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gojoswhitebabydolllashes · 2 days ago

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Spongebob me boy😃 we gonna make people cry with this one💪

I was busy grieving and loving.

- a story about the events after you lose jayce and viktor when they sacrifice themselves during the war. -

A/N: This will be heavily poetic and emotional and may contain sensitive topics.

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It's never been so cold.

So quiet.

A month after the war against viktor's army, piltover and zaun were finally united as one. You're not sure how long it's been since you returned to the university, nor are you sure how long it's been since you've been outside.

The council grows weary of their lives and direction without Jayce, and when they announce that they are losing faith in their will to keep going, you can't help but feel the exact same. You don't know how to help them, and they haven't bothered to ask you to take a position as they know you'll decline immediately.

You have yet to feel the sun on your skin and the feeling emerald grass soft like hair beneath your trembling hands. Silence. That's all there is, is pure, cruel, and violent silence that threatens to crush you as it bloats like a cancerous growth on your soul.

What little will you have left to live like this. Pouring your heart and tears into things that will never be held by their owners again. Gadgets and mechanics that have only ever seen the hands of a nimble, sick man and his broad, cheerful partner. You can't bring yourself to try and work on them. You simply didn't have the guts to finish what they started.

Hours bleed into days, days bleed into weeks. Seconds pass by, and you are still not yet to feign even the smallest of smiles. Some moment after midnight, Caitlyn pays you a visit, but her face reminds you of jayce, and you simply can't bear to look at her.

Your greatest friend. Turnt into your worst nightmare.

When you're truly alone with yourself and are out in a drunken daze staring over the crystalline city that was piltover, you stare at the gun that sits on your desk. Like an evil presence that won't leave you alone, it haunts you. The look of it, the sheen on the metal.

You are forever haunted by the fact that the hextech crystals have been confiscated and destroyed. And so, you may never meet your lovers by such a violent ending.

You were not sure what you were anymore.

Hero?

Villain?

But what hero is designed tragic? And where would a villain be if not out cutting souls with his jagged nail?

Broken, painted fingernails dig crevices into wood when you think about where you're supposed to be, and why haven't you succeeded in completing what everyone asked of you long before the war? Why aren't you on your toes and falling to your hands and knees? Were you broken? No, but you were grieving, and a grieving woman owes no one nothing.

Blood has stained your hands for too long, and you can't wash it off. It never comes off. And you have so desperately tried. Your time has started to be spent in the undercity. Fighting against other fighters, ones who are tall and muscular, massive men and women made of metal and dosed with shimmer.

But it's not about their size. It's that they are fighting someone with nothing to lose. There is nothing more dangerous than a person who has nothing on the line. Vi tries to take care of you, telling you that fighting and getting yourself beat up will change nothing. She knew what it felt like to take your anger out on other people. That you feel like hurting or even killing another person will bring back the one you lost.

But it doesn't.

Sometimes, when you spend a few days staying with caitlyn and vi at the kiramman house, you struggle to accept that your reality may just be that you only have three people left that you love. Ekko, vi and caitlyn are always there for you to lend a helping hand.

And although you don't like how it feels to be near Caitlyn anymore, she has helped you heal the most out of everyone. Caitlyn takes you on walks to places you, Jayce, and viktor used to hang out. She takes you to a cafe in the town square and lets you order the very drink that the three of you shared on your first date.

A strawberry milkshake with whipped cream on the top. It's sweet, tooth achingly so. And the cream is sugary and snowy white. The bright colour of pink reminds you of when jayce would blow into the drink and make sugary sweet bubbles in the pink drink.

It would make you and viktor laugh, and you would put cream on each other's noses and laugh like the world wasn't in pieces.

The next place you go is with vi and ekko, it's to the garden where jayce and viktor first asked you to be their partner. It was a spring day, where floral scents were blowing in the breeze, and the cool air is contrasting the warm sun.

The scenery of bright orange flowers and light green leaves on trees, a pond with mossy rocks and lilypads decorated with a small pink blossom. It looks like when viktor's cane fell into the pond and without hesitation, both you and jayce jumped in to retrieve it.

When you two returned to the surface, sopping wet and covered with green algae. Viktor had no doubt in his mind that he would marry you both one day. Ekko tells you that it's okay if you want to cry and you do. You sit on a rock and feel its bumpy, grey surface under your hand. It's rough and warm from soaking in the sun.

Your tears drip onto the rock, and they, for a second, are there as a wet splatter. But they soon evaporate from the sun, and they are gone as quick as they were there. Watching as the tears disappear, it reminds you that this is a happy place. A place where your soul became intertwined with two scientists.

The last place you go is on your own. It's the room where viktor and jayce first started their research. It's still broken and condemned, and the blueprints on the board are torn and browned. Paper scattered on the floor are stuck from battering rains coming through the hole in the wall. You try to pick one up, and it tears, but it's clear the Ink has stopped bleeding and the writing is incomprehensible but you can tell it was jayce who wrote it by the small j that still barely visible on the corner.

Then again, jayce's writing was always incomprehensible. He didn't need water to make his write all different places. He would write up and down, put lower and capitals in the wrong spots. Viktor and you would find his papers and secretly edit them so that he didn't make a fool of himself infront of the council.

However, viktors was impeccable. He wrote like a poet for a poem about his wife. Always using curls and various big words, his q's always had his signature flick. That's how you knew viktor wrote something. Jayce often took his papers to study.

Looking around the room, you know, for the first time, it doesn't hurt to be here. You're alone in the room where your lovers once stood. Yes, it's painful. Yes, you want to burst through the thick concrete walls and scream while bloody. But for once, you just don't. You can't.

Instead you sit amongst rubble and dust and remember them just how they were.

Cheerful and unapologetically themselves.

#jayvik x reader #jayvik fic #angst #sad #this will give you depression #arcane #arcane fic #jayce talis #jayce x viktor #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader

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itacats · 1 day ago

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Butcher Shop Connection

FT: Simon x gn!reader

Warnings: DV, abuse, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

SUM: The fragile joy of connection with Simon is quickly overshadowed by the suffocating weight of home. Confronted by Tom’s cruelty, you struggle to protect yourself, both physically and emotionally, while clinging to the small glimmers of kindness Simon offers. In a world defined by shadows, hope flickers like a hesitant flame, but it’s a light you’re not ready to embrace—yet.

A/N: Ah, the emotional whiplash chapter. One moment, you’re swooning over rolled-up sleeves and car repairs, and the next, you’re wading through the muck of heartbreak and resilience. Hang tight; the rollercoaster isn’t over yet. 🎢

Part 1 Part 2

Part 3 - Cracks in the Foundation

The moment you step through the front door, the warmth and joy from your encounter with Simon evaporate like dew under the harsh light of the morning sun. The house is quiet, but not in a comforting way—it’s the kind of silence that makes your chest tighten and your senses sharpen. The faint creak of the floor beneath your shoes feels deafening as you step into the kitchen.

Tom is there, leaning against the counter, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The shadows from the dim overhead light stretch across his face, making his expression even harder, more menacing. His eyes lock onto yours immediately, sharp and unrelenting. You can feel the judgment radiating from him, an oppressive weight settling on your shoulders.

"You’re late," he growls, his voice low and heavy, each syllable dripping with accusation.

Your heart races as you glance at the clock on the wall. It’s not that late—barely past eight—but you know it doesn’t matter. Tom’s moods don’t follow logic or reason; they’re a storm that sweeps in, indifferent to your explanations or pleas.

"I... I got stuck at the store," you begin, your voice trembling slightly. You hate how small it sounds, but before you can finish, he cuts you off.

"Out with someone else, are you?" he snaps, his voice rising. His face twists, his features contorted into something unrecognizable. "Who is it?"

The questions come at you like a barrage, cold and sharp, each one landing with a sting from his fists. You try to answer, to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Your mind flashes back to Simon—his gentle smile, the warmth in his eyes—and for a split second, you imagine what it would be like to tell Tom the truth. But you know better.

"Tom, please," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. "It was just the car—"

"Don’t lie to me!" he shouts, slamming his hand down on the counter. The sound echoes through the room, and you flinch instinctively, your body betraying the fear you try so hard to conceal.

"I’m not lying," you say, your voice breaking. "Please, just—"

"What? Do you want kindness?" Tom interrupts, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. "You know kindness never looked good on me."

His words hit like a blow, the same venomous refrain you’ve heard countless times before. The bitterness in his tone is more cutting than the words themselves, a reminder of how far you are from the kindness you once hoped for in your life.

That night, you curl up on the couch, your knees drawn tightly to your chest. Silent tears trace cold paths down your cheeks as you replay the argument in your mind, each word cutting deeper than the last, the memory of his hands staining your skin in ugly hues. The house feels colder than ever, the darkness pressing in on you from every corner.

When morning comes, you force yourself to your feet, your body moving on autopilot. You reach for the makeup on the bathroom counter, your hands trembling slightly as you smooth the heavy foundation over the forming bruises on your cheek. It feels like a mask, a way to conceal not just the physical marks but the emotional scars that run much deeper. The person in the mirror doesn’t look like you anymore.

You step into the butcher shop later that day, the bell’s cheerful chime feeling oddly out of place against the weight in your chest. You paste on a smile, the same practiced expression you’ve perfected over time, and make your way to the counter.

Simon is there, his eyes lighting up as he spots you. But the excitement in his gaze dims slightly as he takes in your stiff posture, the way you shift uncomfortably as you dig into your bag for your wallet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice gentle and full of concern. The question is simple, but the way he asks it feels different—like he truly wants to know, like he’s ready to hear whatever you have to say.

For a moment, you hesitate. The warmth in Simon’s voice feels like a balm against the chill that’s settled deep in your bones, and you’re tempted—so tempted—to tell him the truth. To let someone else carry the weight for a little while.

But then the walls go up, as they always do. You smile, the expression tight and forced, and shake your head. "I’m fine," you say, the words hollow even to your own ears.

Simon doesn’t press, but the concern in his eyes doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens, and for a fleeting moment, you think he might not let the matter drop. There’s something about him—his quiet determination, the steady strength you’ve seen in the way he carries himself—that makes you wonder if he could be the one to finally break through your defenses.

But you can’t let him. Not now. Not yet.

As you leave the shop, you glance back over your shoulder. Simon is still watching you, his gaze steady and unwavering. In that brief moment, you allow yourself to imagine a life where kindness isn’t just a fleeting encounter but a constant presence. Where the warmth of someone like Simon could replace the cold reality of your world.

"Maybe one day," you think, the words both a hope and a prayer. For now, you carry the thought of Simon with you, a small light in the darkness that has become your reality.

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

Thank you to @ghostlythots for the extra tags that I should have added!

#bt extra #call of duty #fanfic #cod fic #cod #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #gn reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #butcher shop connection #simon ghost riley x reader #butcher!simon #butcher!ghost

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hailturinturambar · 1 day ago

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Does Sauron fear rejection and abandonment?

I do not elaborate this text according to the human or mortal concepts of the book. But I treat this analysis according to a vision of a selfish and narcissistic being.

Beginning in the First Age, when Morgoth betrayed his brothers, the gods, and corrupted other beings of lesser power, he departed from Valinor. Sauron, formerly Mairon, abandoned his former master and swore fealty to Morgoth. Sauron is now obsessed with gaining power and approval. He is his most loyal and devoted captain. But is that enough?

Like a child, Sauron wants to prove his worth. When Morgoth is destroyed, his environment of trust and security is shattered. He is now on his own and is his own master. Without Morgoth and his influence, Sauron needs the orcs.

Not only for their power and numbers, but he needs someone who sees him, who is willing to sacrifice themselves for him. He is clearly insecure, and it shows. He keeps asserting himself and trying to prove that the orcs need him, as he needs them.

When this love and devotion are denied them, he must use fear to contain their revolt. He must assert that without him, they are nothing and alone in the world. But are they really, or does this reflect Sauron's own fears? They are many, and Sauron is but one.

His death proves that his fears, justified or not, were confirmed.

Sauron now, after ages of suffering, has found a new form. A new way to deceive and manipulate. And that is what he has been doing since his return, deceiving mortals that he is one of them and has lost everything. He has indeed lost, but he has his share of blame. But he is unable to understand this.

Now we are introduced to Galadriel, the elf who has hunted him since the beginning of time. Deceiving her is the pinnacle for him, an achievement. Leading the person who fights against it to the darkness. With Galadriel, he manipulates her, makes her believe that he matters and that above all, that she needs him, and not the other way around.

Galadriel intrigues him. She is a being of light, but she knows and is attracted to darkness. Sauron, like Halbrand, uses lies to convince her, forges a false relationship of friendship and possible feelings so that she trusts him.

He deceives the people of Númenor and Galadriel. We then see his anger at the end of the first season when Galadriel rejects him. He is unable to comprehend that she does not accept his vision and is determined to fight him to the end and never be on his side. Galadriel trusted Halbrand and Sauron is her enemy.

We now move on to Celebrimbor. Sauron needs him to get the rings. Once again he cannot solve his problems and he needs someone by his side. Morgoth, the orcs, Númenor, Galadriel. He then becomes what Celebrimbor needs, he is what he knows to be his greatest desire and dream.

When Celebrimbor sees through the deception, he abandons Sauron. And Sauron is rejected once again. Sauron has a long history of reacting aggressively when rejected. He murdered the orcs in the prologue of season two, drowned Galadriel in season one. When rejected, he tries to inflict maximum suffering on his victims.

Then he murders Mirdania. Not only does he instill fear in Celebrimbor and distrust among his people, he takes revenge and discards the last person who might change sides. He abandons them before he is abandoned. Sauron needs to cause maximum suffering if his subjects will not follow him of their own free will.

The final blow to Celebrimbor reflects the way Sauron reacts impulsively and aggressively in moments of anger and bitterness. He is "the shadow of Morgoth" and this infects him with anger. Always a shadow, a follower, always an apprentice hidden in the shadow of his master. Though wicked and cruel, he is always the second, the one remembered as someone else's follower, never recognized for his own deeds.

Are his tears real? We know Charlie said it wasn't in the script, but let's look at them in the context of the story. He was faking it, but for whom? Celebrimbor was dead and he was alone, there was no one to fool. Or were his tears for the loss of the last person who shared his hopes and ambitions?

After recovering the rings from men, Sauron once again tries to win Galadriel over to his side. Another one of his desperate attempts. He needs her, he needs her by his side. Sauron, as described by Gandalf, “There is only one lord of the ring, and he does not share power”, But he needs loyal followers by his side.

Sauron is always trying to be indispensable to keep those he wants by his side. The new master of the orcs, a mortal king, an emissary of the Valar, the one who will heal Middle-earth.

When Galadriel chooses the ring, Sauron becomes expendable. If she will not be by his side, she must die. So he recovers the ring and destroys those who rejected it.

Sauron shows Galadriel those she has trusted and lost to break down her defenses, destroying her until she can only rely on him.

He tries to seduce Galadriel, as he did with Celebrimbor and the rings. He shows her who she could be, become, if only she would stay by his side. He makes her see how much she needs him, when he is the one who needs her.

Galadriel chooses death to save Middle-earth. She chooses death to save all those Sauron would hurt if he got the ring. She chooses death over him. And he believes she will be by his side, but it is she who deceives him this time. After all the abuse and betrayal, his mind is closed to his influence.

At the end of the second season, Sauron recovers the rings from men. But is that enough? He has the orcs on his side, but out of fear, out of a desire for power. Is that enough? Power can always be taken away, another powerful being can always arise.

Sauron is feared and powerful, but he is doomed to rule the world alone. He is doomed to never return to Valinor, to never meet his master again, and never to be followed by those who are still marked by the light. Sauron will spend eternity alone, accompanied only by fear.

Sauron needs to corrupt everyone in Middle-Earth, so that he will be surrounded by beings with no will of their own who will do nothing but follow his orders and his command.

So, does Sauron fear rejection? I believe so. Not as a mortal, or as a lover, but as a being who only has power on his side and nothing else.

We know how Sauron's dark path ends. Alone and destroyed, like all those he destroyed for not standing by his side.

#the rings of power #trop #the lord of the rings #tolkien #the silmarillion #sauron #morgoth #celebrimbor #annatar #mirdania #galadriel #jack lowden #charlie vickers #morfydd clark #mairon #my analysis

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synthetickitsune · 1 day ago

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To Save The World ✧ h.js

Pairing: Joshua Hong x gn!reader Genre: angst Summary: Joshua made his choice. Now he has to commit to it. The world must go on. And for that, he has to make you go. Word count: 1.6k Warnings: blood, knives, reader dies A/N: inspired by @chugging-antiseptic-dye's post here bcs you can't say "joshua slitting your throat" and expect me to be normal, and also it's highly recommended to read this as well

The night falls. The stars twinkle above, yet the light seems dimmed. The world must be asleep. Perhaps it might be as kind as to close its eyes to what he’s about to do. If there’s one thing the world’s always been good at, afterall, it’s turning away from those who need its help the most. There's a duty to them that he always carried on his shoulders. He’s always tried to make up for what the universe couldn’t do. Now that he’s in need of help, however, who will save him?

He never thought that burden would eventually end up being his own demise.

Joshua’s breath comes out as thin clouds that soon evaporate into nothingness. Just the same as him. Every breath is a thought, a memory, a part of him. He wills them to be. He needs to send them all off, so that he can at least hope to be saved one day. He hopes the wind can carry all of him far enough that he won’t be tainted.

He spent what felt like hours standing under scalding water. As if filth can be washed ahead of time.

Anyway.

Washed as best as he could make it and free of all scent, he feels naked. A blank sheet. Now all that’s left is to cleanse himself of himself. Not a man, but a hero. A fragile puppet dancing however fate and duty pull its strings. Empty. To be filled again with a different substance. Transformed. A copy of himself only on the outside.

The cold makes him feel frozen in time. If it doesn’t start ticking again soon, he will surely lose his mind. But perhaps that’s an option he’d gladly take. There is little chance of that happening soon enough, though. No, it’s not going to happen until it’s too late.

He hears lone footsteps slowly approaching. Bile rises up his throat. He closes his eyes and takes a couple of long, deep breaths. He tries to keep them even. To keep the tremors out of his breathing at least. He can’t be heard. He has to keep standing but his knees can barely support him. If only the darkness of the alley could swallow him. If only the wall behind his back could turn into goo. Trap him like an insect in tree sap. Keep him trapped in amber so that everyone could witness his cowardice that even outweighs the sin he’s about to commit.

‘Hero’ is a funny world. A joke.

In the end, he couldn’t save everyone. Forget everyone. Just one person.

The sound gets closer. Have you always walked with a skip in your step when you were rushing home to him? The bile again. His stomach twists. He has to force himself to swallow. The street remains empty. Everything else aside, Joshua can’t let anyone see his face ever again. He won’t ever look at his face again. His hands feel clammy. He can’t breathe. He can’t—

The knife almost slips from his hand. He only sees your side profile for a split second. He can’t double over. Not now. He’s already a coward hiding in the shadows. So it feels like a cruel joke, the sight that his eyes let him see. It’s like the clouds part and you’re suddenly bathed in moonlight. Are the stars taking you before he can? He only has fractions of a second to pray it is so. To hope his hands will pass right through you. That the moon saves you and cradles you in its cold silver arms.

It’s with practiced ease that he reaches from his hiding spot. It’s with hard-earned skill and speed that he grabs you and pulls you back into the shadows, away from the light that exposes his weakness. He ensnares you in the darkness with him before you can make a sound or register what’s happening.

With tender strength he holds you against his chest. His arm wraps around your waist perfectly, pinning your arms to your sides. It should be like this. You belong with him. He should always hold you. What does heaven have that lying with you, your head above his heart and his arms around you doesn’t provide? Your body fits against his like you were made for him. And lately he believes you were, just to make your fate that much crueler. To start his punishment long before he knew he’s going to be punished.

You can’t make a sound with his hand covering your mouth. He wishes you could. Blame him. Hate him. (Love him.) Your struggling is useless. He’s always been stronger than you. Could always easily pin you down. Why can’t you pout about it now? (Please hit his chest. Please call him mean. Please laugh and pull him down for a kiss.)

Your efforts double when the glint of the blade catches your eye. He has already messed up. He shouldn’t have held you one last time. It comes so naturally to him, though. Instincts can’t be overridden. He had to. He tries to make his voice deeper, unrecognizable. To his own ears he doesn’t sound like himself when he shushes you. You sound every bit like yourself when you whimper. (Can’t he hold you tighter? Can’t he pull the blanket over you like he’s always done and shield you from the rest of the world?)

In his memories, it’s always your hair, your cheeks that he caresses. Your lip under his thumb. As he moves his hand lower though, he discovers that the skin on the vulnerable column of your throat is surprisingly soft too. (Did he not explore your body enough? Will this be one more regret to haunt him day and night?) Your breathing, your heartbeat, he can feel it all with his touch. It’s so fast. Like the little bunny’s that you promised to adopt with him. The one you won’t make a half-orphan because you never brought it home. Your eyes look like prey animal’s caught in a trap too.

His thumb strokes over your windpipe. You deserve that. You deserve something more intimate. You deserve something warmer than the cold steel of the knife. You deserve him. Not a stranger.

But he can’t. He’s a coward. His strength isn’t as tender now. It’s desperate. He doesn’t want to let go. You don’t make a sound.

(Please whine. Please tell him to let go. Please call him clingy. Please tell him to let you hug him too.)

His hand stops before it can dip under your shirt. His fingertips barely brush against your collarbone. How selfish he can be. You must be so scared - a stranger holding you, a stranger touching you. Joshua knows if it was him you saw holding a knife so close to your face, you wouldn’t be scared at all.

(Smile at him. See him.)

As if sensing his hesitation, you move. Just one lone, weak attempt to break free. Just a jolt of an animal that doesn’t wish to be pet.

He leans his head against yours. (Hurt him. Do it. Please.) You stay still. For a blink of an eye that lasts an eternity, you settle and relax. Like he’s holding you while you cook dinner. Like he’s comforting you after a long day. Like you’re watching the storm outside from the warmth of your home. Like he’s saying goodbye.

Like you know what’s coming.

It’s with an order, an impulse to his nerves that doesn’t, that can’t have, come from his own brain and free will that the knife in his sweaty palm turns. Your breathing picks up more. The blade presses against the side of your throat and he—

Joshua!

The shriek pierces the silence of the night.

It rains. Crimson splatters on the ground.

But all he hears is your voice.

Did you recognize him and called his name in shock? Betrayal? Understanding?

Were you calling him for help?

Did you want his name to be your last word?

The knife clatters on the ground with echoes of his name, of your voice. Nothing else is real.

His hand clutches your throat and presses against it with force. He’s trying to pull the split tissue together but it won’t listen and the blood keeps pouring.

The warmth encompassing his hands must be your hands grabbing his. Slipping your fingers between his.

You’re just standing in the shower. It’s hot water rolling down your bodies. You’ll laugh. You’ll scold him for simply holding you instead of washing up.

What’s the point if his hands are forever dyed red.

No shower will ever be enough.

And your life keeps trickling down his fingers and pooling under his feet.

He collapses with you.

His head falls, forehead resting against yours.

(Look at him.)

He holds you like you’re dancing. Your silly wish to look at him after he twirls you. To lean back into his arms and look up at him.

So look at him.

There’s nothing interesting to see at the back of your skull.

He sobs, but he only hears your voice. Only feels the claws of guilt and pain tearing at his throat from the inside.

Did you know? Could you tell he held you? Did you know you’re not alone? That you don’t have to be scared?

Look at him.

Tell him.

The world did not end with a bang. Nor with a whimper. The world did not end at all that night.

But there, in a dark alley where blood pools on the cobblestone, a life and a soul were crushed to save it.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #joshua x reader #joshua scenario #svthub #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #joshua angst #svt angst #svt x reader

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lieslab · 16 hours ago

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Broken hearts club

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Bang Chan X gn reader

Summary: Unexpectedly, you find yourself face-to-face with the leader of a gang, but you'd never imagine how your relationship would end.

Genre: Angst with no happy ending

Word Count: 3.8K

Trigger warning: Mentions of homelessness and insecurities/struggles surrounding it, fear of love, gun violence, casual crime, and murder.

A/N: I'm going to tell you now that if you struggle with feeling unlovable, you might want to skip this one. I have big feelings and this was like an hour long vent write for me. Please remember that it's fiction and this Chan does not exist (thank fuck)

_ _ _

It was like the home you never had. Two years ago, Bang Chan found you filthy and half-dazed in an alleyway. You were just trying to survive on the streets. Life isn’t kind to the homeless. When your dignity is stripped as you dive into dumpsters for food, you start to feel less like a human and more like a testing specimen.

The world kept spinning, families enjoyed their time indoors, but not you. You were left out in the cold like an abandoned dog. Without a house, without a home, without a family, and without love. The world conspired against you, it always had, and you were certain it’d be this way until the end of time.

Your clothes hadn’t been washed in days. You were one quarter short from being able to wash your clothes at the laundromat. You had enough to dry them, but washing them cost a whole quarter more; just another cruel way that the world laughed at you. The stench that radiated off you was a mixture between sour milk and sweaty socks.

You used to have an extra pair of socks to warm your hands. They were stolen by another homeless person when your back was turned. You thought the two of you were friends, but you forgot that when people are where you are, it’s survival of the fittest. Not everyone is genuine when you hit rock bottom. Humans will do what they can to survive.

You pulled the socks from your feet and used them to warm your hands. They hadn’t been washed and they were soaked in your old sweat and skin cells, but desperate times called for desperate measures. When you kicked off your shoes for a moment of rest, the scent of decay filled the air.

On that night, your body was burning up at the slightest touch. The Texas heat had nothing compared to what your body was going through. The weather was chillier, your cheeks were red from bitter winds, your nose was frozen to the touch, but your body was on fire.

A fever engulfed you and there was nothing you could do besides ride it out. Pharmacies didn’t care if you were homeless. Corporate greed had no compassion for the starving and the crippled. If you couldn’t afford to wash your clothes, you certainly couldn’t afford a bottle of cheap over-the-counter medicine.

You didn’t mean to stumble into Chan that night. You were certain you were going to die. Actually, you craved the sweet release of death. Without deodorant, you could smell yourself. Your hair had been saturated with grease for two days.

Every part of you felt filthy and worn. You felt disgusting and awful. You knew you needed to shower, but you were so delirious, you couldn’t even distinguish left from right. The gym was on the opposite side of town, your head was heavy, and your legs were on fire. Trying to make it would be a certain death wish. So, you stumbled forward instead.

Chan was supposed to be keeping an eye out for some guy he had been watching. His gang was well-known around town. They ran the streets and were on top of everything. Cops stayed silent about their crimes. Chan’s group was a bunch of vigilantes, they played both sides.

As long as the cops could run traffic stops and do the most of their jobs without concern, Chan and his heathens were let off the hook. All it took was one call and they’d be off into the dead of night again; disappearing into the sound of faint sirens, barking dogs, and the orange warmth beneath streetlights.

You didn’t have a choice when you stumbled into Chan. It was merely an accident, but his reflexes were fast. His gun swung and before you knew it, you were pistol whipped. The cold metal felt glorious for a moment and then you free fell. Unforgiving concrete, blurred vision, and the incriminating stare of a stranger above. God’s abandonment tasted like salted sweat and iron.

Blood oozed from the gash in your forehead. Chan didn’t have time to ask your name or gather any identifying details. Your eyes rolled back into your head and that was that. Sounds stopped, the earth kept spinning, and your soul was silenced.

You expected the devil to greet you when you woke up, instead you were met by a man wearing a pleather jacket. Black eyeliner rimmed beneath his eyes and an eyebrow piercing sat above his left eyebrow. A stern gaze, messy black hair, and a death sentence.

You were sure this was the grim reaper. He looked like heaven and hell combined. Along his cheek, a scar had healed, but the spot where stitches stretched skin together hadn’t. If you narrowed your eyes, you could still make out the exact spot where each stitch stretched honey-soaked skin together.

Your fear tapered out the moment he handed a water bottle in your direction. The plastic sides dripped with condensation. It cooled your overheating body the moment you took it. Maybe this wasn’t your enemy, but your long-lost savior instead.

He was too serious. Too serious all the time and you hated him for it. You grew to love him and his seven other goons. He was good at what he did. Always directing, always pushing and pulling, always carrying the gang. Dealing with enemy antics while fighting the stupidity and occasional incognitiveness forged in his own group.

They weren’t perfect, they had their issues, but they had Chan. They had a leader and a fighter. A whirlwind of chaos, power, and strict determination. They had a lot of things as a group, but they didn’t have you. You fit right in once your fever broke.

Your quick banter, sarcasm, and wit gave them a reality check. Even the best witted ones were out-smarted by you. After a shower, some new clothes, and a full meal, you felt like a person again. Chan and his crew became your family, but families don’t always stay together.

~ ~

“What the hell is this?” A manila folder flung your way. It landed on the table in front of you with a harsh thud. You had been studying the layout of a mansion for the next mission when you felt the first fissure.

Chan’s words pulled you from your planning and you glanced up at him. “What is this?” You pushed open the folder to find a thick stack of papers.

“That’s what I want you to tell me.”

You didn’t like the accusatory tone in his voice. Laced with venom, he was a copperhead waiting to strike. Every hair on the back of your neck stood up. Something was wrong, but you couldn’t place it just yet.

Paper after paper you flipped through. Photocopies of text messages, emails from your email address, and photos of security camera footage of you with different people. They weren't just anyone, they were rival gang members. Rival gang members were strictly off limits. Any act of breaching Chan’s gang’s trust was an act of treason. If you wanted to sign your own death sentence, it was the perfect way to go.

“I’m only going to ask you one more time.” His arms folded across his chest. “What the hell are these?”

“Photocopies and security camera footage.”

His nostrils flared and his eyes rolled. He stepped forward and tipped over you. The scent of some unknown spicy cologne with hints of vanilla and amber hit you. His hand smacked the wooden table, beneath it was a photo of you in a hoodie. A rival member stood across the way staring at you. He was identified by the obvious dark tattoo on his forearm.

“You know there’s a rat.”

Of course, you did. Someone had been leaking plans to someone. Information oozed out and missions were compromised. Compromised missions meant distrust and disorganization. How easy it was for a gang to slip up and have a member go missing, get injured, or be killed.

It hurt like hell, his words, the way he said them with no mercy. That fever of yours was two years ago. Two years of learning his ways and what made him tick. The way he touched his ear when nervous. The constant bouncing of his leg as he spoke about new missions; the proof that he was eager to get started. You swore you knew everything about him, but he couldn’t say the same about you.

He hesitated bringing you in. His gang was perfect, but he remembered how cruel the world could be. He saw the defeat in your eyes. The way you strolled along the side of abandoned factories and drug yourself along, trying to get just another step. He pitied you back then and clearly, it was all just a stupid mistake.

“I know what this looks like, but I swear to God, this isn’t what it seems. This-” You picked up a photo of you and a different rival gang member. “This isn’t me. I mean, it is, but it’s not. You really think I’d rat you out?”

“Well, it’s someone!” He snapped angrily. “It’s someone and look at this shit!” His arms waved in distress. “It’s clearly you!”

“They have to be fake. I’d know if I was a rat. Listen,” you pushed yourself from the stool you sat upon, “I’ll prove it. These emails and texts, they can be disproven. Stay here and I’ll be right back.”

You rushed out of the room before he could stop you. You had holed yourself in the small study. You always did that when you were studying for a mission. It was quiet and you liked to sink into that oversized leather chair beneath the books.

The scent of weathered paper and worn leather. You sat there so much, the leather creased from where it had been worn. The secrets of the shelves watched over you. The lamp on the window beside you had been thrifted before you were a member. Despite that, you were the one who always used it the most.

You came back with your laptop and your phone. You placed them on the oak desk and unlocked them. Your hands gestured to the objects. “Go ahead and look at them, you won’t find anything.”

He stared at you, but you were adamant. “Come on,” you waved him closer. “Go ahead and look.”

With a sigh, he dropped himself on the stool you had been sitting on. Blueprints were meticulous and you liked to keep your stuff straight. When you weren’t in that leather chair, you were on this stool studying things out and trying to make puzzle pieces fit together.

Tension kept brewing and your stomach churned. You weren’t the rat, you knew that, but Chan didn’t. You’d never have it in you to turn your back on this group. This was the family you never had. The love you always craved, it had been found here. Within the past two years, you felt enough love to last a lifetime.

You flipped through the papers. The text messages were fake and someone was good at impersonating you. From the text messages to the emojis, it was all spot on. The more you dove into the photos, the more you doubted yourself. There weren't any mistakes anywhere. Even the photos of you with rival members were photoshopped together seamlessly. Whoever did this, they were good. Better than good, they were damn great.

The sound of your laptop shutting pulled your head up. Your eyes met Chan’s with desperation, but his dark eyes gave away nothing. He still looked the way he did two years ago, so broadening and mysterious.

The only difference? You now knew the man behind the persona. You knew how he loved without him saying it. It was the way he passed food to you first and let you eat before him. It was hidden in the reminders he gave the members to buckle their seatbelts. It was found in the way he reassuringly checked for fevers, when members were sick, by gently using the back of his hand; the same exact way he checked yours two years ago.

“Did you forget that text messages and emails can easily be erased?”

“But why would I rat you out? The group? Why would I go against everything I love?”

He scoffed and shook his head. You stepped closer to him. “Please, you have to believe me! Chan, I don’t even know these people!”

“How did they get your email?”

“I-I-” You stuttered trying to find the words. “I don’t know!”

“Because you’re the rat. You gave out your email and yo-”

“Stop saying that! I know how bad this looks, okay? I understand it!” You desperately flipped through the papers trying to find one small mistake to prove your innocence. “You have to believe that this isn’t me. Please, Chan, please.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Because you trust me.”

“I used to trust you.”

It was so much worse than the betrayal of the homeless lady you befriended. You asked her to watch your stuff and she took off with your socks. You had been working up a friendship for two weeks and you disappeared into a store to use the restroom. When you came back she was gone.

You only knew her for two weeks, but how different two weeks was from two years. Two years of building up your own grit and determination. Building up a foundation of a body, fighting for the muscle you lost when starving on the streets, gaining back your dignity when the world ripped it away.

“Don’t say that,” your voice cracked. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back your tears. “You do, you trust me. You trust me because I’m one of your members.”

His gaze went back to the papers strewn along the desk behind you. He’d never show you how he truly felt. Deep down, he was devastated. He wanted to scream and grip you. He wanted to tug you into his grasp. He wanted to show you the love and admiration that he had neglected giving you these past two years, but instead he stood still, the evidence was too damning.

“Prove to me you’re innocent,” he finally uttered. His heart fluttered with hope. A silent prayer was recounted from years ago. The memories of pews and biblical artifacts were dusty, but it was there. A basic prayer from Sunday School, one that was easy enough to remember, a five year old could quote it.

“I don’t know how. I-I showed you my electronics, those are the only ones I own. I don’t know what more you could possibly want from me. You can search my room. You can do anything, just please, please, please believe me.”

You didn’t want to admit it, but this was no longer a matter of Chan’s integrity and the gang’s security. This was a matter of life and death. You were no longer fighting for your innocence, you were fighting sudden death.

He made the rules so crystal clear two years ago. A major fuck up and you were gone. Something so quick and easy, a bullet to the forehead. Brains pulverized, neurons ripped apart, the soul slipped away so easily. A single gunshot stood between traitors; a one way ticket from this life into the next.

“Prove it,” he tried again. He wanted you to beg. To get down on your knees and weep. To repent for your sins and admit it all. He would find a way to forgive you, no matter how much the truth hurt, but you didn’t.

You couldn’t. How could you? How could you possibly explain that none of this was real? The screenshots, the security footage, someone clearly wanted you gone. You didn’t understand why Chan believed it so easily, maybe he was the one who wanted you gone. Why wasn’t he fighting for you?

“Chan?” You finally whispered. The reality of your situation was settling in. He never responded, but you spoke anyway. “Can you just…can you tell the guys that I love them?”

Betrayal clamped down. It was a confession in his eyes. The sting of a bee, the teeth of a cobra, a shot of gin mixed with rejection. After everything you had been through with the gang, he didn’t expect it to feel like this.

Those eyes used to hold warmth now and then. In the sunlight, they lit up like pools of chocolate. You saw those eyes at bonfires during the summer. It was the oozing chocolate between roasted marshmallows and graham crackers. You saw them in the dirt smeared along your jeans after you ducked, dived, and dodged your way through each dangerous mission.

It was a rarity, but it was special, your own personal Halley’s Comet. It was replaced with resentment and bitterness now. An anger had been uncapped and no matter what you professed and claimed, it couldn’t stop it.

“That’s all you have to say after everything we’ve been through?” His hand reached back behind his back. You knew what was coming. “You wanna die? I’ll fucking kill you myself!”

That black pistol was always loaded. His reflexes had been quick since you knew him. It was the same pistol that knocked you out two years back. You never had a chance to dive then and you never had a chance now.

“Fuck you and fuck your love! You’re nothing, but a liar and a goddamn traitor and yet, you want me to lie to them? To tell them you loved them after you put them in danger? You put us all in danger!”

“I-” You couldn’t get the words out. They lodged in your throat and you didn’t know how to force them out. You didn’t want it to end up like this.

“Fuck you, your love, and everything about you! Die knowing that no one will ever fucking love you and you’re dead to me.”

Bang!

The memories of the past two years flashed before your eyes. The fear building up in your gut on each harrowing mission you went on. The board games you played around the dining room table. They used to end with someone getting mad and throwing the board. You all collapsed in a heap of laughter at the pettiest members. It changed every time.

You used to find comfort within Chan. Every time you struggled, you’d find him and explain your problems. He wouldn’t offer hugs or sympathy, but he leant a listening ear. He wouldn’t pity you, he’d just listen. Sometimes you never wanted advice, you just wanted proof that you weren’t alone, a gentle and familiar reminder that you were loved.

Your body fell through the air and your brain stopped, but not in the way you wanted it to. Chan’s back turned to you, you didn’t realize it, you couldn’t. Not when you were like this.

The carpet was as hard and unforgiving as the pavement was two years ago. Warmth soaked your chest and you could still see. You tried to breathe, but there was no air left to take. In his fit of anger, Chan didn’t shoot you in the head, but he hit your heart instead.

The bullet lined directly with the center of your heart and his bullets never missed their target. One more cruel reminder from the world that you were unlovable. People didn’t throw pity when you were surviving on the street, instead, it was accusing glares, as if you were nothing, but a pesky vermin.

It was your biggest insecurity, feeling unloved. How could you after everything that happened in your life? No family and no friends. The only family you had was this gang and now it was all unraveling and slipping through your fingers. It was falling apart and it left you bleeding on the floor.

A gasp mixed with a squeak. Chan’s eyes squeezed shut. His fingers were still wrapped around the gun. He didn’t dare turn around to face you and admit what he did. He couldn’t. Deep down, he loved you. You flickered a spark that he thought died out years ago.

He was never one for being a coward, but something changed. You startled him and woke up something that was supposed to lay dead. The feelings for you weren’t supposed to wither and squirm this much. Rat or not, maybe it was just easier to accuse you of something and kill you before a flicker grew into a roaring flame.

Letting you in was a mistake. Building up a friendship, striking up feelings of something more, it was a pile of kindle that was always meant to burn. He’d always be a monster and you were just a person. Too innocent, too vulnerable, too sweet for someone with his past.

Your vision clouded as a tear slipped down your cheek. The person you loved most put you here, but you still couldn’t hate him. In fact, maybe you were grateful deep down. You were a bird with a broken wing and never meant to fly. It was better that an animal got to you rather than wither and rot away in the elements.

The door to the study burst opened. One of the guys rushed inside. You heard him speak, but you couldn’t distinguish who it was. Blood was seeping out so quick and you were growing weaker.

“What the hell did you do?”

“What the fuck?”

“Someone help them!”

Footsteps rushed towards you. Warm hands touched your chest, but it was too late. Your limbs were weak. They never got to see the last bits of light fade from your eyes. They fluttered shut just before the door burst open.

“Wake up! Just wake up! Please”

“Call the doctor!”

“What did you do? What did you do? What did you do?”

Someone sobbed. Salted tears mixed with the blood on your shirt. Desperate fingers pushed down to stop the bleeding, but it’d never be enough. Love surrounded you, but you didn’t get to see it for the last time, before your heart stopped.

Across the way, Chan’s bottom lip quivered. He dropped the gun and it landed with a clatter. Despite the sob that fell from the leader’s chest, they couldn’t find it within themselves to approach him. He collapsed in defeat and curled his hands around his head. The one person he truly loved and cherished, he took them out himself. Your blood on his hands would never be washed away. He thought it’d be easy to take you out, but now, his members would never look at him the same way.

Eight hearts around the room beating and the final one still bleeding.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #skz fanfic #stay #bang chan #bang chan angst #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #skz chan x reader #skz mafia #skz

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five-thousand-loaves-of-bread · 1 day ago

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EMG normal, not done w tests but expect those be normal n even if not, it not explain things

which. normal EMG good thing, yea. have some scary ones on own ddx that this rule out.

people be relief n happy for me n expect me feel same but. don’t have time feel that because all that feel is dread.

dread because this my frail weak last mental defense against trauma & gaslighting & internalized gaslighting “there nothing wrong” “you want something wrong” “you just crazy (derogatory).” last thing keeping me going n trying.

dread that this will (& already has) be use against me. parents already imagine future where “am” in it but am not actually in—a year three years five years later, able bodied walking talking n living independent n “finally happy.” parents encouraged to force me walk use wheelchair less speak more. as someone already with no escape from them because still severely disabled with symptoms & high support needs even if no diagnosis (some diagnosis), who already feel trapped & suffocated & hopeless with no future or escape here before this. worry life going get so much worse.

they don’t understand autism here. don’t understand stereotypical autism don’t understand not-stereotypical autism it all same coin. here see self as ultra in “not-stereotypical autism” category because autism regression include nonverbal late in life. be diagnosed by top autism place in US not matter. it didn’t it doesn’t & it won’t. for people not born nonverbal they see two option: physical muscle or vocal cord issue or psychosomatic mental illness but derogatory. its “real” in sense they supposed say that but its not real. fact that am actually mentally ill just support that more.

wheelchair bad. nonverbal bad. AAC tablet bad. no one can imagine happy life with them except me.

n no one can understand or even try to understand that those actually not what make my life utterly miserable: not have support needs met, not have communication support needs met (give me enviroment that actually feel safe use AAC then maybe will actually communicate more goddamn it), be trapped physically, be trapped mentally by past abuse with people who did that to me who currently doing that to me, have NO COMMUNITY n that there never ever ever will be any community here in person for me so long as stay here. with no end in sight. unless make one for myself. which—too fucking disabled to do that except [redacted]. which. even that, am too severely disabled thus surveillanced to do that.

not to mention those actually one of very few thing in my life give me joy right now (other joy is fiber arts. ok end of list. everything else even stuff used to enjoy is fucking chore. n even fiber arts becoming more of past time & routine than active joy)—it the only fucking thing that giving me any sort of hint of community right now (n also literally allow me do basic function in life like go places but. DIGRESS). even if it fucking small & pathetic & ironically isolating (bc my god the ableism against us. but without community will just be pathetic & isolated ALL ALONE). to advocate take it away, it incredibly cruel.

everyone expect me be able bodied neurotypical walking talking live independent n it that my personal failure not able do that because there “no medical reason” (…still have life long diagnoses but those not good enough real enough for them), faker. n just lost last mental defense against that. so yeah guess am.

dread too for what doctor going say n recommend after all this. honestly more preferable discharge me & let me go back to old life tbh.

in perfect world there be symptom management with no diagnoses & no definitive test results, that focus on work with what got, when it unrealistic or not fucking worth it try turn life upside down make “back” into “normal.” but. mm such thing not exist.

want be treat with dignity & respect & believed & agency even when don’t know what wrong & negative tests.

#🍞.txt #long post

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kittymizuki · 3 days ago

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there's so much around lion that's so wildly compelling about sisterhood, family, and identity, etc. but one of the things that make me crazy is the idea of lion as a fictional construct made by readers who want to see sayo with love, but also being unable to wholly decide what would most make sayo happy bc so many parts of herself are rooted in pain. lion is literally someone who exists to show sayo that she deserved better, deserved comfort, love, everything else - that it wasn't her fault, and that even in this "perfect" world, terrible things happen. the parents are still greedy and cruel. kinzo is still a terrible person. ep7 in this context truly feels like it's written by ppl on the outside of the story who actually chose to engage and understand, and a love letter to real life readers who did so.

a big thing i consider with lion is not having to have the 'pressure' of needing to specify and that creating a 'better' dynamic in the family, but they also still have to use the name given to them by kinzo. further considering that there's a major point of the care and love will shows for lion that is blatantly intended to transcend any idea of 'gender' or 'cisheteronormativity' makes it obvious to me! lion is essentially "this is a version of sayo who never had to 'choose' which is both a good and a bad thing, as within that context, this is a 'nuclear family' kind of set-up. by being denied the option/potential of fully exploring gender identity, they take on the role of the 'ideal child', which itself is rather tragic."

i think it's also meaningful to consider that lion is still androgynous and disconnected from the idea of 'masculine gender' without any of their 'tragedy' having happened. when given the option, they choose to live outside of 'maleness', outside of that specific idea, wanting to live without the struggle of having to specify or be assumed bc of how crushing and stressful that could be.

i really feel like it's relevant to consider that they were lying to sayo when they said it was only due to the 'incident' that she experienced that they had to perform the gender reassignment surgery? to me it would make a lot more sense that the reality of this intersex child would be easier to hide! if she was already intersex, then it's genuinely easy to consider. i think, broadly, lion was given to natsuhi as a 'baby boy' before everything happened. since she tried to kill the baby so young, it's so simple to see how these realities could have been ignored, but even then, what if natsuhi did realize this child was 'improper' or had a 'broken body'? what if, for so many things.

the idea of maleness and malehood is strangling to sayo. yes, she wants to 'fit in', but she also always truly wanted to see herself as a girl. she envisioned so many versions of herself that were the 'women' she wanted to be or wanted to grow up to be. she was never a 'proper' girl, even when she was a tiny child. she was always bad at cleaning, bad at cooking, bad at succeeding, too small, too 'stupid' according to all the girls around her. kanon exists as her dysphoria - dysphoria that in ep6 is 'killed' for the sake of saving loved ones. letting go of the mask of kanon bc her self-loathinh isn't who she wishes to be. i think further, it's important to think about how kanon exists bc sayo feels she has no 'right' to her own dysphoria unless she makes herself a 'male' alter ego to shove that into, to have some slight justification for how broken her body makes her feel. lion truly feels like an intersex child negotiating acceptable gender presentation bc being a boy is too painful and they can't assert their identity as a girl, so they opt for this middle ground that feels like a compromise between the two.

sayo has always 'been' a girl and 'seen herself' as a girl! but she is now portrayed as a failure of a girl bc of her 'broken' body and i think the intersex and trans girl readings can be interwoven into one very strong narrative. her being trans is amplified with the idea of her having intersex subtext bc she was raised thinking it could be possible, maybe, for her to live as a girl, before realizing she can only be a girl in this bird cage. now that she's a teenager, it's obvious that she's not a proper girl. if she leaves rokkenjima, the spell of her womanhood is broken and she'll have nothing. what matters is the present in which she exists and that her body 'fails' to meet the ideals of womanhood. this is vital in the context of natsuhi as well - natsuhi isn't a trans woman, but we can also see this sense of how womanhood and being degendered for her failures within that are important to her narrative and also sayo's! and in this context, sayo has always been 'out' and 'accepted', so her issue is less 'i'll never be a girl'. rather, her struggle is about how she's being taught that to be a girl is suffering and that she's doomed to tragedy for wanting. constantly realizing and thinking about all the things about the girls that people want and think of them, and realizing there was something about her body that denied her what she wanted.

i think it's a vital reality that intersex people are inherently connected with trans women, as the issue (at the end of the day) is having a body that 'fails' to meet the expectations of cissexist and bioessentialist dynamics so i love to think about this...

#umineko #gamo.txt

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al-dusty33 · 2 days ago

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Don't know if I'm going to use this for my Jason Todd x reader story, but I wonder what everyone thinks of this.

Dialogue and scenes used from Arkham Knight, Arkham Knight: Genesis, Deadpool, and Batman: Under the Red Hood.

⚠️!Warning!⚠️: Torture, blood, branding, rotten/poisoned food, freezing, extreme violence with and without crowbar, electric shocks, waterboarding. Pretty much everything about Joker being a monster.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream (bung, bung, bung, bung)

Joker struts over to the young, fractured Robin hanging by his wrists in the middle of the dimly lit room. It’s a beautiful, awful sight and the Clown Prince of Crime loves it.

“Wakey Wakey, Loverbird!” Joker cheerfully says as he gets closer to Jason.

The moment Jason hears his voice ringing in his ears, he whimpers and tries to shy away from the clown, but no amount of tugging on his restraints will allow him to escape.

It’s been… Two, no, three months since Jason fell into the clutches of the madman. Joker blackmailed Jason’s biological mother into turning him in before being betrayed herself after it was revealed Joker was never going to let her go. Despiste what she did, Jason couldn’t help but still love her.

Make him the cutest that I've ever seen (bung, bung, bung, bung)

Joker’s fingers ghost over the smooth metal bar of the branding iron, “Don’t look at me like that,” A cruel, twisted smile creeps up on Joker’s red painted lips, “Actually, do keep looking at me like that; it just makes it more fun.”

“What’s wrong, little bird? You think I’m going to hurt you?” His gloved fingertips briefly touch the glowing metal J to test how hot it is, “Why?” His head lolls back in a creepy, unsettling way as his green eyes stares deep into the very depths of Jason’s soul, “I’m not the bad guy here,” He shakes his head while almost mockingly saying, “Oh, no, no, no, no,” He walks closer to Jason then softly says, “It’s Batman. He’s abandoned you…” He gently, yet firmly, cups Jason’s chin then shakes the younger man’s head a little, “thrown you away like an unwanted puppy.”

Give him two lips like roses and clover (bung, bung, bung, bung)

Joker backs up and clasps his hands together like he was begging to someone, “Can I have him, daddy?” He asks in a playful, high-pitched voice, “Oh, please, please, please, please, please? I’ll take real good care of him.”

He turns around to act as the other person then continues speaking in a deeper tone of voice, “Anything to make you happy, princess,” He slowly turns his cruel attention toward Jason, “Just make sure people know he’s yours.”

He snaps his fingers then one of his goons walks into the room, removes Jason’s bound wrists from the hanging hook off the ceiling, and then lets Jason drop to the floor with a thud.

“We don’t want him to end up back here, do we?” He leisurely strides over to Jason, his grin twisting more and more cruel with each step.

With what little strength he has left, Jason tries to crawl into the shadows to bring some form of safety to himself. In some small, hopeful way, he believes Batman would be hiding in those shadows to save him.

Joker stops for a moment to taunt Jason by saying, “No we don’t, daddy,” He steps closer with the burning branding iron getting closer to the young man, “I want to keep him forever!”

Jason’s eyes widen in fear while he tries to crawl farther away. He feels all movement stopping the moment Joker’s foot lands on his back, and the fear he’s feeling intensifies, “No! No please!” He tries to push Joker off of him, but he has no strength left. Instead he continues to beg like a dog, “Please no! No!”

The sound of sizzling skin, Jason’s pained screaming, and Joker’s cruel laugh are the only horrifying sounds that can be heard inside the darkness.

Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over

Sandman, I'm so alone (bung, bung, bung, bung)

Jason sits hunched over in a wheelchair with barbed wire keeping him in place. Through his ripped costume, he can feel it poking into him and making him uncomfortable; he has to be careful if he doesn’t want to open any veins or arteries.

A door opens behind him, his heart skips a beat thinking Batman was finally here, but the familiar, awful laugh quickly dashes that hope.

“Happy birthday, Jason!” Joker says cheerfully. He walks over to Jason with a pep in his step, “You’re a whole year older! How does that feel?” He sets down a plate of wiggling cake in front of Jason.

Is it really already his birthday or is Joker trying to warp his sense of time?

Don't have nobody to call my own (bung, bung, bung, bung)

Joker smiles down at Jason as he continues speaking, “Don’t you worry, Loverbird,” He snaps his fingers and the door behind Jason swings open, “I made sure to invite some friends for your big day!”

One by one, Jason sees other patients of Arkham Asylum fill the room.

Bane, Calendar Man, Clayface, Poison Ivy, Killer Croc, Victor Zsasz, Two-Face, and Scarecrow, all wearing birthday hats. On the looks of the faces visible, it’s obvious no one wants to be here, but they must be here for something else.

Please turn on your magic beam

“Happy Birthday to you~” The villains all start reluctantly singing to Jason, besides Joker who seems to have something up his sleeve for this event.

Jason looks down at the wiggling cake and he can see the crude writing of “Happy Birthday” on the cake and the worms trying to escape the brown frosting. The sight of it is sickening and he can feel his stomach churning, yet his mouth still watered at the sight of food.

Joker grabs a fistful of Jason’s dark curls and continues to sing happy birthday, “Happy birthday, dear Jason~ Happy birthday to you~” He leans in close to whisper in Jason’s ear, “Make a wish, pumpkin,” Before slamming Jason’s face into the cake.

The clown keeps Jason’s face in the cake for a couple more seconds, almost like he’s trying to suffocate the young man, before pulling his face away while laughing, “That never gets old!”

Joker lets Jason go then turns around, “I have somewhere to be; sorry for not staying longer for your big day,” He looks over his shoulder and smiles, “You have fun with your guests, but remember to brush your teeth, finish your homework, and be in bed by nine.”

And with that, the clown exits the room and leaves Jason with the other patients, who seem excited to have some “fun” with Jason; as evidenced by their sadistic smirks, Bane cracking his knuckles, and Zsasz playing with his sharp knife.

Jason can already feel the dizziness and sickness coming in.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

Joker takes his time walking to the chest freezer sitting in the back of the walk-in freezer at the asylum. Walking just behind is Officer Frank Boles holding a flashlight. The officer was bought off by Joker when the clown first obtained the boy blunder six months ago to help keep Jason a secret from everyone else in the asylum and to the people outside.

Make him the cutest that I've ever seen

“Oh, lamb chop! You’ve been hiding in here for nearly half an hour,” Joker stops in front of the chest freezer. He flashes Officer Boles a crazy grin before opening the lid and taking a peek inside, “How are you feeling?”

Jason’s body was violently shivering, his nose was completely red, and his skin was pale, almost like a dead body. He can feel the light shining on him, but his eyes refuse to open too wide, “B-Batman��? Is that y-you?”

Joker reaches out and lightly taps Jason’s cheek, but due to how cold the younger man was, those small slaps hurt a lot. Joker leans his elbows on the edge of the opening then whispers, “Batman’s not coming to save you, Jason.”

“He’ll come…” Jason mutters through chattering teeth as his eyes peer up at Joker’s.

Joker leans back then rests his hands on the lip of the opening, “It’s been six months now, Jason,” He tilts his head in a cruel manner as his smile turns upward even more, “I think it’s time to face facts.”

Jason’s eyes narrow into a glare and he spits out, “S-Screw you!” Despite the cold, the fire still burns in his eyes, albeit a bit dim.

Joker laughs then pats Jason on the head, “That’s the spirit! You’re a real chip off the ol’ Bat block,” He looks down at his hand like he was checking his nails, even though he’s wearing gloves, “Not that it’ll do you any good.

Jason closes his eyes, almost like in a defeated way, “Why w-won’t you just kill m-me…?” He mutters slowly.

Give him the word that I'm not a rover

Joker acts shocked after hearing Jason’s question, “What? No, no, no, no,” He places his gloved hand on his chest to emphasize his point, “I’m not going to kill you,” He shrugs with a sadistic smirk on his face, “not yet anyway,” He leans closer with a big smile on his face and gently taps Jason’s frozen cheek, “You’re my sidekick now. Imagine it,” He waves his hand outward like he was trying to show Jason the scenario, “You and me, out on the streets, starting fights, picking on the weak, a regular dynamic duo,” He reaches into his coat pocket then pulls out a picture while saying, “Just like Bats and that new kid of his.”

Jason tried his hardest to shake his head in disbelief, but his neck felt like it was frozen solid, “No, h-he wouldn’t…” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Joker playfully smirks then tilts his head mockingly, “You think?” He looks down at the picture in his hand, “So this isn’t Batman then?” He shows the contents of the picture to Jason, “The pointy ears are usually a dead giveaway.”

“No…” Jason can feel any hope he has left for Batman to save him slowly draining away.

Joker carefully puts the picture back into his coat pocket, “I didn’t want to show you that photo, really I didn’t,” He looks down at Jason with a mock look of pity, “But, well it was the only way for you to get closure,” He crosses his arms and looks off as he continues speaking, “Now I know it hurts but sometimes,” A big, cruel, sadistic smile appears on his face as he backs up from the chest freezer, “you gotta be cruel to be kind,”

Joker gives a nod to Officer Boles then the officer closes the chest freezer, leaving Jason cold and alone in the dark.

Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over

Sandman, I'm so alone

Jason’s hands is tied behind his back, he’s bloody and bruised, it hurts to breathe, his vision is blurry, and his head feels like it was being split open.

Through his daze he looks up in time for the crowbar to swing and hit him square in the jaw then causing him to fall onto his side with groan of pain coming from him.

He coughs up some blood onto the floor then tried to catch his breath.

Joker steps closer to Jason with the bloody crowbar in hand, “Wow, that looked like it really hurt,” The smile on his lips curls upward into a more twisted grin, his yellowish white teeth on full display.

He raises the crowbar into the air then swung it down on Jason as hard as he can; Joker does this two more times.

Jason falls onto his back and grunts in pain, he can feel blood dribbling down the corner of his mouth. He knows for sure he has fractured and even broken bones in his body that will never properly heal.

Don't have nobody to call my own

“Whoa, now, hang on,” Joker walks closer to Jason breathing heavily on the floor, “That looked like it hurt a lot more,” He carefully pats the crowbar in his hand as he continues speaking, “So let’s try and clear this up,” He cocks his head to the side in a mockingly questioning way, “okay, pumpkin?”

“What hurts more?” Joker raises the crowbar above his head, “A?” Then swings it down onto Jason’s chest, “Or B?” Then swings the crowbar down onto his leg.

“Forehand?” Joker swings the crowbar into Jason’s face, “Or backhand?” He raises the crowbar across his chest before swinging it into Jason’s shoulder.

Joker continues beating Jason with the crowbar, each time causing Jason to grunt and groan in pain, his body to jolt with each swing.

Please turn on your magic beam

Joker maniacally cackles. In his eyes, these past nine months have been a blast. Batman has been miserable, Jason is afun plaything to beat, and Joker loves it!

Jason looks over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing at Joker, then mutters something inaudible under his breath.

Hearing this, Joker gets down onto his hands and knees to better hear the young man, “Ah, uh, ah…” He mocks. He cups his hand over his ear then leans in a bit closer and whispers, “A little louder, lamb chop,” He places his hand in Jason’s hair, “I think you may have a collapsed lung,” While speaking, he ruffles the young man’s hair, “That always impedes the oratory.”

With some strength, Jason lifts his head and spits blood onto Joker’s face. Despites months of torture, Jason refuses to give up; he’s been through hell before growing up in Crime Alley and that didn’t break his spirit.

Joker is shocked, angry, and a bit disgusted by the act and in retaliation grips a fistful of Jason’s hair painfully before slamming his face into the concrete ground.

Joker stands up straight as he glares at Jason on the ground, “Now, that was rude,” He takes out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket then dabs away the blood on his cheek, “The first boy blunder had some manners.”

Jason looks over his shoulder and with a small, cheeky smile on his face, feeling proud of himself for that small act of defiance.

Joker finishes cleaning his face then puts his handkerchief back into his jacket pocket, “I suppose I’m going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps,” He looks up in thought for a few moments before a wide grin crosses his face and says, “Nah, I’m just gonna keep beating you with this crowbar,” He steps on Jason’s back and presses more pressure onto his spine.

Jason stares up at Joker then closes his eyes to mentally prepare himself for the beatings.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

Mr. Sandman (yes) bring us a dream

Harley Quinn is the one handling Jason now while Joker is away. The clown gave her a list on what to do with Jason for her to follow. Since she’s madly in love with the madman, she made sure to follow it to the T.

Jason’s wrists is cuffed to the metal bedframe with a bag over his head to block his sight; as Harley Quinn described to him earlier, when a person loses one of their senses, the brain rewires itself and enhances the other senses to pick up the slack.

With Jason’s sight temporarily gone, he feels the things around him more than he would with his sight, and that was Joker’s goal. He can feel the cattle prod shocking the metal of the bedframe before feeling the shock course through his tense body.

Give him a pair of eyes with a "come-hither" gleam

Harley Quinn giggles in delight and claps her hands together, “Isn’t this fun, birdbrain?” She looks down at Joker’s list in her hand and traces the hearts she drew around his name, “Mistah J was so kind to leave us a list of activities to have fun with,” She giggles again before stopping, “Why aren’t ya laughin’!?” She shocks the metal bedframe with the cattle prod and causes Jason’s body to tense up and yells out in pain.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can go on like this before finally breaking; he’s been trying to distract himself from the torture by thinking of his life before going after his biological mother, but it sometimes ends with him hurting himself emotionally. He misses his friends and family and would love nothing more than to go back to them, but he still doesn’t regret going after his mom.

Give him a lonely heart like Pagliacci

“M-Mama…” Jason weakly calls out through slur mumbles. He can’t give up, his mom still needs help; even though she was the one who ratted him out to Joker.

Harley Quinn snickers and walks over to Jason. “Shelia ain’t comin’ to get ya, birdie,” She twirls the cattle prod in her hand as she speaks, “Don’t forget, she sold ya out to Mistah J.” She shakes her head and softly chuckles like she was remembering something funny, “Man, I don’t know if ya remember, but the look of her face when she came back with Mistah J was hilarious.”

Jason angrily huffs. He hates hearing her talk about his mom’s misery like that, “Screw you!” After that he was immediately met with the tingling feeling of electricity flowing through his nervous system.

Harley Quinn keeps the cattle prod against the metal for a few more minutes until Jason was a babbling mess. She smiles and lifts the bag to show the drooling, dazed mess underneath. She grabs his hair and forces him to look up at her. She sniffs the air then comments, “Smells like chicken,” Then she let's his head drop.

And lots of wavy hair like Liberace

Mr. Sandman, someone to hold (someone to hold)

Jason was drowning. He was tied down to a chair, on his back, and drowning. He wasn’t actually drowning, but the soaking cloth over his face makes it pretty damn hard to get any air into his greedy lungs.

Harley Quinn checks her nails while she continues to pour water over his covered mouth and nose. She seems bored and over with the whole thing; all she wants to do is spend time with Joker instead of some kid, “Jeez, it’s been almost an hour. How long I got to keep this up?”

Jason gurgles and sputters as he tries to breathe underneath the cloth.

Would be so peachy before we're too old

Harley Quinn cups her hand over her ear and leans down a little while still pouring the water over Jason’s face then asks, “What’s that? I can’t understand ya. Speak up!”

Jason tries moving his head around to get some air, but that only lasted for a few seconds before Harley Quinn was pouring water over his mouth and nose again.

So please turn on your magic beam

Soon the water in the jugs runs dry and Harley Quinn throws it over her shoulder, not caring where it lands. She leaves Jason on the floor for a few more minutes to let him catch his breath and not die of asphyxia.

She looks to her right at the other jug filled to the brim with water to pour over Jason, but her arm was getting tired and she really wants to get out of here to be with Joker.

Harley Quinn looks down at Jason with a big grin on her face, “Good news! I’m wrappin’ up your morin’ constitutional early!” She claps her hands cheerfully then grabs his chair to sit him upright, “We’ll take a quick break, sweetums.”

She takes a few steps away from Jason toward the door, “You and me got another big day ahead of us, Toddy Woddy!”

She opens the door then steps out and closes the door behind her.

Mr. Sandman, bring us, please, please, please

Jason was left sitting alone, dripping wet, struggling to breath, with Mister Sandman by the Chordettes playing in the room. It was a song Joker likes playing when torturing Jason; in some twisted way he finds it a bit comforting to just hear the song when the sounds of his screams, his laughter, and whatever Joker is torturing him with doesn’t mix with the lyrics.

He’s heard from a passing conversation between Joker and Harley Quinn about April 27th is right around the corner; it’s been a whole year since Jason was captured.

Mr. Sandman, bring us a dream

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd #red hood x you #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood #dc comics #arkham knight #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight x you

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boy-comics · 2 days ago

Text

prompt; "again? again!"

his name is oh seungmin. he tells you this when you meet him in the kitchen of a fraternity house you used to claim you'd never be caught dead in, and that is what you call him when he brings you to his room under the pretense of getting away from the noise, the door closing and locking behind you like a death sentence.

oh seungmin is a nobody to you. a distraction, if you will, a handsome face to admire and an experience to discard when you walk back to your dorm room sober and alone.

he is supposed to be, at least.

but when he sighs into your mouth, fingers curling in the spaces between yours, you are struck with the sudden feeling that you've been here before—not within the four walls of his bedroom, but with him, sharing one breath after another, in lives that had once been yours.

you pull away, hastily making up an excuse as you stumble out of his room and leave him panting and bewildered on his bed.

you don't believe in reincarnation. you don't really believe in love, either.

he finds you walking across campus on monday anyway. and it feels like loss and discovery at the same time, the way he comes up by himself to apologize, the way he looks at you, and it's frightening how much you understand without saying a word. maybe that's why you tell him it's alright.

if you believed in past lives, you think you would wonder if he has waited before—when you had different names and faces, and if he had always been so kind about it. he waits, and your bitterness melts bit by bit. when you finally let him hold your hand again, his smile reaches your eyes, and you think it would be cruel indeed to make such a person cycle through life and death in a world that does not deserve him even once.

you do not deserve him. but if reincarnation does exist, then love must as well, and maybe oh seungmin can help you find it again.

#oh seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #o.de x reader #ode x reader #xdh #xdinary heroes #xh #xdinary heroes x reader #xdh imagines #xh o.de #o.de #beecee's writing #xh short prompts

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rootspiral · 2 days ago

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Thank you so much for your detailed episode analysis! I especially appreciate this most recent post (ep. 4 part 7) with the in-depth REGRET section. As someone who was dating an Agatha-type, it's very vindicating to see people calling Rio the responsible one here... Sadly, it just not a salvageable situation without a lot more growing than Agatha has time or inclination for!

Anon - thank you for sharing, I've been sitting with this ask for two days now and thinking about it a lot. First of all, I'm sorry you went through a relationship of that kind.

This show is excellent in the way it portrays Agatha as a deeply sympathetic character while not letting her get away with any of her bullshit. Rio has been trying and trying and trying to fix Agatha but it's clear that she won't ever be able to do it, that Agatha has to put the work in herself. Their relationship was a very happy parenthesis that was never going to last because Agatha is simply too much of a mess. If it weren't for Nicky, something else would have eventually pushed her to the edge. I really believe that if Billy hadn't showed up and Rio had managed to win Agatha back, their relationship would have crumbled in some other way.

"Coven two" is a lovely concept but it's just not sustainable. It didn't work for Rio and Agatha - why else would Agatha have sought to add a child to their family? It's not like they had unprotected sex that one time. And then it didn't work for Agatha and Nicky. It won't work for Agatha and Billy either, unless she makes a real effort to change her behavioral patterns. Rio and Agatha had a deep and romantic codependent relationship, they were literally the only person in each other's world, and how could that ever be enough? Agatha's unhappiness stems from her loneliness, from being a covenless witch, Rio will never be enough to fulfill that void no matter how hard she tries.

It's heartbreaking really because Rio loves her SO much. She understands better than anyone why Agatha is the way she is, she is going above and beyond trying to help, and by doing so she's making herself smaller and diminishing her own pain, because Agatha's pain must be bigger and more important. I'm so glad she snapped in the end and they had a good fight over it, it was high time. Agatha's well being cannot rest on Rio's shoulders only, the ball has to go to Agatha's court now and she will have to change and make amends if she wants things with Rio to work out, there's no other way. She has been cruel and unfair to Rio for too long, she has been punishing her for what was never Rio's fault in the first place.

In order for Agatha to change she has to make a concrete effort toward it and she has to have a support system in place, both of these aspects are crucial, one cannot work without the other. Only then she may have a real chance to - well, not to win Rio back because that fool is too much in love and will be hers forever. But it might be enough for their relationship to work out in the end.

Mind you, I want them to work out because they're fictional and wish fulfillment. If I had a real life friend in Rio's situation I'd tell them to get the hell out and prioritize their own well being.

#asks #agatha all along #agathario #here I go rambling again #but seriously anon the sexiest most romantic thing you can find in a partner is emotional intelligence #you are not supposed to do all the work yourself it's got to be a team effort #good for you for seeing that and getting out

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oneshotnewbie · 2 days ago

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Hi, can I request a one shot regarding JJ finding out Y/N (her GF/Wifey) was in the videos of the BAU Gate as well. Though she tried to hide her fear behind her smile, JJ saw through it.

Y/N excused herself and went to hide out at the roof, crying silently as memories of her past abuse came back to her, and JJ went to her knowing she would be there.

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes spoilers for Criminal minds evolution and the topics/mentions of abuse, pornographic videos and swearings. The plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The meeting room was silent, except for the quiet hum of the laptop in front of you. Jennifer Jareau sat at the table with a tense posture, her fingers firmly on the touchpad. The files on the screens seemed like a dark abyss that she had to venture into. Next to her, you, her wife and colleague at the BAU, sat back in only a seemingly relaxed manner. But JJ noticed the subtle tension in your posture, the barely perceptible trembling of your fingers that you hid in your lap.

The "BAU-Gate" was no ordinary case. Elias Voit, the psychopathic perpetrator, had not only targeted the team members, but distorted their intimacy and identity in the most cruel way. Animated pornographic videos, designed with a disturbing precision, were distributed in the darkest corners of the Internet - videos that degraded their personalities and touched on their deepest fears. JJ had never worked on a case where she felt so vulnerable and personally attacked.

"You don't have to do this alone, JJ. Let the others help." You said gently, placing a hand on her upper arm. Your voice was calm, but the blonde could hear the tension behind it.

JJ looked at you briefly before looking back at the screen. "I'm not alone," she said quietly. "You're here with me. That's all I need."

You kept your eyes on her as if you were looking for a way to dissuade JJ from this plan. But you knew that was impossible. Once JJ had made up her mind about something, she wouldn't be dissuaded.

She clicked on the first file. The video began with a still image of her face in a grotesque manner. Even after seeing it several times, it still hurt her to see herself in such a position - dehumanized, degraded. She pressed her lips together in a thin line and fast-forwarded.

"JJ.." your voice sounded cautious. You had leaned forward a little, as if you wanted to prevent JJ from doing this to himself again. "I'm okay," she answered briefly. But that was a lie. She wasn't okay. Nobody would be. But she had to be strong and go through it to finally put that bastard behind bars - for you, for the team and for herself.

She paused the video, clicked it away and opened the next file. This time her breath caught and her heart skipped several beats. She could hardly breathe. A figure appeared on the screen that unmistakably represented you.

"What the.." your voice died away and you stared at the screen as if the ground had been pulled out from under you. There was no sign of your relaxed posture anymore. JJ could feel the cold anger that ran through every fiber of her body and rose up inside her like a volcano about to erupt.

"That is you," she said quietly, disturbed and yet full of anger. Her voice was dangerously calm, but inside she was seething. "Voit has it in for you too."

You laughed dryly, but it sounded forced. "It's just an animation, JJ. Nothing that could harm me, a total fake. You know he..." you paused when she looked at you - with that piercing look that disarmed you every time.

"Y/n," she said urgently, turning her upper body towards you. "Don't try to downplay it. You are, and you know it. He's using you, your face, your... body for his disgusting games with us."

You looked away, your smile remaining like a fragile mask. "It's not important. Really. I know it makes you angry but... Let's just move on, okay?"

But JJ was not fooled. She knew you too well, you weren't her wife for nothing. She saw your jaw clenched, your fingernails digging into your palms just to calm yourself down. And most of all, she saw the fear in your eyes - a fear she had rarely seen in you in all these years.

"Y/n, talk to me," JJ said, gently touching your shaking and sweaty hand. "What's going on in your beautiful and brilliant head right now?“ You pulled her hand back, suddenly stood up and turned to the door. "I... I just need a moment, okay? Fresh air. I'll be right back."

"Babe..." her voice was full of concern, but before she could say anything, you were already out the door with quick steps and out of her sight.

JJ knew exactly where you were going. As she walked down the long hallway, she felt a mixture of worry and anger. Anger at Voit for putting her, and especially you, in this situation. Worry for you, for having to go through this. JJ took the stairs up every other hour, her steps getting faster the closer she got to the roof.

As she pushed open the door to the roof, the cold wind of the evening hit her. She spotted you immediately. You stood with your back to her, near the edge of the roof, your arms wrapped around you. JJ saw your shoulders shaking. It was a sight she found hard to bear and never wanted to witness. Her wife, the strong, indomitable agent, was crumbling before her eyes

"I knew I would find you here. You've always loved the view from up there," she said, stepping closer cautiously. She spoke calmly, but firmly enough for you to hear her.

You don't turn around. "JJ.. please. Just go. I just need.. I just need a moment alone."

"I'm definitely not," she said firmly. She had promised you years ago that she would always be with you - for better or for worse. And this was a bad time that you would both get through. Together. "I'm not leaving you alone, Y/n. Not now."

JJ paused in her step, only a few inches away from you when you spoke again. Your voice was soft, a nearly toneless whisper that was swallowed by the darkness around her. "This brings everything back, Jayje... Everything I've tried to forget."

The blonde stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, like a fragile porcelain figurine that could shatter at any moment. "Baby, what do you mean?" Her words were gentle but insistent, her eyes searching your features for answers.

You backed away, as if you were afraid of the question. Your shoulders shook under an invisible weight, your hands gripping the edge of the parapet. JJ cast a worried glance at the dizzying depths below you.

"I can't," you whispered, your voice shaky. You turned to her, your eyes red with suppressed tears. "I can't explain this to you. You'll see me differently."

JJ's heart skipped a beat. She had never seen you like this before - so small, so vulnerable, so full of fear. It was as if a wall that JJ had never noticed had suddenly cracked and behind it lurked a pain that she had never suspected. She took another step closer, but kept a cautious distance. "Y/n, I'm your wife. You can talk to me about anything. I love you. There's nothing that can change that."

You snorted bitterly, tears running down your cheeks. "Nothing? Do you really think you could still love me if you knew what I am? What I was?" your voice broke on the last words, and you looked away again, as if you couldn't bear to look at JJ.

"What you were?" JJ's voice was a whisper, but her insides were practically screaming with worry, escaping into the slightest tremor of her entire body. "Babe, what do you mean?"

"It's not important," you said with a forced smile that was more like a grimace. "It's over. I should just be over it. But now... now Voit has brought me back there." Your voice got rougher, the words came faster. "His videos. Those perversions. They... threw me back into the past. It feels damn similar, at least."

JJ stood frozen. She knew she had hit upon something central, something deeper that you had hidden all these years. "What feels similar? Please, talk to me." You suddenly turned back around, your eyes filled with tears and anger. "I know what it's like to be used, like a thing, an object! I was... a victim of violent things. For years!"

The words hit her like a blow. Her breath caught and her mind was spinning. She searched for something to say, but your voice now cracked as you continued. "I was young. Naive. Ignorant of my sexuality. And my ex... he forced me to do things you couldn't even imagine existed. He destroyed me, JJ. And I... I let him win. I let him win because I was too weak to fight back. Until I finally left him."

Your voice broke and you gripped the railing tighter, your knuckles turning white.

JJ felt her heart being torn apart, piece by piece, as your confession washed over her. Tears welled up in her own eyes, but she blinked them away. You needed her now - not as an agent, not as a colleague, but as her wife. As someone who could catch you if you fell.

"Y/n," she finally said, her voice quiet but firm. She stepped closer until she was standing right behind you. She carefully put her hands around your waist, letting you know she was there. "What happened to you... it wasn't your fault. Never. You weren't weak. You survived. And you're here. With me."

You laughed bitterly, a sound that broke JJ's heart. "Survived? That's called surviving? Look at me, JJ. I've been hiding my whole life. From myself, from memories. And now... now this sick psychopathic guy is using me as a toy for his power games. And I... I can't breathe, Jayje."

JJ pulled you suddenly and tightly into her arms, holding you as if she wanted to hold together the parts of you that were threatening to fall apart. "But you can breathe," she whispered in your ear. "You're stronger than you think. And Voit has no idea how strong we both are together. But I know it and you know it too. And I'm going to hold him accountable, babe. For what he did to you and us."

You shook in her arms, and eventually the tears continued to burst out. She turned you around when she heard the sobs, your head leaning against her shoulder, and JJ just held you, stroking your back soothingly while she waited for your storm to subside.

When your sobs finally subsided, she gently lifted your face and looked you in the eyes. "We're going through this together. Like always. Everything. You're not alone, baby."

You looked at her for a long time, your eyes still wet, but something in your gaze had changed. A spark of relief, maybe even hope. "I love you, JJ," you whispered. "But... what if I'm not good enough for you anymore? With all the baggage you now know about?"

JJ rested her forehead against yours. "You are more than enough. For me. For our lives. For everything. Even more now."

The night air was cold and the wind whistled around you, but in that moment everything felt perfect. For the first time in a long time, you felt free to have shared your closed past with someone you loved more than anything.

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