#on that thought... i must wonder what kind of lack of self awareness is necessary to invite in cameras and have it actually be interesting

[viktoriakomova]

the lsu documentary thing makes me miss beyond the routine

[mekkanicalsol]

Hello there! Are Dione and Mercury a couple in your AU? Or as close to it as you/they can probably get with the Stardroids uh...depressing/destructive worldview? Do you have any thoughts on how the others (stardroids or moons) view interactions between Dione and Mercury? or even just Dione to be honest--she's so cool!

Couple? It’s a bit more complicated than that. I wouldn’t really consider them to be so, nor would I see either of them considering the label either.

They don’t even consider ‘getting together.’ The feelings they hold are already confusing and conflicting enough yet despite all of their differences they’re somehow drawn to one another.

Mercury’s got an ego enough to say shit like “yeah of course I’d get bitches” but at the same time he is hyper aware that he’s considered ‘repulsive’ and ‘disgusting’ a lot of the time so someone being genuinely interested in him as an individual catches him off guard— Causing him to act out of character sometimes.

Dione, as known already, has her self worth completely down the drain since her creation. But besides that she doesn’t see any worth in having ‘strong attachments’ especially if she’ll cease existing at some point. It’s hard for her to believe anyone would get interested in someone like her, whom she’s purposely mended into a obedient blank slate.

Dione is envious of Mercury who can easily enact a personal freedom he chooses for himself, but also secretly fascinated at the same time. She thinks his abilities and structure hold a lot of potential, but that’s also kind of mixed in with her slightly twisted interest in dissecting and researching the subjects she works on— She doesn’t wish any harm on him though, even if he is annoying sometimes.

Dione has to wonder what it’s like for him, someone who is likely to live for much, much longer. “It must be nice,” probably comes as a comment, but why should she be concerned with specifically him? Her services extend to everyone, equally. Or maybe past that arrogance he extrudes she can read him pretty well enough to see that maybe they’re not so different after all? A strange sense of relief arises.

Mercury at first found Dione to be stuck up, irritated by her lack of emotional response and regard for her own well being (given his own upbringing lashing back at the notion of being ‘unwanted’.) but eventually somehow grew attached to her caring side that she claims to just be of obligation— Something about having someone being gentle (ironic) for once in the midst of all of the mess is comforting.

Mercury likes to get what he wants no matter what. So if this moon says they aren’t worthy, aren’t needed after they’ve served their purpose? Why not seize the opportunity and take them for himself? But it’s not that easy, because he actually cares, for some reason— And it’s driving him up the wall. It was thought to be out of pity because they were weak, but it was not the case at all.

But I think both would rather get atomized before even entertaining the idea of having romantic feelings for one another.

As for everyone who is a likely witness to this, I don’t think they’d care in the slightest so long as it doesn’t get in the way. Might be some snarky comments from Pluto, some confusion sparked along the way with the other moons, etc. Saturn has advised to Dione about Mercury before they had gotten ‘acquainted,’ but he doesn’t see too much harm in the interactions either. With Dione being the likely last of his moons standing he is fairly cautious and very conscious of her weaknesses, so he doesn’t want her to just end up just simply dying off��� but that does put a strain in the path of her actually having his genuine respect, since Dione is very complicit in her work and the orders she carries out.

Notable things about Dione that everyone I feel acknowledges is that she gets shit done, only speaks when necessary/never really speaks on her own behalf, regards other’s current states over herself, oddly nurturing but not being able to get a full clear read on how she’s feeling or thinking at all. That last part bothers Mercury the most probably.

Thanks for the ask!

[idealspawn]

throughout my journey on growing as a person somehow the only thing i still havent managed to resolve or find the deepest true cause for is my insecurity regarding my intelligence. every single evidence from outside authorities is screaming in praise and approval of my level of knowledge yet i am filled with such anxiety. i dont know how to not let my high standards lower my self-confidence. i think its good that i do have high standards too in a way but not the anxious perfectionism that comes with it. ive thought maybe im unsure about my competence because i feel like i dont belong. in university since ive had an unconventional route, i sort of lack like a group of coursemates (ive changed universities and now im in like an exchange programme so i havent had and dont have the same curriculum as anyone). so i dont know what i should know and what i shouldnt. like what prior knowledge others have. i dont know where i place in the context. i dont know what is stupid to bring up and what isnt. google also told me that maybe its like the dunning-kruger effect where the more you know the more you become painfully aware of how little you know. i guess thats true. i also in general am like programmed to seek for irregularities (i study philosophy and have a background of doing a lot of things requiring close analysis and pattern recognition) so maybe thats why i only see whats wrong in my work or opinions even if that actually forms a small portion regarding the whole. usually my professors dont even pick up on those things i think are massive logical fallacies and am afraid will fail. i literally only get praise and they are so so so credible too, its not that i get approval from people who dont know any better. i dont know. i have all these explanations in my head but not one of those hits the nail on the head. ive gathered that what relieves my anxiety regarding.. well anything.. is just acknowledgeing it. like cracking the code as to whats the underlying deeper cause that projects itself in this belief, insecurity. but i cant seem to ever get it. i wonder is this too small of a problem to go to a psychologist. right now its not too bad but i actually get like weird intense uncontrollable nervous anxiety twitches and breakdowns from the pure thought of how little i know and what others think of me. im most afraid that they think that i think im smart when in reality im so painfully aware that im speaking on matters i feel i dont have proper knowledge of (yet i must because its an assignment). though i think its pretty apparent that im insecure, at least during presentations or speaking in seminars because of the way i speak (hesitantly). i know that to wait until i truly know sth before i speak is a lost cause. you cant ever fully know anything. and its like. so what if im wrong. nothing happens if im wrong but im so terrified of it. i guess ive tied my intelligence to my identity quite a bit but i dont know if that is it either. i guess you could say i should care less abt what other ppl think but in other areas im so confident and sure of myself i dont know why this is manifest only here. i know im actually quite capable at least compared to some people and there are periods where i do get my feedback on an essay or task and i feel really sure of myself but its a very very small slice of the time. i know comparison isnt proper but its also so necessary and inevitable in my field of study, i cant seem to avoid it. ive genuinely resorted to paying a lot of attention to my looks and makeup that makes me look cute and kind in order to hopefully cause the halo effect that when im silent or say something stupid i get the benefit of the doubt.......... its stupid. but im that afraid :/ of coming across narrow-minded.

[benjamin-vague]

The Idiot Monologues: An Exploration of Emptiness

The Digital Dichotomy

There is a crushing weight in our digital culture, and in cult-ure in general, and its name is solitude. Though we possess wonderful tools to freely and joyously connect with others in a global sense that was impossible in ages prior, a sentiment runs in tandem with our usage of them that says we ought only use it to connect with those of great self-similarity; that any "confinement" in solitude whatsoever is detrimental.

Consequences of Misguided Connectivity

As a consequence, we as users of this technology (and more simply as human beings) are heavy with feelings of isolation, inferiority, and confusion, which in error we project outward to be applied to others of our kind. At core, this pervasive culture assumes a deep sense of aloneness and separation which we often blindly begin to take on as we learn the lore of humanity yet do not heed ourselves.

Truly, this sadness sustains itself in an endless loop at our infinite expense. Without inspection, this sustained state influences us in a way we mistake for a factual and necessary reality, inescapable.

The Illusion of Separation in Modern Times

Though in our modern times we are able to tap into such diversity of thought and opportunity for relationship that nobody -- no human being at least -- could ever digest and appreciate its scope, never have we felt more separate from it and deprived of individual worth!

I find a sad irony in the fact that the very tools of our connection become the means by which we unintentionally deprive and lessen ourselves in innocent-seeming acts of comparison and then exclusion. And no exclusion is more dangerous and saddening to me than the exclusion of the aspects of ourselves we do not wish to see which we impose upon ourselves. Still, what we do in this grand ignorance is innocent. What we do in ignorance can be medicated with awareness, knowledge, and scope of vision. Ignorance is our enemy; the only one that can't really be beaten, only beaten back. And how to do that? First, we must eliminate distraction and focus.

Aloneness as an Opportunity

Aloneness and separation supply that the ability to gain just such focus; they represent a wonderful opportunity to practice self-love and patience. It allows us to learn to approach ourselves with curiosity rather than condemnation. Unresentful aloneness offers us a finer awareness of ourselves and also the time needed to become the kind of people we would wish to fall in love with should we encounter them in the world.

And it's very important, I feel, that we try to become the sort of person we wish to fall in love with because it alleviates a perpetual reckoning with fear and lack of validation we all come to know in time. It swells our own sense of self-worth; it connects rather than deprives. It teaches others by demonstration how to do the same.

And this is one method we can and must use to build a kinder, more mindful, truth-loving, and altogether evolved breed of human being.

How else can we escape the traps we have laid for ourselves but to untangle them, strand by barbed strand, to reveal our own nudity of spirit?

The Unexpected Appearance of Our Kind

I say this because it is one of the few ways in which we can truly meet ourselves and our own very tangible needs, which we must learn to supply ourselves. It is an opportunity to show others in nakedness how we would prefer to be loved and in so doing promote an attitude of compassion among those with whom we share the journey.

It's then that such people tend to unexpectedly appear in multitudes, though they will always remain an imprecise reflection, just as we are imprecise for their purposes. This meeting of minds is not necessarily a goal to be kept, at least not in the way I consider it; it's simply a pleasant by-product, to be used in pro-social community building and further exploration of the essential emptiness we all share.

Is this not a preferable state to the one we now suffer at our own hands, poorly constructed by methods rolling down through old generations in the absence of introspection?

Embracing the Journey with Others

Even when such people don't appear or should there come a parting of ways, we will still have grown to be very comfortable in our skins, content with the only company we must always keep. Love does not encompass need, I should think, though we do need love. It offers us that rarest of gems: the chance to share a deeper understanding of one another.

In a world gone mad with screaming self-promotion and the blatant commodification of the individual, is this again not a more preferable state?

The Challenge of Co-dependency in Love

When we perceive that we do need people, that search for love adapts to co-dependent themes from which it is can be very difficult to recover; purity and understanding can very easily become polluted. Ought not we let love be inter-dependent rather than co-dependent: an exchanging of great gifts of learning -- of mutual giving, protection, and uplifting -- rather than this fulfilling of a base "need" which so often resembles a unidirectional taking?

Attraction to Similar Minds

It frequently occurs to me that we are attracted to people who remind us a bit of ourselves, whose struggles and successes prove to be a kind of mirror. It is through them that we feel we can most easily practice empathy and connection, for we are more intimately attuned to the circumstances that produced them. We understand, and always we are creatures who crave understanding.

While this tendency toward sameness isn't always healthy -- we need the opposition generated by minds very different from our own to consider unexpected angles and to grow wise to the winding of our own roads -- it is something I do regard as a natural tendency of the Communal Human.

And perhaps this has something to do with the idea that we are not allowed to love ourselves, a relic of our own silly self-comparisons. Self-love to those who have not yet come to practice it can appear an awful lot like pride or selfishness, yet the interior reality is much more focused on humility and pro-social inter-connection.

The Importance of Self-Empathy

Non-judgmental empathy for oneself is required before all the rest of these. Ultimately the way we love ourselves is the most important kind of love, because it informs how we are able to love others, to love the lives we so briefly live: with health and a wealth of self-knowledge, not taking, controlling, or breaking.

When love is true and filled with awe, do we not want to nurture and protect the object of it? Do we not want to cultivate more of it? What then when we ourselves are just that object?

Embracing Our Inner Evolution

My biggest struggle in life has been to practice this loving understanding of myself, both within myself in silence and in my dealings with you, my siblings; it always has been. For you are all so beautiful in my eyes, and how could I compete? So I don't. I accept, or try to. This is not linear nor binary. One does not either practice these things or not practice them. One does not learn the method once and then the desired state is simply achieved. One becomes aware of the practice in pieces and contexts and then learns to apply them consciously and elsewhere, ideally in all aspects of our lives.

And it is something we will do for the rest of our lives, should we take up the practice at all and find any value in it. Tell me, is there any value in valuing yourself, in recognizing your secret hugeness just as you innately recognize your smallness?

The Real Struggle: Within Ourselves

We never struggle with the world near so much as we struggle with ourselves. When it seems otherwise, it's largely due to us warping our awareness of the world to match our interior being and we are always somewhat at odds with ourselves in the ongoing conversation of our brain.

We desire a unity in our own experience of life and its contents, which springs from the contents of our own interior life. We want it all to "make sense". There have been many times in my life -- and there will be more to come -- when I have lacked any understanding whatsoever except this most basic premise of self: that I was born of prior love, that I am love, that I want love, and that I must keep always to loving myself just as love is what keeps to us.

We can survive without love, of course. We can even survive without self-love. What we cannot do is thrive without self-love. Do you want to survive without love? Does this existence, so filled with embattled states, bear any meaning or purpose to you whatsoever? Which is it to be, reader: to die, survive, or thrive? This is our inborn struggle throughout our lives.

Changing the Context: From Struggle to Cooperative Play

Now, what happens when we accept that and change the context of these lives from private struggle into cooperative play? We can help to change the context from private struggle into cooperative play for others, and so it comes to resemble that for all of us. It becomes the truth. What else would the seed at the heart of all cult-ure be if not the desire to take part in life with one another? To know greater states than loneliness and vulnerability?

The Role of Student-Teachers

It's time, I think, to confess that we are all student-teachers, that our glories and our frailties are the lessons we share; and to appreciate that fact even when it hurts -- even (and especially) when there is loss in the lessons themselves. If we can't grow to adore their gravity and the pain inherent to them, we will NEVER learn to appreciate the tremendous buoyancy of life and love themselves. We will certainly never appreciate our own buoyancy.

To assume the voice of a finer mind than mine, "Just like moons and like suns and with the certainty of tides -- just like hopes springing high -- still I'll rise."

What are your lessons? Will you too share them? If that's your wish, first you will have to come to know them. This is a worthy ambition. It might for me be the only ambition worth pursuing. But what is of worth to you?

Closing Appreciation

I love you all very much. Thank you so much for being here, and I will thank you too when it is time to leave. Also, I should add that every statement I have made here is equivocal and uncertain; I hope you interpret them as questions rather than proclamations. I'm never entirely "sure" of anything.

[esmexsilverhorn]

She's not sure if she was even supposed to hear the comment that's made about the people of Thirteen but she can't help but latch onto it anyway in the hope that the conversation moving on might make the whole thing a little less awkward. "They really do, I always thought I had a pretty good work ethic but here they take it to devotion. It's admirable, really" There's amazement tinged with an edge of almost envy when she almost wishes she'd been able to feel that same level of devotion to something in her life. She'd cared about things of course, and cared deeply, but it had almost felt as though she'd cared too much but everything and everyone to be able to focus herself so fully on just one thing. Maybe if she was able to throw herself more fully into the rebellion she'd be able to discover that same level of dedication and devotion within herself. Her moment of self reflection though is interrupted as recognition finally dawns on her of just who she was talking to. She feels a bit ridiculous then, chattering on to the Girl on Fire about something so mundane but then she thinks it's probably for the best. After all, what exactly did someone say to someone like her?

When the question comes she's grateful for it, happy to follow Katniss' lead in how their interaction should go. "Oh no, not mine. Well, kind of, but I'm not the teacher. I've just been helping out since I got here. Wherever they need me, really, but I think I like it here best. There's something about the nursey, you know?" It's only when she ends on a question she wonders if she really wants to expand upon why she enjoyed being around the children so much. She had never been a particularly private person nor had she ever succeeded in being mysterious or closed off when her emotions were always felt deeply enough they couldn't help but play over her features at all times. But since arriving in Thirteen she'd felt more guarded, not through a lack of trust but rather not wanting to become a source of pity. Especially when she was aware enough to realise that so many others had lost as much, if not more, than she had and she had no desire to begin sharing her trauma with people who had plenty of their own. Her realisation of just who it was she was speaking to made her all the more determined to keep up her lie of 'I'm fine'.

Hand waves away the apology she doesn't feel is necessary when in truth she'd forgiven the other woman almost instantly. She never had been able to hold a grudge even when the situation warranted and this one definitely didn't. "It's alright, I'm sure I must have given you a shock too." The words are said with a soft smile to show that there were no hard feelings before the smile brightened at the offer of help. "Oh, thank you. I think it's quite a big class so that'd be great." She hums softly as she tries to remember what she'd gone for in the first place before her she'd been surprised and lost her train of thought ( though that had never been something that was particularly difficult ) "Some more crayons, definitely, and I think something was mentioned about needing the blocks too?" Uncertainty makes her phrase it like a question even though she's not sure it's one Katniss could answer.

she's scared the woman — something apparently laughable, considering katniss believes that she was the one invaded upon, first by the relentless nightmares, then by this woman. of course, if only her heartbeat would even out, she could turn to reason and realize that the scare of catching some woman with sleep in her eyes and some crayons for a weapon, crouched to attack, was all too real. but by the heavens, she talks. is there something to fear from someone who talks this much? the only blabbermouth that proved dangerous, in her experience, was snow, but his words were crafted and measured, and this woman's is seemingly just something out of nerves. katniss brings her free hand to her face, trying to poke away the sleep before rubbing the skin there. "got it. they build 'em dedicated here." the muttering is almost to herself, but there's truth to her statement; people at thirteen seemed passionate, purposeful. coming from twelve, she had rarely known someone to do their function if not by habit because there's nothing else you can do, then by the need to put food in their bellies and that of their families'. odd concept. and then she is the crazy one.

her eyes eventually fall to the half-broken crayons in her own hand. "ah, shit." they're stingy with office supplies here, and, well, everything else. that's probably why they survived seventy-five years, but katniss doesn't particularly care for it, not any more than she did of the dazzling abundance of the capitol. out of the eight, she's probably broken three or four though, and she thinks half is fair enough (better than they had at twelve, but that's not something she cares to think; these kids do deserve better than the scraps they got back home). "i was supp'sed to get 'em for a class..." someone had told them the professor's name, but katniss can not remember any names that sound thirteen, or district, at all. she squints quietly, and slips the broken crayons into the pocket of her jumpsuit, lifting a hand to one of the shelves so she can stand up. "'m'a guess it's your class?" she's definitely not coming off well; usually, that's not something katniss particularly cares about, but if this woman is the teacher, then she's probably one of the least dislikeable people around this place, whose service is actually necessary. 

her face twists in something akin to a smile, but it is mostly a grimace. "sorry." the apology is sincere, at least. "didn't mean to attack you." not her, definitely not this woman. "i'm gonna... gonna help you 'round." it's what she was supposed to be doing, anyways (and it doesn't seem like her nap is going to be resumed, too). so she turns on her heel, gazing through half-familiar shelves until she finds one she digs for a bigger crayon box. "you can note it under my name, if you have to." not that she thought being the mockingjay would allow her to take extra supplies (she's asked), but it's best to do it and then ask for forgiveness. "what else y'need?"

[wri0thesley]

*bursts through the door* Hello Nat, I am here to request some chubby/fat reader smut with Diavolo. Perhaps a more possessive and less reclusive Diavolo who spots reader and has to have them?? Headcanons or a scenario are fine, of course. Thanks!

[opening hours] - diavolo x chubby!reader (4k)

The rules for one special customer at your bakery get you into a situation that you’re not all that mad about, actually.

[NSFW, minors do not interact. Diavolo x Reader. AFAB reader, explicitly fat/chubby. No pronouns used, but Diavolo refers to reader with feminine pet names. Possessive/jealous sex. Power imbalance (he IS the Don of Passione). Brief references to reader’s lack of self-confidence/body-shaming in their past.]

The trouble had started with the bakery's unnofficial opening hours.

You had been told when you started working here that you opened ten minutes earlier than you were supposed to, but only for one specific customer. When you had expressed frustration at not knowing who this customer was and how to identify them, the owner and her son had looked at one another and then back at you.

"You'll know if you meet him," she'd said, eventually - and that was all.

Oh, you're paid for those extra ten minutes, of course - you're paid very well, honestly, for a job that you like working and that pays in all of the leftover sweet treats you'd like at the end of the day. The owner - Francesca - is polite and careful and clucks about you like a mother hen, which is nice considering how far away you feel from home. But after six months of working at the bakery and not coming across this mysterious customer once, you resign yourself to the fate that you're never going to see him.

Things, though, can change in an instant. Tiny little occurrences that feel like nothing at the time can shape your life more than you ever realise. For you, that occurrence had been the morning that the pink-haired man in a crisply pressed suit had walked into the bakery at seven fifty two in the moring and stood by the counter.

At first, he had not spoken. He had simply looked at you, bright green stare coloured with something that made your skin feel hot and prickly. He had rested his fingertips on the counter, tapping black lacquered nails against the glass.

You are used to being looked at. You have been looked at your whole life; generally not favourably. Hell, you have even been looked at behind the counter before, as people snickered behind their hands to their companions that 'no wonder this place sells out of the good stuff so fast, with someone like that working here--'. Your cheeks heat up under the man's intense stare, wondering if he's about to say something to you--

And then, he does say something.

"You're new."

His voice is low and smooth, like fine wine being poured in the dark, and against your will your heart begins to beat a little quicker. You nod. His painted lips curve in a smile that's all danger and elegance.

(It's normal, you tell yourself, to be very aware when someone near you is handsome. It's normal to have your breath taken away, to find yourself shaking a little, to feel warm and strange - and it's even more normal, you think, when you consider that something about this man makes him special.)

"You won't know my usual, then." He says, and you shake your head wordlessly, offering him an apologetic look that seems to amuse him just as much as your newness.

He directs you (cappuccino, cornetto) to his regular, his eyes not leaving you for a moment. It's strange, to be so watched - most customers can't wait to get out of the bakery with their gains tucked neatly under their arms. Very few of them look at you beyond a cursory bark of their order and a nod as they leave. This man, though . . . his eyes do not leave you for a moment.

You bag up the cornetto in one of the pale paper bags and are about to punch the numbers into your cash register, when the man leans over the counter and grabs ahold of your wrist, his grip strong and firm.

Your breath catches at the power with which he restrains you. His suit sleeve rolls up to reveal an intricate tattoo of black inked designs that starts at his wrist and (from what you can see) continues further and further up.

"That won't be necessary, carina." He says, his voice smooth. Your own voice wobbles a little as you reply;

"B-but--"

He raises his eyebrows, clearly amused by whatever it is you're doing. You don't think it's that amusing that you're attempting to get him to pay for what he's bought, but alright then.

"You're cute," he tells you, without flinching. Those lips remain turned up at the corners in a smirk that makes you feel as though you don't know what the hell you're doing. The compliment wraps around you, heated and nervous - men, in your experience, do not often say such things to people who look like you - and certainly not so quickly after meeting you. "Ask Francesca why I don't pay, if you must. Have a good day - I'll see you tomorrow."

You don't realise you've been holding your breath until the door has closed behind him.

You also don't realise how much the promise of seeing him again sounds like a threat.

--------

You find out, incidentally, why he doesn't pay - and the information makes your cheeks flame at how brazen you must have seemed, trying to insist he was going to pay. You tell Francesca exactly what happened and her face creases in concern. At first, you think she's going to tell you off - you wouldn't blame her for firing you, after finding out that you disrespected the Don of Passione like that.

It turns out what she's worried about is the staffing. You are not scheduled to do a morning shift tomorrow. She expresses fear, too, that he spoke to you and smiled at you and stared at you so intently.

"Normally he doesn't look at any of us," she frets. "That's not the kind of man you want the attention of, you know?"

You laugh off her concerns.

"It's probably nothing like that anyway," you tell her. "He was just amused I didn't realise who he was, I guess."

Her worried face does not ease.

--------

(He's not pleased to not see you behind the counter the next morning, Francesca relates to you. He asks after you. He asks your name. He asks when you're next working. And though you know that it's dangerous territory, you cannot help but be flattered).

Diavolo - that's his name, one he gives you over a shared cornetto the fifth time he comes in for his regular order, and it's a name you're told not to repeat to anyone with a gaze so intense that you feel like a butterfly pinned to glass. 

Diavolo looks at you hungrily, like he wants to devour you whole. As if you are an item on the menu that he can purchase at his leisure, and he is merely waiting for the right moment.

You're light-headed and flattered and warm around him, a pulsating edge of danger beating below the surface that you ignore for the sake of enjoying someone being interested in you. Sometimes, the fear grips you as it has so many times before that he's flirting with you as a joke, or you're reading too much into things - and then, he leans across the counter to wipe cream from the corner of your mouth with a thumb or leans in so close to you that you can see the slightest sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks and your breath catches and all of your thoughts go entirely out of the window.

He drops compliments easily to you. He mentions the colour of your eyes, the fullness of your mouth, the way your hair falls - once, he mentions how you fill out the button-up shirt you're wearing with the top three buttons undone with approval clear in his voice and gaze and you go all over hot and nervous and unsure, something that seems to amuse and please him no end.

(It’s hot, in Naples. You were not intending to gather his interest. Still, the next morning you have four buttons undone.)

You think that it's harmess flirting. After all - Diavolo is the Don of Passione. You're nothing compared to him; he is a shrine. A statue in a beautiful garden, with worshipers at his feet. You are a fat bumblebee buzzing past the statue - sated, and comfortable, but inconsequential. You assume you're an amusement to him - just a little distraction in a morning, that's all.

You don't realise how wrong you are until you're on a closing shift one evening with Francesca's son. His name is Stefano, and he's perfectly nice to you, if a touch over-eager - desperate to please. He's a little younger than you, with an earnest face and a rushed way of speaking that means you sometimes have to ask him to calm down. Francesca hints, occasionally, that he has a crush on you - and you laugh it off, as you so often do when anyone expresses any kind of interest in you.

Only, tonight he is more nervous than usual. He messes up people's orders. He spills coffee and espresso and cappuccino left right and centre - his hands shake and he fumbles over the names of regular customers who he's known half of his life.

While you're closing up, you ask him, carefully and delicately, if something is wrong. You don't know what you're expecting, as you and he walk to the front door of the bakery together - but Stefano pauses, and touches your arm.

"I've just been balling up my courage, I guess," he says, twisting his lip to one side.

"For what?" You ask, trying to sound interested though one of your hands is digging deep in your coat pocket to try and find your keys. You swear that you left them there this morning. Your hand moves to your bag. Stefano takes a deep breath.

All at once, his words come out in a jumbled rush.

"To-ask-you-on-a-date."

You blink at him.

"Um," you say, succintly. "To ask . . . me?"

He nods emphatically, moving closer to you. He's about the same height as you, so your noses come too close for comfort - the hand in your bag stays there, limply, as you try and process what he's saying.

"You don't have to answer right now," he says, his voice still pitching erratically. "But yeah, I think you're pretty and nice and I'd just-- I'd really like to take you on a date or something, i-if you think you'd like that? You don't have to! You don't have to answer right now, I just--"

He's babbling, and you're trying to keep the thread of the conversation, your mind working in overdrive - and then he moves his head forward and kisses you. It's a nervous little peck that lasts only a moment, before he steps back with his cheeks flushed red and pulls his coat closer to him.

"Okay, yeah, I'll see you tomorrow--" He says, and then he's stepping out of the door and letting it click shut behind him without even waiting to see how you respond to the kiss.

You're not sure of how to respond, honestly. You stand there, the breath knocked out of you, for a few moments. His lips had been dry and quick on your own, and you hadn't felt . . . to be honest, you hadn't felt anything.

No point dwelling on it. Your fingers scramble around the bottom of your bag for your keys, as you try and ignore that your heart isn't thumping the way that it does when Diavolo is near you. Stefano is a nice boy. He's your boss' son. He isn't, as far as you're aware, engaged in any shady business like you know Diavolo must be--

For God's sake. Your keys are not there. You resign yourself to making your way back to your apartment and trying to beg someone else in the building to let you in so that you can get the key you leave under the plant pot by your front door just in case of things like this as you step outside of the door, locking up the bakery behind you (thank God that key has remained where you thought it was)--

Only to step straight into the warm, solid chest of a man.

Fear seeps through all of your bones as you nervously look up to see what kind of person you have angered. You are already dredging up a thousand apologies when your eyes meet Diavolo's keen, green ones.

He doesn't look how he usually does when he sees you. Ordinarily, he's amused and elegant and pleased in a quiet, self-assured sort of way. Tonight, though . . . tonight, Diavolo's eyes burn hot and bright and angry. There's a ferocity in his face and the set of his mouth that makes you feel like he's captured your ability to breathe in a bottle only he has access to.

He speaks.

"Who does that boy think he is?" He asks you, voice low and cool like black velvet - and then, he leans down and kisses you hungrily, and this time you feel a hundred things.

------

You go with him, heady and intoxicated by the way his mouth had felt upon yours and the way his hand had gone around your waist, squeezing the generous curve of your hip as if he wanted to grip you by them and pin you against a wall right there and then, in the centre of the city. You think, judging by the way he had looked at you when the kiss had broken, he would have - if he had not had an image of mystery to maintain.

Instead, he says (his normally velvet voice hoarse);

"Come home with me."

It is not a question. It's a demand - and luckily for him, you are in no mood to decline. You sit beside him in the back of a car (a screen between you two and the driver), and Diavolo's hands are all over you even there.

"I can barely wait," he murmurs, hungrily, into the curve of your shoulder and neck as he lathes kisses over your throat, marking you with his dark lipstick. "Oh, bella, if you even knew how much I've wanted you--"

It's hard not to be dazzled by the knowledge that he wants you. A man like Diavolo - in his sharp suits and ties, surrounded by servile underlings, rings on his fingers that cost more than you make in a year - wants someone like you. It's hard not to be carried away by how hungrily he mouths at you and how beautiful you feel under that piercing green gaze, when you have not often felt beautiful in your life. Your body in the past has been a source of shame and sadness - under Diavolo's grazing palms and questing fingertips, though, you feel transformed.

You tumble out of the car and are pulled along with impatient hands by Diavolo, not letting you take any moments to enjoy how beautiful his home is. Sure, the pillars are marble and flowers drape from the windows in hues of crimson and purple, but there is a different purpose for the two of you now - you are barely aware of anything around you as you're tugged into the first bedroom Diavolo finds.

You're breathless again as you're tossed on the bed underneath him. Things are moving so quickly - but you have no complaints, as Diavolo immediately has you pinned beneath him, his muscular weight self-assured as he leans over your prone form to beg from you another hungry kiss. His teeth tug at your bottom lip, demanding entrance instead of asking; and you yield to him. His hands grasp your hips, holding you with fervent frustrations bubbling under the surface.

He breaks the kiss to say, every syllable of his words dripping with jealousy.

"You're mine. You know that, don't you?"

You hadn't known it before tonight - but with the way his hands are already going to your uniform, pulling open the buttons with little care (you hear one of them skitter onto the floor), it's no longer a question.

"I didn't," you breathe, and he snorts. His fingertips are cool as he slides them up the curved softness of your stomach, pausing just beneath your breast.

"You will," he vows. "After tonight, carina, you'll realise there's nobody else in the entire world for you but me."

Your body shivers under the promise of his words. You shiver harder as he slides your work shirt off of your shoulders, tugging it away, dropping it on the floor along with the button that you assume you will never see again. As his hands slide into the small of your back, cool where you are boiling warm - and you hear the snap of your bra being undone and suddenly you are bare before him in the room.

He looks down on you in satisfaction.

"There," he coos, his hands covering your breasts (they are not quite large enough to cover the round flesh, but they fill out his grip in a way that seems to please him). "You look much better without the ugly uniform. Something so lovely deserves beautiful things only to adorn them--"

A gasp is bitten back as his thumbs rub your nipples, coaxing the nubs to hardened points. You press your thighs together beneath him, your cheeks heating up at how your body responds to him in gooseflesh and slick.

"You should never have to wear clothes," Diavolo muses, as he gathers himself onto his knees and your work pants are the next to go. "It's a waste, to not have your body where I can see it."

Diavolo lavishes hungry, possessive attention on all of the parts of you that you have never gotten along with. He does it with his hands, massaging and petting and gripping - and then, he leans down and he uses his mouth and you're squirming beneath him, the heat gathering with the wetness between your thighs almost unbearable.

The curves of your hips are mapped out - the soft flesh of your thighs. The pillows of your upper arms, the roundness of your stomach, all of the places you have thought of as fleshy and unattractive seem like a siren's call to Diavolo. He kisses you, leaving marks of his lipstick everywhere - and occasionally, he pulls back and whispers things against your skin that have you hot and needy.

"Mine," he murmurs, as he sucks a blue-purple lovebite into your collarbone.

"Il mio tesoro," he whispers, as he kisses you on the mouth hard and his hands go to strip off his own suit jacket.

"You belong to me," he says, and suddenly he is shirtless and you are staring at the sculpted muscle of his chest and the intricate tattoos on his arms. You have no complaints - you look up at him above you, a big cat playing with his prey, and all you can do is swallow and nod.

"Good," he breathes, "you're going to be so good for me, hmm?" His hands alight on your thighs and you spread them without him asking, displaying the damp patch on your silken underwear and making his eyes darken and his nostrils flare. "For me, amore?"

You avert your gaze and do not answer - but that's enough of an assent for Diavolo. He laughs as his fingers curl into the garment, tugging them down your thighs (you shiver at the sensation of slick fabric clinging, just for a moment, against your sodden folds).

"I'm a lucky man," he says to you. "I've always been lucky, you know . . . but you may very well be my luckiest find."

Your thighs are urged further apart, until Diavolo can settle between them, his weight heavy and self-assured. What is between your thighs, too, is subject to Diavolo's piercing gaze - but he is not critical. He is merely . . . hungry. Intoxicated. You know that, arguably, Diavolo has all of the power here - and yet you cannot help but feel as though it is you who is really in control.

One of his fingers slides over your sex, gathering your slick on his fingers, winning the chase of your hips as he slides from clit to perineum and back again. You pant aloud, a soft whimpering noise falling from your lips against your will.

"Look at you," he murmurs, enthralled. "Look how you respond, all for me--"

Your fingers clench in the sheets beneath you as Diavolo presses one finger inside you, slowly, letting you adjust to the feel of him inside. You know that he is longing to fuck you with them vigorously - you can see it from the set of his shoulders and his mouth. He is practically buzzing with unrestrained tension. But he keeps his calm, pumping the lone finger in and out of you (you are wet enough that the sound echoes around the room, mixing with your laboured breathing). Occasionally, he buries his finger inside you almost to the hilt and you gasp at the cool sensation of one of his rings pressing against your entrance. He looks amused, his lips curved into a smirk - but he remains solid. He does nothing, in fact, until your hips buck up and you whimper;

"I can take another one, please--"

"Good," Diavolo purrs, his voice persuasive. "Of course you can, cara. Yes. You'll take all of me, won't you?" A second finger joins the first, scissoring you open with slow movements. "You're going to be so good for me. You're going to forget about any other person in the world when you're speared on my cock--"

Your body heats up in embarrassment and pleasure all over. The way his fingers rub inside your channel makes you squirm, your hips wriggling underneath him, your lungs barely able to contain your breath. A tight, hot ball of tension is making itself known low in your stomach, familiar and yet unfamiliar all at once.

His thumb brushes over your clit and your body jolts. Diavolo chuckles under his breath and pulls out his fingers, accompanied by a wet gush of your arousal that seems incredibly loud to your ears. You watch as Diavolo brings his fingers to his mouth and his tongue darts out to taste you.

Your lower body gives a throb as he drinks in your slick like fine wine, as he utters forth a low groan of pleasure. He looks at you with dark-lidded eyes.

"Amore," he murmurs, all soft, quiet words with a steel edge. He shifts, and something hot and silky and damp brushes across your thigh that you realise is his cock. That same body part is positioned with his thumb and forefinger, at the tight entrance to your sex. "Just relax . . . I'll have finished making you mine soon enough--"

His hips move. You're pushed open, his cock deep and thick - your hands come to cling to his shoulders instead of the bedsheets, your voice coming out in a broken little wail.

It is not that it hurts. Diavolo has prepared you, and you are slick and needy enough that there's only the briefest stretch of discomfort - but it is more that Diavolo's cock inside you feels so right. You feel so full and possessed and owned, and you never thought you would need and adore it as much as you do.

You feel like nothing more than a piece of Diavolo's property, a treasured jewel that he wants to lock away and keep for himself forever - and you love it. Your legs lock about his hips without him even urging you to, determined to have him sink inside you as deep as he can go - and Diavolo groans chest-deep at the feel of it.

His hips move, sliding his cock deep and then shallow, enjoying the feel of you tightly engulfing him.

"You're perfect," he growls, lowly. "Tight, hot, wet -- and most importantly, cara . . . you’re mine.” He sighs, pressing himself impossibly deeper inside you so that your toes curl. A pleased rumble in the back of his throat. “You feel so good." He pauses, before he says, demanding; "Tell me how I feel."

"B-big," you hiccup out in between breathless moans and soft, needy pants. "L-like you're filling me up--"

"Tell me, little coniglio . . . do you like being filled up by me? Belonging to me? Having me . . ." His fingers skitter over your breasts, leaving hot trails of fire behind him. The heat low inside you is just burning hotter and hotter, your head swimming with all of the new sensations. "Lay my claim on you?"

You nod. You're babbling, your hips stuttering against his. Everything feels far away from you, now - earlier on that night feels like a fever dream. You can't remember how it felt to be anywhere but beneath Diavolo with his cock drilling deep inside you, making you feel needed and claimed and unmistakably his--

"Yes," you cry out, as his other hand moved lower, brushing your stomach, your mound - parting the lips of your sex so his fingers can rub firm circles on your clit.

There's that heat again, threefold - tumbling over and over itself until you feel fireworks set off behind your eyes and Diavolo's cock pumps harder inside you, your channel squeezing and constricting around him inside you. You're so busy coming, in fact, that you almost don't hear him murmur;

"Good. Because it's something you're going to have to get used to now you're mine."

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Hi hi! I saw your post asking for request/inspiration! Maybe Geralt x fem reader, and geralt has to hunt down a monster but the reader as well, so first they try to outsmart the other but eventually they realize they have to work together and they end up falling for each other? ❤️❤️

Bound By Blood - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader - Part 1

side note- I have no self control and just kept writing so we’re gonna have a pt. 2 soon

Summary: Geralt has learned of a mysterious witch and her supposed vicious familiar, now he must hunt to bring them down for their crimes.

Warning: blood & gore, angst, bit o fluff, some smut sprinkled in the mix

It had been a good couple of weeks since his last kill, or since he had a solid amount of coin that could pay for food and board. So like any Witcher with a freshly sharpened sword and a thirst for coin with a little adventure included, Geralt was on the move, in search of his next monster to slay.

Though by the looks of it, the continent is starting to feel like a much larger place then he remembered, or perhaps he’s out in the wilds a bit further then once previously thought. Either way, the day is bright and the woods are green, although the occasional snowflake floating into his hair and Roach’s for that matter may become an annoyance later on. Guess he’ll just have to see where the road takes him this time.

No sooner would his swimming thoughts of wondrous curiosity be answered after a couple hours of traveling through the now very snow covered forest, where he would happen upon a small gathering of road worn travelers. All of whom appeared to be speaking over a small fire, their horses tied off close by. And most likely, weapons hidden at the ready for odd folk like himself.

Roach’s hooves are almost silent against the powdery white fluff as Geralt makes his way into view of this pack of loyal companions trying to have a meal in the midst of their camp before nightfall. Soon their eyes find Roach and himself, these strangers look on in cautious apprehension, wary and uncertain of what this Witcher’s true intentions are.

Suddenly a young foxy looking boy stands, his thick auburn hair falling in his face as he points a shaky steel knife in the air, “What business you have? We don’t want a fight.” Speaks the boy as confidently as he can muster, though there is a small waver in his voice. The others wait for an answer.

Geralt blinks, face unassuming and as relatively non-threatening as possible, “I’m just passing through, I’m trying to see what beast needs killed over the next hill.”

The boy lowers his knife, “Oh...well, good luck to you then. There’s been a great bear said to be hunting for Nilfgaard soldiers over that way, that’s why we’re headed west instead.”

Before Geralt is able to respond an older woman with a wolf rug over her back steps next to the boy protectively, “Best keep a move on Witcher,” She warns, eyeing him up suspiciously with her pale grey eyes, “said a woman with...unnatural powers commands the beast to kill for her. A witch of the wood it’s said, but that old bastard she has, been killing villagers and travelers alike who venture too far from town.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Mutters Geralt before directing Roach to continue onward with a click of his tongue.

——

They had never seen you coming, and now they’re paying for their lack of scouting with their pathetic little lives. The soldiers of Nilfgaard were said to be the most deadly and dangerous, men who came with fire in their hearts and steel in their hands. They feared nothing and no one, dressed in black armor and growing in numbers from the south everyday was enough to make you feel sick.

They had no right nor proper business claiming and desecrating what wasn’t there’s, how dare they hurt innocent people, they acted like true barbarians. And you would not put up with it any longer, they had burned your home, murdered your mother, and destroyed the rest of your village.

So for their crimes, you decided it was time to do what was necessary for the continents future survival, it was time to hunt. For months have you and your furry companion been here and there eradicating soldier camp after soldier camp with great satisfaction, now finally at long last have you tracked down a group of Nilfgaardians who’ve strayed too far from the main hoard. How unfortunate.

You had waited patiently to ambush them on the main road where they’d been trekking down for the past day and a half, it was too damn easy, all you did was pretend to be a hurt scared maiden in the woods. Then when they attempted to comfort you, your bear burst forth from the underbrush and slaughtered a handful before they even knew what hit them.

Now here you stand, boots in the spattered snow as you look around the blood stained white blanket of earth where a multitude of soldiers lay dead and mutilated. Though one remains with air still in his lungs, you smirk a wicked grin, eyeing up the fallen soldier as he stares wide eyed up at you from his broken body against a tree stump.

Your furry accomplice breaths heavy mountainous breaths close by, though he’s aware enough to know you’ll take care of the last one. And the terrified soldier knows it too as you take more steps closer. He flinches as you crouch down to meet his blood spattered face, “Nu-no, no...do-don’t...”

“Shhh.” You smile, raising a finger to his lips, silencing him instantly.

 He’s shaking now, eyes like a young fearful child’s as he studies your beautiful yet frightening appearance. “I thought all Nilfgaardian soldiers feared nothing, not even death. What a disappointment you all are.”

“We will...ta-take it....a-all...” He whimpers out as you throw him a harsh glare that shuts his bloody mouth.

“Just like I have taken your brothers lives,” You whisper with a sly grin before casually shrugging, “an eye for an eye they say....so don’t be afraid, I have felt the same as you do right now. Helpless, terrified, in pain....but listen...” You look sincerely into his broken gaze, a small smile upon your lips as you rest a comforting hand over his arm, though he knows its anything but comfort. “Nilfgaard and all her subjects can burn in the fiery pits of the underworld for what they’ve chosen to do in these lands. I was on the wrong side of the sword once, now you are, and no magical bear is going to come save you.” Your words are as deadly as poison, like a cobra spitting venom to their prey before the final strike.

His eyes go wide, blood seeping down his cracked lips, “No. No..n-no no! No!” Suddenly you thrust your dagger right through his jugular and right back out again causing a spurt of blood to mark your cheek, standing back you watch as he gasps and sputters, choking on his own blood as it gushes out of him like a waterfall.

“He even dies like a bitch.” You mutter in disgust, cleaning off your sword with your arm before sheathing it once again, now looking over to the beast standing in the snow. Heavy white clouds of hot breath pierce the crisp air as he watches your every move in interest, “Come. Let’s get away from here before someone sees us, we don’t need anymore bloodshed today. Now these fuckers are food for crows.”

The bear growls in agreeance, trailing after you as some hungry black ravens caw from the trees in excitement for their new free meal. No village will burn today.

——

“Oh yes, I saw her command the bear to kill those soldiers just three days ago!”

“That beast took my son last week, kill them Witcher!”

“I’m afraid to visit my cousins in the next town over! You must kill them!”

That had been the comments and ramblings of the townsfolk of the local tavern when he asked who and where this witch and her bear was. Though he didn’t get much of a solid answer by any means, not until an old hunter had eventually directed him to where the most recent cluster of Nilfgaard soldiers had headed.

Stating that if Geralt follows their route, then he would most likely come upon the men’s remains somewhere along the road, and if he was lucky, he’d run into the two killers as well.

Indeed it had taken him about a day or so, but eventually the farther down the trail he got, the fresher the tracks became. Suddenly during his journey did he pass a rider-less horse on its way back towards town, a dark brown smear of some kind splattered across its grey leg. Now this looked quite promising.

Only a small trot up the road did he finally find the brutal remains of the soldiers that had most definitely not made it to wherever they had planned on heading. The snow in particular was disturbed and littered with chunks of men, swords thrown about and shields bent and broken. He could smell blood and piss from the men, most of all he could smell bear and what it had done here, though it was strange too. For a sweeter scent could be recognized on the cool wintery breeze, such a viable contrast to the current state of the environment. 

She still lingers close, thinks the Witcher. Quickly moving to pull out his silver sword from within its sheath. Sensing a new presence among the fallen, he whips around in a dark blur only to be greeted face to face with a beautiful woman.

He stood his ground eyeing your form suspiciously like a lion wondering if his prey will be easy enough to kill, though he wasn’t certain if he truly wanted to kill you at all. You looked rather unassuming and calm, less monsterly and more a simple traveling woman then anything else, such unlike the grisly tall tales that those travelers and townsfolk had gossiped to him about.

Honestly Geralt was beginning to doubt what he had been given coin for, but he would not submit to that thought just yet, he has faced creatures just as alluring as you and found them quite deadly enough.

Keeping his silver placed firmly at his side, though still tightly grasped in his strong hand, his golden eyes trail over you cautiously, “You do this?” He wonders, coming out more of an accusatory statement as he glances at the bloody array of dead Nilfgaardian soldiers gutted about on the soft white snow.

Your breaths are steady though you feel more annoyed by his random intrusion then anything else, you only came back here to take their weapons to give to the villagers, “I have no quarrel with you, Witcher.” Your voice is truthful and fierce, not an ounce of nervousness radiating off of your tongue. As far as you’re concerned this man is nothing but an inconvenience.

He keeps a stoic face, not revealing much but a tinge of amusement in his shimmering eyes, “Strange then. I’ve been given coin to kill a dangerous sorceress and her enchanted bear. Fitting your description exactly, and here we are. Among the dead soldiers you’ve been claimed to murder.”

Scoffing you curtly fold your arms over your chest, “I hardly see a problem here when these fuckers have slaughtered countless innocents! They’re marching for the north and I do not doubt they’ll get it if people like me don’t try and lessen their numbers.”

He looks to the ground then back up to you, letting out a low frustrated sigh, “Your beast has killed villagers. Innocents.” His words are almost a slap in the face, but you know those people only got in the way of taking down these soldiers.

“Yes.” You nod, watching as he studies your face, “And it is a tragedy that I am greatly sorry for...but my companion is still an animal with his own will even when I give him a task. A bear is a bear, Witcher.”

He hums, “I understand that. But I cannot let you kill anyone else.”

Taking a single step back you quickly unfold your arms, alerting the Witcher to raise his sword though you show no intention of fighting him. His grey brows furrow as you shake your head, “You’re better off leaving us be. Those soldiers deserved what they got coming to them, and the people of this continent will thank us in due time. For they do not know the wrath and ruin that Nilfgaard is capable of.”

He watches as you take a couple more steps backwards towards the pine trees, your face serious and unflinching even when he takes a few steps towards you. “I kill monsters, witch. You’re no different.”

Now this does anger you, for that your eyes almost appear to darken with rage, your posture taller as you stare him down, “You are nothing but a blind fool who cannot see the bigger picture! So I won’t feel very bad about this..”

“About what?”

He watches as you take a step to the side, ignoring him when suddenly without warning does a ginormous brown bear charge from out of the evergreens, teeth and claws at the ready as they swing for his throat.

Geralt just barely dodges the huge furry bastard when a blundering paw races down for his arm, he twists away and out of the bears reach though his sword does catch the thick black pad of the bears left paw. It roars in pain, face a mask of rage as it turns towards Geralt with lighting reflexes.

Suddenly the bear swings a heavy paw directly into Geralt’s leather armored chest, knocking the wind out of him while also managing to thrust him blindly into a thick oak tree. All that the Witcher can glimpse before slipping into blissful unconsciousness is the wounded beast retreating into the woods while your silhouetted form begins walking towards him.

Then darkness.

——

When Geralt comes to he’s distressed to find his armor gone and his torso bare except for a thick white bandage wrapped around his shoulder and chest where the bear swatted at him with its large paw. The fabric is oddly soft, though a slight pink uneven line has seeped out now visible across his breasts, no doubt the area where that bear had gotten him. 

His big golden irises blink hard, focusing better now to unexpectedly find your smirking face as you walk into view, “Have a pleasant rest?” You muse, sitting down in a soft cushioned chair at his bedside, “My old friend gave you a run for your coin huh?”

Well this is odd, he thinks.

His brows furrow even deeper, though his chest hurts too much to attempt an escape, “I would have imagined you were going to kill me. I don’t understand...”

Chuckling lightly you smile, “Remember Witcher, I have no quarrel with you. Just those fucking soldiers....and don’t worry, my companion will not bring you any more harm unless I see to it.”

“Well...uh...I guess that’s good then.” Mutters the Witcher, begrudgingly scooting himself up so that he may rest against the wooden headboard and have a better view of the small room, “Where exactly are we?”

Looking around the cozy cabin you’ve decided to inhabit for the time being, your eyes finally rest back on the curious silver haired man, “Somewhere that was once vacant and now is livable. That is all I will say, and all that matters to you now....so, my pursuer who’d see me dead if not for my cleverness. If you are going to be in my care for however long it takes you to heal, what is your name?” You watch as the Witcher purses his lips together, pausing for a moment to think if he should tell you, “Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.” He reveals in that titular gruff voice of his that’s honestly starting to grow on you even in the brief time you’ve known him.

Handing him a small smile of acknowledgement, you nod, “And I am Y/N of Stygga in the land of Ebbing which is north of Nilfgaard...so, Geralt of Rivia....what brings you to Thurn of all places and into my care? Besides the fact that my companion almost ended your pretty life.” You end with a wiggle of your brow.

“Coin.” He mutters humorously, so he is not just a man of silent beautifully chiseled stone after all.

You hum, “Simple and straight to the point, are all Witcher’s as intriguing as you are?”

Geralt blinks slowly, deciding to rest his head against the wood as he looks forward, “Perhaps only the ones who want to survive.”

Laughing you lean back in your seat, “Flattery and humor may yet keep you alive then. But you are mistaken with me, I do not intend to keep you as a prisoner in any way if that’s what you are meaning. You are free to go back to wherever you came from or to wherever you’re going....as I said, I have no quarrel with you. Witcher.” You speak his name with a bit of attitude considering he did originally come to kill you, nonetheless you quite enjoy his presence.

The look he gives you is enough to make you chuckle once more, then his eyes glance back to you, causing your laughter to die down, though he’s surprised that your smile has prevailed. “Then why have you kept me alive when you could have ended me just as quickly?” He wonders.

You shrug, “The world is scarce of such creatures like yourself, Witcher’s hmm...monster hunters. Others will need you, and this world is big after all and full of terrible things.” You add, hugging your cloak tighter as you tilt your head at him, “so I’d assume after you heal up you’ll leave me and my companion be as long as I agree to keep away from towns. Yes.”

“Hmm.” He utters, brows furrowed as he thinks over your offer. 

The Witcher keeps silent as his face shifts into deep thought, huffing you roll your eyes, “Geralt are free to leave if you so choose. I give you my word if you give me yours.”

“Which is?”

“You let me and my familiar leave in peace and we let you live.”

He studies your face for a moment, trying to find any signs of falseness though he fails to spot it, “Fine.” Grumbles the handsome silver haired man.

You smile in accomplishment before a slightly awkward silence fills the room, deciding to break the tension you tap the arm of your chair, “Are you going to leave then? Right now?”

He keeps silent for some time as you patiently await his answer until finally he looks into your eyes, “No.”

“Huh.” You slowly nod, not quite expecting that answer, “...are you thirsty then? You were out for some time.”

“Yes.” Answers Geralt, simple and straight to the point.

Smiling you nod, standing now to fetch your new friend some water from outside, once you return with a metal cup do you hand him the cold liquid, his warm hand just barley touching yours. Sending shivers down your spine that you didn’t know was possible as you go back to sit next to him. “Those wounds should heal soon enough, I’ve heard Witcher’s heal fast. Is there any truth to that?”

His golden eyes trail over to you, not a hint of annoyance in the way that he looks to you now, “It would seem so. Hopefully I never have another run in with your friend anytime soon. Though I wouldn’t mind running into you again, hopefully under less bloody circumstances.” Admits Geralt with the ghost of a smile.

You chuckle, “As would I.”

——

In the following days would you and Geralt find comfort in one another’s presence as you helped him heal from his wounds. This Witcher had told you numerous stories about his adventures all over the continent and what beasts have been slain by his hand and sharp silver.

They were undoubtedly fascinating though surprisingly full of such vigor and even respect for the ones he’s been given coin to kill. It was pleasant when he spoke of all those who he had prevented from meeting an untimely and violent end from said monsters.

Even more so bewildering to you was how invested and intrigued you had become with each passing day, you actually woke up excited to see someone, to hear their voice and have them ask how your morning was.

Unbeknownst to you, Geralt had healed two days ago but had come to the fascinating conclusion that he was in-fact enjoying your company more then first realized. He loves listening to you boast about all the clever tricks you’ve pulled on the Nilfgaardians and how you’ve kept them away from the villagers who would most like want nothing to do with them.

Maybe it is the palpable truth that he has been indeed a bit lonely, or maybe it’s just that you tell the best stories and are unlike anyone he’s ever met before. But Geralt has begun to grow a deep fondness for you that cannot be fully explained by himself no matter how hard he may try.

Though at first he found you beautiful enough, that wasn’t a large concern considering he was there to kill you. Then once all was revealed he decided you really aren’t as evil and malevolent as what was spoken to him by the townsfolk.

Now, he has seen you, heard your voice and been given a kindness that he knows is something he shouldn’t deserve. But he cannot fully know if you share the same growing feelings, why would you? He came to kill, he came to end your beautiful life and for what, gold? No, you mean something now, you are someone to him now, a person that he can’t help but care for. And maybe even love, that is if he knew what that truly felt like, is this it?

But what of you?

You’d be a filthy liar if you said this Witcher didn’t tug at your heart strings like he does so freely without even knowing it. He has wonderfully taken you off guard with his hidden tenderness and rough voice that you’ve decided is one of the most alluring sounds you’ve ever heard.

His eyes catch in the light like two shimmering golden coins, the way he asks you for a drink or a piece of bread sends electricity through you. How pathetic, you think, however it is rather nice. And most of all, his body is truly something else, you’ve never seen a man so toned and full of scars. How lucky you were to take his shirt off and keep his wounds from bleeding out, and in those hours after, he looked rather peaceful as he slept.

If only you could have joined him, felt his touch, been the one who he wanted more then the bread you’ve given him. But he is just a Witcher, he will leave and life will presume as it had been before either of you had met. He’ll become just another lost tragedy of your past, another loved one gone, never to be seen again.

He is just a Witcher you fool.

You frown now, your gaze focused on the small hearth as you sit by the fire, poking it with a metal stick as your thoughts drift to better days long gone, taken so suddenly and without so much as a sorry from who did it.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes stare vacantly into the beautifully glowing embers, you hear nothing but the sparks of flame crackling on wood.

“Y/N.”

A whisper perhaps, you can’t tell, you’re so lost into your own head at this point nothing but the fire matters to you.

Without warning a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder causing you to jump and drop the metal stick onto the stone fireplace with a loud clatter. Your eyes dart for the one who touches you as your heart beats heavily inside your chest.

Instead of a petty thief come to slay you, is the soft comforting eyes of Geralt, “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Apologizes the Witcher as he sits down next to you, offering half of his huge warm blanket.

You oblige without a second thought and let him drape it over your back while he then scoots closer so that your crossed knee is touching his. You give him the flash of a sad smile before drifting your dreary gaze back to the glowing hearth.

“Thank you for sharing, winter is cold after all and this cabin isn’t the most insulated of places.” You add, a low drone in your voice much unlike your usual lively self that he’s grown to love.

Furrowing his grey brows, Geralt studies your half illuminated face in the firelight, the only real source of light since the sun has gone down hours ago. “I figured you needed the company, and a blanket. I can almost of see my breath.” He says with a small chuckle though you barley acknowledge his very presence.

“Y/N?” He whispers, nudging your leg with his, “I haven’t spoken of it before but if I may ask, what happened to your hand?”

You look down to your left hand opposite of where Geralt is sitting, you hide it from the light though it is covered with a white cloth and your long sleeves. He is very observant isn’t he?

“Nothing important. I got it when fighting those damn soldiers before I saw you. It’s almost all healed up.” You whisper, “No need to think about it anymore.”

The room stays silent for another couple minutes before he finally speaks once again in that low gruff voice of his, “What troubles you?” He asks much to your surprise, maybe he is too observant for his own good.

“Many things.” You mutter quietly, turning your face to find his concerned gaze, a small smile on your lips to lessen his doubts, “Don’t worry my dear Witcher, you’re not one of them. And I’d rather not give you my burdens, they are not a fun little adventure like the ones you’ve told me about.”

“Neither are all of mine.” He speaks truthfully, staring deep into your saddened eyes, “I would be honored to comfort you of such miseries if you still want me near after.”

You look to the floor, biting your lip at this almost intimate news even if he only means to speak words of ease to you. Why not? What is there to lose if you tell him why you feel so full of melancholy.

Raising your eyes back up to his, you take a deep heavy sigh before looking back into the fire, “I had a good life. I really did, I had a mother and a brother. But that was all taken from me when those bastards plundered and beat their way into my peoples lands. Looting and killing as they went, what could I do huh...my family was in their way.” You admit with a hidden rage that just about causes the flames to glow brighter.

“They came into our village and began to burn everything they could, they ran into houses and stole away valuables untouched by the desolation yet. They took and killed my neighbors and friends, women and children, screaming infants.”

You pause for a moment, eyes welled up with unshed tears as you find your voice, “They burst through our door and pulled us three from our house before we could even react. Then those fuckers killed the only person who ever showed me true kindness and love, she didn’t deserve to die that way Geralt, she didn’t. Then again none of them did.”

“I can’t imagine.” Whispers Geralt sincerely, understanding how much it pains you to speak of your mother like this.

“For that,” You seethe out darkly, “I killed my first soldier that day, but of course they didn’t like that, not at all. Soon they held me down and beat me bloody like I was a fucking dog, if it wasn’t for my brother who stopped them. I’d be dead, he saved my life that day, helped me escape and I never looked back.” You swallow thickly as a lone tear slides down your cheek, “I haven’t seen him since, and I dare not think of how he met his end. It just fills me with rage and then...as you can see, I get like this.”

“Best not to linger in the darkness for too long.” Admits Geralt, his eyes truthful and honest as he takes you all in, ���I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

Breaking out into a crooked smile you blink more tears away as he moves an inch closer, “I already feel gone some days. I’m not a good person Geralt, I’m dangerous.” Your voice his raspy and soft now as the feel of the room appears to take a shift somewhere you’re not so sure of. Dangerous? Y/N he has no idea.

The Witcher’s lips curl into a pleasant smile as his face keeps mere inches from your own, “I like dangerous.” Whispers Geralt before his plush lips pull you into a new world of warmth and fire. He moves against your mouth, taking his time as the two of you find a comfortable rhythm. Well, this is nice.

He tastes as sweet as the apples you gave him for dinner and all the better to draw you away from your darkness as he showers you in his intoxicating light. You can’t believe how gentle and passionate he feels against you now and it’s only his lips!

You could stay like this forever but soon enough he pulls away, resting a calloused hand against your knee, “Forgive me I should have asked.”

“Don’t be a fool, I was thinking it too. And anyways you kept your word.”

“Did I?” Wonders Geralt, brows furrowed in confusion.

You smirk, “Remember? You said you’d comfort me of my miseries? Are you still planning on doing that...just a simple question really you don’t have to look so lost.”

Breaking out of his frumpled gaze he finally gives you a handsome smile, “How could I forget?”

“Well it was pretty traumatic so.” You deadpan with a dark humored snort before Geralt leans in to capture your lips once more.

The next morning you wake from the warm comfort of the cabins large single bed, an equally as warm arm covering half your face as you feel a large body pressed firmly against your side. Your hair lays free and unkept around your face as well, and you already know your naked underneath this soft blanket and snoozing man next to you.

His breaths are slow as he stirs in his slumber, pulling you in even closer as his arm now finds itself against your one free breast. You giggle quietly at the situation, how awkward it would be if someone was to burst forth from those doors and find you both in the nude like this. Ha, let them try.

Apparently you’re not as subtle as you’d thought, Geralt awakens before sucking in a deep breath as he stirs slightly, suddenly freezing in place once he realizes his hand is practically squeezing your boob.

You chuckle, moving your hand to keep it there, “You’re surprisingly a cuddlier, who would have thought?” You jest humorously.

“Uh....yes.” Mutters Geralt awkwardly as you smile, though he can’t see it.

Noticing his change of behavior you realize he doesn’t really know what to do about your boldness so you help him out by shifting yourself to face him. “With how well you were treating me last night I would have thought my breast would feel quite nice in your hand. Have I misinterpreted?”

He smiles, a small dusting of pink finding its way onto his chiseled features, “I find it important to respect you first Y/N, this is still...new.”

Biting your lip you lean in close to place a gentle kiss against his soft lips, “I enjoy your touch, you’re something that I believe I’ve been missing for a long while. Maybe we were meant to find each other and you not kill me.”

He chuckles a sweet sound that fills you with pure joy, “And you to heal me, I don’t feel much pain anymore.”

You smirk, rolling your eyes as you graze your hand down his face and arm, “I healed you enough about six days ago, I know you were just milking it since.”

“No I wasn’t...”

“Oh shut it, I think it was a clever idea to get in my pants if that was your plan.”

He fake scoffs, “That wasn’t the plan Y/N.”

“Then what was the plan? Oh wait,” You move yourself even closer to him, lips just barely touching, “Witcher’s don’t have plans, they just flatter and hope for the best.”

His strong arm holds you close as you rest your hand on his shoulder, “Maybe so.” Whispers Geralt before pressing his lips to yours.

Soon enough you find yourself pinned down to the bed, a very hot and visibly happy Geralt deep inside you as you try and keep yourself from screaming to loud. You can’t help how big and beautiful and so very large he is, and anyways he looks like a man on the edge of paradise. Who are you to deprive your new lover of his high?

Geralt does admittedly feel blessed against you if you’re being completely honest, the way he thrusts deeply into your womanhood like a man deprived of such pleasantries, or maybe the way your name falls onto his sweet lips when he feels his weakest. You can’t tell for sure, but he may be in love with just as much as you are with him and that is a promising thought. Or is it?

With an almost whiny moan do you finally come, the pleasure built up after such a ride releasing at long last. Sending a wave of euphoria throughout your entire vessel causing your slick walls to clench around Geralt’s hard cock as he continues to relentlessly pump into you.

Soon you can feel a hot warmness pooling into you as your Witcher grunts in satisfaction while his length twitches inside you, painting your walls with his seed like the skilled artist that he is.

Hovering just above your sweaty and very naked form does he smile kindly before leaning down to capture your swollen lips with his own. He bucks his hips into you a couple times more as he enjoys the feeling of making you squirm underneath him. Completely surrendering all that you are to him, though he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t doing the same with you.

Laying flush against you, his body still between your sore legs he pulls away from your pouting lips to lean his arms against your face. Soon another kiss is stolen, then another and another as he gently presses his lips to your cheek. Then jaw, where he decides to stay and attack for awhile which causes you to chuckle at his adorable-ness. 

“You need new clothes.” You practically moan as he playfully bites your jaw, kissing that spot just as quickly.

“It’s warm in here.” Mutters Geralt against your hot skin, “Nothing is as interesting as you.”

You bite back another moan, “We need food.”

He smirks against your neck, rolling his hips to try and sway your mind, “But you’re delicious enough Y/N.” Oh this man.

Breathing heavily you do your best to fight off your growing arousal, “Geralt.” You warn through clenched teeth, hands leaving red marks down his back as you playfully threaten him.

He kisses your cheek once more as a sly hand squeezes your firm breast, “Fine. Let me make love to you first then we can go.” States Geralt against your lips as he suddenly gives you three deep slow thrusts that send you into another realm of pleasure.

[magicalgirlfan666]

Alfea's Magical Girl Fairy School (Winx Club Reader Insert)

Chapter 1: First Day & Dormmates

This Winx Club Fanfic was brought to you by DragonStar sponsored by Winxwasmychildhood.org which was made possible by viewers like you enjoy 

Fair warning: not everything that's going to go down in this will be from the tv series since I like doing my own thing with fanfics that I write so just so you don't get confused I placed this here as a heads up. Now you know.

P.S this is a reader insert that means you are the Main Character of the story.

______: First name

(I will be giving you an eye color I hope that you don't mind ^^')

(h/c) Hair color

(Same with skin color again I hope you won't mind)

I will be giving you the last name this time.   

_______________________

Finally, I have now come of age to attend Alfea, it was something that I have been looking forward to going. In hopes of improving upon my magical powers and gaining what I need to be a good queen to my people. My Mother and Father also warn me to not only study but to be on look out for any royalty students attending as well so that I may make good relationships with them to help further prosper our kingdom.

But to only seek out royalty anything other than studying and bettering myself is unnecessary thus deserving no further attention, and I had no plans on going against it for nothing else piques my interest.

For I was taught to have nothing else to gain my interest other than my kingdom: Frozonia, if it prospers I prosper. Anything and everything I do is for it and it alone. No desires for myself no wants or needs for myself other than the want and need for a glorious kingdom.

It didn't take long for me to arrive to Alfea, there were a bunch of other girls at the front waiting for Griselda to finishing verifying if rather or not they belonged here. One girl was having a bit of trouble since Griselda was having trouble finding her name on the list and it wasn't til the girl told the older woman how her name was spelled did she finally spot the name and allowed her access.

The red head in front of me appeared to be worried as the two whispered about something, I saw the blonde female rip apart a letter for a reason unknown to me before approaching Griselda.

"Hello Ms. G this is Princess Varanda the princess of Callisto" I glanced to the redhead who was acting funny, I found it odd about how she was acting when being introduced but wrote it off as none of my concern, Griselda argued over the blonde who's name I now learned was Stella, return to Alfea especially after what she did to their science class to which Stella replied on how her parents did pay for some of the school's new stuff.

I was getting a bit annoyed at having to wait for the pair to finish their chit-chat, have preferred that they have this kind of personal chat when she doesn't have to allow access to a bunch of girls waiting to get in but since I have been taught to keep these sort of things in check so I knew not to voice this. 

Though I was also taught to offer my honest thoughts and opinions and to be blunt a queen as no time for beating around the bush since I was not asked there was no need. My people though blunt and truthful with what we say, we tend to be a silent and quiet bunch only speaking when spoken too or when necessary.

 I didn't deem now necessary, finally, they finished and I was finally next. "Name?"

"_____ Frosthart Princess of planet Crystria" I answered with a stoic face and a voice void of any emotion. 

"Ah yes I see your name right here, go right ahead" I wasted no time walking through the gates and into Alfea, soon the head mistress Faragonda showed up and give a big speech before we were allowed to go inside when she finished. I quickly located my room and it appears two of my dormmates where already here.

One was a orange-blonde hair girl with a bob-cut hairstyle and hazel eyes, the other a fair-skinned girl with long, chest length brown hair with neatly brushed bangs above her eyes, while she has a strand or two hang over her shoulders with sea blue eyes. Both girls appeared friendly enough as they greeted me.

"Hi I'm Amaryl and this is my friend Francine" The two offered a kind and friendly smiles as they stuck their hands out for me to shake. I stared for a brief second before accepting their kind gesture.

"So would you happen to be Looma or ______?" Francine asked, before I could respond another voice spoke up. All three of us turned to the entrance of the room where the voice originated from.

Standing there a was brown hair, green eyes girl with her hair styled into a tight bun and two braids in the front. Her eyes shone bright with kindness and excitement. "Hello" She greeted kindly, placing her right hand on her chest. "I'm Looma and it would seem that from now and we will be dormmates" 

"Ah so then that would make you _______" Francine said before returning Looma's greetings, as they started to converse I went to my room and used my magic to unpack everything. It wasn't long before Looma walked in still smiling.

"Looks like you already picked your side of the room" She said as she walked over to the other side and did the same as me with her magic as she unpacked I noticed she had a lot more clothes than I so it was safe to assume that she was really into clothing and fashion. She also had a few other things to make her own clothing.

"You weren't there when I told the others but if you ever need any clothing or some specially made feel free to ask all I need are some cool stuff to make them out of or if you want just buy some off me, it's really no trouble since I'm always making more than I really need" She gave an awkward laugh when addressing her lack of self-control on making clothing.

I don't really think that I will be needing any clothing specially made from her or to purchase any off her anytime soon but did make sure to keep note of it just in case. You never know when this knowledge might come in handy.

I nodded to let her know that it was acknowledged, she smiled in returned and started going over to the desk she unpacked and got to designing something that I can only assume was clothing.

I didn't have anything planned so I just sat down on my bed reading as my roommate hummed while drawing which I didn't mind since I would only tune it out once I get adsorbed onto the book.  And in no time at all I was soon lost into a land of my own.

That is until a rabbit came out of nowhere and hopped right onto my book and soon a girl's voice shouted out a name that wasn't mine or any of my dormmates. 

"Kiko!" She came rushing in and stopped once her blue orbs landed on the gray little bunny who was smiling sheepishly, they soon turned to me as she took notice that he was standing on my book. 

"I'm so sorry, I don't know why he went running off like that" She appeared to be genuinely sorry for her rabbit's actions as she stared into my icy blue eyes. 

I looked at her for a bit before turning my gaze to her rabbit and picking him up, the moment my hands made contact with his tiny little body he started to shiver but it wouldn't last too long since he would soon be in his master's hands as I handed him over. 

"It is fine any damage done I can easily fix but do try to be careful next time" She nodded as she took the little bunny in her hand's as he immediately started to warm up.

"Right it won't" She nodded as I returned to my book. She got the hint that I didn't wish to speak anymore and soon left as I picked up where I unwillingly left off. 

I finally reached the end of my book and was left wondering why did the main character make such a choice? Why did they choose to abandon their kingdom for someone else? It didn't make sense, no matter how many times I read books like this I could never figure it out. 

Since the day I was born I was told that the kingdom and the people's welfare were to be placed above all else which means doing whatever was necessary to make sure that our kingdom was prospering. 

So for her to make such a decision only leads to one thing for me to believe since it was the only thing that made sense, her tutors didn't educate her well enough at all, I just hope that other kingdoms in this story learn from this and never hire that person again.

I sighed as I placed my book onto the stand next to me and soon realizing that it was now night time, I must have missed lunch.... I look over to check on Looma and she was still drawing, I get up to tap her on the shoulder which startled her.

"Oh it's you, sorry you kind of scar-" Her eyes glanced around the room before landing back on me. "Um.. is it night time?" I nodded.

"Darn that means I miss lunch" She pouted before looking to me again. "Why didn't you say anything?" I pointed to my book.

"After finishing my book I was only now made aware" She looked over at my stand(no that's not a jojo reference) before nodding and then smiling. 

"I guess that means we are sort of alike only we get far too absorbed in different things" She giggled before yawning. "Well not that it matters now I'm far too tired to eat anyway" She stood from her seat heading over to her bed.

"I'm going to head off to bed, night" She hopped into the bed pulling the sheets over her as I soon deiced to do the same as well.

Closing my eyes I soon drifted to sleep, one that was dreamless as usual for me they normally were anyway. It happens so often that I can't remember if I ever had dreams before or maybe I just simply can't remember them... whatever the case it doesn't really matter all that much anyway.....   

___________

Okay so, this has already been posted on my watt pad and quotev, and is how it will be staying, the next parts will be drafts and possible outcomes

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

I literally found this blog recently and it’s awesome! But for your alternative ending, I was wondering what would everyone’s reactions be of Marinette missing for 5 months, to fighting her?

I honestly wasn’t really sure what this ask was asking for. I ended up writing their feelings about her going missing and seeing her for the first time in months. Sorry if this wasn’t what you wanted :(

(Also, thank you!!)

First part

Second part

Next part

@solangelo252 asked to be tagged

Everyone ready? Let’s go!

Dick

Dick is the one who has to stay strong for the family. He’s always been aware of that. It’s fitting that the guy whose biological family died due to their lack of safety net as trapeze artists ended up being the emotional safety net for his adoptive family. He is always there with his calm smiles, his bad puns, his warm hugs.

… that being said, who was to be his safety net? Marinette had served that purpose as of late; many hours had been spent in a rented out gymnasium, stretching and venting about their problems. It was the closest he’d come to a give-and-take relationship emotionally since his parents had been alive.

But now Marinette was missing. How was he supposed to vent about his anxieties about the fact that she was missing when she wasn’t there to vent to? Could he somehow vent to himself?

No. But he had to stay strong. His family needed him to. Without the Grayson safety net, his family would fall into early graves yet again.

So, he’d pull on that perfect smile of his and get to work. He’d force everyone to eat and sleep, he’d go out on patrols and make sure no one broke The Rule or too many bones, he’d make sure they didn’t close themselves off emotionally, he’d remind them they weren’t at fault, he’d listen to their problems, give them advice, hug them, help them, help them help them helpthemhelpthemhelpthem --.

~

Days stretched endlessly but weeks whizzed by.

And then Marinette was there.

His eyes had landed on her and he almost couldn’t believe it. Maybe he’d finally snapped. He’d held in his emotions, his grief and his guilt and his anger, and he’d held them in too long. And now he was hallucinating her. Now his mind had created a new her.

Maybe he actually could vent to himself now.

But then he’d glanced at everyone else and found that they’d stopped walking, too. That their eyes were still glued on that one spot. That they could see her and she was there. She was really there.

Emotions bubbled in his throat and tears stung his eyes and she was there.

“Mari?” His broken voice broke through the silence.

She brought a hand up to rest over her heart, almost as if she wasn’t quite sure he was talking to her despite him using her name.

Jason spoke next. “Is that really you?”

“Maybe,” she’d said, a bitter smile stretching across her face.

But Dick didn’t care about the warning signs, about the new demeanor, about anything because she was THERE.

A hand grabbed the back of his shirt. Held him back. He hadn’t even realized he’d been moving towards her, but that didn’t matter to him. Because now he couldn’t reach her.

His gaze fell on Tim and his brother had better have a good explanation.

“You’re pale,” Tim pointed out, blue eyes never leaving hers.

She giggled a little, but it was a broken sound. It was the kind of laugh a person made when they were trying their hardest not to cry.

“Yeah. Lack of sunlight and chemical baths do that.”

Tim’s grip on his shirt had lessened but it wasn’t necessary at all anymore. Instead, an icy hand clutched his heart and held him there.

Because now he could take in the chill in the room despite the roaring fire under where Marinette had perched herself. The way her eyes were now a dull blue instead of the almost unnaturally bright shade they usually were.

He hadn’t been around to be her safety net, and now the Marinette he knew was dead and gone. He was staring at what was essentially Marinette’s corpse. She even had the pale, bloodless skin of one.

He’d failed her, and he had already learned that there’s nothing that can be done when someone’s already hit the ground.

Jason

It was his job to keep her safe, and yet he couldn’t do that. She’d been captured by the Rogues. It was possible she’d never come back. If she did come back she wouldn’t ever be the same.

And it was his fault.

He should have tried harder to get her to stop. Made her take a break when she’d accidentally killed that man in the convenience store. He’d killed before, he’d KNOWN how that would affect a person. He’d seen how distracted she’d been the previous few days, seen the cracks. He should have seen this coming. He should have benched her when he’d had the chance.

And now his protege -- his SISTER -- had been captured by the Rogues and who knew what kind of horrors she was facing at that moment.

Because they weren’t going to kill her. The Rogues were never that merciful, and especially not when they’d been slighted.

Marinette had betrayed them, had been sent in to pretend to be their friend and gather information and sabotage some plans. Rogues were many things, but they weren’t ones to fake being friends. They all knew their real standings with each other, their real opinions of each other, for good and for bad. No, to them, she was a heartless monster.

And they were going to make sure she paid dearly.

~

“Is that really you?” He asked, though he knew what the answer would be. There was no way she could still be the same her after what she must have endured.

And she’d said “Maybe”.

And, though he’d expected it, the confirmation and the way her voice had cracked just slightly on the word had made it all the more real.

“You’re pale,” Tim pointed out.

Oh god, he was right. She looked so much like…

“Yeah. Lack of sunlight and chemical baths do that.”

Jason’s heart clenched at the words ‘chemical baths’. Because he knew what that meant. He may not have been there for when Tim had become Joker Jr., but he hadn’t needed to be in order to know just how completely fucked she had to be. He’d heard about the weeks of torture he’d endured before Batman and Batgirl had found it. Seen the way his younger brother still tensed slightly upon seeing Joker or Harley.

Five months. Marinette hadn’t been gone for a few weeks like he had. She’d been gone for five months. If that was what he was like in less than a month, then what about her?

He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and never let go, to never let HER go again, to make sure she’d never come to harm.

But one thing was stopping him.

Because he remembered what Joker Jr. had been created to do. What she must have been forced to do.

And he could see how much she hated it. In the lines in her forehead, in the slump of her shoulders, in the sad smile playing across her lips.

But she was doing it. She felt like she had to do it thanks to whatever she’d endured.

She wasn’t meant for murder. She especially wouldn’t do well with murdering someone she had once cared for. Whatever pieces of her old self that remained would crumble to dust until she would be completely unrecognizable. Completely broken.

He’d failed her, she’d been hurt, and he was going to have to hurt her more in order to keep her from hurting herself.

Tim

You’d think that it would be easy to figure out where she was. After all, these were the biggest Rogues in Gotham. Surely, they couldn’t hide out for long without people noticing them.

But no.

Nothing. Common henchmen were out of jobs, competitors were encroaching on their territories, allies called for help… and yet they refused to make an appearance. It seemed the Rogues had just grabbed Marinette and gone off-world.

A painful memory kept replaying in his mind. Taunting him.

The two of them had been sitting on a park bench on one of their many not-exactly-a-date-but-yeah-it’s-basically-a-date things that they loved to go on.

He remembered her in the Red Robin themed hoodie. The brilliant smile she’d given him. The twinkle in her eyes. The teasing lilt to her voice as she explained why he was her favorite hero:

‘Of course! He’s super smart! I mean, I know Batman is supposed to be the greatest detective of all time or whatever but, considering ages and experience, I think that Red Robin is probably going to have him beat in… I don’t know, a few years?’

She’d been laying it on thick, he knew, she’d been aware of his identity by then and was doing it to fluster him… but he could tell she wasn’t lying. Even if that was more blunt than she tended to be, it was still what she really thought of him.

The memory used to make him blush. Now, it hurt.

He downed his third cup of coffee at the hour, eyes locked on the screen in front of him. There had to be SOMETHING. There was always something.

And, yet, there wasn’t. The place she’d been taken had clearly been prepped for her kidnapping. There was hardly any blood anywhere outside of a bit on the wall where she must have hit it, someone must have set up a tarp or something. The only things they could find were the broken pieces of her comm and two ears. Forensics confirmed they were hers; the earrings they normally bore were missing, but they could hardly care about that when the first -- and likely tamest -- thing they’d done was cut off her ears.

That was it. There were footprints, sure, but they got lost in the millions of footprints on the streets of Gotham.

He threw his empty mug across the cave, but when it splintered on the ground he didn’t feel any better. It didn’t help him find her. 

~

The moment his eyes landed on her, he knew.

He could recognize that look anywhere. Bleached-white skin, cherry-red lips… her usual pigtails had been raised in an imitation of Harley’s signature look...

Just like Tim had been Joker Jr., she was now Harley Jr.

Part of him wanted to assure her that she would be fine, that he was living proof that she would be okay again eventually. The other part knew that it was a lie, that she, just like him, would likely never be fully ‘okay’ ever again.

He blinked away the tears threatening to spill over.

He should not have allowed Dick to make him sleep, should have widened the scope of his search, he should have simply done so much more than he had.

No mystery was completely unsolvable. He had to have missed something.

He’d failed her, and now she was paying the price for his shortcomings.

Damian

Mother had taught him that relationships were a liability. They made you weak. They made you lose.

Father and Richard had taught him that relationships were tricky, but they were worth having.

But, if relationships were worth having, why did they cause him so much pain?

First Father had died. Then Richard had ‘died’.

Those had been temporary, at least. He had started to have difficulty feeling sad when people died. There had been three deaths in the family since he’d joined including his own, and they always came back within a few months. It had started to feel like the Wayne family was untouchable.

Then Alfred had been killed brutally by Bane. Even now, years later, he had yet to make a miraculous reappearance.

So, no, they weren’t untouchable.

They were assuming she was alive, that the Rogues were keeping her around for some big thing. But, as time stretched on with no progress or proof that she was even alive, he started to lose hope. Why were they so quiet? What were they planning? Had those plans gone awry? The Rogues could never match him on impulse control, so something might have happened…

He told himself it didn’t matter if she was alright or not. He knew it was a lie.

Despite their rocky start, he’d found himself attaching to her far faster than he should have. He was regretting it now. Maybe he should have put a distance between them, maybe then this wouldn’t have hurt so much.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her. It was the little things that seemed to hurt the most. The smell of coffee or baked goods, the place where she’d scratched her initials into a chair to claim it as hers, even the color red...

It was making it hard, if he were to be honest, to fight properly. He was constantly distracted. His mother had been right, his attachment to her was making him weak.

Not to mention the ring on his finger... He couldn’t bring himself to transform, not without his partner. Part of him wanted to tear it off his finger, to toss it off a pier and get rid of the constant reminder that she was gone, but he couldn’t.

It was all he had left of her, after all.

~

“Is that really you?”

“Maybe.”

No. The answer was no. He could see it in her eyes. Whoever was in front of them, they weren’t Marinette anymore. Not really.

“You’re pale.”

“Yeah. Lack of sunlight and chemical baths tend to do that.”

He clenched his fists tightly. The ring dug into his skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

After all, he wasn’t stupid. He was aware of what had happened to Drake during his tenure as Robin. He knew what he’d been forced to do, and he was sure she was there to finish the job.

He readied himself for a fight.

He’d failed her, yes, but he couldn’t afford to lose another person.

[missanthropicprinciple]

A Tale of Elio and My Fixation with Lovable Androids

TL;DR Feel free to scroll past this unless you’re keen to read my ramblings about androids, Neoclassical art, children’s lit, and bad science fiction movies. 

Since the late 1990s one of my favourite books has been A Tale of Time City (1989) by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s a mildly confusing story but engaging, with memorable characters, including the android Elio, pictured above - my own fan art from a few years ago. Studio Ghibli really needs to make this film if no one does a live-action version, seeing as they brought Jones’ novel Howl’s Moving Castle to life. Here’s a scan of my favourite edition with mesmerizing cover art by Richard Bober.

This book inspired me so much I’ve done research on it. I wasn’t in a class in grad school that allowed me to write about it so I took it on as a casual independent project in 2019. Two days after my dad died of cancer I was scheduled to present my paper on Elio from ATOTC. Needless to say I was not able to finish writing the essay. I told the department coordinator I would likely not attend but I would let him know. He was seriously surprised that I showed up. I must have looked like a ghost - wearing a nice top, skirt, tights, and short heels. I was still in total shock but I thought I might as well press on. My paper’s working tile remains as it was: Elio: Android Autonomy and the Personification of the Sun God. I presented a long bullet point list of working ideas and research done up until that point. My work is still on the broad side because it’s an intersection of young adult fiction, Neoclassic art, and android autonomy; I have some narrowing to do. Here are my main arguments thus far: 

Firstly, the android character Elio’s physical characteristics and personality are inspired by Helios, the Hellenistic Greek god and personification of the sun. Apparently, Elio is a Spanish name meaning sun and also an Italian given name referring to the element helium, originally derived from the Greek name of the sun-god Helios. 

Secondly, Elio and Helios share more than an etymological connection and the comparison of Elio to Helios can be articulated in two distinct ways: the aesthetic comparison, and that Elio possesses some of the qualities Helios is known for. Jones’ work repeatedly associates Elio with sunlight and golden hues, aspects which are exemplified in the 1765 Neoclassical painting Helios as the Personification of Midday by Anton Raphael Mengs. (I vaguely remember translating a couple passages from a large art book written in German when I was studying Neoclassical art.) 

This work is considered an unusual depiction of Helios. Mengs uses a motif of the glowing arrow which is interpreted by François-Xavier Fabre as a symbol of the midday heat and the sun's rays which penetrate and give light to the earth. The representation of the sun in this way is considered unusual for the 18th century because it goes against Classical and Baroque iconography which portrays Helios riding a chariot. Ironically, Jones references this. Elio proclaims his fondness for films, particularly the chariot race from Ben Hur. Elio, like Mengs’ depiction of Helios, lacks a chariot but retains his beauty and powers.

As for Elio possessing some of the qualities of Helios, the god is often referred to as “all seeing” or “Zeus’s eye.” Similarly, Elio has the ability to anticipate problems and see what humans do not, but not because he’s a god, but because he’s a servant. However, this is where his self governing comes into play when he uses his observations to take action beyond any directives he has been given. His physical strength, like Helios, exceeds that of humans. Elio himself says, “my utmost is more than twice that of a born-human” (Jones, 211).

Thirdly, Elio’s self awareness allows him to use both his powers of observation and superior physical strength independent from humans. He does not always wait to be told how to use his power; he wields it. Not only does he play a part equal to that of humans in Jones’ plot, he specifically controls the fates of certain human characters. For example, he doesn’t always utilize his speed when he’s at the beck and call of his master, Sempitern. He makes choices not to fully comply with the demands made of him.

My fourth point, which I can’t quite articulate well, is that the most significant dynamic of this comparison is the body of Elio and how his physicality interacts with his autonomy. Elio acts as an individual who contributes to a wider mythology just as Helios does. Yet, while Elio is superior to humans in many ways, his quasi-humanity allows him to act in ways which align with Helios’ qualities.

For example, Elio makes personal choices and exhibits emotions not necessary for him, as an android, to function. He confesses a desire to harm another android out of annoyance where a passionate opinion would not be expected from an android. This human failing is indicative of the same autonomy which allows him to act as Helios does. Elio has been constructed as a superhuman body in terms of his abilities, however, the human qualities which contribute to his Helios-like powers undermine his intended purpose. 

Ultimately, Elio ascends the usefulness of his “owned” body by acting independently from the humans who utilize him. His human qualities make him vulnerable and therefore he loses some of his godlike powers. Elio, while only an assistant to his human owners, utilizes his own physical and mental powers to maintain his autonomy. Conversely, his god-like qualities make Elio more human rather than affirming his android identity.

This is a very complex subject and I don’t really know where I’m going with it and have possibly made some suppositional errors. TL;DR: What I do know is that Elio presents a paradox: being idealized for his abilities allows him to be autonomous while being autonomous disrupts the servitude of his body.

I am in the process of determining what lens I will use to analyze Elio’s experience and functionality of being an android. I’m thinking about using Alan Turning’s 1950 work Computing Machinery and Intelligence. I’m still navigating the literary theory aspect, or indeed philosophical aspect, of this area of study. 

This brings me to something I came across later that relates to Elio and ATOTC. 

SPOILERS AHEAD

The closest depiction of an android that I’ve seen to Elio other than Data is from a terrible and somewhat forgotten science fiction film from 1989. “Byron”, (played by pre-Jurassic Park-fame Bob Peck) the android in the painfully awful film Slipstream comes very close to Elio in terms of tone, attitude, and characterization. Despite the embarrassingly bad script and dialogue, Peck does a bang-up job, seemingly acting in a wonderful film running parallel to the absolute trash his co-stars were apparently “acting” in. Yes, I rewatched this film just to write this analysis. (The��secondhand embarrassment is off the charts and I had it playing at a low volume most of the time Byron was not on the screen.)

When you first see Byron he’s acting out autonomy but you’re not aware he’s an android. The audience is told he’s an escaped fugitive, a murderer, and that’s all we know for over half the film. Yet there are several clues. When you first see him he’s running over rugged terrain in a suit which was kind of a big hint but nothing makes sense in this film so I just thought that it was a weird costume choice. Then he’s literally shot with a grappling hook. He doesn’t seem to be in pain even though he’s shocked by it, and then is pulled down by a bounty hunter named Tasker (Mark Hamill) and hits the ground from a great height and doesn’t die. He just quotes what I think is John Gillespie Magee, Jr.’s "High Flight”: “I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth….and touched the face of God.” Next time you see him, he’s in handcuffs, looking super depressed, and apparently not bleeding out from the now absent grapple hook that’s gone through his forearm. 

He eventually quotes Lord Byron to cryptically indicate his name which is lost on Bill Paxton’s character, Matt. “Byron” essentially means cowshed. It’s ironic because Byron the android is in many ways a receptacle of knowledge. Matt even says sarcastically, “Well aren’t you a walking storeroom of information,” and Byron responds cheerfully, “Yes.” 

Byron breaks out of his handcuffs saying they’d “become rather superfluous.” You think he’s just showing off but once you know he’s an android you know he’s just honest all the time. He then heals a blind child and paraphrases Psalm 127:3. Matt says, “I didn’t know you were a healer.” Apparently Byron can perform cataract surgery in less than five minutes. Along their journey together (Bill is set on collecting the bounty on Byron’s head before Tasker can catch up) they camp out. Byron sleeps with his eyes open. (Even if he is an android wouldn’t his eyes need to be “cleaned” in the same way humans need to close our eyes and blink?) Matt wakes up to find Byron seemingly strangling him. “I was feeling your carotid pulse,” he explains. “I was just checking for arrhythmia and episodes of ventricular tachycardia.” At this point you realize he’s not so much a spiritual healer as a doctor who philosophizes a lot. 

Byron’s miraculous behavior and pontificating is called into question by a nomadic spiritual community which has been torn apart by an attack on their village. As he lays dying, Ben Kingsley’s character calls Byron a “false prophet” but his faith in this stranger is somewhat restored when he says, “all that will be left of me is bits of gold in the sand. You have a soul, do not abandon it in death.” 

Another character says, “The stranger is no mortal man.” Therefore it is clear that Byron likely isn’t human. We don’t find out he’s an android until 46 minutes into the film. Once that’s cleared up, other concepts arise in the script. While not well executed, they are really interesting; emotion both positive and negative, free will, perfection, A.I. slavery, and murder are all addressed throughout the second half of the film. Byron says he doesn’t understand “hate” in context of his “master” to whom he was nurse, brother, father, mentor, and friend, but he admits he was more of a slave than anything else. 

The character Ariel takes an interest in him for a variety of reasons, especially romantically. In one very evocative moment we see Byron in a museum exhibit, a false garden of Eden, full of fake vegetation and taxidermies, full body mounts. So we’ve got an android having an Adam experience. Whether or not he experiences “original sin” with Ariel or if he’s “fully functional” is never acknowledged. Although one woman says, “Amanda slept with a robot?!” (who the f**k is Amanda?!) and a man says to another sitting next to him, “I hear they’re rather mechanical in the saddle.” 

Byron is less concerned with consummation and more excited about love, sleep, and dreaming. When he is with Ariel he doesn’t quite know how to act in terms of sexual play and then apologizes: “I’m not accustomed to being loved.” We see him closing his eyes when he’s cuddled up with Ariel; the next day he is certainly very pleased that he fell asleep with his eyes closed and had a dream. 

In terms of his servitude and autonomy they did not spend an adequate portion of the exposition on it. Matt has a change of heart and says instead of collecting the bounty, he’ll set him free as it’s briefly revealed that Byron killed his “master” upon the man’s request. Naturally, this brings up a lot of confusing feelings for Byron. “Is this what it’s like to be human? I don’t think I’m up to it,” he says. “Can I be trusted with human feelings?” And in a way he cannot. Ariel is brutally shot by Tasker.

Byron is angered over Ariel’s death and follows the bounty hunter to his ship. Instead of taking him in to collect a reward, Tasker tries to run him down with the glider plane. Byron manages to get himself caught in the engine and starts to strangle his assailant. Tasker quotes “touched the face of god” which brings Byron to his senses and he stops killing Luke Skywalker Tasker and tries to save the plane. It looks like he’s going to hot-wire it but then uses the wires like reins (chariot imagery???). They crash into the side of a mountain slope. Tasker dies but Byron survives. Apparently he’s basically indestructible and somewhat godlike. “I’m too dangerous to be human,” Byron tells Matt. In the end, he goes off in search of the place he’d been dreaming about. 

Although in terms of physical appearance the two androids are vastly different, they have so much in common. Here are some basic concepts. 

Character: Both are stoic, formal, intelligent, honest

Indestructible: Byron is injured with a grappling hook, takes a major fall of about 20 or 30 feet without a scratch: he is somewhat godlike or slave-like, meant to withstand destruction and pain. Elio is less indestructible but easily repaired.

Healer: Byron has the skills to heal people with basic surgery. Elio doesn’t take his own injuries seriously and experiences pain for the first time (Jones, 218-9).

Both think they deserve to be punished: Elio states this quite clearly (Jones, 276) and Byron says the same thing about himself with resigned passivity.

Complex relationship with “human emotions”: Both come to terms with violence, anger, and love.

Autonomy: At the end of the film Byron goes off on his own to look for a promised land. Elio decides his own fate by deciding to accompany the children of the story, stating that Vivian is a “particular favorite” of his (278). 

Dreaming and stories: Byron is searching for a place, “where I think I belong,” he says, which is a place he often thinks and dreams about. Dreaming is considered to be a human attribute, a non-essential bi-product to consciousness. Elio enjoys stories and old films (Jones, 180), similarly “human” in nature. 

(Peck, seen here waiting for Bill Paxton to learn how to act. Sorry, I’m salty.)

Disclaimer: This is a work in progress! This project is an intersection of niche subjects that interest no one but myself. 

Anyway, my point is (yes, I did have a point...or rather several) was that if anyone should adapt A Tale of Time City, Byron from Slipstream is the best example of how Elio should be portrayed in terms of characterization. I feel that Slipstream should have been centered around Byron. The film was kind of like, just about the “we’re both fighting over the bounty of this fugitive” sorta thing. It would have made more sense to focus on Byron as he is arguably the most interesting character and represents many of the conflicts within the story. I would like to combine my research on ATOTC and Slipstream one day. In any case, this is a good start. 

Works Cited (WIP) 

Jones, Diana W. A Tale of Time City: Knopf, 1987. Print. Perkowitz, Sidney. Digital People: From Bionic Humans to Androids. Washington, D.C: Joseph Henry Press, 2004. Print.

Roettgen, Steffi, and Anton R. Mengs. Anton Raphael Mengs: 1728-1779 Part 2. München: Hirmer, 1999. Print.

Turing, A. M. “Computing Machinery and Intelligence.” Mind, vol. 59, no. 236, 1950, pp. 433–460. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2251299. Wilson, Eric. The Melancholy Android: On the Psychology of Sacred Machines. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006. Print

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: 5,232 Sister!Winchester Reader x Gabriel Warnings: violence, intense scenarios, violent imagery A/N: So... once upon a time I was writing two series at once... Mess Is Mine and Fangs and First Impressions. And I said to myself, "Self, we are never going to write two series at the same time again! This is stressful!" And yet, here I am today, already writing two series (The Wrong Bed, Sam x Reader which is almost done! and Even in the Darkest Heart, a Demon!Dean series) and now I'm being dumb and chucking in a third. This was supposed to be a One Shot but as we've already established on this blog I am apparently incapable of writing short fics. So HERE YA GO! New Series. Don't ask me how many parts it will be because I literally have NO IDEA. :) But having a steaming slice of Gabriel, straight out of the oven.

Your name: submit What is this?

White. Clean, blank, pure white. That was all you were aware of suddenly. It was blindingly white and as you sat up and then pulled yourself to your feet, you saw that it was like an expansive room, painted in the color of freshly fallen snow, unmarred by any track or trail. All was pure white.

“Hello?” The only answer you received was the lonely echo of your voice, so distorted by the time it bounced back that it was almost unrecognizable. Where the fuck am I? you wondered. You started to walk, but as everything was the same, the sensation of moving was unaccompanied by any visual cue that you actually were moving. This was so unsettling and disorienting that you ceased your tentative steps quickly. Your heart started to race a little faster and a disturbing thought popped into your mind. Am I dead?

_ _ _ _ _ _ “I need a large bore IV, wide open. And up her oxygen percentage. Her numbers are tanking!”

“Sir, you really have to stay back. Sir! You’re not allowed beyond these doors!”

Dean watched helplessly as your unconscious body, straddled by a doctor with their hands pressed firmly down onto your abdomen, was hurried through a pair of swinging doors, flanked by an army of medical personnel. Dean finally registered the nurse in front of him and stopped before he collided with her outstretched hands. “Where are they—”

“They’re taking her straight into surgery. Are you next of kin?”

“Yes—My brother and I. She’s our sister! I need an update! As soon as you have one!” Dean urged.

“Do you give us permission to perform life-saving actions like resuscitation if necessary?” The words came out in a fast tumble and Dean didn’t even process them before he answered.

“Yes, goddammit! Do whatever you have to—she has to be okay!”

“We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” The nurse turned and ran down the long hallway, the swinging doors closing finally behind her. Dean paced a tight circle, a bundle of nerves and rage.

In about 20 minutes, Sam came running up and spotted Dean collapsed in a chair in the little seating area, endlessly bouncing his knee. “Hey—what’s going on? They wouldn’t let me leave—I almost punched out a security guard,” he said desperately. Sam had fresh stitches in his forehead and he was developing quite the bruise around one eye.

Dean let out a heavy exhale. “They rushed her right into surgery.” Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Are you okay?” he asked, finally looking up to inspect Sam’s stitches.

Sam collapsed into a chair beside his brother. “Fine. They said the concussion is probably mild. Nice to be numbed for stitches for once,” he said, but his eyes kept darting back toward the doors and he was wringing his hands. “Did you hear anything yet?”

“No.”

The Winchesters sat in a heavy silence for almost two hours before a doctor came out.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were becoming so anxious by the lack of anything and the horrible thought in your head that this was it, this was dying, that your heart was absolutely racing in your chest now. Sitting still didn’t seem like a good option, but the thought of trying to move again through all that blank nothingness seemed just as bad. “Hello?!” you yelled once more, this time as loud as you could.

“Hi there.”

You jumped with a startled gasp and spun around, one hand on your chest out of fright and surprise. There was a figure there. He had a small, warm smile on his face and his irises seemed to blaze golden and light brown. It was strange—you felt an overwhelming sense of calm as you looked at him. Your heart rate had slowed to its usual pace and you no longer felt that bubble of rising panic in your chest, threatening to burst. You were keenly aware that in your profession, a seemingly kind face didn’t necessarily mean anything—and yet, he had somehow stopped your wounded whirling.

“Who—who are you?” you asked, finally able to recover from your surprise and find your voice.

His smile widened on one side, curving up in a crooked half-smirk. “Well… I suppose you can call me your guardian angel,” he said.

Your brow only furrowed down in confusion. “Where… are we?”

“Difficult question to answer. We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense… kind of everywhere to you right now.”

The wrinkles on your furrowed brow deepened. “Am I—am I dead?”

He threw his head back and laughed heartily, while you merely looked on in perplexity. “Now, what kind of guardian angel would I be if that were the case?” he asked you. He suddenly stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out a large Twix candy bar, bouncing a little unconcernedly on his toes. He opened it and took a big bite, before meeting your eyes again.

“I’m sorry—but who are you?” you asked again.

He let out another small chuckle and you watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled this time in a broad smile, but he still didn’t give you an answer.

“If I’m not dead, what exactly is happening?”

He tilted his head a little and looked at you for a long moment. “Do you remember that man in the bar?”

And suddenly it was like you were there—sensory overload. You could hear the drone of the music in the background and smell that heady scent of beer… And there was the man. You saw his face clearly, and now you saw that he had been watching you.

“I see him,” you said, and suddenly you were back in the white space. “Saw him.”

The figure nodded. “Well, he wasn’t just a guy in the bar.”

Now, you tilted your head a little in an unspoken question and your eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“He was the thing you were hunting. And he figured out that you were hunting him.”

As soon as he said it you heard a crack like thunder and a flash like hot, white lightning. Your body jolted and there was a searing pain in your stomach. You looked down saw an expanding circle of dark crimson on your shirt, and when you pressed a hand to it your fingers came away stained bright red, sticky with blood. Now when you looked back up at the figure he wasn’t smiling anymore and there was no sign of the candy bar or wrapper. He raised two fingers and snapped, and the searing pain disappeared along with the scarlet stain on your shirt.

“Sorry about that,” he said. His voice now was lacking the playful lilt it had before. It was soft and serious. “That can happen from time to time. Reality leaks in a little bit.”

Suddenly, you understood and then you remembered. You had heard his footsteps behind you, first at a distance and then quickly, running. You had turned and then… the crack of the gun going off and echoing in the lonely parking lot—the flash of the muzzle. More gunshots, must have been Sam and Dean shooting back—they had been ahead of you going to the Impala. But you were already on your knees, bleeding, clutching your stomach and struggling to see anything through the searing pain.

“He shot me,” you said.

“He did,” the stranger said.

“But I’m alive?”

“Yes.” A long silence stretched where you both just looked at each other, and you were reeling from the implications.

“So, is this real or all in my head?” you asked him.

He smiled again, just a small one, and it lit fireworks of light off in his eyes. They were mesmerizing. “Why can’t it be both?” he asked. “We’ll be seeing each other again. I promise.”

“But—wait!”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam and Dean both jumped to their feet when the surgeon came out through the swinging doors and eagerly ran to meet her.

“Y/N is going to make it,” she said. The brothers both heaved huge sighs of relief. Sam crumpled half over and put his hands on his knees, forcing in air. Dean shut his eyes and clenched a hand into a fist. “She’s very, very luckily to be alive. The bullet lacerated her liver and she lost a lot of blood but it missed her hepatic artery by mere millimeters. If that had been hit, she would have bled out in minutes,” the surgeon said. Sam straightened back up stiffly and exchanged a look of horror and desperation with Dean. “She’s in critical condition and we will keep her in the ICU until she is more stable, but she’ll be okay. Thank goodness you two got her here so quickly,” the surgeon said.

“Thank you,” Dean said forcefully.

“Yes, thank you so much,” Sam added. The surgeon nodded and headed back through the doors. The Winchesters stood there in silence after the doctor left until finally Sam broke it.

“That was way too close,” he said.

Dean swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t lessen. “Way too damn close,” he said, his voice breaking a little. He wandered back over to collapse into the chairs. Sam sank down next to him and glanced over at his big brother.

“At least the shifter is dead,” Sam said. “Yeah. But we still have to deal with the cops,” Dean growled. “Afterall, we did kill someone in a parking lot…”

“There was surveillance at the bar. It was clear self-defense. We have nothing to worry about,” Sam reassured him.

“Well, not nothing,” Dean said. “You know what a pain in the ass it is going to be trying to keep Y/N from doing anything to heal up?” A faint touch of a smile reached his eyes as he looked over at Sam.

He nodded. “She is a Winchester.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were finally moved from the ICU, and Sam and Dean snuck in early, even before visiting hours, so they could be there when you woke up. Sam had a huge bouquet of sunflowers on his lap and Dean had brought your favorite herbal tea. You woke up slowly, still a little foggy from all the painkillers, but you immediately sensed the two figures in your room. Sam noticed you stirring first.

“Hey,” he said sitting up. His voice was soft but you could hear the smile in it. “You’re awake,” he said, climbing to his feet and coming to stand beside your bed. “Brought you something to brighten up the room. I know they’re your favorite,” he said, setting down the huge bouquet on the side table.

You blinked heavily a few times and managed a weak smile at him, “Thanks. It’s good to be up and have my room brightened,” you said. You put your hands down on the bed and tried to sit up a little more but immediately winced and hunched over, a hiss of breath drawn in through your teeth, drawing concerned looks from your older brothers.

Dean was immediately at your other side. “How are you feeling?” he asked. His voice sounded extra gruff to your ears, and you knew it was likely due to worry.

“I’m doing well for someone who has staples holding their guts in,” you said dryly, a small wry smile creeping onto your face. Neither of your big brothers laughed. “Oh, come on! I’m kidding!”

Dean swallowed at the lump and tightness in his throat again but it didn’t abate. “Really though? How’s your pain?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Really. You can stop giving me those classic Winchester furrowed brows. I’m okay. They have me on the good drugs,” you added with a small smile. You noticed the paper cup clutched in Dean’s hand. “Is that for me?”

“Oh, yeah. Your favorite tea.”

You grinned at him and accepted the cup. “Thank you.”

Sam sighed heavily beside you, and you could sense your brothers exchanging a glance. “Listen, Y/N…” Sam started. You lowered the cup from your lips and looked at him.

“Stop,” you said holding up a hand. “Before you say anything else, I need to say something.” You struggled to find the words. You wanted, no—needed them to hear every word you were about to say. “This is not your fault,” you said, deliberately turning your eyes to Dean and catching his green ones. “I mean it. This was bad luck. It could have been any of us. I was just the slowest walking to the Impala. My legs are a lot shorter than yours,” you joked. “Alright?” A heavy, thick silence held the room in suspension, feeling like a stifling summer evening heavy with humidity. “I mean it. None of us saw this coming. It isn’t anyone’s fault except the dickhead who shot me.”

Sam was staring at your face and you caught his eyes, which were a little sad and glistening more than they should have been for the light. “We’re your big brothers though,” he said. “We’re supposed to protect you.”

“We thought we lost you,” Dean said.

“But you didn’t,” you retorted. “And you did protect me—you saved my life. They said if you had waited for an ambulance I might not have made it.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and you watched the muscle in it twitch. “Did they tell you?” he asked you, his green eyes holding yours—and you saw fear there, something you rarely saw in his eyes—not that it was never there. He just never let you see it. “Millimeters and it wouldn’t have been fast enough.” You looked down at your hand on the comforter of the hospital blanket.

“Yeah, about that, actually…” you started. Sam’s brow creased even more in the middle. “There’s something else that happened I need to tell you about.”

“What is it?”

“I think while I was in surgery—or maybe even before, I don’t know for sure—but I saw something,” you said, wrapping both your hands around your paper cup again, soaking in the warmth of the tea.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, apprehension growing with every word your spoke.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I was in this pure white room… and at first there wasn’t anything there. It was just empty but then this… figure appeared.” Your brothers watched your eyes grow a little distant.

“A figure?” Sam repeated. You looked up at him and nodded.

“I asked him who he was and he told me that I could call him my ‘guardian angel’,” you said, now looking over at Dean and trying to read his reaction. His face seemed to darken and you watched the muscle twitch in his jaw again.

“It was probably just your brain trying to process what was happening to you,” Sam offered. “You almost died. The mind does crazy things when the body is in shock—trust me, I know,” he said sincerely. “And so does Dean.”

You shook your head. “No,” you said, vehemently. “It wasn’t that. It wasn’t. It was real. I’m telling you; it was—” you sighed heavily, not even knowing how to explain without sounding stupid. “—it was happening in my head but this figure, I don’t know… There was something about him. I think he really exists,” you said.

“Did he say anything else?” Dean pressed you.

“I asked him who he was and then I asked him where we were and he said something like, ‘We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense everywhere.’ Whatever the hell that means,” you said, fiddling with the sleeve on your hospital gown. You hesitated, knowing the next question you asked would be hard for your brothers to hear. “Um. And then I asked him if I was dead… and—it was the strangest thing. He laughed and he made some joke about it.”

“He made a joke? What the hell?” Sam repeated.

Dean shook his head. “What kind of joke?”

“Like, ‘oh, how good of a guardian angel would I be if you were dead?’ Oh! And it gets weirder… then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a candy bar.”

Now, Dean and Sam both straightened up involuntarily and looked at each other long and hard in some kind of silent communication. “What? What is it?” you asked. “Come on. Don’t do the silent, telepathic thing. I hate when you do that,” you said.

Sam swallowed hard. “What did this figure look like?” he asked.

You tried to call up an image of him in your mind, and as soon as you shut your eyes you could see him as clear as day. “He has sort of warm brown hair. It’s a little shorter than yours, Sam, kind of swept back. And he has these—these eyes that look like they’re golden brown or amber. A little stubble on his face and he has this cheeky sort of little smile…” You opened your eyes again and looked at your brothers. Their expressions made it quite clear they knew exactly who you were describing.

Dean ran a hand over his face and licked his lips. “You said he pulled out a candy bar?”

“Mhm. I wouldn’t get that detail wrong,” you said.

Sam shrugged and his eyebrows lifted. He shook his head, a little disbelieving.

“What?” you repeated, looking between your brothers. “Who is it? What’s going on?” You were met with stony silence again. “If you two don’t tell me right now I’m going to climb out of this bed and if my stitches rip out it WILL be your fault!”

Dean sighed heavily again. “Alright! Alright! Calm down, turbo!” You sunk back against your pillows again. “Yeah, I think we know who you saw. But—I mean—” Dean looked to Sam who shook his head again, apparently having no explanation. “It doesn’t make any sense.” You gave a questioning look.

“We knew him. Before we knew about you. It was definitely not your mind inventing this, but—he’s dead as far as we know,” Sam said.

Now it was your turn to gulp at the tightness in your throat. “Dead?” you repeated. Sam nodded.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s complicated.”

You laughed sardonically and let your head fall back against your pillow, feeling suddenly tired. “Isn’t it always with us?”

“You’re tired. You obviously need to rest so we can talk about this later,” Dean said, putting a hand gently on your shoulder.

“What?! No! You’re not just gonna say that and expect me to be able to—to sleep!” You looked between your brothers in annoyance. “I’m serious! Cough it up! If you think I’m giving the two of you time to concoct some bullshit cover story you have another thing coming.”

Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Just—relax. We don’t need you getting all worked up… You remember that trickster we told you about? Way before we found out about you?”

“The one who made you watch Dean die over and over again?”

“Yes, exactly,” Sam said.

“…Wait, you think that figure I saw was this—this trickster? That’s way too powerful for a—”

“He wasn’t a trickster,” Dean interrupted. “He was an archangel playing at being a trickster.”

Your jaw dropped open. “What?”

“Gabriel. It was the archangel Gabriel,” Sam said. You stared at him like he was insane. And then you looked over at Dean, who was refusing to look at you and instead staring, brooding, at his boots, chewing on his lower lip.

“Pardon my French but fucking--Gabriel?? THE Gabriel?”

Sam nodded. He could see your mind starting to spiral. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—he said he was my ‘guardian angel’. You don’t think he was being serious, do you?”

Dean shrugged. “We don’t know. We don’t even know if he’s back. He’s supposed to be dead. Sam and I basically watched him die. Besides, just because he said something like that doesn’t mean anything. He loves goofing around,” Dean said, and you heard some bitterness still in his voice.

“I don’t think saving my life is goofing around,” you retorted.

“We don’t know for sure that he did that,” Sam said. “We need to be careful here. There could be some other agenda. I mean, he was dead. So, if he is actually back that is a big enough mystery right there to warrant being concerned. Resurrections tend to have a catch.”

“I didn’t even know archangels could die,” you said, a little sadly. “Why did he—?"

“He died to save Dean and I,” Sam said. You let out an exhale in an audible rush of air. “Y/N, did he say anything else?”

Now you couldn’t think. Your mind was spinning. You pressed your palms over your eyes. “Umm, yeah he—I asked him if I wasn’t dead what was happening and he walked me through the shooting. The guy in the bar… the parking lot—” you suddenly shuddered and your eyes flew wide open. You pressed one hand over your incision.

“You okay?” Sam put a hand gently on your arm.

“It was like I was there. I could see everything as if in the actual moment. I saw the man in the bar watching us. I heard him running up behind me when we were in the parking lot. And then I could feel it again…” You trailed off and the room stayed silent for a long moment, each of you grappling again with how close to true disaster and devastation you had all come. Sam reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“But he just snapped his fingers and it was gone—the pain and everything.” You looked over at Dean. “I heard more gunshots—after I was shot. Did you and Sam—?”

Dean nodded solemnly. “We got him. He’s gone.”

That answer was weighty. You were glad that he was gone, but you wondered about the implications. “Are you and Sam going to get into trouble? I’m guessing there is an investigation and—you killed someone. What if—” Dean smiled fondly at you and chuckled a little. “Are you really worried about that? You almost died, and you’re worried about Sammy and me dealing with the cops? It’s all taken care of, okay? There were surveillance cameras in the lot. They caught everything. It was a clear case of self-defense. Don’t worry.”

You nodded and let out a relieved sigh. “Good. That’s really good. Who is going to wait on me hand and foot if the two of you are in jail?” you joked.

“Y/N,” Sam said, his tone again serious. “What else did Gabriel say?”

“Right. Umm, I asked him what was happening if I wasn’t dead—if it was real or all in my head. He said ‘Why not both?’ and then he told me—” you suddenly remembered his last words to you and the beeping on the heart monitor increased to match the rushing of your heart. You gulped. “He said we would be seeing each other again. What do you think that means?”

Sam shook his head and looked to Dean, whose face was stern and serious. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think it was really Gabriel?” you asked. “I mean, it could have been something else pretending to be him, couldn’t it?”

Sam rubbed a hand over the center of his chest, where a tightness seemed to be taking hold. “I don’t know. We don’t know. But you should get some rest now. Dean and I will look into this, okay?”

They both kissed your forehead and made sure you were comfortable against your pillows before retreating to the hallway, hoping that you would take their advice and get some sleep while they investigated.

Dean pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial number for Cas, who was back at the bunker. Cas answered on the first ring.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, hey. Sammy and I are just leaving the hospital.”

“How is Y/N?”

“Well, you know, as good as can be expected. She seems to be in good spirits though.”

Cas breathed a sigh of relief into the phone. “Good. That’s very good news. I feel so… useless,” he said a little quietly.

“I know,” Dean replied. “But there’s nothing to be done about that right now. And none of this is your fault.” There was a beat of silence where Dean guessed Cas was still wishing as hard as he could that he would somehow magically regain his angel mojo. “Hey, listen, though… there does seem to be something else strange going on…”

“What do you mean?” The angel’s voice immediately deepened with worry.

Dean ran a hand back through his hair. “Y/N said when she was unconscious that she had some sort of dream or vision or something. She is fairly convinced that it really happened.”

“Okay…” Cas’s voice was uneasy.

Dean quickly related the whole story to Cas with as much detail as he could remember, but purposely omitted the key moment—the candy bar. “This figure claimed to be her guardian angel.” “Well, that is odd because the human idea of a ‘guardian angel’ is quite rare in actuality. Only a very, very small number of humans would ever be given that kind of special protection and they would have to be very important.”

“Right. But we asked her to describe who she saw and guess who it was?”

“Dean, you know I don’t like guessing games—”

“Frickin’ Gabriel. The archangel.” Dean waited for Cas to say something but the line was quiet. “Cas? Cas, are you still there?”

On the other end, standing in the front room of the bunker, there was a very good reason Cas was silent.

“Hello, brother.”

Standing before him was the very being Dean had just mentioned.

“Oh, why don’t you just go ahead and tell Dean-o you need to call him back.”

Cas was so shocked that he gulped and did just that without thinking.

“Cas, wait! What’s—” Dean let out an annoyed sigh and Sam’s brow contracted low over his eyes.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Cas just hung up on me all of a sudden. He sounded weird,” Dean mused, frowning down at his phone. He redialed Cas’s number but it simply rang and rang.

Back in the bunker, the angel stared in shock at Gabriel. “Wow. What exactly have you done to yourself, brother? I mean, I was never a big fan of the trench coat but even that was better than this,” Gabriel said with a grimace, taking in Cas’s sweatshirt and jeans. “Yikes. But, I’ll admit I do kind of dig the scruffy look you’ve got going on with the beard.”

Cas’s dark eyebrows were casting a heavy shadow over his cobalt eyes. “Gabriel… How—how is this possible?” he asked, stepping back slightly. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Well, I was dead. Dead as a door nail. But—then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t,” he said. He walked casually over to the table and hopped up to sit on it.

“What—” Cas gulped anxiously. “How?”

“Beats me. Dad up to his old tricks again if I had to guess. I was given some specific instructions though…” he added mysteriously.

Cas didn’t say anything and just studied him. He seemed to be quite the same Gabriel that Cas remembered. “What were they?”

“Oh, come on, Cas! You never did have much flair for the dramatic. You really think I’m just going to sit here and tell you? No, no, no… especially when you’re the only one here…” he said, glancing around. He jumped back down onto his feet. “Listen, don’t bother calling those flannel-swaddled jawlines back—first of all because your phone is broken—”

Cas glanced down at the screen on his phone and it was cracked and did not light when he pressed the button on the side. He gave the archangel an annoyed look.

“And second of all, because they will know when it’s time for them to know. Which, by my calculations, will be when they get back here in three to five days once Y/N is able to leave the hospital.”

“Dean said she saw you when she was unconscious or… dying,” Cas said. It was hard even to get the word out.

Gabriel smiled. “Did he now? How interesting, don’t you think?”

Cas was getting irritated with him for playing coy. “Enough, Gabriel. Did you save her life?”

He pointed to himself. “Did I? Y/N had some sort of vision of a mystic figure? Sounds like a classic near-death experience to me. Who’s to say if it really happened at all?” He smiled serenely at Cas again. “Where is Y/N’s room? This way?” he asked, pointing down the hallway. Cas frowned at the question but Gabriel only took off in that direction.

“Gabriel,” Cas called after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t have my grace but you do. Why don’t you go heal Y/N now?”

Gabriel gave Cas a doubtful look. “Yeah, I’m sure that miracle would go completely unnoticed by the hospital staff… Look, brother, as much as I would like to simply go and fix her, take away all the ouchies, I can’t yet. Y/N is going to have to wait until she’s released.”

Despite his usual playful tone, Cas thought he saw real concern in his brother’s eyes while he spoke of you. “Well, is it true?”

Gabriel was continuing his hurried walk down the hall, poking his head into every room to see if it was yours. “Is what?” he asked carelessly over his shoulder.

“You told Y/N you were her guardian angel!”

Surprisingly this stopped him in his tracks and he turned to face Cas, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “Castiel, you know how rare that is. I mean, they hardly exist. Only a handful over all the millennia,” he said softly. There was a strange light in his eyes and Cas studied his expression carefully.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

And in response to that, Gabriel only smiled.

Part 2

[snifflesthemouse]

Lilibet was a Marketing Mind Trick...

WARNING, THIS IS LONG AND NOT EDITED VERY WELL! SORRY! 

         As you all certainly know by now, Harry and his wife have welcomed their second child into the world. According to the announcement, Lilibet “Lili” Diana Mountbatten-Windsor was born 4 June 2021 at Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital. The announcement came two days after the child’s arrival. While the British Royal Family seemingly learned about the arrival of the second Sussex baby like the rest of us, one could argue they knew of the birth the day it happened. But I will get into all of that in a moment.

Due to the recent stork stop in Montecito, I felt it necessary to pause working on other posts to do this one. To say this author was left dumbfounded – no, completely flabbergasted – by the name chosen for the second child would be an understatement. Why on earth would this couple, especially given their recent claims and accusations, choose such a name for their only daughter?

         Now, I am fully aware the press statement issued by the “Press Secretary for the Duke and Duchess of Sussex” elaborates why each name was chosen, as well as the intentions of calling the child “Lili”. It even says that Lilibet was the “family nickname” for Her Majesty the Queen. One could argue the mystery is solved, that the name was clearly a nod to the child’s paternal grandmother and paternal great-grandmother. One could also argue the real reasons behind naming the child as such go much deeper than the explanation given in the well-crafted, thoughtful press release. This author is the one arguing the latter.

         It would seem a pattern exists with the Sussex family regarding nicknames. After all, Harry’s real name is Henry. His wife’s real name is Rachel. Then we have Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor. Regardless of the media source, most agree Harrison is a nod to Harry since Harrison means “Harry’s Son”. Which seems odd to me; even Harrison is borne from the nickname of the father instead of the actual name of the father.

The meaning behind Archie isn’t so cut-and-dry. Some articles say Archie is version of the Greek word “arche”, meaning “source of action”. Others say Archie means bold, brave, courageous. I’ve even read articles saying Archie was a type of anagram for the name Rachel. It must be mentioned, though, that Archie has been linked to HRH Prince George of Cambridge, as it has been reported several times that Prince George would introduce himself in public as “Archie”. So much so, some argue the name was essentially hijacked from the third in line to the throne.

When it was announced the couple named their daughter Lilibet Diana with the intentions of calling her “Lili”, the world responded with very mixed reviews. They essentially hijacked the personal nickname of the highest-ranking member in the British Royal Family for their daughter’s first name. Then, they decided to tell the world they will call her Lili, yet another nickname borne from the nickname they hijacked.

I know the Queen doesn’t own the name Lilibet, but I also know that the nickname of Lilibet is so personally linked to Her Majesty that billions of people around the world by now understand the link between the Queen and Lilibet. Which brings me to the purpose of this post. Finally. The word association between Lilibet and the Queen is so strong, it is almost commonplace. While everyone else is trying to decide if naming their daughter Lilibet was meant to be an olive branch or a jab, I see things completely differently.

To me, naming the child Lilibet has nothing to do with paying homage to the Queen or taking a dig at her. To me, the name was chosen for a few different reasons. The way I see it, every decision the Montecito Muppets make is geared toward their ultimate goals. Goals like cementing their place as super stars in the United States, as well as ensuring those precious titles and links to the British Royal Family are never removed. Naming their child Lilibet has nothing to do with digs or olive branches; it has everything to do with self-serving, self-preserving motives. It is their way of appealing to the US target audience while ensuring their Royal relatives in the UK are left with no other option but kindness.

Essentially, naming their second child Lilibet is a mind trick meant to remind the world that they are in fact still part of the British Royal Family. It was their way of garnering sympathy from the US target audience by showing “See, look, we have healed enough we can name her after our oppressor! See, look! We are forgiving!” It was also yet another way of using word association trickery to keep people thinking about them as Royals. Which is another future post I’ll be making; why does everyone still treat the expats as Royals when even Buckingham Palace doesn’t? I digress…

Whether or not the Queen was made aware of the decision to use Lilibet for the child’s first name is still unclear. We do know, however, that on the date the child was said to arrive, website domains using different variations of the child’s name were bought up with a quickness. Using the ICANN Lookup website, one can search various versions of the name as a website address and find that lilidiana.com was registered 31 May 2021 before lilibetdiana.com was. Most all the website variations are held by GoDaddy with Scottsdale Arizona billing addresses. A couple variations were registered with Oregon and Maryland addresses, though. You can search domain names and their origins here: https://lookup.icann.org/

I originally wondered if the Palace knew ahead of the announcement and purchased the domain names. But it would seem like that is not the case because of the billing addresses. For example, travalyst.com was registered by the Royal Foundation and has a London billing address. So, if they did buy up the domains, they did so through a third party to hide the fact they did. Otherwise, it seems like the couple purchased them. Still yet, someone close to the couple aware of the name choices could’ve bought up the domains with the hopes of reselling them at astronomical prices later on.

         The thing is, if the Palace didn’t know about the child’s birth until after the fact like the rest of the world, it would mean Harry and his wife cared far more about domain purchases than telling their own families about the child’s arrival. That is in itself, colder than cold. It reiterates my own belief behind why they chose Lilibet. But again, I am off topic. Back to why they chose Lilibet.

         Aside from the fact the name Lilibet has had almost nine decades to settle and resonate in the minds of humanity, there is another reason the name could’ve been chosen. You see, now when people hear the child’s name, they will automatically see the Queen’s face in their minds. That also means when the next in line to the throne becomes the one sitting on the throne, he too will automatically think of his mother when considering his granddaughter.

         What a clever way to ensure the child is on the receiving end of falsely displaced affections and a strong emotional response given by the next in line, even if the next in line never meets the granddaughter. Let me give you an example that better explains this. My husband always said if we had a daughter, we would name her after his father. The name would be varied in spelling to make it feminine, but nonetheless, it would sound exactly like his father’s name. My husband’s father died over a decade ago when my husband was in his twenties. My husband and his father had a good relationship overall, but his father had a serious drinking problem. His father didn’t stop drinking until after my husband was grown. So, there are expected hard feelings that exist within my husband about his late father. It would make sense to say the namesake would trigger those hard feelings, even if unintentionally done, that my husband still has regarding his father. He would think of his dad every time he saw his daughter. Thank God we didn’t ever have a daughter.

         With Lilibet, even long after the Queen is gone, the name will always trigger the emotions, thoughts, and affections held by the thinker. In other words, even though Charles knows the granddaughter is not his mother, when he hears the name Lilibet, he will think of his mother first. So, when it comes time for the future King Charles to decide on what to do regarding titles or involvements of Harry or his children, it will be harder for a sensitive man like Charles to be stern.

         Naming the child Lilibet Diana is a double trigger for Charles. But the first name is enough to surpass the middle one. In a way, naming the child Lilibet is guaranteeing the mother’s future hope for the children regarding roles in the Royal Family. It is not the actual, physical involvement they need within the Royal Family. They simply need word associations and links to the Royal Family to continue monetizing them here in the US; the reason the US is their target audience is simple. The US lacks the basic understanding of monarchy, and there is a common stance if you make it big in America, you make it everywhere else in the world.

         Since the recent attacks coming from Harry greatly reduces the chances for the wife to strengthen these links, the name was her only option. And now we even have stories coming out saying the wife is looking to HRH Catherine the Duchess of Cambridge for help mending fences they themselves ruined. Which makes me believe even more that the choice of name was a marketing tool. Just like people displaced their affections and love for Diana toward Harry, Harry’s wife is hoping the same will happen with their second child. Slick, slick move.

[ericamzdm]

S1E1 and Emotional Abuse

Apparently my feelings do expand beyond five screenshots.

So! I’m going to take the Catra/Adora segments from the first ten minutes of SheRa apart, with a focus on Adora. It’s going to be dry, and it’s going to be talking about emotional manipulation and abuse at length, so please feel free to stop reading if that’s not something you want to deal with.

Frankly, the Adora/Catra content in S1E1 makes my skin crawl on a re-watch. It’s not that I don’t like the characters - I’m actually quite fond of both of them! But this episode is extremely on the nose about what it’s means to be raised in an abusive environment, and how easy it is to perpetrate abuse when it permeates your sense of what is normal and how things work.

Before we get into the episode itself, a definition. (I did say this was going to be dry)

Abuse is:

Intentional - Accidents aren’t abuse. (although abusers will lie about intent)

Harmful/Controlling (to/of the victim) - harm/control is the primary mechanism abusers use to obtain their goal, rather than an incidental effect.

Beneficial (to the abuser) - Abuse is perpetrated to get the abuser something, even if just a ‘thrill of power’.

If it doesn’t hit all three, it may be bad, and it may make the perpetrator a jackass, but it’s almost certainly not abuse.

The first relevant scene is where Catra is late to class (sorry, “evaluation”). Adora’s “Where’s Catra/*scoffs* Not again/She’ll be here, I promise” is, in itself, fairly benign, but already shows that Adora’s concern for Catra veers into controlling territory. Who is she, to make promises on Catra’s behalf?

Catra eventually does show up, and we get a lengthy ‘playful banter’ sequence that almost reassures you that their relationship is reasonably normal and healthy. They have in-jokes! And laugh! And give/take jabs in good faith!

And then Shadow Weaver shows up. And this happens.

Just to be very clear here. Adora physically dragged a visibly uncomfortable Catra into an encounter with someone who we shortly learn (and Adora is fully aware) is her abuser.

BREAKING FOR A PSA: The above ALONE makes her a fundamentally unsafe person for an abuse victim/survivor to be around. I have cut people from my life for this kind of thing. DON’T FORCE PEOPLE INTO UNWANTED INTERACTIONS. IT IS SUPER UNCOOL.[/PSA]

*coughs* We now return you to an overwrought analysis of a Y7 cartoon...

Let’s review that definition of abuse!

Is Shadow Weaver acting with intent to cause harm as a way to benefit herself?

It sure seems like it! The intent and harm are self-evident. The benefit is a little harder to grasp - but ‘thrill of power’/intimidation would cover it.

Conclusion: Shadow Weaver is abusive. Also, the sky is blue!

Now, the more interesting question: Is Adora acting with intent to cause harm as a way to benefit herself?

...and (While the PSA holds) the answer is probably no. While the interaction wasn’t an accident, it’s pretty clear that the way it played out, and the harm caused, were not Adora’s intent. This wasn’t, strictly speaking, abusive.

It was, however, negligence and intentional ignorance that borders on abuse. Catra clearly knew how this was going to roll. Adora doesn’t exactly seem shocked by Shadow Weaver’s actions. So what the heck did she think she was doing?

The bright, happy explanation: Adora wanted her friend to be rewarded for her good work! She was being kind and selfless! She believes that Shadow Weaver is ultimately fair and rewards merit, because she’s just too intrinsically good to imagine a world that works any other way!

The ...less bright and happy explanation: Adora wants/needs Catra to be fairly rewarded, not for Catra’s benefit (“I thought you didn’t care about that!” is a refrain that will come up), but for her own. Adora needs to believe that the Horde/SW are as meritocratic as they claim to be, because if they are not, then her own accomplishments are meaningless favouritism; and to accept that would be an unrecoverable blow to her ego. So, into the line of fire Catra goes!

Catra rolls over, Shadow Weaver turns to exit and we get ...ugh, this.

A visibly distressed throughout Catra pulls herself together enough to manage a half-hearted ‘It’s Fine’ shrug at Adora’s Questioning Look. Adora blithely accepts the shrug with that smile (”Oh good, everything is okay!”).

This time, the disregard for Catra’s emotional state does slip over that border into abusive/manipulative territory. Adora is seeking (intent) reassurance/absolution (benefit) that requires Catra to bury/sublimate her own distress(Harm). The smile is the clincher - it’s what makes it clear that, from Adora’s perspective, this was the desired/expected response. Now Adora can run after Shadow Weaver guilt-free, looking for her Good Girl Cookies!

Not going to cover the hallway sequence in depth; will just note that it is itself a laundry list of abuse and abuse flags. Shadow Weaver is just all around awful, really.

A friendly reminder that this next Catra/Adora scene starts with Catra being happy for Adora! Tickled pink! Adora is going up in the world! They need to celebrate!

The upset comes when Catra is informed that, not only is she not getting an equitable reward to Adora, despite equal performance (It’s fine. She doesn’t care. she does She knows that was never going to happen.), but that she’s not getting any reward at all. And yeah, that’s upsetting! It’s grossly unfair, even by Shadow Weaver standards (we are led to infer). “What is her problem with [Catra]?”

(Unsurprisingly, neither of them recognize ‘separate the victim from their support structure’  as the blatant abuse tactic that it is, rather than anything they could have had a hope of influencing.)

And Adora comes up with this. This right here.

This is well over the line into manipulative/abusive - Adora is blaming Catra (harm) with the implicit goal (intent) of  avoiding addressing the fundamentally unfair nature of the situation (benefit).

As above - Adora’s self-worth hinges on the rewards she receives being ‘valid’. If she accepts that they aren’t - that her success is a product of favouritism (or, you know, victim grooming) - it would shatter her.

But this defence mechanisms is actively harmful to Catra; it prevents Adora from acknowledging Catra’s treatment as unfair/abusive. Rewards in the Horde must be fair; if Catra is not being rewarded, it must be because of something that Catra has chosen to do/not do, just like Shadow Weaver said.

(The Just World hypothesis is a heck of a thing.)

Oh, hey, we’ve got the first instance of Catra being genuinely mean. It just took Adora victim blaming her.

So, is this abuse? Let’s see.

The harm is easy - Adora is upset at being called a people pleaser.

The intent - Well. Catra is clearly aware that this will upset Adora, but is upsetting Adora her goal? And...I don’t think it is, really. Catra’s intent - her desire - is to have Adora admit she enjoys and seeks validation. That she is, in fact, a people pleaser.

And this is basic Hierarchy of Needs stuff? It’s like wanting someone to admit that they enjoy food and shelter. Of course she does! Everyone does! Adora’s denial here is low-key bonkers, and speaks to her dysfunctions around love and validation.

So what we have is: “Catra wants (intent) Adora to admit she benefits from the validation she receives, and thus acknowledge Catra’s lack of validation as hurtful (benefit)”. This isn’t abuse, because the harm is incidental. The upset Adora experiences isn’t necessary (and is in fact interfering with the goal).

All Adora had to do to defuse this was say “Yes, I do like being rewarded. It sucks and is unfair that you weren’t.”

Instead. Well.

We get this. A classic sorry-not-sorry.

Adora wants (intent) Catra to stop being upset and forgive her (benefit), so implies that Catra’s upset is invalid(harm) [she can’t be angry over not getting something she didn’t want].

Adora tries(intent) to guilt-trip(harm) Catra for having had other emotions, so that she will go back to being happy for Adora(benefit).

And it’s only when that doesn’t work that she breaks out the skiff key.

Getting someone an extravagant gift (”love-bombing”) isn’t abusive in itself, but it can absolutely be part of an abusive cycle. Adora has decided that, instead of assessing her own behaviour to identify and address the valid reasons Catra is angry, she’s just going to do something reckless and extravagant to temporarily please her. It’s selfish and manipulative, and doesn’t solve anything. All those hurts are still there, and are inevitably going to boil over again, even if Plot didn’t interfere.

And, just. All of this. All of this stuff coming from Adora is super, super unhealthy. A lot of it is textbook emotional abuse. And I know where she gets it from! Shadow Weaver is her model for a Reasonable Authority Figure! It’s a wonder she’s not worse.

But, I find it ... not a little distressing that people can apparently go back and watch this episode and go (depending on anti status) either “LOL Catra so terrible.” or “Oh boy, what a beautiful, romantic relationship.” Because. Yergh.

You want to know one of the things that makes emotional abuse so awful? No one sees it. Adora isn’t yelling or hitting or being angry, so it’s not possible that she’s hurting Catra every time she trivializes her feelings with a smile, or smirks and blames Catra for her own hurt. Why, Adora is sad when she demands Catra’s preformative joy! Clearly Adora needs that validation more than Catra deserves ownership over her own feelings!

No, it’s clearly Catra who’s at fault, because she’s the ANGRY one. She’s the one hissing and yelling and running away and pushing back about all this hurt that clearly never happened, because hasn’t Adora always been so wonderful and calm? If Catra was right, why can’t she be ~rational~ about it? She’s must be just crazy, bad, selfish, abusive.

And...can we just not? Can we just, for once, take a miss on looking at a fictional character who is being explicitly emotionally abused and blaming them because they aren’t reacting like a perfect pristine angel, and are at fault for not Calmly Discussing their way out of an abusive situation? Please? Just for this ten minute segment?

[cesabutterflywrites]

Will Bring You to Your Knees

Part [3] in An Angel’s Smile Series

“In his naked glory, the mortals wept at the witness of true divinity-and confessed to their many sins”

Summary: Janus Ethan Dannecker starts college with only a box, backpack, $300, and a ton of emotional baggage that is overwhelming. The broken home he came from cast a shadow on him that he refused to let anyone see. The scars on his body were no match for the scars on his soul. He made it his mission to never let anyone see where he came from. See what he was really made of. See how messed up he would always be.

That is, until Patton Mavers smiled at him.  Ao3 [First Part] [Previous Part] [Next Part Coming Soon] [Spotify Playlist]

Word Count:  1761

Story Warnings: past abusive childhood, angst, untreated/undiagnosed mental illness symptoms, detailed descriptions of abuse, cursing, implied/referenced substance abuse. Rated M for Mature audiences. Let me know if I need to add more, and read with caution!

Will Bring You to Your Knees

Janus woke up to the sound of Green Day’s ‘Holiday’. Well, more like he startled so hard he fell off of his bed and hit his head on the desk next to him. The sound of Virgil’s alarm blared in the small room obnoxiously. It was too early for that garage music, in his opinion. The assault on his ears seemed to have no effect on Virgil, who was the one who set the alarm  in the first place.  

 Janus hissed in pain, rubbing the spot and watching his roommate shuffle in his bed to turn off the alarm. Virgil didn't even get up, he just rolled over in his bed and immediately started snoring. Janus took a moment to stare incredulously. Who set an alarm so loud and startling only to just fall back asleep after turning it off? 

He cursed himself immediately. He had no right to judge how Virgil conducted his mornings. He was rude for even thinking about it. It was one more thing to hate about himself-the silent snap judgements about something that wasn’t that big of a deal. 

 He closed his eyes. He was so weary from his fitful sleep. He had once again been dreaming about his true self. The self he hid at all costs- the one who was evil. The version of him who was always screaming in his mind. He had dreamed of what his true self would say to Patton. He would break down. Scream in his face about how he would never be fine. 

 He sat there, leaning against the desk while he ran his hand through his greasy hair. He hadn’t been able to clean himself for a while before he arrived. He knew that the dorm had community showers, similar to what locker rooms were like. He had read about it in his brochure, and had dreaded the day he’d have to navigate the challenges it would pose.

 Janus sighed after he pulled himself up. He had his first class in two and a half hours, he noted after glancing at the clock by his bed. He took out his phone-an old model on its last legs, which would need replacing soon-and gazed at it intensely, as if begging the device to magically tell him whether or not he had time for a shower and crisis before getting to class.

 Realizing time was slipping away, he decided to go for it. He’d be in a dorm for a year, at least, and he needed to get over the fear of community showers at some point. It was ridiculous to be so embarrassed.  He could probably easily avoid having people see the scars all over his body...he hoped.

 Part of him thought it was too early in the morning to be paranoid. The other part laughed, because it wasn’t like Janus could ever settle down enough to let go of his insecurities. It was useless to even think he’d be done with his fear of the world. As long as his skin was marked, he would never be convinced of his freedom. 

 As he gathered his things, he started thinking of lies he could tell if anyone saw the marks covering his shoulders, back, and abdomen. He could say gruesome animal attack, but quickly discarded that. Too many follow up questions. Maybe a bully at school? No, too much sympathy. He grew frustrated at the lack of preparation for the inevitable question. 

 There was always the option of...not answering. Of saying it was private. There was the option for answering with that. Perhaps his father had been right after all.

 It was better for him to be silent.

 Especially his...if  the  angel were to ever see him bare chested. Those wonderful green eyes losing their light to the horrible sight. Janus conjured the image of Patton’s carefree face curled with disgust at the sight of him. He didn’t think of what he’d do in that scenario, and he wasn’t going to entertain that line of thinking further. 

 He grabbed his bag and towel. His heart was pounding as the worried thoughts fluttered through his mind like eagles diving towards their prey. He  felt his heartbeat in his ears. The halls seemed to grow never ending as he made his way through the groups of students also just waking up. He felt like everyone was already staring at him. Gazes of disgust were surely being thrown against his back as he walked past. If it weren’t for the tags scratching his neck, he’d think he was already naked. 

 Finally, as if the walk was five years instead of ten minutes, he made it outside the doors to the showers. He steeled himself, put on his brave mask, and walked in. 

 He nearly ran into a shirtless Roman. 

 “Woah, hey there Janus!” Roman greeted enthusiastically. His strawberry blond hair was dripping wet, which was a compliment to his wide grin. He seemed a little too chipper for that early in the morning. How was this man with someone like Virgil?

 “Hi,” Janus replied lamely. “Um…” 

 Roman was smarter than he looked, it seemed to Janus, because his face morphed into one of sympathy. His eyebrows scrunched together as he looked down at Janus. It was...unnerving.

  The pair scooted out of the way as another person came in. 

 “You’ve never used one of these before, huh?” Roman’s voice was quiet, and he held that damn oversweet sympathy in his eyes. What had Patton said to him?

 Janus just shook his head. He felt sick with himself, being so obviously out of his element, and the fact that Roman was being so kind about it made it even more of a slap to the face. Still, he stuck with the shy approach because defensiveness would not be helpful to him. Roman was probably trying to be kind.

 “Well, it’s not as scary as it seems. You hang your towel and bag on the hook right next to the door inside your stall, do your thing, and get out to change your clothes in the changing stalls if you don’t want to do it on the shower bench.” Roman winked at Janus, “Unless you forget your shirt like I did.” 

 “It looks like they’re all in use…” Janus commented, feeling very aware of the time ticking by. What if he was late to his first class? What if he couldn’t do this after all? How much time had passed?

 “Patton’s almost done I think, you can use that one after he’s done I’m sure.” Roman eyed Janus, his ocean blue eyes must have noticed more than Janus was choosing to show, because he offered to stay until a stall became available. 

 It was infuriating, on some level, to have people suddenly care about him. It was a blatant reminder that he was a fake. He wasn’t worth the attention. The only reason he was being treated nicely was because he had fooled Roman and the others that he was a likable person. 

 Then he had been rude to Patton. The angel with the loveable smile. His easy acceptance of Janus had been a shock, and he was met with dishonesty. Necessary little lies that Janus lived by. It was enough to affirm the belief that he wasn’t worth it. It was enough to make him want to confess it all to Patton-to keep him and the others away. 

 Janus denied the offer, but Roman stayed anyway. It was two minutes when the angel, that beautiful angel, walked out with a baby blue towel wrapped around his hips. His curly hair was a darker color from the wet, and barely touching his shoulders. The blue streak in his bangs was leaking some of it’s dye-Janus wondered if it would stain Patton’s skin.

 He was holding a black net bag that held his things.  His arms were thicker than Janus had realized, and it was obvious that Patton did some form of working out. He didn’t have a six pack, but his chest and abdomen were defined-with hints of softness where his hips and waist were. Janus refused to glance further, choosing to look back at the angel’s face again.

 Heat of attraction that he never felt before was at the edge of his consciousness. Blood made of desire made its way to his cheeks. He was sure that his heart had quickened its pace. The beauty, the magnificence, the light of this beautiful man’s aura caused Janus to feel grounded where he stood. 

 Janus’s mask crumbled. He knew he was ogling, but it was as if there was a halo of light in the mist around Patton as he made his way with his clothing bag to one of the changing stalls. The spell broke, and he was grateful Patton hadn’t noticed him. He let out a breath, and looked to see Roman grinning at him cheekily. 

 “Did you like the view?” Roman teased. He wasn’t being mean, of course. Roman didn’t seem the type to be malicious. 

 Janus’ annoyance with Roman slipped through as he rolled his eyes. He refused to acknowledge that he was still blushing. “Thank you for your help Roman. Have a good day.” 

 Janus passed as Patton walked out of the stall dressed in a blue polo shirt with khaki pants. His face was clear of the leaked dye, miraculously. His hair was starting to curl again. He was wearing his glasses, framing his face perfectly. He looked like a baseball dad more than a college student. His hair was still wet, but shaggier from the towel. His face brightened when he caught Janus’ arm.

 “Hi Janus,” he smiled, “Hope you have a good day. Good luck!” 

 Janus held onto that phrase. His arm was caught in tingles from the brief gesture of affection. He hadn’t even flinched! Even after he had acted rude the other night, Patton was still nice to him. Maybe the care the angel had for the stranger was real after all. Or maybe he was just nice to everyone. Either way, Janus felt a spark of what could be considered genuine joy. 

 “Darn it Roman, where is your shirt?” he heard Patton chastise his roommate. Roman naturally laughed off the question

 Janus giggled to himself, and braved his first shower with ease. As he made his way to class after, all he could think about was Patton telling him to have a good day. He hadn’t even had time to worry about how he looked in front of the angel. 

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TAGLIST: @omgsomeonesomewhereonearth , @deceits-left-glove ​ , @louistownsmyass

Let me know if you wanna be on the taglist for this story or any of my other ships!

[Masterpost of all my writings]

[chaoslaura]

Can this be for Willex please. Fluff 11 “I’m so proud of you.” 

If it’s ok to ask, can Alex have a bad panic attack when he’s out with Willie.

I know Alex having a panic attack has been done a few times but I always feel like once he’s gone through it, the fic just ends and I’d like to read one where Alex is really embarrassed and Willie is just so caring afterwards and really protective.

Hi hi I loved the Willex prompt you did it was so good. Can I ask for them for a prompt? Fluff 11. “I’m so proud of you” I had an idea Alex has a panic attack, it’s the first time Willie has seen it happen, Willie helps him through it and he says that to Alex

First, thanks for the kind words I’ve gotten so far.

For this prompt I have gotten two requests that were kinda similar, so I mixed them together to create one story, I hope you like it though.

Read it on AO3

Warnings: panic attack, mention of self harm (nails digging into skin)

As someone who has never experienced anxiety or panic attacks, I didn’t feel comfortable to write a full panic attack scene in case I wrote it wrong because the only things I know about it are from reading fics myself. But please feel free to talk to me if I depicted anything wrong.

In retrospect it wasn’t perfectly clear what had set it off. It wasn’t one specific event, or person, or thought, rather the whole day was just one big disaster. From the minute Alex woke up nothing was going according to plan. Which wouldn’t be catastrophic per se but on some days even a minor accident could be enough to push him over the edge, and today these accidents just kept piling on top of each other till Alex couldn’t see over the mountain.

In retrospect it wasn’t perfectly clear what had set it off. It wasn’t one specific event, or person, or thought, rather the whole day was just one big disaster. From the minute Alex woke up nothing was going according to plan. Which wouldn’t be catastrophic per se but on some days even a minor accident could be enough to push him over the edge, and today these accidents just kept piling on top of each other till Alex couldn’t see over the mountain.

When his phone had gone off with a beeping sound and vibrated on his bedside table and Alex peeled his eyes open, he was confused for a moment. Why wasn’t the sun shining in his face? Alex would always wake up with sunrays covering his bed and face from where he didn’t close the curtains the full way. Liking waking up with the bright sunlight. But this morning it was different.

Peeking at his phone he realized it wasn’t morning at all, that’s why. “8:30? Fuck!” Class would’ve already started by then and Alex was never late. Never. It was one of his fears. Having to come in while every student and every pair of eyes was aimed at him and the teacher was pinning him down with a reproving look and writing with red ink into the class book that he had been late. To Luke and Reggie, it would’ve just been another line next to their name, nothing unusual since they started high school, but to Alex punctuality was a sign of respect and a part of keeping his day together. He always knew when to be where, dragging his other two friends with him because as Julie once said he had their collective brain cell at all times.

With a hop Alex sprung out of bed into the bathroom. While hastily brushing his teeth, he wondered why his parents didn’t wake him up. Didn’t they notice his closed door or his shoes next to the front door? They were aware of Alex schedule; they must have been knowing he was running late so why on earth did they just left for work without waking him? Alex could’ve worried about it for hours but frankly he didn’t have time for thinking about his parent’s behaviour. Not since it changed drastically after they found out about Alex ‘habit’ to kiss guys. More precisely Willie. His boyfriend.

Not having time for dreaming about his perfect boyfriend either, Alex raced back into his room and searched through his wardrobe for his favourite sweater, the pink one, his friends nagged him to get, saying pink was really suiting him and it would piss of his parents for sure.

Coming up with nothing after searching through it for three times, he came to the daunting conclusion it must be in the laundry. It was his feel-good hoodie, it was comfy and soft and warm, and just gave him safety, he really needed it today. Resting his head on the closet door with more force than necessary, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And one more. Come on you can survive one day without your hoodie. Alex tried to persuade himself and quickly grabbed another Shirt to put on without putting much thought into it.

He decided to skip breakfast, school lunch wasn’t that far away, and headed out of the door after making sure he had at least all the books he needed today. He always packed his bag the evening before but who knows what he could’ve missed. Standing in the front yard of the house, for the second time today, he was confused. Shouldn’t his bike be standing there? Racking his brain and shortly fearing someone stole it, it came back to him. His brother had it today since his own was in repair. Just great. Now he had to walk. Without one of his parents taking him with them in their car, without his bike, and the school bus long gone.

It wasn’t that far, but it meant he would be even later. He at least would miss the whole first period and could walk in the next classroom like everybody else and no one would give him questioning looks. Oh no Alex groaned internally; his next class was math. Right, today was Tuesday and his second period being math with Reggie. Reggie at least had an idea of what topic they covered this week, but Alex was completely lost, and he was pretty sure Mr. Smiths hated him for his lack of knowledge. He was trying, he really did, even hiring Reggie as his tutor but it just wouldn’t stick, and now he had to suffer through it while his brain was already distracted. Hopefully Mr. Smiths wouldn’t pick him today, that’s the last thing he needed.

Taking big steps to hurry up, he arrived quicker than he anticipated. Rushing in and through the hallways he stepped into the room just as the bell rang, indicating class started. Hastily taking his seat next to Reggie, he took his book out of his bag while Reggie fixated him with a questioning look, raised eyebrow and all. ‘Where have you been?’ Reggie mouthed but Alex shook his head, he would explain later. The last thing he wanted was for Mr. Smiths to catch him talking in class and getting another mark.

Even though he was physically there now, his brain decided to race in the other direction. It worked on full speed since he had woken up and concentrating on the math problem written down before him was not achievable. But to his luck Mr. Smiths left him alone and Reggie passed him notes with the right answers to which Alex threw him a grateful smile.

Finally, after two more classes he walked with Luke to the cafeteria only to discover he forgot his money at home. His wallet must be sitting on his desk. Groaning he put his head in his hands and then carded swiftly through his hair with his fingers. He was really hungry, if his grumbling stomach wasn’t indicator enough, after skipping breakfast, but without money there were no possible means to get any food.

Luke sensed Alex distress immediately. “Alex? What is it?” Oh, yeah, Alex almost forgot Luke was beside him, having zoned out completely.

“Forgot my lunch money, tis all.” He replied defeated.

“I buy you one today and you can get me something next week. Don’t worry about it.” Luke gave Alex a pat on the back and marched on towards the doors. “Are you coming or what?” He asked over his shoulder.

Alex was so grateful in that moment but quickly followed his friend.

Sitting down on the table with their plates the others were already there. Meaning Julie, Flynn, and Willie who gave him a short peck on the mouth. “Hello, hotdog.” He greeted Alex with a bright smile Alex could only compare to the sun and a warmth spread through his body, calming him down at least a little, it was a side effect that always came while being in the presence of Willie.

Reggie and Flynn were deep into a conversation about frogs to which Alex could not contribute anything, and Julie and Luke were already discussing songs they could rehearse later the day and Alex wasn’t really in the mood to interfere with them, their energy was too high for him to match right now. Leaning against Willie’s shoulder while his boyfriend scrolled through his Instagram feed on his phone Alex couldn’t help but bounce with his leg up and down. The uncomfortable feeling from this morning still settled deep in his bones and it seemed it wouldn’t leave anytime soon, and Alex knew shaking his legs wouldn’t do anything but there was no harm to try.

A ping signalled an incoming message. Fumbling for his phone in his pockets he instantly regretted pulling it out as soon as he saw the name on the screen. It was his mum and she never messaged him if it wasn’t important and recently important messages meant reminding him to behave.

Wrestling with himself for a short minute he decided to open it and skipped over the text. He must’ve zoned out for a bit because as he came back a hand was seeking out his right one and Alex realized he was biting on the skin around his nails as he did so often unconsciously. Willie took the hand in his and laced their fingers together, giving him a small smile to say he was here. Luke who was sitting on the other side of Alex laid a hand on his shaking knee. “What has gotten you today? Are you okay?” There was always worry weaved in his voice and Alex was again reminded that today isn’t a good one.

Alex didn’t like having the attention on him and he was glad that Reggie and Flynn were still deep in their conversation, knowing it wouldn’t help if they stared at him too. He knew Julie was listening, but she at least scribbled on a piece of paper what could’ve been lyrics and didn’t openly questioned him and his behaviour. Alex knew that his body always betrayed him when he was anxious, showing the tell-tale signs when he was spiralling, and he didn’t have to say anything before one of his friends gave him the opportunity to vent.

Alex sighed deeply. “Just not a good day. And my mum wrote me. My grandparents are coming by this weekend. From my fathers’ side.” Pocketing his phone again to try to get the message out of his mind, he leaned further into Willie and found a pair of arms winding around him but giving him space to breath.

“Shit.” Luke let out. He was the only one of them who had met Alex grandparents, but they all knew how much Alex despised them. Having to put on a front whenever they came around, it was just plain exhausting, and Alex wanted to push away the reminder of their visit until the day arrived.

Alex nodded to show he shared Luke’s sentiment and began to play with the rings on Willie’s finger. Today was truly one bad thing happening after the other and he couldn’t wait till he came home and could slump down on his bed and just breath for a minute before he had to start with his homework.

He asked his English teacher if he could get any extra credits since his essay only got an 80 and his parents wouldn’t be pleased with that result but what else could he do? Hide the paper till his parents found out on their own? No, he needed a plan before he would show the note to his parents and if that meant extra work, so be it.

The end of the school day didn’t come as fast as Alex had hoped, the hours dragging by and with every look to the clock, just a few minutes had passed, and it might have been the slowest time had ever gone by. The buzzing under his skin that had started not shortly after lunch when Alex couldn’t help but overthink what could happen over the weekend didn’t help his nervousness and by the time he left the school building the skin around his nails was red and bitten down and Alex knew he shouldn’t but he had done it for so long it was hard to stop the habit.

Alex decided to walk the way home, the thought of sharing his space with other students on the school bus made his skin crawl, the fresh air should help clear out his head a little bit and he could put his nervous energy into walking. The faster the better till his calves were burning. Before he turned the first corner though, he could hear someone yelling his name behind him. Spinning around in case it was one of his friends he had to discover it was not in fact one of the boys but instead John. John, a guy with the most average name and most average face, had been on his case since he came out in school and hadn’t stopped yet no matter how often Luke threatened him with a serious ‘talking’ after school or Flynn and Julie actually talked with him while letting out their frightening personas that even made Luke and Alex take a step back.

Alex wasn’t in the mood to listen to John’s comments and hastily turned around to continue his run home. Not today. It was the last thing he needed today. With all the spiralling thoughts already spinning in his head he didn’t need another person pulling all his fears to the surface.

Closing the front door behind him Alex didn’t know when or how he arrived at home, the walk was completely erased from his mind, replaced with a static in his head and he realized once he got to his room his breathing had picked up. No no no come on; you know the breathing techniques. He told himself and tried to calm himself while he sat on the ground before his bed, his bag lazily thrown into the corner.

Alex doesn’t actually know how much time had passed until he sensed someone sitting down some distance before him. The tears in his eyes made it difficult to see the room before him clearly and he could only made out the long dark hair and colourful Shirt, trying to concentrate on the pattern.

“Alex?” Willie’s tentative voice pierced through the fog in Alex mind, but he could only nod shortly to indicate he heard him. Speaking was not yet in the realm of the possible.

Some more minutes or what felt more like hours to him, but Alex knew wasn’t the case, Willie’s figure stood more clearly in front of him and the room wasn’t spinning as much. His hands were still shaking and the tear tracks on his cheek still not dried. But it was better.

Willie settled beside him now that Alex could see him. “Hey hotdog.” Alex turned his head to the voice. “Is it okay if I touch you?” Alex gave a quick jerk with the head to say yes, not quite trusting his voice yet.

Slowly and so that Alex could see it in the corner of his eye Willie took Alex hand and opened the fist it was in and turning it around to inspect the crescents indents in the palm of his hand. Deep and red against the skin, not bleeding but he had almost pierced the skin with his nails.

“I’m sorry.” Alex voice was scratchy, and he looked to where Willie was holding him, shame flooding his body as he tried to pull back his hand and hide the dents.

But Willie didn’t let him, gently holding on to the hand and closing his own around it, his attention shifting to Alex face. With his other hand he wiped the remaining tears from the splotchy cheeks and then shifted a bit to rummage through his bag that sat behind him and brought a bottle of water to light. “Here, you need something to drink.” While Alex accepted the drink with a thanks and took a few sips, Willie’s gaze never left him, but Alex realized it was filled with the same affection Willie always looked at him with and not with annoyance or nuisance as he had feared for so long, afraid of what Willie would do or say once he saw that side of him.

Alex wanted to start apologizing again when he put down the bottle, but Willie got ahead of him, “I’m proud of you.” And that put a hold on Alex thoughts because what? “Huh?” Was all that came out of Alex mouth instead from his confusion.

“I mean it. How many times did you go through this already? Even alone? I know it’s terrifying but every time you bounce back, and I think that’s noteworthy.” Willie’s thumb was brushing over the skin on his hand and Alex was almost ready to cry again because no one ever said that to him and all he could see was a bundle of mess sitting in his place in his room, in front of his bed.

“But- but now you have seen what it looks like, how can you still want to be here?” The with me was left unsaid but Alex was sure Willie got it nonetheless.

“Alex, I don’t care how messy it gets, I’m here for you, always.”

To say Alex was grateful was an understatement but then something else came to his mind and he groaned, letting his head fall back against the bed and squeezing his eyes shut, already feeling ashamed. “I forgot our date.” Willie and he were to meet at the skatepark because Willie saw some videos and wanted to recreate some stunts he found cool.

“You didn’t forget. It’s okay, really. We have enough time to catch up.”

Before he could say anything else, they could hear the front door slamming shut and Luke calling Alex name and two pair of feet were heard stamping up the stairs. Alex looked at Willie questioningly. He was perplexed as to why Willie was here but also Reggie and Luke?

Willie looked sheepishly suddenly. “I texted them when I found you here. Sorry, it was the first time seeing you like this, and I was afraid I would do something to make it worse, so I asked them to come around.”

“It’s okay.” Honestly, Alex was a bit relived. The boys knew how to handle him. Did so for years before Alex even knew what was happening with him.

Reggie stayed in the threshold to not crowd him, meanwhile Luke sat down on the other side of Alex, taking him in and examining the situation. “Hey, how are you doing? We came as soon as we got the message, but we were shopping for Julie and Reggie stopped me from ignoring the red lights.”

“Could be better, but I’m okay.” He answered honestly, he knew Luke was always the first to worry over him. But know he was worried what other stupid things besides ignoring traffic laws the boys had done to quickly come to him all the other times before today.

Luke didn’t give him time to ponder over it. “If you good to get up we can take this to the couch.” He proposed.

“Great idea. And I doubt it was ever a better time for ice cream.” Reggie said already on his way to the kitchen.

“You just want to take the opportunity to get your hands on the deluxe stuff Mrs. Mercer always buys.” Luke half yells after him and Willie snickered from where he was still sitting next to Alex, hand clasped around him. Alex meanwhile tried to gather his remaining energy to stand up with a little bit of help from Willie.

The couch was way better than the floor in his room, definitely more comfortable and providing more space for all of them. Alex was seated between Willie’s legs and leaned into his chest, a blanket over them to keep Alex warm and he really appreciated that his boyfriend didn’t left after the whole mess he had to witness. Willie who sensed Alex shift in demeanour and could feel him tensing up against him, hooked his chin over Alex shoulder and whispered in his hear so the other two couldn’t overhear them. “I love you Alex.”

Alex cheeks turned a bit red but luckily no one commented on it, Luke and Reggie were deep into an argument about the best feel-good movie, finally resting the case on Rise of the Guardians while Luke pouted in his corner of the couch that the others weren’t willing to watch Back to the Future. Again. But with a pint of ice cream in his hand, his pout quickly dissolved into a small smile and he regularly glanced beside him to make sure Alex was doing okay.

Alex was indeed content were he was, in the arms of his boyfriend, sharing the ice cream with him, breathing in the scent that relaxed him further until his eyes were almost closing on their own accord. He always got sleepy after, all energy drained from him and he slipped further into the embrace until he fell asleep after initially only wanting to rest his eyes for a bit.

Willie noticed when his boyfriend didn’t try to steel from the ice cream anymore and put it aside in favour of carding through Alex hair, making sure he was comfortable while sleeping.

Luke and Reggie were giving him a thankful smile. “Thank you for being there for him.” Reggie spoke up with much more earnest Willie was used from him.

“I didn’t do anything. I was just nervous to make it worse for him.”

Luke put a hand on his shoulder. “You couldn’t. You did great. Alex has been in a much worse state before we found him. Just stay by his side no matter what. We’re glad he has you. With his parents and these assholes from school, he needs every support he can get even though he wouldn’t admit that so outright.”

Willie smiled to himself. The boys never gave him the stern talking when Alex and him had gotten together but he had sensed the protectiveness coming from them whenever he was around the first times, only fading away after a few months, and Willie would make sure to never get on their bad sides, not that he wanted to. If it meant to stand by Alex side with his anxiety and watch animation movies (or Back to the Future five times for Luke and Star Wars seven times for Reggie) with him and the boys while eating sweets and talking nonsense to distract Alex mind for a while, he wouldn’t trade it for the world.                                  

[soundofseventeen]

Cupid’s Chokehold (Kwon Soonyoung)

Hi, I’m excited for this one!!!! I haven’t written anything this good for Hoshi since 7 Things, so here we are!!! I hope y’all like it!!!!!

Inspo: Cupid’s Chokehold

Word count: 6910

Relationship fourteen: met at an amusement park where he hit on the person operating a ride; ended over Soonyoung being 10 minutes late to a date. Time together: Three days short of a four month relationship.

*

Relationship fifteen: met at one of the shopping malls when he was ordering a juice at the food court; ended over Soonyoung racing to keep you company when your date stood you up at a coffee shop. Time together: 24 days.

*

Relationship sixteen:

“Guys, guys, guys, meet my girlfriend!”

In the split second that you looked up from the Superstar Pledis game, you lost your momentum, missed one of the notes, and lost any hope that you could beat the high score challenge, so you just hoped that Soonyoung’s latest fling would be worth losing this. Okay you were exaggerating a little but in your defense you needed all the RP points to help upgrade one of your better cards. You let yourself fail the game and looked up again with a smile on your face. 

“Hi!” Mingyu said brightly, beating you to the punchline and pushing your legs off his lap to stand up and introduce himself better. He took one of her hands in both of his and shook it eagerly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” 

You noted that while a little awkward, she didn’t look terrible. (Not that you were judging, but a lot of Soonyoung’s….past loves weren’t always the nicest.You’re looking at relationships three, six and seven here.) 

“You must be Y/N. Soonie talks about you all the time.” 

Soonie.

It took all your self control to not wrinkle your nose in disdain. Literally, every one of his exes called him that, so naturally you hated it. Okay not hated, but it made you wonder if the nickname held some kind of curse because not one relationship succeeded.

“The one and only.” You did however, squint your eyes at her, not recognizing her. “I’m sorry I don’t think we met.”

“I’m Aiko. I work at the vet where Soonie occasionally brings his dog in.”

Ah, no wonder he’s been bugging Seungcheol about his newest love and taking Kkooma out. You opted to stay quiet and not bust your best friend. Yet. He would eventually bust himself. But you had to admit that you were impressed with how often he changed parts of his persona...at least when you didn’t have to scold him how it wasn’t necessary and that the right person would adore him the way he was. 

But, you still had to give her the credit where it was due. “Awww. Which is your favorite pet that’s been by?”

“Definitely the bunnies. We have some clients that own a rabbit farm so we see them a lot.”

“I love bunnies!” Your lips formed a pout, almost crying at the state of fluffy tails and funky teeth biting into the vegetables clouded your thoughts. You snuck a peek at Soonyoung who had hesitantly pulled a thumbs up sign and you gave him the smallest of nods which was the biggest sign for Soonyoung to start smiling widely and that little crack in your heart to split open again.

They didn’t stay much longer; Soonyoung literally just ran to his room to change clothes and grab his charger so no one really had the chance to talk to Aika other than the basics to avoid the awkward silence.

*

You had long ago stopped crying over Soonyoung seeing past you and going for another person but that didn’t mean the pain lessened. (thank you relationship number four.) You were always “my bestest friend in the entire world” or “my platonic soulmate who knows me better than anyone”, never more and you hated it. You just wanted to one day be someone he saw in a different light or at least find one who was like you. Maybe that would hurt less. 

But maybe you were just happy that you didn’t lose sleep over him like you used to or wept into the armrest of your couch watching reruns of the shows you binged watched together.There was some normalcy back in your life but the pain still somehow managed to hit you as hard as it did the first time Soonyoung brought someone around you. 

“No, you dumbass! She’s right there!” You angrily flicked your hand at your phone screen in front of you. Okay, maybe you figured that if you experienced this in real life (as you had many, many times) you realized that even if the person Hoshi ended up with someone who was exactly like you, it’d be a blow to your heart and you weren’t sure how you’d react to that.

“No, don’t go with her...don’t you dare take another….okay, fine ignore me. But don’t come crying to me when you fuck it up.” You really needed to stop watching these movies. Yes, you always knew how it ended, but that didn’t mean your anger wasn’t real. And you just kinda highkey wished it’d happen to you.

“Please stop yelling at your phone and get out of this car before I forcibly take it from you,” Soonyoung threatened.

“You were the one who wanted to come with me to wash my clothes so you’re doing everything at my pace and I swear if you break-”

“Slow down baby...you’re goin’ too fast baby!”

You smacked him. “Listen, if you don’t want all of South Korea to know you’re here, keep your voice down.” 

He clicked a finger gun in your direction and slid out the driver’s side. “Gotcha. But seriously speaking, are you sure that you don’t mind that I invited Aika to hang out with us later?”

“I mean, I have to get to know her eventually, right?” You smiled a little at him. It had been a couple days since the initial introduction but you didn’t know anything else besides the obvious, and her lack of social media posts didn’t help. (You may have stalked her a little.) You finally unbuckled your seatbelt and slid your phone back into your pocket to bring two carts for your dirty laundry.

If it had been up to you, you would’ve come to the laundromat by yourself just have some time for yourself. Being around Seventeen nearly 24/7 took a lot of energy from you, but not in a bad way; you just liked having peace and quiet sometimes. But Soonyoung took it upon himself to use one of his only days off to accompany you and spend the morning with you. He even went as far as bringing breakfast to wake you up. 

He helped you with the detergent and softeners and other essentials because you would’ve been mortified at the thought of him taking your dirty clothes. You werent sure why but you didnt like the thought of him touching anything. He whistled some Shinee song as he walked inside, already knowing which spot you liked. But before you could actually start loading the washing machines, you needed to reload your card because this particular laundromat didn’t use coins anymore. 

You could feel your phone calling out to you to resume your watching and you were tempted to but you needed to do all this first. You took your money out the wallet and topped up the balance and once the washing machines were ready to go, you sat down at one of the tables, your finger itching to hit the play button and proceeded to ignore the rest of the world. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed but you were vaguely aware of Soonyoung disappearing for a moment and returning with the bag of breakfast, sliding a disposable tray to you and setting down a carton of juice. Then he quietly brought out a notebook and doodled on it. Your favorite thing about Soonyoung? He knew when you didn’t wanna be bothered, so he often found ways to entertain himself. Sometimes he watched his own thing; sometimes he read one of Wonwoo’s recommendations; and sometimes he worked on choreo. When it got too silent for his liking, he FaceTimed Chan so he could see exactly what he was working with and any adjustments that could be made. 

“Tell the future of kpop I said hey,” you said absently, taking one of the pre-sliced waffles and biting into it. The plot in front of you had progressed drastically, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to stop watching or keep it going because every move and every word hurt your heart. 

“You tell him! Okay Dino, it looks good, but now try the spin counter clockwise. I wanna see how that looks.”

You stopped watching long enough to put it away and focus on Soonyoung as he went into choreographer mode. Though he was sitting, you watched the way his hands moved and if you stood up, you knew’d be seeing them trying to mirror each other’s actions.

“Hyung, what if we did this-” you could hear Chan’s heavy breathing with the way some nonexistent tempo increased and the way his sneakers squeaked on the floor. “-instead of..” More squeaking and you were pretty sure he had thrown himself on the floor. “This? And if we circle around I’m thinking maybe Mingyu hyung, it could work.”

Soonyoung clapped, bobbing...or probably counting in his head, most likely picturing whatever he saw Dino doing, and smiled brightly. “I like it! If we can saturate the movement a little more-” more hand movements and a couple of foot stomps, “- I think we can get him to pull it off.” He stood up, made sure he wasn’t disturbing anyone else and mimicked the younger boy’s action.

You nodded along, breaking out into your own smile at watching him. Your heart ached for him, but you knew you had to content yourself with how you were. You couldn’t risk losing him.

*

“I’m telling you Y/N, I think she could be the one,” Soonyoung sighed dreamily. 

“So you’re telling me that because this woman makes you pancakes any time you visit her in the morning, she’s made for you?” you stared off into space, making a confused face as to how in the world that could add up. “You don’t even like breakfast foods.”

“But when she makes them...oh my god. I even told my mom about her.”

You didn’t have it in you to tell him that not only did his mom video call you and shake her head at the proclamation, but she also expressed her worry about him jumping into a new relationship every time he came home with a broken heart and how one day, he wouldn’t be able to go back to himself. You understood her; since Seventeen’s debut, he had been in 15 different relationships, more than all the boys put together, none of which lasted longer than eight months. (Needless to say, you kept track.)

“You believe me, right?”

“Eat your ice cream Soonie.”

“You know it doesn’t even sound cute when you say it.” He wrinkled his nose at you. “Just for that, you’re paying for our dessert.” He pulled out his wallet and slid it out to you. “Go.”

You pulled out his credit card, frowning a little.

“What?”

“Nothing...it’s just don’t you keep a picture of Aiko in here?”

“Nah, I’m new school.”

“Didn’t you steal one of the boys’ phones the other day to complain to the phone company that yours stopped working?”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault that I forgot that it was still updating. Shut up.”

You threw your head back and laughed before going to pay the nice lady for some of the best homemade treats you ever tasted. You patted Soonyoung’s head fondly, resisting the urge to wrap your arms around his neck and just hugging him for being so funny. Good thing too, because when the little bell dinged announcing a new arrival, the Japanese beauty came in and Soonyoung was up so fast, he nearly dropped the chair. He spoke animatedly, doing some kind of handshake you knew was only for them and then pointed to you, which you waved politely and pushed her your way.

“Always hyperactive, isn’t he?” she laughed when she joined you. “I told him I just had lunch but he swears the muffins are the best here. What do you think?”

“They’re good if you have a sweet tooth, but I personally like the cookies.”

“I’ll have whatever you like then,” Aiko smiled at you. “I’m sorry if I’m awkward by the way. I’m nervous.”

“About? Hi, I’ll take some of those too, and then we’ll be ready to pay.”

“Soonie talks about you like you put the stars in the sky so I’m a little scared to say the wrong thing.” Not the first time you heard that, but you heard it with relationship number 10 (you think.)

“Honestly, just treat him right, and we’ll be okay.” She didn’t have to know how unlucky Soonyoung was...the cheaters, the manipulators, the insecure ones who swore you were stealing him away, the ones who wanted him for his fame and/or fortune and even a couple who only used him to get to you. Every single one ended up with him at your house in the middle of the night and the cheap takeout place that delivered at any hour seemed to be his only cure. Most of the time he didn’t go home and called the leader to say he wouldn’t be going to work the next day. Some days, he used the time to go to the beach or out of town, but sometimes he liked staying in and watching movies...both of which included you.

“Okay.” She received the bag of sweets from the old lady and skipped back to her boyfriend who placed his hand on her hair and kissed it and then gave you two thumbs up. That was your cue to leave, despite him insisting you stay but you really needed to put your laundry away before you decided to leave it by your entrance until it was time to wash again. (Or so you reasoned with yourself to not interrupt them.) Aiko seemed to be the best one for Soonyoung so far, and while it still killed you to see him with someone else, at least she was nice about things. You slipped out, noticed only by your best friend who looked betrayed at you leaving but you texted him your excuse. 

It did, however, surprise you when you opened your front door and you cried all over again, the bitter tears stinging for feeling like a bad person for not wanting it to go as well as it was.

*

“Special delivery!” you cried out to the boys at Pledis in their practice room a month later. “I’ve got some things for my favorite boys.” Comeback season always proved to be more strenuous than the last and you hated how little you saw of them. In their earlier days, you would’ve seen at least one of them roaming Seoul, but alas.

“You’re a lifesaver!” Hansol took one of the plastic bags from you and dug through it, frowning when that one didn’t hold what he was looking for.

“I never said these were for you. I was talking about Nu’est.” (Dongho had taken your treats to his group mates though, but they didn’t need to know that.) However, you handed him the correct bag and he pulled out a small bag of M&Ms, yelling triumphantly and they took turns searching for their requested items.

“Where’s Tiger Brain?” you asked, looking around. He had originally asked you to bring him another pair of sweats because he had ripped them. Again. They currently hung over your arm while you picked the lint off of them.

“Recording studio.” Jihoon opened his can of Coke and somehow managed to drink the whole thing in a single chug. Impressive if not concerning.

“Why?” You counted 12 heads, three different times. No one else was missing. 

“Aiko’s here and she looks pissed.” Junhui then stuffed his face with the lunch you brought for him, in case he had said too much.

“I haven’t done anything!” Your reflexive defense whenever things had gotten rocky for the lovebird in paradise. Always true, but no one ever seemed to believe you until they had seen that you did indeed mind your business. This time was no different.

“We never said you did. Chill.”

“Do I need to go in and clarify something?”

“That might make it worse.” Minghao looked around to see if anyone would hear them. “When she asked for him, it was because she wanted to talk to him about his dog...or rather Cheol’s dog.”

So she found out. “It isn’t something to be mad over.” You had known people who did that, but no one ever had to stop working in the middle of the day over it. 

“When i went to ask him for the notebook with the new dance, she was telling him about the phone call he had with you.”

“Which one?” Now you could feel the annoyance tingling at your fingertips. You always called him and he you, none of which were ever important. The most recent one being him calling you at 2:33 last night (er this morning) when he asked if he should dye his hair red or green or maybe yellow….to which you yelled at him for waking you up. But how did she know about that one? For one moment you wondered if she found a way to bug your phone...it happened in relationship number five. Creepy and unsettling and the paranoia still hadn’t left you.

“I guess she saw you the other day shopping for groceries-”

“You know, sometimes my stomach likes to remind me that I need to be fed. Just a crazy thought.”

Minghao pointed at you dramatically. “This is my story time, peasant.” He waited for you to close your mouth again. “Now, I don’t know what the gist was but apparently you saw her and said something about going to the beach with him.”

Classic word twisting...relationships one through now apparently. “Yeah, we were thinking that after this comeback that we wanted to take everyone out because, you know, you all work hard and don’t take any breaks.” Originally, it had been just for you two, then Seungcheol and Jihoon had cut into the conversation, wanting Soonyoung’s opinion for something they wrote, and from there, Soonyoung said something about a leader line getaway with you, and then Wonwoo’s voice sounded and before you knew it, bam...beach day with OT13. You had a run in with her around that time and you talked about it, but she didn’t seem bothered by it. But you had felt sick now about it, so you smiled and handed the sweats over to one of the boys and decided to go home before you got caught here. On your way out, you picked up a few wrappers that they managed to throw on the floor and went to throw them away when you saw a stack of burned pancakes inside.

“Aiko brings him breakfast some mornings but when she’s in a bad mood, she burns them,” Joshua said quietly dumping his own trash in there. “It’s been happening a lot.”

You said nothing. The one thing about Soonyoung’s relationships you didn’t keep track of? How many of them felt threatened by you near the end. You had lost count.

*

The time on your phone displayed 12:46 am when someone knocked on your door and Soonyoung’s I’m outside text followed shortly after. You sighed a deep sigh, one that came from your tired soul because you knew this was coming and you could feel the beginning of end. The end being your patience hollowing before you expressed how tired you were of his stupidity and possibly ruined your friendship. 

“Let’s go out tomorrow,” he said as his greeting. “I feel like we haven’t done anything together lately.”

“Comeback season, remember?” You wanted to shake your head at him, noticing the way he was wired up and in the way you wanted see him

“But that’s not really an excuse to ditch you. My treat.” He smiled at you hopefully, pleading for you to say yes so you nodded. 

You picked up your phone, ready to place an order on the familiar app. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes! I thought you’d never ask!”

In the middle of his kimchi soup dinner, he spilled everything, not even looking at you as he told you everything you missed. You didn’t bring up being at Pledis or seeing the spoiled food, and you could tell he was grateful.

“Hey Y/N?”

“What?”

“Is there something wrong with me?”

You wanted to joke about the infinite number of things just to make him smile, but in his vulnerable state, you couldn’t, just because you knew how he’d take it to heart. (You’ve learned from that mistake.) You just shook your head. “You’re human.” He nodded slowly, trying to enjoy his dinner, but slurping but slurping the noodles so slowly. You sighed. 

Relationship ended over: Jealousy and insecurity. Time together: two months, two weeks.

*

Relationship seventeen: Soonyoung accompanied Jeonghan to get a car fixed and flirted with the secretary; ended over the secretary accusing Jeonghan of trying to scam the company when you somehow got involved saying you had saved some receipts; time together: 43 days.

*

Relationship eighteen: attempted to rekindle something with your neighbor across the street; ended over the neighbor being engaged; time together: 0 days

*

Relationship nineteen: befriended a tourist and offered himself to show off the sites and best places to visit. (No mention of you, but details); ended when the tourist had to go back home but the pair promised to remain friends; time together 20 days

*

Relationship twenty:

“You’re in my seat.”

You looked up at the stranger confused, the fluorescents of Pledis lights blinding you momentarily. “I’m sorry, I always sit here. I’m waiting for my friends to get here-” You blinked, trying to adjust to the lighting.

“Bongcha, you’re here!” Though the voice was very familiar, you were very confused when Soonyoung dashed by you and ran to the stranger….Bongcha, you assumed her name was, and hugged her. “It’s so good to see you!” he turned to you. “Hey you! I wasn’t expecting to see you today!” He made this grand hand gesture to the person he was talking to, not even wondering why you were here this early. “This is Bongcha! She’s my girlfriend. Bongcha, this is the spectacular, marvelous, beautiful, wonderful, talented, amazing-”

“Are you gonna get to the point soon or are you just gonna waste your breath?” Mini tour season, you guessed? He was only ever this hyped up whenever someone told him they were going to sing their hearts out.

“Y/N,” he finished. “My best friend in the whole entire world that I adore to bits even when I’m treated like this.”

Bongcha nodded at you once she looked you over, but didn’t say much else. “I was waiting to see if you’re done with rehearsals so we can go have dinner.”

Okay, she wasn’t gonna acknowledge your presence, which you were fine with. You weren’t here to see her, or even Soonyoung, really. But dinner already? It was still somewhere between the breakfast/lunch area. Whatever though. “Do you know if Seokmin is done with whatever you’re doing?” you asked him instead.

His mouth formed an ‘o’. “You’re finally gonna take my advice and one of my friends? I like it.”

“Gross, no. He wanted to know if he could tag along with me to the eye doctor and I said I’d meet him here.”

“But you didn’t ask me?” He looked hurt, despite the fact his girlfriend was there, clinging to his arm, ready to pull away when she heard enough.

“Our appointments are literally back to back. You’re not missing much. I’ll see you later though?”

“Okay, yeah...ye-whoa. I’ll see you later then. You’re really strong Bongcha.”

As it turned out...you needed a stronger pair of glasses, but so did Seokmin so it wasn’t a complete loss. He treated you (after looking offended at the thought of you paying your meal) to a McDonald’s lunch, raving about the time he and Wonwoo accidentally broke one of the soda machines during their predebut days and then dove into a different topic how they were hitting the road again soon just to blow off some steam and he was excited but he was gonna miss you, because he always felt like he saw you the least, so you offered to go shopping for some friendship bracelets so he wouldn’t be alone and the big baby really broke out into his big grin at the thought and ushered you out the door before you request dessert. If only your heart could want Seokmin the way it wanted Soonyoung.

Bongcha, huh?

*

Seventeen being gone meant that you could catch up (and even get ahead in some cases) on everything you neglected during your free time. Sometimes you wondered how you still had a job because of how easily you dropped it for them, but some mysteries didn’t need to be solved. 

You stocked up on groceries and snacks, and even bought yourself new bedsheets to change the theme in your room, nearly deciding to redecorate the entire place with a sudden burst of inspiration. You nulled the idea when you realized just how much effort it’d actually take, but you did compromise on silverware….and maybe even plates but nothing too crazy. 

You managed to spy Bongcha at the post office once, but she deliberately looked away before you could wave, and normally you’d be hurt about it, but there was no way that whatever she had with Soonyoung could last. You could attest to all the rude ones but it wasn’t worth telling Soonyoung about it. It’s not that he wouldn’t believe you, but he’d confront her, and then take you both somewhere to “work out your differences” and he wouldn’t leave you alone until you swore you were friends now. No thank you.

Most of the time when he called you, he let you in on the details of the small tour like who messed up the lyrics (he was looking at Seungcheol here), or how Seungkwan deciding to play marco polo in the pool and accidentally scared one of the kids when Jun pulled his leg underwater. You loved their antics and sometimes you wished you could take them up on the offer and go on tour with them at least once, but you needed your space from them. And before you knew it, they were finally done and they’d be back.

“Y/N, it could be her. I can feel it.”

Even in your sleepy haze, you could hear the ridiculousness at how he sounded. You paused the FaceTime call, clock letting you know it was 3:17 am and Seventeen was just getting home from the home country tour but he wanted to stop by her house first to surprise her. He had been giving you shit about always going to the first and last concerts but never more unless you had the money for it, but nonetheless letting you know the basics that happened, but now he was letting you know that he was serious about Bongcha. “Oh god.”

“I mean it. Like I talked to my dad about her and I wanna take her to home so she can meet them once we can go on vacation. You should hear the way she says my name.”

“Oh Soonie, you’re so cute. Oh Soonie, you’re the best. Oh Soonie…” you actually had to stop yourself from gagging. That nickname would be the death of you. 

“You know, it’s still not cute when you say it. I don’t know why, but I don’t like it. So just for that, you’re buying me lunch when I-” The phone clattered to the floor and you woke up finally at being dropped.

“Hosh?” Nothing. “Soonyoung?” And then you saw a brief flash of light, and then you could see the denim and you lost vision so you could assume Soonyoung threw you in his pants….or shorts….whatever. 

“What is this?!” You could finally hear him. “Who the fuck is this?!”

Oh shit….that was gonna be awkward. “Soonyoung?” Not like he could hear you but still worth a shot. “Hey, are you okay?” A deeper, unfamiliar voice spoke up, probably answering his question but still sounding muffled. You pressed the speaker as close to your ear as possible, straining to hear anything. “Soonyoung, don’t do anything stupid.” You could hear his deep breaths.

“I...you...and this...you’re joking right? This...it hasn’t been happening right?”  The way he struggled to keep his composure broke you and you just wished you could find the humor in how he spoke, so bright and so happy, the denial. “It has? Okay, well...have a nice life. Just delete my number. And you...I could so kick your ass right now. No, don’t get up.” 

“SOONYOUNG!” you yelled when you heard something break and a door slam. 

“Change of plans Y/N, I’m coming over.” He offered no other explanation and hung up on you.

*

“Is there something wrong with me?” The question you always hated to answer and with every heartbreak just made you wanna lock in his house somewhere and not leave until he didn’t have a rebound. He’s had cheating girlfriends before, but this was the first time he saw it with his own eyes, and it was different in a sense. 

Nonetheless, you were honest. “It wasn’t your fault, you know. Some people can’t stay committed.” You wanted to reach over and take his hand in yours, seep out all his pain and carry it with you, but you stayed put. He stared at his bowl of soup, not even bothering to eat it. Your own food remained untouched too, no doubt more cold than warm already. 

Soonyoung finally put his face in his hands. “What’s wrong with me Y/N? Why can’t I ever find someone who stays?”

“Do you ever think that maybe you jump into a relationship too fast without even thinking?” 

“No...I always make sure I’m over someone.”

“Twenty relationships since debut isn’t normal Soonyoung.” He raised his head to look at you, tears ready to spill out in case you said something to push him over the edge, but didn’t say anything, listening, waiting. “I think that maybe after your breakup, you come to me and then you’re here with me, and then a couple days later, it’s like you bounce back and repeat the cycle.”

“Where the hell did you get 20?” he asked, but didn’t let you explain yourself. “Where did I meet 20 people that have somehow made me their boyfriend?” 

“It’s just that...every time someone new comes into your life….you just go so into...and I don’t know...you swear they’ve become some part of your life and you look so happy….I don’t know. Twenty.”

“Do you really think that of me? Do you really think that I’m like that?”

“Soonyoung, it’s almost four in the morning; you literally came to me because your ex-girlfriend is cheating on you. You have done this every single time in the past. You just called Cheol to let him know you’re not going in tomorrow because you’re staying here. I’m sorry, but did you even ask?” you realized he never did; he just assumed you’d let him every time and you have. “Later this week, you’re gonna on your own doing who knows what because it’s all too much for you and you’re gonna meet someone. You’re gonna get to them, tell me about it and then it goes wrong.”

“It’s not 20. Hell, it’s not even 10. Am I that desperate to fill a void in my heart? But even if it was, why the hell are you counting who comes into my life?”

“Because I care! I hate seeing you like this. I can’t stand you-” 

“Okay, I’m gone.” He stood up abruptly. “I won’t come back next time.” He pulled out his wallet, took out a few bills and tossed them on the couch. “Here. I’m so sorry I ruined dinner, but I hope this makes up for it.”

“Where are you going? Take your money; I don’t want it.”

“I’m going to my dorm because apparently no one cares how I feel when I’m there. Good night.”

Relationship twenty (not twenty?): ended over a cheater; time together: three months; additional comments: thank you Bongcha for this fight. You just lost your best friend.

*

Much like Soonyoung’s relationships, you counted the days since Soonyoung stopped speaking to you. It’s been 87 days. Your texts and calls went unanswered and the boys pretty much made excuses about Soonyoung not being able to come to the phone when you called them. It didn’t matter; it was fine. You loved being ignored anyways. You didn’t need him; that's why you had your kdramas to get you through the heartache. At least things could work out in a fictional universe. 

Still you cursed yourself for ending up at Pledis and signing in at the front because apparently your pride wasn’t gonna let you have this. You waved to Hyerin who was discussing a possible collab with Beomju, but neither saw you, so  you went on your way to find anyone of the 13 boys who could help you. Your first stop was the recording section with Jihoon playing producer and Jeonghan behind the mic. Joshua was in the corner showing Seokmin how to play the song he liked and Seungkwan occasionally sang the lyrics to “I HATE YOU”  but everyone stopped everything when you opened the door. Although sudden, none of them seemed surprised to see you, but annoyed at being interrupted. 

“Where’s Soonyoung? I need to talk to him. Please don’t tell me he isn’t here.” Your voice sounded tired, and if you heard any type of rejection, you were sure to cry.

“Practice room,” Jihoon said at last, lips pursed, ready to tell you more but thought against it. “It’s a unit day practice so he’s probably showing them a new routine.” He turned his attention back to Jeonghan. “Sorry Hyung. Take it from the top please.”

Seokmin flashed you a quick thumbs up before handing the guitar to Joshua and you just hoped he’d be there. You ran into Vernon on your way over, showing you some parts of the latest rap, and you just accepted the bad omen. Because really, what could be worse than him saying “goodbye”? At least he treated you as if it wasn’t the last time he was gonna see you, but you weren’t sure if that was a good thing and then he disappeared into the room with the vocal unit practiced.

You took a deep breath when you arrived, preparing for the worst, and you knocked gently. You waited a few seconds then you opened the door and were immediately greeted with loud music. Chan and Minghao were stretching on the floor, laughing at some joke and Junhui wiped the sweat from his face. They weren’t surprised to see you either, but now you wanted to know who spilled that you were here because it hadn’t even been five minutes, according to your phone, but man it felt longer than that. The three wordlessly pointed to the furthest corner where Soonyoung chugged a bottle of water in record time.

“Hyung?” Chan called out and he reflexively turned around. “You have a visitor.”

He nodded and the boys dispersed pretty quickly, leaving only the awkward silence, tension and more distance between you than you would’ve liked. You took his sweet time coming to you, making you more nervous by the second. He normally ran up to you as if you had been gone for years and he couldn’t wait to be at arm’s length. You just wanted him to return to normal, or even just run you out of his life already. You couldn’t handle this anymore. By the time he reached you, you wanted him to stay faraway from you. Your hands clammed up and the fight or flight response kicked.

“It hasn’t been 20 relationships,” he said quietly. “It hasn’t even been half, probably half of those at most.” he kicked at the floor. “God why would you even think that? Why couldn’t you ever think I missed you after a long day?”

“You were never at my door unless you wanted to forget someone.”

“Do you think it‘s easy to forget you? Did you ever think that there wasn’t anyone else I wanted to be with, relationship or not? Finding you in everyone was exhausting. Okay, maybe a few of them did get past the whole, ‘maybe-I-can-get-over-Y/N’ phase, but, it’s hard.”

“No, don’t do that.” you shook your head, not quite believing what you were hearing.

“You’re my best friend Y/N. I hate everything we’ve come to because I can’t think straight. Okay yeah, maybe every time something finishes, I think that maybe I can tell you, but then you’re here next to me, and I don’t wanna fuck it up. Did you know I had a dream one time where you had fallen in love with me but i didn’t notice because I was flirting with someone named Minseo and when you finally told me, i was already with her, but you told me in a letter and I told you to get out of my life?”

“Soonyoung, who would be stupid enough to do that? Of all things someone can do.” And then you smacked him. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? Do you know much we could’ve avoided. I’ve kept track of all of them...everyone that hurt you, everyone you hurt, mutual fallouts, it’s all there. Why did you wait until all this happened?” You could feel yourself falling to the floor in relief.

“What do you mean why did I wait this long? I want to stay in your life even if you don’t feel that way about me.” He joined you on the floor. “I’m sorry for walking away the other night. But please tell me about shit like this because I can tell you how many girlfriends I’ve had. But that was my bad too…” he rambled off.

“I’m sorry for accusing you,” you stared at his shoes, your shoes. He wanted his shoe to nudge yours; you could see it; you wanted him to do it too. “You’re not exactly easy to forget either. I guess I forget that you’re a big part of my life and not having you around,” you took a deep breath, “it hurts. But I want you to be happy with your life choices and who you end up with, even if it isn’t with me.”

Soonyoung nodded, not really quite sure what to do with the information. He stayed quiet though, sliding closer to you until your shoulders were touching and he finally bumped his shoe with yours. He stared at his reflection, then yours, focusing on the way you stared at your feet bumping into each other. “Hey Y/N?” 

You looked up at him shyly, and you could swear you heard his heartbeat picking up. “Yeah?” He caressed your cheek gingerly and tilted your chin up to meet his maze and pressed a soft kiss to your lips

*

“Are you still there?”

You waited a few seconds before you answered, a smile making its way across your face. “Yeah.”

 “Okay, good. What are you doing right now?”

“Eww, I think I liked it better when you guys weren’t dating.” Wonwoo. “At least you spared us these conversations.”

“Nothing since the last time you asked. I’m in the living room right now. Are you coming over today?”

“If you want me to. How’s Tigger?” You could hear him say something to Wonwoo and the other person there, most likely asking him about some color schemes.

“Down for his nap. I guess the shot tired him out, but I can at least get more things done.” 

“Yeah, we adopted a cat and we named him Tigger; we got him earlier this week and we just took him to the vet this morning. Yeah, we’re painting the bathroom tomorrow. How much is the total?”

“Damn, move in already. You guys are gross. Wait, is that...Y/N guess what?!”

“What?” You jumped at being acknowledged suddenly. “I don’t need to go take him my credit card, do I?”

“No.”

The warm fuzzy feeling crept up into your insides. Somehow it had all come together after his years of heartache. His parents had been thrilled when they found out when you got together, and it seemed that the boys breathed collective sighs of relief at seeing you two, but nothing compared to what Wonwoo said next.

“He has a picture of you in his wallet and he carries it with him everywhere.”