#let grieving people grieve naturally

[spikeyjo]

People are so fucking weird to grieving people, especially children. What do you mean “Why are you playing games and smiling” girl I have to live??? Like you understand I am still a person right? Or they just straight up ignore the child bc they think they’ll bounce back easier. Do better. You’re just setting them up to die too.

[wildsaltair]

Ranting in the tags isn’t enough so I’m going to say one more time that just because Maximus isn’t morally gray doesn’t mean he isn’t complex

[thewildnopeboat]

Nimbus, generally chilling: yeah, I have a lot of pressure since the Vex attacked the grave sites, the Shadow Cabal keep pouring out of the pyramid, and the council think I'm pushing the work on an outsider, but at least I have a cool buddy like you!

Guardian, looking up and seeing Nimbus holding back tears: I'm going to hug you.

Nimbus, confused: Huh? Why?

Guardian, using strand to suspend themselves: You just look like you need it.

[windor-truffle]

*chants in increasing volume* ghost AU ghost AU GHOST AU GHOST AU

[firestorm09890]

victim of the zexion fan to horror enjoyer pipeline

[fantasmalresplendent]

Moonshine Cybin my beloved, except when she tells grieving characters to embrace the cycle of life and death. Bestie, people don't need to hear that 2 minutes after their loved ones get murdered.

[humanityinahandbag]

I'd like to tell you all a story about my grandmother.

My grandparents raised their children, four girls (one of them my mother), to be fighters. My aunts marched in Washington for women's rights with babies strapped to their chests and like to joke that all of the grandchildren who came from that line (including myself) were born with picket signs in their hands.

But it started with my grandparents. They fought hard for what they believed in. They marched against Vietnam. They marched for Martin Luther King. They marched for women's rights. They marched for a better future.

But let's talk specifically about my grandmother for a moment.

My grandmother unfortunately passed away in 2016. She had to watch the first Trump election and did so knowing that it would probably be the last election she'd ever see. And there is some argument there that she could have given in to fear and defeatism. She could have decided none of it was worth it, and she could have decided that fascism had won and the world was over.

But she did something else instead.

To give some context, my grandparents had friends who were Republicans. I say were, because they shifted from the normal Republican towards the MAGA Republican we see today. And despite a very clear message from my family about how we felt, they were more than ready to still come to the funeral as if everything was normal. Like their beliefs were normal. Like they were welcome to celebrate someone who had fought so hard for the rights of other people.

These were people who would have absolutely used their rhetoric to scream and shout if they were left out or disinvited.

And so my grandmother, even past her final moments, pulled the most brilliant, petty move I've ever seen.

She'd decided ahead of time that everyone who had known her was more than welcome to attend but that she wanted everyone attending the funeral to donate money. That was the requirement to be invited. And so everyone did just that. There was no talk about what the donations were for, just that they were appreciated. I want to say that the assumption was the money would help pay for funeral expenses and give the family some support while we grieved.

Except that wasn't the case.

Because in those final moments of the funeral, the rabbi stepped forward to thank everyone, and then very cheerfully announced;

"Arlene was so happy to know just how many people were coming to join us here today. She couldn't have been more proud of her family. And I'm sure she would have been elated to see just how much money you all gave today to Planned Parenthood."

When I say that the faces of those people are enshrined in my memory, I mean it. The anger, the devastation, the rage, the betrayal. It was an absolutely gorgeous display of true defeat at the hands of a boss ass old lady who literally fought with her last breath and threw up both middle fingers all the way out the door.

What I'm saying is this.

It is very easy to feel defeated. It is very easy to think that everything is over, and there's nothing left for us to do. It's very easy to say that fascism won, that fear won, that hate won.

But that's only true if you let it be true.

There is always more that we can do. There is a future that is still worth fighting for. And it's more than possible, even when it doesn't seem like it.

And fighting is going to look different every time.

Some days it will look like picket signs in our hands.

Some days it will look like spending time with friends and family and people you love and knowing that you have a community that supports you and your vision of a brighter future.

And some days, it's pulling absolute natural level 20 petty trickster shit even after you've left the world.

Because you can always make an impact and you can always add a little brightness to life, and if that means tricking a group of MAGA idiots into throwing their money behind Planned Parenthood in the middle of your own goddamn funeral then that's what it means.

Keep fighting. People have done it before you. People will continue to do it after you.

And enjoy the little victories.

(Even the petty ones)

[lena-thinks-too-much]

The irony of fanon treating Tim as the introverted, antisocial, loner robin when he probably has the most friends in and out of the mask.

I mean people just love this guy. He's charismatic the way Peter Parker is charismatic. Awkward and nerdy and authentically himself and it just draws people in. I mean he had a pretty large group of friends in Brentwood Academy. And in Louis E. Grieve he manages to impress the school jocks in a way that makes him essentially popular (in the sense that he's well liked and well know but not popular popular). And let's not forget the fact that he regularly ran DND campaigns and like actually socialized outside of Robin, and maintained those friendships for years.

His canon boyfriend was someone he knew explicitly as a civilian throughout his junior year.

And that's not counting the way people just like Tim in the mask. He's the natural leader in young justice (98) and several people who objectively hate batman will cooperate with the bats because they like Tim (Helena comes to mind here). Tim's friendship with Anarchy starts from the very beginning of his run as Robin when they both reflect on the fact they're very similar: two incredibly clever and talented teenagers who love to be challenged.

Tim is just that guy.

When Damian tries to restart the teen titans while Tim is presumed dead, Beast Boy especially is constantly talking about Damian could never measure up to Tim. While yes that's largely because Damian is abrasive and hard to get along with. A good part of that is because Tim was just that likeable.

Like yes Tim might be more introvert coded but he is not antisocial or a loner or whatever.

I mean let's bffr y'all. You can't tell me we're just going to ignore the Tim outsmarted Ra's in red robin because Ra's was relying on the bats' hyper independence and Tim just goes "I'm not like Batman. I have friends" Like bro violated Bruce so hard and I feel like it's just such a pivotal part of his character that people ignore. Like yes Tim pushes people away when he can't deal with his emotions but he's also wayyy better than Bruce at relying on others.

Idk I feel like half of fanon infantilizes Tim while the other half treats him like a mini Bruce clone with the added risk of going rogue and it's neither.

[sisterfhood]

Men like to frame their most apathetic tendencies as a natural result of their superior logic, frequently positing that women are too emotional to make rational decisions. Let me make this clear: empathy makes people smarter. Compassionate people make smarter decisions. Humans evolved to feel strong emotions because THEY ARE NECESSARY FOR HIGHER LEVEL COGNITIVE PROCESSING. If we didn’t feel guilt, rage, sadness, love, and every other feeling we quite simply wouldn’t have come this far as a species. The human brain would never have evolved. We have this in common with other highly intelligent animals such as apes, whales, and elephants. They grieve powerfully, and form significant social bonds that affect their decision-making. If anything the cultural restriction of male emotional development and the encouragement of male rage, jealousy, possessiveness, etc, just makes them (males) closer to beasts operating on the most animalistic of instincts.

[envy-of-the-apple]

How about apocalypse!au with yan gojo and a foreigner reader who is going on a vacation/business trip when the outbreak happen?

kinda sick of apocalypse aus soooo yakuza!au instead so basically i changed this entire request im rlly sorry

Yandere!Gojo Satoru x reader

Stop Crying

(Warnings: Yandere, kidnapping, dark content, noncon touching, human trafficking)

You promised yourself you'd stay safe during your trip to Japan.

You took all the precautions. You traveled with friends you trusted. You kept your phone on. You didn't accept any drinks from anyone you didn't know. You checked in with your folks back home every night.

And yet, nothing stopped it.

It was clearly a basement. No windows. Dark, with the exception of the flickering light on the ceiling. The thin cot and scrap of a blanket did nothing to protect you from the cold.

Your phone was gone. So was your bag. Except for the clothes on your back, they took everything. You can still remember the fear you felt when those men grabbed you, hauling you into the back of a truck. No matter how hard you screamed and kicked and hollered, they didn't let go. You remembered you bit one of them. He just swore in Japanese before backhanding you. It throbbed for hours before you eventually just passed out.

And now you were here. In a basement.

You were probably going to die. You heard the underground was rampant in Japan. They were going to cut you up, sell off your organs for thousands. If they were merciful, maybe the most your body would face would just be getting thrown overseas. If you were lucky, your rotting corpse would be found. If you were one of God's favorites, you'd be recognizable enough to notify your family. At least then, they'd have something to grieve over. The pieces that was left.

The door creaks. You jump, curled in the musty corner. You hear voices. Two. Maybe three. All male, speaking in fast Japanese. They all descend the steps, and your heartbeat picks up faster than before.

One was a stout man with a nervous sort of prattle. From his tone, you could tell he was trying to appease the other two. The other two were tall, heads nearly brushing the ceiling. One was wearing traditional clothing. Long black hair, graceful movements.

The other wore circular sunglasses. He was too young to have natural white hair. He must dye it. While the other two linger behind, he's the one who strides towards you.

You panic, pressing yourself into the wall, hoping to just disappear, melt into the background. Your fear doesn't deter him. He grabs your chin turning your face one way, and then the other. His hold tightens, even when you try to escape. He seems to be fixated on one side of your face. The slap must have left a bruise.

That seems to anger him. He snaps something over to the other two. The man in traditional garments doesn't look very impressed, while the other hurriedly titters. Maybe they were planning on selling you, that's why seeing you blemish-free would be such a deterrent to their plans.

Eventually, the man directs his attention back to you. You think he'd speaking to you. You aren't sure. You don't know where you are. You don't know who these people are. You don't know what they want to do to you.

You're scared. You're so so scared.

When you start to cry, the man gets even more aggravated. He lets you go with a scoff, before walking back to his group. They squabble a bit more, before the shorter of the three reluctantly makes his way over to you.

"The Six Eyes wants to know your name," he says, accent thick.

You stare at him. Helpless and confused.

"The Six Eyes...?" You repeat and then your eyes flick over to the white-haired man. Standing tall and still, like a beautiful statue.

You don't know what's in it to lie. They have your wallet, your ID, your passport probably. You mumble out your name in defeat. The Six Eyes hums in approval.

"I have money." You blurt out. "A lot of it. If-if you let me go. I'll give you whatever you want. My-my family will pay any price."

He translates. When he's done, the other two laugh. It's loud and scratches the inside your chest. You duck away, feeling the tears again.

"The Six Eyes said he's paid too much for you to entertain that possibility." The translator says. Your heart drops.

"Paid for me.." You repeat. No no no no. "What does that even mean?"

The man stares at you with sympathy. You don't want it, you want to throw it back on his face, but you can barely move from your spot.

"He will take good care of you." he tries to console. "I heard the Six Eyes treats his things very well."

You don't want to hear it. You fall into hysterics. You want to go home. You want to go back to your country. You want to go home.

A long hand grabs your chin, instantly quieting you. Unlike his firm grip earlier, this one is nearly painful. You're certain he'd crush your bones if he wanted to. You quiet anyway. That seems to satisfy him now. He mutters something to the translator.

"The Six Eyes is telling you not to scream anymore. He finds it aggravating." The translator says.

The Six Eyes turns to the translator knowingly. The man shuffles with his feet, before reluctantly clearing his throat.

"You...belong to the Six Eyes now."

The Six Eyes grins, filled with white glistening teeth.

"Don't disappoint him. "

[princesssarisa]

As I've read different people's views on Little Women, I've realized that for different readers, it's a fundamentally different book.

When I see someone describe the "universal" experiences of identifying with Jo, wanting her to marry Laurie, and disliking Amy, I remember all the proof I've seen that these are far from universal. The latter two weren't even my experiences: identifying with Jo, yes, but shipping her with Laurie and disliking Amy, no!

Even people with equal amounts of knowledge of the historical context and of Louisa May Alcott's life seem to come away with vastly different feelings about the story and characters.

I suppose there are a wide variety of reasons for this. First and foremost, which of the four March sisters you personally admire or relate to the most. Then there are other factors like your gender, your age when you first read the book, your relationship (good or bad) with traditional femininity, whether you read Parts I and II as a single novel or as Little Women and Good Wives, your relationships with your own family members, your religion and ethical values...

The list goes on.

That post from @theevilanonblog that I reblogged recently about the different interpretations of Frankenstein makes me want to write out a similar list of ten different views I've read of Little Women. Here it is:

Little Women is about the March sisters learning to be proper virtuous women of their time and place. With Marmee as their role model (a role later shared by Beth as she becomes increasingly angelic in her illness), they learn to conquer their flaws, give up their wild ambitions, and settle down as good wives and mothers. This is especially true for Jo, whose character arc is a slow taming from a rough tomboy to a gentle nurturer. It's a conformist and anti-feminist message, which Alcott probably disliked, but she wrote it to cater to public tastes. (This reading seems mainly to come from critics who dislike the book.)

Little Women is about Jo's struggle to stay true to herself in a world that wants to change her. She struggles with whether to stay a tomboy or become a proper lady, whether or not to marry Laurie despite not loving him romantically, and as an author, whether to write what she wants, write what earns the most money, or give up her writing altogether. In the end, she changes only in ways that make her happy, e.g. by learning to control her temper, and later by embracing romantic love. But in more important ways, she stays true to herself: always remaining slightly rugged, clumsy and "masculine," finding success as a writer, and marrying Friedrich, a man just as plain and "unromantic" as herself, but whom she loves and who respects her as an equal.

Little Women is about learning to "live for others." That phrase is used often and could well be the arc words. Beth is the only March sister to whom a selfless life comes naturally, but the other three master it by the end of the story (as does Laurie). They learn to conquer their moments of pettiness and selfishness, to live in better harmony with each other and with their friends and love interests, and to give up their self-centered dreams of fame and wealth, building lives that focus on service instead.

Little Women is about growing up. The first half is mainly about the March girls' maturing by surviving hard times and learning to be better people, while the second half is about reaching adulthood and bittersweetly parting ways to start new lives. At the beginning, Jo is a girl who doesn't want to grow up: she wants to always be a wild young tomboy with her family (and Laurie) by her side forever. But of course, she can't stop time or womanhood, and is eventually forced to accept the loss of Meg, Amy, and Laurie to marriage and Beth to death. After grieving for a while, she lets go of her old life and willingly builds a new one with Friedrich.

Little Women is about family bonds and the fear of losing them. We meet and become attached to the wonderfully close, cozy March family, which gradually expands through friendships, marriage, and new babies. But throughout the story, the family is in danger of breaking apart, whether due to conflict (Jo and Amy's sibling rivalry, Meg and John's marital problems), or separation by distance (Father going away to war, Amy going to Europe, Jo to New York), or death (the danger of losing Father and Beth in Part I, and the ultimate loss of Beth in Part II). But in the end – unlike in reading #4 above – the family doesn't break apart and never will. Conflicts are resolved, travelers eventually come home, the surviving family members always live near each other and stay as close as ever, and even Beth isn't really gone, because her memory and influence live on.

Little Women is about femininity and each March sister's relationship with it. Meg and Amy happily conform in different ways: Meg to "domestic femininity" as a housewife, Amy to "ornamental femininity" as a society lady. Beth pressures herself to conform to self-effacing domestic femininity, until sadly, it kills her – either because she's too selfless and nurturing when she cares for the fever-infected Hummels, or because she has anorexia, as Lizzie Alcott might have had. But Jo strikes a successful balance in the end, conforming just enough to fit into society, but only on her own terms, and otherwise living a happily unconventional life as a writer and schoolmistress.

Little Women is about Jo's unlearning of internalized misogyny. At the beginning, she's a "Not Like Other Girls" tomboy, who wishes she were male, disdains feminine girls (especially her sister Amy), doesn't care enough when "her boy" Laurie behaves badly toward women, and is afraid to be vulnerable. But gradually, and without losing her strength of character, she learns to embrace the sweeter and more tender aspects of herself, sees that Amy's ladylike manners have practical benefits, and learns to say "no" to Laurie when he turns his childish, unhealthy romantic attentions to her. Then after Beth dies, she realizes how precious Beth's utterly domestic, feminine life was, and embraces a more domestic life herself. Yet by doing so, she becomes a true feminist, as she enters an egalitarian marriage and devotes her life to teaching boys to be good, respectful men.

Little Women is only what US Americans know as the first half. It's just about the March sisters getting by and learning moral lessons over the course of the year their father is away at war. Nobody gets married and nobody dies. Everything else is in Good Wives, which is a sequel with different character arcs and different themes, and which should be published separately, as it originally was and still is outside the US. Trying to tie them together into one narrative never feels quite right.

Little Women is Alcott's idealized version of her own life and family, where no one suffers quite as much as they did in real life, everyone is slightly less flawed, and Jo ends up happily married to a man very much like Alcott's lost love Henry David Thoreau. She wrote the life she wished she had.

Little Women is just a semi-autobiographical slice-of-life that Alcott wrote quickly for money.

Which is the truest to Alcott's intent? I don't know. But while some of these readings I like better than others – and some of them I despise – I'd say they're all understandable and reasonably valid. Some aren't even mutually exclusive, but can be used together... although of course, other readings are mutually exclusive, like whether the story is feminist or anti-feminist, or whether the March family ultimately breaks apart or holds together. And they're all worth using as springboards for discussion.

Alcott wrote more books than she ever realized she did, because Little Women can be many different books to different people.

@littlewomenpodcast, @joandfriedrich, @thatscarletflycatcher, @fictionadventurer, @fandomsarefamily1966

[astra-ravana]

Tips, Fun Facts & Guidelines: From The Grimoire Of Deathful Wombs

☠If you summon a spirit for one purpose, abandon that purpose once the spirit manifests, and then ask for something else instead, the spirit will be furious. Making an additional request impromptu can go alright, so long as the additional request is not too much of a tangent from the original request.

☠The Ars Goetia, which contains 72 demons, was a rewrite of an older grimoire containing 69 spirits. The Ars Goetia included four additional demons and excluded one named Pruflas. 72 relates to the muliebral current of magickal energy, total magickal empowerment, and the Ophidian (draconian/serpentine) current.

☠If you disrespect the demons thoroughly enough, they might attack you, even to the point of having deathly intent. Even when that happens, it is still entirely possible for the deities to forgive you and continue to further your ascent.

☠Forgiveness is easy to get from most spirits, but sometimes forgiveness is partial. Articulated apologies and offerings both make forgiveness easier to get, and making spiritual progress is a big way to regain their favor.

☠Each of us will resonate better with some demons than others from the very beginning of our work. This is based partially upon the idiosyncracies of our physis- you will get the strongest manifestations by working with a demon whose physis is comparable to yours. Invocations of various demons will help you identify which types of spirits you resonate with. The ones most divorced from your physis will be difficult to invoke. By deliberately working with those spirits, you have become gradually attuned to their physis. Not only will this give you the ability to effectively access greater portions of the Numinous, it will strengthen the weak points in your spirituality and balance your own physis. The more balanced your energy is, the more powerful it is.

☠All the deities have their own character, preferences, values, etc. Ra hates psychic vampyres to the extent that he is liable to attack entire covens of them unprovoked, but Tiamat, Qingu, and Absu all love vampyres and are quite interested in their success, evolution, and well-being. Shugara judges people based on character, deeds, and potential. Samael is more strict than most deities.

☠You don't get over shit, you get through it- grieve normally. If you still have an emotional attachment to a bad memory, that means there's something about it you still haven't processed. Spells for emotional healing don't make you weak, they just allow you to cooperate with the spirits who care about you. To rephrase that last sentence: team work makes a dream work.

☠Refuse to distance yourself from the persons and spirits important to you during times of hardship- that's one of the worst things you can do.

☠Do not neglect your own well-being and mundane life for magick. The spiritual high can distract you from your outside life and incline you to procrastinate and neglect your obligations.

☠You'd ve surprised how early in your life certain spirits may have had their eyes on you. Your relationships with them may go back to past lives and/or activities between incarnations. Don't let it bother you if you aren't one of these cases.

☠If spirits call you a fool, that means you're doing the right thing: exploring unfamiliar territory. The Fool symbolizes the initiation process, as does Death. Death also symbolizes change and transformation.

☠Entities who are of a similar spiritual nature to yours or which share the disposition of your personality, will be easier for you to sense, see, hear, channel, evoke, and invoke. There are many factors defining the nature of your personal spiritual make-up, including the state of your alignment with various planetary forces, your Zodiac sign and its alchemical element, your attunement to various types of spiritual energy, and the position of your personality on the spectrum from feminine traits to masculine.

☠Some spirits have their own signature ways to give omens to the magician- Shugara uses the rain, Surgat tampers with locks, and so forth. Omens oftentimes simply serve to either let the witch know the spirit is interested in them or assure the witch of their presence. It's not too uncommon for spirits to hide your shit, appear in clouds, etc.

☠As far as I know, no perfect or omnipotent beings exist.

☠The gods destroy people all the time. Sometimes this can be so subtle that a magickal adept can be destroyed by a deity and think that it's helping them the whole time.

☠If a spirit tells you something you already know or reminds you to do something you already planned on doing, they're doing it for a reason.

☠Offerings do not have to be given during ritual, and you'd be surprised how many different types of viable offerings there are. You can offer fur shed by your pets to a demon (burn it). Fresh picked flowers can be an offering- so can sharing your meal or drink. Incense and lit candles used in ritual can serve as offerings.

☠Demons require offerings for sustenance, but they will only demand them of you if you did something wrong- unless a given offering is simply necessary for a ritual.

☠Ask the demon what they call themselves. If necessary, ask them to explain the symbolism of that title.

☠Consuming part of an offering to a deity takes the essence of that entity into your being.

☠Most practitioners of demon magick have a matron and/or patron demon. When a spirit offers to fill this role, make it official with a personally designed ritual.

☠Refusing to speak about a rite will greatly increase its power, but speaking about it isn't the end of the world.

☠If a deity asks why it should fulfill your request, the right answer is always something to the effect of, "I just wanted your help". Anything else is technically a lie. Lying to a spirit about why you want what you want is a huge mistake, but even the most trustworthy spitits may lie to you about certain things either for your own benefit, to prevent you from knowing a truth you are not ready for, or even just to patronize you. This does not count as hypocrisy on their part- deity-human interactions are a special case.

☠You'll end up looking back at problems you could've solved with black magick.

☠Chances are that whether or not human or animal sacrifice is immoral depends entirely on whether or not it is immoral to kill the person of animal in the first place.

☠Demons hate child abusers.

☠Destructive magick "thins the veil", furthering the alchemical refinement of our universe.

☠Love and lust are very magickally powerful, and sexual interactions with a deity increase your energetic rapport with them.

☠Drawing one of the Goetic sigils is often enough to get the attention of the demon it's attributed to. The demon may even manifest while the sigil is being drawn. Simply looking at any given sigil can make the sigil more powerful permanently. It is even possible to subconsciously activate a sigil by looking at it- this is not a bad thing, nor does it mean that you're being vampyrized by whoever designed the sigil.

☠Some demons think less of you when you think less of yourself. If this becomes a problem with a spirit, tell them you're trying to fix whatever problems you have and ask for assistance.

☠Force yourself to be confident about the effects of a rite during, before, and after its performance.

☠If a particular spirit fills you with intrigue and/or excitement, this means they want to interact with you.

☠When a spirit manifests to give you instructions or warnings, the advice is often as simple as, "do this". "Pay more attention to your surroundings". "Don't trust this person". If a demon tella you things like this, the advice is often necessary for your well-being in your immediate situation. If you plan on doing a rite in the next couple hours and a spirit suddenly tells you to do it at 10:30 specifically, you might find that this is necessary to avoid a grave intrusion.

☠Unless you specifically expect a demon to adhere to its recorded appearance, it will often assume a form hither to unrecorded, even to the extent of changing genders.

☠Even spirits renowned to be the most harsh, demanding, cruel etc. often turn out to have a kinder side.

☠You should only offer your blood to the most important spirits in your path- always seek the guidance of your matron/patron and/or higher self before you offer your blood to a nre spirit. Once you offered blood to a spirit, they are always with you, and their ability to influence you increases. This does not mean that they will take control of you at some point the way people infer. Any amount of blood offered is sufficient to create this connection, and offering more blood later will not strengthen the connection.

☠Cemeteries are great places for demon magick- just don't use them without guidance.

☠Do not think demons are limited to their recorded ranks and attributions.

☠The more you work with, pray to, meditate on, and research an entity, the stronger your energetic rapport with them grows. Generally speaking, when you are thinking of a demon, it is thinking of you.

☠The idea of historical facts is a relatively new invention. Mythical stories often served to contain truth instead of fact. Imagine that a given mythological figure is recorded to have given his last piece of food to a stranger. Such a story would most likely not be intended to relate a specific and factual historical event. Instead, such a story might just serve to convey the mythological figure's generosity.

[celaenaeiln]

Robin Dick Grayson Characterization

I'm not sure how or where this started but there's been a rampant misunderstanding of Dick Grayson as Robin.

For some reason there have been posts upon posts that dick was some kind of angry robin and I don't know where this is coming from because in every single comic Dick is said to be the happy one. It seems to be a Covid craze because such defamation was not even in existance before 2020. Every one of the comics - Justice League, Batman, Detective Comics, Nightwing Comics, Jason's comics, Tim's comics, all of them! Talk about Dick being the happiest of the robins.

Some people say that he wanted to avenge his parents death by killing Tony Zucco. However Dick could never do that. John and Mary raised their son better than that.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight Issue #100

Where do you see a raging blood-soaked boy fanon makes him out to be?

The biggest supporter of happy Dick comes from Alfred so if you're going around claiming Dick was angry, you're literally spitting on his grave because Alfred ADORED Dick. He thought of Dick as the sole reason for Bruce's happiness which made him love Dick even more.

Alfred is Dick's biggest advocator. When Bruce is hesitant in his initial days of Robin - Alfred says

Detective Comics (2016) Issue #1000

"They will be easier than they ever were for you."

Detective Comics (2016) Issue #1000

"He will see excitement and adventure...and he will help you see it, too."

Detective Comics (2016) Issue #1000

"He's gotten a taste for it, Master Bruce. He has the natural skill and talent. Do you really think you could stop him at this point?"

"He could make you better. He could BE better."

"A hero forged in the LIGHT."

And Dick feels this too.

Detective Comics (2016) Issue #1000

"Then WE help them find the better path. Together."

Detective Comics (2016) Issue #1000

"Let's show them how to do it right."

Calling Dick an angry robin - that's an insult to Dick, Bruce, and Alfred. It's an insult to who they are as characters and it's an insult to the very creation of robin.

Dick wasn't made for vengeance. He was made for the light.

Dick is the embodiment of hope and a brighter future. He's what people look forward to on their darkest days, their shining light. He's the hero of all heroes that came after him. There is no one like him.

There are tons of comics on Dick's journey as Robin but here's a clear one as to his thoughts before he became Robin.

Robin & Batman Issue #3

Dick wasn't angry. He's was sad, lonely, and scared.

But.

This good boy doesn't deserve what you call him. This small loving child. Don't you dare push your evil agenda onto him.

"I don't need to be the next batman. I can be something else. Something better."

"And you know the best part?"

"Now I know I don't need to be alone. And I don't have to be the dark."

"I can be the light."

"I can be Robin."

Batman (1940) Issue #687

Dick was an excitable, brilliant, and over-excelling child. He was a ball of sunshine and happiness who loved laughing, playing games, and being crazy. He was a hypercompetent, crazy child who lived for the love of living and adventure.

It's the loss of the original dynamic duo that Alfred grieves over.

Batman (1940) Issue #687

Just look at this adorable baby!!!

Batman/Superman (2019) Issue #16

"Hey, Batman! You took down one of 'em and I took down three! I told ya I've been practicing!"

"Good work, Robin."

What the heck you cute adorable baby.

"Holy--! Is this a warden's office of a museum of horrors? Look at that old rocket ship!"

"Ew. There's a skeleton inside!"

LOOK AT THAT BABY FACE!! THE PURE ENTHUSIAM IN THE WAY HE TALKS - HE'S JUST A HAPPY BABY BOY!!

Batman/Superman (2019) Issue #17

IT'S A CRIME TO CALL HIM ANGRY.

Love this sweet, adorable child.

Another issue with the “Dick Grayson was an angry Robin” take. It’s not just a different perspective, it’s just blatantly wrong.

How wrong?

In order to fight the Batman who laughs, Bruce creates a machine that will emulate the joy of the happiest person he has ever known-who?

Robin Dick Grayson.

"Happiness is seeing the world though the eyes of children."

The Batman Who Laughs Issue #4

"Dick was the first robin. He had the happiest eyes. Circus eyes. Weightless - leaping, never falling."

Bruce drives himself insane from the joy he feels by looking at the world through Robin Dick's eyes.

Every comic. In every. single. comic. All of them talk about how Dick was a happy child and a happy robin. Dick's talk about it, Jason's talk about it, Tim's talk about it, the Justice League's talk about it, the Batman's especially - all the batman comics - talk about.

I would've actually added about 50 more panels but I ran out of image space because posts only have a 30 image limit.

I'm not kidding when I say it's IMPOSSIBLE. ABSOLUTELY, INCONCEIVABLY IMPOSSIBLE to say that Dick was angry Robin. Dick, Jason, Bruce, Tim, Damian, Alfred, Barbara, the JL, the titans, the Gotham villains - they all talk about Dick was a symbol of hope, joy, and light to Bruce and Gotham.

Not only that but if you read the comics, you would know that Dick was a happy robin because all the following robins had a cascade effect on their personality based solely on the fact that Dick was a happy robin. Jason's personality was the result of Dick being charcterized as happy, and Tim's personality was based off Dick's being happy.

But you know what the biggest piece of evidence against this blasphemy that Dick was angry robin is?

Secret Origins (2014) Issue #8

"...Becoming a much needed FOIL to the batman, whose own grim obsession with revenge could easily have caused him to cross the line..."

Explain something to me. It canonically states the Dick was a foil to Bruce Wayne who used to be revenge obsessed and grim. A foil in literature means a character who contrasts with another character to highlight the differences between them.

So if Bruce was dark, gloomy, angry, and revenge filled and Dick was the foil, then how on earth is it possible Dick to also be dark, gloomy, angry, and revenge filled?

On top of this impossibility of Dick being angry and full of hatred, can we take a step back for a minute and think about Dick's position in all this? Dick is the very first child hero, the one countless heroes after him look up to because he, Robin, was the embodiment of light and goodness. He single-handedly dragged Bruce out of his pit of self-destruction merely by existing because of his charming and playful demeanor. How, then, is it possible for every single character in the entirety of DCU along with every single writer who has ever written a comic - to be wrong?

Let's be clear. Bruce's personality, is written to be the opposite of Dick's personality. And Dick's personality is the opposite of Bruce's. Furthermore, Jason and Tim's personality were written to be a response to Dick's. There's also Alfred waving a massive banner about how Dick is a literal godsend front and center. So. If you still believe, that Dick was not a happy robin, then you have effectively mischaracterized every single person in the entire batfamily aside from Kate.

Congratulations. It's truly an accomplishment to be so wrong.

So no, Dick was not in fact, ever, the angry robin.

Dick was a happy robin and that is the FOUNDATION of understanding the batfamily.

[cherryspeaches]

Sex, Money, Feelings, Die - Chapter 1

Summary: Having lost everything, you joined the games with no hope or expectation of winning. Despite it all, you found something interesting in #001. Maybe you'd stick around a little longer. Chapter wc: 1.1k

------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ugh. Shut the fuck up. The bed springs above me continued to creak, bearing the weight of the middle-aged man that lay on it. It doesn’t bode well to be a light sleeper in a room that you once shared with over 400 people. Little whispers, light snores and soft noises fill up the empty space of the huge room that you’ve been placed in, little rest is present amongst those remaining after the harrowing experience of witnessing death’s embrace, through a fucking children’s game of all things… You stare at the metal frame that lines and supports the bed above you, the only view that’s offered to you in this hellscape. Being placed in a very awkward third bunk placement has stifled your daydreaming tendencies, preferring the company and comfort of the make-believe instead of your present reality. You envied those close to the floor, being able to root their feet and center their bodies to the ground with much more ease. You also envied those closest to the ceiling, closer to the covered stars and having the room to breathe.  You chose to focus your thoughts towards your discontent with the sleeping arrangements, since the alternative is a reality you don’t want to face quite yet. Hoping that it’s been enough time since the lights went off, you slowly feel your pockets for your most treasured item: your older model MP3 player and wired headphones. Feeling it’s weight in your hand, you let out a small sigh of relief. You still don’t understand why they let you keep this when they confiscated literally everything else of yours, but you have noticed that they let players keep little items or trinkets like rapper extraordinaire Thanos with his entirely non-covert drug filled necklace, or that little old lady with that very gaudy hair pin that looks like it’s from the 60’s. You made a mental note to stay away from Thanos, those pretty little pills would do your attempt at recovery more harm than good. Unravelling the knot of your headphones, you go through the motions of placing each earbud in and turn on your device to play at the lowest speed possible, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself or your precious music player.  Letting the music fill your ears, you wonder if it’s worth trying to figure out literally anything about this place or if it’s simply easier to embrace your inevitable fate, it’s something you’ve been asking for at least for the last ten years. Having lost both your parents in a truck accident when you were just 18 devastated you in more ways than you could have ever expected. Not only did you lose your parents who have worked diligently to raise you and your older sister, but you also lost your physical home due to repossession from the bank after failing to pay back the necessary debts just days before their accident. Your parents had taken out a loan to be able to pay for the business that your father started, which suffered severely when the pandemic did its rounds. With no other family to turn to as all your grandparents had passed, your family had booked a motel for a week to organise themselves and try and figure out a living situation first, before looking at debt repayment strategies. The only available location within the affordable budget was in a very sketchy area, where crime was as natural as breathing. It was to no one’s surprise that your parents ended up losing their lives, the mode of death however was a surprise… so simple for a place where violence surrounds you. 

Their passing allowed you no time to grieve. You reached out to your older sister for support however every call, message and plea went unanswered. You weren’t surprised, she fell off the face of the earth a few years prior to the car accident, claiming she “made it” with her rich new boyfriend. You’d never met him, and you never knew what became of her. You had no time to grieve for the loss of your sibling bond either. 

The few days after the funeral, you had reached out to your old friend to ask for a place to live while you sorted yourself out. She had generously allowed you to stay on her couch as long as you needed, it was then that you truly felt the gravity of your situation. You got busy trying to find a job, only succeeding with night shifts at the convenience store. Depression manifested suddenly and severely in the following months, drowning you in waves ever since then. To put it lightly, there were more moments than you cared to admit where you convinced yourself that it might be easier if you just gave up. It’s in those moments that you can never truly place what brings you back from the edge. Was it the hope of reuniting with your sister? Was it the delusion of a misogynistic concept of being saved by a rich, loving prince charming? Was it the innate human nature of being desperate to live? As you mulled over this, you saw a shadow move towards your right, drawing you away from your melancholic thoughts. Trailing your eyes across the room, you spotted #001 keeping to the walls and heading towards the door. Huh. 

You knew it wasn’t your business, but you couldn’t help but let your eyes follow him. 

You hadn’t given him much thought since the vote, writing him off to be comprised of human greed like the rest of those who voted to stay (yourself included), but there was something magnetic about how he moved. He was like…a cat. No. More majestic. A panther. It was subtle but he moved with purpose, with such intention. Around him was an aura that just screamed superiority, but not in a condescending way. You had no clue what his past was but you’d bet your last dollar he had been in a position of power at one stage of his life. Normal people don’t walk that way. 

Even now, you couldn’t even say he’s creeping or hiding his movements as he walks to the door. He continues to walk with grace and purpose, it’s almost as though he’s bending the shadows to his will, and that they will listen to his command. He reached his destination and began a conversation with the pink guard stationed there. You quickly lost interest as you couldn’t hear anything, he’s probably just another older man needing to piss in the middle of the night. 

How curious though. Maybe you’d watch him tomorrow too. 

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

a/n: ahhhhh my first time writing in a very very long time!! would rly love any feedback <33

[keehomania]

paradise — jjk (18+)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut — loosely inspired by outer banks — friends with benefits, kook/pogue dynamic, violence, manipulative!toxic!jungkook, p in v intercourse, jealousy, creampie, car sex, degradation, jungkook is mean lol, tit play, lots of yapping, orgasm denial, spanking, drug usage

hell is other people. at least, according to sartre. everybody seemed to have their own personal perspective. you had your sartres, your tolstoys, and even your nietzsches, if that struck your fancy. that was the beauty of philosophy—everybody had their own way of looking at the glass, whether it was half-full or not. the sheer essence relied on the fact that, those who cared enough, would put their minds to great use in order to put things into perspective. it was subjective. to sartre, hell was other people. to you, it was jeon jungkook.

it was good. it was so good, every part of it that your mind knew was bad, seemed to be countered by a much more primitive instinct. it was only natural, above all else. it allowed you to indulge in your primal instincts, in a way that would raise eyebrows instead of praise. to hell with it, you didn’t need praise. you just needed to live, and if anybody was going to tell you how to do it, it was going to be you. sartre could never let himself go and become incarnated in his body, but thankfully, you were no sartre.

there was a certain division that led life on the island, one that seemed to resemble the States’ red-blue way of thinking. there was a hint of bourgeoisie to it, maybe even more than a hint. one side of the island belonged to those who managed to get by, living on scraps and making the most of them. they were the commoners who, despite working to live, still lived. the other side, though basing their entire lives on privilege and luxury, ceased to live. they merely existed. they existed, with their three-story homes, trust funds, and private schools, but they didn’t know the first thing about living.

living was what you did best, and you had nothing to regret. you could only wish to turn back time, to shed the last eighteen years of your life the way a snake shed its skin, and to start over. you’d trade the hand you were dealt at birth, every single privilege that was guaranteed, for the life you were now living. your blood ran blue, but your heart knew exactly where home was, much to your parents’ dismay. while they weren’t supportive, they were willing to look the other way. they knew nothing could replace the bonds formed—your second family, even if it was on the cut.

at times, you were in over your head. even with the first rays of sunlight making their breakthrough of the day, the smell of salt in the air, the feeling of coarse sand between your toes—sometimes, it wasn’t enough to quiet your mind. you stared into the sea, watching the boats grow smaller and smaller as they travelled down south, the corners of your lips turning downward as you did so. during moments like these, you would reminisce, and you would do it quietly. you would take a minute to grieve the life you had discarded, the friendships you had ended, and the luxuries you kissed goodbye. you were happier now, the half-full glass part of your mind would tell you, but the other still asked, what if you weren’t?

“these tides got me by the fucking balls, dude,” was the first thing to have snapped you out of your own thoughts, earning your attention in a matter of seconds. finally, you felt yourself relax. you could see taehyung in the water, wrestling with the surfboard under his arm as he gasped for air. for a second, he met your gaze, and you found yourself smiling. jimin stood over him, crouching against the floorboards of the boat—the same one he named in taehyung’s honor, the “dokdo maknae.”

you watched in amusement as he extended his hand, offering his best man help, even if it seemed like the world’s biggest struggle. “do us all a favor and just let him drown next time,” you called out, finally propping yourself off the ground and back onto your feet. despite the middle finger sent your way, you could hear seulgi cracking up just a few feet away from you. “yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” taehyung responded as he dried himself off with an old rag.

you shook your head, your grin widening as you made your way toward seulgi, who was sitting cross-legged near the cooler, sunglasses perched on her nose, sipping a beer. the sun spilled across the boat, warming the floorboards beneath your bare feet and casting golden ripples across the water. the air smelled of salt and sunscreen, a scent that always brought you peace. “boys,” seulgi said with a smirk as you dropped down beside her, stealing her beer for a quick sip. “so dramatic.”

before you could respond, taehyung, now aboard, threw the rag to the side with a flourish. “you want dramatic? i’ll show you dramatic,” he declared, heading toward the cooler with newfound purpose. you and seulgi exchanged a look, already bracing for whatever ridiculousness he was about to pull. “i bet i can shotgun two beers faster than anyone here,” he announced, grabbing two cans from the cooler.

“oh, please,” you said, leaning back on your elbows as the sun kissed your skin. “you can’t get through one can without it looking like you pissed yourself.”

“you need to learn to have a little more faith in me,” taehyung replied with a confident smirk, already cracking open the cans. jimin was on the other side of the boat, shaking his head. “this should be good,” seulgi murmured, pulling her sunglasses down just enough to watch the scene unfold.

with exaggerated theatrics, taehyung lifted both cans, the liquid already beginning to foam. “one, two,” he started, his voice trailing off as he tilted them back, the first gush of bitter liquid splashing wildly. you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up as, true to form, taehyung managed to spill more than he drank. within seconds, beer was running down his arms, soaking his shirt, and unfortunately, spraying onto both you and seulgi in the process. “see, i can totally do it!” he exclaimed triumphantly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“you asshole,” you said, feigning annoyance as you flicked droplets off your arms. “you got us all wet!” through her laughter, seulgi added, “You’re a walking disaster, dude.”

taehyung, unbothered, gave you both a devilish grin. “i’ve got a solution,” he said, stepping closer to you. before you could react, his arms were already wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground and and throwing you effortlessly over his shoulder. “taehyung, don’t even try it!” you yelled, pounding on his back, but he was already sprinting toward the edge of the boat.

the impact was cold and sudden, the water enveloping you in an instant. you came up for air sputtering, pushing your wet hair out of your face as you glared at him. “you’re such an ass,” you snapped, splashing water in his direction, but your laughter betrayed you. his grin was wide and unrepentant as he treaded water, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. “and yet, you can’t get enough of me,” he teased, dodging your splash with ease. despite your protests, you couldn’t deny the truth of his words. moments like these—laughter, salt water, the sun rising higher in the sky—reminded you why you chose this life.

the sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows on the beach as the waves crashed in a soothing rhythm against the shore. you lay sprawled on a towel beside seulgi, your sunglasses shielding your eyes from the glare, the heat of the day seeping into your skin. taehyung and jimin had ventured further down the beach with their fishing rods, their laughter echoing faintly over the sound of the waves.

seulgi was flipping through a fashion magazine, occasionally pausing to comment on an outfit or a piece of jewelry, but you were only half-listening. your mind drifted, lulled by the sea breeze and the distant hum of voices. that was, until your phone buzzed beside you. you hesitated, a pang of unease washing over you as you turned the screen over. the name flashing on the screen was both familiar and unwelcome.

do not answer: wya

your stomach twisted as you stared at the message, the three letters pulling you from the tranquility of the moment. you didn’t have to think twice to know why he was texting. jeon jungkook always had a way of turning up uninvited, unannounced, and unwelcome—yet there was something about him that kept you from cutting him off entirely. you scoffed quietly, a sound that barely escaped your throat, but seulgi noticed the subtle change in your demeanor.

“what’s wrong?” she asked, lowering her sunglasses to give you a curious glance. you forced a laugh, shaking your head as you quickly locked your phone. “wrong number, i guess.” she raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but didn’t push further. you couldn’t risk her knowing even a fraction of what you had going on with jungkook. seulgi was fiercely loyal, and if she ever found out about the tangled mess of mistakes and emotions you had with him, she’d never let it slide.

your thoughts churned as you leaned back against the towel, staring at the sky. what had started as a drunken mistake one night at a party thrown by the rich and reckless had somehow spiraled into something far more complicated. jungkook had a reputation that preceded him—dangerous, aloof, and always out for his own gain. but with you, he was different. or at least, you’d convinced yourself he was. you thought back to the nights where he’d been unexpectedly gentle, his touch careful and his words soft, as though the walls he put up for the world didn’t exist in your presence. it was a lie you clung to, a fantasy you chased, even when his actions painted a different picture.

the resentment had been simmering for a while, but it reached its boiling point last week. you’d seen him at the golfing event, his arm slung around another girl as though you didn’t exist. it was the final confirmation you needed: he wasn’t what you wanted him to be. still, your fingers hovered over your phone, and before you could stop yourself, you typed out a response.

you: beach

you: taehyung’s throwing a party tn

the reply came faster than you anticipated, as though he had been waiting for your message.

do not answer: omw

your jaw tightened as you stared at the screen, irritation bubbling up inside you. the audacity he had was almost impressive, if it weren’t so infuriating.

you: ur not invited lol

a beat passed before his response lit up the screen, and it was exactly what you expected.

do not amswer: see u tonight

you sighed, tossing your phone onto the towel beside you with more force than necessary. the nerve of him.

“what’s up?” seulgi asked, glancing at you from over the rim of her sunglasses. “nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “just work stuff.” she nodded, satisfied with the answer, and returned to her magazine. but your mind was elsewhere, already bracing for the chaos jungkook’s presence would inevitably bring. you hated how easily he got under your skin, how no matter how many times you told yourself you were done, you always found yourself right back where you started.

the memory seemed to hit you like a wave, drowning out the warmth of the sun and the soft sounds of the beach. it wasn’t just a moment—it was the catalyst, the precise point in time when your life split into the “before” and “after” of jeon jungkook. you’d never forget the smell of salt in the air mixed with the sharp bite of alcohol, or the way the world seemed to tilt slightly as you tried to keep your balance.

that night, the four of you—taehyung, jimin, seulgi, and yourself—had made the brilliant decision to sneak off to the other side of the island. it wasn’t a small feat; the jungle separating your beach from theirs was dense and wild, and every crack of a branch or rustle of leaves had sent shivers down your spine. but the promise of free booze and a party hosted by the infamous jungkook and his equally notorious friends had been too tempting.

the house where the party raged was perched on the cliffside, its floor-to-ceiling windows glowing with golden light. music blared loud enough to make the walls tremble, and the sound of laughter and splashes echoed from the pool. you hadn’t wasted any time diving headfirst into the expensive cocktails. the smooth taste of rum burned in the back of your throat, but it only fueled the high you were chasing. “have a hit, c’mon, it’s on the house,” a voice had called out over the noise.

you turned just in time to see jungkook leaning casually against a pool table, his friend nervously fidgeting with a rolled-up dollar bill in hand. the sharp scent of chemicals lingered in the air, unmistakable even in the chaos of the party. “don’t pussy out on me now, okay?” his voice was smooth, almost coaxing, but the sharp edge in his words betrayed the threat beneath. his friends—if you could call them that—laughed on cue, while a group of girls lounged behind him, their eyes glued to him like moths to a flame.

something about the scene struck you wrong. even through the haze of alcohol, your disdain bubbled up. the scoff that escaped your lips wasn’t intentional, but it was loud enough to carry. jungkook’s head snapped up, his sharp gaze landing on you like a laser. “you get lost, whore? cut’s on the other side of the island,” he sneered, his words slicing through the air like a knife. laughter erupted around him, his friends quick to follow his lead. but you weren’t about to back down, not to him.

“you get lost, asshole? addicts anonymous is on the other side of the island,” you shot back, your words sharper than you expected. the laughter died instantly, replaced by a stunned silence. even his so-called friends seemed intrigued, their eyes darting between you and him like they were watching a bomb about to go off. jungkook’s expression shifted, his smirk faltering as he straightened, his full attention now focused on you.

“you’ve got a mouth on you,” he murmured, stepping away from the table. “and you’ve got a habit,” you retorted, moving closer despite the voice in your head screaming for you to stop.

he tilted his head, studying you with a look that sent a shiver down your spine. “let me do my thing, yeah? shit cost me a lot.” there it was—the money. it always came down to that with guys like him. you watched as he turned back to his friend, offering a look that was equal parts mocking and demanding. the guy hesitated, the dollar trembling in his grip.

before you could think better of it, your feet carried you forward. with a boldness that surprised even you, you snatched the bill from the guy’s hand, shoving jungkook aside with a force you hadn’t known you possessed. “if you’re gonna waste your money, might as well make it worth it,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

the rolled-up bill felt foreign in your hand, and your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned down, the sharp sting of the powder burning your nostrils. you inhaled until the line was gone, ignoring the searing pain and the metallic taste that followed.

straightening up, you turned to jungkook, your head spinning but your resolve unshaken. “you can leave him alone now,” you said, your voice steady despite the chaos in your mind. “not everyone needs coke and viagra to keep their dick hard.” the room fell silent, all eyes on you. jungkook stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—a flicker of surprise, maybe even admiration.

“you’d be surprised just how hard it can get,” he said, his voice low and dripping with amusement. your stomach twisted, but you refused to falter. “try me,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

his lips curled into a smirk, and for a moment, neither of you moved. then, without breaking eye contact, you turned on your heel and walked past him, ignoring the way your heart raced as you climbed the stairs. the sound of his footsteps behind you sent a chill down your spine, but you didn’t stop. you knew where this was headed. you knew it was a mistake. and yet, as you reached the top of the stairs and felt his hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you to face him, you knew you wouldn’t stop it. not tonight.

the morning after was worse than anything you could have anticipated. the headache was a dull roar behind your eyes, pulsing in time with your heartbeat, and the sour tang of regret clung to you like a second skin. the smell of sweat, alcohol, and sex lingered in the air, mixing into a nauseating reminder of the night before.

the room was bathed in the soft golden glow of the early morning sun filtering through the curtains. you blinked against the light, your senses slowly coming back to you as the events of the previous night unfurled in your mind. the party. the lines. the liquor. jungkook. shit, jungkook.

you pushed yourself upright, the sheet pooling around your waist as you surveyed the room with growing horror. his room. his bed. his things scattered around like trophies of his carelessness. and there, beside you, his arm lazily draped over the empty space, was the man himself. he looked peaceful, almost innocent in his sleep—a huge contrast to the wild, arrogant man from the night before. his dark hair was tousled against the pillow, his chest rising and falling steadily. you could make out the faint remnants of scratches on his shoulders and chest, and the sight made your stomach flip.

you slid out of his bed as quietly as you could, every movement measured and deliberate. the cool morning air hit your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine. the ache in your thighs and the marks on your body only deepened your shame. your clothes were strewn across the floor, a chaotic mess of discarded fabric. you crouched down, gathering them quickly, trying to piece together some semblance of dignity.

the large mirror across the room caught your reflection, and you froze. you looked disheveled. vulnerable. raw. your hair was a mess, your makeup smeared, and your skin bore the evidence of his touch—purple bruises on your neck and thighs, faint scratches on your arms. it was as if your body had betrayed you, telling the story of your night with him in ways you wished it wouldn’t.

as you slipped your panties back on and reached for your bra, the voice you dreaded most cut through the silence like a knife. “going somewhere?” you froze, your heart plummeting into your stomach. of course, he was awake. of course, fate wouldn’t let you escape unnoticed.

you didn’t turn to look at him, didn’t dare meet his gaze. instead, you focused on pulling your bra straps into place, forcing yourself to appear unaffected. “clearly,” you deadpanned, hoping the sharpness in your tone would mask the turmoil inside you. he shifted, the sound of the sheets rustling making you painfully aware of his presence. you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and intent, as if he was committing every inch of you to memory.

“seem to be in a big rush,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “try not to miss me too much.” you scoffed, finally pulling your top over your head. the fabric felt like armor, shielding you from his piercing gaze, though you could still feel it. “bite me,” you snapped, turning to face him.

the smirk that spread across his face was slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second of your reaction. “well,” he drawled, his eyes flicking down to your legs, “if your legs are any indication, i think i already have.” confused, you glanced down, and your breath caught in your throat. bruises. his marks. scattered along your inner thighs like some twisted declaration of possession. heat flooded your cheeks, a mix of anger and humiliation that made your head spin.

when you looked back up, his gaze was unwavering, his fingers reaching out to brush against the bruised skin. the touch was light, almost reverent, but it sent a jolt through you nonetheless. “tell me this was a mistake,” he said, his voice soft and smooth, yet commanding. you opened your mouth, ready to deliver the cutting remark he deserved, but the words wouldn’t come. his eyes held you captive, dark and searching, and the goosebumps that rose on your skin betrayed you.

“it was a mistake,” you managed to say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. jungkook tilted his head, his expression unreadable as his fingers continued to trace lazy circles on your thigh. “then why don’t you sound like you mean it?”

you stepped back, breaking his touch and the spell he seemed to have cast over you. “believe it or not, but i do,” you said, though the words felt hollow. he didn’t respond, just watched you with that same infuriating smirk as you grabbed the rest of your things and fled the room.

the party roared to life in a way that only taehyung could pull off. the island, once serene and peaceful, had transformed into a haven for decadence. fireworks lit up the night sky in an endless symphony of colors, their reflections shimmering on the dark water. music thundered from colossal speakers strategically placed along the beach, the bass so heavy it vibrated through the sand. people danced with wild abandon, their bodies swaying and colliding under the flickering light of bonfires scattered across the shore. drinks flowed, laughter echoed in the air, and the atmosphere was thick with an intoxicating mix of salt and cheap beer.

you weaved your way through the throng of people, the cacophony of sound and light almost overwhelming. the drink in your hand had long since lost its appeal, but you clung to it as a distraction, something to occupy your trembling fingers. your mind buzzed with unease, your nerves stretched thin under the weight of one singular thought: avoid jungkook at all costs. you couldn’t bear the thought of another confrontation, another one of his sharp words cutting into you like glass.

stumbling slightly, you glanced around for a quieter corner, somewhere you could breathe. your head was spinning, whether from the alcohol or the oppressive tension of the night, you weren’t sure. just as you thought you’d found a moment of peace, a pair of hands suddenly covered your eyes from behind. panic seized you, your breath catching in your throat as your heart raced.

you spun around, ready to lash out, only to be met with taehyung’s familiar, mischievous grin. his golden skin glowed under the light of the bonfires, and his dark hair fell messily across his forehead, damp from the humidity. “ants up your ass?” he teased, his voice lilting with amusement. “jesus, dude,” you muttered, letting out a shaky laugh as you tried to steady your pounding heart. “don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“relax,” he said, throwing a casual arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “you’re too tense. come on, i’ve got just the thing to fix that.” before you could protest, he guided you down the beach, the noise of the crowd fading slightly as you moved further from the epicenter of the party. he stopped beside a cooler buried halfway in the sand, crouching down to rummage through it. with a triumphant smile, he pulled out a mai tai, holding it out like it was a prize.

“see how i remembered your favorite?” he said, his grin widening. “i should get some credit for that.” you couldn’t help but laugh, accepting the drink from him. “you get all the credit, tae,” you said, cracking open the can and taking a sip. the sweet, citrusy flavor was refreshing, and for a moment, you felt a bit of the tension leave your shoulders.

the two of you settled by one of the smaller bonfires, the warmth of the flames chasing away the chill of the ocean breeze. you leaned your head on his shoulder, the comfort of his presence grounding you in a way few things could. “i have to admit something,” he murmured after a moment, his voice low and conspiratorial. he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers light against your skin.

“what is it?” you asked, matching his tone. “i’m so fucked right now,” he whispered, his words slurring slightly as he dissolved into laughter. you couldn’t help it—you laughed, too, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as the ridiculousness of the moment hit you. for the first time that night, you felt like you could breathe. but the moment shattered like glass as a voice cut through the laughter, sharp and cold.

“what’s so funny?” the entire beach seemed to freeze. the music, the laughter, even the waves crashing against the shore all faded into the background as you looked up. jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes locked on you and taehyung, his expression thunderous.

taehyung was on his feet in an instant, his playful demeanor replaced by something sharper, more dangerous. “who the fuck invited you?” he snapped, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of a few nearby partygoers. jungkook’s gaze flicked to you, his lips curling into a smirk that sent a chill down your spine. “ask your girlfriend,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “she sure knows how to get around.”

the words hit like a slap, your cheeks flushing with equal parts anger and embarrassment. before you could react, taehyung lunged forward, his fist connecting with jungkook’s jaw with a sickening thud. “taehyung, stop!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet, but your voice was drowned out by the chaos.

jungkook retaliated immediately, his fist slamming into taehyung’s side with enough force to make him stumble. the two of them were a blur of motion, fists flying and curses ringing out as a small crowd began to gather. “knock it off!” jimin’s voice rang out as he pushed his way through the crowd, grabbing taehyung and pulling him back.

you darted forward, grabbing jungkook’s arm and tugging him away with all the strength you could muster. “let’s go,” you hissed, dragging him toward the parking lot. “shit,” he muttered, wiping at his nose. blood smeared across his hand, and he winced. “think he broke my fucking nose.”

“oh, please,” you snapped, your voice shaking with anger. “like you weren’t begging for it.” you stopped beside his car, spinning around to face him. “what the fuck is your problem?” you demanded, your voice rising. for a moment, he said nothing, his dark eyes searching yours. the silence stretched, the weight of it pressing down on you like a vice.

“you’re such a dick,” you continued, your frustration spilling over. “always starting shit, always—” before you could finish, jungkook slammed his hands against the car, the sound reverberating through the night. one of his fists hit the rearview mirror, knocking it loose. “you’re my problem,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous.

his hands grabbed your shoulders, pinning you against the car. his face was inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin as his eyes burned into yours. “you’ve been my problem since the night we met,” he growled. “since you walked onto my property that night, flashing your shit like sharon stone.”

fear twisted in your gut, but you refused to let it show. “go to hell, you fucking asshole,” you spat, your voice trembling. “i’d take those two minutes of getting fucked by you back if i could.” to your surprise, he laughed—a dark, humorless sound that sent a shiver down your spine. he stepped back for a moment, pacing like a caged animal before slamming his hand against the car next to your head.

“some fucking nerve you have,” he said, his voice a venomous whisper. “feeling that dipshit up right in front of me.”

“what's it to you, asshole?” you snapped, shoving against his chest with all your might. his hands caught yours, pinning them above your head with one hand as his other cupped your jaw. “did he fuck you yet?” he asked, his tone sharp and cruel. “does he know who popped your cherry?”

the words hit like a punch to the gut, but you refused to let him see how much they hurt. “get lost,” you bit out, your voice shaking with rage. “maybe that slut from your golf tournament'll help you find your way back.” a bitter laugh escaped his lips as he leaned in closer. “you can’t be serious,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear.

“why not?” you bit out. “she’s easier to get into than community college, why the fuck not?” before you could say another word, his lips crashed against yours, silencing your tirade. you tried to resist, your hands pushing against him, but his grip was unyielding. slowly, against your better judgment, you gave in.

when he pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his forehead resting against yours. “she’s my friend’s girlfriend, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered. for a second, you almost felt like an idiot, but you couldn’t let yourself feel like one. why should you? “you’re the one who wanted something casual,” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper.

for a moment, he said nothing, the tension between you thick and suffocating. it was all because he knew you had the upper hand. then, without a word, he kissed you again. this time, you didn’t resist. you let the anger, the frustration, and the twisted desire take over, surrendering to the fire that had been burning between you all along.

his lips moved with a bruising intensity, claiming yours with a ferocity that made your knees weak. the tension between you crackled like lightning, the weight of his jealousy and your own suppressed emotions combusting into a heated clash. his grip on your wrists didn’t loosen, pinning you against the cool metal of the car as his body pressed flush against yours. his tongue swept across your lower lip, demanding entry, and when you opened up to him, the kiss deepened into something raw and consuming.

when he finally pulled back, his lips swollen and glistening, his dark eyes bored into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. his hand slid down from your jaw to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against the sensitive skin as his lips ghosted over your jawline. “you think that asshole could ever make you feel this way?” he muttered against your skin, his voice low and rough, dripping with jealousy.

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat when his lips found the curve of your neck. he kissed his way down slowly, deliberately, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave you trembling. you gasped when he nipped at a particularly sensitive spot, one he knew like the back of his hand, your body arching into his as your hands twisted in his shirt, desperate for an anchor.

“answer me,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against your neck. his tongue flicked over the spot he’d just bitten, soothing the sting with an intimacy that sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

“jungkook—” you breathed, barely able to form coherent words. “that’s not an answer,” he growled, his hands releasing your wrists only to find their way to your hips. his fingers dug into your flesh possessively as he pulled you closer, his thigh slipping between yours in a way that left no space between your bodies.

your head fell back against the car as he continued his assault on your neck, his lips and teeth working in tandem to leave marks that you knew would be there for days. his jealousy was palpable, woven into every kiss, every touch, every deliberate pause as he refused to give you the release you so desperately craved. “taehyung couldn’t do this to you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone now, his voice a sinful whisper. “he couldn’t make you feel like this, could he?”

“stop,” you gasped, though your hands betrayed you as they slid up his chest, curling into his shirt and pulling him closer.

“stop lying to yourself,” he shot back, his hands sliding over the fabric of your bikini, his palms warm against your bare skin as he palmed at the flesh of your tits. his thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles down your sides as he kissed his way back up to your jawline, his lips brushing yours but never quite closing the distance. you whimpered, the sound torn from your throat as his teeth grazed your ear. “say it,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. “say he could never touch you like this.”

your lips trembled, torn between pride and the undeniable truth that jungkook had you under his spell, as he always had. but he didn’t wait for your answer. instead, his lips finally descended on yours again, and this time, the kiss was slower, deeper, his tongue exploring your mouth like he was memorizing every inch of you. his hands roamed greedily, one slipping under the hem of your shirt while the other gripped your thigh, pulling it up to wrap around his waist. the position left you completely at his mercy, your body pinned against the car with no escape from the heat radiating off him.

“admit it,” he murmured against your lips, his voice sending shivers down your spine. his hand slid higher, his fingers teasing the edge of your bra as his lips moved to your neck again, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. “admit i’m the only one whos ever gonna make you feel this way.”

you hated how right he was, how your body responded to his every touch, every word, every possessive look. your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer as your resolve shattered completely. “only you, kook,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. “no one else, i promise.”

the heat between the two of you was suffocating, consuming, as his lips captured yours in a fervent kiss while his hands fumbled to open the back door of his car. he groaned into your mouth as the door clicked open, his lips never leaving yours as he maneuvered the two of you into the backseat. the kiss was messy, all teeth and tongue, a clash of frustration, jealousy, and raw desire that made your head spin.

your knees straddled his hips as you hovered over him, your breathing erratic as his hands roamed your body. his fingers slid up your sides, brushing over the thin strings of your bikini top, and he pulled back just enough to look at you. his dark eyes were heavy with lust as they trailed down your body, lingering on the way your bikini struggled to contain you. “fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick and dripping with approval. “bikini’s too small for you, doll.”

your cheeks burned under his gaze, but before you could respond, his hands tugged at the ties of your top, and his head dipped down, burying itself between your tits as they dropped out. his lips were hot against your skin, kissing and sucking with an unrelenting hunger that left you breathless.

“got the best rack on the island, don’t you?” he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled but no less vulgar. the words sent a jolt of heat straight through you, equal parts demeaning and intoxicating, because it was him—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically possessive. “stop,” you gasped, your hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer even as you protested. “anyone could walk by and see us.”

he didn’t even pause, too busy sucking a mark into the soft flesh of your chest. “let ’em see,” he grunted, his teeth grazing the swell of your breast before his tongue followed, soothing the sting. “wan’em to see who gets to fuck you stupid.” your breath hitched as his lips traced the faint tan lines left behind by your swimsuit, his warm tongue licking over them with a softness that contrasted the possessive grip of his hands on your hips.

with a smirk that could only be described as pure evil, he slapped your left tit, the sound echoing in the car. your eyes went wide with shock and arousal, your mouth dropping open on a silent cry.

his grip tightened around your hips as he slapped the right one, the sting spreading like wildfire across your chest, leaving you trembling. “shit, you like that, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. “you like when i show you who’s in charge?” you nodded frantically, unable to form words, your eyes glazed over with desire. jungkook chuckled, the sound dark and sinful, as he continued his assault, slapping each boob in turn, watching as your nipples grew harder with every impact.

you watched as he hoisted one of your legs up and, to your astonishment, pressed his pelvis against the bare flesh of your thigh. at first, you almost didn’t get it, until you felt it. through his khaki shorts, rock hard and throbbing. “you feel how hard you make me, doll?” you felt it, of course you did, but just in case you didn’t, he made sure to guide your hand over his clothed dick. you allowed yourself to feel him up, to relish in the sight of him throwing his head back in bliss as you stroked his thick, solid cock as best as you could through his shorts.

his eyes rolled back in his head, a silent groan escaping his lips, and that was all the encouragement you needed. you leaned back, pressing the weight of your palm against his cock, and whispered, “fuck me, jungkook. please, need it so badly.” the words were like a spell, and he was the one under it. his eyes snapped to yours, filled with something akin to desperation. without another word, he yanked down the waistband of his shorts, freeing his cock with an urgency that made your mouth water. it was big, bigger than you remembered, and it was all for you.

his hand was on the back of your neck, pushing down as he guided his cock to your mouth, and you opened for him, eager to taste him, to have him fill you in every way possible. the tip of his dick was wet with pre-cum, and you licked at it like it was a summer treat. his hips bucked up, and he cursed under his breath. “finally putting that mouth to good use,” he murmured, his hand tightening slightly as he pushed further into your mouth. you took as much of him as you could, feeling his girth stretch your lips wide, and the sound he made was all the reward you needed.

his other hand slid down your stomach and hooked into the string of your bikini bottoms, tugging them aside to expose your drenched pussy. his thumb brushed against your clit, and you moaned around his cock. “got your panties all wet, baby,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to pump into your mouth with a steady rhythm. you felt yourself getting wetter with every stroke, his roughness only adding to the thrill. the anticipation of what was to come was almost too much to handle.

his hand moved from your neck to the base of his cock, and he began to fuck your mouth in earnest, his eyes never leaving yours. the smell of your arousal filled the car, mixing with the salty scent of the sea breeze that filtered through the open windows. you could feel your orgasm building, but he knew it. he knew how close you were, and he wasn't about to let you cum that easily. “you're not getting off until i say so,” he warned, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, the promise of pleasure just out of reach.

his free hand slid down to your throat, his grip firm but not painful as he began to choke you. the air grew thinner, and your eyes watered, but you didn't fight it. instead, you leaned into the feeling, letting his dominance wash over you like a wave. the pressure built alongside your need for air and the pressure in your clit, creating a cocktail of sensations that made your head spin. he knew he was close, but he wasn’t going to dump his seed anywhere but inside you.

his thumb slid down, pressing hard against your clit, and you felt the orgasm start to build. your eyes widened, and you tried to moan around his cock, but the sound was muffled by his thick shaft. “just like that, fuck,” he grunted, his eyes dark with lust. “keep going, just a little bit more.”

his other hand left your neck to fist your hair, and he pulled you off his cock with a wet pop. your mouth was left gaping, and he smirked at the sight, his dick still hard and gleaming with your saliva. “need’a get a good look at you,” he murmured, his voice gruff with need. “should see how fucked you look, and ’m not even through with you.”

you whined, your knees hitting the sticky car floor with a thud as you positioned yourself over his hips. unfortunately, he was right. your lips were bruised, chin stained with spit, your make-up smeared, and your hair a mess. it only turned him on even more, his cock was now fully exposed, bobbing in front of your face, and he stroked it lazily as he watched you, the smugness in his gaze unmistakable. “you’re so fucking eager, aren’t you?” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. “desperate to take all of me, to let me use you like the stupid bitch you are.”

his words only served to inflame the fire in your belly, and you nodded, your cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and arousal. “yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “i’m your cocksleeve, nobody else’s.” his grip on your hair tightened, and he guided his cock back to your mouth. “prove it,” he demanded, pushing inside you until you gagged. your eyes watered as you struggled to accommodate him, but you didn’t pull away. instead, you took a deep breath and took him even deeper, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat.

his hand moved to your chin, and he slapped your pussy again, the sound echoing in the car. “you love this, don’t you?” he said, his voice a low growl. “love this first class slut specialty, huh?” you couldn't speak, but you nodded, your eyes pleading for him to keep going. he slapped you again, and again, the sting turning to pleasure, making your clit throb with each impact. the sound of your own wetness filled the air as he chuckled darkly, his grip on your hair never loosening.

his free hand slid down to your pussy, his fingers sliding through your juices before pushing inside you, curling up to hit your g-spot. you moaned, the feeling of being filled both in your mouth and in your cunt too much to bear, and you felt your orgasm start to crest. just as you were about to cum, he pulled out of your mouth, his hand moving from your neck to cover your mouth and nose. “not yet,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “not until i say you can.”

his thumb found your clit again, and he began to rub it in firm circles, the pressure building until you thought you would scream. “please, fuck, please,” you whined, your hips bucking against his hand. “please let me cum, need it so bad.”

his grin was feral as he leaned back against the car seat, watching you squirm. “who’s the one in charge here?” he asked, his voice a taunt. “who gets to decide when you get to come?”

you bit your lip, your eyes pleading with him as you nodded, the words leaving you in a rush. “you do,” you panted. “you do, jungkook.” his hand stilled, and he leaned in to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “good girl, using your brain for once,” he cooed, his voice a sweet caress that belied the darkness in his words. “now, you can cum for me.”

his hand on your clit began to move again, faster this time, and you couldn't hold back the scream that tore from your throat. your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, making your body convulse as you came, hard and fast, your pussy clenching around his fingers. just as you thought it was over, you felt his thick fingers wrap around your thighs, turning you over as he positioned himself against your cunt from behind.

“jungkook, please, ’s too much,” you cried out, still coming down from your first orgasm as tears filled your eyes, but he had no intention to listen. you knew it the second you felt his fat, thick tip probing at your cunt, your back arching as his hands pulled at the flesh of your ass. he taunted you a bit, determined to hurt you as much as he could, pushing his tip in ever so slightly, before pulling right back out.

you felt like sobbing, the feeling all to much for you as you held onto the car door for dear life. “beg me,” he murmured, even if he needed to resist his own urges. “beg me to split this pussy open, baby, use your words.”

you didn’t want to, but the desperation in your voice was clear as you whimpered, “please, jungkook, fuck me. please, i need it so badly."

his hand tightened on your throat, and he thrust into you with no warning, filling you in one brutal stroke. you screamed out, the pain mixing with pleasure as he claimed you, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. “fuck, still as tight as you were when i popped your cherry,” he groaned, his hips pumping into you, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make everything feel sharper. “this is what you want, isn’t it?”

you nodded frantically, the pressure on your neck making it difficult to speak. “yes,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “yes, fuck, it’s what i need.”

his thrusts grew more erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants as he fucked you against the car door. “ass bouncing ’gainst my fuckin��� balls,” he groaned, his voice strained as he delivered a harsh smack to the flesh of your ass. how you loved knowing he'd leave more than enough marks for everyone to see. “so fucking tight. i love how you grip me.”

you felt his hand slide down to your clit, his fingers moving in a way that had you seeing stars. “you're gonna cum for me again,” he said, his voice a command. “gonna cum while i'm filling your tight little pussy up, okay?” you nodded again, unable to form words, your eyes squeezed shut as he worked your body like a fiddle, playing you into a symphony of pleasure and pain. your moans grew louder, and you could feel the second orgasm building, a storm in your belly that threatened to consume you.

his hand on your neck loosened slightly, but before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours again, swallowing your cries as his cock pounded into you. every thrust seemed like borderline abuse, the tip of his cock slamming against your cervix with every move. he was so big, so fucking big, filling you up, making a mold of his cock with your insides. his thumb circled your clit faster, and you felt the wave of pleasure crest again, your body shuddering as you came a second time. your walls clamped down on his cock, and he groaned against your skin, his own climax following closely behind.

his orgasm was like nothing you had ever felt before, his hot cum filling you up as he held you down, his cock pulsing deep inside you. “fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, his body shaking with the force of it. “so good, baby, so good.”

finally, he pulled out of you, his cum dripping down your thighs as you slumped against the car door, boneless and utterly spent. jungkook smirked as he looked down at the mess he had made of you, his cock still half hard, glistening with your juices. “see?” he said, his voice smug. “no one else can do that to you.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

a/n: i have a few things to talk about all of them very important obviously.

1. loossemble disbanding is crazy work!

2. i feel like we as a society failed to appreciate the cinematic masterpiece that is malcolm in the middle.

3. i had a wet dream abt revenge of the sith anakin last night.

4. i am the only person who watched the oc ever and if u watched it i watched it better than u.

5. i know u got a fat ASS 💜 u know i love a fat ASS 💜

6. In Korea, you can't eat until the elders eat. Ningning is the maknae, which means she's the youngest, and the fact that she ate first is crazy. I'm not trying to be – I'm not trying to be messy, I promise you. I'm just saying, that's crazy.

[pastanest]

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

A/N: bet you hoes thought you’d seen the last of me x

tw: allusions to sa but no actual acts committed, just the fear of what men can do

Instincts

The moment you regain consciousness, your survival instincts are kicking in. Before even opening your eyes, you are aware that wherever you are right now, Daryl is not with you; there are binds on your wrists that keep them at your back and binds at your ankles to stop you from running - if Daryl was anywhere nearby, there’s no way in Hell you’d still be restrained. The right side of your face feels cold, pressed against a concrete floor. The left side of your face feels hot, stemming from a particular point just above your temple - point of impact, blood, possible concussion. How you got here is unclear; it would be a waste of time to focus on that.

Blinking as hard as you can, you clear your blurry, barely conscious vision. Four walls, two windows on the left and right, one door on the wall in front of you, off-centre to the left. Naturally, you are curled in the furthest corner from the door, where you appear to have been thrown, because you have no memory of army-crawling your bound self over here. There’s a silver lining if you’ve ever seen one: your back is not exposed, you can focus entirely on what’s in front of you. Namely, the three idiots who thought tying you up in wherever this is, was a good idea. Your brain is fighting hard to recognise any of their faces, but you can’t - they must have snuck up on you. And they wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on Daryl, so they must have waited for you to separate from him and snuck up on you. Blood running cold isn’t a new feeling since the world ended, but it feels entirely different now.

Even in the world before, any girl’s survival instincts would go haywire if she woke up in an unfamiliar room, tied up by three unfamiliar men. Particularly when you realise they could have covered your mouth, but they haven’t, because they aren’t as worried about you screaming as they are in need of that particular body part. But there’s one thing the end of the world brought you that will change the predicted outcome of your current situation..

“Jus’ sit tight.” Daryl forced one of his knives into your trembling hands, thinking you and your wide eyes looked like the kind of doe too pretty to kill - Merle called him a pussy the first (and only) time he’d used that excuse as a boy.

“B-But, what if-“ You were stuttering in a way Daryl got, but he’d never felt in your place.

Out in the world was where he belonged. That world ending didn’t change that for him, just meant he had to share it with a whole lot more uglies, and…some people that weren’t ugly in the slightest. Fighting for his life is what he’d always done, he wasn’t afraid of that, but folks like you? He knew from one look in your terrified eyes, you’d never felt fear like this. The kind that paralyses you. And Daryl recognised you had every right to feel that: the world you knew had ended, you were thrown into a makeshift camp with total strangers, grieving the family you’d lost and trying to find some sense of normality when the walkers came from the woods. You saw them get Amy, and you froze, because as much as you frantically looked around the camp, you knew Daryl wasn’t there. The one person you felt you could turn to for protection, the one time he left camp to go and look for his asshole of a brother. And you couldn’t cry out. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish. A walker was stumbling towards you and you barely had it in you to take slow, unsteady steps back from it. The bolt that was shot through its skull was one you recognised, and in a blur you were grabbed, dragged until your back was no longer exposed and was instead against the wall of the RV.

“I won’t let ‘em.” Daryl answered you, leaving no room for you to argue even in your panicked state.

All you could do was nod, trembling hands gripping his knife.

“Jus’ sit tight, lemme handle it. Don’t draw attention.” Daryl instructed in the typical gruff fashion you’d already become accustomed to.

And he did as promised. Bolt after bolt from his crossbow flew through the air, bullets from the gun he carried and the guns in the hands of the others, too, took down the walkers that had invaded the home you had all been foolish enough to believe was safe. And when it was all over, Daryl came right back to you. It was actually difficult for him to get his knife back from your shaking hands, they were gripping it so hard. He could tell by your breathing you were in some sort of shock, so he did the one thing he remembered his mama doing for him when he was real small and cut his knee bad: he pulled you into his arms. And it wasn’t awkward, just like it hadn’t been when he was a boy, because it was needed. That reminder that you were safe. He needed that just as much as you did.

Years have passed since then. Or, at least, your best guess at years. You’re stronger now, more independent, more resourceful, and you can protect yourself. But in this moment, bound and trapped, your instinct to start shit talking is overshadowed by those exact words from Daryl when you’d felt this same uncertainty in his absence: sit tight. So, you keep your mouth shut, and your survival is governed by a version of Daryl in your subconscious. Slowly so as to not draw attention to yourself, you shuffle yourself around until you’re sitting up in the corner of the room, with your bound legs bent to your chest. Your tied wrists at your back are concealed by the rest of you, and as futile as the effort might be, you start picking at the rope from any awkward angle you can in an effort to loosen it. Raising your eyebrows up and down a few times, you can feel the tug of your wound, and the beginnings of dried blood crusting around it - you’ve been here, unconscious, more than a few minutes, but the heat of fresh blood you can still feel means you’ve not been here very long.

“Would you look at that, our girl’s back with us!” One of the men jeers, smacking the back of one of the others to get him looking over at you.

If Daryl was here and heard them call you that, they’d be dead already. That thought gives you a small amount of comfort.

“Awh, cat got your tongue, little lady? C’mon, don’t be shy!” The third man smirks at you, and as he starts walking over to you, your knees instinctively draw closer to your chest.

It takes everything in you not to react when he crouches down in front of you, one of his hands grabbing your jaw. You want to spit right in his face, but that would only escalate things beyond your control. Sit tight, sit tight. You focus on your breathing. Focus on looking past this ugly fucker, through him, to the door on the opposite side of the room. Hoping, willing, praying; dissociating.

“Pretty thing like you needs some strong men lookin’ after her.”

Unfortunately, you’re not dissociated enough to miss those words from the man still crouched in front of you. But you’re grateful for that, because if you had been, you might’ve missed the subtlest creak from just outside the door. A moment’s pause. A second’s silence. And then the door slams against the wall, kicked open by a boot you barely have time to recognise before a bolt head from Daryl’s crossbow appears right between the eyes of the man who had been crouched in front of you, but is now a crumpled corpse on the floor.

“She don’t.” Daryl grunts.

The other two guys are quick to recover from their shock, attempting to tackle Daryl together, but he’s faster. They think this is his first rodeo? Man…you almost feel sorry for them. Except for the fact you don’t. At all.

You probably shouldn’t take any amount of joy in seeing Daryl easily take down two other guys with his bare hands, but it’s hard to shake the warmth that spreads through you, seeing and accepting the fact that he’s come to get you. That he didn’t stop looking until he found you, and the moment he did, he was ready for war. Punching both the guys down, Daryl’s quick to grab his crossbow from where he’d dropped it in favour of beating these guys to death, and fires another bolt into one of the guy’s stomachs. Leaves him to fall to the floor while Daryl drops his crossbow again and tackles the only man left standing, straddling him and throwing punch after punch after punch, until everything’s red. Guy’s face, Daryl’s fists, guy’s shirt, Daryl’s pants. Red. He only stops when he registers the guy under him is unconscious, and then he’s standing up, stalking over to the other guy who’s clutching at the bolt in his stomach, and doing the same damn thing. That guy, Daryl punches until he stops breathing. He didn’t intend to quit it, but your voice was the only thing that wasn’t red.

“STOP IT!”

It wasn’t the words you said or the way you said them, it was the fact that in them, Daryl could hear tears. You were crying. And that would shift his focus in any situation. Standing back up, he retrieves his crossbow from the ground and fires one last bolt to the only guy not left impaled, leaving one dead by bolt to the face, and two left to turn by bolts in the stomach. Let them rot.

Everything’s different when it’s Daryl crouching down in front of you, using his knife to cut the rope from your ankles and wrists. His bloody hands trembling around the blade, but not from fear. The ropes fall to the floor in tatters at the same rate as the tears rolling down your cheeks, but Daryl’s thumbs are there in a blink of an eye. Wiping your tears away, leaving smeared blood stains on your cheeks. He sees that look in your eyes again, like a blast from the past. A wide-eyed doe, too pretty for a world like this, but you’re here still.

Very gently, Daryl’s hands trail down your arms, lifting them and bringing them to his neck. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with what he’s doing, but as soon as you realise, you’re shakily leaning into him. Daryl’s arms wrap around you, pulling you flush to his chest and holding you there. Where he wishes he could keep you forever. Tucked away safe.

“Thank you.” Is the sniffle that comes from you.

“Don’t need thankin’, girl.” Is Daryl’s gruff response, but the way he huffs and drops his head to your shoulder tells you he’s getting bashful, and that makes you smile.

There’s quiet, then. Just for a few seconds. Holding each other in a room filled with dead bodies shouldn’t feel as warm as it does, but when the world ends, you make do with what you have.

“Home?” You break the silence, your voice soft.

“Home.” Daryl nods against your shoulder.

And neither of you are referring to the place you ought to be heading back to.

—————————————————————————

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