes from the letters and envelopes in your hands to give your father the satisfaction of a glance. He was there, standing in front of your desk, both hands inside his pants pockets and probably a smirk on his face. Again, you didn’t try a chance to look at him more than at his pristine shoes.

A letter from your mother. You could read at home.

“I think you have a dead wish.”

“Got this job, what can I say?”

FBI Report 1 on Cartel Activities in the States. You dropped the others on the desk to open this one, noticing how he started to look around the office nonchalantly. While he was distracted, you did give him a single side eye before going back to the paper.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Back to business.

A call-up from Messina. She could’ve just asked for her secretary to call and…

“Noonan told me you two talked.”

“Mm.”

“Using your privileges?”

“Well, it could be a privilege if I was the president’s daughter. You’re just a friend who might’ve fucked her once.”

Jorge Pérez. You frowned at that one, raising it closer to your face to get a better look on the handwriting. With a high level of importance, it said. Jorge…

“Since you’re good to use that smart mouth of yours,” The sudden proximity made you jump, but before you could react, he took the envelope from your hands, threw it on the desk and grabbed your arm harshly. “We better talk like in the old times.”

And it still hurted, the arm and the whole left side of your body. It hurted because you fucking fell from that fucking roof and he knew that, but since he was on the ‘old times’ side, there wasn’t a single care on his features or an hesitance to do worst with you. He was mad. From the grip he had on your arm, a touch violent.

When your body was pressed against your desk with force (because he pushed you), you hid your hiss of pain for the sake of raising your guard. You couldn’t do that during the old times, which was something he noticed - perhaps. There wasn’t the height difference, you weren’t looking at him from below and he wasn’t staring down at you even if he tried to. Eye to eye, with more than a scary face to stare back at him.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He asked through gritted teeth, close enough to make himself heard without raising his voice.

“... You need to be more specific.”

“You fucking know exactly what I’m talking about, girl, you better be careful with your next choice of words.”

“Or what? You’re gonna ground me?” The teasing made him take a deep and warning breath. “I could use some days without going out with my friends, you know?”

“I was cleaning the mess of this stupid country before you could even clean your shit dirty ass, so you better know what you’re getting here,” He pressed, getting even closer to put a finger on your face. “Think you can be that person? To play dirty behind my back and thinking I wouldn’t know?”

“Was trying my best to be like you.”

He didn’t answer. You licked your lips, nodded. The guy was fucking desperate and taken aback.

You smiled.

“What? She took your toys away?” Again, silence. “I bet she said you’re here like a second chance. I even risk saying that the big guys needed a dog to do the dirty work and keep all the blame. You’re good at it, aren’t you? Being incompetent but leaving that good trail of blood behind your back? Doing that shit they’ll all deny or say it was a ‘collateral effect’?”

And then you said something you didn’t dare to comment on for years. Years.

“Or fucking whores around the country and having bastard kids with them?”

He reacted to that - of course he would. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed your jaw and pressed his fingers on the meat of your face, growling at the implication of such a harsh truth.

“You don’t want to do that…” A threat. “Being my daughter or not, I can fucking destroy your career piece by piece and take any remote chance of you to have a reputation, enough to make you spend the rest of your life cleaning bathrooms for a meal. Do you hear me?”

This time, you didn’t answer. He took that as indifference.

“I’ll do better. I’ll take Peña away, because I can do that. Perhaps they’ll like to know about Los Pepes and all of the other shit your partner is involved in. Maybe even Carrillo can go back to Madrid or whatever the fuck they decided to, since you’d been grown so fond of him recently.”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at the sudden revelation, which brought a devious smile on that face. His fingers flexed against your jaw and when you made the mistake of holding his wrist to stop the touch, he saw all the confirmation he needed to know, if he really needed one.

“Honestly, it took me a while to notice. But there’s the thing with him, maybe he thinks you’re worth the waste of time. You always proved yourself to be a very good warm hole for men in general, maybe that’s your best feature.”

Just then, after saying what probably had been stuck on his throat, he distanced himself. You didn’t move a finger to massage the area, watching him take a handkerchief from inside his pocket and wiping his fingers as if you had somehow soiled him.

“I killed Juan Marcos for you. I did it. You can just imagine my surprise to know that my own daughter, the one I killed for, decided to fight against me…” He said it without looking at you, still brushing his stupid fingers. “But I’ll take it, you know? You’re emotional like your mother and it disappointed me a lot.”

When he raised his eyes to you again, he measured your stance, the way your fists were clenched and your breathing intense. If you could, you would kill him right there, would… Fuck, you would make him swallow all of that humiliation. The rage was bubbling in your insides, ready to snap against him in a second.

Perhaps he expected you to. He wanted that excuse. And when you gave him nothing, he scoffed, putting his hands inside the pockets again and he sighed.

“Look at the bright side of things, sweetheart, we can have some similarities. These people, these… latinos… They can have you by the neck, anyone would fall for it and you wouldn’t be different. This we have in common. Just don’t be stupid enough to get pregnant or whatever, they don’t pay much for these guys around here.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe until he left the room, unsure if what that could do to your sanity such was the tension and hatred he has instilled in you. When he did leave, not giving you a single glance back, the same clenched fists were raised to your eyes where you brushed them in hopes to prevent any tears from spilling out. Your heart was beating so fast, so incessantly, that you didn’t move a finger until you could collect yourself.

It was too overwhelming, too much, too much, too much…

You crouched down on the desk, hidden from whoever might be there so early in the day, and put your palms against your mouth. Eyes tightly closed, you stifled a sob as you felt the wetness of tears between your fingers. Any curse word that was on the tip of his tongue, any… unbridled urge to retort, it was all stuck inside your mind and in no time, during that breakdown, you thought the response would be as passive as your reaction.

But you were passive.

More than that, you let yourself be carried away by resentment and anger, thinking that you would be superior if you just kept quiet.

He did it, you thought. The asshole broke you.

--------------------------

One of the things about Carrillo was that he always made himself… present. After a considerable amount of time under him, on top of him or close enough to him, you could recognize scents, things intrinsic to what he was and wore and did and knew how to be.

You were virtually dating an almost full glass of lemon vodka when you smelled the perfume. At first, you thought it was some kind of hallucination, like your abused and lost mind trying to find traces of comfort (even if lying, even if cruel or momentary) to keep you going. After all this time, it was an automatic escape mechanism - if you were more politicized about it, you'd have a box of pills by your bed instead of your badge and your gun.

Just after a moment, when you felt someone sitting beside you and you could see his wrist watch there, your body reacted. You didn’t know if it was for resentment or just all the shit you’d been through with your father, but for a moment you wanted to avoid everyone - including him. Especially him.

Which was a fucking hypocrisy, given the place you were at.

“Did your father talk to you?”

And he didn’t ask in a inquisitive tone, like he was demanding for you to say the truth, but you felt taken aback by the neutral curiosity that filled his question and was splayed all over his face. With your silence, Horacio raised his eyebrows and got a good look at your confused expression.

“I heard he's been speculating about your physical state since the incident earlier today.”

“Just him?”

He tilted his head to the side, hiding a small smile.

“We all know you’re tough,” A shrug. “But I’m happy to know that you came back in one piece.”

“Happy is a big word, don’t you think?” You frowned, taking a sip on your drink while watching him raise a hand to the bartender.

“What would you rather me say?”

“Relieved.”

“That was quite fast.”

“I'm just saying I saved you a lot of red tape and paperwork.”

“What you're telling me is that your conversation with your father was much more intense than I thought.”

It made you lose what little humor you had left, enough for your face to visibly stiffen at the insinuation. Still, Carrillo was unaffected, but understood that maybe it wasn't the time. Rather than speculating further, he settled back on the stool when the whiskey arrived in front of him on the counter and didn't look at you for a while, as if he was just there to keep you company. This breath gave you time to observe him calmly.

He wasn't in uniform, but you doubted he'd just left the house to be right there, judging by the obvious sweat and dull expression. From what you heard, he's been in negotiation meetings with other minor sicarios who've been arrested, probably even Los Pepes if you pushed hard enough, but that was the kind of context you really liked to stay out of.

He certainly wasn't satisfied; sure enough, for one plus one, Carrillo was just frustrated by the way things had turned out and he could suddenly use alcohol. It was an ordinary bar, you were there when you decided to have good sex that would become delicately complicated. The difference was that there was less wear and tear, less fatigue. You two certainly weren't fresh for the job anymore.

And even so, Horacio continued to have this brusque, striking and not very delicate beauty. Unlike Javier or Steve, he hasn't lost any weight, and perhaps made good use of homemade meals to gain a little more physical mass. A very discreet bulge poked out on his belly, but that only meant he was healthy.

There was a soft smirk on his face, almost imperceptible, when you raised your eyes - he caught you staring. You noticed, of course, because you still were stupid enough to keep notes on him. It was inevitable, the way you and him stared at each other. Lights low, soft music, a ton of feelings all over the place - you couldn’t ride any other way.

“... Why are you here?” The question came in a low tone, breaking that spell for a moment. You blinked a few times, self aware of your body language, and gestured with the cup.

“Different motives, similar interests, I guess.”

“How do you know my motives?”

“Consider this my intuition.”

He nodded, not defeated but understanding. A silence hung in the air, more comfortable and cozy; it was easy to be more abrupt in your next comment, like a revelation suddenly caught in your throat by an instant memory of what had happened earlier that day.

“Did you know?” Like a spilled thought, you asked as if he would know what you were referring to. When nothing but a frown appeared on his face, you clarified with simplicity. “That we fucked. You knew my father knew about it?”

You could expect a lot of things, because Carrillo was very intuitive and certainly wouldn't run away from a confrontation if that were the case, just like your father wouldn't either. So when he looked even more confused and taken aback by the question, you reconsidered your position for a moment and turned your eyes to the drink in your hands, not knowing what to say next.

Horacio shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable.

“What did he tell you?” He asked then, more inquisitive this time.

“Nothing I didn’t deal with before. It's just… Sounded like something he could have guessed, like it was simple. I don’t remember a moment where we showed we were explicitly involved. Like the way we were, I mean.”

Casting a glance in his direction, you saw his jaw clench, then his face averting your gaze. Carrillo looked… angry?

“You know I don't have any hierarchical ties with him, right?”

“I do.”

“So why don't you tell me exactly what he told you?”

“Because it's complicated!” You bit back with exasperation. “Look, there was a reason why I’ve been so reticent about him being here. It’s not just his past or whatever the fuck he did here, we didn’t talk for years! Years, Horacio. And there’s a reason why it happened and it’s nothing like you can simply do something about. Honestly, I think it would be better if you didn't get involved.”

“It doesn't make any difference now.”

“Yes! I-” You stopped your own rambling and took a deep breath. “I know it. That’s the fucking problem.”

More silence. That made you aware of your tone, your mood, the way you’d been holding your shit together in such a pathetic way.

“I’m tired,” Your fingers massaged the bridge of your nose, elbow on the counter and a defeated sigh falling from your lips. “Don’t tell this to anyone, tho. I would like to finish my fucking job without people feeling pity of me.”

“But you’re telling me.”

“... Yeah. Well, last time you decided to pick my pieces we ended up making out. It’s better than whatever Peña would have in the cards for me.”

He smiled - no, you would rather say he just scoffed and took a long sip of his drink, as if it was the closest you could get in a good mood.

“Peña.” Carrillo repeated, head shaking. “What would he offer to you? Mm?”

The question made you frown but, again, you weren’t in the mood to read between the lines and he probably didn’t want to make his intentions a secret. There was a hint of jealousy there, a resentment.

“You know we don’t-”

“I know.”

You hummed, eyeing the drink in front of you to consider the situation. That could make you smile a little, even for a second, knowing that Carrillo couldn’t hide the stupidness of it all.

“... It would be less complicated,” The confession was uncomfortable, too realistic, enough to make you embarrassed. “Sounds like a convenient statement, in fact. Peña doesn’t have an accent, he doesn't have both feet and heart in this country either.”

He considered.

“Am I not American enough for him?” Carrillo asked with a discreet frown.

“Nn-nn.”

“Gracias a Dios.” Thank God, he murmured against his cup, which almost brought another considerate smile to your lips.

“I tend to be controversial, it gets me into trouble occasionally,” Your hand unconsciously massaged your chin, as if sensing other fingers pressing the skin there. It brought a lot of discomfort - enough to make you clear your throat to prevent any intrusive memory.

But that was the crux of the matter, what put you on your toes about Horacio Carrillo in the first place: he was so observant. And he noticed the way you caressed that area for a nanosecond too long, which made him shift in his seat to get closer, just a little longer, just to get a better look in the dim light.

First it was his fingers gripping your jaw, bringing your face up to his watchful gaze. Then, carefully, those same fingers descended on your skin, on the sensitive part, and you didn't hesitate to hiss in slight pain. When you averted the touch with a tilt of your head, looking around suspiciously, he became stern - serious. Mad.

“All this secrecy, this… Fear that people would find out about us. Now it all seems truly in vain.”

“It was the best for everyone. If Noonan or Messina find out, I-”

“They weren't there when he touched you.”

“We both know it doesn't matter here. Not with people like us.”

“Offenders?”

“Disposable.” You took his hand on yours, taking his touch away even if not in a harsh way. He was still mad, you could sense, but it was like Carrillo turned into a preoccupied mess.

“... If he ever touches you again, you will tell me.” An order, one you resisted the urge to roll your eyes for. “That's what a disposable person does, isn't it? A good one-on-one with a gringo would do justice to the title.”

That made you smile - truly smile. At the genuine tone, at the perseverance of his intentions. A surprisingly astute man with wills that went beyond the position he had and he was there, cutting the caress of your body for the discreet touch of your hand, watching your reactions with such attention.

You observed him in silence, elbow on the counter, hand supporting your head while taking the guy in. He was so stunning, you couldn’t quite catch which detail of his physiognomy you liked best. And there were other attributes on him, like his body and capacity, but maybe… The mouth? Chin? Cheeks? Brows? Hair? Eyes?

Looking in retrospect, it made some sense. The attraction, the bickering. Carrillo was made like that, built to be exactly the way he was, ready to accept the fate of his messy world with strong hands and the perseverance of someone who always tried hard enough until he didn’t need it anymore.

“You know what I need right now?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve been through hell since I woke up, my body is tired and… I need a shower. A good, warm shower, yeah? And then a decent night's sleep, which I haven't had in weeks.”

There was another beat of silent consideration from him, a peaceful and relaxed one.

“... I have a warm shower.” His voice came in a teasing tone.

“You do?”

“Mm-hm.”

You bit your lip, mouth hidden behind your fingers.

“Okay.”

--------------------------

His house seemed more receptive, perhaps because of the circumstances or your condition. You looked around the place that remained the same, with different furniture here or there, something that reminded you of someone passing by to clean or organize. Juliana, maybe.

The thought made you frown, even if that detail (or that piece of memory) didn’t make the place look less… homemade. You were unsure, however. Even if some part of you knew what you should be doing now while Horacio made sure all the windows and doors were still locked, you couldn’t move from your spot in the middle of the living room, arms hanging on your sides while you felt lost, even a touch numb.

“Hey.”

Carrillo was standing in front of you, searching for you even if you were there, not so focused, not deciding if he should get closer or not. You blinked a few times, suddenly aware of your recent marks and physical pains. He didn’t try to poke through it, tho - he gave you his hand, palm open to your eyes.

That touch meant more, like the first deep breath of fresh air.

There were the stairs, then the corridor. You prevented yourself from saying out loud about your legs or feet; a few grunts followed the way, but he decided not to comment as well. Horacio just kept going, assured the steps of someone who knew the place well. When you reached the room (his bedroom), there wasn’t time to observe the details of that place you knew from the past experience, because he took you to the other door, one you didn’t notice at first.

The bathroom was considerably huge, made for two and with some space for more. Wife, perhaps kids. You also tried not to imagine this life, this possibility that seemed real for him before you and probably before Escobar. Standing still, your mind tried to make you feel more pathetic when you didn’t move to undress, but again, Carrillo didn’t ask.

He opened button by button, careful with his moves and the fabric of your shirt, which wasn’t so clean and had seen better days. You observed his movements, stoic and precise as always, and when the shirt was finally off, he stopped. Of course you were aware of the bruises, the not-so-sexy bra and even less sexier shape of your boobs.

No, that wasn’t the reason why he stopped. You knew it wasn’t. And you felt so embarrassed all of the sudden.

“No, no-” His hand covered yours before you could hide something. “Puede que no seamos los mismos de antes, pero tú sigues siendo tú. Y lo quiero todo de todos modos.” We may not be the same as before, but you are still you. And I want it all anyway.

“... It's not what I look like that worries me,” You said. “It just seems unfair that every time we're together, there's some shadow of what we do. I don't want you to look at me and think about it.”

“But it's what we do.”

“And are you by any chance proud of every part of this?”

“Huh,” He scoffed, but not in mockery, tilting his head to the side and going back to his small mission, this time going to your belt. “Sería estúpido no arrepentirse de algunas cosas en el camino, ¿no crees?” It would be stupid not to regret some things along the way, don't you think?

“¿Siempre cambias al español cuando hablas de cosas difíciles?” Do you always switch to Spanish when talking about difficult things?

“Recuerdo haber dicho que me gustabas en inglés.” I remember saying I liked you in English.

And he did stop again, your belt and the button of your jeans opened. Carrillo did that to look at your face, observe any reaction from you, and all you could give back was the same taken aback expression you had earlier that night. Saying it in front of you, like that, mentioning that he simply liked you… It still sounded easier, but it also sounded safe.

“... Will it be a lonely bath? Or do you intend to accompany me?”

He tilted his head to the side again, shrugged, then decided to go back to his work with your pants.

“I’m not fragile, you know?” You said in a low tone.

“What I know is that there’s too many people aware of that information.” Carrillo didn’t look at you, but honestly it wasn’t necessary. He said what he said, so you wouldn’t try to bite back.

The silence, though, made him frown and finally raise his eyes to you. Just then, with his attention and heavy gaze, you noticed your own eyes were wet. You blinked a few times, shook your head. For some reason, or maybe for obvious ones, there was a big cloud of resentment surrounding you two all of the sudden - of bad decisions or just a touch of cowardness from your part. Horacio was hot headed, sometimes too impulsive for his own good; your father, quite the opposite, patiently waiting for the right opportunity to make what he thought was best.

“... I’ll take the guest bathroom. There’s probably something you can borrow from my wardrobe too.”

“Okay.”

“If you need anything-”

“Mm-hm. I know.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your temple - right above the bandage still hanging for dear life there. Took you a lot to move from there, to shake the warm touches from your body and mind, and a few minutes after he left, you rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands to keep any emotions from spilling over and finished taking off your clothes.

The water was hot, but not hot enough to be uncomfortable. You felt each drop washing your pores as if it were taking away pieces of your skin, as if all the dirt of the day had not been washed away enough even though this was your second shower of the day.

The skin on your jaw was irritated by how hard you rubbed it, trying to get something out that might not be coming off any time soon.

--------------------------

“... He said something.”

Carrillo raised his eyes from the small patterns he was tracing on your skin with his finger, observing you with curiosity. He had these comfy pants, the flip-flops laying on the floor, the basic shirt - it was like entering another world, seeing someone else instead of… him. But it was him, indeed. Domestic him. And after the dinner (the one he promised a lifetime before), he took you to his bed and made more compliments about you wearing one of his shirts.

Honestly, you didn’t want to bring it at that moment. You didn’t even want to make this a conversation with him, to remember whatever happened that led to that specific space of time where you found comfort in his arms, but that thing entered your mind like a plague and you couldn’t shake it out of your mind.

“‘Said he killed Juan Marcos for me.”

He didn’t react - not for the first few seconds. In the middle of that half-dark, warm room, with you two between his comfy sheets, Horacio let the information sink in, averting your gaze to watch his movements on the skin peaking through the collar of that old shirt. For a moment you even thought he wouldn’t say anything; for what felt like ages, Horacio Carrillo didn’t move.

You stared at the ceiling, then, that thought burning your insides like a fucking infection. That made you press, just a little, just to… feel something.

“Would you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Kill for anyone.”

Carrillo sighed.

“I’ve been doing that for a living,” He argumented. “But that’s not the question, right?”

“No,” You shook your head. “I wouldn’t ask you to, though. Nor Javi or Steve or… him.”

“Well, I think we all know that too,” With a grunt, he adjusted his body to eye you from above, leaning on his elbow. “Killing in someone's name can be a lot if we weren't who we are, at least. In this kind of life, this is just a consequence or a detail that bumps into our routine.”

His words made you consider.

“Sicarios kill for loyalty and money, we kill for a solution... A father kills for his daughter for love and protection.” You pointed out, more like a reflection than a proper opinion. When you looked at him again, he waited for that conclusion with patience. “He didn't want to protect me, Horacio. He never did this, why would he do it now? To get some kind of leverage when he found out I put Noonan against him?”

“What?”

The realization on his face made you feel ashamed, as if all the days you've been beating yourself up about it materialized right there, in front of you, in the form of the disappointment that would stamp his face when he owned up to what you'd done. You waited, waited, waited… And when nothing came, you distanced yourself physically by sitting up on the bed, fingers playing with itselves while he just kept staring.

With a deep breath and a lot to say, you confirmed.

“She was always my father's friend, probably since I can remember. When she called me into a meeting, I figured he might have said something to arouse suspicion, to make her suspicious of my ability to do my job. I knew he was planting something there, waiting for the right chance to take me out of the picture. Not for protection, just… Perhaps he saw me as a problem, perhaps I am a problem.”

Carrillo listened with a neutral expression, which started to make you feel even more tense.

“I struggled a lot to do that, to have the least amount of respect without being in his shadow. Every day, in every single thing I've done since I chose this career, I've always been sure I wanted to be better than him. Realizing that he throws every shovel possible into our relationship has me panicking, especially since he's my father and he's trying to sabotage me for his own benefit.”

It's been a long time since you've done this - venting your frustrations. For some reason, you knew Carrillo wouldn't do anything with that information, at least nothing other than keeping it to himself. Being there with him, in that private universe, you were free to get it all out there, to expose an unspoken truth of hardship and cruelty. Of course, given the circumstances, that comfort would just be another unspoken truth between the two of you. A secret magnetism that made sense, as long as it wasn't said to the four winds, because you were never exceptionally good at it and it was evident.

You sighed in defeat, unsure of what that silence meant - condescendence, weighting, reticence. There was a vision of you before your confession and there was certainly another after it - it wasn't like you could justify yourself.

All that considered, it was a surprise when he reached over and kissed your cheek, subtly, just to get your attention. When you looked up, Horacio cupped your face in one hand and looked into your eyes, using the gentlest of caresses to gaze at you with a certain amount of admiration and affection. You probably had that same expression at the moment, because he couldn’t stop staring.

“I couldn’t judge him if his intentions were true,” He mumbled. “But mine are. Sometimes, my respect can blind me and I can be… obnoxious towards my feelings for you, almost… dumb. Perhaps. Perhaps you don’t even want to know that now, being here and going through this, but I would kill for you. Viviría por ti.”

I would live for you.

You looked into his eyes and felt a courage you only felt at the sight of a gun, or the sight of your father's eyes. It wasn't usual, it felt very uncomfortable, but accept the reality that he only considered it all a passing fever of passion rather than something that really had consistency.

There was no consistency in that life, nor in the fact that you met, crossed paths and exchanged a single word to each other - because no minimally consistent relationship could come from that reality.

“This can’t be,” You said, holding his hand with your palm. “You can’t do this to me, Horacio.”

“You didn't have that right either. Don't believe for a second I didn't think this was all crazy, all... una gran mierda,” His last words came as a whisper, as if he just confessed something serious enough to make him grab all of the circumstances inside his head.

Carrillo sighed.

“Juliana had never confronted me this way, she had never told me what she felt with such certainty. I spent a lot of time blaming her for this, but the truth is, being with me hurts. I'm a ticking time bomb, a static creature that lives by rules that I don't always believe in but that make me who I am. I'm a big bunch of beliefs that don't take me anywhere.”

“... But I did.”

He let the silence linger, your other hand passing through his face while he nodded.

“Yeah,” You could see, deep down, that he was on the verge of crying. Carrillo. Crying. Suddenly, he was that boy, pristine and full of feelings he couldn’t spill out for the sake of being well-behaved, of not building any more problems for his mama.

You never thought you'd witness it - or find sense in a man like that looking so torn apart for so long.

“And I honestly don't know what to make of it all.”

Ultimately, you realized as you took the initiative to give him a subtle kiss on the mouth, discreet enough to hear him sigh in relief, that it felt right because Carrillo lived in absolutes. Life or death. Right or wrong. To shoot or not to shoot. There was a weight there, a responsibility; all of a sudden, if you could, you'd take it all away from him because you… you needed it. From him? From his company? Of the feelings he caused? You couldn't tell, even while kissing him.

What you could say, for sure, was that a mess encounter led you to a difficult realization: that you loved him.

And you were afraid of it.

--------------------------

Next part’s snippet:

“What?”

He asked with a confused expression, but you couldn’t quite catch his question right away. With a hand in front of your mouth, you swallowed a sob and held that letter with a firm grip, afraid of it all being a lie or an illusion or… A trick. A fucking universe trick for your mind and soul.

You raised your eyes to Carrillo, gulping again to prevent any big emotion from spreading all over the place.

“... It’s… It’s Jorge.”

“And who is it?”

The words almost didn’t leave your mouth, as if you were scared of the consequences of just… saying it.

“My brother.”

------------------------------------

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes ​

@616wilsons ​

@nessamc​

@thoroughlymodernminutia ​

@padbrookcottage ​

@mysoulisasunflower ​​

[the-gayest-show]

Through the Looking Back Glass Thoughts/Analysis

I LOVED this episode. It was very endearing and honestly heartwarming (near the end that is) and overall one of my top episodes in the series!

First off, Sofia leaning on Cedric for help with homework is so fucking CUTE. Their dynamic makes me jump up for joy, and Sofia really trusts HIM to get the job done 🥺 Even when Cordelia appears and offers to help, Sofia is still adamant to only have Cedric do it 🥺🥺🥺🥺

It's a small detail, but I think Cedric's pose changes slightly when his sister is around? Like, he's got that hunch back pose that he had in earlier seasons when she's there, it's crazy. There's probably more screenshots I could gather on this but yeah.

The song that comes up in this scene.... mmmm art. Here's me ranting about it.

I think the saddest part of the episode is really seeing Cedric and Cordelia's past dynamic because I genuinely loved it? Like. When they hugged here it was so heartwarming. The nicknames (Cordy, Ceddy) were so cute as well, I guess when they don't use the nicknames in the beginning it's to show the deterioration of their relationship over time, and somewhere in the end of this episode, Cedric starts using the nickname Cordy again which really cements the mending of the relationship. (I did get taken off guard when Cordelia called him Ceddy in the flashback bc I've always associated it with Calista. Maybe Cordelia said it around Calista and she picked it up? IDK)

Cedric is also shown to be really good at magic here. Bro did a spell that was apparently "too advanced" or something? And let's not even begin to discuss the lore implication for WANDLESS MAGIC. BRO TRIED TO REVERSE A SPELL WITH HIS BARE HANDS. THIS MAKES ALREADY INTERESTING STF LORE MUCH MORE INTERESTING.

I find it so interesting that the incident (despite having no known cause at the time) was quite literally blamed on Cedric almost immediately and everyone went with it? Like Cordelia shouts "he ruined it" and no one questions this??? Not even Cedric fending for himself worked? Whoever said in a Tumblr post that this implies that Cedric was treated like some kind of bungler/looked down upon even before this is probably right. Because why else is it just normal for everyone to jump to this conclusion? His parents don't do SHIT about it, and I'm assuming that Goodwyn holds this grudge too (if eps like Mystic Meadows mean anything). Why are they holding onto this for so long? Literally I get holding a bit of resentment but everyone makes mistakes....

Idk this went off, but basically, oof living in your father's shadow was hard AF especially with one mistake people reference in your presence.

Despite this event happening over 30 years ago, it's still somehow the ONE thing people defined him for for years. This episode really further contextualizes his motivations for wanting to become king before season 4. Imagine being rejected from society for YEARS, being belittled and made fun of, people tearing you apart for a mistake you made when you were 9-10 YEARS OLD, it's crazy. 100% that took a toll on him, something you can see in this episode and literally most episodes. It's just really sad.

I'm glad that Sofia and Calista were able to help the both of them realize that it wasn't actually Cedric's fault (something Cordelia should've realized years ago, but seeing the event happen as it did was more a confirmation for Cedric than anything). Cordelia and Cedric forgiving each other was a bit too fast considering everything but I'm glad their relationship is mending.

Credit where credit is due, she sticks up for him after this and lets Cedric do his thing and lets him help Sofia without any ifs and buts, it's sweet.

Personally, I feel that Cedric and Cordelia probably still have a semi-strained relationship after this ep (your sister being the reason you were made fun of for years, and that reason wasn't even valid to begin with defo is not smth you can recover fast from in a 22 min episode)

Also, it's not hard to believe the circumstances wouldn't have changed if the incident were truly Cedric's fault, but Cordelia needed a wakeup call I guess, that works.

Want to mention King Roland for a second because dude. Why is your first reaction to blame Cedric (again), instead of the 2 other magic users in the room (ESPECIALLY THE CHILD. Look I'm a Calista fan thru and thru but logically the blame would be shifted there to an extent??)

King Roland I thought we were over with this since Day of the Sorcerers?? What happened to being NICER to Cedric and maybe NOT blaming him for every little thing? Idk that kinda pissed me off. The fact that Cordelia was the only thing stopping Roland from interrogating the guy... THIS BEHAVIOUR IS WHY CEDRIC TRIED TO TAKE OVER YOUR KINGDOM!!! ROLAND THE 2ND YOU IDIOT!!!

In conclusion, love me a character focused episode that develops a backstory as well as a slight resolution. 1000/10 would re-experience this again.

[unrealistic-ideas-for-writers]

Royal We lyrical Analysis - Dahlia

Before I start, let me just say I'm not an English major and that my perspective on the song is just that- my perspective. If you have other opinions or ideas, feel free to comment, but just be polite! The below contains spoilers for Caladin's Backstory, the Beneath the Sands Quest, and a potential other Quest.

We're going to go line by line, so this should be funnnnn-

Verse 1

I spend my nights filled with grief, for the life and the force That I was before you changed it When we built a home, turned the chairs into thrones Guess we got comfortable around the edges

/I spend my nights, filled with grief, for the life and the force/

When I first heard this, all I could think of was Dahlia in the wake of the various things that have happened outside of her control. Her mother dying, her father leaving, her brother enlisting. Not to mention the feeling of helplessness when Caladin returns from the Prelude and is just *empty*. She doesn't know how to deal with this. She barely can cope with her own issues.

/That I was before you changed it/

I also think there is some underlying resentment towards Cal. I mean, it's definitely also towards their Dad, their Mum for leaving, and probably a lot towards herself.

/When we built a home, turned the chairs into thrones/

Getting together with her husband, being unaware of everything she is now and will be are so incredibly different- for her relationship with her husband to evolve into the co-authors of essentially a terrorist organization- and for her to lose herself in the chaos of it all.

/Guess we got comfortable around the edges/

Adding to the above- how her morals corroded overtime because there were only two people that really mattered to her and one of them was frozen in stasis. And the other is actually kind of fucked in the head- an enabler who actively pushes for an unhealthy family dynamic because it keeps everyone close to him and that's all that matters-

Verse 2

I put you on pedestal Let you love me skeletal We got so inseparable, I almost forgot how

/I put you on a pedestal/

Dahlia slowly losing it, over a very, *very* long period of time. I imagine it takes her decades to go along with anything her husband had planned. But she got more and more desperate as Caladin became more unreachable- growing further and further away from her.

/Let you love me skeletal/

I feel like overtime, her concept of "love" also changed a lot. The kind of newly budded, butterflies in the stomach, joyful passion she shared with her husband evolving into a possessive, mutual codependency- the love was still there, but love isn't inherently pure or morally good.

/We got so inseparable/

Again, the mutual obsession with each other^^ but also for their family to be whole. Dahlia is the type to slowly loose her grasp on reality- on what Caladin was even like in favor of desperate preservation.

/I almost forgot how/

She fights so hard to keep him and his memory alive. I wonder if her memory is correct at this point? Does she remember the child who had fireflies dancing at his fingertips? Does she remember the soldier he turned into?

Verse 3/Chorus

Before I had you, I was free Took my kingdom come Traded it for loyalty Did it all for love Now I’m running all my dreams By the king and queen I used to speak for me But now I use the royal ‘We’

/Before I had you, I was free/

Again, both with this lingering resentment towards her parents originally- how she outgrew that resentment with her love for her husband and Cal. And how later that very love trapped her again.

/Took my kingdom come/

(I'm not actually familiar with the concept of "kingdom come" so I had to look this up :3)

In this case, Dahlia was quite literally living the best life she could- Caladin was home from war, her husband was here, she'd been named matriarch- and in a flash it was all gone.

/Traded it for Loyalty/

Thinking about how instead of grieving, she devoted herself to getting Cal out of there- how she let her husband (he needs a nameeeeeee) guide her to things that would destroy her sense of reason and self- that she tore herself and *everyone* else apart for this.

/Did it all for love/

^^^

Need I say anything on this line.

/Now I'm running all my dreams, by the king and queen./

How it went from their little family of three, how Dahlia loved them but she was still her own person? How now she's part of a collective. It's her and her husband running the Fractsidus- it's them. Never her. It's them fighting for Caladin. And only Caladin.

/I used to speak for me but now I use the Royal 'We'/

^^^

Never her. Never him. It's just "Them."

Verse 4

Walk in the room and your touch is like glue Fixing me to your skin, I’m your appendage Your better half, am I better than that Is my worth mine or yours or a percentage?

/Walk in the room and your touch is like glue/

I wonder if she ever felt she was in too deep after starting the Fractsidus...? Though I suppose it's unlikely. SHe lost her mind upon having a mutant awakening as a Havoc resonator. I doubt she feels stuck to her cause at all.

/Fixing me to your skin, I'm your apendage/

Again with the codependency. She straight up isn't her own person anymore.

/Your better half, am I better than that/

His better half? But is "he" her husband or Cal? Maybe both at some point- but certainly not anymore. Better than that? Maybe once.

/Is my worth mine or yours or a percentage?/

Is she worth anything by herself? Is she human? Is she something else entirely? She doesn't know anymore- the only two humans that mean anything anymore are Caladin and her husband. She'd willingly melt into their skin. So they'd be one creature that couldn't be separated again.

Verse 5

I put us on a pedestal Where everything’s symmetrical Love’s supposed to make you whole I almost forgot how

(I won't do repeat lines.)

/Where everything's symmetrical/

I fully believe Dahlia would drag Cal and her husband into a secluded Somnoire with just the three of them if she could. Where everything was symmetrical and nothing else mattered.

/Love's supposed to make you whole/

But it's also all-consuming, isn't it? Love is not moral. It isn't good or evil. It's all-devouring. It can kill you with a breath. Do you think she knows that? That no amount of love can fix her. That love can make the void wider?

Verse 6/Chorus

Before I had you, I was free Let my walls come down I looked up and Troy was breached And you won my crown Now I’m running all my dreams By the king and queen I used to speak for me But now I use the royal ‘We’

/Let my walls come down/

Thinking about how before Cal was frozen in time, he'd been put on leave from active duty to recuperate. How yes, he was empty for a good portion of it, disassociating through his days- but he was home. How there was still warm, perfect moments with cooking together or going to the market or helping Dahlia pick out not horrendously colored clothes in the morning.

She must've felt *relieved.* He was home. He was a little beat up, mentally and physically- but time heals all wounds. He was safe. Her family was whole and she relaxed.

/I looked up and Troy was breached/

(THE LYRICS THAT STARTED THIS WHOLE POST)

Thinking of her physically seeing her world shattered- (not seeing but- also maybe??? Her hubby is already a Glacio Resonator. I also think he was a doctor- maybe he could give her sight back for brief moments or something???) (wait- did i make 5-star evil Baizhi???)

Perhaps they were standing on one of the wind-catcher towers at the clan compound enjoying the sunshine and a few minutes of sight that Dahlia could handle.

And then seeing the Citadel almost implode from a distance- to feel something so incredibly *wrong*.

To see sparks of spectro and other elements and what looks like the Sentinel *eating* the city.

To physically feel the gut-churning frequencies radiating from the disaster site-

and then to lose her sight because her husband was incapacitated by said frequencies

/And you won my crown/

I wonder how long it took to realize Cal wasn't coming home. That no one could even get near the twist in spacetime without rapidly aging and dying.

That she may even be able to see him locked in combat from an outpost nearby- or maybe track his frequencies-

I think it almost broke her.

And then she dove into science, desperate to unfreeze him.

Until she was running out of time because it wasn't enough.

Til her husbands insane, immoral, *terrible* ideas started to sound sweeter.

Til she got too close one day.

And awoke as a Resonator.

-

"Blood Moon Calling: Dahlia"

Character Rarity: ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Attribute: Havoc

Weapon Type: Rectifier

Combat Roles: Resonance Liberation Damage, Resonance Liberation Regeneration, Stagnation, Vibration Strength Reduced, Coordinated Attack

Class: Mutant Resonator

Tacet Mark Location: Lies a top large mass of scar tissue horizontally over the ocular region.

Gender: Female

Birthday: September 21

Birthplace: [Unknown]

Affiliation: Fractsidus

Specialty Dish: Baklava

More coming soon :3

Dahlia will have her own masterpost soon, and expect more on her husband :3

[melissa-titanium]

Hey, if you were to think up a fankid for N x doll, how would they act and look? (Totally not planning to make one :>)

FUCK. OH MY GOD OK I LITERALLY NEVER THINK OF FANKIDS FUCKING .EVER. I GENUINELY DONT HAVE A SINGLE CLUE INEED TO BRAINSTORM THIS Ok;a.y okay.

i dont see n and doll having a kid. like. okay. i'd have to get into my headcanons for their dynamic for this but essentially POST meeting one another. doll is obviously defensive & protective but more able to have her walls down. she IS very responsible & capable of something like that... but i don't know if she'd necessarily enjoy it ? relying on others is something totally new for her in of itself & having another being *DIRECTLY* rely on her is a whole other realm at the point im imagining. so i dont know if she could handle something like that. you could sort of say uzi had a reliance on her in terms of doll being biased towards. not killing her. but that wasn't an issue for doll because uzi wasnt directly there. okay. FOR N? i mean. potentially. he's plenty responsible and capable of allowing others to rely on him but hes also. kind of a pushover still at this point OK IM THINKING WAY TOO HARD ASBOUT THIS I DONT KNOW. I DONT KNOW. IM NOT. IM. SO INEXPERIENCED WITH FANKIDS UM OK WAIT HOLD ON .RIGHT.ok. name. appearance. riught. ok.

name? not sure. i think they'd be named similarly to yeva -- at the very least starting with a y. cyrillic alphabet offers unique names so... i'll call them Y for now

appearance? god ok. im trying to not go full character design & think about shapes. like. within the canon universe... pilot's hat. like, actual pilot's hat not the weird baseball hat that n has. sort of like doll's dad's hat but with goggles. worker drone, very tall like both their parents. short, scruffy, unkempt hair -- neither doll or n are especially good at taking care of their own hair so neither is Y. usually tied up in a little bun & braided though, courtesy of lizzy coming over sometimes. hair's a very dark grey with a tint of red... like a super desaturated clay-brown

personality? very gentle. probably knows the hardships their parents had faced & is grateful for their life despite everything. a bit shy... took doll's "i dont need other people" and n's "i have to sacrifice myself to get other people to be not mean to me" and mixed it into a "other people scare me, so ill stay in my own little world." they're not outwardly very anxious but shy away from big groups & like to stay on their own. they get along better with adults than other kids their age. they don't have a problem with this, but they usually recieve a lot of grief for it because "kids your age should have lots of friends!" and this made them a touch resentful.

interests... probably pretty sporty and good with their hands. wood carving, trinket crafting (eg; jewelry, bracelets, earrings etc) are their forte. they have the worker-drone innate ability to work with technology, but a distinct knack for *older* in-universe technology, like clocks/watches & compasses or even stuff like automatic vacuums or microwaves. they like taking stuff apart and putting it back together (probably something from their uncle/great uncle??? what the fuck would uzi ((transmasc)) and khan be to them. in my family tree uh. okay) they like solo-sports (hiking, fishing, skiing etc)

holy shit this is longer than i thougjt. oaky