#life is not fair and so is the world they are living in

[verstappenverse]

Not Over Yet

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: In the heat of a painful argument, you declare that your relationship with Max is over, leaving him desperate to hold on.

1.3k words / Masterlist

The deafening silence of the Monaco apartment was suffocating. The echoes of the fight still rang in the air long after the words had been spoken. Max sat on the edge of the couch, his fingers gripping the fabric so hard his knuckles were white. You stood across the room arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as if trying to hold everything together.

“We’re over, Max.” The words hung heavy in the room, each one feeling like a stone dropped into a deep well.

He looked up, his blue eyes wide with shock and disbelief. “What?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

You turned away from him, unable to face the hurt in his eyes. The hurt that mirrored your own. “I said, we’re done. I can’t—” You struggled to keep your voice steady. “I can’t keep doing this.”

The argument had started hours ago—something small, something insignificant that had spiralled out of control like it always did these days. The never-ending travel, the constant pressure. You knew what you were signing up for when you fell for him, but lately, it felt like everything else in your life had taken a backseat. There were always missed dinners, cancelled plans, and nights where you felt like the third wheel to his love affair with the track.

Max’s eyes hardened for a moment, his pride kicking in as he stood up and paced the length of the living room. “You think I don’t give enough to this relationship?” He snapped, his voice rising. “I work my ass off every day, trying to make sure we have everything. I’m always thinking of you, even when I’m on the track. I—”

“It’s not about the money or the success, Max!” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “It’s about us. About how I feel like I’m always second to everything else in your life. Like I’m not as important.”

Max stopped in his tracks, his back to you as he exhaled sharply. He raked a hand through his tousled hair, trying to calm his emotions. “That’s not fair,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, but still laced with frustration.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the tears threatening to spill over. “What’s not fair is me feeling alone when you’re standing right next to me.”

He turned to face you, the anger in his eyes replaced with something softer. But it was too late. You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. The weight of your decision pressed down on your chest, and you took a deep breath before you spoke again.

“We’re over,” you whispered. The finality in your voice made it feel real. “We have to be.”

Max’s face went pale. He took a step toward you, but stopped himself his hands twitching at his sides. He looked at you, really looked at you, for what felt like the first time in weeks. “You…you don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You choked on the words as soon as they left your lips. You didn’t mean it. Not really. But you couldn’t keep living in the shadows, couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t.

Max’s heart hammered in his chest the fear of losing you clawing at his throat. He had faced impossible races, gut-wrenching crashes, the pressure of the world’s expectations—but nothing compared to the panic that gripped him now. The thought of losing you of truly being without you, was something he couldn’t handle.

He shook his head slowly, refusing to accept what you were saying. “No. No, we’re not over.”

You blinked back the tears, confused by the certainty in his voice. “Max, you can’t just—”

“I’m not letting you go,” he interrupted, his voice firm but low, almost pleading. “I know I’ve been…distracted. I know I haven’t been there the way I should. But you don’t get to decide we’re done. You can’t just give up on us. Not like this.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The apartment felt too small, too full of emotions that neither of you could control.

You felt your defences crumbling, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. But the hurt was still too raw. “It’s not that simple, Max.”

Max closed the distance between you in a few quick strides, his hands coming up to gently cup your face, forcing you to look at him. His touch was warm grounding you in a way only he could.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice softer now, desperate. “I know I’ve made mistakes. But I love you. You. You’re not second to anything. You never were. I’m an idiot for making you feel that way, but please…please don’t give up on us.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted to let the walls you had built around your heart crumble. But the fear was still there—the fear that things wouldn’t change, that this would be your life forever, always wondering if you were enough.

Max’s thumb gently brushed away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice cracking just slightly. It was rare to see Max like this, so raw, so open.

You closed your eyes trying to steady your breathing, trying to find the words to say. “Max, I just… I don’t know if I can keep going like this.”

He pulled you closer his forehead resting against yours as he took a deep, shaky breath. “Then tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix it. I’ll do anything.”

His words were sincere, and you could feel the desperation in his voice. It wasn’t like Max to beg, to be so vulnerable, and it only made your resolve weaken further.

“I don’t want us to be over,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to feel like I’m always competing for your attention either.”

Max pulled back slightly, his hands still gently holding your face as he looked into your eyes. “You’re not competing. I love what I do, but I love you so much more. There’s no competition.”

It was the first time he had ever said it so clearly, so bluntly and it took your breath away.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I forgot about what really matters. You. Us. I swear to you, I’ll do better. I’ll make time for us.”

His sincerity was undeniable, and for the first time in a long time you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe things could change. Maybe you could find a way to make it work.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. “I don’t want to lose you either Max.”

Relief washed over his face and he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go. “You won’t. I promise you won’t.”

For a long moment you stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms the weight of the fight slowly lifting as you both began to breathe a little easier. The future was still uncertain, and there would be more challenges ahead, but for now you were both willing to try.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like the two of you were on the same team.

Max pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead. “We’re not over,” he said softly, as if he needed to hear it out loud.

You nodded, resting your head against his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart. “We’re not over.”

[misswynters]

Heart of the Beast

beast!Cregan Stark x beauty! gn!reader

[a/n: abit sloppy with the writing for this one…beauty is subjective so your gender doesn’t matter here, time jumps all around kinda feels messy :/

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

A short story inspired by Beauty and the beast. . .

The North was a place of stark beauty and harsh realities, where winter's grip could be both a blessing and a curse. Deep within the ancient walls of Winterfell, Cregan Stark lived a life shadowed by a curse he could not escape. Rumors whispered of his ferocious demeanor, his unapproachable nature, and his solitary existence. But those who knew him best spoke of the man he once was, before the curse transformed him into a beast of legend.

You arrived at Winterfell on a cold, windswept evening, bundled against the chill. Your father's debt had brought you here, a bargain struck to save your family's honor and future. You had heard the stories of the beastly lord, but standing before the towering gates of Winterfell, you felt a mix of fear and determination. You were a Celtigar, after all, and Celtigars did not shy away from challenges.

The castle's great hall was vast and imposing, lit by flickering torches that cast long shadows across the stone walls. As you were led to the heart of Winterfell, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe mixed with trepidation. The heavy doors creaked open, revealing the figure of Cregan Stark, seated at the head of a long, wooden table.

He rose as you entered, his imposing figure draped in furs. His face was partially obscured by the dim light, but you could see the sharp angles and the intense, brooding eyes that seemed to see straight through you.

"Welcome to Winterfell," he said, his voice a deep, resonant growl. "I trust your journey was not too arduous?"

You inclined your head, meeting his gaze with as much courage as you could muster. "It was long, but I am here now, my lord."

Cregan studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I appreciate your willingness to come. Your father's debt is a heavy burden, and I do not take it lightly."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. "I am here to fulfill my family's obligation, my lord. Whatever that may entail."

He nodded slowly, a hint of something softer flickering in his eyes. "You are brave, for a Celtigar. Few would come willingly to face the beast of Winterfell."

Days turned into weeks, and you found yourself adjusting to life at Winterfell. The castle's cold, imposing exterior began to feel more like home, and the people within its walls started to warm to your presence. But it was Cregan who remained the most enigmatic, a puzzle you were determined to solve.

He was a man of few words, his actions speaking volumes in their stead. You watched as he cared for his people with a stern but fair hand, his gruff exterior hiding a deep sense of responsibility and honor. He was not the beast of the stories you had heard; he was something much more complex, a man burdened by a curse he could not break.

One evening, as the snow fell softly outside, you found yourself drawn to the godswood. The heart tree stood tall and ancient, its red leaves rustling in the cold wind. You often came here to think, to find solace in the quiet beauty of the sacred place.

Cregan found you there, his presence a comforting shadow amidst the ancient trees. "This place has always brought me peace," he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "It reminds me of the strength of our ancestors, the resilience that runs through our blood."

You looked up at him, seeing the man beneath the beastly exterior. "And you carry that strength within you, Cregan. You are not defined by the curse, but by the choices you make, the honor you uphold."

He met your gaze, his eyes softening. "You see me as I am, not as the beast the world believes me to be. For that, I am grateful."

A silent understanding passed between you, a connection forged through shared trials and mutual respect. As the days grew shorter and the nights colder, your bond with Cregan deepened. You saw the man he could be, the leader Winterfell needed, and you were determined to help him break the curse that held him captive.

One night, as the moon cast a silver glow over Winterfell, you found yourself standing in the great hall with Cregan. The fire crackled in the hearth, the warmth a stark contrast to the chill outside. Cregan's eyes were filled with an intensity that took your breath away.

"I have lived under this curse for so long," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of sorrow and hope. "But you have shown me that there is more to life than this darkness. You have brought light into my world."

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you took a step closer to him. "And you have shown me the true meaning of strength and honor. We can break this curse, Cregan. I believe in you."

He reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "With you by my side, I feel like i can be myself again."

In that moment, the walls of Winterfell seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you standing together, united by a love that had grown amidst the harshest of conditions. As his lips met yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss, you knew that you had found something rare and precious—a love that could withstand any storm, a bond that could break any curse.

The beast of Winterfell was not the monster of legends, but a man of honor and strength, and with your love, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that together, you could conquer anything.

The days passed swiftly, and you and Cregan fell into a comfortable rhythm. He showed you the hidden nooks of Winterfell, places he had discovered as a boy. You spent hours in the library, reading together by the light of a crackling fire. Cregan often found himself captivated by the way your eyes lit up when you discovered something new. The moments of quiet companionship, the laughter, the shared stories—all of it knitted your hearts closer together.

One winter morning, as you both walked through the snow-covered courtyard, Cregan stopped suddenly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sky was a clear, crisp blue, the kind of day that promised a bitter cold but also breathtaking beauty.

"Follow me," he said, a rare smile touching his lips.

Curious, you followed him to the stables. He saddled two horses, and soon you were riding out into the wilderness, the cold wind biting at your cheeks. The landscape was a frozen wonderland, the trees heavy with snow, the ground sparkling like a field of diamonds.

Cregan led you to a secluded glen, a place he said he had discovered long ago. A small, frozen pond lay at the center, surrounded by tall pines. The silence was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches in the wind.

"This place," Cregan began, dismounting and helping you down from your horse, "is special to me. It's where I come when I need to think, to find peace."

You looked around, feeling the magic of the place. "It's beautiful, Cregan. Thank you for bringing me here."

He took your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "I wanted to share it with you. To show you that even in the harshest of places, there can be beauty and peace."

You smiled up at him, your heart full. "You've shown me that, Cregan. You've shown me so much more than I ever expected."

He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you. For a moment, you both stood there, holding each other in the quiet of the glen, the world outside fading away. It was a moment of pure, unspoken connection, a bond that needed no words.

As the days grew longer and spring began to whisper its arrival, you and Cregan found yourselves spending more and more time together. The bond between you deepened, a blend of friendship, respect, and something more profound—love.

One evening, as the first hints of spring thawed the snow, you sat together in the godswood, the heart tree's red leaves rustling softly in the breeze. The air was still cold, but there was a promise of warmth, of renewal.

Cregan turned to you, his expression serious. "I've been thinking about the future," he said, his voice steady. "About what it means to lead, and what it means to love."

You felt your heart skip a beat. "And what have you decided, my lord?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with unwavering determination. "I've decided that I don't want to face it alone. I want you by my side, not as a tool for a debt, but as my partner, my love."

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his words sinking in. "Cregan, I—"

He held up a hand, his expression earnest. "You don't have to answer now. Just know that I love you, more than I ever thought possible. And whatever comes, I want to face it with you."

Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of joy and overwhelming emotion. "I love you too, Cregan. More than words can express."

He leaned in, his forehead gently resting against yours. In that moment, surrounded by the ancient trees and the promise of spring, you felt an unshakable sense of peace. The future was uncertain, filled with challenges and unknowns, but one thing was clear: with Cregan by your side, you could face anything.

As the seasons changed and the days grew warmer, you and Cregan began to make plans for the future. The curse that had once loomed so large now seemed like a distant shadow, its power diminished by the strength of your love. Together, you would build a life, a future filled with hope and promise.

Winterfell, once a place of isolation and sorrow, now thrummed with the warmth of love and the promise of new beginnings. The people of the North, once wary and fearful, now looked to you and Cregan with respect and admiration. Your love story had become a beacon of hope, a testament to the power of love and the strength of the human spirit.

That bright, sunny morning, as you stood together on the battlements of Winterfell, looking out over the vast expanse of the North, Cregan took your hand in his. "This is just the beginning," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, determined joy. "Together, we'll build a future, not just for us, but for all who look to Winterfell for strength and guidance."

You squeezed his hand, your heart full of love and hope. "I wouldn't want it any other way, my love."

As the sun set, casting a golden glow over the ancient walls of Winterfell, you stood together, united by love, ready to face whatever the future held. The curse was broken, the beast was tamed, and in its place stood a man of honor. You had brought to him the courage, and a love that would endure through all seasons.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @travelingmypassion @shoxji @thornsandtulips @spn-obession

[anyydidi]

WRITING THIS POST BECAUSE I'M SO SICK OF PEOPLE MISCHARACTERIZING FORD!!!!!!!!!

Before we begin, everyone is entitled to their opinion. If you really think Ford wouldn't truly care, you do you.

That being said, I feel like people who claim that Ford wouldn't do a single thing to bring Stan back if their places were switched do not understand his character at all.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think that he would open the portal. At least not right away. The one thing I agree with is that Ford wouldn't put the life of his brother above the whole planet like Stan did. He realizes the threat of the portal and Bill too much to do that.

But have people forgotten that Ford also loves his brother? Yeah, he was angry, bitter and resentful, but he wouldn't have just let Stan die in the multiverse. Especially since that would be entirely his fault he got stuck there in the first place.

For people thinking, "But Ford was too blinded by rage! He didn't care for Stan until after Weirdmaggedon!", have you seen the show? Have you read the journal? Through everything that happened, Ford kept a photo (tattered and worn, obviously taken out a lot) of him and his brother in his left, inner breast pocket which is the one closest to the heart. If that wasn't enough, for those who haven't read the journal, Ford kept reminiscing about and mentioning his brother before the portal incident. Even though those lines were often crossed out, it was obvious that at least unconsiously he had Stan in mind a lot. And at the end of the journal, it is written that he worked day and night, to the point of passing out, to bring Stan's memories (and essencially Stan himself) back. (Oh and have we forgotten about the absolutely shattered expression he had when he erased Stan's memories? You don't look like that for a person you don't deeply care about).

Still not enough to believe that Ford cared about Stan before Stan's sacrifice?

Let's talk about the fact that when Ford was at his lowest, that being paranoid, sleep deprived, tortured by Bill, drowned in guilt, and completely alone, he reached out to Stan? He says it himself, "I needed help, someone I could trust." After everything, he still trusted Stan to an extent and believed him to be his last hope. You don't give trust like that to people you truly hate.

Ford was self-absorbed and egocentric, but also hurt and betrayed. That feeling came from a misconception, but that doesn't make it any less valid. It is understandable that he acted towards Stan the way he did, with venom and bitterness. But we can be angry at people we love and still care for their well-being.

How I said earlier, I don't think Ford would really open the portal. He wouldn't risk the entire world for Stanley. But I do think he would do anything in his power to be able to bring Stan back safely. You cannot be telling me that he'd be able to live with the guilt and not do anything about it if he could. After all, in his head, it would be his fault. He got tricked by Bill, he built the portal, he made Stan come to him and showed him the portal and he wasn't able to let go of the journal and fought Stan for it. I'm convinced he'd still throw some blame at Stan for some of the fight to make himself feel better at first, but after some time he would just blame himself completely (the same way I think Stan did with the science fair incident). The guilt for all of that would eat him alive.

Let's not forget, Stanley worked for 30 years, basically half his life to bring Stanford home and I believe Ford would be willing to do the same. He would just go about it differently. He would either try to get rid of the threat of Bill and then be willing to upgrade the portal and turn it on again, or maybe try to find a completely different way to get Stan back from the multiverse, or in the end something entirely different, I'm not fully sure.

What I am sure of is that Ford wouldn't just let Stan be stranded in the multiverse without doing absolutely nothing. Maybe he wouldn't succeed, maybe Stan would actually have to find his own way back home because Stanford wouldn't be able to find a solution without risking their entire universe. But Ford would at least try, give it his all, because despite everything, he still loves his brother. Differently than Stan loves him, because Ford is a different person than Stan, but he still does.

So I beg you, people. Stop taking Ford's complex character from him. He can be a selfish, self-centered asshole, but he's not heartless.

[kikyoupdates]

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡'𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes. All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

prologue | story masterlist | next

When faced with the demands of the strongest sorcerer, your family can’t possibly protest. Well, not that they would have wanted to, anyway. They must be happy they don’t have to deal with you anymore. 

Out of sheer spite, your mother insisted you live with the rest of the clan and be forced into a life of cruelty and discrimination, but even she would never dare defy Gojo Satoru. Besides, her wish has already been fulfilled. You still won’t have a shot at a normal life. Even if you had been given the right to choose for yourself, now that you’ve met Satoru and discovered what world this is, there’s no way you would ever take the easy way out. 

For better or worse, you will be a jujutsu sorcerer. 

True to his word, Satoru was able to convince the Gojo Clan members to let you stay with them. You’re not sure exactly what he told them, but he may as well be their deity. Granted, he’s still only a kid, but in the grand scheme of things, bringing in a single girl to stay at the estate isn’t that big of a deal. It isn’t a difficult request to fulfill. Based on the way everyone turns up their noses at the sight of you, however, you can tell they aren’t too happy about it. 

“No one here will ever hurt you,” Satoru promises. He keeps glancing over at you every few seconds as he leads you through the grounds of the estate—which is massive, might you add. He’s a lot more attentive than you were expecting. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re a weak, helpless baby bird. Which you might as well be, in all fairness. 

You nod and smile brightly. “Okay. Thank you, Satoru. I’m really happy to be here.” 

“Are your injuries really painful?” he asks with a frown. “We don’t have anyone here that knows how to convert cursed energy into positive energy. But if I try asking, maybe they can reach out to another clan and bring someone over to heal you.” 

“You don’t need to go to the trouble. I’ll be okay.” 

Satoru watches as your grin somehow gets even wider, despite the fact that the bruised, swollen parts of your face must be aching uncontrollably. He’s not sure why you’re always smiling so much. It’s not like you ever had any reason to smile. Not with how horribly your family has always treated you. 

Then again, that’s exactly what drew him in. Your warm, sunny disposition, which is so starkly different from what he’s used to. Even if it doesn’t make much sense, a smile suits you. He likes seeing you smile. 

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect that smile of yours.

You’re given a nice place to stay. Satoru insisted that you live in the same building as him. It’s obvious that he wants to keep you nearby, in case anyone dares to try anything. Although you’re willing to bet that they won’t risk upsetting him. Not when he’s made it clear that you’re off-limits. 

It’s kind of crazy how much power and authority a literal child has. 

Gojo Satoru is in a class of his own. The details of his upbringing were never openly disclosed in the anime or manga, but you know for a fact that he didn’t have anyone he could truly call a close friend. Not until he met Suguru. 

You may be hopelessly weak for now, but if nothing else, you’ll make it so that he never has to feel lonely.

That night, you settle into your big, spacious room. You didn’t bring anything along with you for the move. It’s not like you had any personal belongings to speak of. Certainly nothing valuable, either. Your new room is a bit empty right now, save for a few decorations here and there, but you resolve to brighten it up and make it your own. All in due time. 

Before you tuck in for bed, Satoru stops by. 

“Hi,” he greets, poking his head into the room. “You don’t mind if I come in for a bit, right?” 

“Of course not,” you smile. “Go right ahead.” 

He nods and steps inside. There’s a clan member waiting by the doorway, and they flash you a brief glare before turning their back towards you and sliding the door shut. As expected, you’re far from popular. They probably think you’re just a hindrance, or maybe even a distraction. You’re not sure if they’ll ever change how they feel about you, but it’s definitely better than staying with your own family. 

Besides, as long as Satoru likes you, that’s more than enough. 

“Is this room okay?” he asks, kneeling down onto a cushion. “If you don’t like it, I can get you a different room instead.” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure. 

“Really? You can be honest. I can tell that you’re the kind of person to hide how you feel because you don’t want to upset anyone else. I already know your dad is the one who beat you, but it didn’t look like you were going to rat him out.” 

“I just didn’t want to stir up even more of a fuss. Besides, seeing other people get hurt won’t make me feel any better. I’m happy enough just to be here. Again, thank you, Satoru. For helping me.”

You sure like to thank him a lot. He’s not really used to being thanked—for anything, really. He’s being trained and brought up as the strongest sorcerer. It’s a given that he’s meant to save and protect those who are weaker than him. But you don’t take any of that for granted. You’re never shy about showing your appreciation. You want him to know how much every one of his gestures means to you. 

He likes that. He likes it a lot. 

“If it’s alright, I’m going to try and go to sleep now,” you say. “I’m pretty tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Oh. Did you want to spend the night in my room? Like a sleepover? Would you be allowed to do that?” 

Satoru blinks. The invitation catches him off guard, and he watches as you pat the spot beside you, on your futon, still smiling brightly. 

He turns away in a hurry, cheeks red. 

“I-It’s fine,” he stammers. “I should sleep in my own room. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It seems like you are, so… I’ll leave now. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” you happily reply, but Satoru is already out the door, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. 

You giggle at the sight. He’s so adorable. You can’t even express how happy you are to be here. The future may look grim, but you’re determined to change it, no matter what it takes. 

That night, you dream of a world where Gojo Satoru is saved. 

“Satoru. Here, try this. I made yummy rice balls for us to eat. There’s a secret ingredient inside. Can you guess what it is?” 

Satoru reaches out and takes a rice ball into his hands, furrowing his brows as he looks it over. As far as rice balls go, it looks pretty normal. It’s actually rolled up really neatly. He’s surprised you made this yourself. You did a pretty good job. 

“Secret ingredient, huh?” Satoru shrugs. “Sure, I’ll try it.” 

He takes a big bite, and although he’s not really sure what he was expecting, it definitely wasn’t this. 

“Gross!” he exclaims, immediately spitting it out of his mouth and onto the ground. He then proceeds to stare at the inside of the rice ball he just bit into. “Did you… you actually put chocolate inside of this? Disgusting! What’s wrong with you?!”

You frown. “What, you mean you don’t like it? I actually think it’s pretty good. I was sure this combination would be a hit.” 

Satoru watches, horrified, as you bite into your own rice ball, smiling all the while. There might actually be something wrong with you after all. He’s starting to realize that you’re slightly unhinged. 

“Remind me not to eat anything you make ever again,” he shudders. 

“I’ll pick something better next time, don’t worry. Oh! How about this? What do you think of rice balls stuffed with ice cream—” 

“No.”

This is what most of your days look like. It’s been just over a week since you arrived at the Gojo estate. Your injuries have almost fully healed. Also, you’re no longer required to do chores at virtually every waking moment, so whenever Satoru isn’t busy with training, you spend all of your time together.

Satoru has to do a lot of different things. It’s not just honing his jujutsu abilities, day in and day out. He isn’t allowed to slack off when it comes to academics, either. It’s clear that his family intends for him to be perfect in any way possible. They refuse to let him settle for anything other than the best. 

It’s a lot of pressure for a kid. Satoru makes it look easy, but nevertheless, you feel sorry for him. Which is why you always try to make sure that he’s having fun when he’s with you. You want him to have some semblance of a childhood, at the very least. 

Of course, you still can’t grant him the freedom you wish he had. It’s always inevitable that someone gets in the middle of your time together. 

“Master Satoru. It’s time for you to work on your studies.” 

One of his usual attendants comes to pick him up. Satoru clicks his tongue in visible annoyance, but as always, he doesn’t protest. He has a strong sense of duty and purpose. A determination to uphold his responsibilities as the strongest. 

Before he leaves, though, he turns back towards you. 

“I want [Name] to come with me today,” he says. “She can at least sit in the room while I’m doing my work, right?”

The attendant blinks. He’s bewildered, of course, and you’re not sure what else to do but bat your eyes at him with a bright, hopeful expression. You may be weak, but you’d like to think that you’re a pretty cute kid. It’s about time someone developed a soft spot for you. 

“She’ll distract you,” the attendant refuses. He narrows his eyes at you in frustration, so apparently, you’re not that cute.

Satoru pauses for a moment, then grabs you by the hand and pulls you close. 

“I want her there,” he insists, interlocking his fingers with yours. “She’s coming. I’ve already decided.” 

“Master Satoru, you can’t—” 

Too late. It seems like he’s in an awfully stubborn mood today, so for better or worse, you find yourself in the same room as him while he has his lesson. 

It’s a bit awkward. Satoru told you to sit right next to him the whole time, and although he doesn’t allow himself to get distracted, it still feels weird to be sitting in on a private lesson. While the teacher glares at you the whole time, no less. 

“Do you know what the answer to this question is?” the teacher asks, pointing to one of the questions in the textbook Satoru is learning from. 

Satoru chews on the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. “It’s… B. The answer is B.” 

“Sorry. I’m afraid that’s not correct,” the teacher says. She scribbles something down onto a piece of paper. “It’s alright. That was an exceptionally advanced question, so I can’t blame you for—” 

“It’s C.” 

To be honest, you didn’t mean to voice your thoughts aloud. It was a reflexive, absentminded remark. The answer was just so obvious that you ended up blurting it out. 

But now, both Satoru and the teacher are staring at you in bewilderment.

Satoru turns towards the teacher with a frown. “Is she right?” 

“...yes,” the teacher replies, looking somewhat reluctant to do so. “But it was a multiple choice question, so I’m sure it was just luck. Let’s move on to—” 

“[Name], what about the next one?” Satoru asks, pointing towards another spot on the page. “Try answering this one, too.” 

So, you do. You don’t just answer that question, but the next one, and the next one after it, and the next one after that, and so on and so forth. The teacher looks both amazed and horrified. Even Satoru can’t seem to hide how taken aback he is. They’re both staring at you like you’ve been hiding this incredible intelligence all along, when really, you’re kind of cheating. You died when you were sixteen years old. Satoru is incredibly smart for his age, but even taking that into account, your years of lived experience give you an obvious advantage. 

Still, you have to admit, it feels kind of nice. Finally being acknowledged for something, that is. 

Satoru’s lesson ends, and you can see the teacher whispering to the other Gojo Clan members about what just happened. Their eyes all widen in shock as they glance your way. They believe you’re ‘gifted’ all of a sudden, and while it doesn’t mean much for a jujutsu sorcerer, at least they might think a bit more highly of you from now on. Maybe they’ll finally approve of you being by Satoru’s side. 

“I didn’t know you were smart,” Satoru admits. “To be honest, up until now, I thought you were kind of dumb.”

“...oh.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” 

“Is there a good way to be dumb?” 

“I just meant that you seemed a bit dumb, because of how straightforward and simple you are. And you’re nice to everyone, no matter how badly they treat you. You’re easy to take advantage of, so… yeah. I thought you were dumb. Sorry.” 

Satoru chuckles sheepishly. You snort in response, amused by his uncharacteristic shyness. You suppose it doesn’t really matter whether people think you’re smart or not. From the moment you were born, it was clear that you would have to defy everyone’s expectations. You’re going to have to work harder than most in order to prove yourself. In order to have a chance at saving people.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Satoru remarks. 

“What thing?” 

“It’s a thing you do sometimes. You drift off, and even though you’re usually smiling all the time, your face will get all serious for a few moments.” 

“Oh. I guess I have a habit of getting lost in my thoughts. Sorry. I just really want to get stronger. I end up thinking about it a lot.” 

Satoru doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s strange that you’re so fixated on improving yourself. He’s the strongest, so of course, there’s a heavy burden upon his shoulders. He has to be the best. It’s both his birthright and his destiny. There’s simply no way around it. 

But as for you…

Come to think of it, do you actually need to become stronger? 

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect you. Even if he hasn’t known you for very long yet, he likes having you around. There’s no reason why he can’t look after you. It’d be nice if you got stronger too, he supposes, but it’s not like you’d ever be stronger than him. With him by your side, your future is already assured. 

Which is why it’s weird. There’s this urgency and desperation he senses from you, almost constantly. It’s not like your family is around anymore. And even if they ever tried to take you back, he wouldn’t let that happen. 

And yet, you’re still determined to become stronger. It’s almost like there’s something you’re not telling him. Something more than just a simple desire to prove yourself. 

…then again, maybe he’s reading into things too much. 

Word travels fast, and soon, pretty much everyone in the clan has discovered that you possess intellect far beyond what they imagined (not really, but whatever, you’ll take it). Satoru keeps insisting that you be allowed to sit in on his lessons from time to time. They reluctantly allow it, and sometimes, you even help answer some of the questions he has—instead of the teacher whose literal job it is to do so. She doesn’t seem to like you very much, unfortunately.

One night, as you’re preparing to go to bed, Satoru stops by your room again. 

He does this a lot. He usually makes a point of saying goodnight to you before he goes to sleep. It’s adorable, and it warms your heart to see that he’s starting to care for you so much. Sometimes, you still can’t believe this is the life you’re living. 

You were expecting him to poke his head into the room before exchanging a few words, as usual, but this time, he turns up with a futon of his own. 

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” he declares. 

You blink. “Oh. You got permission?” 

“Yes. They whined about it a lot, but I said I didn’t care. It’s not even a big deal. You said before we could have a sleepover, right? Unless… you changed your mind.” 

He averts his gaze, looking a bit bashful. Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll refuse. Although you’re not sure who in their right mind would turn away this adorable little sweetheart. 

“I definitely didn’t change my mind,” you grin. “I’m always happy to have a sleepover with you. We can stay up all night telling each other scary stories! I know a few really good ones.”

“Why would I be scared of some stupid stories?” Satoru brushes off. “I’ve already exorcized all kinds of cursed spirits. And none of those were scary, either. I’m too strong to have anything to be scared of.” 

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t heard them yet. You act tough now, but I bet you’ll be crying later.” 

Satoru rolls his eyes as he lays his futon down next to yours. He doesn’t think much of it at first, but once he’s lying down, facing you, and when he realizes just how close the two of you are… he’s embarrassed to admit that his heart starts beating a bit faster.

“If this is weird, I can leave,” he mumbles. 

“It’s not weird at all. Like I said, I’m happy you’re here. Ah. You’re not just trying to come up with excuses so you don’t have to hear my scary stories, right? I see right through you, Satoru. You’re not sneaky.” 

Satoru laughs. It’s a pleasant, melodic sound, and you hope you’ll be able to hear it more often from now on. 

Before you can start telling your stories—you really do have some good ones you’re excited to share—Satoru scoots in a bit closer, then gently places his hand down on top of yours. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and since you’re not sure what he’s referring to, you just frown. “I mean, it’s okay if you’re not strong, because I’m strong enough for the both of us. Before, I said I’d be your friend if you showed me how you planned on getting stronger, but… it’s fine. You don’t need to do that anymore. I’ll still be your friend. I don’t care if you’re weak or not. So, don’t worry about what anyone else says. I’ll stay with you no matter what.” 

Through the dark of night, you can’t tell, but he’s blushing profusely right now. He feels like he just said something really cheesy. But he’s not going to take it back. He doesn’t regret it. He means it wholeheartedly. 

You, his first ever friend, are irreplaceable. 

More time passes, and as much as it pains you to admit, you still haven’t gotten any stronger. 

While Satoru is busy training, you do the same. You try your absolute hardest to make some kind of progress, and yet, the changes are minimal—if any. It’s as if your body simply isn’t cut out for this, which is a bitter irony. To think that you’ve been reincarnated into a world where you have the potential to do a lot of good and help a lot of people, but your weakness is holding you back. 

The knowledge you have is invaluable. You know that. Even if you’re not all-powerful, you still have the ability to make a difference. But this is Jujutsu Kaisen. A world in which death isn’t just possible; it’s more common than surviving. If you don’t have any way of protecting yourself and others, who’s to say you’ll even last long enough to save everyone? 

It hurts. You hate being weak. You hate that your efforts yield no results. Unlike in the real world, where people can usually make up for talent or skill through sheer dedication and hard work, here, your fate may as well be sealed. 

“Not like that,” Satoru says, shaking his head. “Do it like this.” 

He proceeds to give you yet another up close demonstration of his cursed energy at work. He flattens several pop cans in one fell swoop, while you’ve been struggling to do the same to a single one of them. 

You exhale tiredly. “Stop saying it like it’s second nature. You have better control of your cursed energy than anyone else. I can’t possibly compare.” 

“Well, I don’t really know how else to explain it,” he shrugs. 

Your shoulders slump. A while ago, you had your sixth birthday. Which means it’s been slightly more than a year since you’ve gone to live with the Gojo Clan. A whole year, and still, you’re as weak as ever. You know it’s still too early to give up, but it’s hard not to feel discouraged when you have Satoru by your side, and every day, you’re reminded of the fact that you’ll be helpless to change his fate if this continues. 

“You’re getting upset again. Even though I keep telling you that it’s okay if you don’t get stronger. You have me. You won’t ever need to be scared.” 

Satoru smiles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a loose hug. During your time together, he’s become a lot more cheerful and expressive, which is of course due to your influence. It makes you happy to see, and you’re overjoyed that he cares about you to this extent. If you didn’t know what the future holds in store, you would’ve been more than willing to sit back and let him protect you.

He doesn’t realize that he’s destined for an early death. He’s so sure of himself, so confident in his strength, that he doesn’t even consider it to be a possibility. Which is why you do need to become stronger. Even if he doesn’t understand why. 

You hug him back for a few moments, then pull away—much to Satoru’s disappointment. 

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To train some more. I already talked to one of the clan members earlier. They agreed to help teach me. Reluctantly, but still.” 

“But we’re supposed to be having a lesson together soon,” he says, making a point to pout at you. 

You smile weakly. “Sorry. I’ll be there next time. I just… can’t afford to slack off. If I keep working hard, then eventually, something will give.” 

Of course, as you expected, your supervised training session doesn’t go much better. You can see the clan member repeatedly rolling their eyes at your lack of talent. The only reason they’re helping you at all is because Satoru insisted they honor your requests. 

Once again, you’re left feeling hopeless and deflated. You wonder if you’ll ever see any improvement, or if you truly are beyond salvation. Destined to be so weak that you can’t protect a single person. 

Not even your dearest friend. 

You stare down at your feet, gaze glassy, and for a moment, it feels like you’re about to cry. Isn’t there anything you can do? Anything at all? Some kind of trick that will allow even a weakling like you to have a fighting chance?

Some kind of… trick? 

All of a sudden, your eyes widen. 

Since meeting you, Satoru’s life has become a lot more fun.

He enjoys having you here. He never thought it would make that big of a difference, being able to spend time with a kid his own age. And not just any kid, but someone who’s taught him how to smile, laugh, and appreciate simple moments he used to take for granted before. He’s glad he made the decision to visit you again that fateful day. If he hadn’t done that, every day would still be just as monotonous and boring. Every day would be unbearably predictable. 

Satoru can never predict what you’re about to do next. It’s strange, because at first glance, you seem like a simpleton, but you always manage to find new ways to surprise him. 

Like right now, for instance. 

“[Name],” Satoru calls out. As always, he knows exactly where to find you. He can tell everyone’s cursed energy apart, and although yours is scarce, it easily stands out the most to him. It’s comforting and familiar. He’s fully committed it to memory by now, and if he wanted to, he could write a whole essay describing it. 

It doesn’t take long for Satoru to find you. For some reason, you’re standing in place and staring off into the distance with a vacant expression. You’re also holding something in your hand. Is that… a knife? 

“[Name],” Satoru repeats. He frowns as he steps closer to you. “What are you doing? What’s the knife for?”

You don’t respond at first, but then you turn towards him, in a rigid, unsettling manner. Your eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them before. Even your lips are slightly parted, as if something has you in awe.

“I understand now,” you mumble breathlessly. 

Whatever it is that you understand, Satoru definitely doesn’t. He’s unbelievably confused. And seriously, what’s with the knife? It’s starting to freak him out. 

Satoru knits his brows together. “What are you talking about? You’re being weird. Also, put the knife down before you end up hurting yourself.” 

“Okay. But first, let me show you something.”

You take a hurried step backwards. Satoru still doesn’t understand what’s going on. You’re never this cryptic. It’s throwing him off, and for some reason, he’s getting a bad feeling about all this. 

That bad feeling turns out to be right, because moments later, he watches as you drag the sharp end of the knife across your skin.

“Don’t—!”

Satoru cries out, but it’s already too late. There’s blood everywhere. It’s a deep gash. A serious injury. You’re wincing, looking lightheaded from the pain, as if you’re about to pass out any second. Satoru instinctively knows he has to get help, and yet, he’s too shocked to move. This has never happened before. He’s never watched someone get hurt in front of his eyes—someone he cares deeply about—and been helpless to do anything about it. He’s the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. A special, chosen existence. But right now, all of that feels pointless, because you’re in pain, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. 

“It’s okay,” you breathe out. “Just… watch.”

Satoru is about to cry out again, more desperately this time, but suddenly, he sees it. 

Your body is… healing?

It’s true. The gash on your arm, the one you just inflicted with the knife, has already fully healed. You pause for a moment, then wipe the blood off your skin, so that he can see more clearly. Sure enough, it’s gone. There’s no trace of the wound that was there a second ago. Almost as if what happened just now was a figment of his imagination.

“Reverse cursed technique,” Satoru mumbles in disbelief. “You… when did you learn how to do this? You never mentioned it before. And I didn’t notice any changes in the flow of your cursed energy, either.”

“I learned it just now.” 

“What?” 

“A few minutes ago. Before you came to find me. All of a sudden, I just knew how to do it. The knowledge appeared in my mind.” 

Satoru frowns. Something isn’t adding up. Converting cursed energy into positive energy is a very complex technique. Few individuals are actually able to pull it off. Even he doesn’t know how to heal himself. But such an ability was able to manifest in you? He supposes it’s not impossible, but given the nature of your cursed energy, and your overall lack of skill… it seems unlikely.

“I wanted to become stronger.” You pause for a moment, then shake your head. “Sorry. I needed to become stronger. So, I did. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but just now, I was able to confirm it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I think you already suspect it. That I didn’t obtain this ability naturally. I was frustrated that nothing was working, no matter what I did. I just couldn’t seem to improve, regardless of how hard I trained. So, I… took a gamble. I made a Binding Vow.” 

Satoru blinks. “A self-imposed vow?” 

You nod enthusiastically, but it still doesn’t make any sense. Would someone really gain the ability to use positive energy through a simple vow like that? It’s the first Satoru’s ever heard of it. And since healing is a rare, valuable power, most people would love to get their hands on it. If it was that easy, surely everyone would opt to do it, one way or another.

Once again, Satoru has a bad feeling about this. 

“I already knew that by imposing restrictions on yourself, through a Binding Vow, it’s possible to increase your cursed energy and empower your technique,” you say. “I wasn’t sure if it would work for me. Converting cursed energy into positive energy is complicated, after all. I knew I had to make it a pretty serious restriction, in order to have any chance of succeeding. Even then, it still might not have worked.”

You pause yet again, while Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat, and the next second, you’re smiling brightly, like always. 

As you utter the most horrifying words Satoru has ever heard. 

“In exchange for gaining the ability to use reverse cursed technique, I’m never allowed to use my cursed energy to harm anyone else, whether it’s a human or a cursed spirit. And if by some chance I do… I’ll die. Instantly.”

Satoru’s jaw drops open.

“...what?!” 

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[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 16

"AUNT KARA!"

Esme throws the front door open and sprints full tilt across the lawn to throw her arms around Kara.

"Hey there," Kara greets.

Pulling her face back to look at Kara with wide eyes, Esme gets straight down to business.

"Tell me *everything*."

----

Kara's exhausted on the couch by the time Esme runs out of questions. She softens the blow of having left Esme so long without updates by letting Esme watch her video recording of Lena's new song. Oh, Esme has already seen the bootlegs of the song spread online, but none of those were taken from backstage.

The hard conversation doesn't come until after dinner, when Esme goes upstairs to finish her homework and leaves Kara alone with Alex and Kelly. They both gaze at her with soft, but expectant eyes.

"I'm fine," Kara tells them.

"No one is saying you're not," Kelly assures her.

Alex is less gentle. "Doesn't mean we can't be worried."

Two days ago, Kara would have taken offense. Today, she recognizes the validity of Alex's concern.

She sighs. "I don't think it was the wrong decision."

"Neither do we," Kelly says. "I don't think choosing happiness ever could be."

"But going half the way across the world at the drop of a hat is bound to be jarring." Alex's voice isn't sharp at all. In fact, she's far more calm than Kara expected her to be.

Kara glances at her suspiciously. "You don't approve."

Alex shrugs. "It doesn't matter what I think. The fact you made the choice tells me it was the right decision in the moment." She lifts her glass of wine to her lips, eyeing Kara over the rim. "But is it sustainable?"

Biting her lip, Kara considers the question. She doesn't regret her choice, and the past few weeks have been a whirlwind of excitement and novelty on all fronts. But what happens when the shine wears off?

"I'm still happy," she says carefully. "And Lena has been amazing. I just... don't know what my role is."

Kelly offers a soft smile. "Growing pains is natural, especially in a situation like this where you've been thrust into an unfamiliar industry and an intense career like Lena's. And learning to navigate the personal stuff is requirement of any relationship. It's just going to be harder with Lena than with anyone else."

"Why?" Kara demands, defensive at the implication she would be daunted. "Because she's famous?"

"Yes, Kara!" Alex leans forward, features lined with concern. She sets her wine down, and scrubs her hands over her face. "I don't-- it's not that she's famous, it's the fact that she can't meet you halfway."

Kelly nods. "Successful partners find the common ground-- a spot where they can meet in the middle. What Alex is trying to say is that Lena can't do that."

"Look at what's happened so far," Alex elaborates, gesturing towards the door. "You uprooted everything and got dropped into her world. She hasn't-- she *can't* do the same for you."

Kara looks into her glass, pensive. Again, Alex isn't wrong. Lena's single foray into her life had been coffee in the park-- in disguise. Meanwhile Kara has been thrust into the deep end of Lena's own life. Her career, her family and friends...

Could Lena ever find the same kind of assimilation into Kara's life? Would she *want* to?

And does Kara care if she doesn't?

"I don't think it would be fair to either of us to end things before even trying."

Before anything else can be said, Esme's door slams open upstairs and teenaged feet pound down the stairs at a breakneck pace, only to screech to a halt at the threshold of the living room.

"Aunt Kara?"

Kara sits up from her slouch, concern leeching over her. "What's wrong?"

"Yeah, you okay sweetie?" Kelly asks.

Esme's features crease in apprehension, her anxious gaze flicking between Kara and her phone.

"Um... there's something you should see."

Kara reaches for Esme's phone when she offers it. She shoots her sister an uncertain glance, then turns her attention to the glowing screen.

She blinks at the list of breaking news results on the search screen, jaw tightening. She clicks on the first. A photo fills the screen-- and Kara's heart plummets.

[chris-prank]

Peaceful post-apocalypse settings have always been one of my favorite tropes! There's just something so freeing about the thought of humanity being set back to simpler times...(boomer ahh mindset but wtvr)

That said, may I request more Martin content?🙏 He's such a sweetheart!! Maybe something about reader wanting to join him on a hunt? Him teaching them how to? Or just any ideas you have for him really

Hope you have a lovely day mwuah :)

With the deplorable state of our world right now, it’s perfectly fair to prefer a time without the complicated life of the city 😆 so I totally get you 🤝 Also I’m so happy that you called Martin a sweetheart 🥺, if we take away if yandere tendencies he really is! And have a great day too ❤️❤️❤️

Yandere hunter x GN reader

CW: animal death, manipulation sorta, reader get frozen by fear/ fear response

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

“You want to go hunting with me?” Martin asked, surprised, while casually throwing his crossbow over his shoulder.

He felt extremely flattered that you wanted to take part in his daily duties and by looking in your hopeful eyes, he couldn’t dare deny you anything. So after you changed into more appropriate clothes, the two of you were ready to go into the forest. You walked hand in hand, looking like you were going on a romantic stroll. In reality, this adorable display was a safety major, since the surroundings were filled with traps Martin had previously set up. He said that it was to make sure that nothing or no one could escape him while he hunted. Whatever that meant.

“So what are we looking for exactly?” You asked while keeping an eye out for any sounds in the crisp autumn leaves.

“It depends… there’s usually deers roaming around this time of year.”

“We’re going to kill a deer?!” You repeated, your jaw hanging wide open. You thought you were going for something smaller like a rabbit or a bird at the very least.

He grinned and winked at you. “Only if you can actually do it.”

“Hey!” You pushed his arms while sticking your tongue at him. “I’m a very independent and capable person.” You added while puffing your chest out jokingly.

The man next to you seemed to mumble something under his breath, but since he didn’t repeat himself despite your lack of response, you figured it was nothing important.

***

You couldn’t believe you two had found one. Of course, you knew that Martin was skilled in tracking animals, but still, what were the odds! The deer was lazily drinking from a small pond, unaware of the crossbow pointed at its neck.

Martin had helped you get in the right spot and revised with you the shooting position he had taught you before. But you kept shaking. The idea of killing an animal seemed so simple and inconsequential, but now that you were faced with the reality of the situation you just couldn’t do it. That’s when you felt his warm embrace enveloped you, your back now pressed against his chest. His hands crept up to rest over yours, steadying your grip on the weapon.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to do anything.” His voice was so calm, so enticing. It was pulling you in a sense of comfort and stability that few people had the chance of experiencing, “you can just rely on me.”

You simply nodded, you just wanted to lose yourself in his presence and forget that you had the life of a living being in the palm of your hands. Then his finger was over yours and, without hesitation, pulled the trigger. Everything went by so fast, as a shrill shriek followed by a loud thump made all the birds take flight from the surrounding trees. You slowly lowered the crossbow, still a bit in shock of what had just happened. In response, Martin rubbed your arms up and down in a soothing manner.

“You were so brave for me.” He whispered against your ear, “but don’t worry, you won’t have to do it ever again, I’ll be brave for the both of us if you let me.”

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Karma love to make a fool out of me 💀 it’s always when I say “oh it’ll take a while for me to complete” that I suddenly get a wave of inspiration. Not going to complain too much though, it’s always better than having writer's block.

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Thank you @shadowisles-writes for the moodboard!!

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

-

“Return to me quickly,” Graysen told her that morning, wrapping a wool cloak around her shoulders. “Return to me human.”

“And…” Elain’s bottom lip trembled as she swallowed her fear, “And if I don’t?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he replied, clearly convinced this was going to work. Elain, though…she was uneasy as she set out. She left in the dead of night to cross back over into Prythian. The closer she got, the more her magic stirred in her chest, crowding against the edges of her vision. 

She shoved it down. It wasn’t natural, she reminded herself. Wrong. She wasn’t faerie, she was simply a human trapped in faerie skin. Like the old stories where faerie magic could trap a child if they weren’t careful or a bargain was worded poorly. She simply needed to break the spell.

True love wasn’t enough, though in the stories it always was. Elain found herself frustrated when she couldn’t keep the magic at bay, her knees sinking to the snow as she crossed the border into Prythian.

Her visions had always been chaotic and half-formed. Disjointed, she supposed. With her forehead pressed to the cold ground, Elain groaned, trying—and failing—to banish what now burst brightly behind her eyes. 

Autumn leaves burning, smoke curling like shadow toward a darkened sky. A ruined, burnished crown clattering to white marble floors. Spring blooms bursting through the ground, the petals opening as rain cascaded from the sky. A night sky, alive with vivid lights dancing across an otherwise empty space. 

Elain gasped. “I hate you,” she whispered, unclear if she was talking to herself or the powers that coursed through her. She’d clenched her jaw so tightly she tasted the coppery tang of blood and her fingers had curled into the frozen ground, causing several of her nails to break. 

It was fine, she told herself, though in truth it wasn’t. Blood oozed over one of her nail beds, dripping three bright red spots over the stained, gray snow still gathered beneath a shady spot. It reminded her of gardening, a hobby she’d promised to give up once she was married. Graysen said he didn’t want a wife with dirt under her nails.

Back before the cauldron, she’d hoped to reason with him. Now, though, it seemed a fair compromise. He’d get an immortal wife that would almost certainly cause them to be shunned from society. And besides, she’d still have a say in the grounds. She could design it, plan it…just not execute her vision.

Graysen expected her to journey on foot to Night Court where she’d board a ship. No human ship would take her toward the faerie held territories, which meant Elain had to make her way back to the one place she’d hoped to never step foot again. It meant using more of the magic she hated. Feyre had once tried to show her and Nesta how to winnow. Nesta had refused the lesson outright but Elain, afraid she’d lose the last place she could stay if she refused, did the lessons. 

Screwing up her face, nose wrinkled, Elain called on the well of magic bubbling in her stomach. It made her want to vomit when she felt the edges of the world press in on her, constricting her breath. It was only a moment, dumping her just on the outskirt of Velaris, but enough to elicit a soft sob from her throat.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was unfair. 

Elain wanted to rage at the few people lumbering down the street, awake despite the glittering stars overhead. Didn’t anyone care? It was as if nothing had happened. She knew they all wanted her to just get over it. Was that what Feyre had done when she’d turned? Elain wracked her brain for the memory of how Feyre became fae, but it eluded her. Elain simply didn’t care how Feyre had handled the loss of her humanity.

Feyre had likely celebrated, Elain concluded as she marched her way down the sloping road to the harbor. She’d probably been overjoyed to shed her old skin and take up the mantle of power and beauty. It suited Feyre so well, which only angered Elain more. Where was Feyre’s grief? The years of life stripped away in favor of binding her to a man she barely knew and was so old, he’d participated in the first war against the humans? 

Elain’s fingers curled to fists, feet stomping on the cobblestone. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t see the figure overing at the waters edge where stone met wood.

“Going somewhere?”

That voice clanged through her, bringing with it a veritable rising tide of emotions. Yearning. Hatred. Desire. Loathing. Elain whirled just as Lucien Vanserra, Seventh Son of Autumn, lowered the hood of his cloak. His expression was cool, arms crossed over his chest and legs spread a shoulders width apart.

She tried to shove wordlessly past him, but he used his body to block her.

“Move,” she ordered.

He didn’t.

“Turn around and go home,” he said instead, nodding his head in the direction behind her.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” she whispered, her body trembling as she faced him. The wind dragged the soft, masculine scent of him directly to her and every inhuman part of her wanted him.

Elain had never hated herself more. Shame welled up in her—this was a betrayal to her engagement, to the man she’d left behind. She wasn’t supposed to want someone else. 

Lucien cocked his head, oblivious to the slant of her thoughts. Was this his poor attempt at flirting? Or worse, had he somehow known she was coming and intended to drag her off until she was so beaten down she agreed to whatever nefarious plans he had? 

“Let me guess…you think you can make a bargain with a death god in exchange for your humanity?” he whispered, banishing Elain’s shame in favor of pure, undiluted fear.

“How—no—he’s not…he’s a—”

“There is no such thing as benevolence in this land, Elain,” Lucien ground out, looking as if he hated her. Perhaps he did, though that bothered her, too. He wasn’t allowed to hate her—only she could hate him. 

“You don’t know everything—”

“And you don’t know anything,” he shot back, his contempt dripping from his words. “You’re a child fumbling about in the dark, content to damn us all if she can live out a fantasy—”

Elain slapped him. She hadn’t even thought about it. Her outrage had simply consumed her and she’d decided to hit him a split second before she did. Lucien staggered back a step, his fingers grazing his cheek as that golden eye held her wholly in place.

“Don’t you dare speak to me that way,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You are nobody. You have no home, your family hates you, and your friends would discard you the moment you’re no longer useful to them. Don’t presume you can stand there like an authority and speak down to me.”

Lucien’s brown cheeks went ashen at her words. 

“You might be right,” he told her, drawing himself to his full height. He was tall, she realized. And fae. Unlike Feyre’s mate and his friends, with their short hair and rounded ears, Lucien looked so very faerie with that magical eye and his long, auburn hair half braided off a face that had once been handsome before he’d ruined it. 

“Get out of my way—”

“I may be all the things you say, Elain, but at least I am not so spoiled, so selfish that I’d risk the lives of everyone so I might be happy.”

“Why shouldn’t I be allowed to be happy? I’ve never been given a choice—”

“You’re exercising your choice right now!” he shot back, his voice drowning hers out. “No one stopped you from hiding away with a human. One bad thing happened to you, and now you think you’re owed far more than you’ve ever given.”

“You don’t know me,” she whispered.”

“I don’t want to know you,” he replied, his own voice shaking. “Elain, from Feyre’s stories. Too spoiled and self-absorbed to care if her sister was starving, too. If she was safe, if she was happy, if she had anything comforting. She did one helpful thing once, and thinks it makes her some kind of saint.”

Elain could feel the tears gathering in her eyes. “You let Feyre die.”

“You did so first. I heard, when Tamlin came to collect her, that you hid behind your father and your sister. When a faerie general demanded I tell her Feyre’s name, I kneeled silently and let her torture me. I saved her life in the first trial. You let a faerie take her in the night. Don’t mistake us as equals, Elain.”

“We had no choice—”

“How very convenient,” he sneered. “Is that you have no choice, or you simply refuse to acknowledge your own agency?”

“This is why you remain alone, you know,” she said, wanting to hurt him as badly as he’d hurt her. She wanted to scar Lucien emotionally for daring to say the things she only ever privately thought. “And you can defend Feyre all you like, but if I went to her and showed her what you said, she would never forgive you.”

“I don’t care. Give me the ticket.” He held out his hand.

“I’ll scream.”

“Go ahead. Scream as loud as you like. Let the authorities come and take us both before Rhysand.”

Elain’s stomach bottomed out. “Please—”

“Give me the ticket.”

“You don’t understand—”

“The ticket—”

“I love him!” she cried, the tears she’d been holding back finally spilling like a dam. “Can’t you understand that? Or are you so cold you’ve never once experienced love. I will be careful how I word it, I’ll—”

“He’s a death god,” Luicen repeated, a strange, almost sad look crossing over his features before they hardened back into ice. “He’s not required to honor his bargains and you are not clever enough to beat him on your own.”

A horrible, cruel idea was forming in her head. “Come with me, then—”

“No.”

Lucien spoke the word flatly, devoid of all the hatred that had spilled from him before. Now there was simply nothing, as if his soul had left his body and all that remained was a creature that could do nothing but deny her passage. 

“He could break the bond.”

“Nothing can break the bond,” Lucien informed her in that same, soulless voice. “The Mother made it, and only she could unmake it. Just as nothing can unmake you—your human form is gone, burned away by death. If you beg the death god to free you of your faerie form, there will be nothing left of you but ash.”

“How do you know?” she demanded, wanting him to yell at her again. Anything but whatever this was. 

“I was there,” he whispered, shadow flickering over his russet eye. “He is a god, bound to the land as punishment for a crime lost to time. It wasn’t written down because we had no language, were still creatures running on four legs. Humans were mere thoughts, beasts more accustomed to the seas than to land. To think you could outsmart him is folly and foolishness. Turn around and go back to your home, Elain. Put this idea out of your mind.”

“I promised,” she half wailed, despair replacing her anger. “If I go back—”

Lucien cocked his head, some of that fire flickering back to life. “Yes?”

She pulled the ticket from her pocket and slammed it roughly into his chest. He didn’t move, fingers brushing hers as he took it before it fluttered between them.

“Even if he didn’t want me, I would never want you.”

His lip curled over his teeth. “How very fortunate for me.”

She knew it was a lie. Feyre had told her the men felt the mating bond far more strongly than women, and rejecting it often made them insane. It was tempting to break the bond right then and there and prove Lucien right. He’d accused her of being spoiled and selfish, caring only about herself. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Maybe she was vindictive, too.

But Elain was suddenly tired and a little afraid. Anxious, too, that Graysen was going to change his mind when she told him there was no bargain to be made. Suddenly Lucien didn’t matter. The fight had simply gone out of her, blinked out like the stars overhead. The sky, once inky black, had lightened to a pale violet. At any moment, the sun would fully break and the world would see her for what she was.

And she was terrified Lucien was right about her. Every accusation he’d made against her was true. She hadn’t cared, though she had known Feyre was allowing herself to be the martyr if she and Nesta were happy.

And she had hidden, hadn’t thought even once to suggest herself in place of Feyre. She’d just wanted that creature to leave, and if that meant Feyre had to leave with him, well, so be it. Knowing that Feyre had told him that, when Feyre had only ever told her such kind things about Lucien, brought back more of the shame from before. 

“None of this would have happened if you’d stood up to your High Lord,” Elain whispered, holding his gaze. Lucien’s mouth went slack and right then, she knew she’d wounded him just as thoroughly as he’d wounded her. “I may be spoiled, but you're a coward. You did this to me. I will never forgive you for it.”

She turned, then, needing to get far, far away. Elain only dared to look over her shoulder once, but Lucien was gone. Had he ever been there? The ticket was gone from her pocket, but all that remained was the tell-tale racing of her heart. She didn’t know what to do with herself, but she knew she couldn’t stay in Prythian. Feyre would learn she’d been here, if Lucien hadn’t already raced off to tattle on her.

Elain winnowed again, dumping herself with a sob on the border between Spring and the wall. Curling her knees against her chest, fingers balled into fists and pressed against her chest, she sobbed like a wounded animal. It was unfair. Nothing was as it should be. Was it selfish to simply want? Spoiled to hope for something? 

She hadn’t thrust them into poverty.

She hadn’t done anything. Lucien didn’t know anything. He was living his same life, marred only by her presence. She doubted he’d been thrilled to learn they were mates and now he was punishing her for it. Elain decided to discard his words, wiping her eyes on the edge of her sleeve. 

Elain couldn’t go back that night. She needed Graysen to believe she’d at least tried. Instead, once she felt like she could walk away, Elain stumbled through the familiar woods of the village she’d once resided in for the cottage that now rotted on the very edge. The door had been replaced, propped up to keep animals out. 

Elain stepped inside, shivering violently at the memories that came flooding back. She’d been happy here, somehow. No one else had been—Feyre and Nesta would rather have died than return. But Elain remembered how they used to sleep in that too-soft bed, jostling for blankets and space when it got cold. 

She remembered how she’d curl up around Nesta, who seemed to radiate warmth even when she was bone thin and hungry, or how, when Feyre had gotten sick, she’d slept on her back so Feyre could rest her head against Elain’s shoulder. Her younger sister had still sucked her thumb back then, whimpering softly for their mother who’d been dead for years.

Before, in the giant estate, Nesta had been consumed by her lessons and Feyre had taken to all but living in the trees, wilder than an animal. Elain had felt so isolated, trying—and often failing—to find friends that filled the gnawing void in her chest. Those friends had vanished along with the wealth, but Feyre and Nesta had remained.

They’d been her only friends for years and Elain had clung to it, in her way. Perhaps she’d done it badly, selfishly. Perhaps it was spoiled to wish nothing had ever changed. Maybe Lucien was right about her, but that didn’t mean he understood why. He didn’t know her at all, only what he believed because she hadn’t fallen into his arms.

Maybe she was spoiled and selfish, but at least she wasn’t mean. She wasn’t bitter. Lucien could only see the ugliness but standing in that cottage, Elain could still see the beauty of it all. The hope, the joy, the love. And maybe she was simply more human than she wasn’t. Humans were all the things he’d spat at her. Was she supposed to be ashamed?

Elain sighed, making her way to that one room where the bed remained. The window was still in tact, keeping the elements away. Everything looked exactly as it had been, though somehow less bright. In her memory it was all so beautiful, but here in the early morning light, it was dull. Empty.

Ordinary.

There was nothing special about any of it. For some reason, that was the biggest disappointment of the day. Elain sat on the edge of the bed, kicking up a cloud of dust that settled in her lap like fallen stars. She decided to stay for the night before trudging back to Gray and hoping he understood why she couldn’t go.

More than anything, Elain was terrified he was going to change his mind once he realized the only life available to them was one of tragedy. She wouldn’t age—but he would. They’d likely never have kids given how difficult it was for the fae to conceive. He’d be shunned from society for his choice, forced to live as an outsider.

She almost didn’t blame him if he decided she wasn’t worth the hassle.

But to Elain, it was worth it. Even if it meant watching him grow old and die—at least they’d have the time together. 

Elain ate from the rations in her little bag before curling up on the bed. It was too early to sleep, but with nothing else to do, she drifted in and out. When she couldn’t, she stared up at the ceiling and tried to banish Lucien’s voice from her head. He had no right, she decided, to say those things about her.

To her.

Night was worse—the wind howled, rattling the thin glass in the rotting wooden frame. Animals clawed at the structure before the world fell eerily silent. She supposed it was like that—the darkness was at its zenith, scaring even the wind itself. It didn’t stop her from feeling as if she was being watched. 

The dawn broke, bringing with it the realization that she’d made her choice, had burned all the bridges she might one day need to return. There was nowhere to go but back home. Elain set out, bones aching from her restless sleep, mind racing with all the possibilities of what might be waiting for her. 

It was nearly noon by the time she reached the fortress. The doors were opened to her immediately, and the sentry waiting just inside greeted her with a nervous smile. The staff was growing accustomed to her presence, their wariness often replaced with a pitying smile. It was better, she supposed, though Elain wasn’t certain she wanted to spend the rest of her life being pitied, either.

Graysen was up, dressed in his fine breeches and a rather nice blue and black jacket. He paused in the stone hall when he saw her, shadows half obscuring his face. “You’re back,” he exclaimed, eyes falling on her pointed ears. “You’re back early.”

“I can’t go,” she whispered, deciding she would just lie. She’d intended to tell him the truth, but fear gripped her heart. “When the captain learned, he…he said it was an ill omen to travel to a death god—”

“Not a death god,” Graysen interrupted, but Elain knew Lucien was right. Damn him all the same, but he was right.

“Yes, Gray. A death god,” she repeated gently. “He turned me away.”

“Then we’ll lie—”

“They can read minds, remember?” she said, telling yet another lie. He didn’t know it wasn't entirely true, though. Graysen’s face fell as he walked to her, skimming his fingers over her arms.

“What happened to you is an injustice. Is there no recourse, then? They’re just allowed to harm you and I have to sit here and make my peace with it?”

His concern was a balm for her wounded feelings. “I’m alive, at least.”

“That you are,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Still, there was a tightness to his features she didn’t like. He’d been too hopeful and now they were dashed, ruined and wilted. 

“Are you reconsidering?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “We will continue with the wedding.”

Elain sighed, relief replacing the heavy weight of fear. She could still have the life she wanted. 

And maybe, someday, she’d find something to restore her humanity.

Lucien Vanserra be damned.

[milunalupin]

— take a chance on me

james potter x reader ★ 761 words

James knew from the moment he saw you, you were the one.

He sees you every week at the same bakery, ordering the same drink and the same pastry. You were the one he'd befriend, subtly flirt with, and eventually ask on a date. He'd pick you up with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, take you to dinner nearby. You two share a dessert, the kind James carefully spoons into your mouth with an adoring smile. Like the gentleman he is he'll walk you back home, brushing his hand against yours until he's brave enough to just take it.

After a few months of seeing each other he'd ask you to be his, officially. Probably with a box of pastries from your favorite bakery, and a cheesy card that makes his heart skip a beat when you laugh at it. You two would spend the evening eating takeout and watching your favorite movies, finishing off the night with him feeding you the last fruit tart in bed. He'll whisper sweet nothings until you fall into a beautiful slumber in his arms.

He'll tell you he loves you. Probably on the beach, because Sirius wold his it's romantic and girls like that sort of thing. He'll most likely be in tears as he tells you how much you mean to him, and that there's no one else in the world who could make him feel this way. You'll laugh while wiping his tears as well as your own, only making him cry more when you tell him you love him too.

James wants you to meet his parents. Just a casual dinner at the Potter's, he'll tell you. He'll watch in adoration as you fret around your room figuring out what to wear, you don't want to give off a bad first impression. He'll tell you they'll love you, because he does so why wouldn't they? You'll laugh as he pepper your face with kisses and showers you with every compliment in the book.

The Potters are nothing if not kind. Once arriving at his childhood home, James will take your coat. Mr. Potter will give you a handshake, and wonder how you put up with his son. Mrs. Potter will laugh and usher you into the kitchen, where she'll have tea ready for you. You'll all have a good chat over home baked biscuits, and play a round of blackjack or two. By the end of your stay you'll already be called 'daughter-in-law', and have a tin of leftovers to take home.

James will be nervous to ask you to move in with him, but you'll jump into his arms and say yes. It'll take you two along with the help of Sirius and Remus to carry in all of your things, except the latter will sneak off with you to drink lemonade in the kitchen. Sirius will whine about how it's not fair that he's come out with chipped nail polish and frizzy hair while Remus was gossiping with you. Remus will remind him that he has chronic pain and the exercise will be good for his tattooed friend.

You'll come home one day to a box of chocolates and a letter laying by the front door. The letter will be filled with loving words and directions to a secret location. It'll lead you to a park, one where James had taken you several times on picnics. This time, there will be a rose-filled path leading you to a small platform where your boyfriend will be nervously standing. A small speaker will accompany him, your favorite love song playing softly.

Once you reach him he'll shakily get down on one knee, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his suit jacker and pull out a small velvet box from his pocket. He'll open and close his mouth, unable to get any words out. You'll bend down to cradle his face, telling him he doesn't have to say anything, and kiss him.

The two of you will plan and have the most memorable time of your lives the day of your wedding, with much help from your loved ones. Your now husband will not be able to keep his emotions in check, not even when you're in the hotel bed at the end of the night. He'll tell you there's nothing else he could wish for, now that he has you for the rest of his life.

James knew from the moment he saw you, you were the one.

He only hopes that one day you'll look back at him.

[nunalastor]

Hey you guys remember the Alastor meets Jigsaw au? I wanted to go put another spin to it

So I was thinking what if Jigsaw aka John Kramer was being haunted by Alastor while he’s still alive during the Saw films? I’m talking 1-3 and X

One of Jigsaw’s latest victims was trying to summon a demon and it was Alastor. They make a deal, but before Alastor could complete that deal, this person is captured and dies in one of Jigsaw’s traps. So Alastor is stuck on earth and the only way to leave is torment the person who ruined his deal, John Kramer.

I can totally see John despising Alastor because Alastor would be making fun of him and calling John a hypocrite. Also the fact that Alastor is a murderer and John hates murderers. For Alastor it would be a joy to watch how the traps work and try to get John to admit that he loves killing people or just watching them die.

Worst is that everyone around him thinks he’s going insane because he’s the only one who can see Alastor.

Alastor: Come on, you and I both know they’re not going to make it because you rigged it from the beginning

John: My tests are always fair and if they have a strong will they will make it

Alastor: What about the poor saps who have to depend on someone’s else choice for them to live or die?

John: Life’s unfair

Alastor: On that we can agree, but how could anyone predict that an insane serial killer with a god complex would do them in the end

John: I’m not a murderer and I have never killed anybody in my life

Alastor: Your victims would have to disagree, in fact last I heard most of them are anticipating your decent into hell and welcome you with open arms

John is silent as the Radio Demon laughs at his possible future in hell. He doesn’t have long in this world, but his work must continue. He smirks at the demon and says

John: Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘the road to hell is paved by good intentions’?

👀

[luminavt]

Level-5, Fantasy Life:i and Generative AI Stable Diffusion.

The Developer of Fantasy Life: i, Level-5. Just announced a lot of delays for their upcoming games at Level 5 Vision 2024: To the World's Children.

In this presentation, a lot of the games showed off BEAUTIFUL and unique looking art styles and character designs. They stand out from what a lot of current anime games were offering.

I watched it live on stream and my stream community enjoyed seeing it all. However the very next day?

We learned through this article posted above, that the developer had started to embrace using Stable Diffusion, a form of Generative AI, for the Art Assets in three of its games. Megaton Musashi, Yokai Watch, and Inazuma Eleven are shown in the official government presentation.

As someone who is very passionate about Fantasy Life i?

Seeing the company you grew up loving embrace a form of Generative AI that doesn't collect the data of their original works without explicit consent is HEARTBREAKING.

However, I want to be as clear and accurate as possible.

There is very clear evidence that Level 5 is embracing Generative AI for the games listed in the video. There is no clear evidence that these techniques were used in the development of Fantasy Life: i. This post is being shared with you for your awareness.

Fantasy Life for the 3ds is one of the most magical games I've ever played.

The game had so much charm that I showed a minimum of 6 different friends, and upon just watching me play it? They immediately went to buy the game themselves.

It was so charming, so simple yet aesthetically pleasing that anyone could appreciate it for what it was.

This game was developed by Level-5.

The fact that Level-5 was the developers is what got my eye on this game in the first place. Ever since Dark Cloud 2 for the Playstation 2 I fell in love with what these developers can do.

Dark Cloud, Ni no Kuni, Rogue Galaxy, I fell in love with the developers ages ago and what they do meant a lot to me.

It feels awful that I cannot feel comfortable supporting the developer as a whole anymore.

I don't fault anyone if they choose the purchase the game still because ultimately, i know the game means a lot. Part of me still wants to experience the game.

However, its clear that Level 5 is one of the developers who plan to fully integrate Gen Ai into their development cycle going forward and I wouldn't be surprised it's why they have so many delays in all their games. As they may be adapting to a new workflow.

As someone who heavily endorsed this game as a streaming vtuber, I felt it was only fair I spread this information. Thank you.

Link to the article will be on my following tumblr post for full context.

[eleanore-delphinium]

The Voices: 'What if : I'd Follow You'

A/N:

This is not canon to the previous chapter. Same world (I'm still working on) but this is a what if the canon timeline didn't happen.

The sneak peek I shared with

“If anything happened to you– if you die– I cannot continue living on.” It was a statement. His eyes told her he knew this for a fact. As if he had already lived through it. - Damian to Raven

DISCLAIMER: DEATH, suicide

~.~.~.~.~.~

The Voices: 'What if : I'd Follow You'

Raven and Damian have been married for years now. And they were more than happy in each other's arms. Granted, even they have their fair share of difficulties in their relationship.

Damian was happy to be in bed with his wife who laid on his shoulder with her fingers brushing above his beating heart.

Her condition wasn't ideal, but he loved her so dearly.

She glanced up to look at him and feeling her shift against his body he immediately looked down curiously.

He smiled when their eyes met.

"Dami, do you ever think of death?" She asked suddenly and he was taken aback.

His hand that was stroking her elbow stopped as he frowned, "Why are you asking this question?"

She brought her gaze back down, to look at her fingers brushing his sternum, "Just a thought that came to me today."

"Of course I do, it happens." He finally answered her.

"Would you remarry if I die?" She asked back as if asking about his day or the weather.

The question made him hold his breath, if anything, it would have stopped his heart too.

"Why are you saying that?" He asked back, the edge on his voice was undeniable.

Raven had stopped playing with his chest. She did not look up at him. She sighed then repeated her question.

"Would you remarry if I die?"

Her husband held her hand that was already on his chest. He laid her hand flat against his beating heart.

"My heart will stop beating if you die." The answer to the question she seemed to want to know was finally said aloud, in a room that was rather chilly despite being in each other's warm embrace. Despite being fully clothed, under warm thick sheets.

She looked up with a troubled expression, she shook her head. Before she could rebuke verbally, her husband spoke.

"If anything happened to you– if you die– I cannot continue living on." It was a statement. His eyes told her he knew this for a fact. As if he had already lived through it.

She inhaled deeply, "No. I don't want that." She propped her head up a bit with her free hand supporting her weight. As the hand he was already holding shifted in his hold and she squeezed him.

"I want you to remarry." Raven added quietly, even when there were tears in her eyes.

This time it was his turn to lift himself up from the bed. His eyes searching hers. "I will not remarry. I would rather die with you."

He watched his wife's lips quiver at his response and he cupped her face, hoping to calm her. "I can't live without you. I can't continue on. It wouldn't be living, beloved."

"Please, don't say that." Her voice cracked, her tears still gathering in her eyes. "I don't like the thought of you dying."

"I don't like the thought of you dying." He repeated and she pressed her lips.

"But I am not well. It's more likely that I–"

Damian cut her off by pulling her closer to him. "And I can't love anyone else. I can't imagine another woman in my life that isn't you. I love you."

She could see the conversation was upsetting him. She cupped his face with one hand and brushed the corner of his eye.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." She said, crawling into his lap and hugging him tight.

He hugged her back and buried his face on her shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes. Their beating hearts drumming at the same pace, completely in sync.

She pulled away from his embrace, "I want to live a long life with you." She smiled at him. Then leaned her forehead against his, their noses touching.

The couple settled into their bed after their talk and he held her tighter than normal. The talk likely left an impression on him. But knowing she was in his arms calmed him.

As they waited for sleep to take them, they talked about their future together instead of one without the other.

Damian woke up in the middle of the night, not sure when he had fallen asleep amid their conversation. But he could still feel his wife's body pressing against his and it brought a smile on his face.

He wanted to bring her even closer to his face, but when he touched her arm. He felt the chill.

He was instantly awoken from the confusion of just waking up.

It was like there was an alarm in his brain blaring at him.

He sat up bringing her along with him as he glanced down only to see her– his beloved wife–

"No." A shaky breath followed. "No." He brushed her face.

Her blue face. She looked peaceful.

But his heart felt like it was ripped from his chest.

He cradled her. And wept. Muttering for her to wake. Telling her he loves her. Asking her not to leave him.

Damian was a smart man. Smarter than any average man. And he knew, with how cold her body was, that she'd been like that for a while now. He knew that even if he called 911 nothing could be done.

Therefore with what little sense he had, he used the time to talk to her. Ask her. Tell her. Beg her.

He stayed like that, hunched over her body for longer than he'd like to admit. Then something just clicked in his brain.

He lifted his head up and caressed her face. He kissed her cold lips and laid her gently on the bed.

He got up, went to their bathroom and took bottles of medication. Medication that had his wife's name on them.

Damian walked quietly to his bedside table. Placed the medications on top while he opened the drawer, taking out a piece of paper and pen and wrote something down carefully. Once he was done he glanced at his wife.

She looked so peaceful.

He smiled at her.

He placed the pen down, sighed and got his phone out. He typed something and was busy with his phone for a bit. Then placed it on mute. He placed his phone on the table and grabbed the pill bottles.

He looked at his wife again. Then studied the label on her medication.

Maybe it was an allergic reaction to the medication.

He wondered if she knew that she was going to die that evening. Was that why she was asking those questions?

Those painful questions?

But how could she know?

Those things didn't matter. He already told her what he knew to be true.

"I will be with you, my beloved wife." He whispered, opening the bottles and downed every pill inside with no water.

He then settled in bed and brushed her face. He wanted to hold her and he thought about it for a while.

He knew he couldn't sleep if she wasn't in his arms.

With that thought, he carefully gathered her into his arms again. She was still flexible which made him relax as he settled onto the bed and closed his eyes. His thumb caressed her lower back as he always does when they go to sleep.

On the piece of paper he left behind he wrote: Please bury me with her.

Damian's breathing started to shallow down.

He had also left timed text messages to his family.

The first one to call 911. Then the next messages were delayed by a few minutes.

He had one for his father telling him to continue the research under Raven's name and that whatever money he was entitled to would be used as funds for it. He thanked his father and apologized.

He sent one to his eldest brother, though he was an annoying brother, he told the man he'd appreciate it if he could oversee the projects he has, especially the research that was supposed to be for his wife.

He left messages for his other brothers too. Tim was specifically told about his will. The message for Jason seemed to be aimed to piss him off, but there was clear affection between the lines.

And he even sent one for Alfred, giving him a brief summary of what he told his family. He also thanked the older man and emphasized how grateful he was for welcoming his wife despite her condition.

Damian was content. He has made sure that everything was settled.

When the rigor mortis is completed in both their bodies, they would have long been discovered by his family. Raven would not be stuck in this position. Though he wouldn't mind if they were buried like this too.

Either way, knowing that her body would unlikely completely stiffen before they were discovered was what made him finally decide to hold her in his dying moment.

"Just a little bit more…" He mumbled.

It was good they didn't have children. It made this choice easier.

When the text messages arrived to their respective recipients it was too late. People rushed to Damian's mansion, checked every room. Bruce and Dick had checked the bedroom and–

Damian laid there with a smile on his lips and his beloved in his arms. They both looked to be at peace.

FIN.

[callieisto]

HAPPY (LATE!) BIRTHDAY RO MY LOVE!!! Have some of the softest birthday sex with Sam I could cook up <33 @ivysangel

⊹˚₊‧꒰ა𓆩✧𓆪໒꒱ ‧₊˚⊹

Usually, Hunters didn’t have partners. Hunters didn’t live long enough or safe enough to love someone properly, maintain anything the way a relationship needed to be maintained.

Clearly, Sam never got the memo.

“Missed you,” Sam said breathlessly, kissing you as soon as you opened the door to your apartment. Long distance was hell, especially when he was away for your birthday. It just made him feel like the shittiest boyfriend ever, just the worst. He could save you from a stalker vampire, but he couldn’t convince Dean to leave him in a town the week of your birthday.

To be fair to Sam- in many, many ways, dealing with a stalker vampire was much easier than dealing with his brother.

But Sam would find his way to you if the world was ending, if the sky was spitting fire and the seas turned to lava. He would crawl over broken glass to see you smile. He loved you more than he loved the idea of saving the world.

He pulled away to study your face, to just soak you in. God, you were the most beautiful woman in the world. He leaned in again to nuzzle against your nose, the smile on his face infectious.

“You got your hair done,” he whispered, taking one of the braids between his fingers and twisting it slightly. “It looks good. You look good. God, I missed you.”

He kisses you again, crowding you back into your apartment, cradling your face in his hands. To say he’s desperate would be an understatement. He’s starving for you, he’s been going through withdrawals, and the simple feeling of your mouth on his feels like coming home.

He always wanted a normal life. And meeting you had been just the most amazing thing in the world. Falling into bed with you the first time had felt like… god, like something had clicked in his brain. Like the universe had finally righted itself. He’d been so lost, been living outside his body since uprooting his entire life, and you brought him right back.

Right now, though, he needed you so bad it hurt.

Curling over you- god, you’re so small in comparison to him, so beautiful- he smiles that crooked little smile down at you, hands moving from your face to your hips.

“Let me make it up to you,” he begs plainly, because Sam Winchester is not above begging for the woman he loves. “Please?”

“Okay,” you giggle, and he nearly cries with relief because god, he just loves you so much.

He picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, his hands supporting your thighs, and carries you down the hall to your bedroom. It’s cute, it’s so you, and he can’t help but remember the first night he ended up tangled in your sheets. You had just moved in, and there were boxes everywhere, and you had been so scared when the brothers broke your door down and basically camped out in your living room until that scummy vampire had showed his face.

Dean, who had apparently met another girl in the same city, decided to spend the night with her. Which left Sam without a car, and, well…

It was history.

He crawled over you when he softly dropped you on the bed, trailing his hands up and down and up and down- just feeling you, because it’s been so long, because he loves you, because he wants to be close to you in a way he never wants to be close with anyone else again.

“Happy late birthday, baby.” He whispered, kissing down your throat. Your giggle makes him smile, makes his cheeks flush. God, he’s so whipped for you it’s embarrassing.

Pretty soon, you’re naked. And he’s naked too, but he’s using your thighs as earmuffs as he presses sweet kisses to your clit.

“Missed this pretty pussy,” he murmured like a prayer, licking a stripe up your folds. He moans, trying not to rut his cock against the bed like a loser. He sucks on your clit, pulling you further down on the bed and laughing when you squeak out in surprise.

“Sam!” You chide breathlessly, propping yourself up on your elbows with an affectionate look on your face.

He just smiles, and shrugs, and goes back to eating you out like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do.

“C’mon baby,” he murmurs against you, hitching your legs higher so he can tongue fuck you deeper, can slurp at you like you’re a fucking soup, his nose bumping against your clit all the while. “You’re so fucking pretty, taste so good, lemme have it, give it to me please…”

When your legs tremble around his head and you buck your hips into his mouth, cumming with a little cry of his name, he swears he’s never tasted anything sweeter. He could spend hours between your legs, and has, but the way you’re squirming makes him think that maybe, just maybe, you missed him just as much as he missed you.

So he leans back once you’re limp on the bed, kissing his way up your body until he reaches your mouth. “You’re so perfect.” He said, his voice tight. “God, you’re so perfect baby, I missed you so much.”

He kissed you slow, soft, big hand cupping your breast in his hand, tweaking the nipple just to hear you squeak.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting his tongue to yours. He lets go of your boob, reaching for the bedside table to dig around for a condom. He found one, sitting back on his haunches to tear the little foil packing open with his teeth.

It is unfairly sexy, especially considering how you’re pretty sure you look like a mess. He rolls the condom on, running two fingers through your wetness to lube up his cock a little bit. He leans back over you, carefully, kissing your forehead.

“God, you’re so pretty.” He whispered, notching his tip at your entrance very carefully. “I missed you so much, baby, god… love you, love you s’much…”

He groans when he pushes in almost annoyingly carefully, like you might break, like he’s been away for so long that you might have forgotten what he feels like inside you.

He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours when his hips are flush with yours. “Hi pretty girl.” He crooned, peppering your face with kisses. “Oh, you look so pretty, all full of me. Good god.”

You squirm under his careful kisses, whining impatiently. “Sam,” you whimper, trying to kick at him to knock him out of the little lovey dovey haze he’s in. “Sam, move! Mnh-”

The little sound you make drives him crazy, and he starts moving, slowly, carefully. He picks up the pace when you let little moans slip out, because that has got to be his favorite sound in the world. The little whimpers, the way your eyes flutter, the way your lips part sweetly.

His hand snakes down your body to rub at your clit, because when you seize up with a cry of his name and soak his cock, he wants to cry because he’s so happy.

He keeps working at it, thrusts getting faster and harder as you squeal out a little “Sam, sensitive!”

“Just one more,” he croons down at you, his voice tight. “Just give me one more, sweetheart, one more, please, ‘s your birthday present, gonna make you cum at least one more time…”

And, true to his words, he makes you cum again. You cling to his bicep, manicured nails digging into his skin, crying out weakly as tears of pleasure smudge your makeup and trail down your cheeks. He groans as his hips stutter to a stop, the condom filling as he leaned over her, panting weakly.

He kissed your tears from your face, smiling softly. “Hey, pretty girl. You did so good. You made me feel so good, baby, god, I missed you.”

The two of you lie like that for a while, sweaty and sated. After a few minutes of gentle kisses and sweet praise, he pulled out, chuckling when you whimper at the empty feeling. He took the condom off, tying it before he tossed it into the trashcan by your bedside table. He grabbed his boxers, hiking them back up before crawling into bed with you.

“I missed you.” He whispered again, while you busied yourself settling against his chest. “I’m in town for the week. What do you say we go out and get you some birthday presents tomorrow?”

Your hum makes him smile. He kisses your forehead, gets comfortable, and the two of you fall asleep tangled in your sheets.

[hiraeth-nostalgic]

hello i have come back with some thoughts

my first thought, the theory with the 9 lives really fucks me up like, i think it about it all the time for certain characters and now in my thoughts i'd like to also make my fellow JJK fans depressed with me (more depressed i mean)

The first pairs i'm gonna talk about

first life: Yuuji, Gojo last life: Megumi, Geto (contains some brief mentions of spoilers but all within JJK0, JJK1 and JJK2 so don't cry if you spoiler something (maybe some brief hinting at manga stuff for megumi but nothing like in your face) so fair warning)

Yuuji and Megumi: this is a world Yuuji wasn't born into knowing anyway but with how positive he is and how he continues to get back up over and over for what he thinks is the greater good (even tho man has breakdowns about it) he is often led by the belief that this will all mean something and that he will just play his part even at the cost of himself. Megumi on the other hand, grew up knowing about curses and knew that he would always be a part of this death machine. He doesn't get surprised by a lot and as we've seen with his urge to call mahoraga, he's not afraid to just end it all and cut ties. but on a serious note, I think we all know Megumi just looks tired. like sleeping isn't going to fix it, so I think he's on his last life. (maybe even relieved that it's his last life so he doesn't have to spend all that time missing people all over again and losing everyone he CAN and CAN'T remember) OKAY what I know you are all waiting for Geto and Gojo: it's not that Gojo is this naive, overly eager kid like Yuuji, but he still tries to find that innocence in Humans. he doesn't hold them to the same standard he holds himself and this could be attributed to his upbringing but also to what he has already gone through as a teen. He lost a lot at the hands of a human and yet he still tries to stick his neck out for people. we see this in the Shibuya arc right before he was sealed with how he gambles his domain to try and estimate how long a normal human could withstand his domain. Geto, on the other hand, he maybe tried to give people that chance and force himself to believe that notion again but we see how he falls. After Haibara, which we all know was Geto's final straw, really just solidified that nothing ever changes, in this life, the before or the lives after, innocent people will still die in front of him and there's nothing he can really do. and at the end of the JJK0 movie, we see how easily he accepts death, he welcomes Gojo knowing he was gonna die. I think he was just happy that the cycle was over.

[silverwhittlingknife]

How do you feel about Jack Drake?? What are your thoughts on him and Tim’s relationship?

Anon, I hope you were interested in a novel, because look, I am fascinated by Jack Drake.  He’s key to a whole lot of what I find compelling about Tim as a character, and if I were in charge of DC, I’d bring him back to life.  This would make Tim unhappy but would IMO make for good plotlines.

Jack and Tim’s relationship is Complicated (TM)...

Jack and Tim hug in Nightwing 20 / Jack impulsively yanks a TV out of the wall in Robin 45 / Tim grieves in Identity Crisis

“I could tell the truth.  But I don’t.” - Robin 66

...and it involves a whole lot of Tim lying, and feeling guilty about lying, and thinking about telling the truth, and choosing again and again to keep lying.

And I think that’s great.

Below the cut:

Shorter version - key points about Jack

Really long version - my gentler take (vigilantism is choir and Jack loves sports) vs. my harsher take (Jack has some major flaws)

Final thoughts

Shorter version - key points about Jack:

He’s a bad parent.  He’s self-centered, he consistently prioritizes his own comfort and interests over his son’s, and when upset, he does things like order Tim off to boarding school.

But he’s never a bad parent in an actionable way.  He’s not like David Cain or Arthur Brown, who are abusive monsters.  Jack’s not a monster!  He just...kinda sucks.

He genuinely loves Tim. If Jack’s aware that Tim’s disappeared or is in trouble, he’s always worried and upset.  He periodically resolves to be a better dad, and IMO he’s always sincere.

And Tim loves him, a lot.  Tim’s protective of him and worries about him when he’s kidnapped or in danger, and when they’re reunited, Tim’s really relieved and usually hugs him (and Jack hugs back!). 

...But they have very little in common, and that’s a problem. Jack doesn’t value the things that Tim values, or respect the people that Tim admires, or care about the things that Tim’s interested in.  Tim lies to him a lot, but that’s partly because he correctly guesses Jack wouldn’t respond well if he knew the truth of what Tim’s up to.

The Batfamily is a surrogate family that Tim’s drawn to because of the ways his real family doesn’t meet his emotional needs…but also he feels guilty about that and disloyal. (And to the extent that his dad recognizes what’s going on, he's jealous and resentful!)

Very long version:

(LISTEN I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS)

Okay!  So first: Jack’s a character who IMO is pretty up for interpretation.  You can interpret him very charitably, and make excuses for the bad behavior, and fill in the blanks sympathetically when situations are ambiguous; or you can interpret him uncharitably, and emphasize the bad behavior. I don’t think either approach is invalid - it depends on what kind of story you’re interested in!  I have enjoyed Bad Dad stories and also stories that redeem Jack.

My personal take on canon is that Jack and Tim’s relationship is in a gray area.  Jack's definitely neglectful, and he does prioritize other things over Tim, but he’s never so bad that Tim can easily reject him, and he's never so bad that Bruce could justify taking Tim away.  He's just...not great.  Tim loves him, and feels loyal to him, but it’s a very mixed-up complicated love.

I have a gentler take and a harsher one which I switch between as the spirit moves me. xD

My Gentler Take (tl;dr: vigilantism is choir and Jack loves sports)

Here’s the core conflict: Jack and Tim are very different people with different values.  Tim idolizes Bruce and Dick and vigilantism, and secretly gets involved, knowing his dad will hate it. He gets increasingly wrapped up in his secret world and lies to his dad...because if his dad finds out, he’ll make Tim quit.

This is a great setup for an ongoing comic.  It’s practical, because it provides endless potential for plotlines, and it’s nicely thematic, because it maps closely onto relatable real-life situations with extracurricular activities:

Tim the drama nerd whose dad thinks he’s playing football and not in the school play; 

Tim the closeted-queer kid secretly getting involved in his school’s politically-active Gay-Straight Alliance; 

Tim the choir kid whose dad only values making money and wants him to go into the family business (and Tim keeps promising himself he'll give up choir soon, definitely soon, but maybe he'll stay in just a liiiittle longer, because they need him, you see, the last tenor left town, so...); 

Tim the computer geek with the sports-obsessed dad (this one’s just canon);

etc. etc.  

The extracurricular metaphor works pretty well for Tim’s relationship to vigilantism.  Tim's involved in his "extracurricular" because he genuinely thinks it's important and fulfilling, and he values it and wants to be good at it. He idolizes Bruce and Dick because they're good at it. He's been collecting information about it since he was a little kid, and hiding it from his parents because he knows they wouldn't approve. And mayyyybe there's also an element of low-key rebellion against his dad, and maybe that's secretly part of the appeal. And yet also as Tim gets more and more invested, he starts to daydream: maybe I could tell my dad and he'd be proud of me and supportive. But he doesn't, because actually he knows his dad would be upset and angry and make him quit.

And - again, just like with lonely kids and extracurricular hobbies - one of the things that happens is that Tim starts getting his unfilled emotional needs met ... by people he knows through this secret hobby. And people like Bruce and Dick start turning into a surrogate family. Which Tim feels guilty about. And also as Tim gets more and more wrapped up in their world, he has to lie to his dad even more, which means the distance between Tim and his dad gets bigger and bigger and more and more unfixable.

I love this dilemma. It's simple, it's recognizable, it provides endless sources for conflict, and there's no obvious solution! Tim can't tell Jack: he'll make Tim quit! And Tim doesn't want to quit, because he loves choir / art / theater / whatever.  Yeah, it’s difficult, and there are challenges, and sometimes he has doubts...but at the end of the day, he cares about it a lot.  And everything he values is there, and all the people he admires and cares about are there, and all he wants in the world is to feel like he's one of them and belongs there. So he has to lie, even though he doesn't want to lie, and he feels guilty about it...

...but also he ends up lying more and more.

(Sidenote: I think it's important that Tim chooses to keep lying - Tim's narration often glosses this as "I have to lie to my dad," and that's certainly how it feels to Tim, but this... isn't quite true. He has to lie to his dad, because if he doesn't, his dad will get mad at him and try to stop him, not because he literally has no choice about it.)

Other Reasons Why I Like The "Secret Extracurricular" Interpretation

(tl;dr it complicates not just Tim's relationship with his dad, but also all his other relationships)

Tim's problems have some obvious parallels to Steph and Cass, who both become vigilantes while rejecting their evil supervillain dads. But Jack isn't evil. And that means the Tim-and-Jack relationship is ambiguous and complicated in ways that I like. Steph and Cass can just leave their Bad Dads in prison, and say good riddance, and feel very righteous and triumphant about it! Tim’s more complicated. Tim gets into vigilantism ostensibly out of duty and altruism, but secretly, he's also involved for straight-up selfish self-fulfillment reasons. He's lonely, and bored, and his life feels pointless, but he thinks that Bruce and Dick are cool and amazing and he wants to be a part of the things that they do.  When his dad gets jealous of Tim’s relationship to Bruce, and feels like Tim’s looking for a surrogate family, he’s... not wrong.

And the ways in which Jack is not Actionably Bad complicate things from Bruce's POV.  If Jack was a straight-up villain, it’d be an easy call to keep in touch when Jack finds out and makes Tim quit...but he’s not a villain, not really.  So what do you do?  Do you try to surreptitiously stay in touch with Tim even though you’re ignoring his dad’s express wishes and thus forcing Tim to sneak around?  Do you respect his dad’s wishes and stay away from Tim even though you have a years-long relationship at this point?  

Again: a bit similar to the extracurricular analogy.  Say you’re the choir director and you’ve built this whole relationship with a kid in the choir, and you’re an important mentor to him and you care about him etc. etc. etc.... and then right before a big performance, his dad finds out he’s been secretly involved, and yanks him out.  How would you react?  Well, maybe kind of in some of the ways Bruce reacts.  You replace him. You’re annoyed with him. You miss him. You want him to come back. You’re also worried about him.  You’re upset with his dad.  But also... what should you do, exactly?

Bruce and Alfred and Dick care about Tim as if he were part of their family, but he’s not part of their family, and there’s a lot of interesting tension there.

My Harsher Take

Jack never hits his son.  But his temper is a big deal.

In his worst moments, he takes out his anger on Tim’s stuff - wrecking his room, or ripping his TV out of the wall and confiscating it.  When he’s worried about Tim, he usually expresses that fear by yelling at him / punishing him / sending him away - threatening to send him to boarding school in Metropolis in Robin III, or threatening to send him to military school abroad in Robin 92, or actually forcing him to go to an all-boys' boarding school post-NML.  

This is bad behavior!  It is Not Good!  

And you can easily connect the dots to a bunch of Tim’s terrible coping mechanisms, like the constant lying and or the fact that Tim’s go-to methods for dealing with interpersonal conflict are 1) repress it and pretend it never happened (most of his fights with Bruce), 2) withdraw from the relationship until he can pretend the conflict doesn’t exist (when his friends get mad at him in YJ, he quits the team for a while), or 3) literally run away from home.

Also, Jack is a Manly Man with firm opinions about how men behave vs. how women behave, and he thinks boys shouldn’t be scared and thinks Tim should date hot girls and pushes Tim to work out and wants him to play football and expresses period-typical sexism, etc. etc. etc. ... and though obviously this wasn’t what the writers had in mind at the time, all of that is certainly interesting to read backwards in the light of Tim as a queer character.

More Disorganized Thoughts on Jack Drake

Tim’s our hero, so we’re naturally more sympathetic to him, but it’s also true that relationships are a two-way street, and Tim doesn’t value any of the things his dad values, either.  Jack at various points is shown to care about grades, business, money, boarding schools, archeology, football, a kind of macho bragging-about-dating-hot-women ethos, and a very public and performative kind of caring. Tim tends to respond with discomfort or disinterest or even disgust.  When Jack gets on TV to try to rally the government to save his son from No Man’s Land, Tim isn’t touched—he’s mortified.  When Jack makes some bad investments and loses money, Jack’s deeply upset and his self-image is majorly impacted, and far from being sympathetic, Tim’s annoyed and kind of contemptuous of the idea that this is a problem.  Jack thinks fishing in the early morning and going to tennis matches is a fun father-son activity; Tim finds it exhausting and tedious.  And so on.

This means that Tim often longs to be closer to his dad in theory, but this longing is more tied to fantasy than to reality. He rarely seems to enjoy spending time with His-Dad-The-Actual-Person.  So for example, when Tim’s deadly ill with the Clench, he has an extremely poignant fever dream about telling his dad the truth and getting hugged…even as he insists in real-life to Alfred and Dick that he does not want them to tell his dad what’s going on.

The same is true of Jack, who IMO genuinely wants to be closer to his son and is continually declaring that he’s going to turn over a new leaf and get closer to his son…and just as continually backs out of activities or loses his temper when faced with spending time with his actual son.

Tim and his dad sadly get along best—by far—in Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder situations.  When Jack gets kidnapped or is in danger, Tim worries for him (and Tim grieves him deeply when he dies).  When Tim disappears or runs away, Jack’s genuinely worried about him.  So e.g. they have a really moving emotional reunion and hug when the earthquake hits Gotham, and Tim panics about his dad’s safety and comes running home (and meanwhile Jack’s been panicked about Tim’s safety!).  It’s the day-to-day, regular life stuff where they don’t connect.

Jack's written quite differently by different writers. Mostly, Tim's parents are at their least likable in his early appearances and early miniseries (this is where you get, for example, Jack and Janet being nasty at each other while a pained employee looks on, and Tim disappointed to once again get news of where his parents are via postcard - "I guess that sums them up! Never know where they’re going to be–or when–or even how long!” - and Tim alone on school break, and Bruce and Alfred thinking there's something weird going on with Tim's parents, etc. etc.). Jack's more sympathetic but still often unlikable in most of Tim's Robin solo, and he's almost invisible (but positively treated if he does show up) in Tim's team books.

For obvious reasons, Jack's remembered way more sympathetically after his death. Tim's completely devastated by Jack's murder, which he arrives moments too late to prevent, and he basically never gets over it. We see him grieving Jack again and again in Robin, and also in Teen Titans, and also in Resurrection, and again in the Halloween Special, and again in Batman: Blackest Night, and all the way up to the end of Red Robin. Tim also grieves for an extended time over Janet - he hallucinates a happy reunion with her when he's feverish in Contagion, and hallucinates her in the final issue of Robin, and the reveal-your-buried-emotions song in Robin 102 brings up his grief for her too (meanwhile, other characters dance or laugh or otherwise get giddy).  Tim’s grief over his parents’ deaths is intense and long-lasting.

I'm not going to clip comic panels because this is long enough, but if you're curious, here's a nice and fairly lengthy compilation of comic panels with Tim and Jack.

If you're interested in a Jack-centric story with a softer-but-still-recognizably-canon take on Jack, I really like the way Jack’s narration is written in the one-shots Heart Humble (set shortly before Jack dies) and Never a Hero (Ra's resurrects him during Brucequest, and Jack's archeology skills turn out to be unexpectedly useful).

[shrews-art]

I could write a whole essay about how Victor Vale and Kell Maresh are two sides of the same coin, opposites yet somehow similar when it comes to their relationship with pain

[storywestistrash]

i am actually so tired of the way westerners treat eastern europeans