#single point cane

[storytellingbadger]

The final addition to the Celestial Phenomena cast (for now) - Solar's Sun "Swift" as he appears in my TSAMS Celestial Phenomena AU in "Impact Event." Mind the ratings.

Imagine blinking and finding three years have passed, your little brother Eclipse Solar has vanished and your Moon Styx seems... different. In fact, everything feels a little different.

Because the body you've been resurrected in was stolen, and the original occupant - a kidnapped sunny-model from another dimension - is still in there with you, imprisoned to help you rebuild.

Kind-hearted and self-sacrificing to a fault. The forbidden fruit of his Daycare. The smiling ghost that haunts his brothers, even after all this time. Tribally loyal to his Moon. Has to reconcile how his memory poisoned everything beyond repair. May never be entirely happy again.

Spoilers below for end-game of the arc Swift is introduced in.

Has permanent walking issues due to the botched separation of him and Solar. Internal gyroscopes and locomotion animations sometimes fall out of sync, so he has a custom-built cane to help him balance. To steady himself more than weight-bear. Solar offered to make something really fancy, but Swift didn't want any children with mobility aids to feel theirs wasn't as good, so they compromised. There's magnets in the handle instead of having a wrist loop. Modelled to look like wood, but it's actually a special alloy to take his animatronic weight without being heavy or snapping. Has hollow compartment for band-aids, candies and sterilising wipes.

[freewayshark]

I know the Buck of today is a far cry from season 1 Buck but I did just think about him channeling that version of himself and physically squaring up with Gerrard the way he did Athena in the pilot and. I need that to happen now

[glaseado-gym-official]

Oh hey, fellow cane user! What sort of cane do you use? Do you have ice spikes for it?

@gotta-pet-em-all

Oh, uh, hello... Most days I can get by using my single point cane... Which I have ice spikes for, yeah... Still have the wheelchair I used from when I couldn't walk though. So, I guess that would be an alternative option if I started feeling really bad, or something.

[trans-yllz]

I got a cane like last week to see if it helps w my Issues and I assume it's because I am a Young Person but people out in public have been giving me the most insane looks. hello can I help you,

[adxmanial]

Ive been suffering from severe nerve pain going along my like… lower back/leg for a few months now and it comes and goes and I’m being so not brave about it

[zymstarz]

RWBY V9 E8 !?!??!??!?!?? OH MY GOD

[sunrisesnowfall]

i’m a fan of the carolina hurricanes’ team chef and no one else in their organization

[stevie-gforce]

Took my mom to her evaluation for her outpatient physical therapy program. Everyone thinks she's gonna do great! She might even be more mobile than before the surgery!

[cadaveerie]

cw: child abuse and non-sexual grooming

VEILGUARD SPOILERS (from lucanis' writing, a mission towards the ending and a little general)

About Lucanis and the Antivan Crows...

after finishing datv, I can finally say for sure that despite the fact that i find this game was overall fine, there are several things about it that have disappointed me. one of those things is about lucanis (and it's not even the only thing about lucanis that bothers me, but we'll leave that discussion for another time, because there's a lot to say about the writing).

in this game, Caterina Dellamorte (lucanis and illario's grandmother) is portrayed as a woman that's cold and demanding. not particularly nice, lucanis fully acknowledges that she's not exactly the loving type, and it's easy to assume things about her and about their relationship based on that... but for some reason it's never addressed that she abused lucanis when he was a child, by beating him and starving him. this is something that you can read in lucanis' story in tevinter nights, the wigmaker job, which was lucanis' introduction.

"Memories of sweat-filled days without food or water came unbidden Lucanis’s back tingled from where his grandmother’s cane had bruised his flesh for letting his guard down or fumbling his footwork. For years, he’d hated her. But his time as a Master taught Lucanis that Caterina’s cruelty was her way he was prepared for this life—that he survived."

I was waiting to finish the game before I said it, because I expected him to mention at some point but... no, nothing. I don't know if there's anything in a codex or something specific I missed, but even if that's the case, I expected it to be significant at all. it wasn't.

i'm not even going to get into what lucanis should feel about this. before the game came out i talked about some of my hopes for him based on the info we had about him, and imo there was not even half of that level of depth to his character. but i wouldnt have minded if the game went in another direction, or if lucanis simply just wasnt open to discuss it, or if he came to the conclusion that it was fine. i won't get into how "problematic" thinking that is, because i could understand that he tells himself that, and as a fucking assassin, i understand that he's come to terms with it because otherwise he probably wouldnt have survived in such a dangerous enviroment. i won't get into it bc as i said, i can understand it. my problem is that lucanis never says it. he never tells rook or anyone else that caterina abused him, or that the crows overall are very abusive and that they do this to children and break their minds basically in order to become emotionless living weapons. and if this is said in any banter, then i missed it in my 91h of gameplay, and i had lucanis in my party every single time we went outside. or it might be in a codex entry, idk. the point is that even if that's the case, that's not a great way to tell this info, especially when in the story theres no other way to learn anything like this about the crows. ppl that i talked to that didnt read tevinter nights didnt know this fact abt caterina and lucanis' past, they simply didnt cause how could they. I just wanted to say this because I think it's important to know if you like lucanis, or the antivan crows, and it's never even actually implied.

I also have many other issues with his writing, but the antivan crows are unfortunately also whitewashed. at least if you've played dragon age origins you know this, but our first antivan crow companion, zevran, talks about how he was taken as a child by the antivan crows. how he was literally bought by them as an orphan, and forced to become an assassin, and when he tries to flee, they attempt to murder him throughout the game. he even talks about how apparently some crows even made their members go through blood magic rituals to acquire abilities (SOUND FAMILIAR? IT'S LITERALLY WHAT ZARA DOES TO LUCANIS, ISN'T IT. HOW FUCKED UP). i think it's so disrespectful to dragon age's worldbuilding and so appalling that they simply... ignored all of this. I'm very upset that this was completely whitewashed. i wont get into it, but i assume they didn't show the crows being awful because, well... they have to be the good alternative for government in antiva. the bad guys are the antaam, and that's it. but one of the things i always loved about dragon age is how they treat these sort of political things. as i said, in origins the crows were more of an antagonistic figure, but at least it made them feel more real and serious. and people loved the crows like they were, fucked up assassins. in this game... idk, am i supposed to believe the assassin guys are nice? why hide the ugly? of course it's gonna be there, and it's ok. irl it happens a lot that oppressed people have to rely on groups that are less than ideal for their liberation, and a lot of times citizens are kinda ok w it bc no one else will stand up for them, so they have to work w what they have, and they're just relieved theres someone there for them. and it also shows that people are not perfect victims. if you're putting ppl in a corner, at some point ppl are rarely gonna care about being "good", and it's only human. and im not even gonna get into being an antivan crow rook because... sigh, it's more of the same. just disappointing. rook even mentions that theyre an orphan. and im pretty sure in the final mission about treviso, at least if you helped jacobus, he is like "i'll take in orphans and give them a chance". oh man, yeah. cool. please tell me how you'll raise them to be, im so curious to see how you won't groom children and abuse them into becoming mindless cold soldiers. that's fucking insane. this feels like fucking US army levels of propaganda and grooming. i love when we normalize child soldiers that's so fucking awesome i love this "woke" game when it's pro-military and anti-fucking-questioning-anything-a-military-force-does.

i even wondered if all of this has been retconned or simply ignored. i dont have a problem w retconning overall, and it's only natural it would happen in a franchise that's as old as DA, but the thing is... why would you do it. it literally just makes them flatter, it doesn't make any fucking sense.

so yes. im VERY disappointed in this game and the writing. this is one of the many things in the writing that disappointed me. the antivan crows are an organization that bring hope, and im perfectly fine with them being portrayed as "saviors", but im not ok with them conveniently not addressing any of their very bad issues. it's unrealistic. it's disrespectful to our intelligence, to dragon age fans and to dragon age origins. it's disrespectful to characters like zevran, who got into an insane war with them for a fucking reason. it's disrespectful to every antivan crow character to be honest. and im sorry, i dont even think this is insane to ask from them. like.... im literally just asking for consistency. they had it already, i dont understand why they did this. i had faith in them, but perhaps that's on me. im so heartbroken.

and i promise i actually think the game overall is ok. it was fun. definitely one of my least favorite games, if not my least favorite, but still. i appreciate it, and LOVED. LOVEEED some scenes. in fact, it might have at the very least one of my favorite scenes from the whole franchise. i think this game has very low points, and very high points, so it's hard to say what i think about it in few words.... but there are so many things like this in the writing, and it's just SO upsetting and disrespectful. im sorry. im truly sorry, you don't know how much i wanted to love this game and the writing. you have no idea. but i have self respect, and i don't lie to myself when i see something i dont like. it feels like they're whitewashing the crows cause we'd be too stupid to understand complex political issues. i thought this game was mature and could handle mature themes, but it doesnt seem like it's the case anymore. perhaps bioware is dead. i still want to believe they can come back from this but......... the post credit scene doesnt reassure me AT ALL. sigh. im just upset and sad. and as i said, this is only one of my many issues. i'll talk about the rest in the future, but im writing all of it down and i need time for that. i hope you understand that this comes from a place of genuine love. sorry i can't be happy about this game, but some of the stuff i see just ruins the rest for me.

edit: someone told me that apparently theres a banter when you go to dellamorte's villa and lucanis *implies* that he was beat by his grandmother (at least to another antivan crow rook). this whole post still stands though. i think that should have not been a banter that i (and im sure others) missed. and again, it also ties to how i think the crows as an organization and their methods were whitewashed. even if it's not particularly a lucanis problem, it could have been to some extent addressed by him.

[linddzz]

I intended to write out ONE scene for the early days of Team Hextech, but these dweebs completely derailed me into an entirely different scene by establishing nicknames.

So here's a teaser of sorts for the wider fic @amahhi and I are working on, which is going to be snapshots through their years together and also a way for me to shove every Jayvik meta I have into one manifesto.

Stage 1: let me sell you on the whole nickname thing with Academy Dorks. Pure pre-relationship fluff and dork4dork energy. Nothing bad is ever gonna happen to these cuties.

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

It is surprising, how easily things come together.

Surprising in how Viktor has now been around Jayce Talis for over 72 hours (it is currently at 79) and he has, at no point, felt an urge to knock Jayce out with a sharp swing to the back of the head so that Viktor could have a moment to himself. Surprising in the fact that he is not actually surprised by this. Nothing could surprise him now, when the euphoria fills his veins like nothing he's known before. 

There is the magic. Of course there's the magic. The blue glow like a lightning flash caught behind his eyes and burned forever into his mind. There could not be anything but the magic now. Yet it was everything else that came with the magic as well. The freshly assigned lab that is, truthfully, hardly more than an old office with the furniture shoved out of it. The chalkboard being pilfered from the library in the middle of the night, because the single pathetic one the lab came with was a joke. 

There is Jayce. Jayce, who is the magic, the spark, the surge of life and energy. Jayce laughing in little hitched noises that his stifling only turns into absurd wheezing, because they couldn't fit the stolen chalkboard out of the library at first, not until Viktor made him knock the whole thing over so they could remove the wheels. Which, of course, had to be put back on immediately after they got the thing through the doors.

"We're going to end up exiled anyway after this." Jayce whispered far too loudly, sitting on the wet stone of the Academy courtyard, fully illuminated by a street lamp to screw the wheels back on because Viktor's flashlight flickered dark after five minutes.

"Fine." Viktor hisses back, "at least we will have an actual chalkboard." Which is a nothing statement, but it makes Jayce curl in on himself with another fit of little hiccuping giggles, so that's alright.

"I don't think they'll let us take the board, V."

That causes Viktor to pause for approximately half a second, considering. "Is that a nickname?"

The little hitching laughs stop, which is a shame. Jayce clears his throat and goes back to tightening the wheel in place. "Uh. I guess? Sorry, is that ok?"

"You misunderstand. I've never been given a nickname before." Viktor taps his fingers on his cane, looking up at nothing as he examines how he feels about getting his first nickname.

"Oh yeah?" He can't tell if Jayce is secretly pitying him or not, but it doesn't sound like he is. "What do you think of it?"

Viktor tilts his head one way, and then another, feeling his face pull into a grimace. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt Jayce's feelings, but he does not think that insincerely given adoration of the nickname would be a good early mark for the relationship. 

He intends on keeping himself in Jayce's life for however long his own lasts, by any means necessary. It's going to be a learning curve, figuring out how to have someone like him for that long, but he doesn't think lying or even stretching the truth is how he should accomplish this goal.

"Woah," Jayce says, and when Viktor looks down the other man is sitting, ass still fully on the wet paving stones, staring up at Viktor with sincere fascination and the beginnings of a grin. "You really hate that, huh?"

"No." He doesn't. Which he doesn't realize until he says so, but it's true, he doesn't hate it. "I am still deciding, don't rush me."

"Don't tell me you're grading my nicknames, V." Jayce huffs, and he shuffles himself through a puddle to get the last wheel on the last leg of their stolen goods. "I'm gonna have a panic attack over nicknames. And then I'm gonna have nightmares about the fact that I had a panic attack over a nickname, instead of over stealing Academy property. Hey. How come I've done more crimes in three days with you than I ever had in my life?"

"That seems like it is your problem." Viktor points out, leaning with both hands on his cane now, watching some curls of mist under the street lamp as he continues mulling over his first nickname. It's been given to him by Jayce Talis, who gave Viktor magic and who is now soaking his ass on the ground so that Viktor can have a better chalkboard. It seems a small price to pay.

"Yes." He decides, nodding. "It's fine."

"That sounds like one ringing endorsement."

"You wanted my opinion. Honestly? It eh, lacks creativity."

"What did I say about grading my nicknames?"

"Plural? No no, you get one."

"Hardass." Jayce grumbles, pulling first himself and then the chalkboard back up with little effort. Which is impressive, as it is not a small board. "What about me?"

"Hm?" Viktor is already moving, tugging the board around to make sure the wheels are all even.

"Come on, fair's fair. What's my nickname?" 

When Viktor looks up - intending to point out that making a nickname for a name which is already a single syllable is counterintuitive - Jayce is at the other end of the board, grinning a blinding and crooked grin. His hair is a mess, with the mist depositing little gleaming drops of diamonds against the black. There's an eagerness, nearly a hunger, in his bright hazel eyes as he waits for Viktor's nickname. All of that, beaming at him from the other side of the board that Jayce agreed to steal at an obscene hour of the night for him. There are dimples.

"Lásko." He says, as naturally as a heartbeat, as easily as blinking. It's hardly a revelation for him. Viktor has already spent 77 of the past 79 hours reconfiguring his ideological stances on the concept of soulmates. 

Jayce snorts, his grin falling, but not into a shocked disgust or even displeasure at the foreign sound. Instead, he sets his formidable jawline forward and pouts.

"I want a do over. That sounds so much cooler." He groans.

Ask me what it means. 

Scratch that. Do not ask me that. However long one is supposed to wait before saying love, I am sure that I am under that mark. 

"No do overs. Even I know that about nicknames."

"You don't make the nickname rules! You never even had one before!"

"No do overs."

"Ok! Fine! Congrats on being stuck with V!"

[writtenfangirl]

Madness

I wrote this so long ago and then abandoned it because I didn’t know if the ending was satisfactory or not. I thought it would have a greater plot as well but when I couldn’t find it, I was dissatisfied until I reread it and realized the prose was too good not to publish.

Fluff but also a little bit of angst if you squint hard enough.

In which Benedict Bridgerton finally reveals the truth.

She was beautiful. Too beautiful, if Benedict was being perfectly honest with himself. Not the kind of beauty that had him picking up a paint brush and painstakingly striking an easel with lovely swirls of color but the kind of beauty that distracted him, made him brood in a dim corner of the room, watching the little twists of her mouth and the subtle way she arched a brow. Beauty to the point of distraction, like spending hours watching shooting stars dash across the night sky, not realizing as dawn approached on the horizon.

It was utterly maddening.

She was utterly maddening.

How was he meant to live, to exist and breathe, to witness such great beauty and yet have none of the capacity, the right, to keep it?

Just a glance from her, a single curve of her lips, and Benedict could feel his faith in God strengthening as easily as he could deny the Lord’s existence. Only a benevolent God could create such ecstatic beauty and yet no benevolent God could exist in this world if Benedict had to bear the cruelty of Y/N’s indifference.

Maddening.

He sighed, the sound bereft as he continued to watch her charm the eligible men of the ton. She had a veritable cabal of men gathered around her and if any other debutant had been in her position, they surely would have been overwhelmed by now.

But not Y/N.

Never Y/N.

With her head held high and her smile demure, she directed the men as easily as if she was holding court. A slight clearing of the throat and already, someone had a glass of lemonade in their hand while a flap of her hand would have the men falling over themselves in an attempt to get her a chair.

A queen holding court, indeed.

Benedict rolled his eyes at the man to her right, who practically shoved at the man on his left in order to catch Y/N’s attention. Not that it really mattered though, especially not when Y/N’s attention was focused on Benedict.

Even from across the room, the tension between them felt palpable. Exhilarating. It always had been with Y/N. Thick and smooth, the connection between them as tangible as their own beating hearts. Just a shared look between them and the world fell silent, the edges of his vision practically darkening at the edges until he saw only her.

Beautiful. Even as her face contorted with hurt for the briefest of seconds, her eyes pulling away from him and returning to the crowd of men that surrounded her.

Benedict gritted his teeth, the only sign of annoyance he let himself show.

“I see you are not quite so enamored with our diamond.”

Benedict’s head whipped to the left, finding Lady Danbury watching him with those shrewd eyes of hers. The old crone had her cane gripped tightly in her hands and Benedict fought his grimace at the phantom pain that shot up from his ankles. The dowager countess had a terrible habit of whacking gentlemen she didn’t like with that sturdy cane of hers and Benedict had felt the brunt of that pain far too many times for his liking.

Still, as a gentleman, he couldn’t very well ignore the woman. It would have been terribly rude of him to and it went against every fiber of the etiquette that had been drilled to him as a child.

He spared Y/N another glance before he spoke. “You think all those men enamored with her?”

“I think they think themselves enamored by her,” Lady Danbury said. “She is quite a beauty and accomplished too, I hear. Are you acquainted with the young lady?”

He had been, when he was young. As recently as a few months ago, Benedict had counted Y/N as one of his dearest friends but with everything that transpired between them…

“We are familiar with one another.”

Lady Danbury arched a brow, directing her attention back to Y/N. She was animatedly speaking with Anthony and Colin, the only time the entire evening where her smile didn’t seem a little bit forced. “Your brothers seem friendly with her. Why aren’t you?”

Because he was a stupid, bloody, idiot who didn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut, that’s why.

But his pride would never let him say that, especially not in front of Lady Danbury. “We are familiar with each other.” He repeated, voice tight.

Lady Danbury’s eyes flickered. “I seem to recall your mother telling me about how you and the Lady Y/N were thick as thieves not so long ago.”

Bloody hell, the old crone was relentless. He didn’t want to talk about his and Y/N’s falling out, especially not with her.

He suddenly whirled, cocking his head to the side. “Oh, I believe I hear someone calling me.”

No one was calling him but not even his impeccable manners could make him stay.

Lady Danbury harrumphed. “I may be old, boy, but I am not deaf.”

“Definitely hear someone calling me.” Benedict even cupped a hand, placing it on the side of his mouth before he yelled a quick, “I’ll be right there!” He turned back to Lady Danbury, who was looking at him as if she knew his claims were a lie. “Lady Danbury, if you’ll excuse me.”

The dowager countess simply gave Benedict a knowing look yet let him go.

He ducked into the crowd towards… bloody hell he couldn’t find anyone he would rather talk to. His brothers were still off speaking with Y/N and he didn’t feel like speaking with his mother, who would likely hound him about his fight with Y/N. Which left the last person of their party, Eloise. A quick scan of the room revealed his sister in the other side of the room, conspiratorially whispering to her best friend, Penelope Featherington.

He zoomed towards them, turning his back on Y/N and Lady Danbury.

Eloise caught his eye as he approached and her lips pursed in displeasure. “Why do you look as if you’re expecting me to bail you out of a horrible situation.”

“Can’t I see my favorite sister with joy in my face without being suspected of ill intent?”Benedict said with a grin before bowing to Penelope, who returned the gesture with her own curtsy.

Penelope ducked her head to suppress a giggle.

Eloise rolled her eyes at him. “What do you want?”

“To ask you why you’re sulking in a corner instead of dancing despite—“ he pulled at the dance card in her wrist, every single line filled with names that were unfamiliar to him. “Did you put fake names in your dance card?”

Eloise snatched her wrist back. “Yes. I thought that with Y/N grabbing the attention of so many of the gentlemen, I would be spared the embarrassment of having to entertain any gentlemen tonight. Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

Benedict turned to Penelope. “How many approached her?”

“Six,” Penelope smirked, “and those six quickly turned right back around.”

“Well with a full dance card, I’m not at all surprised.”

Eloise rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Spare me the lecture, brother. I’m sure I’ll hear enough from mother tonight.”

“She caught you?”

“After Eloise turned down the sixth one, Lady Violet began to suspect,” Penelope explained.

Benedict grinned. “When have you known me to lecture you?”

She gave him a saccharine smile, the kind that Benedict always knew would end with her barbed words. “Aren’t you meant to be fawning over Y/N? You’d done it most of our life.”

He bristled at her words.

Penelope shot them a curious look. “You never told me you were acquainted with the lady?”

“Hadn’t I?” Eloise frowned. “Lady Y/L/N’s family and ours have been acquainted for ages. Of course, she rarely ever came to London and if it hadn’t been for her father’s recent passing she wouldn’t have had a season at all. Mama had held hope that perhaps one of my dear brothers would begin to take some responsibility and marry her.” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper that was so loud, it still reached Benedict’s ears. “Personally, I always thought Benedict would offer. He and Y/N had a special bond growing up. Even Daphne thinks so.”

Benedict had never hit a woman before but perhaps, just this once, excuses could be made for one’s sisters.

“So, well acquainted then,” Penelope said with a slight smile.

“I do recall Benedict pining after Y/N for years,” Eloise mused, uncaring as Benedict’s mood soured. “You never did tell me why it is you suddenly became estranged”

“Not that it’s any of your business.” He grumbled.

Eloise batted eyes innocently. “Irritable today, aren’t you, brother? Could it possibly be because of the cadre of men that hound every one of Y/N’s footsteps?”

“I have changed my mind. Francesca is now my favorite sister.”

“I love you too, Benedict,” she all but grinned.

He turned his attention back to Y/N, who, to his surprise, had taken her leave.

“She’s in the garden, if you wish to speak to her,” Eloise said, noting his wandering eyes and nodding towards the open veranda at the side.

“What gave you the impression that I would like to speak to her?” He tried to do his best nonchalant impression but not even Benedict was convinced of his own performance.

Eloise simply rolled her eyes at him before tugging Penelope’s arm. “With Y/N taking her respite, I imagine there will be a sudden influx of gentlemen who would like to dance. Let us make ourselves scarce.” And she pulled Penelope along, the red head offering Benedict an apologetic look.

He glanced at the crowd once again before letting his feet carry him through the veranda and out towards the garden. There were still many people milling about outside that granted them protection from scandal but it was much more intimate than the loud din of the ballroom.

The night was cool, the spring air serene compared to the humidity of the ballroom.

He spied Y/N, her back turned against the door. Upon hearing his approach, she sighed. “Good sir, if you did not understand me, I wish to be al—“ she turned and her words died at her lips at the sight of him. “Oh. It’s you.”

She looked even lovelier up close. She always did. Whether dressed in a simple frock with her long hair flowing down her back or dressed ornately with jewels adorning her, she always looked lovelier up close.

“What do you want, Benedict,” Y/N said, dropping that societal mask she employed inside.

“To apologize.”

She shook her head. “There is nothing to apologize for. You asked for my hand under false pretenses, I rejected you. End of story.“

“Under false pretenses?” He echoed, his own tone turning sharp. “You think my proposal to be insincere? Is that why you rejected me?”

“I did not think it insincere, I knew it to be insincere. I heard you and the Lady Violet discussing me. I heard when you declared your intention to ask for my hand in marriage simply because she had asked you to.”

Oh.

Oh.

He remembered then, the conversation he had with his mother right before he proposed.

“Propose to her,” Violet had urged just as breakfast had been served, with only Benedict and Violet dining.

“I am not even courting her, mama,” he replied exasperatedly. It had been far too early in the morning to entertain his mother’s insistence on seeing him wed to Y/N. She’d pestered him about it in one form or another even before the Y/L/Ns had come to visit the Bridgertons and Benedict knew she would not stop until he and Y/N were formally engaged.

But Y/N had just ended her mourning period for her father. And though societal mandates dictated that it was perfectly reasonable for Benedict to ask for her hand in marriage, he knew how deeply she mourned the man, especially since his death had placed her in such a precarious position. The late patriarch of the Y/L/N family had been fond of his only child, even if she had been born a girl. And Y/N had loved him, even if his death left her and her mother saddled with financial debt despite coming from the longest line of barony in England.

“What does it matter that you are not courting?” Violet demanded. “You have known her since you were both children. You’ve been courting her all your life.”

“Mama, please leave it well enough alone.”

“What is it that you do not like about her?” She insisted. “She is beautiful and accomplished and you have known each other your whole lives. Any young man would be fortunate to be bound to her in marriage.”

“I never said anything that would imply otherwise.”

“Then why do you refuse to ask her for her hand in marriage? Doing so would spare her a season in London and limit their financial troubles.” And then she had gasped in indignation. “Or is their financial troubles the very reason why you refuse? I never raised you to be avaricious!”

Bloody hell. “I am not avaricious, mother. I do not care about her dowry or lack thereof!”

“Then what is it? Do not tell me it is because you do not love her. I have seen the way you look at her.”

Benedict had eyed his fork, had wondered if perhaps, it would be a better to shove it in his ears than listen to his mother’s hullabaloo.

Instead he took a scone, spreading a generous layer of clotted cream and jam so his hands had something to do rather than maim himself.

“And how is it I look at her, mother?” He drawled.

“The same way your father used to look at me.”

At that he had paused, scone half-raised to his mouth. He hadn’t known what to say anymore. Mentions of his own father had always been capable of silencing his mind.

Finally, he had decided on telling her the truth, that his mother may finally stop pestering him.

“Asking Y/N for her hand in marriage had always been the plan, mother,” Benedict relented. “I was simply waiting for the perfect moment.”

Violet smiled at her son kindly. “There are no such thing as perfect moments, dearest. Only moments that can be made perfect. And whether you ask her later or tomorrow or next week, that moment will be perfect by virtue of you asking.”

She was right, of course. Violet Bridgerton was so rarely incorrect especially in matters of the heart and love.

Benedict had given her a smile, and said, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Well, since you so graciously asked me to, I shall propose to the Lady Y/N, if only to make you happy.”

That must have been what Y/N heard. Not the whole story but the end, when Benedict had teased his mother.

Now he was convinced that God existed and that he must be cruel. Only the machinations of a cruel God could have lined up the timing perfectly.

Y/N’s eyes flickered as she regarded him. “I do not wish to bind you in marriage with someone you do not hold any affection for. You have fulfilled your promise to your mother and have asked for my hand. I rejected you. We no longer have any obligations with one another. Good night.” She made a move to pass him, to walk back to the ballroom to her gaggle of men but Benedict’s hand shot up, gripping her arm and keeping her to him.

His hands were gloved and even Y/N’s arms were sheathed in silk. And though he had never felt gloves to be particularly offensive, he wished to burn the ones that covered their hands. If only so he could feel her smooth skin beneath his fingers.

The heady scent of her perfume wafted through his senses. She smelled divine, like walking through a garden of roses under the cover of moonlight as the stars twinkled above his head. Utterly mouthwatering, and capable of driving even the sanest of men into insanity. The scent of distraction.

Always so distracting.

Benedict forced his mouth to speak before his brain could forget the words he needed to say. “Do you think so little of me? Capable of such cruelty especially when it comes to you.”

Y/N’s brows met, a flash of pain in her eyes and then it was gone. “It is the opposite, really. I think the world of you, Benedict. Only a gentleman would offer to marry a girl he has no obligations to simply because of her precarious position in life. You are an honorable man and any woman would be lucky to call you their husband. It is why I cannot accept your proposal, not when you do not love me. Not when there is no one on this world more deserving of love than you.”

Benedict frowned at her. “Why do you continue to insist that I do not love you?”

“Because you do not!” She pulled away from him, wrenching her hand from his grasp. Her eyes were pure anguish as she looked at him and the very sight of her pain had him staggering back. “If you truly held any affection for me, I would know. I have studied you all our lives, Benedict. And in all the time we shared together, you had never shown any affection for me beyond that of a friend. Your proposal hurt, Benedict. I have loved you in every way a man could be loved for so long and for you to ask for my hand in marriage out of pity—“ She choked, eyes widening as if she didn’t mean to say the things she’d said.

“You love me?” He echoed, heart beating quickly in his chest. He wondered, briefly, if his fast beating heart marks the day he really lived. If Y/N’s confession had been the reason he truly felt alive for the first time in his life.

Her face crumpled in pain as she stepped back. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have said those things. Please take your leave, Benedict. That I may salvage whatever scraps of my dignity is left.”

But Benedict did no such thing.

Instead he took her hands and lowered himself into a kneel, setting his eyes upon her. The arching light of the manor spilled over the veranda casted her in a soft glow that took his very breath away.

Y/N’s eyes widened in alarm and whatever pain she held there was washed away by her surprise. “Benedict, what are you doing?”

“Begging you for forgiveness.”

“What? Benedict, get up.”

But he held firm, his determination cementing his knees to the ground. “Forgive me, Y/N, for my grave transgressions against you. That you had ever lived your life doubting my affections for you, or wondering if I cared for you as more than a friend are sins I will carry with me to my last breath. It will be my great shame that I had not made it abundantly clear that I love you. Because I do love you. Most ardently.”

“Benedict, get up. This is madness—“

“You are right. It is madness. The way I feel for you would drive the sanest of people into lunacy. But if loving you is madness then I don’t ever wish to be sane.”

Her eyes gleamed silver with unshed tears that threatened to fall from her pretty eyes. “B-But that morning, the day you proposed—“

“I did not propose to you out of pity for you, I did it out of pity for me. I needed to put myself out of my misery and finally marry the only girl I ever had the privilege of falling in love with rather than continue pining after you in secret.”

She let out a a laugh through her tears, the sound like bells chiming during a storm. Light and beautiful despite the pouring rain that threatened to drown it out. “Ask me again.”

His heart leapt to his throat, pounding so quickly he struggled to get the words out. But they came nonetheless, the words clear and betraying none of his anxiety. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

[androdragynous]

wheelchair, cane + forearm crutches, walker 90% chance if you're hesitant to draw mobility aids you're overthinking it. start somewhere. obviously these are not detailed references.

wheelchairs and walkers should be proportioned like chairs. in most cases canes are held on the opposite side of the painful leg because you want to put weight on the cane instead of the leg (dr house lied to you) but depending on the reason for the cane this can change!

[ image id: a title image that reads "learn how to draw mobility aids very fast" followed by three simplified drawings of different mobility aids broken down into two steps each. the changes made in each step are colored red.

the second image shows a wheelchair, with the steps "1. seat with footrest", showing a simple chair shape, and "2. wheels", which adds two large wheels to the back and two small wheels to the front.

the third image shows both a cane and forearm crutches, with the steps "1. stick", showing a single line of color, and "2. add handle", which shows a hand grip and a forearm rest on two different sticks. and additional label below this step reads "handheld stick height is where the hand rests at the hip" and "forearm stick height is the forearm".

the fourth image shows a walker, with the steps "1. platform with wheels", showing a backless chair shape with a wheel on each leg, and "2. add handlebar", which shows a handle raised above the seat. end id ]

✨ edited to remove italics for screen readers + also pointing out that I missed the handle on the forearm crutches! always use real reference photos when you can, this is just a starting point to help you understand the basics if you're not familiar :3

[doberbutts]

When I was first in recovery for my brain injury, the physical therapist's office was incredibly mobility-friendly and the majority of people there used wheelchairs. I was paralyzed down my right side due to my neck and back injury from the same car accident so I also was in a wheelchair until I had recovered enough to use a cane instead.

The lights were so bright that I spent the first several weeks of exercises with a towel covering my face as I laid on the bench and my PT worked on me and then I would be driven home to cry for hours in the dark because even with that it was still Too Much Too Loud Too Bright Too Tactile Too Much. At some point, several weeks in, my PT suggested we move to a private room instead of the main exercise area where she could turn off the lights and we could work in the dark instead.

During that period I couldn't talk to advocate for myself so there was no way for me to communicate my needs besides through gestures and grunts and forcing single word sentences out. I couldn't hold a pencil long enough to write and I couldn't look at a screen long enough to type.

So yes actually I have been places where mobility needs are met but no one else's are, and I've also been places where other needs are met but not mobility. Funny enough ableism in society is a weapon used against any and all disabled people and having inadequate accomodations should be a uniting factor between us rather than a dividing point. It sucks to be disabled in ableist society. I think we all know that.

[brynn-lear]

After you were cursed to look like a grandmother, Yandere!CAPITANO's ears have grown sharper. Not for the sake of weeding out traitors in his ranks (not even a single hair would dare challenge him with petty mind games), but to see if people are conspiring to take you out.

Yandere!CAPITANO who would take off his coat and wrap it around you. Even if you insist that you're not feeling under the weather, he'll only grunt and politely ask you to not be stubborn.

Yandere!CAPITANO, whose eye will glare with an intensity not so dissimilar from an earthquake towards the drunken Natlan native who ranted about how "weaklings" such as yourself have no place to even watch the upcoming tournament.

Yandere!CAPITANO, who challenges the now-fearfully-sobered man to a formal duel to restore your dignity as the former 11th Fatui Harbinger.

"Why are you challenging that man?!" You tugged his sleeves. "You know damn well he doesn't stand a chance with facing even a point one percent of your strength! Let those grudges go, Little Captain. I'm no longer the 11th Harbinger, so what gives?!"

"You know my reasons," he snapped back with an eerie composure. "The real question lies with how will you respond to my motive?"

YOU, being wholly aware that a lot of people are watching in the stadium, approaches Capitano and "worriedly" rants about how your "grandson" might get hurt. Capitano is forced to exit the battle.

YOU, who dragged him out and scolded him with incessant cane whacking. Capitano only towers over you with a steady gaze— not unlike a hawk stepping over a struggling prey. While he pondered over how to halt your useless squirming, your thoughts lingered on how to convey your apology towards the man who nearly lost his life.

YOU, who sighed deeply.

YOU, who decided to "forgive" him for his irrational actions.

YOU, who have to pretend that you don't have dreadful doses of skepticism that the man who once considered you a worthy rival harbors sentiments that goes beyond "respect."

YOU, who know deep down that no matter how much he acts as a protector...

Nothing inside your time-worn heart and aged soul could passionately reciprocate the gesture.

Taglist: @macaronilovingracoon , @lucienbarkbark , @meimeimeirin, @notthefib987

[egophiliac]

Okay so I've been wanting to tell you that you're literally my favourite twst artist 😭🩷

So my question is, how do you manage to come up with these funny comics? CUZ I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

(P.s: Lovin' the art style ✨)

oh geeze, thanks! 💚💚💚 I'm really glad people enjoy my stupid sense of humor; mostly I just draw things to make myself laugh, and if it makes other people laugh too, then bonus points! usually it's just one joke or mental image that gets stuck in my head (every time I saw Fellow spin his cane, all I could think about was him go-go-gadgeting away on it...) and in my quest to justify it, it picks up other jokes and bits along the way and usually doesn't even end up as the main focus anymore. entire narrative arcs have spun out just so I could use a single bad pun in a throwaway line. this is a terrible way to explain it but I'm not sure how else to put it into words!

and sometimes it's just "weird things my sister has said that I make fun of her for"

[amazinglyashy]

I Think You'll Be Okay

Read on Ao3 Pairings: Rafayel x Reader Summary: You find yourself face to face with an old flame. Your heart pounding loud enough for you to hear it, but your feet refusing to move, refusing to get you to safety. That's alright though. Safety comes to you. Or You meet up with your abusive ex-boyfriend again when waiting for the train. Luckily for you, someone else decided to take the train today. Tags: Past Domestic Violence, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Protectiveness, Rescue, Hurt/Comfort Wordcount: 6,107

You fiddled in your pocket, trying to dig out your phone. You had shoved it there earlier when you had left work, on your way out in a rush, trying to leave before any more was put on you. That is, on top of what had already been dumped on you today, forcing you into overtime when you really just wanted to go home. You really didn’t want to be heading home any later than right now, with all of the creeps coming out soon to prey on young highschoolers hanging out in the city after classes, or single women like yourself getting off of work late. The time was already squarely at sundown, which meant you were making it out just in time.

The sun was setting to the left of the platform already, the golden haze casting an orange glow over everything it touched. It was a nice change, you admitted to yourself. Usually when you were leaving, the sky was still a misty shade of blue, the evening only just barely peppering the surroundings with its presence. The platform was also so much busier at that time, with crowds of people trying to shove themselves onto the train, filling every gap they could to shave just a few extra minutes off of their travel time rather than wait for one of the other coming trains. Last you had checked, you were one of very few standing on the platform- the only others being a small group of highschoolers chatting with each other a ways down to your right, and an elderly man dozing off on a bench near the stairs, leaning against his cane as he snored quietly. He didn’t seem like he was waiting for a train though, there being benches much closer to the boarding area that he wasn’t anywhere near, so you had decided to leave him be after you had noticed him initially. 

I’ll leave the waking him up to whoever he’s waiting on. You muse to yourself as you pull your phone from your pocket, unlocking it and giving your missed notifications a scroll. 

There were a few texts from Tara, asking about this coming weekend. She hadn’t sent too many, having seen the pile of work still sitting on your desk by the time of her own clocking out. You felt bad. You were working the next weekend, again, and you felt bad turning her down so often. You didn’t want her to feel as if you were avoiding her, or that you didn’t want to continue being friends, but you were just… busy. You sighed to yourself, deciding to shoot her a call later on tonight. You figured it would be easier to avoid her taking anything to heart if you spoke to her directly. 

You thumbed over the rest of your notifications, swiping away most. A few advertisements, some updates from your mobile games, some social media follows and suggestions, an email or two- nothing particularly eventful. It was almost like magic, though, as you were mulling over one of the emails you had gotten, a name with a heart next to it popped into your dropdown menu. Instinctively, you clicked it without even pausing to read the sample text. 

You couldn’t help it, as the messenger loaded. It was automatic at this point. Or at least, it felt automat-

“Oh hey! I know you-!”

Your head snapped up from your phone at the sound of a familiar voice, the hairs on the back of your neck standing boldly, a scatter of goosebumps forming across your skin. The elderly man hadn’t woken up, no one had come to meet him yet either. The highschoolers were still deep in conversation at the other end of the platform. None of them had spoken to you, and none of them had seemed anywhere near as recognizable as that voice was. 

You glanced over to your left, where your eyes fell on a man who was waving, his hand comically high in the air, as he quickly made his way directly towards you. 

Your feet turned to stone. 

The breath in your throat hitched, and you didn’t even realize you weren’t breathing anymore. 

Why?

Why was he here?

Why was he in front of you?

Why was he approaching you?

How had he found you?

Why was he-

He had closed the distance between you before you had even processed him approaching you fully, you freezing up making it easy for him to pull you into a hug that made you feel like a thousand ants were crawling across your skin. Your shock and disbelief had taken over, overriding any thought in your mind that was telling you to run . You weren’t even sure you would have been able to listen to it even if your feet weren’t frozen. The pounding of your heart had become loud enough to drown out any coherent thought you could have come up with.

He squeezed you, and you wanted to slip down into the ground so desperately. 

You were in danger. You were in danger. You were in danger. 

You were a Hunter, you were proficient in hand to hand combat, a decent marksman, and pretty good swordsman. You’d killed countless Wanderers, and come and gone from the N109 zone with barely a scratch on you after your countless visits. You were fully capable of protecting yourself from anyone and anything, and if you didn’t seem like you could, you would manage. 

But you couldn’t protect yourself from him. 

You couldn’t take back what he had taken from you. You couldn’t stop as your mind was slowly regressing backwards, back to where it had been.

Back to the memories. 

He pulled away, but the respite was shorter than a breath, as the train approached the platform. It felt like time was moving in slow motion. His smile, the people deboarding, the lack of people entering the car that he was pulling you into- Something about going the same way? - his hand gripping the upper part of your arm. But it wasn’t gentle. It never was. It never was. It never was. 

“What have you been up to? Is that a name card from the Hunter’s Association?” He asked, his tone cheerful as you felt your heart dropping through the very rails the train was sitting on. He sounded so friendly, but you knew he wasn’t being friendly. He wasn’t asking you a question, he was making a statement. 

He was saying ‘ I found you~ ♪ ’.

“I-...” You take a small gasp of air, finally processing how little you had been breathing up until the point. He flashed you a little smirk, his hair falling across his eye as he tilted his head at you. Had his hair always looked like that? You didn’t know. You didn’t care. You couldn’t-... remember. 

God, you couldn’t remember a lot of back then. 

It was horrible.

It was scary.

Why was he still gripping your arm…?

It hurt. 

It made other spots hurt, echoing with pain you had forgotten- no, not forgotten about. Pushed away. Tried to not remember. But still, ghost feelings that would sneak into your mind whenever something made you flinch, whenever someone tried to give you an over-enthusiastic high five, whenever you were trying to please yourself alone in bed, whenever someone raised their voice- be it out of happiness or anger, it really didn’t matter. The anxiety would pound into your chest like breaking a door down, like breaking you down until you were tiny little pieces strewn out across the floor, sobbing alone to yourself because no one else could help you. You were alone. This was your cross to bear. You had gotten yourself into this mess, it was up to you to get through this. It was up to you to get yourself out of this. 

“Wipe that shitty fucking expression off your face, you’re making people think I’m doing something wrong.” 

His voice was dangerously low, and sinisterly similar to how he used to speak to you. It was nice to see that nothing had changed, so much longer later. That the same circumstances that led to the bloodied sheets strewn out across the bed and floor were happening again. That the same knuckles that had made forceful contact with the high of your cheekbone were gripping so tightly, they were turning white across the top of your upper arm. You pressed your lips into a thin line, trying to appear as neutral as possible, as the only other patron in the train car with the two of you- tucked back in the corner but raising an eyebrow at the situation, nonetheless- watched. 

He gave you a small shake, and you let the corners of your mouth turn upward in a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You were just two old flames meeting again, goofing around. Reignited that old flame once more. 

But to you, that flame was a bomb. And it was going to go off the second you were alone with him. 

There hadn’t been any closure when you had left, there couldn’t have been. You could have left with bags secretly packed without so much as a goodbye thrown into his messages while he was at work, or you could have spent three hours talking to him trying to get through to him one final time. But it wouldn’t have mattered. Men like him, were men like him for a reason. They didn’t change, they didn’t find what they were doing as something wrong , and they never would. At least, that’s what everyone had told you. That’s what you had learned at the end. But standing here as the train rocketed towards another new location for him to find out about, you were finding it harder and harder to remember everything you had taught yourself just to get away from him. 

“Are you going to be ungrateful again? Going to run away because you think for some reason you can get better, despite being some fucking whore who runs her mouth? With a bodycount?” He practically spat the words at your face, turning to face you and keeping his back towards the other patron, who had closed their eyes with their head resting back against the seat, waiting for their stop and avoiding getting involved. 

“After everything I’ve done for you, you can’t offer me even the littlest bit of appreciation that you didn’t want to show me back then? I thought you had changed. That you were different.” 

You let out a deep breath, trying to keep your mind steady, but it was hard. You’d gotten used to the word disassociate ever since you’d learned about it. You’d slip into dissociation even on your best days, at random. Talking to Tara, riding your bike, fighting Wanderers, avoiding Luke and Kieran’s pranks- it didn’t matter. It just… happened. And it came on worse when you were reminded of things that had traumatized you. Or were faced with the very things that had caused that trauma- as you were finding out right now. 

He reached up, grabbing your other arm into his other hand, the grip matching the vice-like pressure of the first one that still held you. “You listen to me, you little bitch. I still fucking own you. I don’t give a shit if you’re living in some fantasy land where you think you’re moving on, but you will never find anything as good as me.” He hissed. “Not for what you’re worth. I treated you so well, and you think you can keep treating me and people like shit? Fuck off.” 

He gave your arms a yank to emphasize his words. You just stared straight at his chest, stumbling slightly as the train stopped at the next station, but his grip kept you relatively upright. The time between now and the last stop wasn’t anything you could remember clearly, and you could already feel your mind slipping from your body slowly. You couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want to. It was something you couldn’t explain, but it acted like a muffled fast-forward button on situations like this. You couldn’t say you liked it, but you liked it more than being present for what your ex had to say.

But it was horrible, because no sooner did you start to slip away, did the doors to the train open, and the only bystander that had been seated in the corner left. Whether this was their stop, or they wanted to avoid the situation, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. In your heart though, you knew that was just how it went. You’d be lucky if they called the police, but wouldn’t do anything. There was no proof of anything happening. You didn’t have any. 

You knew he was right.

But then why did it feel like electricity when someone boarded the train? You knew the footsteps without being able to place a name, and the sheer presence was something you sensed without knowing what form it took. 

“Cobalt blue, but maybe phthalo… Oh, Miss Bodyguard. Didn’t think I’d see you tod- Mm?” 

Your heart dropped further than it had at the station when you had first gotten approached.  

No.

Why was Rafayel here?

His comment was cut short, ending in a small hum as he came into your view. You could see a cloud cross his expression as he took in the situation in front of him. You were still doing your best to seem relaxed, and had tried to add a smile as soon as you had realized Rafayel was here, but it didn’t seem like it was working. You wanted so badly to be sick to your stomach, but you also knew if you were, it would only make your ex lose his mind completely. 

“H-Hey, Rafayel, how are you?”

“Do you know him?”

The question was asked by two separate men at the exact same time. One was nearly whispered, the tone borderline violent. The other was gentle, devoid of its usual bratty aftercomment. You just paused, before nodding your head as slowly as you could. 

Fuck, it was so easy to keep your ex under control when it was just you. You hadn’t managed him in front of others in forever, and you had forgotten how to make other people let you handle things. Usually it was as simple as a look. No one wanted to get caught up in the middle of a lover’s quarrel, and were quick to leave. But the doors had already closed behind Rafayel, and his expression was telling you that he was already planning on getting more than involved. 

“Yes!- Yes. Yes, I know him…” You stammered, looking between the two of them, your ex robotically releasing his grip in favor of moving to put his arm across your shoulders. You had to swallow the bile in your throat, but you didn’t move away from him, his expression stormy, while Rafayel’s remained concerned, but fairly unaffected. 

“Rafayel’s an… employer of mine.” You continued, gesturing towards him as he gave the two of you a nod, a small smile flashing in addition. “And Rafayel, this is my-” 

“Boyfriend.” 

You swallowed. 

Rafayel’s eyes narrowed, but he kept smiling. 

“That’s really funny, she’s told me she’s single. Several times actually, whenever I've bugged her about it.” 

You can feel the blood in your veins freeze over. 

No.

You can’t even bring yourself to look up at your ex. You knew what disagreeing with him did, and you knew what blatantly calling out his lies did. You’d experienced the consequences of doing either towards the earlier days of your relationship, before you had learned to follow everything he said. To do everything how he said it. 

And yet it was still not enough, most of the time. 

Rafayel smirked coldly. 

“So, buddy. Do you want to take your hands off of her?” He tilted his head slightly. “Or do I really need to help you?”

The arm across your shoulders felt heavier, until you could feel the pressure disappear. You want to breathe a sigh of relief, but the air gets caught in your lungs as a hand comes down between your shoulder blades at the top of your spine. You’re lurched forward, and Rafayel catches you as you stumble into his chest. “I don’t deal in bitches that can’t treat people with respect or kindness. You can have her.” Your ex spat, knowing that for whatever reason, this man before him wasn't going to fall for his usual tricks. Tricks? No, you thought as you stumbled. He thinks everything out of his own mouth is true, and anyone who disagrees is insane. 

You hadn’t even pulled back away from Rafayel before he had moved you quickly, but gently and carefully to the side, stepping forward as your stomach turned over. You spun around to grab at him, only succeeding in latching onto his arm. 

“Rafayel, stop. You’ll only make things worse.” You stammered as you gripped his arm. He pulled away quickly- but gently, despite his anger. 

“Worse how? Geez, you don’t know this man anymore. You shouldn’t be bothered by strangers on a train platform, and they should know not to approach single women.” 

He emphasized, staring straight at the other man as he did. As if warning him, with his usual snark still backing up his comments. Your ex glared at him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but I’ll bet you I’ve known her longer than you have. I know all her tricks.” 

“Time is relative.” Rafayel retorted back, taking another step towards him, which your ex matched. Your anxiety was pounding through the roof, and you were desperate to think of anything that could diffuse the situation as they both shot daggers at each other with their eyes. Your ex let out a small chuckle, the kind he would whenever things were about to hurt. The air was leaving your lungs again, but you felt Rafayel shift next to you, and you could feel the predatory behavior like static crossing the side of his arm through the thin linen of his shirt. He had moved, shifted just a step towards your ex, and spoke before you could process what he was doing.

“I’ve done this dance a million times with a million people like you, for less, don’t try me.” Rafayel’s voice was so low, it could barely be described as more than a whisper. It sent a surge of ice through your blood, despite it not being directed towards you. You slowly turned your head, raising it to look at him carefully. You could only see the side of his head, his height also blocking his full expression from you, but you could see just enough of his eyes to feel the cruelty in his gaze.

He wasn’t joking. 

This wasn’t like him.

What was going on?

You reached out to brush against his arm again, but you didn’t know what to do. 

The train lurched as Rafayel reached forward, towards your ex.  

No.

You couldn’t let this happen.

Not here. 

Not towards him.

Not from him .

Your body moved on its own, as you turned your body, the same time the train started to hit its brakes for the next stop. You lost your footing, but you couldn’t let that stop you. You couldn’t let that stop you from stopping Rafayel. The worst of it was the only thing stopping you from falling was the weight of your ex’s torso, the feeling of chills returning the second your body made contact with his again. 

“I-I-” You stuttered, your mouth feeling like it was full of cotton as you stumbled backward into your ex’s body. “No, please. I don’t- no.” 

Rafayel stared at you, his expression blank, before flashing through several different emotions you couldn’t quite make out. Surprise? Absolute fury? Betrayal? Whatever he cycled through, he landed on one you didn’t recognize.

You are now at East Garden station. Next station- West Garden. 

The doors slid open behind you, and a few people filed on as you broke your gaze with Rafayel and glanced over at them. At least there were witnesses. You knew your ex wouldn’t act out too badly in front of so many strangers, and Rafayel, while a little bit feral when it came to columnists and fans that would go too far, you had a pretty good idea that he would remain a lot more calm in the presence of people as well. You let out the breath you had been holding unwittingly. 

“Go.” 

He gave you a slight shove, and you almost tripped onto the platform. As you regained your balance, you processed two things at the same time. 

Rafayel wasn’t behind you. And- 

You could hear him still, his words seething with a poison you had never heard come from his mouth, from any action he had ever committed. 

“If I ever see you in her general vicinity ever again, I will destroy you until there is nothing, nothing , left.” He seethed. “I care about her. Whatever we are after that doesn’t matter. You won’t come back and destroy her peace ever again. You won’t have the chance to. Do I make myself clear ?” 

As you move to turn, to see what would happen next or to hear your ex’s response, you spin face first into Rafayel’s chest, his hands reaching up, placed firmly on your shoulders to turn you back around and continue forward. You try to keep up with his pace, but it’s hard. Despite your stumbling, he doesn’t stop. Not until the two of you are off of the platform and out on the vast sidewalk in the middle of the city. 

You blink, trying to garner your surroundings as some means of grounding yourself, as Rafayel pulls out his phone. His fingers fly, sending a text to someone. The golden hour had passed, and it was twilight out now. The next train wasn’t going to be for another twenty minutes, and the ride itself was more time on top of that. It looked like you weren’t going to be accomplishing your initial goal of getting home before the dark hit. That was too bad. 

It was really cold outside.

Maybe that was just you. 

You swallowed hard, trying to force a deep breath just as Rafayel looked up from his phone. He pocketed the device and moved to step towards you, but his movements were… awkward. Hesitant. He paused a step away from you, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. 

“I… I’m sorry. I-” He let his hand drop, both hanging loosely at his sides as he looked like he wanted to look anywhere except at you. He didn’t let it break his gaze, despite it. “...Geez, I’ve never experienced anything like that before. I didn’t know what to do, what I should do. What I-”

He stopped himself. Tilting his head, his expression shifting into one of concern. 

“More importantly, how are you?”

��I- what?”

“How are you feeling, seashell? What do you need?”

You blinked, and you tried to open your mouth to respond, but your breath hitched in your throat, the sound caught on the lump that had appeared in your throat as your eyes began to burn. Fuck, what? What was going on with you today? First, you’d gone back to everything you had ever been back with your ex, forgetting all of your progress- all of your healthy habits in favor of how he had always made you feel under his touch. Then, you’d been unable to keep Rafayel calm and relaxed despite your ex trying to start shit all over again. And even still, you hadn’t even gotten to go home on time, hell you didn’t even feel safe enough to go home anymore. 

“He-” You choked. Your voice was squeaking, why was your voice breaking so badly? “H-He… He knows- knows where I work now.”

Rafayel stared at you, but his expression was oh so gentle , and seeing that look in his eyes did something to you that made you feel so ugly . It was like the final crack in an old dam as you began to wail. You tried to muffle your sobs, reaching up to cover your face in your hands as the initial shock had finally started to wear away from the meeting, finally started to let the emotions pour in. And all the emotions were fear, fear, fear . 

You couldn’t do anything to stop it as the tears just kept coming, as the choked sounds from your throat as you needed to get the crying out, but find air in between at the same time. Your shoulders wracked with pain from the after effects of the grip your ex had had on you, surely purple and yellow bruises forming where his knuckles had turned white with power just moments ago. It was just going to be another grim reminder of your world coming down, all because of a stupid train ride. 

“Seashell.”

You tried as hard as possible to quiet down, to stop and listen to Rafayel to avoid making him angry. You felt like a kid. You wanted him to help you get to your home, or a hotel, or somewhere your ex didn’t know about. But if he was angry, that would be impossible. That would mean you would be left standing here on the sidewalk bawling like a child, until you managed to pull the effort together to handle it yourself, like you always had don-

“Tell me if you don’t like it, and I swear I’ll stop, but I’m going to hug you now.”

“Wh-”

The word had barely even formed in your mouth, your hands only managing to hover over your eyes as you tried to pull them away at his words, before strong arms had wrapped around you so suddenly. One hand was resting at the nape of your neck, pressing your head so delicately against his shoulder as he leaned down for you- as he leaned down into you. The other was wrapped around your waist, squeezing you against his body like it was everything to him just to have the chance to pull your pieces back together. And somehow, it was so much worse. It was everything, as you began to wail all over again. It was everything and so much more. His actions on the train, his expression when you had stopped him and protected your ex- none of that, none of your worries meant anything in the tightness of his embrace. 

It was like he was telling you everything without speaking, he was telling you it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay . Like he didn’t harbor any ill feelings towards you, that he didn’t hate you like you were hating yourself every single second leading up until this moment. And coming from Rafayel, that was everything, everything, everything. 

“Geez.” He breathed against your hair, his breath labored as he tried to keep his own emotions in check for your sake. “I wish I had found you so much sooner. None of that would have ever happened to you.”

And you knew he wasn’t talking about the train- getting on sooner. Finding you before your ex did, but you didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. But you knew he meant he wished he had found you so much sooner than that first meeting at the fountain with all of the fish, his brochure hanging lazily in hand. Found you long before that man had ever laid his hands on you, had ever wrecked you to the point you were at now. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” He breathed the words against you, his hold tightening just slightly. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I-” You held back a sob, trying to compose yourself as best as you could. “I’m so ruined, I’m so sorry I’m such a mess.” 

“You’re not a mess, I promise you, you’re not a mess.” And the way he spoke, you almost believed it immediately. He sounded… tired. “None of it, not any of it, was your fault. You have to know that.” 

You didn’t. You wouldn’t, not for a long time. But the way he had been on the train, no matter how brief of a moment it was- how he was right now, clutching you so tightly in his arms as if you would shatter if he let go for even a second- You had a pretty good feeling that you would someday. Someday, as long as he was around. But for now you settled for feeling everything you were feeling in his embrace, just thankful that for whatever his reasoning, he didn’t hate you for what you had done, for what you felt. 

After a while, you nuzzled your face against the crook of his neck, before gently trying to pull back, signaling to him that you were alright enough to break the hug. He let go of you, but his hands lingered on you just a moment longer than they should have. You stared at the ground as you fiddled with your hands, trying to figure out what was supposed to come next. What you were supposed to do or say next. 

“What do you mean, you didn’t know what you were supposed to do?” You asked quietly. You already knew the answer. Honestly, how often was it that someone would witness what he did happening to someone close to themselves, especially when the person it was happening to was supposedly so strong? So capable of protecting yourself from even the worst of the Wanderers that traversed the city? 

He let out a breath, thinking for a moment, before he opened his mouth to answer your question. 

“Really, the only thing I know is to make sure you’re safe.” He shrugged, crossing his arms as he avoided your gaze. “If I wasn’t confident I’d be able to protect you from the whole thing, and even afterward, with whatever crazy he may try to do, I would have played along with you and not been so aggressive. But besides that, I really don’t know how someone is supposed to handle a situation like that.” 

You blinked. 

“What?”

“What-what? I don’t exactly want you getting hurt, I just wasn’t sure the best way to accomplish that. I wasn’t going to fail, though. I’m not some idiot.” 

You could feel your eyes starting to burn. “Yes, but you wanted to protect me?”

He looked at you abruptly, confused. “Wanted? Bodyguard, it’s not past tense. I don’t care what I call you, pay you for, what we are to each other- Believe it or not, I... don’t want you hurt.”

He flinched a little, watching the tears start to stream from your eyes again, but he just shook his head. “No, no. Geez, what are you doing?” He uncrossed his arms and reached out towards you slowly, gingerly brushing your cheek with his thumb. “No, why is this your reaction? Why are you crying over me caring about you?”

He knew why. He had just seen why. And that was just the tip of the iceberg on what your past had been.

“But-”

“I really don't want to hear it. It’s just going to be you saying bad things about yourself again.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and you couldn’t think of any denial or lie that he would believe. “You really need to learn to trust me, seashell. If you don’t want to go home or to work, I get it. But you’ve got to believe me when I say it. When I say nothing is going to happen to you.”

You reached up to dry your eyes again, all but running out of tears by now after the heavy cry session you had just had wrapped up in Rafayel’s arms. You let out a small hiccup, before offering him a small nod. It didn’t really matter if you believed him, but honestly- it was so much better than anything before. So much more comforting than any of the times before. Any of the times where you sat in your bedroom alone, praying that you could get one more extra day squeezed out of the week, out of going back to the university, to avoid seeing the man who had ruined your entire life as he ‘explored’ the ‘public’ campus like some sort of shark circling your bleeding body. 

Rafayel watched you as you slowly composed yourself, reaching out a hand to rest on your shoulder, tenderly. His kindness radiating from the contact. “Now, is it okay if we go somewhere? I think it would be better for you if you could go somewhere you can relax for a little while. I invited you to my studio, maybe we can go there.”

You blinked at him. When had he invited you?

He watched your expression, processing that you were confused on the ask. “Did you get the text I sent you? Or were you already in trouble then?”

“Text-” You pause, then you remember the notification that had popped up just before your ex had seen you. You shook your head. “It had just come through as he-... approached… me. I didn’t see what it said.”

He flashed you a small smile, one that would win every prize in your book. 

“It was asking you if you were already off work, and if not, would you want to meet me at the station, so that we could head to my studio and finish up some work I need to get done.” 

You stared at him for a moment, your mouth slightly agape, before you smiled back at him. It was timid, and you were still nervous. But with his hand against your shoulder as the two of you walked through the edges of Linkon City back towards one of his studios, you couldn’t help but feel just a little bit better. 

Just a little bit more at ease. 

—

And a week later, you were back at work. You had been for the last few days. You’d gone on a few missions, taken down a dozen Wanderers, and saved a few civilians in that time. But nowhere had you seen your ex- not on a street corner, not running down an alleyway, not even at the doorstep of the Hunter’s Association. 

But you’d seen Rafayel. 

One day he was sitting at the cafe across the street from the Association’s building, sketching charcoal as he invited you to come and get something to eat for lunch, to sit with him and talk about your day. Another, he was there when you got off, a light drizzle sprinkling the street as he offered to share his umbrella with you and walk you home. On your day off, he ended up at your door, huffing about his next exhibition, and whether or not you wanted to come with him to stave off the boredom he was surely going to be drowning in. You weren’t stupid, you knew what he was doing. But there was also no pattern to his appearances- sometimes you wouldn’t see him all day, only speaking to him through incessant texts and phone calls. Other times, you’d see him two or three or more times throughout your day. Something about the chaotic approach made you feel even more… comfortable. Despite everything that had happened. It felt like he was always around, even when you didn’t expect it. 

It felt like he was always keeping watch for you. 

And maybe you still hadn’t gotten over what had happened on the platform, and you still felt uneasy stepping on the train, arm hooked in Rafayel’s as he complained about not being able to find the green he needed to finish a piece. Maybe you still felt worthless, for still caring about what happened to that wretched man, after everything he had done to you, after all of the pain he had caused you. 

But at least, as you stared up at the splashes of color that coated the canvas in front of you, late after work the evening before your day off, sitting in Rafayel’s studio as he dozed off over a few cups of color he had been working on while you scrolled through your phone, you had someone. 

At least you had someone who was intent on changing everything for you. 

Who was intent on making sure you were okay. No matter what.