#so i was wondering if someone else remembered it too?

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

ephemeral

Pairing: Batfam x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k words

Summary: You were forgetting something. However the most frustrating part was you couldn't seem to remember what exactly it was that you were forgetting.

A/N: This was inspired by this post by @bonefanatic! I know that it's Yandere!Batfam in the OG post but as soon as I read it this is just what it inspired. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

You were renowned for forgetting things.

You'd always forget to bring your keys the day when your mother happened to be running late. You'd forget your pencil case on the day of exams and forget your bus pass on the rare days that your father didn't give you a ride.

On sunny days you'd forget to wear your sunscreen. On rainy days, much like today, you'd forget your umbrella. Now, when you were a young girl, running back home through the rain wouldn't matter. In fact, you had vague memories of your feet splashing through puddles, hands shielding your face from the pelting rain while you and an old lover got soaked to the bone.

You could hardly even remember those days; just the sound of splashing puddles and the deep petrichor, the cold of the rain mixed with the warmth of someone's laughter...

A coo brought you out of your thoughts and your eyes met those of bright blue. The baby strapped to your chest gave you a semblance of a toothy smile, his teeth only beginning to come out and you returned it, leaning in to rub your nose against his, revelling in the giggles it brought out.

The sweet boy, who only ever saw you, was the reason you couldn't let yourself get wet, standing in the shade of an apartment building and choosing to wait out the rain.

You gave your baby a once over, making sure that he didn't get wet in your effort to reach the building. He looked fine and his clothing wasn't wet, although he did seem a little cold. You held his tiny hands in between your palms, repeating the process with his feet until you were satisfied.

The door of the building swung open and you immediately covered Thomas' ears to protect him from the cold breeze, letting him burrow his face into your chest.

In came a man that had to be larger than anyone you had ever seen in your life. Clearly, he had been caught in the rain, his boots were soaked and so was his leather jacket. He donned a motorcycle helmet, and your stomach lurched at the thought of him driving that out in this weather. Without realizing it, your eyes glanced over his figure, wondering if he had possibly gotten hurt.

When you brought your eyes back up from his muddy boots to his face you were slightly startled. When had he taken off his helmet? His blue eyes stared back at you, shock apparent on his features before he had schooled them back to monotony.

"Are you lost? I don't think you live here." His voice was low and gravelly, but it found a familiar place in the back of your head.

You gave him a small smile, "No, I'm just trying to wait out the rain. I forgot to bring an umbrella, and I really don't want my son to get sick."

His eyes glanced down to your son and you curiously watched as something swirled in his eyes. Longing perhaps? Maybe he had some baby fever? It didn't quite seem like that though...you just couldn't put your finger on it.

"Would you like me to call you a cab?"

"I already tried. The streets here are too narrow for a cab to drive through so I'd have to walk a bit before I'd reach the road."

He nodded, taking a beat before he responded, "Wait here."

And then he took off for the stairs and even though he looked relaxed, you saw him taking multiples stairs in a single step, resisting the curious urge to tell him to be careful and not to slip because of his wet shoes.

He didn't make you wait long, reappearing in less than 5 minutes with an umbrella and something else in his hands.

"Oh, I couldn't."

"Please, I insist. I don't think the rain is going to stop anytime soon and there isn't anywhere for you to sit down," He said earnestly, placing the umbrella in your hands, "I already called a cab. It should be waiting for you at the corner."

"Thank you, young man." You watched him run his fingers through the cute little tuft of white hair bashfully before he handed you something else—a fuzzy blanket patterned with bats.

You looked curiously up at him, "For the little guy. He looks cold."

You really wanted to refuse, but Thomas' nose and ears had begun to turn red from the chill and with the blanket he'd be better protected as you walked to the cab. So, you bundled up the baby in the cozy blanket and thanked the man again who said goodbye with a melancholic smile.

While taking the cab home, your fingers traced over the embroidered monogram in the corner of the blanket that looked like it was brand new.

T.W.

***

You don't know what it was about the travelling circus that had you so enraptured. There was just something about watching the acrobats soar through the sky like birds, as though they were weightless, that made you feel equal parts worried and in awe.

It was unusual. You didn't enjoy watching gymnasts while you grew up and you had certainly never visited a circus, and yet while sitting in the seats for the performance of Haly's travelling circus for the 4th time since they had arrived at Gotham, you couldn't help but wait in anticipation for the show to begin.

Thomas was clutched to your lap, every bit as excited as you were, when a man with dark hair and blue eyes—a common feature here in Gotham, it seemed—sat next to you.

You spared him a glance, only to find him staring back at you with a small smile and a cone of roasted chestnuts in his hand. He handed you a pair of ear protectors.

"They're handing it outside the tent—wouldn't want the little guy to hurt his ears."

You thanked him with a smile, placing them over Thomas' ears and giggling when he laughed at you pointing at the man who returned his toothy grin with one of his own.

"Would you like one?" He offered, holding out the warm chestnuts for you to take and you obliged, thanking him and relishing in the taste and the immediate warmth that spread through your body.

"So, what brings you to the circus?"

Your arms tightened around Thomas, resting your cheek on the top of his head as you contemplated the answer, "I don't know. I just like the acrobats. Every time I watch them, I feel comfortable, like I've been watching them my entire life. Which is weird because I've never seen acrobats before Haly's circus came to Gotham."

You looked back at him, "What about you?"

"My mom used to be an acrobat here. After I lost her, I like to visit, so I don't forget her." He explained, eyes scrolling across the bright colours of the circus, taking everything in. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to comfort him.

He looked down at Thomas, watching as the baby gave him an innocent grin that had returned with a sad smile and giving a delicate little pinch to his pudgy thigh before looking back up at you.

"I really don't want to lose my mom a second time."

***

One thing you really couldn't appreciate enough before having children was the freedom to shop for groceries all alone. Now, after having an infant, something as simple as stocking the fridge turned into a long and arduous feat.

You’d have to get Thomas dressed, make sure his nappy was changed, and time it just right—long enough since he’d eaten that you wouldn’t need to change him again, but not so long that he’d get hungry and need you to breastfeed him in the middle of the store.

Not only that, you'd also be stuck pushing a cart around with him strapped to your chest because he was still too young for the shopping cart.

And finally, the most torturous part of this whole excursion—the car loading. Most of your bags were heavy and packed full, and you couldn’t load them into the trunk with Thomas strapped to you.

So, you’d carefully place him in the car seat, turning on the engine and air conditioning to cool the car after its time baking in the parking lot. Then, you’d haul the heavy groceries into the trunk, turn off the car, take Thomas back out, return the trolley to its rightful place, and—once again—secure him in his car seat before finally heading home.

You stared at the cart full of groceries—enough to last you at least 3 weeks so you wouldn't have to make another trip for a while—trying to summon the energy to load the heavy items in the blasted vehicle.

"Mo—Ma'am?"

A young man approached you, a half-drunk coffee in his hand and your brows twitched. Just how many coffees had this boy had today? You shook your head of the thought. Why would you even care?

"Do you need some help?"

Giving him a polite smile, you shook your head, "I'm okay. Thank you, sweetie."

He gave you a sad smile, and it made you immediately want to take your words back and to give him the world instead. The feeling confused you even more. Why were you so concerned about him? And why did he look so sad after you refused his request? If anything, he should’ve been relieved that he wouldn’t have to do any work.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind." He tried again, this time placing his hand on the handle of the trolley, his hand just a hair away from yours. It was peculiar—your instinct for stranger-danger urged you to pull your hand away, and yet, you felt an equally strong urge to place your hand over his.

You smiled again, "I guess I'll take you up on your offer."

He was stronger than he looked. Despite his scrawny frame, he easily lifted your bags into the trunk, loading everything and shutting it in record time. Dusting off his hands with a proud smile, he turned to you as if expecting praise—only to deflate when he caught you watching him with a small, lingering smile.

It was as though he grew sadder with each passing second, his expression dimming as he gave you one last longing look before turning that same gaze to Thomas, "I’ll return the cart for you. Why don’t you strap him in?"

You nodded, thanking him again, "Thank you so much for your help."

Using Thomas’ little fist, you waved goodbye to the boy. He returned it with an expression far too tired for his young face. You resisted the urge to tell him to get a good night’s rest, instead watching him push the trolley away through your rearview mirror. A pang hit your chest at the sight of his slumped shoulders.

***

A figure collided with your back and you would have been knocked over if he had been any taller, however when you looked down, a young boy with dark hair and beautiful green eyes looked back up at you.

"Ummi..." He murmured, before he even had a chance to stop himself and you frowned in concern for this child who couldn't have been more than 9 years old who all of a sudden looked so small and unsure and something in your soul reached out for him.

You leaned down, well, as much as you could with a baby strapped to your chest, "Did you lose your mom, sweetheart?"

He flinched, eyes going wide and his bottom lip began to tremble in a way that made you want to hold him to your heart and soothe him, "Yes...I have lost my ummi...and I wish she'd come back....I miss her very much."

You reached out a hand before you could stop yourself, almost reaching for him to run your fingers through his hair and scratch your nails lightly against his scalp—

"Damian!"

Your hand froze an inch away as a man, slightly older than you, ran up to him. When your eyes met his, a rush of something surged through you—so intense and so sudden that there wasn’t even time for an epiphany.

All you knew was, you had met this man before.

Only, you couldn't remember when.

"I'm sorry about him. You know how kids are." The man with familiar blue eyes told you, flashing you a charming smile that had done an incredibly good job of hiding the misery underneath. And yet, you still saw past the mask. And still… you chose to look away.

You smiled up at him before glancing down at Thomas, now realizing why this curious stranger's eyes felt so familiar—your son looked up at you with almost identical ones, "I do know."

The man followed your gaze to the happy baby in your arms and you watched as the corner of his lips had dropped from the calculated smile he had worn. It was like he had frozen in time and the more you watched him, the more despondent his expression became.

His son—Damian. Why did that name sound so familiar?— looked up at him with concern, now grabbing his hand and tugging him away.

"Baba." He said softly, finally managing to knock the man out of his stupor.

"Oh," He finally spoke, looking down at his distressed son, "I'm sorry, miss. I hope my son didn't hurt you or the baby. If you need any medical bills covered, you can contact this number."

He handed you a business card and walked away before you could even argue about how absurd it was that you would ask for him to pay your medical bills over his adorable son bumping into you. It was an honest mistake!

You could only watch them walk away before your eyes looked down at the Wayne Enterprises business card.

"Bruce Wayne, CEO."

'Bruce'

You swore you had heard that name before.

And yet... you'd forgotten.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

DC Taglist:

@tchatso

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

@isawachickeninatree

@uxavity

@battlenix

@capricorn-stark

@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

@fuckingjinkies

@some-lovely-day

@that-one-fangirl69

@eloriis

[bemusedlybespectacled]

The context you're missing is that the reason the person is immoral or corrupt is their genes. The word originally meant "someone who is worse than their ancestors" (so definitely still related to ancestry, even if they didn't know what DNA was). Essentially, the reason you're a bad person isn't because of your actions; it's because you were born that way, and nothing you can do can ever change it. And, conversely, being a good person is also genetic, and nothing you can do can ever change that, either.

Why is that a problem? Well, in the late 1800s/early 1900s, eugenics (the opposite of degeneration; "de" means down, "eu" means "good") became a popular "scientific" theory. It's the idea that every bad thing that happens to or is done by a person is actually a result of their genes. Not just actual genetic disorders, like Tay-Sachs disease, but also being poor or committing crimes. Literally, their thought process was, "We see that the children of poor families tend to also be poor. That must mean that poverty is genetic." (this was actually pretty well debunked in like 1911 but weirdly it kept being popular in/promoted by super racist people hmm I wonder why that would be)

If you were genetically perfect, then of course you'd be healthy, strong, intelligent, hardworking, wealthy, moral, and, most importantly, white; lacking any of those qualities meant that there was something wrong with your DNA somewhere. The best way to ensure that everyone was successful would be to just get rid of anything – that is, anyone – genetically bad, so that only the best people could breed with each other and have perfect children.

How do you do that? Well, for one, you make it illegal for anyone to marry outside of their race, and you make the requirements to be white incredibly difficult to prove (it wasn't based on skin color, but on any non-white heritage, no matter how white you actually looked) and draw the lines for everyone else very broadly (in the US South, it was literally "white" or "colored," with "colored" meaning anything from "just immigrated here from Africa" to "mostly white with a bit of Native American"), and require all of them to have some kind of identifying document or badge so that you can tell which is which. And you make it legal to sterilize undesirables: disabled people (both physical and mental), nonwhite people, and people of poor moral character (remember, being bad is genetic, and also in this era you think being gay is also a sign of poor moral character), just to ensure that there's absolutely no chance that someone might accidentally or deliberately sneak in.

(Eventually, you can also just kill them. Because that other stuff is taking too long.)

But remember! Evil is genetic! So of course there are always going to be nefarious actors deliberately trying to bring the whole race down and make it worse/weaker! And what's their evil plan? They'll encourage mixing good people with bad people with diabolical schemes like "making modern art" and "thinking it's okay for white people to listen to jazz" and "promoting civil rights for minorities." And what do we call "people who bring the whole race down"? Degenerates!

this was my thesis in college before i had a nervous breakdown so i know a lot about it. don't even get me started on how birth certificates are racist.

DNI lists on this website are fucking insane

[wonderjanga]

Hunting Trip

A little add-on to my Marvel and the Supernatural post from a long time ago. I also took a little bit of inspiration from @yazz-frost’s reposts. It also has inspiration from someone else’s post. I don’t remember who wrote it but they use the characters I used so I want to credit them as well.

Bruce thought over Marvel’s offer. After stewing over it for a couple days, he(Alfred) came to the decision that he would go with the Captain and the rest of his “buddies” to go hunt a bunch of Wendigos. His “buddies” turned out to be Raven and Jason blood.

Jason Blood: “The Batman, a teenage girl, and the Champion of Magic. What a wonderful group we are.”

Marvel: “Oh, and you can’t forget the demon!”

Raven: “I’m also a demon, Captain.”

Marvel: “Hmm… Then you can’t forget the guy that transforms into a demon.”

Raven: “I can also do that.”

Marvel: “Hmmmmm… you can’t forget the guy that’s like 400 years old and has fought in numerous wars.”

Jason Blood and Raven: *both give him a thumbs up*

Batman: *already lamenting his(Alfred’s) decisions*

They go full family camping/hunting trip for this. They got the SUV, they got the road trip songs, they got the magically enchanted weapons brought specifically for Bruce because of his lack of magic. They’re set and for once, Bruce is not the dad in this situation. Weirdly, Marvel is? Both Blood and Raven are brooding in the back like teenagers. They’re also playing tic-tac-toe against each other on Raven’s phone. To be honest, Bruce doesn’t really know what his dynamic is in this group.

Batman: *shoots a Wendigo with a magical crossbow and kills it*

Marvel: “You’re a wonderful shot, Mr. Batman sir!”

Batman: “Thank you. I have the Tibetan monks I trained with to thank for my accuracy.”

Jason Blood: “You and Tibetan monks, man…”

Raven: “What do you mean by that?”

Jason Blood: “I mean, he uses that excuse for literally every skill he has. Astral Projection? Tibetan monks. Blocking mind control? Tibetan monks. Blocking mind reading? Tibetan Monks.”

Marvel: “Wait, the is it the Tibetan monks in Shangri-La?”

Batman: “Yes actually.”

Marvel: “Oh I know those guys! Raven do you remember the time we went there together?”

Raven: “Yes. Their mental techniques are really useful.”

Jason Blood: “Oh my God, you know them too?”

After curbing the Wendigo population…

Jason Blood: “Captain?”

Marvel: “Yes?”

Jason Blood: “Are you gonna take the Wendigo skin?”

Marvel: “Nope. You can have it all if you want. Unless you want some Batman?”

Batman: *sounds a little disturbed* “No thank you.”

Marvel: “Great. By the way, be careful when you’re skinning them around the eyes. Raven wants them.”

Jason Blood: “Aye aye, Captain.”

Batman: “Actually, wait, Blood, can I have a little bit so I can study it later?”

Later…

Jason Blood: *looking at the others, all covered in blood, including himself*

Marvel: *humming a jolly little tune as he packs up their stuff*

Raven and Batman: *looking broody(their normal selves*

Jason Blood: “One of us is not like the other.”

Marvel: “What was that?”

Jason Blood: “Nothing.”

[makeitmakesomesense]

Rarely

Natasha Romanoff x Reader + WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Day 7: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely friend with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 7th of January, which is 'alpha'.

.

‘Is this seat free?’ 

You could tell from her voice. The confidence, the heat behind it. You could just tell.

.

‘Sure.’ You gave a shy smile and hurried to clear the tray with empty mugs that cluttered the table. 

Her hand brushed your wrist. 

‘Let me?’ She offered, taking the tray and walking it back to the coffee shop counter.

Your stomach did nervous flips as you watched her walk away. 

She’d left her leather jacket hanging over the back of the seat opposite you. Underneath was a white tank top. Her long red braid found a space between her toned shoulder blades. 

You watched her lean over the counter to the barista and order something new. Her smile was quick and easy to appear. She was making the barista laugh. Her ear piercings glittered under the lights as she laughed too. 

You pressed your tongue hard against your teeth and tried not to look nervous as she walked back. 

You only noticed the second mug when she put it down in front of you. 

‘I got you the same as before.’ Her voice rasped.  ‘As a thank you.’

‘Oh.’ You stammered unsurely. ‘You didn’t need to thank me for that.’ 

The woman leaned back against her seat, her posture far too relaxed for the hard backed seat. Her head tilted and she smiled. She shrugged and took a sip from her own drink. 

You dragged your focus down to the book you were supposed to be reading. You could barely make out the blur of words on the page. You bit your lip and willed yourself to think about the story you’d been enjoying until a few minutes ago. You were just sharing a table, it didn’t mean anything.

At last, you finally immersed yourself back in the story. You lost track of time, before suddenly remembering the coffee that you hadn’t got to yet. You reached out absentmindedly. The back of your hand brushed someone else’s. You startled immediately. 

A gentle touch guided your hand to your own coffee mug. 

‘That one’s yours.’ She told you, her eyes sparkling with obvious enjoyment.

‘Right.’ You swallowed nervously, throat suddenly too tight to even try to take a sip. 

‘My name’s Natasha.’ The woman told you then. 

‘Y/N’ 

It took a moment for you to realise her hand was still touching yours. Your breathing went shallow. She was leaning forward in the white tank top.

‘Natasha.’ You repeated dumbly.

Her head tilted as she waited for you to say something else. You tried to think of something, anything to say, anything else to focus on.  Your eyes caught on the dangling trinket close to the area you were trying not to stare at.

‘I like your necklace.’ You said lamely. Natasha’s eyes crinkled with pleasure. Her thumb brushed the back of your hand. 

(You went home with her.)

.

It was easy to follow Natasha. She was the alpha type. Her shoulders always relaxed, a smile ready whenever she wanted it. A look in her eyes that promised to tell you everything. 

You didn’t worry about making it anything official. You wanted to like how easy it was.

Sometimes she’d call and meet you some place. The boardwalk, a museum. You’d spend the afternoon together and enjoy the simplicity of it all. Walking with her arm around your shoulders and her fingers draped for you to play with absentmindedly. The soft squeeze of affection when you said something that made her laugh. 

She remembered your coffee order, from that first day. She’d rattle it off along with her own in cafes and restaurants, like it was second nature to her. 

You learned how to use the coffee machine in her apartment. How to run your fingers through her hair and kiss her at the crack of dawn, so she’d stay patiently in bed and wait for you to come back with two hot mugs. 

.

Everything was easy with Natasha. Until it wasn’t.

.

You met Wanda on a Friday evening. She broke your heart. 

You knocked on Natasha’s door, wondering if she might be free.

A beautiful redhead answered. Not the one you’d been expecting. 

You heard the words come out of your mouth. 

‘Is Natasha in?’

You looked at the woman, long hair rumpled and in nothing but an oversized shirt. A shirt you’d borrowed once before. 

She opened her mouth to answer. 

You didn’t wait to hear it. You left with tears of embarrassment and hurt already streaming down your cheeks. 

You ignored your phone the next time Natasha called. And the next. 

It was embarrassing. It was meant to be easy. There’d been no rules with Natasha. It wasn’t her fault you’d caught feelings.

.

You went to your favourite cafe the next day, trying to shake off the moroseness that you’d woken up with. 

The barista smiled at the sight of you. She made your order before you asked for it. That was something. 

You found a table in the back corner, took out your book and tried to reset. You lost yourself in someone else’s story.

‘Is this seat taken?’

You could tell from her voice. The confidence, the heat behind it. 

It was Natasha. Your stomach twisted with panic. You closed your book and rested it on the table.

You looked up and met her gaze. The easy smile was long forgotten. Her stare was heavy. Her brow creased in worry. 

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ You said carefully.

‘Please.’ She tried again, voice gentle. Her fingertips brushed the edge of the table.

You felt yourself start to tremble as tears threatened. You tried not to look at her.

‘It’s just.’ You started shakily. ‘It’s just - I think I like you a lot more than you like me.’

There was a pause. Then, you felt Natasha’s hand cover your own, still resting on the cover of your book. She brushed the back of your hand more softly than you had ever been touched before.

‘I don’t think that’s true.’ She murmured. ‘Not at all.’

You met her stare and wondered if anything was true. You wondered if it was wrong to trust someone because of the way they touched you.

You swallowed again and nodded once.

‘Okay, you can sit.’

Natasha did.

She talked about the things you didn't know. The things she should've told you. It was simple when she laid it out. Not complicated or cruel. 

She loved Wanda and Wanda loved her.

They were happy, the easy kind of happy that comes along rarely. 

You nodded when Natasha said that, feeling an imaginary knife twist inside you.

Natasha paused for a moment. 

‘Rarely.’ She said carefully, her fingers finding yours again hesitatingly. They tangled together in a way that made your heart thump loudly. ‘Rarely doesn’t mean just once.’

They were looking for something else. Someone else. Natasha had met you and known immediately. It was hard to know how to ask. How to explain the situation. 

Sadness tugged at Natasha’s gentle smile.

‘That’s why she was there. We wanted to tell you. We wanted to ask you then.’

For the first time, you watched Natasha hesitate. She took a deep breath, trying to find the words.

You leaned forward. You let your thumb brush the back of her hand. 

‘Tell me about her?’ You asked softly.

Natasha’s eyes closed for a second, she squeezed your hand gently. A small smile appeared on her face again.

‘I don’t know where to start.’ 

You thought about the woman you’d seen for the briefest moment. Your instant recognition of her undeniable beauty. The calmness that had radiated from her. The obvious empathy in her eyes that had stung so badly before. 

Natasha hesitated and then she asked more tentatively than ever.

‘Would you - Would you like to meet her?’

.

Wanda entered the cafe with a clear nervous tension. She scanned the room for a moment until her gaze met yours. She gripped the strap of her handbag tightly.

You smiled shyly and watched her loosen with sudden relief. You gave a small wave and watched her fingers loosen immediately to return the gesture. 

You felt Natasha’s pleased attention shifting between you as Wanda walked towards the table. She walked with a simple poise that you could tell was natural. Her long auburn hair was gathered into a claw clip at the back of her head.

She took the vacant seat next to Natasha. 

Wanda looked at you, with a kind of intensity you’d never experienced before. Then, she gave you a hesitating, hopeful smile. 

‘Hi.’ She said, glancing to Natasha beside her for reassurance. Her shoulders relaxed again when she met Natasha’s smile.

‘Hi.’ You replied, skin humming with anticipation. Your fingers tapped nervously on the cover of your book.

Wanda glanced down at the new drinks already on the table; Natasha had brought them over moments before. 

She looked at the mug of hot tea waiting for her, and then the coffee sitting beside you.

‘You like coffee?’ Wanda asked uncertainly, clearly trying to find a piece of conversation to begin with.

You smiled. You glanced at Natasha and then back at her. You reached for your mug and brought it to your lips. You shrugged.

‘Yes. But I like tea too.'

.

(You went home with them.)

You already knew how to use the coffee machine at their apartment. How to run your fingers through their hair and kiss them at the crack of dawn, so they'd stay patiently in bed and wait for you to come back with three hot mugs. 

.

.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

.

[hotchshands]

Trophy (sang-woo x gn!reader au) Part 1/2

Masterlist | Taglist

Summary: Sang-woo wins the games, and you become his young new trophy wife. Not to worry though, Gi-hun is alive thanks to the frontman.

Word Count: 1.9k

Contains: lots of plot, dark!sang-woo featuring ptsd, gn!reader, no use of y/n, unspecified age gap, depictions of violence i.e., sang-woo killing gi-hun?

A/N: S2 made me miss him, so I decided to write something. Had to break this up into two parts cause it’s a lot, but I’m happy to add more if y’all want.

Sang-woo wakes up in the new penthouse he bought far away from home and looks over at you, sleeping soundly on the bed beside him. He wasn’t sure why he married you, but then he remembered the games and how they turned him into a murderer. Some might even say a total psychopath. Having been through hell, he knew he couldn’t just marry anyone. He had to be extremely careful with his choice.

You were his best option if he wanted someone to stay with him and overlook the things he did for 45.6 billion won. You were young, poor, desperate, and, best of all, completely bendable. Sang-woo took advantage of that and shaped you into his ideal partner. You made it easy. He knew you were perfect from the moment he met you in the train station all those years ago.

“Excuse me. Do you know if this train is going uptown?” Sang-woo asks a young-looking stranger on the platform.

The stranger turns to look at him, blushing upon seeing him standing there, towering over them in a grey suit. “Yes, this is the uptown train,” you reply.

Sang-woo noticed your flushed complexion. You looked scared and nervous. He decided then and there that he liked that look on you—the way your cheeks were red, the way your eyes never met his, instead focusing on his statue rather than his face, and the way your body stirred upon seeing him. For a moment, he thought you had seen right through his facade, seeing him for the madman he truly is rather than the genius everyone else saw him as.

Were you scared or intrigued? Sang-woo couldn't decide.

The train pulls up to the platform with a stretch. The sound reminds him of the games, making him zone out. Your voice brings him back to reality: “Are you alright?” Sang-woo snaps out of it and looks over at you. You look genuinely concerned.

He smiled slightly, pushing his glasses up before answering, “I'm alright. So? Shall we?” Sang-woo motions for you to board the train. You board the train without a second thought. Sang-woo follows you inside the train car. Once inside, he tells you to sit down while he stands in front of your seated form, holding onto the railing. You didn't question him or try to protest, foolishly trusting a stranger. Pathetic. Just like Gi-hun, Sang-woo thought to himself.

He wondered about Gi-hun from time to time. A part of him thought he might have survived the final game, but there could only be one winner.

“It's over. I won't let you leave here with that money,” Gi-hun said, holding the steak knife, determined to win, to beat Sang-woo. He was always stubborn, so much so that it clouded his judgment. He never knew when to admit defeat.

Sang-woo wasn't going to let him quit. They were too far into the game to just walk away without the prize money. Not only did quitting mean no money, but it also meant that those 454 people died for nothing. It meant that he killed people for nothing.

Gi-hun walks towards Sang-woo, knife in hand, and attacks. Sang-woo dodges the attack and manages to grab hold of Gi-hun. He holds him tightly, bringing the knife closer to his face, but Gi-hun cuts his wrist and escapes Sang-woo's hold, causing Sang-woo to drop his knife. Gi-hun wastes no time and attacks, cutting Sang-woo's cheek before kicking his knife across the field. Frustrated, Sang-woo takes off his suit jacket, using it to force Gi-hun to drop his knife. Both, now unarmed, rush toward each other, pushing and fighting in a fiery of agony as the rain falls down upon them and the court.

After a few punches, Sang-woo gets Gi-hun in a chokehold, which Gi-hun escapes from, only to have his suit jacket torn off his back. This is it, Sang-woo thought to himself before towering over Gi-hun's exhausted body, bringing the suit jacket up around his neck. “Die!” Sang-woo says as he chokes Gi-hun with the jacket. “Die!” he says once more, but Gi-hun is stubborn.

“Get up! Get up!” Sang-woo yells, trying his hardest to end this once and for all. As soon as the two stand up, they fall backward on the sand. Sang-woo grows exhausted, and Gi-hun grows confident as he moves away from Sang-woo's chokehold.

The rain continues to fall as the two return to fighting it out, both determined to end the final game. Sang-woo grabs a knife off the wet sand and stabs Gi-hun in the leg, then again in the stomach. Gi-hun groans in pain.

Sang-woo kicks him in the face, causing Gi-hun to fall onto the sand in the middle of the squid-shaped court. “You remember this place?”Sang-woo begins. “This is where they made us play Red Light, Green Light. Everyone who was standing here is dead now. Everyone... except for us, Gi-hun.” He kicks him in the face again before continuing, “We've gone too far to go back now.” With that, Sang-woo stabs Gi-hun. The knife is met with Gi-hun's hand in protest.

“Clause Three of the agreement. The players are able to end the game when the majority agrees. So, if we both give up now, we can end it,” Gi-hun cries through the pain of the knife in his hand.

“When we were kids, you and I would play like this, and our moms would call us to dinner. No one's calling anymore,” Sang-woo sighs as tears form in his eyes. He pulls the knife out of Gi-hun's hand with force before stabbing him a final time. Gi-hun bleeds out slowly. “Sang-woo... my daughter, Ga-yeong... please, look after her and Cheol. I promised her I would look after Cheol,” Gi-hun sobs before finally admitting defeat.

“Gi-hun... I'm sorry,” Sang-woo sobs as the speaker announces player 456 has been eliminated.

You get up from your seat on the train before saying goodbye to the strange man in front of you. “Well, this is me.” The train comes to a stop, and the doors open. As you turn to leave, Sang-woo snaps out of his daydream and grabs hold of your wrist before placing a card in your pocket. “Thank you,” he says.

You weren't sure why the man was thanking you. All you did was confirm he had the right train. You nod anyway, to be polite, before exiting the train car. As the train doors close, you turn to see the man is already looking at you. Strange, you thought as you watched him leave the station.

When you get home and take off your coat, you notice something fell out of your pocket. You bend down to pick up a card. You stare at the number on it, wondering how it got there. Remembering the strange man on the train, you decide to call the number. After three rings, someone picks up.

“Hello?” The voice says.

“Hello. I uh think you might've given me this number. Who is this?” you reply.

The voice lets out a chuckle, “Yes, I remember. You're the one from the train. My apologies for not introducing myself. I'm Sang-woo.”

So it was that strange man from earlier, you thought before speaking into the phone and introducing yourself to the man known as Sang-woo. The man repeats your name back as if trying to memorize it.

“I have a proposition for you. If you're curious, I'd like you to meet me tomorrow night. Before you come to a decision, check your other pocket. Should you agree, there's a lot more where that came from,” with that Sang-woo hangs up.

My other pocket? You grab your jacket and look in the other pocket to find $1,000 cash. Huh?! You count the money to be sure before holding it up toward the ceiling light. It was real. Before you can debate the money further, you hear your phone ping. You pick it up to see a text from an unknown number that reads a location and a time. That had to be him. Sang-woo...

The next day, you rush around your apartment looking for something to wear to meet Sang-woo. The location he sent you looked to be that of a park so you didn’t need to dress fancy, but you wanted to leave a good impression. The man could be a psycho planning to kidnap you for all you know, yet he gave you $1,000 which made you think he could be trusted. You still couldn’t understand why give a stranger that much money. The man was clearly rich. especially given that suit he was wearing yesterday, but why not donate it or give it to someone who needed it more? You weren’t exactly well off financially, but you had a roof over your head and a paying job so you couldn’t complain.

After making a mess of your closet, you pull an outfit that pleases you. Hopefully, this pleases him. You grab your belongings, including the money he gave you, and leave to meet Sang-woo at the park. Once you arrive, you check the time on your phone: 10:02 PM. Where is he? Just as you start to think about heading back home, you see a shadow walking toward you in the distance.

“Sorry, I'm late. Please have a seat,” Sang-woo motions to the park bench. You sit down beside him and take in his appearance. He looks polished in his white button-up and thick black coat, but his eyes tell a different story. Behind the glasses, he looks emotionless, almost evil. He pulls out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one before continuing, “I'm glad you showed up. I'm sure you're wondering why I brought you here, so I'll cut to the chase.”

“Wait,” you interrupt him, handing him the money he gave you. “Here. This is yours.”

He stared at the money, taking another drag from his cigarette without daring to take it. “Keep it. I gave it to you, so please keep it.”

You make a motion for him to take it, refusing to take his money when you don't need or want it. “No, really, I can't take it. It's too much.”

He stares at you with those piercing eyes, “Keep it.”

You return the money to your pocket, refusing to argue with the strange man and focus on the ground because those eyes terrify you. Perhaps he really was here to kidnap you.

Sang-woo takes one last drag before throwing the cigarette on the ground and stomping it with his foot. He then reaches into his pocket to pull out a black box and a wad of cash before facing you, holding out the two things in front of you. “You can walk away with more money or marry me. You can only pick one. One makes you richer. The other makes you even more rich. Pick one,” he says, opening the black box to reveal a diamond engagement ring.

You blink in confusion at the options being presented to you. Without even thinking, you feel your hand move toward the ring. It was a beautiful ring, one everyone dreamed about. Your hand touches the top of the black box, pinky meeting the skin of the man holding it. You're not sure what made you pick the ring. Perhaps it was the excitement of a new life or the idea of never worrying about money again.

Sang-woo smiles, putting the wad of cash back in his pocket before placing the ring on your finger. He slides it on slowly, gently brushing the metal further down your finger until it reaches the end. “Good choice.”

[lastoneout]

Also another more recent one here!

While wider studies are needed, it does feel really insidious that stimulant medication is misunderstood, demonized, and so strictly regulated that most of us have had to go without for days or weeks at a time sometimes multiple times a year or even EVERY MONTH, and in some places it's almost impossible to actually access at all while the truth is that it is quite literally life-saving medical care for those of us who need it.

I've left the stove on three separate times when unmedicated and I was VERY lucky that none of them resulted in carbon monoxide poisoning or me burning my house down. I've also nearly electrocuted myself or walked into traffic, being off my meds legit feels like all my senses are dulled, I'm far clumsier which leads to injury, forget important things like if I've taken my other meds, meds that if I go off of suddenly or take too much of can cause severe health problems. I've heard horror stories of how hard it is to even just drive safely with unmedicated ADHD and most people don't even realize how unsafe it is until they've gone on meds and learned what normal driving is for a neurotypical person. And the list goes on. Hell, being unmedicated can even lead to losing our jobs, housing, or access to food and support systems, and makes it way harder to keep your house clean, all of which also lead to an increased risk of injury, illness, and death. I've missed rent more times than I can count, racked up credit card debt, had my utilities shut off, all because I just can't fucking remember to pay bills on time without my meds, I've missed fucking black mold in my shower, accidentally eaten food out of date, gotten way too drunk without realizing it, it's a nightmare, it really is.

I really just hate thinking about how many people with ADHD have likely died or been seriously injured or suffered due to simple mistakes that they never would have made if they were properly medicated, and it makes me so angry that ADHD treatment is so hard to get almost entirely based on bullshit scaremongering about addiction. In fact being medicated puts ADHDers at LESS of a risk of turning to alcohol and drugs to make our lives manageable, and it's nearly impossible for someone with ADHD to get addicted to a stimulant medication anyway.

(Not that addicts deserve what happens to them, they need help and support as well, everyone deserves human rights and to have their needs met, this just is a completely fabricated problem when it comes to ADHD and it's normalization is legit killing us. My mom has also nearly died due to not being medicated and she to go through like four different licensed psychatrists until she found one who would actually prescribe ritalin for her, the rest all cited risk of addiction as a reason to deny her even though they should fucking know that isn't a legit concern. One even said she just "didn't want to be held responsible" for her patients forming addictions to ADHD meds. I wonder how she'd feel if she was held responsible for all the suffering her desperation to keep her hands clean has almost certainly caused.)

And tbh I'd also rather a million people get high off adderall than have even one person with ADHD miss out on medical care that can save their life because disabled people shouldn't have to suffer to make up for shit we basically can't do. Why should someone else abusing adderall mean I have to risk my life and go without. Make it make sense.

It is actually way better for 100 addicts to get their fix on pain pills than a single person in pain go without. I call this the "Torture is bad" principle. You should be able to get the good stuff forever after a single doctor's visit. If you're worried about addicts fund rehab centers and needle exchanges instead of torturing people.

[freeuselandonorris]

16 (+18?) for max f/lando/oscar? same anon who was talking about hypno earlier, so. i would love some hypno in there, but no pressure!

cheating slightly and smashing together four similar prompts because i got nearly 40 requests lmao

so here for your enjoyment is a brief return to hypnoverse, in which max and lando invite oscar to use lando in his hypno bimbo state 💕

ngl i missed this ‘verse so i might potentially turn this into a proper sequel at some point We Will See

cw for hypno but it's all very consensual!

“Right, Bob,” Max says. He’s got good at sounding confident now, he thinks. Like he knows what he’s doing. Someone in charge. “You sure about this?”

Lando nods. Turns to look at Oscar.

Oscar’s looking a little like he’s secretly freaking out and trying not to show it, too. His eyes are very bright when he nods. Max tries not to feel too gratified by the way Oscar looks at him for direction. 

“Okay,” Max says, and claps his hands, wincing when he clocks Lando’s smirk. As if Lando doesn’t spend half his life performing to an invisible camera. “Oscar, mate, I’ve got the list of trigger phrases on my phone if you need a reminder.”

Oscar shakes his head. “I can remember them.”

“All right,” Max says, and looks at Lando, who’s pulled the sleeves of his pink hoodie over his hands, fidgeting. “Babygirl sleep.”

He’d been a bit worried that Lando might not respond to the triggers with someone else there. That he’d get self-conscious, or distracted, and Max would be left standing there like a tit, a magician dropping the deck of cards halfway through a trick. 

But Lando blinks, and his face slackens into a soft, dopey smile. Max breathes a sigh of relief. “Good girl,” he says quickly, and Lando sways on the spot as the trance deepens. Max doesn’t usually use two commands in quick succession like that; he wonders how it feels for Lando, who’s smiling in an unfocused way at a spot on the floor a few feet away, hands limp at his sides. 

Max’s cock stirs. He looks at Oscar. Oscar’s looking pretty hypnotised himself, staring at Lando with his lips slightly parted. 

“Go on, then,” Max says lightly. “He’s ready. You can do what you want with him.”

Oscar sucks in a breath, steps closer. He’s still staring at Lando with open fascination. When he reaches out and touches Lando’s face, Max’s gut twists pleasantly. He’d worried that he might be jealous, but all he feels is pride, like a kid in the playground showing off their shiniest toy. 

Oscar pushes two fingers into Lando’s mouth, and Lando closes his eyes and sucks blissfully. 

“Is he,” Oscar starts, and then clears his throat when his voice comes out in a croak. “Is he wearing the – what you said?”

“The cage?” Max says, just to watch the blush spread across Oscar’s face. God, it’s good, being the one in the know. His cock is so hard, and it’s not just from seeing Lando like this. “Yeah, ‘course. He wears it most of the time now, when we’re doing this. Helps him remember what he’s good for, doesn’t it, pal?” 

He addresses the last remark to Lando, who makes an indistinct sound in the back of his throat. Max smiles, raises his eyebrows at Oscar like they’re sharing a joke. What a slut, am I right?

“Babygirl strip,” Max says, and Lando moves to obey immediately, yanking his hoodie over his head. He’s told Max he doesn’t really need the uniform anymore, not now he’s so well trained, but Max likes it. “Slowly,” he says chidingly, when Lando grabs eagerly at the hem of his t-shirt. “Show yourself off for Oscar, come on.”

Oscar just about chokes at that, and Max can’t resist getting a hand on himself as Lando immediately course-corrects, turning to Oscar and pulling his t-shirt over his head teasingly slowly. Once it's off, he brushes over his nipples with the tips of his fingers, all wet mouth and lidded, blank eyes. 

He’s not wearing underwear under his jeans, and Oscar groans audibly when he sees the bubblegum pink of the cage around Lando’s soft cock. Lando doesn’t react, just carries on undressing himself, balancing carefully on one foot to peel his jeans off entirely. 

“No,” Oscar says suddenly, when Lando goes for his socks. “Leave them.” They’re white, pulled up to his calves, accentuating Lando’s smooth tanned skin. They do look good; Oscar’s got taste. 

“Good girl,” Max says, watching the pleased little shiver that ripples through Lando’s bared body. “Oscar thinks you look good. Show him the rest.” 

Without hesitation, Lando turns and steps his feet apart, bending down and spreading himself open so Oscar can see the pink furl of his asshole, waxed and still shiny with lube where he’s been wearing a plug all morning. 

“Oh my God,” Oscar says under his breath. 

Max’s own head is spinning, watching the two of them like this. He adjusts himself again. “Told you, mate.”

He hadn’t, not really. He’d texted back and forth with Oscar about it a bit – Lando hadn’t wanted to take part in the planning, save for messaging Oscar to confirm it wasn’t all some sort of elaborate prank for a particularly x-rated Quadrant video or whatever – but Max hadn’t really given him the full picture. How could he?

So he can forgive Oscar for looking a bit blindsided, now. He’s licking his lips, that unconscious tic Max has seen on the telly a thousand times over, rendered faintly sleazy now given Lando’s still stood in front of him with his legs spread and his arse on display. 

“I want–” Oscar says, trailing off awkwardly. “His mouth?”

He tips it up into a question at the end. Max gestures to Lando, still waiting patiently, giving no indication he can hear their discussion. “You’ll have to tell him, not me. He’ll stand there for hours otherwise. You remember the trigger phrase?” 

“God,” Oscar mutters again, like he really can’t believe what’s happening. He clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is wobbly with nerves. “Lando. Erm – drop for cock.”

He stutters a bit as he says it. Instantly, with perfect grace, Lando turns to face him and drops to his knees. Eyes closed, mouth hanging open, tongue resting invitingly against his bottom lip. He waits like that, perfectly still, as Oscar fumbles his jeans open, more flustered than Max has ever seen him, and feeds his cock into Lando’s mouth. 

It’s hot, watching them, but more than that, Max feels proud. Lando’s sucking Oscar’s cock like he was made for it, nose brushing the trimmed hair on his lower belly, hands resting neatly on his thighs. Oscar’s staring down at him like he’s trying to commit the sight to memory, face flushed hectic red and his chest heaving. Lando’s making noises in the back of his throat as he sucks, eager little moans tucked in among the wet sounds of his mouth. He gags occasionally – Oscar’s not longer than Max, but he is thicker, and Lando's mouth is stretched wide around him – but he doesn’t stop the smooth movement of his head. He’s drooling, tears starting to trickle down his cheeks from the force of Oscar’s cock hitting the back of his throat.

“Careful,” Oscar gasps, hands hovering over Lando’s head as if he’s not sure whether to push him away and let him catch his breath.

“Leave him,” Max says sharply, and Oscar jumps like he’d forgotten Max was even there. “He’s fine.” 

He’ll be hoarse in all of his interviews tomorrow, but that’s all right. Something for Max to get himself off to in his hotel suite when he watches the press conference.

Oscar’s hands move to Lando’s hair, and for a moment Max thinks he’s going to pull Lando away anyway, but he doesn’t. Cradling Lando’s skull, he moves Lando’s head, adjusting the rhythm to something slower and deeper but no less difficult for Lando to take.

Max shoves his hand inside his joggers and watches, barely breathing, as Oscar slowly fucks Lando's mouth. Slow like he's savouring it, slow like he's worried he might never get to see Lando like this again.

Oscar doesn’t give much warning when he comes. His movements get a little faster, a little sloppier, the filthy sounds of Lando’s spit-slick mouth getting correspondingly louder. Otherwise, Max only realises Oscar's coming when his movements jerk to a sudden taut halt. Oscar buckles over as he holds Lando in place. He doesn’t moan or swear or anytthing, just exhales in sharp staccato gasps, fingers rubbing convulsively through Lando’s hair. 

It takes him a minute to straighten up again, carefully unwinding himself from Lando and easing him back with the hand still buried in his damp curls. Lando’s eyes stay closed, his mouth and chin wet with saliva and whatever remnants of Oscar’s come he hadn’t managed to swallow down. Even now, it’s still intoxicating for Max to see him like this, barely cognisant of what a mess he’s in. Even more so to see how much Oscar's enjoying it.

Oscar lets out a shuddering breath, tucking himself back into his boxers with one hand. He’s still petting absently at Lando’s hair, and Max thinks it’s sweet for a moment, until Oscar looks up at him, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Will he stay like this until we tell him to stop?” he says, giving Lando’s head a gentle shake.

Lando goes with the motion easily. Eyes still closed, mouth still open. His nipples are drawn up tight and peaked, betraying his unconscious pleasure even though the pink cage nestled between his thighs stops any kind of physical arousal.

“Yeah,” Max says, and takes his sticky hand out of his boxers. “For another hour or so, at least."

Oscar uses the hand he’s got in Lando’s hair to tip his head up, angled towards Max. He beckons with the other hand, and Max realises that he’s going to keep hold of Lando as he sucks Max’s cock, a pliant little puppet. Controlled by Oscar, for Max's pleasure.

“Well, then,” Oscar says, and smiles, flushed with fresh bravado. “Your turn.”

[rafesbowbunny]

𝜗𝜚 farmgirl!reader surprises stableboy!rafe with a picnic

c!w; basically none... fluff ! yippee! soft!rafe !

notes; first actual farmgirl!reader fic yayay ( someone take my tumblr away before i make too many !readers. i'm obsessed. )

the sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the sprawling fields. the scent of wildflowers mingled with the earthy smell of freshly tilled soil as you tugged rafe’s hand, practically dragging him behind you. his larger frame followed reluctantly, boots crunching against the grass, his gruff protests falling on deaf ears.

“what’s the rush?” he grumbled, his deep voice tinged with amusement, though he made no effort to pull away. “i’ve got chores to finish, y'know.”

you glanced back at him, rolling your eyes as you tightened your grip on his calloused hand. “you’re always working,” you shot back. “besides, you’ll like this. just trust me, okay?”

he huffed, his expression skeptical but curious. “’m not sure i like surprises,” he muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

the field stretched wide before you, its gentle slope leading toward the crest of the hill. the soft rustle of the grass in the breeze mixed with the distant hum of cicadas, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d done too much. rafe wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who cared about pretty views or picnics, but you’d wanted to do something for him; something simple, something good.

when you finally reached the top, you stopped and turned, throwing out your arms like you were presenting a masterpiece. “ta-da!”

he stilled, his brows furrowing slightly as his gaze swept over the setup. a faded checkered blanket was spread over the grass, a wicker basket sitting in the middle, surrounded by wildflowers you’d picked that morning. from here, the view of the setting sun was perfect, painting the horizon in streaks of amber, pink, and lavender.

“you... did all this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

you nodded, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. “'course. for us.”

rafe looked at you then, really looked at you, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. his jaw tightened for a moment, and then he exhaled, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

his words sent warmth blooming in your chest as you dropped onto the blanket, patting the spot next to you. “figured you deserved it. all that hay doesn’ stack itself.”

he sat down, his weight sinking into the ground beside you, his knees brushing against yours. “can’t remember the last time someone did somethin’ like this for me,” he admitted, his voice gruff but honest.

“well,” you said, pulling the basket closer and opening it up to reveal the food you’d packed, “someone’s gotta take care of you. you’re always so busy taking care 'f everything else.”

his eyes softened, the usual guarded look he carried melting away as he watched you set out the meal. “you’re too good to me.” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

the two of you ate in comfortable silence, the sun sinking lower with every passing minute. rafe leaned back on his elbows, his broad shoulders stretching the worn fabric of his shirt as he watched the horizon.

“this is nice,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

you smiled, lying back beside him. “see? i told you you’d like it.”

when he turned to look at you, the fading sunlight framed his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the softness in his blue eyes. “i don’t deserve you,” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place.

you opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, he shifted closer, one hand cupping the side of your face. his touch was gentle, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his lips captured yours. the kiss was slow, deliberate, filled with a tenderness that didn’t match the rugged front he usually put on.

his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer until you were pressed against him. when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“you drive me crazy, y'know that?” he whispered, his voice low and rough.

“good,” you teased, a breathless smile tugging at your lips. “someone’s gotta keep you on your toes, stable boy.”

he chuckled, the deep sound rumbling through his chest as he kissed you again, this time with more urgency. the world around you faded, the soft hum of cicadas, the cool breeze, the golden light of the dying sun. it all melted into nothing but the warmth of him, the weight of his hand on your waist, the way he kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered.

and as the stars began to dot the sky, you stayed like that, tangled together on the blanket, the field quiet except for the sound of your laughter and the steady beat of his heart against yours.

taglist ! ; @drewscoquette , @dollyfiles , @holes4rafe , @filthyrafe , @bambiangels , @rafesheaven , ( pls lmk if you want to be added or removed, i wont mind ! )

[rekino2114]

Makima’s (and really anyone else you could see this ask working for) reaction to her finding her Male S/o sad after he was told by someone (I dunno who, you could decide) that she doesn’t truly love him, and that she’s just using him for her own gain, and that when she’s done with him, she’ll just discard him, and him believing what they told him.

Makima comforting you

Makima loved you. She knew that for sure. After all, you were the person who made her feel love and emotions. You changed her completely from an emotionless and cruel devil to.....a person, her love was the least she could give you to repay you for that.

She would gladly tell you how much she loved you every time you wanted, and she already did so very often, while cuddling, watching movies, and just when you were alone in her office. The words "I love you" just spilled naturally from her mouth whenever you were close to her because it was the pure unfiltered truth. She loved you with all of her newfound heart.

And you thought the same, you thought she loved you just like you loved her, even after telling you her true identity you still loved her, you knew you changed her, you saw her cry and smile for you, just like she said you changed her and made her a person. You loved her and you believed her.

But even you can't fully control your emotions, and so even if you didn't know it, a seed of doubt had already started to grow in your heart. Was she just using you? Manipulating you like everyone else? Maybe she was even using her powers without you realizing it. You didn't think those questions often, just when she was what makima was truly capable of, usually against someone who hurt you. In those moments, you remembered that she was still a devil, someone who could and would kill without hesitation. Sure, she basically only did it for you now. But you couldn't help but wonder if that was just her lying to you so you would stay loyal.

But you still loved her and all of the moments spent with her, those moments when you could feel the pure love coming from her words and touch, far outweighed those thoughts, so you decided to believe her and to continue loving her as you always did.

That was until a conversation you had with kishibe. You didn't know him that well, but you knew he was an incredibly strong devil hunter and that he knew of makima's identity. You two didn't talk much (mostly because makima didn't like him too much), but you had occasional conversations when she had to talk with him and brought you with her.

During one of these conversations, makima had gone away to take care of something, and you stayed with kishibe while he got drunk and started talking to you. It was more like a one-way conversation since you stayed silent because of the awkwardness but you still heard everything.

He called her a devil, a monster, and said that she was just using you for whatever plan she had now. Just like every other person in her life, he said you were nothing more than a dog for her, maybe one cuter than others, but still just someone she'll kill once she's done playing with.

You knew that it wasn't true, it couldn't have been, makima loved you, and you wanted to say that, but inside of you, the doubt grew larger. You knew that no matter how much you didn't want it to be true, there was still a possibility it was. And the mere thought destroyed you

"Is everything alright, darling?"

You looked up to see makima looking at you. Her eyes made you stutter a bit, but you still answered

"Y-yes don't worry"

She stared at you again and paused the movie you were watching

"Are you sure? You don't seem ok"

She got closer and grabbed your hand, making you flinch, which made her even more worried

"You never flinch when I touch you.....please tell me love, what's wrong?"

You avoided her gaze as a bit of sweat feel on your cheek. You were scared, and makima could see that

"Please y/n, you're my boyfriend, I love you, please tell me what's wrong"

Your silence and growing worry made her eyes widen and her grip on your hand tighten

"Was it someone? Do you need me to.....take care of someone?"

That last sentence pushed you over your limits, and you looked down and started crying, taking your hand off of makima's and putting it over your face

"Y-y/n!"

The control devil quickly went near you to hug you, but you pulled back and continued crying

"W-what's wrong y/n? Why are you crying? I-i-"

Looking at you crying and denying her help filled makima with despair. She hated this sight, but most of all, she hated how you kept pushing her hugs and attempts to help away.

".......y/n.....please....tell me"

Her voice wavered....something you had rarely seen before. You moved your hands out of the way of your face and saw her staring at you again but this time you noticed something that not even makima herself noticed. Her yellow eyes were tearing up

"...................makima?"

She immediately perked up at hearing you speak

"Yes, darling?"

"Do you.....love me"

"Of course I do, you're the most important person in my life"

".......Really?"

"....where is this coming from?"

"I......I've just been thinking"

"About what?"

"You I guess"

"Hm?"

"You told me you used to manipulate people to get what you wanted right?"

"Yes but that was before-"

"How do I know you're not doing the same with me?"

"........."

"I know you love me, you have to. I refuse to believe that you don't......but I'm scared of being controlled and blinded by my love for you........please be honest......do you love me?"

Makima wiped her tears a bit and sighed heavily

"To be brief....yes....but it's a lot more than that"

She looked at the ceiling and continued talking

"I don't think I started living as a person until I met you. You gave me a soul a heart and made me feel love, the love I feel for you is far greater than anything I could describe, it's a need, to continue living I need to love you and I want to love you, you're a wonderful and amazing man, you made a devil like me feel emotions so you have to be. I hate my previous self, and for me to never become that again, I need to love you. Y/n you made me a human, and I will always be grateful for that, I will repay you with my eternal love. I will never ever abandon you or let anyone hurt you. Because I love you, that is the truth"

When makima looked back down and opened her eyes, you immediately hugged her, she was a bit surprised but wrapped her own arms around you and pulled you closer to her chest

"I knew it.....I knew it was true, I love you too makima, so so much"

".......thank you"

"No....thank you....you cried...that made me understand you could feel emotions...and love...thank you for clearing up this doubts inside me"

"........I cried?.......I didn't realize it"

"Oh?"

"Sorry I must have been distracted by you.....but I think I know why I cried"

"Why?"

"Because you cried.....and pushed me away... I hated that.....being unable to comfort you...and not being with you it's horrible.......I can't live without you"

".....sorry"

"No it's alright You had doubts and that's understandable, especially because it's me... it's alright if you doubt me again but know I will always love you no matter what"

"Don't worry, I'm 100% sure you love me now after that, I....want to be with you forever too"

"...that will happen y/n I'm sure of it"

You two got closer to each other and kissed, makima smiled at you and pulled back before kissing you again multiple times

"Thank you, my love, I'm glad for your existence and your love"

[descendant-of-truth]

Interesting addendum to this that I wasn't expecting: in the English version of Days, whenever Roxas talks about Sora, he's always clearly framed as a person. "Who is Sora," "I don't even know a Sora," etc.

In Japanese, he initially asks about who Sora is, but then switches to asking what Sora is. And it seems to happen not too long after Xemnas describes Sora as "the connection" between him and Xion.

He proceeds to wonder to himself what Sora is, and who exactly that makes him, before going to ask Axel about it. And during that conversation with Axel, he doesn't say "I don't even know a Sora," he instead just repeats the question of "but what even is Sora?"

Which I think adds an extra nuance to the narrative that gets lost in the official translation. Roxas instinctively thinks of Sora as a person, because why wouldn't he, but none of the answers he gets about him frames him as such. So, perhaps subconsciously, he starts seeing Sora less as a person and more of a mystery, this obstacle to his and Xion's lives that he can't seem to get answers about.

And normally, you'd think Roxas wouldn't fall into this trap, right? He's always been the most adamant about defending Xion's personhood, shouting at people when she's referred to as a puppet or an "it." His whole storyline is about asserting himself in the face of nearly everyone he knows dehumanizing him and trying to take away his autonomy.

Plus, he has Sora's memories! If he remembers things that Sora's done, and things that Sora's felt, how could he not see him as a person?

But I think that's a testament to how insidious the Organization's manipulation is. Roxas and his best friend are discriminated against, they're "othered" in a way that's unfair and it makes him justifiably ticked off. But that's the thing: he knows Xion, he cares about her, and of course he knows himself. He remembers things about Sora, but he doesn't really understand him - we never see him processing the memories he has very well.

So it becomes very easy for Sora to be presented as the "other." He doesn't stand up for Sora's personhood because he hasn't seen it, and frankly, he has bigger things in his home life to care about than whether some random guy he knows random things about is being treated well. Sora, reportedly, is half the reason he has so many problems anyway, and at this point in his life he just wants someone to blame.

It doesn't matter that Sora wasn't personally responsible for anything that happened to Roxas. He doesn't know what Sora did or didn't do when it comes to him and Xion, but everyone's telling him he's responsible, he's the connection, he's the reason everything is happening to him. And so, Roxas's anger is directed at an innocent person, someone who's really not much more privileged than he is, instead of solely at his oppressors.

Honestly, the way Roxas views Sora over time deserves a post all on its own, because it's not even necessarily as straightforward as "and then he saw Sora exactly for who he is once they joined together for a while and he got over his resentment." It's more like, his resentment turned into genuine respect, and then into this weird, resigned hero-worship for a bit, before they seemed to get on equal terms towards the end of KH3.

But my point is, Roxas plays a very interesting role in this pattern of Sora being dehumanized, because he ends up contributing to it for completely different reasons than everyone else, and it's not even on purpose. DiZ and the Organization see Sora as a tool, Namine and especially Riku care more about waking him up than how he'd feel about their methods.

To Roxas, Sora is the reason he lost everything. Sora is "what it was all for," which starts as something he hates, and becomes something that gives him a certain degree of comfort.

Because Sora will be the one to figure it all out, right? He can depend on Sora, just like everybody else, because that's what Sora's here for. He's a good guy, he'll find a way to make things right again.

He ends up being correct, but man. At what cost

Anyone else find it fascinating that whenever we're shown Roxas's feelings through Sora, it's just kind of melancholic and wistful, but the reverse scenario always feels like you just walked into a psychological horror?

Seriously, the way it's presented, it's like we're meant to see Roxas as an old friend that we miss talking to, but Sora - our original "old friend" that we would have reasons to miss - is hardly even shown as a person. The contents of his memories feel less important than the effect they're having on Roxas, which is usually Extreme Distress and/or physical pain.

And it's insane to me because KH1 was so whimsical! The memories that Roxas and Xion are experiencing are literal Disney magic! But the way they're shown, with the fuzzy filters and the glitch effects, sort of removes the emotions you associate with them and makes them come across as eerie and unsettling.

Not to mention, Sora's memories rarely prompt any feelings of happiness, the way Roxas's might make Sora extra fond of the Twilight Town crew... which might say more about how KH1 affected Sora's mental health than anything.

(I personally stand by the idea that the story revisits it so much as an analogy for how repeating events in your head over and over can alter your perception of them)

But like. how wild is it that this series found a way to take its cheerful protagonist, and without changing anything about him, turned him into this constant, unnerving presence that haunts the lives of two other characters?

And I think another reason Roxas doesn't feel like he haunts Sora in the same way is because no one really... treats Sora like a person while he's asleep. He's either a tool or an object of affection, and regardless of which you pick, his feelings are seen as secondary to the goal of waking him up. As a result, the narrative focuses entirely on Roxas and Xion's personhood, and unlike Sora, they never stop being treated like people once they're made inaccessible due to the plot.

It's probably a bit late in the story to bring it up by now, but I still wonder if we'll ever see Sora be upset with Riku for sacrificing people in his name. Sure, it worked out in the end, and I'm not sure if Sora's even aware of what happened (how likely is it that he's properly sifted through all of Roxas's memories at this point?) but there's a list of things he could still conceivably be mad at Riku about that he hasn't processed, and I want this to be one of them

[ruewrote]

𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑜.

PAIRING: jj maybank x fem!reader WARNINGS: jealously, arguments, no use of y/n GENRE: angst SONG INSPIRATION: is there someone else? by the weeknd WORD COUNT: 4.1k REQUESTED: yes NOTE: can you tell that me breaking no contact didn't go well?

navigation | ask | jj maybank masterlist

you were tired. not the kind of tired you could fix with a good night’s sleep or an extra cup of coffee. 

no, this was deeper. heavier. it had been weighing on you for months, maybe longer, and no matter how much you told yourself you were done.

that this time would be the last, you always found yourself right back where you started, with jj.

it wasn’t the kissing that made you feel this way, not exactly. you liked kissing him. god, you loved kissing him. the way his lips tasted faintly of weed and beer, the way he held you like you were the only thing grounding him. 

the way his stupid grin would soften just for you, his cocky bravado melting into something almost vulnerable. for a few fleeting hours, it felt like everything you wanted, everything you’d dreamed of since the first time you realised how deep your feelings for him ran.

but it was never real. not when the alcohol was buzzing in his veins, not when he whispered things he’d never say in the harsh light of day. “you know it’s always been you, right?” his voice would crack sometimes, and you’d feel your heart breaking and healing all at once. 

or there’d be the quiet, desperate promises. “one day, i’m gonna do right by you. i swear.” and for a moment, you’d believe him.

you always believed him.

but then the sun would rise, and jj would be gone. not gone in the literal sense. no, he’d still be around, cracking jokes, causing trouble, being him. but it was like the version of him you got in the middle of the night didn’t exist in the daylight. 

instead, you’d see him with someone else, his arm slung around some girl, his attention completely absorbed by her like you’d never even crossed his mind.

it wasn’t just one time. it wasn’t even a few times. it was a pattern, and it was breaking you. because as much as you wanted to hate him for it, you couldn’t. you couldn’t hate him for being who he was, for not giving you the thing you so desperately wanted but he so clearly wasn’t ready to give.

you hated the way you let him in, over and over again. the way you believed the things he said, even when he never followed through on them. you hated the way your heart sped up when he looked at you, even though you knew that look wouldn’t last. 

you hated the way your chest ached every time you saw him with someone else, the way you had to swallow the lump in your throat and force a smile like it didn’t matter.

but it did matter. it mattered too much.

so, you told yourself you were done. this time, for real. no more stolen kisses, no more whispered promises. no more jj.

moving on wasn’t easy, though. it wasn’t like you could just flip a switch and stop caring. but you tried. you told yourself it was okay to look at other guys, to flirt a little, to remind yourself that there were people out there who might actually be able to give you what jj couldn’t.

at first, it felt hollow. empty. none of the guys you talked to really clicked, and you started to wonder if you were just wasting your time. but then there was jackson.

jackson wasn’t like jj. he didn’t have that wild spark, that untamed energy that drew people in. but maybe that was a good thing. because jackson was steady. reliable. the kind of guy who made you feel safe instead of uncertain.

he wasn’t one for grand gestures or flashy moves. but he was thoughtful in ways that caught you off guard. like when he texted you first thing in the morning, asking how you slept. or when he remembered little things about you. your favorite coffee order, the song you hummed under your breath when you thought no one was listening.

and maybe the chemistry wasn’t instant. maybe there weren’t fireworks or that pull you’d always felt with jj. but there was something else. something quieter. something warmer.

still, there were moments when doubt crept in. 

late at night, when your phone buzzed and you half hoped it was him. even though you knew it wouldn’t be. or when you caught yourself comparing the two of them, wondering if you’d ever feel the same fire you felt for jj with someone else.

the doubt lingered. refusing to leave no matter how much you tried to shake it. 

the room had quieted down, the hum of conversation replaced by the soft rustling of the evening. the others had scattered. pope was buried in his notes on the porch, sarah and john b had disappeared into the twinkie for some ‘alone time,’ and kie had made herself scarce, muttering something about a late-night walk.

that left just you and jj, sprawled on opposite ends of the couch. you had tucked yourself into the corner, scrolling through your phone, a quiet giggle escaping your lips now and then. it wasn’t intentional, but each laugh seemed to draw jj’s attention, his eyes flickering toward you.

“what’s so funny over there?” he finally asked, his tone light but laced with curiosity.

you glanced up at him briefly, your lips still tugged into a soft smile. "nothing," you said casually, shrugging as you turned your attention back to your phone.

he shifted, sitting up slightly, leaning toward you, his eyebrows raised. "nah, come on. don’t give me that. who’s got you giggling like that? share with the class."

you hesitated, your fingers tightening around your phone as you debated whether or not to answer. you weren’t doing anything wrong, not really, but something about admitting you were texting jackson felt... complicated.

"it’s just jackson," you said finally, keeping your tone light. "he sent me something funny."

jj froze for a split second, so brief you might have missed it if you weren’t paying attention. but then he leaned back, his smirk slipping into place. "oh, jackson, huh?" he drawled, his voice dripping with something that wasn’t quite teasing but wasn’t far from it either. 

"what’s he got you laughing about? some dad joke or something?"

you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way his sudden shift made your stomach twist. "it’s not a big deal, jayj," you said, shrugging again. "just a funny meme. relax."

"relax? i’m totally relaxed," he shot back, but there was an edge to his voice now, subtle but obvious to you. he stretched out on the couch, his arm draping over the back, his eyes fixed on you. "i mean, good for you, right? jackson seems like... a solid guy."

you could feel the tension creeping into the air between you, and you hated it. you hated how jj could make something so small feel so heavy, how his words, his tone, could tangle you up inside even when you tried so hard not to let them.

"yeah, he is," you said quietly, your eyes still on your phone. "he’s nice."

"nice," jj repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "that’s great. real exciting."

you looked up at him then, your gaze meeting his, and for a moment, the cocky mask he wore slipped. there was something raw in his eyes, something he couldn’t quite hide no matter how hard he tried.

"why do you care?" you asked softly, the question hanging between you.

he opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again, his jaw tightening. for a moment, it looked like he might actually say something real, something honest. but then he shook his head, his smile sliding back into place.

"i don’t," he said with a shrug, his voice light and breezy. "just curious, that’s all. you know me, always gotta know what’s going on."

but you weren’t convinced, and from the way he avoided your eyes, you knew he wasn’t either.

you turned back to your phone, trying to focus on jackson’s message, but jj’s presence was impossible to ignore. the warmth of his presence, the way his leg brushed against yours when he shifted. everything about him pulled at you, even when you didn’t want it to.

the tension had been building for days, his snide comments had started small. barely noticeable jabs that you brushed off with a roll of your eyes. but they didn’t stop. every interaction seemed to carry a sharper edge, a hidden layer of something he wouldn’t address. and while he never said anything outright about what had been between you, it was there, unspoken, colouring every word that left his mouth.

by the end of the week, it had become unbearable.

you were sitting at home, sprawled on your bed with the tv on for background noise, trying to find some semblance of peace. but jj had shown up unannounced, like he always did, at first, he just hovered, pacing around your room, muttering something about john b, then pope, then kie. and when that didn’t hold his attention, he turned his focus to you.

"really?" he scoffed, nodding toward your phone. "let me guess, you’re texting jackson. again."

you froze, your grip on the phone tightening as your pulse spiked. he was baiting you. again, but this time, you weren’t in the mood to play along. "what’s your problem, jj?" you said, not looking up.

"my problem?" he said, his voice cutting as his eyes flicked over you. "i don’t have a problem. just didn’t realise you were into guys who need a manual to figure you out. guess you finally found someone slow enough to keep up."

that was it. that was the breaking point.

you stood up so fast your phone fell onto the floor, your chest heaving as you rounded on him. "what the hell is wrong with you?" you snapped, your voice louder than you’d intended. 

"you’ve been like this all week, taking cheap shots, acting like a total asshole. why? because i’m trying to move on? because i’m finally doing something for myself instead of waiting around for you to get your shit together?"

jj blinked, startled by the sudden outburst, but his defenses went up just as quickly. his jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly. "i don’t know what you’re talking about," he said, his voice colder now. "i’m just calling it like i see it."

"calling it like you see it?" you repeated, your voice shaking with anger. "no, jj. you’re being a coward. you can’t handle the fact that i’m not waiting around for you anymore, so you’re lashing out like some jealous boyfriend. grow up!"

"jealous?" he scoffed, his laugh bitter. "of jackson? please. the guy you’re settling for?”

"stop it," you snapped, your voice breaking slightly. "just stop. you don’t get to do this. you don’t get to act like this when you’re the one who’s been stringing me along for months. you don’t get to pick and choose when to care about me. you either want me, jj, or you don’t. but i can’t keep doing this with you."

for a moment, the room was silent, your words hanging heavy in the air between you. jj’s expression flickered, his mask slipping for just a second, and you saw something raw in his eyes. guilt. pain. maybe even regret. but it wasn’t enough. not this time.

"that’s what i thought," you said, your voice quieter now but still stern. "you can’t even say it, can you? you can’t admit that you don’t want me, but you can’t stand the thought of someone else making me happy either. that’s not love, jj. that’s just being selfish."

he opened his mouth to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. you shook your head, turning away from him as tears stung the corners of your eyes. "just go," you said, your voice trembling. "i can’t do this anymore."

but he didn’t move. he stayed frozen in the same spot, staring at you, like he was waiting for something.

you whipped around to face him, your hands shaking. "why the hell are you still here?" you snapped, fury rising in your chest. "are you really just gonna stand there? if you won’t leave, then i will."

without another word, you turned and stormed down the stairs, the adrenaline making your steps faster, sharper. you grabbed the door, slamming it behind you so hard the house seemed to tremble. 

you didn’t stop. your feet pounded the pavement, the cool night air biting at your skin, but you didn’t care. in all your anger, you hadn’t even grabbed a jacket, and now the chill of the night was cutting through you. 

you found yourself heading to the beach without even thinking. the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was distant, muffled by the pounding of your pulse in your ears.

you reached the sand, and collapsed down, too exhausted to care about the discomfort. the wind howled around you, you pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as if you could hold yourself together that way. 

the tears that had been threatening for so long finally broke free, flooding down your cheeks as the full weight of it hit you.

you couldn’t stop the sobs, each one shaking through your body. it felt like every bit of the anger, the hurt, the confusion, and the love you had poured into jj over the months came crashing down all at once. it wasn’t fair.

none of it was. you had given him everything, trusted him, believed his empty promises, and now... you were sitting alone on the beach in the dark, freezing cold, with nothing left but the ache in your chest.

you buried your face into your knees, the salt of your tears mixing with the salt of the ocean breeze, as you let the emptiness swallow you whole.

the tears had stopped, but they clung to your skin, leaving long streaks down your cheeks. your eyes were swollen, your lips tender and raw from the sobbing, and you just sat there, numb, staring out at the dark expanse of the ocean. 

the waves crashed relentlessly, matching the rhythm of the ache inside you, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. 

you had no idea how much time had passed. minutes? hours? the world felt like it had gone quiet around you, just you and the ocean. and then, the sound of footsteps. at first, you didn’t acknowledge it. 

you figured it was just the wind or some passing stranger, but the steps grew closer. you held your breath, the space around you suddenly feeling claustrophobic, like everything in you knew who was coming, even before you saw him.

the sound of a thud broke the silence as someone sat down beside you. you turned slowly, the muscles in your neck aching, but there he was. of course, it was him.

for a moment, all you could do was stare, the disbelief hitting you. your chest tightened again, and before you could stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek. you wiped it away angrily, but it didn't matter. the damage was already done.

a bitter, humourless laugh escaped you, the sound raw and broken. "why can’t you just leave me alone?" you muttered, the words barely audible. you tried to look away, but your eyes wouldn’t shift from him. 

you hated the way your heart twisted at the sight of him, even now, even after everything.

jj didn’t say anything at first, just sitting there beside you, his presence heavy. you could feel his gaze on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. the silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken things.

you glanced back over to him to find his own eyes were swollen, lips and nose tinged pink from what you could only guess were from his own breakdown, his hands still trembling as they rested at his sides. 

you hated how, despite all the pain he’d caused, you still found him pretty in this moment. the vulnerability in him, the way he wore his brokenness so openly, it made your chest ache. it was the last thing you wanted to feel. 

he didn’t speak. neither did you. it felt like you were both waiting for the other to break first. but it wasn’t until the sound of the waves crashing against the shore felt too deafening that he finally spoke, his voice cracked, raw.

“i… i’m sorry," he began, voice thick with something like regret. "i’ve been a fucking idiot, okay? i know i have. and i don’t know how to fix it. i don’t know what i’m doing, or what i’ve done to you… but i need you to know that it’s not because i don’t care.”

his words were stuttering, full of shame, but the way he said it, the way his hands fidgeted, his desperation was impossible to ignore.

“i–god, i fucked this up, didn’t i? i… i always do this. i push, i pull, i make you feel like shit, and then… then i can’t stand the thought of losing you. but every time you walk away, i don’t know how to make you stay. i never know what the right thing to say is, and i just... i just hurt you again and again. i’m so fucking sorry."

you were still staring out at the ocean, fighting the hurt that sat heavy in your chest, fighting the urge to listen to the softness in his voice, to hear him out. but you couldn’t. not yet.

“i’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he said, his voice breaking. “i don’t deserve it. but i need you to know how much i fucking care about you. more than i know how to say. more than i can ever show. it’s like i don’t know what to do with it, so i make everything worse. but you–you matter to me more than anything else in my stupid fucking life. and if you can find it in you to forgive me... if you can just look at me the way you used to, i’ll do anything. i swear, i’ll do whatever it takes.”

his voice was softer now, quieter, almost pleading as he inched closer to you on the sand, his face full of regret. his eyes searched yours, desperate to find any trace of warmth, any sign that you still cared.

“i’m begging you,” he said, his voice trembling. “please. i can’t lose you. i can’t. i know i fucked up, but please. give me the chance to make it right. please don’t walk away from me. not like this.”

the words hung in the air between you, his desperate plea reverberating in the cold night as you sat there, trembling from the weight of it all. your chest felt tight, the pain of everything that had happened pressing on you, threatening to suffocate you. 

his words reached you, pierced through the numbness you had been trying to build around yourself. but you weren’t ready yet, not ready to let go of the anger, the hurt. you wanted to stay mad at him, wanted to keep your distance, to protect yourself.

but you couldn’t.

you felt the floodgates open, and the dam you’d so carefully built up around your heart cracked, letting the years of suppressed feelings break free in one overwhelming rush.

the tears came first, unbidden, streaking down your cheeks as your breath caught in your throat. you wiped at your face, trying to hold it together, but the weight of everything, the heartache that had built up for so long, was impossible to ignore. you turned toward him, your voice shook as you spoke, barely a whisper at first.

“you don’t get it,” you said, the rawness in your voice making it hard to speak. “you don’t get how much i wanted this… how much i wanted you.”

your hands were trembling now, your heart hammering as the words poured out, no longer able to keep them locked inside. “i’ve been holding on to this... this stupid hope, waiting for you to realise how i feel. but i couldn’t do it anymore, jj. i couldn’t keep waiting for you to come around. for you to see me. to see us. every time i tried to let you in, you pushed me away. every time you said you cared, i believed you, and you made me feel like an idiot for it."

you paused, trying to steady your breath as your chest tightened again. 

“i kept telling myself i was done. that i was over it. that i could move on. but every time i saw you with someone else, every time you pulled away, it tore me apart. it felt like i was drowning in it, jj. and i kept asking myself why i kept putting myself through that, why i kept letting you hurt me. but the truth is, i can’t stop wanting you. i can’t stop needing you.”

you took a shaky breath, your eyes brimming with tears again, but this time, they felt different. this time, they were from the depths of everything you’d been holding back. the fear. the hurt. the longing.

“i can’t do it anymore,” you whispered. “i need you. i’ve needed you for so long, but you never, never, let me be close enough. and it’s breaking me. it has been for so long.”

"i don’t want to be this broken, desperate person anymore," you continued, the tears coming faster now. "i can’t keep waiting for you to make up your mind. but god… god, i need you to choose me. i need you to finally see me. not as some game, not as someone you can just toss aside when it's not convenient for you anymore. i need to know you’re here for me. that you want me too.”

you looked up at him then, your heart in your throat, his eyes were wide, filled with a mix of guilt, pain. “i need you, jj,” you said again, your voice barely more than a whisper now. "i don’t care if it’s messy. i don’t care if it’s hard. i just need to know you’re here… that you’re really here."

the weight of it all hung in the air between you, and you felt exposed. but for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t care about hiding anymore. you were done pretending you didn’t need him. done pretending you could walk away from what had been growing between you for so long.

he reached out, tentatively at first, like he was scared you’d pull away. his fingers brushed against yours, a gentle touch that seemed to break the tension in the air.

“hey… hey, look at me.” his voice was softer than you had ever heard it, like he was trying to steady himself, trying to make sure he didn’t fuck this up. he moved closer to you, his other hand resting carefully on your cheek, wiping away a tear with the pad of his thumb.

“i’m here,” he said, his voice low, but full of conviction now. “i’m right here, and i’ve always been here, in my messed up way. i know i’ve hurt you. i know i’ve been a fucking idiot. i don’t deserve you, but damn it, i’m not going anywhere. i don’t want anyone else. it’s always been you, even when i was too stupid to admit it to myself. but i’m not afraid anymore.”

he let out a shaky breath, and you could see how real he was being. it wasn’t just the guilt on his face anymore; it was something else, something pure. it was like he was finally letting himself be vulnerable with you, really showing you what he’d been hiding all this time.

“i’m so sorry for making you feel like you had to fight for me,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “i should’ve chosen you from the start. i should’ve seen you. really seen you, for who you are. not just the person who’s always there when i need them. you’re more than that. you always have been.”

his forehead pressed gently against yours, and you could feel his breath mingling with yours. his hand moved to your back, pulling you closer, as if he was afraid that if he let you go, you’d slip away forever.

“i need you too,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “i’m not perfect. i’m never gonna be perfect. but i’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to me. because you are my choice. always. you’re all i want.”

the warmth of his words, the tenderness in his touch, broke something open in you, you allowed yourself to lean into him fully. 

all the walls you had built around your heart started to crumble, piece by piece.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

© ruewrote 2024.

[genericpuff]

Hello! I'm someone with autism (and I'm suspecting ADHD too) who's planning multiple projects. Do you have any advice when it comes to overthinking a lot about decisions on a project? Be it the first step, planning, questioning if you're moving too fast, etc?

ouuuu I think the biggest thing I struggle with personally is just like... the overbearing weight of expectation that isn't necessarily even there. Like, expectation to do everything right all the time, to never make mistakes, to never fall through on promises, to never break any 'rules' (real or imaginary) and most of all, for everything I do to matter in some big, recognizable, memorable way - but the steps to that goal aren't defined, I just know what the goal looks like, with no clear path as to how to get there, and so it often results in me aiming at my own "best guess" and then beating myself up for not hitting the target LOL which is completely unfair to myself and my own work!

What I try to regularly remind myself of is that I am one person, who is only capable of what one person should reasonably be able to accomplish on their own, no matter how much my auDHD tries to convince me otherwise that I "should" be able to handle more than what's reasonable. And in that same sense, there isn't any more pressure on me to put out something perfect than there would be on any other person. I am not Atlas carrying the fate of the greatest work known to mankind on my shoulders - I'm a chronically online dweeb making stuff that's interesting to themselves and sharing it in the hopes that even just one other person will like it too. That isn't a diss on myself, that's me embracing what I am so that I can keep doing it better and more confidently each time.

Though I don't know if this exactly applies to you, I'm gonna say it just in case: I know when it comes to balancing multiple projects, it can be hard not to go "oh well I SHOULD be working on xyz!" but at the end of the day, you're not a failure for preferring to work on something else or needing space from projects that used to thrill you and have now become monotonous. In fact, it turns out that's how it is for most neurotypical people too! I know they make a lot of shit look easy, but even they have shit they loathe doing - they just don't have to deal with the unique hurdles of being neurodivergent.

Always remember to set boundaries with yourself and your work. Remember, just because you're really excited to work on something, doesn't mean you have to work on it all the time. I've learned to appreciate those moments when I'm stuck doing my day job and I'm excited to get home and work on my passion project, because it means I can actually look forward to it and it'll feel all the more rewarding when I finally get to do it! Pushing yourself too hard to fulfill that excitement all at once right off the bat often just means you're gonna spend it all way too quick, and that won't feel good because then you'll be left wondering where all the love went.

Set little goals for yourself. Stuff that's manageable and achievable within a reasonable amount of time. I know we tend to dive into thinking huge right off the bat, because that's what's exciting to us, but when it comes time to actually do the work, those smaller goals can keep us moving forward far better than the big, far off, ambiguous goal hiding somewhere off in the horizon. While it's good to plan ahead, not setting smaller milestones for yourself can burn you out faster because it's really hard to work towards an "end goal" that might be too far away for us to even conceptualize. The small goals allow us to reward ourselves along the way, and they do ultimately still build up to the bigger picture in the end, even if it feels like we're "not doing much". It can be anything like "get to this chapter that I can finish in the next few weeks" or "fully write out this scene that's been living in my head rent-free".

As for the overthinking... yeah, I wish I had some magic solution to that, but it's really just about learning what you enjoy doing vs. what you don't, so that you can have confidence in knowing when your creative decisions suit the project you're working on. This is something that gets better with practice and experience, but I feel like it's better tackled by reminding yourself that any project, no matter the outcome of how popular it gets or whether or not it "takes off", is an opportunity to learn and grow. Treat every project as a learning experience and you'll hopefully find the process itself more enjoyable, which will subsequently buff up your confidence. It's all a process of honing in on what works for you, what you excel at, and what you enjoy doing; while learning what doesn't work for you, what you could improve at, and what you don't enjoy doing.

Finding a writing buddy or someone who's willing to read your work and give you feedback is super helpful for this, too, because sometimes it takes another perspective to help us navigate the fog of indecision and find a solution.

And again, remember - you are one person, and you are under no obligation for any of your projects to be some perfect, infallible holy grail. You will write stuff that you will inevitably look back on with disgust and cringe. You will create projects that you will eventually outgrow or move on from. That does not invalidate the time and effort you put into those projects - it's proof of experience and growth. Embrace the growing pains, find peace in the process in whatever way you can.

It's not a question of right or wrong - it's asking yourself what feels true to you and your voice, and finding out along the way.

[hrizantemy]

What did she deserve?

For so long, Nesta had believed she deserved nothing. Nothing but the emptiness, the isolation. She had told herself, time and again, that her existence was a mistake, a burden. What was there for her, after everything she had done? After the mistakes, the anger, the bitterness that had poisoned everything around her?

She should have died. She used to think that, with a conviction that had driven her to dark places. That the world would be better without her. That the people she had hurt, the people she had pushed away, would be better off without the weight of her presence.

It wasn’t just the memories of that time; it was the constant reminder that she had failed so many—her family, her people, even herself. When she closed her eyes, it wasn’t the laughter or the good times she remembered. It was the yelling. The coldness. The disappointment. It was the sharp sting of guilt that never seemed to fade, the feeling that she would never be enough, no matter how hard she tried.

For a long time, Nesta had thought that death was an escape. A way to end the agony of being a shadow in her own life, of being a person who only took up space. She had been so certain, so sure, that the world would be lighter without her in it.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted. A small spark of something she couldn’t name had kept her from that final step. And that spark, no matter how weak it felt at times, refused to go out.

What did she deserve?

She still didn’t have the answer, but maybe, just maybe, it was something more than silence. Something more than pain. She had a lot to make up for—she knew that. She had a long road ahead, and the journey wasn’t going to be easy, but for the first time in a long time, she felt the faintest stir of hope that maybe she was worthy of something more than she had allowed herself to believe.

Maybe she deserved to live. Maybe she deserved something like peace. Maybe she even deserved love—though she had no idea how to accept it or what it might look like. But she would find out, one step at a time. She would have to. Because what else was there to do but move forward?

At least, that’s what she told herself, even if she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it yet.

Nesta didn’t truly believe it. She couldn’t. The doubt was too deep, too ingrained in her. But that didn’t mean she stopped hearing it. Because she did hear it. She heard it every time Taryn spoke, every time she said something kind, something that didn’t come with a catch or a look of pity. Taryn’s words were always steady, always filled with conviction, as though she genuinely believed Nesta deserved something more than the endless self-loathing she had carried for years.

It wasn’t just the words themselves—it was the certainty with which they were delivered. Taryn never faltered when she spoke to Nesta, never looked away or hesitated. She said what she believed, and it was enough to make Nesta question her own narrative, the one she had crafted for so long, the one that had kept her trapped in darkness.

“You’re worth it,” Taryn would say. “You’re not broken. You’re not a mistake.”

Those words echoed in her mind, louder and louder with each passing day, as if Taryn’s belief in her was strong enough to outlast her own doubt.

But Nesta couldn’t shake the disbelief. She couldn’t imagine it was true. She had been too damaged, too far gone for too long. But still, Taryn’s words lingered, even in the silence between them. They wouldn’t let her completely forget, wouldn’t let her stop wondering if, just maybe, there was something she was missing.

Cassian’s words lingered in Nesta’s mind like an echo she couldn’t escape. “I don’t know why your sisters love you.”

She didn’t have the answer. She didn’t know why Feyre and Elain had loved her, not truly. She never understood why anyone would. She wasn’t someone worth loving, not in her eyes. Not after everything she had done, the ways she had pushed them all away, the bitterness she had held onto for so long. But then there was Taryn, and Nesta couldn’t figure that one out either.

Taryn had said it before, had told her that she loved her. She had said it with such conviction that it felt like the air around them had shifted every time. Taryn said it in the morning, with a soft smile and sleepy eyes, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She said it before bed, every night, as if she needed Nesta to hear it one more time before she could sleep. Taryn said it when Nesta was leaving, when she was walking out the door, as if there was no question that she’d be back, as if there was no reason not to. And Taryn said it when Nesta came back, with the same unshakable certainty, as though Nesta’s return was the most normal thing in the world.

It was different. So different from anything she had ever felt. Taryn spoke it with the same intensity every time, no hesitation, no doubt. As if Nesta were something to be cherished. Worshipped. Genuinely loved.

And Nesta couldn’t grasp it. She couldn’t understand it, not when she had never been able to see herself that way. How could Taryn love her like that, with such certainty? How could anyone love someone like her? But Taryn never faltered, never pulled back. She said it, again and again, as if it were truth.

Cassian’s words lingered in Nesta’s mind like an echo she couldn’t escape. “I don’t know why your sisters love you.”

She didn’t have the answer. She didn’t know why Feyre and Elain had loved her, not truly. She never understood why anyone would. She wasn’t someone worth loving, not in her eyes. Not after everything she had done, the ways she had pushed them all away, the bitterness she had held onto for so long. But then there was Taryn, and Nesta couldn’t figure that one out either.

Taryn had said it before, had told her that she loved her. She had said it with such conviction that it felt like the air around them had shifted every time. Taryn said it in the morning, with a soft smile and sleepy eyes, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She said it before bed, every night, as if she needed Nesta to hear it one more time before she could sleep. Taryn said it when Nesta was leaving, when she was walking out the door, as if there was no question that she’d be back, as if there was no reason not to. And Taryn said it when Nesta came back, with the same unshakable certainty, as though Nesta’s return was the most normal thing in the world.

It was different. So different from anything she had ever felt. Taryn spoke it with the same intensity every time, no hesitation, no doubt. As if Nesta were something to be cherished. Worshipped. Genuinely loved.

And Nesta couldn’t grasp it. She couldn’t understand it, not when she had never been able to see herself that way. How could Taryn love her like that, with such certainty? How could anyone love someone like her? But Taryn never faltered, never pulled back. She said it, again and again, as if it were truth.

Even if she didn’t say it often, Taryn knew. And Taryn would wait for the day when she could hear it again.

Nesta walked along the Sidra, her steps slow and deliberate, the bag of books swinging gently in her hand. The scent of the river mixed with the crisp evening air, and for once, she didn’t feel rushed. It had been a long day, one filled with the familiar hum of the bookstore, the rustle of pages, and the occasional, welcome silence that came when customers found their way into their own worlds.

The books she carried were new — a mix of stories she’d been meaning to read, some old classics, and others she picked up simply because they felt like something she needed in that moment. She had grown fond of reading in the quiet hours after work, when the world around her slowed down enough for her to escape into someone else’s life, someone else’s pain, someone else’s triumphs. The weight of the bag felt like a quiet reminder of how far she’d come — from the days when books had been the last thing she wanted to hold, to now, when they were one of the few things she knew could help her make sense of her own scattered thoughts.

As she walked, Nesta thought about the day. She didn’t really talk to many people at work. She liked it that way, liked the solitude that came with shelving books or helping a customer find exactly what they were looking for. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was hers. It was stable, and it was enough.

She passed the small shops along the Sidra, the ones that glowed in the evening light, their windows framed by the glow of lanterns. She didn’t stop to browse, her mind too preoccupied with thoughts that swirled like the water by her side. She thought about the life she was building, how much it had changed in the past year.

Nesta hadn’t seen Feyre or Elain since Solstice. No letters had been sent either. For a moment, she’d considered writing to them, inviting them out again, maybe to a tavern or to spend time together. But the thought faded as quickly as it came, overshadowed by the memory of all the times she had reached out before, only to be met with rejection. The silence from them had been a constant reminder of the distance that had grown between them.

To be honest, Nesta was tired. Tired of being the one to try, of always putting herself out there and never receiving what she needed in return. It felt like the weight of their absence was too much to carry, and she was done bearing it alone. She didn’t need to fight for their attention anymore.

Nesta knew she hadn’t been the easiest to deal with. She had been cruel, she admitted that to herself. Her words were sharp, biting, meant to hurt. Every time she had lashed out, it was like she was trying to keep people at a distance, even those she cared about most. She didn’t know how to show vulnerability, how to ask for what she needed without fear of being let down. So, she shut people out, and in doing so, she pushed them away.

She owed Feyre an apology, and perhaps Elain too. She hadn’t given them a chance to show they could be anything more than what she had assumed. She had seen their love and concern as pity, or worse, as a reminder of her own failures, but maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe she had failed them by not seeing them for who they truly were, by not acknowledging their care as something pure and genuine.

Despite everything, Nesta knew she didn’t deserve the way she had been treated, not by her sisters, not by the so-called family she had. The veiled insults, the passive-aggressive comments—those had been there, hanging in the air like a cloud she couldn’t escape. When her sisters had tried to stop them, their attempts were often ignored, as if their voices didn’t matter. Yet, when she had lashed out, when she had finally reached her breaking point, it was always her fault. She was the one to blame.

But, as much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t believe she deserved that treatment. Not anymore. Taryn had told her she didn’t deserve to be treated like she was less than, like she didn’t matter. And even though Nesta had wanted to argue against it, to believe the awful things she had told herself for so long—that she had been a wretch, a leech, that she deserved every cruel word thrown her way—something inside her questioned if that was truly the case. Did she deserve to be cast aside, to be treated as nothing more than a burden? Did she?

She didn’t have the answer, not yet.

But she was trying—really trying—to be better. That had to count for something.

Nesta turned into a small café, the kind tucked away on a quieter side street, its warm glow spilling out onto the cold pavement. She hadn’t intended to stop, but something about the cozy interior called to her. She stepped inside, adjusting the bag in her hand, and stopped short.

The sight before her was unexpected.

Feyre and Elain sat at a table near the window, a pot of tea between them, soft laughter filling the air. They looked… comfortable. Unfamiliar. Their faces were relaxed, easy, not like the strained encounters she’d had with them since Solstice. It was a strange feeling—seeing them like this, without the tension, without the constant underlying friction that had always existed between them and her.

But then they saw her.

Feyre’s eyes widened in shock, her hand pausing mid-air as she had been reaching for the teapot. The moment froze. Nesta felt a quick, unbidden surge of heat flush her cheeks, but she didn’t let herself turn away.

Feyre shot up from her seat, her chair scraping against the floor, her expression a mix of surprise and something she couldn’t place. Elain looked up too, her eyes flickering between Nesta and Feyre, clearly taken aback by the sudden shift in energy.

The air thickened with silence, and Nesta stood there, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for this. But there they were, in front of her, waiting. Waiting for her to say something, do something. And for a brief, flickering moment, all she could do was stand still, uncertain, not sure of how to navigate the tangled mess of emotions that had been left unresolved between them.

Feyre’s voice broke through the silence, tentative but steady. “Nesta… I didn’t expect to see you here.” Her gaze was softer than Nesta had anticipated, though there was still a hint of uncertainty, the kind that only comes from unresolved hurt.

She stepped closer, her fingers nervously clasping and unclasping in front of her. “Are you—are you alright?”

Elain remained seated, but her gaze flickered over Nesta with the same mix of surprise and caution. Feyre’s question hung in the air, waiting for Nesta to answer, and as much as Nesta wanted to pull away, to escape the sudden confrontation, a part of her longed for something—something that resembled understanding, or maybe just the faintest trace of connection.

Nesta held up the bag of books she had been carrying, her voice firm but guarded. “I was just coming in to grab a coffee,” she said, as if the simple statement could somehow shield her from the tension building between them.

Feyre’s eyes softened, but there was a hesitation there, like she wasn’t sure how to approach Nesta. “Would you… like to join us?” she asked, her words tentative, almost as if she was bracing for rejection.

Elain’s eyes were equally cautious, glancing back and forth between Nesta and Feyre. It was clear they expected her to say no, to make some excuse and leave. But instead, Nesta surprised herself. She felt a quiet defiance rising within her, the quiet strength she had nurtured in her.

“Yes,” Nesta said, her voice steady but quieter than usual. “I’ll join you.”

The surprise flickered across Feyre’s face, but it quickly shifted into something softer, almost relieved. Elain gave her a small, encouraging smile, and for a moment, the weight of all the time apart seemed to lessen, if only for this small exchange.

Nesta set the bag down by an empty seat, her back still a little tense, but she stayed, sitting down with them. She wasn’t sure where this would lead, or how she could navigate what had happened between them, but for once, she allowed herself to take a step forward instead of retreating.

Feyre took a slow breath, her eyes flicking to Nesta as if weighing her words carefully. “How have you been?” she asked, her voice gentle. “I know… during Solstice, the tension between us all was high. And Morrigan… she didn’t mean what she said. But, well, I suppose we’ve all been wondering what you’re going to do about Cassian.” She paused, hesitating for just a moment before continuing. “He… well, he’s been asking around. We all know it’s not just about the bond anymore. It’s more than that.”

Elain’s gaze flickered briefly to Feyre, but she remained quiet, allowing the conversation to unfold.

Nesta could feel her jaw tighten, her thoughts swirling. She had expected this conversation, even if she didn’t know exactly how it would unfold. Cassian. Always Cassian. It had been a constant presence, even in her silence, and she had grown weary of it, of him.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Nesta replied, her voice steady but her eyes sharp, like she was holding something back. “It’s not just Cassian’s decision, or anyone’s. I’ve had to figure things out for myself, in my own time.”

Feyre nodded, understanding but also concerned. “I know. But we’re still your sisters, Nesta. And Cassian… he’s never stopped caring. He wants to fix things with you.”

Nesta’s gaze shifted from Feyre to Elain, her eyes narrowing slightly. She leaned forward, her voice steady but sharp. “And why don’t you have the same attitude about Lucien? You and Feyre are always telling me to fix things with Cassian, to put the past behind us. But I don’t see you two getting scolded about fixing things with Lucien. I mean, how many times have we seen the lingering stares between you and Azriel? But you don’t hear people demanding that you make amends with him, do you?”

Feyre’s face flushed with discomfort, and she shifted in her seat, clearly unprepared for Nesta’s accusation. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. “That’s different,” she muttered, clearly struggling to find the right words. “It’s not the same, Nesta.”

Elain, who had been silent until now, looked down at her tea, her hands nervously clasping around the cup. She didn’t want to be dragged into the comparison, but Nesta’s words had hit a nerve.

Elain stumbled, unsure of how to explain herself. “Well… because Lucien… and we’re… trying to understand everything, and… we’re still figuring things out. You know? With him being bonded to me and all.”

Nesta didn’t blink. “And so you think that makes it okay? That it excuses the double standard? Or is it just because it’s easier to focus on me, to point out everything I’ve done wrong?”

The air around the table felt thick, as if the tension between them had somehow gotten heavier with every word spoken. Feyre seemed at a loss, glancing at Elain for some kind of backup, but Elain remained quiet, still not meeting Nesta’s eyes.

“You know, I’m tired of the constant expectation that I have to be the one to fix things, that I’m the problem,” Nesta continued, her voice quieter now, though still tinged with frustration. “You’re both allowed to make mistakes, but somehow when I do, it’s a reflection of everything wrong in this family.”

Feyre bit her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, but her gaze softened with guilt. “That’s not what we meant, Nesta. It’s just… we want you to be happy. And we don’t want you to carry all of that weight alone anymore.”

Nesta sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping as the weight of her words pressed on her. She shook her head, looking at both of them, and for a moment, she felt like a stranger to herself. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, almost too quietly for them to hear. The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but they were true. She hadn’t expected to say them.

She looked directly at Feyre, her heart aching in a way that made her throat tighten. “I’ve been cruel to you,” Nesta said softly, the sincerity in her voice unmistakable. “I hated myself, and I took it out on you. You always tried to care for us, to take care of everything when Father wouldn’t. And I… I couldn’t stand it. I resented you for it.”

Feyre’s expression softened, her eyes filling with an understanding that made Nesta feel even more vulnerable. She wasn’t sure she deserved that understanding, but Feyre’s gaze didn’t waver, and it made Nesta feel both small and incredibly exposed at the same time.

“I didn’t know how to handle it,” Nesta continued, her voice rough. “How you just took on everything. And I… I didn’t want to depend on anyone, especially you. But I shouldn’t have been so cruel. I should’ve tried to understand.”

For a moment, the air between them felt heavy again, but this time it wasn’t from tension. It was something more fragile, like a crack in a wall that had been there for too long.

Nesta turned her gaze to Elain, her heart heavy as she watched her sister. She hadn’t expected this conversation to go the way it had, but now, with Feyre’s understanding, it felt right to do this. It felt right to face what she had been avoiding for so long.

“I’m sorry, Elain,” Nesta said, her voice quieter this time, almost unsure. “I never expected anything from you. I thought you would always stay the same, that you’d always be… the one who would just stay in the background, waiting for everything to pass. I never really saw you—saw who you are now. I was wrong.”

Elain’s expression softened, her eyes wide as she looked at Nesta. She had always been the more gentle, the more patient one, and Nesta had never truly acknowledged that. She had always taken her for granted, assuming Elain’s kindness was constant and unchanging.

“You’ve changed, Elain,” Nesta continued, her voice thick with emotion. “And I didn’t give you credit for it. I should’ve seen that you’ve been through your own struggles, your own growth, and I haven’t been there for you the way I should’ve been.”

For a moment, there was silence. Elain’s face softened, but there was still a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Nesta hadn’t expected instant forgiveness—she didn’t deserve that. But the weight of her apology hung between them, genuine and real.

Nesta straightened, her shoulders stiffening as she looked at both her sisters. Her apology felt like it had been a long time coming, but there was something else—something she needed to make clear.

“That’s all I’m sorry for,” Nesta said, her voice firm. “But there are only two of you I owe anything to. Feyre’s family, your mate—” She shook her head, frustration bubbling in her chest. “I can’t for the life of me understand why I’m made to feel like I owe them something.”

Feyre opened her mouth to respond, but Nesta cut her off, her emotions running high.

“Why am I supposed to walk on eggshells because of their pasts? Their pain? I didn’t cause it. I didn’t do anything to them. Why should I be the one to tiptoe around them, to make them feel comfortable? What happened to them had nothing to do with me.”

Feyre’s gaze softened, but she still looked conflicted. She exhaled slowly before speaking, her voice quiet but steady. “It’s not that simple, Nesta. It’s just… how they live, how they’ve always lived. Their backgrounds, especially Morrigan’s—it’s not an excuse, but it’s the reality. They come from places where those wounds run deep, and sometimes… sometimes they want to protect each other, to make sure no one repeats the mistakes of the past.”

Nesta’s chest tightened at the mention of Morrigan, but her anger hadn’t dissipated. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to keep explaining herself, apologizing, for something that felt like it wasn’t her fault.

“Protect each other?” Nesta said, bitterness creeping into her voice. “By treating me like I’m the one who needs to change, the one who needs to make amends? I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for them to judge me for something I wasn’t even part of. And I’m tired of being made to feel like I’m the one who’s supposed to fix things that have nothing to do with me.”

Elain shifted in her seat, and Feyre sighed, looking at Nesta with a deep sadness in her eyes. “It’s not about fixing, Nesta. It’s about understanding each other, trying to heal as a family. They can’t just… ignore the things that have happened. We all carry those scars in one way or another.”

“But I’m not them,” Nesta shot back, the sharpness in her voice echoing. “I’m not their past. I’m not their family’s mistakes. And I’m tired of carrying their burdens too.”

Nesta sighed, the weight of everything she’d said settling in her chest. She didn’t come here to rehash old wounds, to argue, or to dig into the past. She came for something different. But she could feel it—this unspoken distance still hanging between them.

She stood, brushing a hand through her hair as she glanced at both Feyre and Elain. “I didn’t come here to talk about this,” she said softly, the exhaustion in her tone barely contained. Her gaze softened for a moment before she met their eyes again. “I really do need to go.” She forced a weak smile, a smile that barely felt like hers, more of a pale imitation.

“I wish you both a good day,” Nesta continued, her voice quieter, as if offering a peace she didn’t quite believe herself. She took a step back, her hand resting lightly on the chair, her eyes lingering on Feyre and Elain for just a moment longer before she spoke again. “I assume, by the lack of letters, that you won’t be coming to the tavern anytime soon.”

Feyre’s face softened, her brow furrowing as if she wanted to say something, but Nesta’s words had already pushed her back. “Elain… she’s still uncomfortable there,” Feyre said, a hint of regret in her voice. “But… maybe we could all have dinner together at the river house? Even Taryn could come along, if you’d like.”

Nesta’s smile faltered immediately. She looked down at the ground for a moment, feeling the weight of her thoughts pull her deeper into herself. “I appreciate the invitation,” she said, forcing the words out through a tight throat. “But… I think Feyre, Elain—you’re the only ones I would want to see there. And I understand they’re your friends, really, but they’re not… mine.”

She took a deep breath, as if trying to steady the shaking in her hands. “Perhaps we could have dinner another time,” Nesta said, her voice a little firmer now. “You two could come over. But… the invitation is really only extended to you.” She met Feyre and Elain’s eyes, her expression soft but resolute.

Then, without another word, she turned and walked toward the door, her footsteps steady as she left the café behind.

As Nesta stepped outside the café, the cool breeze greeted her, and for the first time in what felt like a long while, she found herself smiling. It wasn’t a wide smile, but it was there—soft and genuine, a fleeting moment of peace she hadn’t known she was capable of. The tension in her chest had eased just a bit, the weight of everything she’d been carrying seeming a little lighter.

She hadn’t expected to feel this way. She hadn’t expected to feel anything but exhaustion and frustration when she walked in. But now, with the air around her and the quiet buzzing of the city, she couldn’t help but feel like she had taken another small step forward. Maybe she hadn’t fully figured out everything yet—maybe there were still things left unsaid—but she was moving.

And that was enough for now.

[ddollfface]

lm a bit nervous asking this but it’s okay ^u^

I was wondering how your ocs would react to their darlings hurting themselves sorry if this is too weird for you!! I absolutely love your writing btw!!

𝐏𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲

LoveSick!Characters reaction to reader doing self-harm

Warnings; obviously self-harm, possessive behavior, crappy writing, me rambling, yandere characters, little suggestive on LoveSick!Friends part whoops! I wrote reader with a fem!person in mind sorry ╥﹏╥ You’re totally fine! I don’t mind these asks whatsoever, thank you for requesting, love! Just a small thing though, and this isn't necessarily directed toward you, but if you're ever, ever having thoughts of self-harm, there's no shame in seeking help! Take it from a gal who went through it herself! You are loved! Always remember that, babes ♡

....

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗔𝘁𝗵𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲

He’s not mad, just disappointed, which is arguably worse. LoveSick!Athlete could never ever be mad at you. You’re the love of his life! The center of his universe, and all he ever thinks about, so how could he be mad at you? It’s just that… He hates, loathes even, the fact that you didn’t trust him enough to come to him! He’s your boyfriend, your future husband (not that you know that, yet), for God’s sake! 

Anyways… It’s likely you didn’t tell him, and he found out by accident, seeing new and old scars when your hoodie lifts up, or when you guys go to the beach (something along those lines). The first thing he does is pull you into a hug, pressing your face against his chest, just so you don’t see the intense gleam in his eyes. There are so many things that are spiraling in his mind, so many thoughts, and so many feelings that he can’t exactly pin them down. 

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, and he doesn’t exactly know what he’s feeling, but he knows he doesn’t like it. The idea of you ever, ever, harming yourself never came to mind. He never even thought that’s something you’d ever end up doing! He thought that everything was fine and dandy, that you were enjoying the relationship, that you loved him, but apparently not. 

LoveSick!Athlete scolds himself for not seeing the signs, for seeing how you seemed to take longer in the restroom, or how you covered more, even when it was oh-so warm outside. How did he not see the signs? How could he fail you? 

After a moment or two, he pulls you away from his chest, staring at you with an uncanny look, as if he’s trying to pry into your very being. He needs to know why! Why are you doing this to yourself? Is it because of him? Don’t say it’s because of him (it is), or else he think he might start spiraling. Of course, you make up some half-assed excuse, attempting not to place any blame on him, and so, the next thought in his mind is that it’s someone else. After that thought flickers in his mind, let’s just say that you’re not going to be going out with your friends for long while. 

He’s convinced that he cannot leave you alone, that he needs to be there for you at all times. He cannot let these outside influences spoil your beautiful mind! He has to protect you, and he will. Don’t worry, baby. He understands that you’re going through a hard time, but he’s here now! And he’ll take care of you, just let him do everything.

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗔𝗿𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘁

Okay, now he’s mad, very mad, extremely mad even. LoveSick!Artist is very emotionally constipated, very quick to anger, and violent with his tendencies. He hates what you’re doing to yourself, and it makes him mad at himself, you, and just the world! What did he do wrong? Why are you harming your beautiful body? 

You’re his muse, his inspiration, and he hates that it’s being tainted by your own hands! Immediately, his mind goes to who else has caused this because there’s no way that you, the sweet angel he’s made you up to be, could ever do this to themselves. Someone, some evil, nasty person, has pushed you to this, and he’s going to find them and make them wish they were never born. He’s already conjured many different scenarios in his mind, but not a single world slips from his mouth, which just makes the situation all the worse for you. It’s awkward. On the inside, he’s scathing, thinking of so many things to say, to do, but on the outside, he’s just staring at you with fiery eyes. 

You can tell he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, and that makes you nervous. Like LoveSick!Athlete, LoveSick!Artist likely found out by accident or something of the sort, probably when he was painting you. At the time, he didn’t find it odd that you were more hesitant, refusing even, to strip off your clothing, to change into the skimpy dress he wanted you to wear, scraping it up to be you just nervous. He found that cute, and let you be, what he thought, was your flustered self. What he didn’t realize is that you were hiding something from him of all people, which just made the reveal all the worse. 

Even though he’s unreasonably pissed, he’ll try to calm himself down for your sake, knowing that it freaks you out whenever he gets amped up. This means that he’ll grab your arm or push you onto some surface to take a look at your leg, this all depends on where you’ve marked up, and he’ll huff as he looks over the old and new scars. His eyes are fiery, flammed with an intense heat that makes you nervous, too scared to do anything. LoveSick!Artist will wait until his mind is, somewhat, cleared, standing up to grab your cheeks, pulling you into a oddly, and uncharacteristically, soft kiss, and wrapping his arms around you.

You can feel him shake as he hides his face against your neck. You’re so stupid, he’ll mutter, suddenly you feel your skin get slightly wet, God, don’t pull this shit again. Next time just… just be fucking normal and talk to me, you dumbass. You guys will stand there for a moment before he storms off, slamming the front door, not knowing what to do with himself.

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗕𝗶𝗺𝗯𝗼

Okay… She’s a little insensitive when it comes to this topic. Actually, it’s more like a culture shock, in a weird way? I’m not too sure on how to describe it, but it’s in the sense that it’s impossible for her to think that you would hate yourself. To her, you’re absolutely stunning! You’re her hot girlfriend; how could you ever think of yourself like that? It’s something she doesn’t understand, and so she kinda goes into shock when hearing about it. 

She’s very quick to comfort, tackling you into a big hug, tucking her face into your chest as she cries, and cries, and cries, and cries. She cannot believe this is happening! Why would you ever do this?

A situation where you should be the one comforted has turned into you holding her, trying to explain yourself as she straddles your waist, staring down at you with puffy eyes. Her lips are puckered as she cups your cheeks. With the tilt of her head, LoveSick!Bimbo will begin to list off every. single. thing. she loves about you. 

Her hands will start on your cheeks, blubbering out how she loves how full they are because it fills out your face, and then she’ll graze your eyelid, bringing her thumb up to your brow. Oh, how she wishes she had your brows! They’re so, so natural! But she has to get hers done, and God, your eyes. They’re super duper pretty! They’re one of her favorite things about you, can’t you see that? Why would you ever hate such a pretty face, when it’s all so cohesive, all so matching? She’ll go on and on, touching every part of your body as she names something positive, not caring as you try to push her off. LoveSick!Bimbo will hold you down, even using her fluffy, pink handcuffs if she has to! She has to prove to you that you’re an absolute beaut!

Once she’s done with that, she’ll bring you into a big hug, lying next to you as you, somehow, managed to end in her bed. LoveSick!Bimbo will force your face into her chest as she pats your head, urging you to go to bed, baby! I think you’re suppperrr sleep-deprived from finals, and that’s why you’re thinking so silly! Curling up to you, she’ll sniffle a little, huffing under her breath that she can’t believe you’d ever do such things… Maybe we can get our nails done! Manicures always make me feel better!

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗙𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱

Baby, she already knew what you were doing the moment you put a blade to your skin. LoveSick!Friend has adopted the knack for reading you like a book as she’s been around for quite a while and has watched you like a hawk. You think she doesn’t know when you’re falling into fits of depression? Please, baby girl, she clocked it when you started avoiding your guys’s girl's nights. 

Immediately, she took to action, subtly trying to pinpoint exactly why you were doing this to yourself and finding a solution to said problem. Of course, it wasn’t easy as she didn’t want to make her intentions known as she was a little worried that you’d recede into yourself if you knew. She wanted to find out organically, get you talking to her, and then comfort you. 

After all, she is your best friend, and you are hers, so why would you not spill your heart out to her? She’s always been there for you, comforting you whenever your shitty ex dumped you, or when you had a fight with your parents, or even when your other friends conveniently stopped calling (which may or may not have been her doing, but I digress).

Really, because she understands you, and is quite the manipulator, she got you spilling to her in days. All it took was soft touches and sappy eyes, and you folded, not that she didn’t want you to. She wants to be the gal you come to. She wants you to come talk to her instead of tearing through your skin. Baby, you don’t need a therapist when you have her! She’ll hold you through the night, rocking you to sleep as she whispers comfort into your ear. She’s the perfect one for you, don’t you understand?

And don’t question it when her lips travel from your temple to your scarred wrist, and then your scarred thighs. Maybe she can make you feel better? Babydoll, she’ll make you understand how beautiful you are, just you wait. Just lay back, relax, and listen to her. This is what friends are for, right?

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗞𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁

And… What’s that going to do, love? Now, he’s just confused, a little annoyed, but mostly confused. Why would you, the Empire’s Beaut, ever harm yourself? I’m not too sure if this is accurate, but I don’t think self-harm was too common back in the day. From what I know, the only recorded self-harm was self-whippings as a form of penance in the Church, or condoned by the Church at least (someone correct me if I’m wrong, but this is what I’ve found from surface-level googling lol). 

Based on this, the idea of you taking a blade to your skin is insane to LoveSick!Knight. He didn’t understand why you’d ever do such things as you live in the finest conditions he can provide! You’re served the finest meals in the nation and are treated with the uttermost care. To him, those are the only things one could ever ask for, so this is one bitch of a situation you’ve put him in. It’s frankly annoying to him, but he loves you so he’ll sit you down and speak with you.

Scooping you up in his arms, he places you on his lap as he combs your hair back, looking at you with an unamused expression as he gently holds your arm/thigh (whatever you choose to harm). With the click of his tongue, he’ll pinch your cheek and scold you, asking you if you understand what you’ve just done, darling? You’ve gone and scarred your beautiful skin. So now, what shall we do, hmm? Want me to go and patch you up, yes?

Of course, you’ll just nod your head with teary eyes, having no idea how to respond to his softened demeanor. Honestly, you were expecting far harsher treatment, seeing as LoveSick!Knight has done far worse to you before, so this was much preferred for you.   The two of you will sit in silence as he bandages you up, and surprisingly, he’ll mark each scar with a kiss, looking up at you with loyalty. In sickness and in health, he swore to you that he’d always be by your side, even when you’re making silly decisions like this. In the past, he may have harmed you in such ways, but he refuses to see you do such to yourself. Even with his hardened exterior and violent tendencies, you are still his wife, and he your husband, so he’s stuck with you until he dies, whether you like it or not.

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗣𝗼𝗲𝘁

Oh… Yeah, you thought he was scared of you before? Now, he’s avoiding you like the plague, absolutely terrified that he’s the one that caused you to harm yourself. LoveSick!Poet barely talks to you, and when he does, it comes out in stutters and flushed cheeks. He’s not the best when it comes to talking to girls, so he gets nervous, but you’ve always been so kind to him. However, the moment you open up to him about your self-harming, whether is present or past, he kind of freezes, not knowing what to do. Does he comfort you? Well, duh! But how do you comfort a girl? Does he hug you? No! You guys aren’t that close yet… A handshake? No, that’s awkward…

God! He doesn’t know what to do! And because of that, he disappears for a while, and you fall into your own pit of self-loathing, wondering if you overshared. I mean, he is just your neighbor, a weird one, but one that you see every morning, and one who leaves you little notes. You know that LoveSick!Poet is a sweet guy, and now you’re scared you ruined all that because you’ve told him something personal…

But all that ends when you find a little gift basket at your front door. Inside, there’s a letter, one that looks made out of very fine, very expensive-looking paper, and was written in fancy handwriting. You never knew his handwriting was so pretty. It was in purple ink, and there was a photo of the two of you, albeit a little awkward, attached to it. You forgot the exact occasion, but you think it was a neighborhood potluck? You’re not sure…

In the letter, LoveSick!Poet wrote a beautiful poem (obviously) about you, aimed toward your appearance, but also your personality. It had tiny details that you didn’t even notice of yourself! You were a little confused about how he even knew that, but you brushed it off as you felt your heart thump a little faster. It was very sweet, very genuine. And it was accompanied by a small bouquet of flowers, cheap(ish) perfume, and some chocolates. 

Although you would’ve really liked it if he’d said all these things to your face, as it would’ve saved you a week or two of anxious suffering, it was still sweet to know that he cared, even if it was in his own, weird way. Catching a small note on the bottom, you couldn’t help but feel warm, giggling at the note that wrote to please look at the bottom of the basket. I got you something I think you’d love ♡

And at the bottom, folded neatly was a portrait of you, smiling softly as you seemed to be looking somewhere else. There were pretty, lilacs framing the photo, and you looked otherworldly, if you don’t say so yourself. You have to admit, it was definitely an ego boost, knowing that this is how LoveSick!Poet saw you. But who knew he could draw?

[elvissdollete]

Dear Elvis,

Happy Heavenly Birthday. I don’t even know where to start because there’s so much I want to say. My heart feels so full when I think of you, but it also aches because you’re not here. I love you, Elvis. I love you more than words could ever hold, more than the sky holds stars, more than anything I’ve ever felt before.

You don’t know me, and we’ll never meet, but somehow, you’ve become such a huge part of my life. You’ve given me hope on days when I had none, strength when I felt like I couldn’t go on. Even when I feel lost, you’re like this quiet light guiding me through. You make me want to be better, to fight harder, to believe in myself when it feels impossible.

Sometimes I laugh at the thought of it. Maybe it’s the 74 years between us. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been gone longer than I’ve been alive. But here I am, completely and utterly in love with you. It’s crazy, isn’t it? To love someone I’ve never met, someone who lived in a world so far from mine. And yet, here I am, writing to you like you’re right here, like you can somehow hear me.

I’ve seen how people talked about you. How they judged you when you gained weight, like your worth could ever be measured by something so shallow. They didn’t see the real you, Elvis. The man with the golden heart, the one who gave so much of himself to everyone else. To me, you were always perfect. Not because of how you looked, but because of who you were. You could have weighed a thousand pounds, and I’d still love you just as much. You’ll always be Elvis Aaron Presley to me—the man who makes my heart feel things I didn’t know it could feel.

I heard once that you were afraid people would forget you, that you thought you’d just fade away when you were gone. But Elvis, you couldn’t have been more wrong. No one has forgotten you, and no one ever will. You’re everywhere. In the music, in the stories, in the hearts of so many people, including mine. People don’t just remember you—they love you. You’re more than a legend; you’re a part of us.

And me? I miss you, Elvis. I miss you like I’ve known you my whole life. It’s this ache that doesn’t go away, this emptiness I can’t fill. I think about what it would’ve been like to see you, to hear your laugh, to feel the warmth of your presence. I wonder if you would’ve noticed me, if you would’ve smiled at me just once. I know it’s a silly thought, but it stays with me anyway hehe.

You’ll always be my everything, Elvis. My heart, my inspiration, my love. Even though you’re not here, you’ve left a mark on me that nothing could ever erase. Thank you for being you, for giving so much of yourself to this world.

And, oh God. Dear Jesse, happy birthday to you too ❤️ I don’t know much about you, and I never will. You were here for such a brief moment, and then you were gone, like a whisper in the wind. But even though you never had the chance to live a full life, your presence shaped the one who did.

You were Elvis’s first connection, his other half, and I believe a part of you always stayed with him. Maybe you were his quiet strength, the part of him that kept going when life got too hard.

Even though we don’t know you, Jesse, you’re not forgotten. You were loved from the moment you existed, and you’ll always be remembered as a part of him. Rest peacefully.

And again, Happy 90th birthday to both of you. I love you, Elvis. I always will.

Forever yours,

Shai ❤️

[rosewoodcafe]

You're Losing Me

I can't focus so here is this little one-shot story.

After years of being with Sebastian, he has only descended further into the Dark Arts, driving away Ominis and Anne, leaving only you. It's becoming too much to handle as he is still desperately searching for a cure.

Sebastian x Reader

[This is based off of You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift]

[I plan to do more stories like this because it was incredibly fun]

I sat in our home in Feldcroft. He had been gone for hours, saying he was at work but I knew better than that. I knew he wasn't cheating, Sebastian was a better man then that, but it still felt incredibly empty without him here.

My body was hollow, a feeling I had started to get used too, which frightened me tremendously. I blew out the candle that lit our dining room table, taking the two untouched plates of food to the kitchen sink. Everything felt empty, my motions, my thoughts, everything I did, I was so alone in this world.

The door to our cottage opened as I was walking to our bedroom, his silent approach being the only thing to halt me. Without a word he planted a small kiss on the top of my head, walking to the other room where his office was and shutting the door behind him.

I washed up, cleaning my body in the warm water. Eventually making my way to our bed, the one we used to be curled together in every night, laughing like little kids. I curled up the same way I used too, holding onto the shreds of happiness in this hopeless home.

Ominis warned me of this, that his obsession of the dark arts would overtake everything else he cares about. He warned that the murder of his uncle would only be the beginning, that sending him away would be the only option. I refused, telling him that Sebastian was a good man, that he could change. Ominis, for Anne, and my sake, didn't turn Sebastian in. Sebastian was grateful, but Ominis was right, the obsession didn't stop.

I felt the tears roll down my face as I pressed it into the pillow. The weight dropped on the other side of the bed, not even a touch to signal he was there, but I knew it was Sebastian.

The morning came and with it the usual hollow feeling. I pulled myself from bed, heading to the kitchen.

"I love you." Sebastian said sleepily. His hair was a wreck, but he looked happy upon seeing me too.

"I love you too." I said back, barely above a whisper.

He didn't say anything else, just looking at me happily. The sun shined through the window, casting a glow across his bare upper half, he was beyond handsome.

I walked out into the kitchen, making myself some tea.

I wished I had someone, anyone, who understood what I was going through. To understand who Sebastian has become. The only ones who would have long since contacted me, opting to keep out of his way.

I remember how he was when I met him, how full of life he was. How excited I was. Everything felt perfect, he was happy, we were finding a cure. It was some fantastical dream, but instead of staying bright and beautiful, its changed, becoming dull and gray from wear.

Out the window I saw our neighbors, recently engaged, gardening under the sun. Sebastian had told me we would get married, with a wonderful wedding that I would love. He promised that before we were twenty he would as me. We were nearing twenty four, and I can't understand why. The cure was his excuse at first, that Anne needed help, but Anne has long since died. Anne has been dead for years, leaving Ominis to grieve alone as Sebastian refuses to accept her death. I felt as if I am a ghost, haunting his home until he gets rid of me.

His arms wrapped around me. Sebastian's face in the crook of my neck.

"You look lovely dear." He whispered.

"Thank you." I replied blankly.

Sebastian went about the kitchen, preparing himself food as I stood there unmoved.

"I will be out at work for awhile." He eventually said.

"Ok." Is all I could muster.

"Don't wait up, I probably won't be home for awhile."

"Okay."

When he left I felt nothing. I paced our home, recounting the memories we made here early after we left Hogwarts. The happiness that lifted this home has long since gone, but it filled my mind daily.

I laid in our bed, letting myself weep for myself, all the moments and memories. I needed to do something, I needed to get out. He tried so hard before to keep me, and he had, for years I stayed by his side. But I couldn't help but think that he was losing me from the moment he cast the torture curse on me. The pain from that was miniscule compared to the years of heartbreak I had experienced. I am getting tired, tired of always bringing myself to my feet, tired of trying to feel okay when I feel like dying.

I needed top get out.

Parchment was in the desk of his study, along with quills. I would write to Ominis, tell him that he was right, that Sebastian had gone too deep, that he had gone to a place I could not follow anymore. I barged into his office, tears flooding my eyes as I scrawled the letter. 

Dear Ominis,

I write to you not as a way to update you on Sebastian, but to let you know that it has ended. I have given up hope for him. For years I have been trying, trying to get him to move forward, to stop indulging in the dark arts. But you were right, he has only gone deeper into madness. I don't know what to do, I am lost and broken beyond repair. 

I hope when this letter finds you that you prepared for the wickedness Sebastian may unleash. He may accuse you of manipulating me, by telling me to leave, know that you did not, and that this decision was one I made entirely on my own. I hope to forgive Sebastian one day, to have a love with him that I wished so badly for, but for now I must leave. I will surely die by my own hand if I stay.

In a few hours I will arrive at your home, where I hope you will not turn me away. I have lost everything, and will only need a moment to get my bearings together before being out on my own. You are the only other one to understand my predicament Ominis.

Your dove

I folded the parchment and walked over to the owl, tying the parchment on and opening the window, sending the owl out. It would be an hour until the note has arrived at Ominis's home, and a few hours after that before Sebastian came home. I ran back to our room preparing myself to leave.

Washing up and putting on traveling clothes was the easiest part, packing the things that meant most to me was harder. Memories of Sebastian and I's past flooded my thoughts, endless streams of tears leaving my eyes. I couldn't handle this, handle how I let it get this bad, why didn't I leave when it started to go downhill?

Why did I hold so much hope for him to change?

I couldn't answer.

My heart felt dead and cold. Every crevice of my body devoid of color, a void of nothing behind the masquerade of a person. 

I sat at our kitchen table. One last time.

He opened the door some hours later. Sebastian didn't notice my trunk, and he barely noticed me at all.

"You're up still?" He asked, a bit of shock seeping into his blank tone.

"I am."

"Why?"

I took a breath. 

This would probably be the last time I see him. 

He would hate me.

"I'm leaving." I said standing up and walking to my trunk.

"What do you mean you're leaving?" He asked, the blank tone leaving and only a panic replacing it. "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving us Sebastian." I took a breath, trying to keep my voice calm. "I'm leaving you."

His face dropped. 

"No darling, you can't please I cant lose you-" He cried out.

"You already have Sebastian!" I yelled out, my calm composure leaving and the same tears I had tried to hide fell.

"No I haven't! You're all I have left! Please everyone else has left you can't leave too!" He pleaded. He dropped to my knees, holding the bottom of my skirt.

"I can't stay Sebastian."

"Why? Please give me a reason?"

"You couldn't even tell that I was dying as you kept meddling in the Dark Arts." I said angrily. "I feel like I have lost everyone and everything because of your choices, I am lost and angry. I have been waiting and waiting for you to just say that you want me, that you want us to move on, that you want a family. I just wanted you to want me!"

"I do! Darling I do want you, more than anything."

"It's too late Sebastian. I've made up my mind, and I can't keep wasting away what little youth I have left begging you to change." I felt hot tears stream from my face.

"Please, I need you." He begged.

"You'll be okay." I reached for the doorhandle, looking back one more time. Sebastian was on his knees, tears welled in his eyes. "Perhaps one day, we can be together again."

"I'll always find you." He said. "I'll become better for you."

"You haven't. That's the problem." I spoke, opening the door and taking in the air from outside. This would be the last time I stepped into this house, the last time I spoke to him. "I love you Sebastian."

"I love you too..."

With that I shut the door, pulling my trunk and myself to the Floo station in Feldcroft. I let the tears stream as I heard a guttural scream come from our- no, his home. I had to keep going, I had to keep moving. I pulled my floo powder out, taking a large handful.

"Gaunt Manor!" I said clearly.

I felt my heart begin to beat again, the pain beginning to ease at the new beginning I was given.