#that man is all shades of depression and self loathing

[hellishvxbes]

Thinking of giving Break a hazbin verse but I gotta tho k about it.

[phyrestartr]

Nemesis (The Man I Miss) | Miguel O'hara x M!BlackCat!Reader (TEASER)

CW: jealousy, violence, brutality, self-loathing, implied depression, possessive relationship #NSFW, Top!Miguel, Bottom!Reader, hurt/comfort, anti-hero reader, complicated relationships, lonely reader, crook turned hero, reader is a tired guy, mutual pining - Note: Posting some WIPs I've had laying around for a while while I try to finish up the next HOUND update! Needed a bit of a break from it since it's pretty long, but I hope some teasers make up for the wait. Tysm for reading!

Taking care of Nueva York was exhausting. You were far too used to being the problem rather than the problem-solver. That job reserved itself for the one and only Spiderman–your Spiderman. 

At least, you liked to think he was yours. 

Knowing my luck, the prick’s run off with his shocking wife or something. The thought plagued your mind too often. And it was true: Spiderman disappeared. He no longer served Nueva York and kept it safe, he no longer caught you with your hand in the cookie jar, he no longer gave chase throughout the city before pinning you down on some rooftop and taking his prize by force. And you liked it–no, you loved it. Fucking with the man who’d always get to fuck you back came to be a part of life you relished. 

But now you were alone. Left by yourself to deal with lumbering lizards and giggling goblins while wondering how the fuck you’d ended up as a hero when you were anything but. Even the police couldn’t believe the switch, which caused some problems, and led to less-sexy chases that ended with you getting away no problem. 

I wish I had problems. Just one problem, though: Spiderman. 

You tossed aside your shiny leathers and collapsed into your bed. He’d never been there, no, but you fantasized about it. You thought about his impossibly wide back and the ripple of taut muscle greeting you in the morning, or maybe his built chest and strong neck–or maybe his handsome face–well, you’d never seen his face, but you had your guesses. 

Your chest twinged the slightest bit, somewhere between where your greed and feelings intertwined.

Ugh. You missed him. 

–

“Who's that?” Peter remarked as he walked up on Miguel. The lab was dark and dreary, spilling with shades of orange and amber where the blues couldn't reach. And Miguel, the source of the cold, stood in front of the firelight, gazing upon your image in the newscycle. 

Miguel frowned. “No one.” But he didn't tuck your image nor the article away. 

“Huh, looks like Black Cat. A 2099 Black Cat? Never thought I'd see the day.” Peter hummed and bounced a sleepy Mayday in his arms. “He up to no good?” 

“He's up to good,” Miguel bit out. “That's the problem. He doesn't do good.” 

“He's sort of an anti-hero these days,” Lyla cut in, blinking into existence on Peter's shoulder like the devil she was. “All thanks to Spiderman's influence–” 

“Lyla,” Miguel warned (begged?). 

“--aaand their sweet, cute budding romance,” she finished with a dreamy sigh. “Doesn't it just melt your heart?” 

–

You pinned him against the wall and let your hands trace through the hard lines of his muscles on your way down to your ultimate prize. Spiderman shuddered and stayed still, much to your surprise, letting you feel him, letting you acknowledge the hardness bulging under your criminal touch. Because he dreamt of this too. Dreamt of you touching him, of you falling down to your knees, your eyes never leaving his masked face even when you pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to stretched fabric holding back his filled cock. 

“So strong,” you cooed, “but not strong enough to resist, hm?” You sighed and worked him through the fabric with one hand. “Shouldn’t you be stopping the big bad from manhandling you like this, Spidey?”

“Hardly consider you the big bad,” he scoffed back. Spiderman tilted his head back with a choked groan whent hose diamond-tipped clawed gloves dug into his thighs. “Mierda, you–”

“Oh?” You grinned, so cheshire, so in-theme with your persona. “You can stop me any time, no?” 

He could’ve. But he didn’t. 

–

“A daughter,” you murmured. The flickering images–memories, maybe?–were there, waiting quietly for you, preserved and kept precious in shades of amber. But the scene was so alive; you could feel the stretch of the sun against your gloved touch, you basked in the crisp Spring air of that soccer game, you drowned in the warmth of that father's smile–

Spidey's smile. That was beyond obvious. The mountainous shoulders, the tawny skin, those hands– they belonged to him. Your beast. Your nemesis and lover, the man you hadn’t seen for far too long–

“Because you've been off taking care of a kid?” Your fingers, gentle, feather-light, ghosted across that foreign memory. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Who’s your baby mama?

The lab lights stilted and jittered. You snapped from your trance and made for the window you’d come in through, not bothering to see what was happening with your system jammers–you knew Lyla, she knew you, and that made the whole breaking-into-Spiderman’s-base thing more tricky and risky. Your jammer wasn’t fool-proof. It was quite easy to override, actually, but the interference was the difficult thing to detect in the first place. You only thought you’d need a handful of minutes to see your spider, anyway.

But he wasn’t there. Maybe he was off with his little girl. 

Something cacophonous and nerve-wracking churned to the sound of warping electricity behind you as you dove from the window and slid down the side of the skyscraper, claws shrieking against metal and glass alike until you could launch off and latch onto a passing hover car. The periphery of your mind swore it saw flashes of orange and yellow, more violent and heavy than the screens you stared at in that dower room, and maybe you might have heard a familiar voice too. 

The broad, tiny silhouette standing in that abandoned window gave you much more to think about.  -- Feel free to comment on this post if you want to be tagged for the full version!

@kamote-kuneho @tr4nnie @silvern1006

[vermilliondevth]

Harms Way's "Common Suffering" is more than just an experimentation. It's a powerful, hardcore-fueled, and emotionally electrifying album with a hidden message left to be deciphered by its listener. Whomever seeks to find the conventional approach to what they've done in the past could be easily disillusioned with this one, but if you dig deeper, you may find a masterpiece. It asks the listener:

"Do you know what real suffering feels like?"

This album suggests a deep exploration of the five stages of grief:

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

But what is most fascinating is that, it is much more closer to the true expression of how these stages are experienced in humanity. It is not cohesive, but rather confused and abstract. It speaks about a heart finding out that it has been betrayed. The realization that the truth we believed and trusted is no longer there, and so the journey of transcendence begins. The hurt ego begins with trying to maintain itself afloat with - - "Degrade, we're born to decay" - "Decline, they will let you down" - As the feelings and thoughts begin to affect our consciousness by circulating into a downward spiral, it then speaks with - - "I am in denial, I will never be free again" - "I have no sense of self" - "I can't forgive me, another victim in denial" - but the sword of deceit has already been plunged into the heart, perforating deeply - so deeply, it emerges all the way to the back. The sharpness of the pain, the burning sensation felt all over the body, and the mind finds itself in a state of shock. The blood pours out from the mouth and circulates all the way up into the brain. We suddenly become blinded by rage.

The anger. The endless anger. - "I can't live this way, live your way. I can't love like you do." - "Commitment, Illusion, you can't console" - "A selfish force, so cruel, a destructive scheme" - "You take my soul from me and I feel betrayed" - "A broken promise, the hate infests" - "You feel your life erode, it's all for nothing" - "I watched you betray me, I want you to fear me" - "Before they terrorize you, watch them bleed in front of you" -

It is anger sinking you deeper into the abyss, seeking for the ultimate destruction of the lie you lived. It is wanting to skin yourself alive to erode every false touch, hope, and empty promise given to you. Desolation, and despair. Feeling so many violent currents, you no longer can decipher what is real. Worthlessness.

Bargaining with faith, asking the question: Is this really my destiny? Am I still a man or have I become an empty shell? - "(Help me)" - "I remember (When will it end?)" - "Devour me" - "Why do we exist?" -

Only to find the door slammed shut, locked deep inside memories that can no longer be experienced nor lived in no matter how hard we try to pry it open, leading us straight into the meaningless of our existence - The Void. Depression, forcing us to meet face to face with the ultimate darkness, our shadow selves. The endless monologues, paranoia, neurosis - the inability to feel anything but pure emptiness: - "Fade away" - "Looking for seclusion" - "I forever am alone (dying inside)" - "Cornered alone, wounded and vulnerable" - "The years await, to fill the void" - "It's all for nothing, erase my future" - "I lay still, tomorrow I dread" - "The nervous system stalls, you cripple and start to fall" - "I blame myself and I corrode, and I surround myself with what I loathe" - "A sad delusion, I confess" - "I faced God, I was turned inside, It's back to hell, and I'm here to stay" -

The process of isolation. Not having the emotional currency needed to see hope. The endless shades of grey. The endless grief, corrupted by loneliness. Numbness. The "Cyanide" poisoning the heart, obliterating every feeling of hope. Using the last remaining dose of courage to grab the sword by the blade to remove it once and for all, for the suffering has been too great to continue tolerating - the endless bleeding, the ultimate sacrifice of love. Years go by and the wound ceases to bleed, yet it remains open. It then makes us question: Do we choose to remain or do we choose to cease? "The affection I feel, impaired. Relations turn to despair. As I cower to my knees, they empower" - "Never let them take control" - "I will always seek power" - And through the solitude, isolation, we begin to understand the nuances of the betrayal and it's meaning. We begin to understand that this pain and suffering, is a new source of power being gifted to us. Through the path of hell, we meet our creator - ourselves, and by looking at it straight into the eyes of the abyss, we begin to accept our fate. We become acquainted with expansion in our consciousness through our common suffering. We accept our anger and the injustice made onto us: - "And I looked into the eyes of a demon and I saw myself" - "The calm sets in, at peace this time" - "I'm free at last" - "The darkest past, no longer see beneath the surface" - "Sink to peace" - It then culminates with a song called "Wanderer": - "To wander beyond the sunset To sail above the seabed To wander behind the sand glass To reach the past of me

As I'm wandering, I'll be searching through - " The search for a new meaning. A new sense of self. A life beyond deception and hatredness. The search for the new truth.

As mentioned at the beginning, these messages are found scattered throughout the story-line, which brings a lot of confusing thoughts to what exactly is the message that is being conveyed. But that is the beauty of grief - the imbalance of emotions and thoughts, the constant ups and downs, the health within sickness - we can all experience these torments in just a day. The combination of this lyrics, alongside the heaviness and the metallic abstraction of the sounds, brings out feelings rooted within the subconscious that feel foreign, and almost terrifying. It invites the listener to open up their heart and feel the fear. I couldn't bear to listen to this album after the first time I did - for it triggered feelings I didn't wish to re-live again. But I took the plunge and allowed myself to go alongside the journey of pain - a journey that by now, I know very well. I came to understand that I am not completely alone in this world - someone out there experienced the same feelings I have experienced, and meticulously put into words the things I have always wished to express but never could. This band already had an immense sentimental value to me - it reminds me of a life I thought I would live forever. But as I went through it's journey, in the end - all I truly found was hope and acceptance.

Acceptance of what is long gone and no longer will be. Acceptance that I am also the wanderer, searching through - for the truth.

The ultimate truth that can only be found through common suffering.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

[darlingpoppet]

Where The Dead Forget: Chapter 1

A Hades Patrochilles Amnesia/Memory Loss AU

Fandom: Hades (Video Game)

Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus (some background ThanZag, MegZag, and OrphyEury also present)

Chapters: 1/18? (Chapter 1: 8273 words)

Rating: M (No particular CWs for chapter 1 but this whole fic deals with a lot of depression, guilt/self-loathing and will contain canon-typical violence for Hadesgame, the Iliad, and also some eroticism/eventual sex… please check the ao3 tags for more details!)

Summary: Hades game-verse amnesia AU. Patroclus drinks from the River Lethe and loses his memories of Achilles. Achilles attempts to woo him all over again, now with personal growth and wisdom on his side. But it turns out not to be so simple when the fame and reputation he acquired in life contrast with the man that he has become as well as the man that Patroclus always saw in him. Chapter 1: Patroclus is thirsty. Achilles & Orpheus are sad. Thanatos & Megaera are grumpy. Zagreus is Zagreus. Let’s establish a status quo and then BLOW IT ALL UP!!!

Excerpt:

A man sits on the banks of the Lethe. He kneels where the mossy grass is softest, leaning over toward the river’s edge. He watches the water roll and whirlpool playfully over jutting stones, through a hazy mist which lingers just above the flow. Patches of blue myosotis sway beside him on a gentle breeze.

For what feels like the longest time, he has sat near this bank, where the river is often the only sound but for his own weeping and muttering in the peaceful glade. He may have eventually ceased to hear it, perhaps—it is a constant presence, like the aching sorrows of a melancholy shade—but as it is, the soothing trickle of the spirited current is never far from the forefront of his thoughts. The murmur of the water makes him drowsy; it promises cool sweetness on his tongue, while the mist hanging above suggests an even sweeter sort of bliss—and even dead men, he had quickly come to realize, can thirst.

You can read the rest of chapter 1 here on AO3!

[leone-a]

Backstory HC | Leone Abbacchio

ABBACCHIO : 

Abbacchio grew up in a pretty stable family, compared to the other members of his team. His mom is an opera singer, and his father a retired police officer. 

His father’s career influenced him a lot during his childhood. He saw his father as some kind of hero- observing him quietly through the window, as he left for work, with his neatly ironed police uniform, a quiet smile on his lips, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes.

His mom isn’t italian. He has some french ancestry. 

He does know a little bit of french. But, whenever he tries speaking, you can definitively hear a thick, underlaying italian accent. 

His hair is natural. He gets it from his mom.

How was he like growing up ?

Abbacchio, until the age of 11, was the perfect cliché of the small, blonde, and adorable kid. Really quiet, he’d stay a lot near his mom. Looking at him now, you’d never guess he used to be like this.

His personality slowly changed when he reached adolescence : he became more talkative, yet distant, and got into sports. In high school, he’d be described as the smart, sportsy, yet not too extroverted guy. He used to be part of a football team.

Girls would fall pretty easily for him. His hair would be at an approximative ear length, with the two signature strands slightly falling on the sides of his face. Surprisingly enough, he had a lot of friends. In other words, he had what most people would call a pretty normal life. 

His signature lipstick comes from one of his first girlfriends : one day, she jockingly applied her own on his lips, after begging him to let her try it on him. But both of them ending up liking the way he looked with it, he decided to start wearing some, and soon bought his own. The colour of her lipstick was similar to MAC’s “antique velvet” shade. 

Entering the police force :

Right after his graduation, he decided to enter the police academy, still intent on following his dad’s path. 

He graduated top of his class, in a record time of 8 months. This allowed him to start officially working as a police officer at the age of 19 years old. However, despite Abbacchio’s best attempts, he couldn’t manage to find his place between the ranks of the district he was assigned to. Most of the other officers wouldn’t even bother learning his name. 

But one man helped him out : the one that would later become his partner, and die in a tragic turn of events. He was about 30 when Abbacchio entered the force. 

Surviving the incident, before Bucciarati’s offer : 

Abbacchio could do nothing but watch as his own life crumbled in his hands.

Being convicted for corruption, and the undirect death of his partner, destroyed what little faith he had in society and life as a whole. He’d reminisce for hours, as he’d stay out in the streets, late at night, about his childhood dreams. Thinking back at how naive he used to be. 

 He’d kept quiet about the incident. He knew his parents would find out eventually, through the news- and he disappeared right before they did. Abbacchio would’ve rather died than having to face them after what happened. He could never look at them in the eyes again. 

Despite their best attempts at finding him, to try and initiate a discussion, he always made sure to remain hidden. He even left his appartment, not having enough savings to afford rent anymore, anyway. Eventually, they gave up. But never really forgot their son. 

Abbacchio never contacted them again. 

His appearance changed along with his life changes. He let his hair grow, slowly going from the short crew cut he adorned in the police force, to mid length hair, and, finally, to his signature long hair. He started putting lipstick on again- after all, why wouldn’t he ? He had no rules to follow anymore, no dresscode.

Alcohol and sex started becoming his daily routine. He’d go out at night, ending up in bars, clubs, in a desperate attempt at forgetting what one would call a crashing wave of self-loathing and depression. He’d often fuck whoever he deemed interesting enough, sometimes for the sole purpose of having someone paying for his drinks, unknown hands running against his skin, unknown perfumes clinging to his clothes. All that mattered to him was chasing away these intrusive thoughts of his, in the embrance of a willing stranger. 

He also learned how to steal, at the darkest times of his life, but avoided doing it as much as possible. 

This lifestyle led him to insomnia, from which he still suffered after joigning Bucciarati’s team. He’s a recovering alcohol addict, but has come a long way ever since. 

Joigning the mafia :

Abbacchio was 20, when he entered Passione. He’d received his stand a few months after his dismissal from the police force, and thus already had some experience using Moody Blues. 

His recruital was Polpo’s and Bucciarati’s doing. While searching through criminal files of recently convincted criminals, they stumbled upon his case. Bruno investigated further, discovering his unique stand power, and immedialely asked his own capo’s approval, in order to integrate him to his soon-to-be team. Who would be stupid enough to let a man as precious as Leone Abbacchio wander alone within the jungle of Naples ?

Entering Bucciarati’s team, he completed whatever task was thrown at him, without a word. Without a single question. All that mattered was that he finally had people telling him what to do, giving him orders, no matter how futile or dangerous said orders were. 

It took him some time to properly warm up to Bucciarati, but soon, his 19 y.o leader would become his only reference. They’d often train together, as Abbacchio slowly started taking care of himself again. Their relationship, in some ways, allowed them to behave like regular 20 years olds, and forget Passione’s darkests business. 

[siriusmydeer]

Hey! Could you do a Regulus fluff with the prompt 17. “This reminded me of you.”

from a boy, to a man

regulus black x fem!reader

summary: regulus finds his way back to you after destroying the horcruxes.

word count: 2.0k

warnings: mentions of self harm (bleeding, scratching, scabs), insinuations of depression, mentions of anxiety, self hatred, poor mental health/not taking care of ones self, angst-fluff

a/n: amelia amelia i wanna kiss u thank u sm for helping me baby @fives-cup-of-coffee

dark stygian swirls. the infinite markings submerged in his pallid sickly flesh that had healed prolongingly into a lustre of peach. but the black branding lay delineated, every curvature, every edge lay as detailed as when it had first been cursed into his complexion.

the relevance of scrubbing his nails against the dermis until it scalded the nerve endings in his left forearm had become insignificant. the carmine scabs fading over time but the reminder of his baleful past prompting his memory.

the branding was the only thing that could make him clutch his arm in a bashful sense. yet the only talisman evoking his senses to remain his strong demeanour was the minuscule silver-plated band that lay on his thumb tightly.

jewelry. it was your familiarity.

necklaces, rings, earrings, they all somehow coordinated with you, your essence. something complimentary to you complexion, soothing important to your family as they were heirs.

when strolling the corridors you received the compliments, it was rather flattering. it was something people began to notice over some time, but you never had owned a bracelet. it was common to own bracelets such as heirlooms but you had never received such an entity until the age of eleven.

august 28th, 1971

the sun was fading into the familiar evening hues of feverish vermillion and a slow fading shade of apricot blending into the sky. the prelude to dawn at its beginning while you gaped at it intensely, the fresh pricks of grass hitting your bottom under the shell-pink dress you had been dressed in as well as the small gusts of wind looming through the air as a small reminder of where you had been rather than slipping into your mind into an abyss of daydreams.

the wind began to increase, hitting the delicacy of your skin. the little nips at your skin producing a small shiver from the curvature of your spine to the muscles in your legs. the moment was serene, like something you read about in fairytale books about a princess awaiting her prince, almost silent. until a faint boyish voice had interrupted the tranquillity.

“’ve got a gift for you.”

your body slightly sprung at the sound interrupting the deep prolonged silence. You began to crane your neck behind you, a short boy awaiting for you to glimpse at him, your eyes were met with deep aquamarine irises that swirled in the hues of virescent green and cerulean blue. a small twinkle found carved into his irises in them at your attention.

“regulus,” you muttered, viewing as the boy sat next to you with something particularly large clutched in his hand.

he held up a gold circlet with intricate detailing that had been engraved in the brass item. as well as an emerald gem placed directly in the centre. the main focus of the bracelet, if you will. your brows began to force together into a pronounced frown, your optics glancing from his digits clutched around the object to his features, his shell-pink lips fixed into a quirk as well as a small gleam of virtue flaring in his irises  

“what’s this for?” you began to query, taking the rather dense manacle into your palm and staring at it for a moment. “it’s a bracelet, i know that you don’t have any so i got you one.” he retorted faintly, a small sense of pride and adoration swelling in his belly. but he wasn't of age to particularly identify those feelings yet.

“think of it as a present, before school starts.”

your face steadily began to upturn at his endeavours, a scramble of letters trying to escape the cavern of your mouth in a enliven venture to thank him for his doting thoughts about you.

the memory becomes a slow fading blear as recollects his thoughts and narrows his eyes in a sneer at his maimed reflection. the caliginous imprint taunting regulus through the obstruct mirror, his hand beginning to clutch over the mantle flesh ensuing the laceration that had been flung under the downpour of searing water minutes prior.

he recollected every detailed moment of that night, the way your eyes glimpsed at the bracelet every couple of seconds in elation. even at eleven years old in a floral shell-pink dress, in the distance you looked so angelic. he didn't know as an eleven-year-old boy and now only loathed himself for realizing so much later in life.

following his departure, he had glimpsed down at the silver ring that was clung onto his thumb that you had gifted following the bracelet, a ring he had to move around several fingers till it fit perfectly again. this incident similar to a parallel between scenarios. the small band holding himself together in a way that couldn't be understood by another.

the girl he had loved, adorned, the girl that was now a woman who had let him weep into her shoulder, the woman who made sure that he would take care of his body to keep it in a healthy state, the girl that was now a woman that would cheer for him amid his quidditch games till her throat was raw, the girl who was now a woman whom he still had loved wasn’t there to clutch onto his arm and whisper to him that everything was going to be alright.

the subconscious that laid embedded into your skull was subsequently pivoting in rapid twists till it was firmly knotted without anymore pondering to be completed. the footprint of where the boy had once been subtly faded without a trace as to where, the boy who grew into a man with mangled black tendrils that sat in entangled twists, the man with a structured jaw whilst he was old enough to spew out curse words to his mother, the boy who was now a man who you loved had vanished beneath your fingertips without a trace.

the man that was once a boy had taken a vow that potentially concluded his life and vanished for, ‘your safety,’ as he pronounced before departing from your vapid figure. the last i love you escaping from his lips as a final message in case it would be the last time you would hear it from him.

then you became alone, all fucking alone.

he huffed whilst pacing almost becoming nauseated, crackling at his knuckles due to the submerging coarse of anxiety running thickly through his blood. it was enough to swivel into the crevices of his spine and sprawl into his brain like sporadically placed letters in an intense game of pool, his mind configuring ways on how to address you after almost a year of his blatant absence.

the minuscule of a second he had after the duration of his completed mission, regulus had ventured to find almost every piece of detailed information that had been absent in his mind for the last ticking days where he hadn’t spoken to you. almost as if he hadn’t played the recurrent memory of you laughing at his foolish jokes in the slytherin common room in the deep hours of the night following a few hushed whispers, in a recurrent loop to the point where he could recall every faint characteristic that you had worn with pride.

your thumbs were absentmindedly twiddling in an abyss-like daydream, similar to the ones you had as a young girl, the collision of decrepit wood and firm knuckles splintering the perpetuating silence that had sunken depressingly into your flat. a look of puzzlement contorted onto your features, you paused and speculated as to whom was at your apartment as you weren't used to having such visitors.

opting to leisurely trudge to the door in exhaustion, the door had revealed regulus arcturus black with an ivory box clutched in his hand and a nervous grin quirked on his lips. you stopped, taken back for a moment. a revelling thought peering into your conscious mind to ultimately shut the door closed and pretend this moment, the moment that you had dreamed of till the early hours in the morning wasn’t occurring. instead, grappling at his hand and pulling him into a close-knit embrace till you could feel like hast respires in his chest along with the palpitating beats of his trembling heart against your sternum.

he sighed in relief, his hands melding into the curvature of your waist. the tension in your frame gradually disentangling from the days that had surpassed without the boy who was now a man, a man with a sallow complexion and sickly carved features stood in front of you with now a tearful grin that was almost quivering awaiting forgiveness that he was frightful he would never receive.

“what have you done to yourself, regulus?” your hands melded into the sharp curvature of his cheeks, the balmy embrace of your hands warming his figure like a camper that had created fire without months of warmth. his optics began to gape at the floor of your flat, ignoring your question with the clearness of his throat.

“nevermind me, this reminded me of you.” he clarified while bringing the box into your viewpoint. “regulus.” you pardoned him but taking a grasp on the box and setting it down on the oak-wood table with a small ‘clink.’

“what’s happened to you— why didn’t you come back for me?”

“i was scared, i didn’t want to leave you. i promise you that, i just— i didn’t want to come back and you would hate me.” regulus confessed with a stutter, a mild nervous tic he had obtained when he was young. as well as when he ventured to drag his slender fingers between his swoop of curls but found it rather difficult as they were mangled together.

you frowned disquietly. the boy that had endured your whines, and your tantrums as to when a fifth-year hufflepuff had ticked you off rather irritatingly. the boy who was now a man, whom you had loved, and he knew you had loved. continued to think that you had hated him when that had been opposite.

"I don't hate you, reg. I never have, I don't think you can hate the person i love the most." his hands fell back in place to the contour of your waistline, the palms of his hands steadily dragging themselves in a comforting motion while your fingers delicately pushed into his hair.

“your hairs a mess, reg,” you observed with a sated smile, the smallest of a chuckle escaping his lips after his mouth had almost been sewn shut by voldemort himself. the thought of regulus laughing could’ve turned heads now because of how unusual and unfamiliar the sound was. but it was the same child-like giggle he expressed on the hogwarts train several years ago.

“yeah,” he chuckled again, louder this time. he felt the small indulging swirls coming up from his eyes, the downpour of tears almost cascading down his cheeks before he brought his digits to slide them across his sockets, “brush it for me? like old times?”

he wasn’t sad anymore, he didn’t feel dejected, he didn’t feel the urge to lay in a bed that was poorly made with creased sheets and never get up again, the tears threatening his face were delightful ones. they were tears of elation, that the girl who was now a woman had remainingly loved him.

he was home, an unfamiliar concept now wrapping him in an unyielding enclasp. regulus was home.

he sat upon a bench, looking at a reflection no longer splintered with guilt, or narrowing eyes. his eyes moved in an upward motion, his irises seeing the way you languidly dragged a brush through his tuffs and a small smile quirking at your lips.

“i love you, too. i didn’t want you to think i forgot.”

taglist: @fific7 @kittykylax @wisedreamcatcher @ronbrokemyheart @amourtentiaa @five-cups-of-coffee @serenitywilderness @i-love-scott-mccall @artemis1orion @miss-starkov @siriusbarnesslut @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @slytherclawbitch @90steaology

[kyeoalawoo]

House Full of Mirrors (A, F)

TW: depression

Genre: angst with a fluffy ending (I promise! I’m not that cruel🤧)

Member: Yeosang x fem!Reader

Summary: Basically the reader doesn’t like herself, but then... there’s always Yeosang 

A/N: This was inspired by the song House with No Mirrors by Sasha Sloan. I have this on my old tumblr bc initially I had no idea where to put this thing. So if anyone sees it there, yep that's why. I decided tho that I needed a dedicated place to put any writing that I do for ateez so I made this blog! I also have this on my AO3, which has the same handle as here. 

Dream little bit bigger they said. It’s unclear how that would work out in the world she lives in; she lives in a house full of mirrors. They show the reflections of everything she hates to see about herself, and yet she’s still here. The darkness inside eats away at her soul the way acid eats the flesh of bodies. Yet, unlike bodies, the darkness feeds off the insecurities and fear that reside deep within. It’s the side that no one sees, at least that’s what she hopes when she wakes in the morning.

No will to leave the bed that buries her under the plush covers, where it’s always warm and nothing can touch her. This is where she feels most safe, hidden from the world and the wondering eyes. The eyes that rake up and down her form with lust and disgust. The eyes that reflect the parts of herself that she loathes. She doesn’t see brightness within her soul, all she sees is shades of gray and black that refuse to lighten.

Most days she shelters herself, hoping that the day will end faster, and sleep will come quickly. She hates the sound of birds; the sound reminds her of alarm bells ringing. She hates the sound of vehicles; they remind her of the ways she could escape if she was better. She hates the voices of people; it shakes her to the core as they only fuel the fire of self-hatred. Yet, there is one person she cannot hate the voice of no matter how hard she tries.

That voice reminds her of honey in lemon tea and the calmness of sitting on the beach in the warm summer breeze. It brightens her eyes and brings her out of the darkness that engulfs her. The way the voice flows like water down the river sends bolts of electricity through her spine, reigniting the drive to live. It is the one thing that she can listen to and not feel completely alone and afraid of herself. She forgets the house filled with mirrors; she forgets her sadness as if it never were there.

“Hey you, what are you thinking about?”

A light poke to the nose followed by a sugary sweet smile greeted her dulled eyes. As she stared back at the man kneeling next to her, that familiar warmth and comfort crept through her heart.

“Was I thinking?”

She might say her voice sounds like broken glass, shattering new bottles with each word that escapes her lips. Yet the man beside her would say otherwise. He found it soothing, soft like silk and fresh as if it was a warm spring day.

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”

He smiled down at her, bringing his fingers to gently tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear. Again, the warmth crept through her body from the delicate touch; she wished it could be this way always.

“You might be looking into things too deeply then.”

The smile she gave barely reached her eyes, but the boy could tell it was a genuinely happy smile even if it was small. It warmed his heart to know she would always give him at least one genuine smile throughout the day.

“Well, if you weren’t thinking then can I join you?”

“You never have to ask Yeosang.”

The man let out a small grunt as he positioned himself to lay on his stomach next to the girl in front of the fire. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, taking in how her gaze softened with the yellow glow warming her cheeks. This was one of his favorite things to do with her; simply exist in quiet crackles of fire in sweaters and fluffy socks. It contrasted the ambiance of the outside world where the wind howled, and snow fell fast. He didn’t mind though as any time spent with her was the best part of his day.

Despite living in her house full of mirrors, she saw her reflection less when he was around. To her, Yeosang was the one person who could help pick her back up when she fell. He would move the mountains she saw and turn them into rolling green hills. He could take her fear and diminish it with a cup of coffee. In the simplest of terms; he was her reason to smile and let others in.

“I was thinking”

“Wow good for you.”

She beamed at him, patting his head lightly. He pouted in fain sadness.

“Anyways, I was thinking that we could go get coffee. I miss sitting in a café and listening to you read to me.”

It caught her off guard and for a moment the house full of mirrors began to suck her light back. Even a candle flame blowing in the wind would have been brighter than her in the moment. What would happen if she left? Would people look at her with those lifeless, cold eyes she had become familiar with? If she stepped out of her walls of reflections and thoughts, would she survive?

He saw her fear, a quick glint as if a whisp had flashed out of eyesight. Within the house, there was peace so long as he was around. This he knew well, but the girl he saw wasn’t this shell. It wasn’t the number on the scale she weighed herself on. It wasn’t the words that screamed back at her through her reflections. It wasn’t the grey clouds that hung over head as she lay in bed waiting for the day to pass by. It was just her that he saw. The spark of something that couldn’t be copied by any other person, being, or object. It was the pure heart of a tiger that fought with vigor.

“Please? You never finished reading from your book of poems.”

He offered a smile; sweeter than whipped cream and lighter than cotton candy.

“I don’t know Yeosang… I haven’t really been collecting poems as much as I used to.”

“It’s alright. I just like hearing your voice.”

“You do?”

“Of course, I like everything about you. You’re my light when things get tough, just as much as I’m yours. We’ve stuck together through thick and thin.”

“Well, I guess we could go out and get coffee sometime. Maybe I’ll have a new poem for you by then.”

Once again, he smiled at her and she felt that warmth seep into her chest, begging to come out after all those years with him. Begging to be heard instead of pushed back into the shadows where the demons lived. Begging to be let out of the cage she had put so much work into building so nothing could hurt her. It yearned for sunlight, and in the back of her mind she knew this would come in time.

“You know, you’re my favorite person right?”

“Ah, I would have never guessed.”

“Haha, very funny. In all seriousness though, if I didn’t have you I know my life wouldn’t be as full. It would be darker and emptier.”

“I feel the same way. I really appreciate you.”

“I want to be honest here.”

Yeosang had his gaze fixed on the slowly burning fire as he spoke. He feared that if he looked at her she might run away and that was the last thing he wanted in this moment.

“I know you feel you live in a house full of mirrors. I know you feel like that number on the scale dictates how people treat you. I know that when you don’t go out, you lay in bed. I know that I can’t fix you. I know that I can only patch holes. Yet, I know that I’d never trade you for anything else. I know I want you now, and always. I just want you… is that selfish?”

She didn’t know what to say to him; it’s a sudden expression of words she doesn’t hear often. It scared her to the core. It sent cracks down her heart and through the walls she had built so high and strong within. These mirrors and demons had their way, leaving nothing behind in their wake. The path they left was filled with destruction, death, and rot.

“I understand it’s hard to know why I’m saying this, but I know you know that I haven’t lied.”

“I can’t be the judge of whether what you said is selfish or not. I just know that if you mean it… I wouldn’t try to stop you.”

“Well then.”

He sat up instantly, crossing his legs as he held out a hand toward her. The fire crackling made his face glow the way an angels might. She grasped his hand, matching his sitting position. It scared her. While she said she wouldn’t stop him, the repercussions of his actions, if they failed, would be world shattering. Her guard was falling along with her pain.

“I’d love the chance to show you the world. I’d love the chance to show you what I see in those beautiful eyes, laugh, and mind of yours. If you trust me enough, will you let me be your partner?”

Despite the initial hesitance, she did believe him and trust him not to crush her the way others had. Pushing her below the water until she couldn’t breathe, taking away all the air in her lungs as she drowned further than the time before. With Yeosang, it would be different. She knew just from the look in his eyes and how gently he cared for her.

“I think I’d love to give you a chance to show me the world.”

Yeosang brought a hand up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over it, soothing the nerves that lay just beneath. As she leaned into his touch the mirrors that had always stared back began to melt away. The demons and crushing words grew smaller in form, fleeing for the dark corners of her mind. For now she was genuinely happy and the ever present thoughts faded in and out of view. For now, her house full of mirrors was simply a house with one mirror. In that reflection she saw the two of them shining like stars. For the first time in a long time, the mirror showed exactly what her life truly was; simple but radiant with the person who had a voice of honey in lemon tea.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 4

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. Bullying and non-explicit violence in this chapter, Peter whump.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: WE'VE GOT PLOT! Peter Parker deserves better. Steeb needs a vibe check cuz he keeps failing them :( Boomers are hot but ... Boomers. KitKat, anyone? Natasha is a Brain Cell™. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit​ @littlegasps​ @pilloclock​ @shereadsinquiet​ @hermione-grangers-wife​ @downeyreads​ @individualistfem​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings 👑 - titty gators assemble! 👀

I scheduled a visit to the tower two days after my "illness" episode. Most of my lows passed without any lingering, the headache was gone and so was the nausea. My mood was still somewhere between "please kill me" and "I could eat a lot of cake right now" but it was bearable. I was very much looking forward to occupying myself with the project if only to divert my focus from overthinking about my own misery.

Peter said he was going to see Tony straight after school and offered for me to tag along with him: Tony sent his driver to pick up the boy. I didn't have the heart to refuse, seeing no point in waiting for an Uber on a rainy workday afternoon. Traffic was horrendous in New York city no matter the weather but a downpour took the congestions to a new height.

When I spotted the sleek, black brand new Audi I made a beeline for it, waving to Happy as I crawled inside as fast as I could. "Don't get the seats wet," The chauffeur grumbled.

"It's wet outside," I rolled my eyes into the next dimension. Whoever thought his nickname was in any way appropriate needed a psych eval. Peter sat on my right side looking wet and downright miserable. I had to swallow a string of expletives at the sight in front of me: the entirety of Peter's right cheek was an ugly shade of blue, eye on it's way to swelling shut and lip busted open. "What in the everliving fuck happened to you?!" Breathing through my nose, I fought bubbling rage inside of me. Peter looked like he went toe to toe with a Hulk.

"Flash happened," The boy mumbled, whining and brooding simultaneously. His cheeks glowed.

"That little runt?" I took another pause to steady my breathing, tentatively reaching out for Peter's hand. He grasped it tightly in gratitude. "Well, did you at least fight back?"

"No, I... I can't do that," Peter became even smaller, curling into the seat and in himself. I was disappointed for sure as I wouldn't just stand there and take a beating, but Pete was different. He was sensitive-a total pacifist to boot.

"Do any of the teachers know? I'm guessing this isn't the first time," Sure, I've seen Parker with an occasional scrape or a bruise but I'd always figured it was just him being a teenage nuisance. Curtain of depression I had over the previous days slowly began morphing into cold fury.

"No, well, they probably do. But Flash is the principal's son so they ignore it, I guess," Peter sighed in defeat. "Mr. Stark doesn't know either. Please don't tell him," He begged.

"Abuse thrives in silence," I parroted our sex-ed teacher but otherwise made no promises. My mind raced between comforting Peter and ordering Happy to turn the car around so I could find the shitty excuse of a human named Flash Thompson and violently make it known what happens to people when they get me pissed off.

"What are you going to tell Tony?" I asked Peter as we herded into the elevator, slightly wet and mostly miserable.

"I have an idea or two," The boy answered darkly.

"You have been summoned to the common floor, I was instructed to notify you there is food to be eaten before sciencing, per Doctor Banner's orders," Friday announced, rerouting the elevator to the aforementioned destination. Peter groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands.

"What the fuck happened to you, kid?" Bucky decided screeching like a banshee and attracting at least five of his teammates to come running from the dining room was the best way to approach an obviously spooked Peter. The boy shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Our classmate beat him up," I answered before Pete could lie. "The fucking runt that doesn't know his damn place. His two cronies probably too," The venom in my voice could've melted steel. I was genuinely furious.

"What's his name?" Captain-Steve growled. I was taken aback at the large blonde man suddenly standing up, fists clenched. My feet moved involuntarily, taking a step back from the enraged supersoldier and Pete cowered, startled.

I stepped in front of him immediately. "I'm gonna need you to chill the fuck down, Cap," The trembling in my voice persisted but I stood my ground nonetheless. "Your roid rage is going to land you in prison if you keep going," In my own rage, self-preservation went out of the window along with common sense. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up, Peter was downright shaking behind me.

"She's right," Bucky darkly eyed his friend. "Off to the sparring mats with you." He grabbed Rogers by the shoulder with his prosthetic arm all but hauling the blonde towards the elevator. Thor immediately took the Captain's other side, not quite touching him but obviously giving his friend a vibe check. I could've clapped. Not that Steve resisted much, but still.

"Everyone calm down, please," The Black Widow piped up in an even tone. I can always count on a fellow woman to keep calm in a situation where men's tempers almost cause a disaster. "Now, tell us what happened," She approached Peter on quiet feet. The boy shuffled around me looking every bit as dejected as I felt about the situation. "And someone fetch some ice for that bruise," Romanoff's offhand gesture had Barton scrambling into the kitchen.

Peter sat down on the couch, looking at the floor. "Flash has been bothering me since, like, forever and today I just ignored his usual remarks because I had a calculus test, I- I wanted to make sure I knew everything, and I was sitting in a really quiet corner, and I- Ned was hanging out with MJ somewhere and I guess Flash got angry that I didn't answer," Peter rambled in his usual nervous fashion, sentences jumbling together. Natasha kept nodding, simply hugging the boy softly with one arm. As soon as Clint came back with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel Natasha's other arm pressed it gently to Peter's bruised face. The assassin frowned at the pained whine that left Peter's lips.

"Honestly, that dude is a fucking piece of shit, I'm surprised how he's not in jail yet," I piped up from where I was pacing along the large window overlooking the city skyline. Wound up and tense, I couldn't stay still. "He stole a senior's car for a joyride, last year. He routinely picks on the freshmen and I've personally dislocated his wrist from slapping me on the ass in, like, eight grade," Peter's eyebrows raised at my admission and Natasha gave me a vaguely approving hum.

I caught Peter's eye the moment elevator doors opened revealing a panicked looking Tony and a worried Bruce with Loki standing behind them, talking to a man in... Robes? And a red cape?

"What happened to my science child?!" Tony's fury rang high. The engineer rushed over to Peter, frantically checking him over and growling at the state of his face, letting out a string of expletives seeing the busted lip had started to bleed again.

I gave a tiny tilt of my lips to Bruce who had the oddest compilation of worried, confused and amused in his expression.

"You should probably get him to a doctor, I think his mouth is cut on the inside," I scooted closer to Banner, informing him quietly.

"I'm a doctor," The man in the cape announced, ... strutting (!) over to Pete. There was really no other way to describe his long, precise strides. He quickly butted Tony out of the way and instructed Peter to open his mouth.

"This is utter chaos," Loki muttered, sitting down on the furthest end of the couch.

"It is and I'm living for it," I sighed. The situation was very disorganized with Tony flailing about in blind panic, Bruce just standing there, Cap's rage quit and subsequent intervention by his buddies. Then the new strange dude... Loki was brooding and honestly? Big mood. The only person who made some resemblance of order out if this cluster fuck was Natasha.

All and all, it was quite endearing. I imagined that's what a large, close family would look like. When I said I was enjoying myself - no lie there, even despite the grim situation.

"How are you? Are you hurt?" Bruce quietly asked me, laced with concern. His shoulders relaxed somewhat when I shook my head negative. "Hungry?" I nodded affirmatively and the doctor produced a kit kat bar seemingly out of nowhere, winking at me with a boyish smile. I just about melted on the spot, tearing off a block and giving it to him to avoid any embarrassing reactions I might possibly spout in the wake of my recently acquired crush.

We munched in silence as the Cape Guy explained to Peter (and anxious Tony) that a few butterfly stitches would be needed as well as CT scan to rule out a possible concussion. At that point Tony was steadily turning purple in colour, rage and anxiety combining for a large storm that no doubt will hit sooner or later.

I felt responsible, I guess. Peter must've known Tony was going to react so strongly to his science son getting hurt and well, I hated seeing Tony so mad and helpless. On soft feet, I padded over to the engineer, making sure to stay within direct line of vision. "Tones?" He shot his eyes at me. He was furious. "Look, I'm going to make that fucker's life a living hell," Tony made an agitated noise of protest however I wasn't having it. I knew I'd be in trouble later but for now, I firmly placed my palm over his mouth, enjoying the surprised widening of his eyes at the frivolous gesture. "Listen, right now you can't do shit. You guys are super-powered individuals and Flash is just a nasty kid. You'll get in a big fat mess and he'll get to go away with a slap on the wrist," Tony sagged, visibly, bodily, and I felt it was safe to remove my hand from his face.

"I hate to say it but she's right," Bruce piped up behind me, voice soft.

I nodded. "I'm going to ruin the guy without putting a single finger on him," Tony nodded grimly and Cape Guy halted his examination of Peter's head to give me a mildly concerned stare. "My mother is a litigator, a vicious one at that. I've learned a trick or two," I winked with a grim sort of amusement causing the man to snort. Tony chuckled humorlessly. "As much as I hate to be the voice of reason, it would be a shame for anybody in this tower to end up behind bars. Even if it would be for a good cause," I finished my speech, patting Tony on the shoulder. The surprised squeak made its way out of my mouth when the billionaire pulled me tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a desperate hug.

Ignoring my skyrocketing heartbeat, I wrapped myself around him as best as I could. Whatever issues the man had, they had to be quite painful if he reacted to the situation so intensely. I was selfish, but not heartless, so I gave into the affectionate gesture despite the inappropriate feelings that blossomed within me.

"I don't know what I've done to deserve you," Peter whined, fat round tears beginning to drip down his cheeks. I could tell he was embarrassed beyond Hell but his feelings overwhelmed him enough to just spill through. I immediately made my meanest big eyes to Natasha and Cape Guy who immediately hugged the life out of Pete. There, all set.

"Now go get that scan done," I frowned, seeing Peter start to nod off. "I don't know your name, but can you arrange that? Since you're a doctor," I nodded to the Cape Guy.

"I'm Stephen Strange," he replied, effortlessly picking up a dozing Peter and carrying him to the elevator. Before I could react, he waved his one free hand in some sort of a circle and a glowing ring appeared with what seemed to be a ER room - Strange hastily stepped through, followed by Tony suddenly withdrawing and hurrying after the ... Wizard? The portal closed immediately after.

"What the fuuuuuck..." I gaped at the now empty space. Strange, indeed. Even Loki's scoff didn't put a dent in my perplexed curiosity.

"So, lawyer family, huh?" Natasha, who I'd forgotten about, spoke up, mildly interested.

"Just my mother," I replied casually. They were the last thing in the world I wanted to talk about, especially after being so upset for the past hour. Man, I needed a drink. My hands itched for a cigarette.

"What about your father?" The spy didn't relent, pushing the issue with deadly politeness - I was actually sure she'd threaten me into talking about it even if I refused to.

"He's a celebrity manager."

"Cool," Her tone perked up at that. "Know anyone famous?"

"Know? No," I thought about all the A-list Hollywood stars I've been around, the endless parade of one-hit-wonder musicians that my dad hung out with on a daily basis. "I've crossed paths with at least half the Billboard TOP 40 but that's about it. Katy Perry was really nice," I added as an afterthought.

"I see," Natasha gave me a thoughtful once-over, patting the seat next to her. "So tell me, what do you have in mind for this Flash kid?"

My smile came out sharp and vicious. People tended to underestimate the quiet, quirky loner and I was about to remind them exactly why my kind of kids usually ended up with either millions in their bank accounts or a lengthy criminal record. "I'm going to annihilate any chance he has with having a social life, a girlfriend and I'll be damned if he gets into college without his parents going bankrupt. It goes like this..."

The ominous beginning of my plan attracted everybody in the room, even Loki. If anything, he offered the most constructive advice and the smirk he wore was positively devilish. Steve, Bucky and Thor emerged sometime during the scheming and hastily joined us, identically grim expressions on their faces. We barely managed to get done with our nefarious cackling when a portal appeared once again, Stephen stepping out of it with Tony carrying a sleeping Peter. The boy's head was bandaged, he looked like a mummy.

I stood up, beelining for Tony. "Is Pete okay? Did you call May?"

"He's not concussed but he's taking the day off tomorrow. Yes, I called May. Pete is staying here tonight," Tony looked and sounded like an exhausted, worried parent.

The urge to squee appeared again and I stomped it down with a hard "Good. We made a plan. The fucker is going to choke on his own misery," I gestured to the people sitting in a circle behind me.

Strange snorted.

Furious. I was furious.

Hands on my hips, I swerved towards him, instantly recognizing the ridiculousness of the situation. Here I stood, an eighteen year old high school student, in my fluffy rainbow sweater and denim overalls, staring down a whole grown ass man with magic powers. I digress, my pride won the race against my common sense. "Ex-fucking-cuse you, Voldemort, that's my fucking friend on the line," I seethed, giving him my best death glare.

"Language," Tony barely held together his laughter, looking at the unfolding mess with amusement. Somewhere behind me, somebody chuckled, then I recognised Loki's signature "ehehe" and it kind of went downhill from there. It's a miracle Peter didn't wake up.

"I'd be careful, Strange, she holds up against Stark very well," Loki's quiet compliment only made me preen and puff out my chest in a display of dominance. Stephen's responding eye roll was more fond than annoyed. I counted it as a win.

[o-wise-corvid]

Oooookay guys! Here’s the prologue to my little fic idea. It’s um... it’s gonna be depressing okay so if you can’t handle some gut wrenching emotionals, leave this for another day. I really hope y’all like it and I’m gonna try to get at least one update in a week. Anyhoo. Enjoy.

People who were wanting more: @captainrexisboo @clonetrooperrights @koskareevesismyqueen @gospelofme @jgvfhl @ct-27-fives @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life

TAGS: PG-13 tops/mention of deaths/battle trauma/PTSD/ nightmares/ self-loathing thoughts/ um... If y’all see something else I need to tag, holler. Oh and if ya wanna reblog, go right ahead.

Prologue- Captain Cody

A varactyl death scream. The echoing sounds of blaster fire. His own voice repeated over and over, bellowing orders, shrieking in pain. He watched the Jedi fall. Obi-Wan turned himself over in midair, determined to survive. The commander’s arm was still lifted in the kill order gesture, two fingers pointing at the target. His arm. “Blast him.” Words formed easily by his mouth while the inside of his head screamed, fighting his own bones and muscles.

Cody’s eyes snapped open and he cried out wordlessly, relieved to find himself in his bunk, shrouded in the dark, legs twisted up in sweat damp covers. He lay still, trying to bring his breathing under control.

“Captain?” The black protocol droid that had been assigned to his quarters snapped to life and turned hollow, yellow visual sensors toward him.

“It’s fine, Sixthree.” His voice sounded ragged in the hollow, stuffy echo of the room.

Cody sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bunk with a groan. His hips and lower back protested, popping as he moved. He was getting old and feeling it. Standing, Cody shuffled to the refresher and braced himself on the little sink that stood directly opposite the door. The squared off, slightly warped mirror betrayed more than his body ever could.

His hair was silvered at the temples and around the back of his head, thinning up top. He’d been considering going totally bald for a while now. Just to be done with it. Wrinkles spread out from his eyes in webs, carving furrows from his nose and down the sides of his mouth, creasing his forehead. The scar framing his left eye was more like a crevice now, pulling his eyelid down a little. His body wasn’t as lithe and flexible as it had once been, though he’d like to see one of the fit new Shinies take on a spider droid up next to him.

“You look rough, Trooper.” And then he smiled dryly at himself, scratching the stubble on his chin and cheeks absently.

A sick ache left from the dream curdled in his guts and he splashed some lukewarm water on his face. The memories of the Order didn’t seem like they would ever ease. The hatred of what he’d done followed him like a shadow, literally everywhere he looked, the result of his contribution to the Galactic Empire slapped him across the face as if on purpose. The monster had risen from the seeds sown by what most people now called The Clone Wars and it was huge, dark and ugly.

Obi-Wan. Cody gave an audible hiss at the thought of his name. The Jedi had been his friend, had saved his life, and how had he been repaid? With a watery grave, a shot in the back from his own Troopers. Guilt, old and familiar made him tighten his grip on the sink, the flimsy plastisteel groaning under the force he exerted. There’d not been a man in he galaxy that Cody had respected more and a faint glimmer of hope that his actions now would’ve made The Negotiator... what, proud? Not hate him because of what he’d done, the way he did in many other nightmares that made the regular circuit of his fitful dreams.

Cody wasn’t sure. He walked around, issued order about keeping the destroyer he��d been charged with floating, and trained new recruits when he wasn’t looking fierce. Recruits?! Stupid little kids that thought they could ever match the ferocity and skill of Clones. His brothers. There were so few of them left anymore, all spread around, trying to imprint their abilities on people who were not bread to war and battle. It was such numb-skulled concept. The Empire wanted the effectiveness of Clones but didn’t want to keep making them.

“Captain Cody.”

That voice brought him to attention. It was Vader. A chill crept over his scalp and down his spine until it sank into his feet, turning them into blocks of ice. Cody crossed to the communication display that took up most of the living quarter’s space. Vader’s head and shoulders loomed, huge and eclipsing, angular mask staring at him indifferently. He snapped to attention, uncaring that he was only in the black bottoms that he wore under his armor. “Lord Vader.”

The head inclined slightly in acknowledgement. Just after the end of the Wars, Vader had caught him in this state before and when he didn’t address the fact that Cody was naked to the waist and obviously just getting out of bed, Cody realized that Vader either tolerated it, doubtful, or simply didn’t care. He had no idea who Vader was underneath the armor and cape, but his suspicions leant toward a former Jedi. Who in the Force that might’ve been, he had absolutely no clue. The man knew soldiers though and he didn’t antagonize those who did their job and did it well. One thing he knew though was that he didn’t want to get on Vader’s bad side. Cody had betrayed his Jedi against his will, but this man... this man was something else. If former Jedi he was, Vader had slain and hunted his brethren until the mention of them was all but forbidden. If he knew soldiers, then he’d been in command. And there were only a handful of Jedi who had actually led troops, none of whom Cody could stomach the thought of becoming the beast that was Darth Vader.

“Your presence is required in the training yard. I have a new assignment for you.”

“As you wish, my Lord.” Cody answered automatically, without inflection. It was the way a Clone still under the control of the chip would sound like and Cody was careful to hold himself in that tight pattern, not allowing the facade to slip for even a second. If they knew, if anyone so much as suspected...

But his life was cheap at this point and if he had to die, trying to keep an eye on the Empire was a good use of what little time he had left.

He dressed quickly after Vader ended the transmission. His armor was not dissimilar from that which he’d worn nearly all his life, except black was the main color rather than white. It did look nicer, the shiny plastoid gleaming darkly with his signature bright yellow-gold accents. He bore the rank of Captain now, which was more decorative than anything, but even after all these years, Cody felt most comfortable with the weight of his armor encapsulating him. The Imperial insignia across his chest soured that comfortable feeling though.

Vader was waiting for him in the training yard, a thrumming shadow with the breath of a sleeping giant, waiting to reach out and crush anything it decided deserved a slow, strangling death. He was well over six feet tall and made Cody feel like he was looking up into the mouth of some enraged, ravenous beast. But he snapped to, saluted and stood at attention with practiced and even graceful fluidity.

“Captain,” Vader greeted smoothly, stepping to the side. His long cape shifted to reveal a... little girl? Cody’s eyes flicked down at her, seeing the naked terror on her face and it was all he could do not to tilt his head to let her know he was looking at her.

“This child is a force wielder, Captain. She lacks the ability to become as powerful as myself or even as the Jedi who you once served beside, but her talents can be used for the Empire’s service. You will train her in hand to hand combat. Your service record reflects the type of master she will require to be of use to us.”

“Yes sir,” Cody chirped, hoping his voice didn’t betray his total shock at what was happening. “She will... stay with me?”

“She will stay wherever you deem fit. Do not coddle her, Captain.” The command dripped menace and Cody fought the urge to swallow nervously.

“Of course not, my Lord. She will learn or she will die.” The little girl flinched at the word, glancing between the two faceless men. Vader nodded pointedly and left, the cape billowing behind him like a storm, not sparing a further considering moment for the little girl.

“Follow me.” Cody made sure his voice carried an acidic growl loud enough for anyone within earshot to register.

The girl gave a start and then obeyed. Her eyes were huge and dark, dirty and tangled black curls spilling around her face. Her skin would’ve been dark, possibly the same shade as his, had she not been leeched with cold and fright, her hands balled into tight little fists that she kept pressed to her chest.

He led her to his quarters, unsure of where else he was even supposed to take her. No one so much as glanced at them as the odd duo passed through the monstrous ship and Cody wondered if it was out of fear or apathy. Once they were inside, Cody ordered the protocol droid to go find some clothes that would fit the girl and bring in some food for her. The chattery clanker hurried off to do his bidding and Cody locked the door behind it. Then, he turned to look at the little girl.

What was he supposed to do now? Training older teenagers and grown adults was one thing. But a kid? A kid who’d been ripped from her family and tossed on a Star Destroyer with an old Clone, no less. Where was she from? What had happened to her? What must be happening inside her head right now...

“What’s your name?”

She blinked up at him, fear and anger making her eyes over bright, not answering. Instead, she made a frightened little noise and stepped back from him, glancing around for somewhere to escape. She was so scared, so lost. The sight of her did something unspeakable to Cody’s heart and he fought the urge to just scoop her up and hold her. Kids shouldn’t be experiencing this. They should be at home, with family, with people who could provide for them and protect them. This was so wrong. So cruel.

“Hey, hey, no...” Cody hesitated and then slowly removed his helmet, remembering an incident with Waxer and Boil on Ryloth in what felt like another lifetime. The helmets were scary back then; he probably looked like some sort of predator to her. Sinking down on one knee slowly, he leveled his eyes with hers, hoping not to further terrify his new charge. “I’m Cody. I’m not gonna hurt you, little one. But if you’re gonna survive this, you’re gonna have to trust me.”

She stared at him, breathing hard. There was no way he could get her off the ship and back to safety; her home was probably a crater by now, wherever it was.

“I... come here.” He reached for the blanket crumpled on his bed and tugged it free. “I know it’s cold. You’ll get used to it. Especially once we get you some decent clothes.” He opened it up to her, inviting her to take it. She didn’t. The dark, wide eyes watched him, tears spilling over and down her cheeks. Cody didn’t expect to feel a lump form in his own throat but there it was.

And that was when the world of Trooper CC-2224 shifted.

Something clicked, almost audibly, inside Cody’s head and the running, yowling script of “How am I supposed to do this?” halted, erased itself and was replaced with one firm sentence: “I’m going to do this.” Because of course he was. There wasn’t another option. He might’ve betrayed the Jedi, he might be still serving the Empire despite having slowly but surely shrugged out from under the control of the chip in his brain, but he was not going to just allow this little girl to suffer if he could possibly help it. For all his failings, for all his regret and self-hatred, this little girl could be the one thing that he finally got right. She needed a family, a protector, a provider... well... she had one. If this was coddling, then he guessed he’d just have to make his peace with disobeying a direct order, come what may. There really wasn’t any other choice.

“It’s okay, precious. I’m not-“ His breath left him as the girl flung herself at him. He wondered for a split second if maybe his epiphany had somehow shown through on his face as the girl’s momentum sent him rocking backward a little. It didn’t really matter though. This was where he realized he wanted her, safe and wrapped up in his arms. The relief of being able to comfort her somehow bled the strength out of him like a wound and he sat down with a weary sigh.

Skinny arms clutched around his neck and the cries of a child who had seen and felt too much too soon tore the air the quiet room. They stabbed at his chest, sounding too much like the green varactyl as it had fallen. “Easy, easy,” Cody tried, eyes stinging. He let the little girl cling to him as hard as she wanted, rubbing her bony back soothingly. He wanted to say something, to find the magic word that would make the pain that was this small creature lessen. But there were none, he realized as he swiped angrily at his own wet cheeks.

“You’re gonna have to trust me, okay?” he repeated after a long minute, having wrestled his emotions down to where he thought he could keep them still. “You’re gonna be okay.” Whatever was going to happen with this little girl would not be easy but in no way was this something he’d miss. Toss her off on some underling? Step in to check on her once a week? Unthinkable.

She grew still and then stepped back a little bit, hands still on his shoulders. Swollen, red eyes. Streaked, grimy cheeks. A dress that was mostly patches and frayed edges. “Cody,” she tried, and managed a wobbling, watery smile.

He smiled sadly at her, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “That’s right. You... you can either tell me your name or if you’d like, you can have a new one.” What made him do it, Cody wouldn’t be able to say for several years. But the ultimate reason was that this little creature reminded him so very much of his brothers. He’d never held someone, let them cry on him and felt their body heave with sorrow, that wasn’t one of his brothers.

“I can pick a name?” A curious, almost happy note crept into the girl’s voice, which was high and sweet.

“Sure. I picked mine.”

She frowned but it was more curiosity instead of something troubling. A grimy hand came up and dug the heel of her palm into her eyes, then she gave a loud sniffle. “Your parents didn’t give you one?”

“I didn’t have parents,” Cody said simply. “I had brothers though. Lots and lots of them.”

The girl’s face brightened but then fell. “My parents are gone, too.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Cody cupped her face in his hands, trying so hard to be gentle. “But you’ve got me. I’m gonna make sure you’re gonna be okay.”

Her eyes glistened but she didn’t start sobbing again. Instead, she reached up and traced the curve of Cody’s scar with one finger. If there had been some part of himself that Cody had been withholding from committing to keeping this girl alive, it was now officially and unconditionally surrendered. He expected her to say something about the scar, but instead she asked softly, “Could I have my Mama’s name?”

“Tell it to me.” He actually impressed himself with how steady his voice sounded because inside, everything felt like it was breaking and twisting, reshaping itself into something not unpleasant but not easily made.

“Gaia,” she said quietly.

“That’s lovely.” Cody smiled, a tear that he hadn’t watched closely enough slipping down his cheek. The little girl saw it and daintily brushed it away. “You sure about it?” he asked, clearing his throat to try to hold some part of himself together.

“... Yeah...”

He pulled her into another hug, which was warmer than the first. She curled into him like they’d known one another her whole life and Cody, now so exhausted that all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and never get up, leaned back against the wall with a tired grunt. “Okay, Gaia. Okay.”

[strangerobin]

Rue: Chapter 3 (A Jasper Hale x OC Imagine)

A play of hide and seek.

Writer's note: I had initially intended for this to be a reader insert piece, but it gets difficult trying to write without a name. So I decided for an OC instead lol

“Welcome to Northern Lights Resort and Spa, how may I help you?” Adeline smiled as she welcomed the next set of guests at the front lobby.

She’d moved to Whitehorse where the city was permanently covered with white snow and blanketed by the night sky more than half of the day. Found a part time job at the local resort, rented a run-down flat in downtown. It was cold and dark and it was everything she needed and loved.

Depression always did look good on her, as Tatiana would say.

But Tatiana would not think to find her here, nor Father, or anyone else for the matter. And she was safe, free to wallow in self pity and self loathing; free to ruminate on every last regret she had.

Thursday nights were reserved for movie nights; the local cinema showed sepia movies every Thursday nights, and it was nostalgic to see Audrey Hepburn and Elizabeth Taylor and all those stars again on the big screen, she was always addicted to the motion pictures back then.

She even managed to keep a fling on the side. A young college boy with golden curls, though his eyes were not quite the right shade of brown, his were too dark. And she wished he wouldn’t talk so much of his self absorbed art pieces, she’d rather he talked about the literature he should be reading instead. She’d picked a copy of Frankenstein from the local book store again, and he’d only given it a side glance and never returned to it again. But he was a warm embrace in the dead of the night, so she guess she’ll let it pass for now.

Other nights though, she would walk out alone in the reserves, hunting, mesmerised by the Northern Lights, solar winds from the sun meeting this earth’s atmosphere, deflected by the earth's magnetism to become polar lights that twist on itself to form an array of colours. It made her feel small, reminded her that she did not mattered, that nothing mattered.

“Your rooms are on the fifth floor, the lift is just past the lobby on the right. Please enjoy your stay here.” Adeline recited her lines, directing her guests on their right way.

It wasn’t much really, but mundane was good, habits made her feel safe. She’d managed to carve out a little safe haven for herself in this gigantic world.

It was enough for now.

Until she felt the strangest sensation in her chest. It had begun as a dull ache, so insidious she did not notice when it first started. Not long after, the pain began to come in waves, crashing, clenching at her heart so painfully she was starting to sweat. Adeline clawed at her chest. Mumbling an apology, she quickly ran to the back and folded into herself, sweating dropping down her brow as she tried to make the pain go away.

It didn’t feel so much as a physical pain. Nor was it the usual warnings that her instinct whispered. No, it was something else, something more emotional, something more primal.

What was happening?

It felt as if she was reminded of all the things she had lost in her entire existence, all the grief she could not hold. But there was another sharp tug at her heart, urging her to move in some unknown direction, lest she should regret.

The feeling only seemed to intensify as the seconds passed. And then she knew.

It was coming towards her. Whatever it was that her heart sought.

Just as the doors to the resort opened-

Adeline Ruelle did the only thing she was good at.

She ran.

In the exact opposite direction.

*

It took them quite a while to even figure out in which direction she had gone. It had taken Alice an even lengthier time to pinpoint which area she might be, scouring all her visions for a single blindspot. It was near impossible.

Jasper’s anxiety was quickly infecting the whole household; everyone could feel the tension in the air, electrifying. Edward and Bella had to take Renesmee to stay in their little cottage; even Emmett had been quiet for most of the days. Jasper mostly kept to himself in his room, oscillating between two extremes, bouncing on the balls of his feet and sitting hunched in the corner, frozen in his thoughts.

“North.” Alice had finally muttered on the tenth day. “Canada.”

From there on, it was another few weeks before the pair managed to locate their target working in a resort in Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada. Tracking her scent, and where the blindspots were appearing, but even that proved difficult. And by the time they had arrived, she had been gone.

Just gone. Her colleagues had no way of knowing where she had suddenly vanished to in the middle of her shift.

They did, however, managed to locate her little flat in downtown.

And possibly a fling or two.

Jasper had simply looked on in distaste at the man, never uttering a single word. Alice was left with the questions.

How long had they known each other? What did she tell him of herself? Did he have any clue where she might go next? On and on and on, which they gleaned pretty much close to nothing for the college boy. Jasper had simply rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands petulantly into his pockets.

Alice though, she did not miss the resemblance the man had with Jasper.

Then they had gone into the flat she had rented. Clearly she had been there before, hastily packing her, possibly, few possessions with her. Except one or two mass paperbacks she had evidently bought to pass time.

Alice watched as Jasper lingered on the little paperback edition of Frankenstein carelessly strewn over the coffee table. Watched as he fingered the cover of the book thoughtfully, then leafed through the pages of the book. When he caught her staring he merely shrugged.

“It was always her favourite.”

She did not miss it when Jasper quietly tucked the book into the pocket of his jacket.

*

“I do know that for the sympathy of one living being. I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”

“That’s a little too morbid, wouldn’t you say so darling?”

“On the contrary, I find it exceedingly accurate and befitting.”

“Come now.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “You are not a monster, darlin’.”

“And who’s to say I am not?” She challenged with steel in her eyes.

“Adeline.” He admonished softly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “You could never be one.”

“And how would you know? Perhaps it is because I hide my fiendish side behind a mask so masterfully that I have deceived the world, and even you.” She hated the shrillness in her voice, the desperation she tried to conceal.

“Sweetheart, only my heart cannot deceive me. You have bared your heart and soul to me and I have seen, have felt the kindness and love overflowing from your heart. How could a monster possess of such?”

“And if I had committed crimes in my past?”

“Then I know with confidence that it was not out of ill intent on your part.”

“You are too kind, Jasper.”

“Am I now? Come let us read something sweeter darling.”

Adeline pouted. “You know it is only my favourite.”

“And I do not understand your morbid fascination of it.”

Adeline huffed in annoyance and Jasper laughed poking her in the cheek. “That being said.”

“The monster was never truly the monster Adeline. It was always Frankenstein. Remember when he said ‘Life, although it may be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.’”

“He loved life more than anyone else, he possessed the gentlest soul and a deep appreciation to life like no other. He deserved to live, to be loved more than anyone else.”

Adeline blinked in shock at Jasper’s passionate outburst and before she realised, a single tear had rolled down her cheek.

“Adeline?”

She leaned forward and to capture him in a passionate kiss.

*

Adeline awoke with a start. Turning away from the blinding sun, she rubbed her eyes blearily. What time was it even?

Certainly not the 1800s.

Misplaced memories. Huh.

Adeline tried not to let her mind wander back to her dream just now, and certainly not the man of her dream.

It was close to three months after that incident at Whitehorse, She was in Minnesota now, surely no one would think to look for her here. It wasn’t New York or Chicago or Seattle. Nowhere conspicuous, middle of the line, your average American midwestern state. Surely that would provide for some camouflage or something?

No matter.

She had far troubling things to be concerned of right now.

She had been going over it time and again since her flight. The incident at Whitehorse was strange really because in all her existence, she had never once felt that before, the strange pull at her heart. The ache in her chest.

Or not?

Something was goading at her in the back of her mind, to examine the incident closer, to remind her of certain memories she would rather not remember; but she refused to let anything surface.

She picked up her new copy of Fitzgerald - Tender is the Night.

She had a shift at the local bar in three hours. She was determined to be their on time and not go down some damned rabbit hole.

*

“It’s here.” Alice looked to Jasper as he took in the environment, the rain falling softly beside them in the chilly January night; the lights from the bar, the cheap building. She hadn’t yet met the girl, but Adeline sure did know how to blend in, finding the most ordinary of places to hide amongst humans. Places not too obvious, but also not too obscure, where no one would bother to look twice, or even think to look.

Jasper’s face was grim and his eyes set. He was radiating anxiety, probably without meaning to. She gently patted Jasper on the back to soothe him.

“It’s alright, I’ll go in first. You wait here for my signal.”

He only nodded.

Ducking into the threshold she was immediately assaulted by the barrage of lights and noise; it took Alice a few minutes before she caught sight of a head of brown curls at the bar table chatting with her fellow bar tenders, all the while cleaning glasses. She made a beeline for it.

“Adeline Ruelle?”

The girl turned towards her and assumed a businesslike front, ready to serve. But Alice did not miss the small tremor in her shoulders, the uncomfortable shift in position, subtle and quick as it may be.

Bingo.

She was evidently a master in concealing her emotions, her nervousness hidden behind a reassuring smile, anyone would have been fooled. Except Alice. She watched the bartender closely.

“I’m sorry Miss, we don’t have an Adeline here. I’m Cordelia, perhaps I can get you a drink first while you wait for your friend?”

“Bourbon, if you would be so kind.”

“Just a minute.” She turned to get the drink and Alice took her time to appraise the girl.

She really was beautiful. Alice thought. She might be posing as your ordinary college student/part time bartender, but the way she held herself, her grace and poise, it was something she could never lose even on purpose. And the breathtaking beauty, she stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was no wonder Jasper had loved her so completely, irrevocably in his past life. How could any man resist such an alluring woman? She could not be mad at Jasper for his choices in his past life; and judging by his recounts and the hardworking girl right in front of her, neither had anticipated the whirlwind of romance and the subsequent breakup when they first met. In fact she might just be a tad bit jealous of the bond they shared, she’d never in her life experienced something so strong and consuming. Sure she loved Jasper and no one could deny the love that they shared. But it paled in comparison to one the two shared. She was almost sure they were mates.

It still left her heartbroken all the same.

But then she remembered the first time she met Jasper; we’re not mates but if you would have me we could keep each other company until our mates showed up. I mean, two is always better than one right? It left her conflicted now; she was reaping what she had sowed.

Yet as Alice continued to observe the girl closely, she noted how her coworkers seemed to treat her as if she was just any normal college student. Talking to her, bantering lightly, she threw her head and laughed heartily. To them, She was just the right amount of charismatic it seemed. And her smell…

It was then she realised she did not catch ahold of her scent.

Had she concealed it? Could one even do so on voluntary grounds?

“Your bourbon miss.” Adeline returned, sliding a small glass across the bar table.

“So what brings you here, to Minnesota?” Alice decided to make a strike.

The bartender’s face twitched momentarily. “Pardon?”

“You don’t seem like you're from around here. You don’t look like it.”

“I mean, It’s a free country. Anyone can go anywhere really.” Adeline shrugged.

“Lemme guess.” Alice pretended to think all the while observing the other closely. “You’re from the South, aren't you? Like Louisiana, or Texas.”

“I’ve lived there, yes… but then again I’ve lived almost everywhere really.” The bartended shot her a tight-lipped smile, the stiffness in her posture even more profound now. “Well if you need anything just give me a holler will you? I hope your friend finds you soon.”

It was her.

Alice watched as she turned to smile at her coworkers and then ducked into the kitchen.

She was making her escape.

Well, they can't let her go that easily now can they?

Alice raced out of the bar immediately, searching for her companion outside the parking lot.

But she was only left with an empty parking lot as the wind blew and the rain fell harder than ever.

[jawritter]

Broken Me...

CH. 1

Summery: The Dallas Convention couldn't have come at a worse time for Jensen. His world fell apart earlier that morning, but was expected to just act like everything was normal. You and a friend were at the convention for her birthday. Life hasn't been that great for you either, but a forced meeting on stage changes two worlds. Will you be able to put this broken man back together again...

Series Warings: Cheating, shitty marriage, Danneel is a bitch, I unfortunatley have to put that as a warning because some people tend to get turnt up about it if you don’t... Smut, Crying, Suiside Attempt, brief discription of suicide attempt and recovery, depression, hints of self loathing, language. I think that’s it... Suicide Trigger warnings will be placed over each chapter!

Chapter Warnings: Cheating Danneel, Depressed Jensen, Emotionally hurt Jensen, Language, I think that’s it...

pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 1797

A/N: BINGE READ TIME!! As always all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is gold!! Hope you all enjoy this one!!

Want More? Check out my masterlist!!

****MASTERLIST****

Jensen pov:

"Yeah I'm well aware this is partly my fault Danneel there's no reason to drive the point home, but I wasn't the one fucking one of my employees was I?" 

Jensen was reeling, he couldn’t believe this was happening, he couldn’t believe what he had seen, it all felt just, not real...Like some strange out of body experience or nightmare that he just couldn’t wake up from..

Then as if to add insult to injury, here she was on the phone with him, trying to make it out like this was all HIS fault... 

Like he was the one bouncing on the dudes dick when she came home from work, and not the other way around. 

He just wanted to see his family, his kids, his wife, maybe even play with the God damn dog a little before leaving for the hotel before the convention started tonight. You would have never convinced him of what he was going to find when he walked through that front door the way he did today, not in a million years. 

The raw and unforgiving reality of it though was that it was real, he saw it with his own eyes, and just like that, his marriage was over. It was almost too much for him to take all at once, and the longer he heard her make one excuse right after the other to try and play the victim, instead of the cheating whore that she was, the more angry he got...

"All that time I was gone you weren't the only one that was lonely!! You weren't the only one who wanted to be close to someone!! I WANTED TO BE CLOSE TO YOU!! I HAD MY DAMN PICK OF ANYONE I WANTED!! I SPENT WEEKS PLANNING THIS TRIP SO I CAN HAVE JUST A FEW HOURS WITH YOU!! I'M DONE DANNEEL WE'RE DONE!!" 

Hanging up the phone before he could say anything he might regret, or anything she might be able to use against him in court, Jensen threw his phone across the room onto the hotel bed and shoved his hands into his hair, trying to get a hold of his frustration. 

 He started trying to talk it out with her, he really did, but the longer he was on the phone with her, the more his temper got the best of him. By the time he got off the phone with her, his face was red, and he had a knot in his stomach that made him feel like he wanted to vomit, and he was pretty sure that his blood pressure was at stroke level the whole time driving from Austin to Dallas…

He only had about three hours to get myself together before the rest of the cast and crew would arrive to get their rooms, and start the convention…

He was supposed to perform tonight for the Saturday nights special like he always did… So he had to get himself together before that started, and he had to take the stage in front of all those fans..

Thank God the hotel staff let him check in early. So he didn’t have to go to his parents to face them, or drive around Dallas for three hours because he was in no shape to be driving around right now. 

Jensen didn’t have time to get drunk before the show tonight, or to sober up in time for it to start anyway, so he paced around his room trying to control his rapidly beating heart rate. Because right now he either felt like he was having a heart attack, panic attack, or both…

His mind was reeling with questions. 

“How could she do this to me? I made sure she wanted for nothing. I loved and supported  her the only way I could. I don't understand why she did this. I was faithful, even when I had every opportunity not to be I was faithful. This isn’t fair. Did she ever love me at all?”

A knock on the door disturbs him from my thoughts, and he glared at it a moment, thinking about ignoring it until he heard Jared yelling through the door. 

"Hey J!! Are you there? I got here a little early, and they said downstairs that you were already here!! Let's get a drink before everyone else gets here!!" 

A drink did sound pretty good, and if there was any he trusted it was Jared. He'd known Jensen the at his worst, and at his best, and he was always there when he needed him. 

He had a right to know what happened. 

Jensen grabbed his hat and shades before walking to the door, leaving his phone on the bed, he didn’t want to talk to Danneel anymore, he’d said everything he had to say, and if anyone wanted to find him that bad they usually called Jared. 

Steading his nerves before he opened the door to join Jared for drinks he couldn’t help but feel like this was going to be a long convention. 

.....................................

Your POV:

"Come on Y/n!! Put that damn guitar down!! The concert starts in one hour, and I want a good seat!!" Y/f/n yells at you from the hotel bathroom.

Rolling your eyes you sit your guitar back into its case, and put it in the closet so that housekeeping or whatever wouldn’t just see it laying around and take it. 

It was your most prized possessions...

Music was your life... 

It's what kept you going, what got you out of bed in  the morning, and the last thing you thought about before you went to bed at night.

Most importantly it was there for you when no one else was… That much you had learned the hard way…

 "Don't you think getting there an hour early is a little extreme?" You complain, turning around and checking your makeup in the mirror and grabbing your phone, and slipping it into your back pocket.

"Look you have no idea how crazy these people are that come to these cons, and I want to be so close to the stage I get sprayed with spit when Rob starts to sing." She says matter of factly, pulling her purse over her shoulder, and meeting you by the front door.

"Yeah because that's what a totally sane person would say about their seating arrangements." You mumble, rolling your eyes and shaking your head as you open the door. 

The girl had it bad for Rob, which honestly was a nice chance, most girls were here for Jared, Jensen, or Misha.. 

You were more interested in seeing Jensen tonight yourself. The way his voice washed over you when he sang! Ugh there's nothing else in this world like it. It always rolled over you like honey, but burned slow, like a shot of the best top shelf whisky..The man wasn't human. 

He was a damn God, and deserves to be treated as such. 

The two of you rode the elevator to the first floor laughing, and talking about music. There were two guys in the elevator when you two got on, but you didn’t really pay them any mind. One of them smelled like he'd had more than one drink, and they both seemed to be trying to blend into the back wall of the elevator, not wanting to talk to the two of you.

"If they call for a fan to come up on stage tonight you should totally go sing with Jensen." She said, elbowing you in the ribs. Eating herself the best bitchface you could muster.

"No way dude, I'd never get past the first line. I'd freak out, and make myself look like a complete, and total idiot.." 

The shorter one of the men in the elevator smirked at the ground at your conversation. There was something familiar about that smirk........

You were about to tell him it was rude to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, when your friend spoke up again..

"Come on Y/n for my birthday PLEASE!!" She begged, giving you puppy dog eyes worthy of Sam Winchester. 

"No way. He's not gonna want to sing with someone like me.” You say, trying to brush her off.. 

“What would you even want us to sing?" 

The two of you exited the elevator, and you had all but forgotten about the two men following you just in ear shot. 

"Hmm.... I don't Know........ How about.... Picture, by kid rock and Sheryl Crow." She said, all but bouncing as you joined the already forming line outside the doors leading into the hall where they were about to have the concert. 

She loved that song, even though it was overplayed and overdone.

"That song is so damn old Google probably can't even find the lyrics to it anymore." You tease her.

She just rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at you.

“It’s my birthday, so I pick the song! I didn’t say you’d have to like it”

The doors were opened before long, and the two of you made your way through the doors into the large room the concert was being held in. Leaving early had paid off. You were center stage, front row. Thanks to your friend’s media pass and gold tickets too, but you weren’t going to point that out. 

Y/f/n was jumping up and down in her seat with excitement, and you just couldn’t burst her bubble.

"Did you see those two guys that were in the elevator with us?" You asked, as the two of you watched the other fans filter into the room. 

The smile that one guy did sure did look familiar. You wished you could have gotten a better look at his face better, but they were both wearing shades and ball caps; keeping their heads down like they didn’t want to be bothered, and you didn’t want to stare at them, and make them feel uncomfortable.. 

"Yeah I saw them, probably just two dudes here with their girlfriends." she says shrugging you off as she sets up her camera for tonight. You don’t know why you cared so much, not like it mattered anyway who they were, or why they were here, there were a lot of strange people that went to these conventions, and they probably were here with their girlfriends, but still that smirk…

You shoved the thought of the two strangers in the elevator aside, you were about to see “The Jensen Ackles” sing. Honestly if you could have known you were going to die when he walked off stage. 

You'd die happy. 

Just cause you were that close to that beautifully sculpted, almost inhuman body, and voice that could melt you like butter. 

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@sarahbaker2010​

[kingsuckjin]

Just Smile -2

✷Paring: joker!jk x reader, robin! jin x reader, bts x reader

✷ Genre: bts batman au

✷Description: Description: All you’ve ever wanted was to help, that’s all. When you landed a job at Arkham asylum (possibly unjustly), you thought maybe you could help the poor souls locked away there. You were apprehensive about meeting one in particular, the worst criminal of his time, the infamous Jeon Jungkook, well known around Gotham as the Joker. But what if this man isn’t what the rumors and his records say he is? What if he saw you as the one needing help? You only had to do him one small favor and he could make every dream you’ve ever had could come true, he could take all the pain away and you would never want for anything ever again. Could what he offers be the truth? You can’t say you weren’t warned about him.

✷ Warnings: mention of kooks facial scars and self harm, the security isn't nice to kook, talk of mental disorders, talk of violence, depression, self loathing, idk if I forgot something please let me know

✷Words: 3.9k

prev // Next

--Series Masterlist--

"Jeon Jungkook: age 22, displays sociopathic behavior, physically aggressive."

The last two words were ones that no therapist wanted to read, it was intimidating.

You thought about just closing the case file and just thinking about how to approach this. 

You were told you had to see this guy every single day, more than the hand full of others you were assigned to. You thought maybe your new boss was giving you the toughest case first just to see if he could break you, get you to quit.

You sighed as you glanced back down at the file of Jungkook on your desk and urged yourself to read further, it was important that you knew what he's done and what he could��do. 

The lists of things he had done read like a novel and was probably just as long as one too. "Sentenced to Arkham Asylum by pleasing insanity under the sentences and accusations of: poisoning the city's water supply, which was considered an act of terrorism. Also thought to be involved in causing the disappearance of over forty people." the list just kept going on and on. 

You felt sick at your stomach making you close the file.

You wondered how you would even go about making a treatment plan for a man this vicious. You decided you couldn't, not until you met with him first. Meeting with him would be most of the battle. Would he try to snap your neck on the spot? Would he yell and scream at you?

To be honest, you were afraid. But all you could do was suck it up and act like the professional you were. 

"He's ready" a member of staff poked his head through the cracked door of your new office. You knew who he was talking about, you knew who was ready, but were you? 

You plastered a fake smile across your face and stood from your seat.

"Okay- I- I- um. That's great!" You tried to act as cheerful as you could given the unsettling feeling you had in your stomach.

"I'll be taking you to where you'll be meeting with him. You've had time to look over his files, right?"  He asked as you left the office with the hospital staff and walked out into the too brightly lit hallway. 

"Yes, of course." but you felt as though “barely” would have been more accurate reply.

"So you've seen the list of what this piece of shit has done." 

"I-I-" it was hardly professional to be calling a patient a name like that "I have." But you agreed anyway.

"Just making sure, you really need to be warned about this guy. Last week he tried to bite another guy's finger off and he's been in isolation ever since." 

"Oh." Left your mouth as your thoughts blanked out with it, all but one which was”

Dear god, what did I agree to?

"Is locked up though, on his meds, and there will be a guard in the room just in case." 

Well that calmed your fears somewhat.

You passed door after door, some with yelling and screaming behind it, another with creepy singing, some patients just beat on the metal door with no regard, some were silent.

You saw two armed guards standing beside one of the doors just up ahead and you just knew that this was your stop, sure enough, the security man pulled out a card and ran it in front of a small box by the doorway, it let out a single, short, high pitched beep.

"You should get one of these soon" He told you as he opened the door and showed you his  key card, but you couldn't concentrate on anything else but the man that was revealed to be inside of the stark white room. He sat at one side of the table in a cheap folding chair by a wall. The more you looked, you could see that he was handcuffed to a metal bar, bolted to the white concrete wall. His head, with a mess of  toxic bright green hair, was tilted downwards, looking at the table and not you as you walked in. Hair was wild and stuck up in random places as if he had just rolled out of bed. 

Your eyes flickered to the guard standing directly behind him, a tall muscular man with a large gun held across his broad chest, ready if needed.

The metal door shut behind you and you admittedly jumped just a little at the unexpected sound.

You walked slowly over to the table, wondering when your new patient would look up at you. Even without him looking up you could see that his skin looked a pasty white shade and you thought maybe he hadn't been outside in a while, that being inside here had done this to him.

You had a seat in the chair across from him and cleared your throat and did your best to sound not nervous although your palms were covered in sweat.

"Hello I'm Doctor y/l/n" 

He didn't answer or say anything for a moment, you thought he might be asleep.

"I know" His voice was calm, yet he still didn't look at you. The sound of his voice was much more peaceful  than you expected, more soothing, velvety sweet like his vocal cords had been dipped in honey. You had expected a gruff deep voice that would invoke fear upon hearing a single word.

"What's your name?" You did your best to try to make conversation, you'd take what you could get at this point, you just had to get him talking, but you weren't sure that he would, judging by his demeanor and opposition to look at you.

"You know my name." His voice continued to stay calm, and he didn't seem upset at all, he just seemed to point out a fact.

"I do, but introductions are important. I would like to hear your name from you." You urged gently.

"Jeon Jungkook, patient 2354" he complied nicely with you, even giving you his patient number that you recall being beside his name in his file.

"Jungkook? Why don't you want to look at me?" You asked hoping that if he did then maybe he would feel more connected with you

"Skipping to the straightforward questions already?" his head bobbed a little as he let out a huff of amusement that wasn't sassy, but actually seemed like he was a little surprised by your basic request.

"You don't like that? Would you prefer to talk about other things?" you wanted to be careful just in case you had read him wrong, you wanted him to feel comfortable, you wanted him to know he could switch topics at any time.

"No, that's alright, I figured you'd ask, they all ask me to eventually." 

 You didn't know who he was referring to, they as in other therapists or staff or what. You were confused, but you decided to let him continue to speak other than asking more questions.

"My face... is... you haven't heard about my face?" He seemed so apprehensive to speak about it.

"No, I've only read your file, and it said nothing about your face." You informed him.

"It's pretty scary." 

"Well that's okay. I won't judge you. I don't mind at all." You did your best to reassure him. "But if looking down makes you comfortable I'm not going to-"

"You promise you won't scream if I show you?" He cut you off. It seemed like he wanted to show you.

"I swear." You were sure of your words.

You watched as he slowly lifted his mossy colored head up until his brown eyes met yours. He had a strikingly beautiful face, his eyes wide and brown almost deer-like, a strong jaw but gentle curves on his face that told you he was young. He had a few tattoos that you could see, a sad face with X’s for eyes on one of his cheek bones. The second was a few words near his collarbone that you couldn't quite read due to it being mostly obstructed by the collar of his white patient jumpsuit. To be honest, the tattoos suited him and his rather odd but soft features.

"I see nothing but your nice brown eyes." You were honest, his other nice features seemed to draw attention away from the not so nice one.

"Don't lie to me." He still didn't seem angry or upset or like it was a warning at all, just disbelieving of your comment.

You did however do your best not to look at the jagged scar of marred skin coming from the sides of his mouth to his mid cheeks. It looked like it had been cut so roughly, so carelessly, almost ripped. You did feel the very slightest urge to reach out and touch it, run your fingers along the long healed rugged scar, simply out of curiosity of what it felt like. Of course that would be inappropriate, and you knew better than to put your hand near the mouth of a man who almost bit someone’s finger off of course.

"I'm not going to scream, I'm not judging you, I'm not disgusted by you or anything you might think." You told the truth once again. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

"Sure, I don't mind." He gave a shrug and the chains that bound his wrists slightly jingled with the movement.

This was not at all how you expected the meeting to go. He seemed so quiet, calm and gentle. His current attitude was almost jarring compared to all the awful things you had read about him. You still weren't about to let your guard down thinking he might switch personalities at any moment to a more violent one, you were waiting for it just in case. In a way you wanted to see it, see what he might be like at his worst. You wanted him to match up with what you read in his file, but you were also very terrified of that.

"Do you want to tell me how it happened?" You asked and he gave a small nod.

"I-uh-I did it to myself." He was being so honest and open, yet his muttering and stuttering reflected his apprehension in talking about it, but you were still glad he was.

"Why? How?" You continued to prod, to see what he would and wouldn't answer and feel out his boundaries.

"I was tired of not smiling, so I took a knife and I cut my cheeks into a permanent smile." 

You had to will your eyebrows to not raise at his answer in slight shock or furrow with worry.

"You seem ashamed to show people, is that why your head was down and you didn't want to let me see?" 

He nodded.

"I don't enjoy looking like this anymore, especially not in front of someone seemingly so flawless. "I regret it." 

You were aware he had just insinuated you were flawless, he had complimented you, but you decided to say nothing about it and move on.

"What was going on in your mind at the time? Do you want to explain your thought process behind it?" 

"I-" he took a deep breath and once again looked down at the plastic grey table top. "I was younger, eighteen I think… eighteen is when it all happened. I was in an accident, hence my skin and hair, it- it really altered my mind. I was doing horrible things, and my mind… well it wasn't in the best state, I just kept falling further and further into a dark dark hole. My skin was ruined, my hair was ruined, my mind felt ruined, I was depressed. I thought no one would want someone like me- someone who looked this way. I was tired of being sad and in a bit of a psychotic rage, I cut the sides of my mouth into a permanent smile. Do you like it? If its not scary is it at least surprising to you?”

"Well,” you began with a playful tone, “I don't know if I can be surprised much anymore, especially by my line of work. Do you like surprises?"

"I do." He smiled a genuinely sweet smile and you could see his two front teeth were just a bit more prominent than the rest.

"What kind?" You wanted to keep him talking and any conversation going, and this seemed like a pleasant one, but to your dismay he gave a shrug. He almost seemed a little shy now, and that was once again very different from the violent man’s case file you had read.

"Well what else do you like?" 

"A lot of things. I like pretty things." He looked and you "and I like... I just miss the outside world."

"Did you find beauty in the outside world?” you genuinely wanted to know what he liked about being free.

“I do.I like the least expected things, those are the most beautiful, the chaos. Busy streets, hives of bees. There’s beauty in chaos I suppose, people don't like it but it’s underrated. So are imperfect things, imperfections are beautiful, unique, interesting.” 

His answer spoke volumes about him, it seemed to begin to tell you why he did the things he did, but you were sure it was only the tip of the iceberg of reasons why he was the way he was, and you now found yourself more than curious about the whys and hows of him and what made him tick. He seemed so soft spoken,calm, and so open but you knew there had to be another more violent and brutal side of him.

“Tell me about how you grew up.” you clasped your hands together on the table until you thought better of it. Somehow thinking that your arm freedom would be like rubbing it in his face that he was bound by chains and limited in mobility.

“Hmmm, I’m not sure what there is to tell, I grew up like any other kid in the suburbs of Gotham… at least I believe I did… I don't know things are blurry before the accident.”

“Accident?” you urged him to continue noticing he had mentioned this just a few moments ago but had not elaborated on it.

“The chemical accident.” you noticed him stare down at the table once more, his jaw seemed to clench. It seemed hard for him to talk about it, but talking about things was good, it was the only way to get breakthroughs. For a moment you didn't think he would go into it, you were about to change the subject and come back to the question at a later time in a more gentle way.

“I fell… into some chemicals… I was an employee, my first job. A janitor. It didn't pay much, I felt like I never had any money and it was hard with… I just couldn’t…” he stopped himself and struggled. 

“Take your time.” you said gently.

“It wasn't making ends meet. I started to steal things, burglarize homes. I never hurt anyone, I didn't want to, it was never my intent. I just had to find a way to make money for…” he let out a sigh “I just needed the money. I don't remember much from my childhood or teenage years, if I played a sport in school, who I was friends with, hell even my parent’s names. I do remember the struggle I went through right before the accident.”

“That's alright I-”

“Times up.” The big man from behind him boomed cutting off your sentence. You felt like he was really opening up to you though and it was only the first meeting.

“Five more m-” you wanted to barter with the man, but he cut you off once more with the same phrase. 

You scooted out your chair and stood in defeat.

You didn't even flinch when Jungkook also stood quickly and attempted to reach out a shackled hand for you to shake. 

Your hand went towards his but in a matter of seconds he had stumbled backwards onto the floor. You looked at the chain in the guards hand and assessed that he had pulled it, sending Jungkook to the floor.

You felt a tinge of guilt, especially when the man dragged him to his feet and back into his chair by the deep green hair. You just stood there gobsmacked with wide eyes at the abuse you had just witnessed. The man still had his large fingers in Jungkook’s shaggy hair.

“It was nice meeting you.” he said as he grunted in pain at how tightly the man held him by the hair. “I don't know when I’ll see you next… or the condition I’ll be in” he threw in making the man twist his fingers in his hair earning a series of ouches from Jungkook for the smart remark that might have hid a secret fear. “But I look forward to it.”

You were unsure of what you could do, it was obvious you held no power here.

“Yeah…” you scooted in your chair “I-me too.” 

All you could do was turn and walk out, hoping the guard would release his hair once you left.

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

The way he was treated bothered you, even long after you were home. You had showered, tried to eat but you couldn't shake how he had been treated. It wasn't your place to say how things were run there though, which is why you flopped onto your sofa and flipped through Netflix to try to forget or at least ease how upset you were with the movie.

That was until a pretty, velvet bag had caught your eye on the coffee table. It sat in the same place where you had haphazardly thrown it last night, untouched and forgotten.

Suddenly you were lunging out of your seat for it and dumping its contents into your lap.

You couldn't believe you had forgotten about it, that weird cat man could've given you anything, drugs, stolen jewelry, human teeth. What fell out onto your lap though wasn't any of that though.

"What the fuck?" You whispered in awe as you looked down at the thick stack of rubber banded together stack of cash that had fallen into your lap.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" You thought out loud. You had never seen so much money in one place at one time, you couldn't even pretend you knew how much it might be.

All you could do is stare until your phone buzzed from its spot on the couch cushion beside you. You directed your eyes away from the obscene amount of money you now possessed, and glanced at the name "jinnie" surrounded by hearts popping up on the screen making you sigh. You wanted to answer it, you wanted him to ask how your first day at work went, you wanted to continue to pretend last night didn't happen, pretend he felt the same way about you like you had before. But he lied to you, he led you on, he broke your heart, made you cry, you were never anything real to him and you refused to forget that now.

You let the phone ring as you stuffed the money back into it's nice bag and contemplated taking it to the police department. You thought hard about it, but if it was stolen from the party would you be arrested? You had been at that party, you were seen with the stranger, you could be seen as an accomplice. You picked up your now quieted phone and headed to your room where you tucked the money neatly into a shoe box under your bed before getting in.

In your mind Seokjin had once again ruined another night.

You drifted off thinking about Jungkook being tugged by the chains to the floor, unfortunately leading to dreams you're the one stuck in that white room, being hurt by the big guard with the gun. Feeling so trapped, dragged by the hair, knowing there would never be a way to leave and see the bees and hear the sounds of traffic out your apartment window ever again. You were thrown to the floor over and over and it seemed as though the sound of it grew louder and louder until you woke up and sat up in bed only to realize there was knocking at the door.

You reach for your phone on the bedside table in the darkness as you throw back your comforter with the other hand. The time reads thee in the morning as you head into your living room, but pause.

The knocking had stopped.

You were still curious and irritated at who would be knocking on your door this early in the morning, so you once again head towards it, unlock it, and throw it open to see absolutely nothing, no one, not even a stray cat.

You stepped out to look around a little and your bare foot stepped on something that was not the concrete of your front porch.

You picked up what looked to be an envelope and took it in, making sure to lock the door back up behind you, just to be safe, before flipping on a light.

The envelope was a bright green and had one of those very old fashioned smooth looking, red wax seals binding it closed, within the wax was the shape of a question mark.

You opened it to find a short but very neatly written note.

"People make me, save me, change me, raise me, what am I?

I believe the cat has given you something that doesn't belong to you, a terrible burden to put in your hands. So smart not showing him where you live, but I'm smarter. Peek-a-boo, I found you. Don't worry, I don't wish to hurt you, on the contrary, I simply wish to pardon you from your involvement in this. Leave it in your mailbox at midnight tomorrow night."

You thoroughly read the note a few times before your sleepy brain figured it out. 

"The money." You whispered to yourself. The note felt a little foreboding despite the promise not to hurt you. Nervousness began to wash over you as you just stared at the note now with eyelids heavy from not enough sleep. This money was definitely someone else's and that someone else knew where you lived.

"Thanks cat boy." You sarcastically muttered to yourself as your feet dragged your exhausted body back to bed. 

No matter how tired you felt, you were unable to sleep. The nightmare combined with the note and all the thoughts you had before bed had left you in a permanent state of unease despite having to get ready for work in just a few hours.

With very little sleep, all of the strange things happening and your broken heart, tomorrow was bound to be a bad day as well.

"Mind over matter" you said out loud "it's only going to be as bad as I let it be."

[dogbearinggifts]

I wonder how many people who treat stringent content moderation and cancel culture as civilization’s first, last, and only line of defense against a world of widespread misogyny and racism understand how many of their favorite bits of entertainment would be unacceptable by today’s standards. 

And no, I’m not talking about books written in 1884, when Mark Twain could drop the n-word more often than a hyperactive squirrel with paws coated in butter would drop an acorn and have no one bat an eye. I’m not talking about movies released in 1961, when a white actor could play a racist caricature of a Japanese landlord to widespread praise from critics. I’m talking about 2006. 

That year, Markus Zusak gave us The Book Thief, an eerily beautiful coming-of-age book set in Nazi Germany whose virtues would be drowned out by the flood of trigger warnings modern gatekeepers would attach to it. Opening with the death of Liesel’s brother (tw:death, tw:child death, tw:parental abandonment) it includes a loud, abrasive foster mother (tw:abuse, tw:child abuse, tw:verbal abuse, tw:mental abuse) who is portrayed as a headstrong protector of her family (tw:abuse apologism) and the Jew they hide in their basement (tw:white saviorism), as well as a meek foster father who kowtows to his wife’s ways (tw:domestic abuse) and teaches Liesel to roll cigarettes (tw:smoking). It’s narrated by Death (are there even enough trigger warnings for that?) who, rather than condemn characters who have embraced Hitler and Nazism, points to the bitterness, grief, and misinformation catalyzing their fervor (tw:Nazi apologism). 

For those of you readying a barrage of rebuttals to that summary, scrolling down to the comments to tell me that I stripped the book of any nuance—that’s the whole point. The Book Thief is a very nuanced story that conveys its message in shades of grey. Few characters are wholly good or wholly evil. Death is a neutral figure, condemning the horrors of war while pitying those who fight it no matter their side, portraying the nightmarish consequences of hatred while showing the reader how it is born. But since when has nuance ever mattered to someone riding high on a wave of righteous anger? 

Moving on, 2006 was also the year My Chemical Romance released The Black Parade, which sees Death (tw tw tw) telling the story of The Patient, a man whose life was filled with war, depression, political unrest, PTSD, religious guilt, self-loathing, broken relationships, and near-constant suicidal ideation—a life that ends in his thirties from heart complications due to a long, painful, emotionally draining battle with cancer. Millions of depressed kids, teens, and adults have found catharsis in the album’s raw, honest lyrics, but those same lyrics would earn the band a #CancelMCR hashtag today. To wit: 

Another contusion, my funeral jag/Here’s my resignation, I’ll serve it in drag: Mocking drag queens and men who crossdress. Using a very real expression of gender identity for shock value. Blatantly transphobic. 

Juliet loves the beast and the lust it commands/So drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands Romeo: Toxic relationship. Probably violently abusive. #DumpThePatient, lady, and #MCRStopRomanticizingAbuse. 

Wouldn’t it be grand to take a pistol by the hand?/And wouldn’t it be great if we were dead?: Oh my fucking god, they’re romanticizing suicide now? How was this album even allowed to be made? Who let this happen and how soon can we #cancel them? 

If you’ve heard the album, you know none of the above interpretations are remotely true. You’ve probably shaken your head at the Daily Mail’s infamous claim that My Chem promoted self-harm and suicide, but the sad truth is that if The Black Parade were released in today’s climate, that claim would probably be taken up by the very people who now consider themselves fans. The raw honesty that resonated with so many could easily be taken as a stamp of approval on the very suicides its songs have prevented. The anti-suicide anthem, “Famous Last Words,” could be ignored or twisted into a mockery of those who condemn suicide, and the darkly wholesome “Welcome to the Black Parade” music video would likely be taken as enticement toward teens who want to end their lives: “Look at all the cool things you’ll get to see once you’re dead and gone!” 

Again, anyone who is even a casual fan of The Black Parade knows this is a deliberately malicious misreading of the material. My Chem’s music has been gratefully embraced by LGBTQ+ kids looking for a place to belong, and the band members have been outspoken in their support. They’ve been quoted, on multiple occasions, speaking out against suicide and self-harm. We know Parade is not pro-anything except pro-keep on living. But we know this because we gave the band a chance to tell us. We assumed good intent when we listened to their music, and so their intended message came across without interference. Were Parade released today, in the era of AED (Assume the worst, Exaggerate the damage, and Demand outsized retribution), the resulting furor (and refusal to hear their objections to the rampant misinterpretations) could very well have forced My Chem to vanish into obscurity. 

And look. I’m not against content moderation wholesale. I actually think it’s done some good in the world of entertainment. Podcast hosts and book reviewers who warn audience members about triggering content allow them to avoid that content before they suffer an anxiety attack. As a librarian, I have personally and enthusiastically recommended Does the Dog Die?, a website (doesthedogdie.com) that tracks hundreds of anxiety triggers in media, to colleagues who work with kids so they can allow their students to request a different book or movie if the assigned one would cause undue distress. Trigger warnings can prevent anxiety attacks. Content moderation allows audiences to make informed choices. 

But some things are toxic in high amounts, and when it comes to content moderation, we’ve long since passed that mark. 

When trigger warnings are used not as honest labels of content, but as a means to frighten people away from material they might otherwise enjoy, trigger warnings become toxic. 

When self-appointed content moderators tell others what interpretations they should take from a piece of entertainment, rather than allowing them to come to their own conclusions, content moderation becomes toxic. 

When artists are afraid to produce their most honest work for fear their honesty will be twisted into something dark and ugly, the world of fandom becomes toxic. 

Content moderation is not bad in itself. It can actually be a valuable tool for sufferers of anxiety, PTSD, and other disorders. But when it goes hand in glove with cancel culture, it becomes a monster, keeping audiences from discovering something they might otherwise enjoy by twisting the content into something it’s not. 

By all means, tag your triggers. Warn about your content. But don’t tell your followers to expect something horrible that isn’t even there. 

[mrsmurphtang]

So, I wrote a drabble about our favourite sad werewolf Remus. All the sads, all the angst, and a little bit of wolfstar fluff ❤️

Totally not expecting people to read this but it has been floating around in my brain for a while. Might turn it into a whole saga about Remus...depends what people think 😬

--------

Remus was four the first time he died. When he became Remus, not Remi or un bach, because it was serious. When his mam stopped singing in the kitchen and his da became cold and distant, and he didn't understand because he was four and all he knew was everything hurt and people kept crying.

He had been dead, he found out later. 3 whole minutes off this plane of existence. In his darker days he sometimes wondered if it shouldn't have been forever. Especially when his survival seemed to have caused so much pain.

According to medical science, both muggle and wizard, Remus shouldn't have survived. He was sliced from neck to groin, his chest shredded to ribbons. The blood he lost stained the floorboards - they had to be replaced. 200 years those floorboards had survived, only to be taken out by 2 litres of child's blood. Now the small bedroom had cheap lino, sticky and cold on your feet. A constant reminder of what happened.

5 months in St Mungos. A special ward. Because a monster can't be let out in public, especially in 1964. Chained to the bed as pain - unimaginable, agonising pain - ripped through every inch of his body. Begging, pleading for someone to help.

But he was dangerous. Tiny, four year old, skinny little Remus was dangerous. His big amber eyes wide, filling with tears, pleading with a small voice in Welsh and English and a mix of the two to the healers who stood by his bedside until the pain really took hold, until his skin started stretching and tearing and everything turned into white hot agony. And he could remember nothing except the burning, and he'd wake up with healers shaking their heads, saying it was a shame he had survived, a tragedy, his poor mother, his depressed alcoholic father.

So Remus thought sometimes, especially in those early days, that it would be better if Greyback had finished the job. Or, in his particularly dark days, that it would have been better to join the werewolves.

Of course, that never would have happened. His transformation was a direct act of revenge against his father. A direct retaliation for the policies put in place under his tenure. He wasn't even wanted by the man - monster his father called him, but young Remus didn't want to call him a monster, because then that meant he was a monster - that turned him.

Once, in a fit of melancholic self-loathing, Remus had asked his father, his da, if he could take him to where the werewolf pack had last been spotted. In hindsight, this may have been when his relationship with Lyall was completely shattered beyond repair. Even at 6 years old, Remus knew what he'd done was beyond forgivable. His father had turned a sickly, dead shade of grey, sworn at length in Welsh, and disappeared for a week.

Hope had cried. Cried so much Remus had worried she'd flood the world, like Isis flooded the Nile with her tears for Osiris. His mother had always told him stories from mythology, regardless of culture. A romantic at heart, she loved the stories of heartbreak and undying love, even in the face of death himself.

And perhaps, Remus reflected, on his 16th birthday as he drank the cheap beer Sirius had pilfered from a muggle off-licence with a few charming words and utterly un-Gryffindor slight of hand, his fate had always been written as a tragedy, as a life filled with loss and pain and disappointment.

But looking into those sparkling granite eyes, brain fogged with cheap booze and teenage lust, Remus thought perhaps it didn't have to be all bad.

[tokoyamisstuff]

A Thousand Years Ch. 1: “First Meeting” - Loki x Reader

Chapter Summary: Loki spends his sentence in Asgardian prison with nothing else to do than thinking about his wrongdoings. All of this guilt and self-loathing are leading him even deeper into his own insanity. And the only distraction are his memories of you.

Warnings: Angst, depression, flashbacks, mentions of death. Loki suffers.

Words: 4657

[Masterlist]

Story Masterlist right -> HERE <-

Masterlist to my other fics right -> HERE <-

“No matter what, I’ll always find my way back to you, Loki…”

It has always been the same dream, ever since he’s lost you in midst of his crimes. The beginning would be like a wondrous theathre, like how one would imagine heaven to be. You’d be waiting for him on the hill of your first meeting, looking as breathtaking as always. But when the sky darkened, he remebered what that all was about, and that it couldn't last.

When you’d turn around, he wouldn’t see any hint of aversion towards him - only those bright, loving doe eyes, which have been the only thing in the universe that made his icy heart feel some kind of warmth.

And this fact only made it harder for him: Why weren’t you mad? You should’ve been furious at him! You, the only person who would always believe in the God of Mischiev - disappointed in the cruelest way possible, his blood metaphorically spoken at his hands. “I love you, Loki. I was disappointed, indeed... But no matter how much I tried to hate you, I just can’t. You’re the love of my life, and I forgive you...I already forgave you the moment my heart stopped beating.” He felt tears running down his cheeks, falling down onto the grass in form of small ice drops. “Y/N, I am so deeply sorry! I-” he wanted to finish his sentence, try to explain himself and make you believe just how much he regrets his actions - but his throat felt like it was tied with barbwire. All he could do was running towards you, fighting his inner urge to just collapse into a mental breakdown. He was almost there, stretching out his arm to take your hand, to pull you right into his arms where you belonged. The Laufeyson didn't even realize that his hand had turned in a shade of dark blue, revealing his true form - a part of him only you were allowed to see. But you just disappeared, dissolving into what appeared to be embers, whispering that sentence as if you were standing right next to him: “I’ll find you. You just wait...don’t give up.”

Loki woke up, his breath heavy and face wet from the tears. Immediately, he sat up and looked around all the broken furniture just to pick up a piece of broken mirror, dirtied by his own blood when he broke it. The image he saw in it looked like the mess he was on the inside. It has been two weeks since Frigga found her death to the hand of a Dark Elf, the only person that kept the fragments of his soul together since your death - until now.

The God of Mischief had nothing anymore. He wouldn’t eat or drink since then, and the nightmares kept him from having a long needed, refreshing sleep as well. Every time he closed his eyes, he’d see either you or his mother - except for Thor the only people he ever cared about - die in the most excruciating ways one could think of. His desperation spiraled down to the point where he couldn’t even tell what was real, and what simply a delusion, made up by his own mind to torture him.

He never learned, didn’t he...Yes, indeed, he’s hopeless.

What horrendrous things did he say to you just before you died - and the same thing now happened to his mother.

Deep down in his heart he was very relieved that Thor had survived the war with the dark elves through his help - not that he’d ever admit it. And still, even though he did things one could call heroic, he got imprisoned here again. His father didn’t show any mercy, - and even though Loki could’ve easily fake his death and escape back then, he didn’t see the point in doing so.

All of his dreams: Being his brothers equal, erasing the Frost Giants from the nine realms, his birthright of ruling and finally earning respect...Nothing of it mattered any more.

Finally, he got to see what’s really important - but it’s too late now. Forever.

Loki would be doomed to cry and scream while having all of his mistakes played in his head in a continuous loop, seeing the haunting look of sadness and fear in your eyes and knowing he caused it.

Yes, this would be the only thing left of his meaningless existence.

“It is a fitting punishment, don’t you think, Y/N?” he almost chuckled, giving an empty stare to the prison ceiling. “This is more agony than Thanos could’ve ever brought upon me.”

The guard that was sitting on a wooden chair in front of his cell was raising a judging eyebrow to the once so intelligent and graceful prince, now looking like a peasant and talking to himself.

Oh, how must he have failed you...This sure was a rightful penalty for a traitor and murderer just like he was, Loki concluded.

The emptiness in his heart was eating him alive, telling him you’re still gone.

It has always been just a feeling, honestly.

After so many time spent together, fighting back to back - loving each other, as well as having lost you before, he just knows it. When you’re back, needing him to remember you of who you truly are. He would know.

Loki couldn’t explain it himself. It seemed like a magical bond, yet he never found anything like this in the old books. Maybe Frigga knew the answer, yet he had always been too afraid to ask...

“You sure are leaving me waiting, Y/N...” Loki whispered to himself, feeling that constricting in his chest again as tears filled his already red and swollen eyes. “Are you really coming back? Or are you just mocking me?”

It didn’t matter.

Even though he knew he didn’t deserve it, his hope of you coming back to life were the only thing that kept him going.

If you were to never come back, he’d accept this fate and would pay for and regret his crimes till the end of his existence. On the other hand, if you’d be to ever come back, he would never allow himself to come near you again. 

Anyway, death wasn’t an option.

“Have you already gone mad, Laufeyson?!” the guard finally yelled, kicking against the wall. “Whining and speaking scatterbrained words to yourself. You’re a disgrace, you’ve always been!”

Loki went silent, without doing so much as looking at the man, who in the past would’ve never dared to speak his mind. He didn’t care what he’d say - he was right with everything, anyway.

“If you’d ask anyone else in Asgard, you would’ve simply been executed! It’s such a waste that you’re allowed to live in all that luxury, thinking of what you’ve done!” he added, spitting to the ground. Seemed like the man Loki knew all those years finally showed his true face, considering he wouldn’t get punished for it anymore. “You’ve never been one of us, not even a god! You’re a wild animal and the Allfather should’ve never brought such a plaque like you over us!”

His voice had a tone of disgust that Loki knew all to well, even back as a kid when he was silently listening from the shadows to people talking about him.

He didn’t know why he never belonged. It was a feeling that he kept in his heart for so long that he thought it was a part of him - and when he realized just what he was, a part inside of him got shattered beyond repair.

The God of Mischief - he acted like he was carrying this title with pride, always acting all high and mighty. But it was just a facade.

All of his life, he just tried to be praised, loved - to fit in. Be the perfect son and brother everyone wanted. Yet that wasn’t him, and he got used to everyone seeing him as a disappointment. Trying to please, but always being seen as a disgrace - just for being himself.

There was something wrong with him from the very start, even before he got torn between his two heritages, he knew that much. Well, he found his way to get attention anyway - if not positive, he’ll take the negative one. Pranks, lies, being seen as a troublemaker.

He’d tell himself that he didn’t need anyone but himself, that one day they’ll realize their own hypocrisy and admire him for not leading an empty life as they do, restrained by rules and laws.

But this fragile walls he built around him were also lies. Lies he told himself to protect that sensitive boy that needed appreciation as desperately as breathing.

And you saw through all of his illusions from the very start.

The guard finally ended his rant, giving up on having a conversation with the fallen god. When he got back to his seat, Loki could finally and without distractions concentrate of the more important things.

It wasn’t that he’s gone fully mad - well, not more than usually. The memory of happier times were the only thing that kept him sane.

So he lied on the bare floor, closing his eyes again and concentrating all of his senses just to remember your scent, voice, touch...

____

Your first meeting dates almost 800 years ago, when both of you would probably be considered teenagers - calculated in god years, of course.

Almost as if it was fate, even though both of you never knew about it, you shared the same birth year. While Loki was born  09.02.967, you were born (your birthday) in the same year.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, when he escaped the royal garden once again to wander aimlessly around the wilds of Asgard. Actually, admiring the view of nature was one of the few things that truly brought some kind of peace to his confused soul.

"And you are?” the Odinson spoke, his back still facing you as you climbed the grassy hill he was standing on. From here, far away from the main city and the palace, you could overlook the whole sea, with civilization stretching over the horizon.

You gulped, trying to catch your breath as you undid your concealment spell and presented yourself fully. Immediately you bent your knee, showing your goodwill through facing the ground instead of answering.

“Surprised?” the man said as he turned around, giving you a crooked but satisfied grin. “No one can hide from the master of the shadows. I’ve wandered them a thousand times, so I can tell you’re not an amateur.”

“My prince” you started, still not daring to meet his eyes - out of respect, but also fear of his reaction, “I am deeply sorrry to having disturbed you. I mean no harm.”

“I can see that much” he retorted, raising an eyebrow. He knew you were right behind him this whole time. “I rather wonder what objective you might pursue, following me this far.”

“My name is Y/N”, you almost whispered, your voice shaking nervously. So many years you waited for this moment, and now you were about to ruin it because you just couldn’t find the right words to explain yourself.

“Then stand up, Lady Y/N” he said with a cold but well-meaning voice, reaching out his hand towards you to help you get on your feet again. Much to your surprise, of course - the stories you heared about him wouldn’t make you think that he’s this kind of a gentleman.

He lifted your chin with his fingers, and you would lie if you’d say that it didn’t make your heart race. This icy, stinging look you felt even before you met his eyes was just too much to bear. Not even to start about his looks and wits you could already tell were far beyond any tale about him.

And he was intrigued by your look as well. Eyes are the door to the soul, some people say, and even though he was outstanding at reading people, he’s never met someone like you - a mistery to him.

That weird mix of the tone in his voice  caught his interest - so kind and calm, but also confident and with a storm hiding underneat. He could tell from the very first second, that the two of you were alike: Two sides of the same coin, having more than one layer of personality treats, but were also able to hide some parts of themself through being very good actors. It’s exhausting to pretend to be someone else, he thought. 

Sadly, he thought to know immediately why you were here.

“Another one of my brother’s admirers, huh?” he spat, making those neutral eyes now direct a burning look of disgust at you.

“If you want to share his bed, the best way is to ask him directly” he explained, adding “With a man this...imbecile, there’s no need to be shy. And no need for formalities either.”

It’s not that Loki wasn’t attractive - he could be very charming, and wasn’t reseved when it came to lies just to have his ways with women. His Silver Tongue was known in all the Nine Realms, after all. Being the son of the Allfather would also help much when it came to this part of desire.

Yet Loki didn’t really have interest in relationships at all. Of course, he’d like to “conquest” sometimes, but it was more to feel equal to his popular brother, and boost his confidence.

No woman was even allowed to even speak to him after they’ve spent some hours together - not that any of them was heartbroken afterwards. The females he usually physically encountered were shallow. Not ones to have a real conversation with, or anything resembling a fun time.

They had their own intentions, that’s what made it so easy for him to just dump them instead of having a real bond with someone: Improving their social ranking, earning material gifts - or, what Loki hated most, simply getting near his way more attractive, famous brother.

Great, he managed to get lost in all those negative memories again, now ready to direct his anger towards you. The air has gotten thick after only as much as a few sentences. Sometimes it felt like his own mind was mocking him, keeping him from any form of joy.

“My prince” you repeated again, breaking his like of thought, “I fear there’s been a misunderstanding...” You cleared your throat, explaining “I am assigned to be your new guardian from now on.”

Well, at first you helped him to break free from remembering the embarassments of the past - yet your words wouldn’t be able to lift his mood in the slightest.

“You?!” he blurted out, holding his stomach in laughter. He was right, though. 

Even though your body language had a serious military tone, you wouldn’t look like a warrior in the slightest: Small, pale and dressed in a long, silken dress instead of an armor.

“A true warrior doesn’t need to be intimidating, they need training, experience and tactics” you murmured - much to his approval. How often did he mock his brainless brother for only knowing blunt violence instead of thinking a plan through. Yes - another similarity between you and him.

You placed your right hand over your heart, to symbolize what honour this matter meant to you - while also trying to calm your own breath and heartbeat.

Not that it mattered for Loki, but he loved to be respected and was quite flattered of your words and actions.

He mustered you from head to toe, trying to find out why he was so involved with you from the very first second. Loki circled and watched you from every angle, making you even more flustered than you already were. All these years of preparation couldn’t help you deal with this unreal seeming moment.

You knew who you were dealing with, but you’d never think of how it all would turn out in the end.

“I-I am deeply sorry, Lord, I thought you’d already been informed about this” you babbled, not knowing that the mood was about to shift.

“Great” he gritted between his teeth, a grim tone coating his voice, “Incredible! A bodyguard?! What a joke...”

Loki walked back and forth, kicking some stones and yelling randomly while cussing words unsuitable for someone of the royal family. He just wasn’t able to find any rest in his head.

Yet he tried to comprehend why his father would want him to have a bodyguard - and the result of his pondering wasn’t really satisfying: Odin probably thought he was too weak, to ill-minded and not fit to be the heir of the throne. What a farce - someone of the royal family, not able to protect themselves and needing someone to watch over him all the time.

Or did his father simply not trust him? Is it that, he lets a “bodyguard” follow his every step and report all failures and mischief he causes directly to the Allfather, so he would be punished immediately?

Still, all the anger put aside, Loki was oddly restrained. Was it because he didn't want to concern you or have an all too bad first impression? You, who only knew him for a mere few minutes, and who is below him in any way?

For a long time, there was just silence. While the sun settled and night began, the two of you were still standing on that hill, encoated in an unsettling abscence of words.

"No" he finally cut through this thick air, "No, I haven’t been informed. I never am. Why ask your son anyway, if you don't care about his opinion anyway?" he now yelled, throwing his hands into the air.

He really lost his cool around you, leaving you only able to watch and listen him talking all the weight from his heart. "Now tell me: Do I really look that weak?! Hel!”

It made you sad seeing the mighty prince like this. Sorrow overcame you as you realized just what kind of pressure he was putting on himself.

Still saluting, you summouned a halberd and kneeled once again, the light of the settling sun making your whole silhouette shimmer. To Loki, it was a truly breathtaking view. Finally, his head was completely empty - absent from any of his usual dark thoughts.

“It is not my place to judge you or the majesty" you said confidently, without any doubt in your voice. "But I vow that from this moment on, all of my loyality will belong to you and only you, my prince. Ever since my birth I have been trained in secret, far away from any bindings, until I was ready to serve. You see, the Allfather also did me wrong, but I don't hold any grudge. He robbed me of a normal life, yet it was for a higher good."

Tz. How naive, he thought. But as much as he disliked your not at all justified understanding for his father, this vow managed to touch him deeply.

"And what's so special about a simple fire magician?"

For a second, you couldn't hide the look of surprise on your face. "How did you-"

"-know?" he interruped, obviously having regained his composure. "Don't insult me. I'm a master at the magic arts, and I'm much more experienced at that. At least concerning this, you are an open book to me."

"That's right" you explained while trying to stay professional as he mustered you again, picking on your clothes and weapon like a curious child.

"Yet you could say that I have a…” for a second, your voice got lost in your throat. “... property, that makes me the ideal bodyguard.”

A property? What kind of quirk might you posses that makes you so valuable?

Hearing this, he stopped in his tracks, standing still like a statue after getting a strand of hair out of your face. The brightest eyes, (your eyecolour) irises stared at him in pure wonder. Even after all that he said until now, all the God of Lies could feel was pure, genuine concern.

And oh, how he yearned for this. From this moment on, his decision was set in stone: He'll keep you near, make you his pet and pastime - at least his pride didn't allow him to think otherwise. Even though his real intentions were something the reserved, warily man didn’t understand himself.

Loki shook his head when he realized just for how long he stared into your eyes, with his mouth wide open. He felt like he's been caught being weak, and like he always did when he felt insecure, he found the only way to compensate for this was for him to humiliate you.

“I ask once again: What are you? "

You managed to keep a straight face. Finally, you were allowed to share youur secret with someone:

"I am the Keeper of Fire, my lord."

Impossible. A simple, weak girl like you, possesing one of Asgards greatest attributes?

But he could tell you were telling the truth.

"I wonder what else my father tries to lock away from the world...through hiding and lies he reigns. That's the only way me and my father are similar."

Suddenly, he grabbed both of your wrists, almost as if to crush them, his emerald eyes piercing into the core of your being, trying to somehow comprehend what great power was now under his control.

When he saw your shocked look, he let go off of you.

“For a trained combatant, you’re very easy to rattle” he frowned, seeing that you took a step back. “But from now on, I’ll be your teacher - not those moronic warriors who are wasting your potential. You’ll take every single word from my lips as command.”

He stepped closer again, whispering right into your ear “You’re wax in my hand, little dove. And I’ll form the ideal warrior.” It was like your power was making him feel invincible, too. “Did I express myself properly?”

“As you wish, my Lord.”

“Oh” he smirked evily, “I prefer the term ‘master’ from now on.”

“All right” you finally smirked back, making his heart jump a little, “Everything you say, my master.”

___

When he finally got back to his senses, Loki almost felt like he could actually feel your soft hands like back then, when he escorted (more like dragged) you back to the palace, where you’d live officially from now on.

It was ridiculous when he thinks about it: The man who didn't trust anyone instantly believing a girl he's never seen before, and just came out of nothing with a wild story about being a chosen one.

Yet he did, and it felt so easy, so naturally to trust you.

Reality fell onto him like a crushing punch from the Hulk when he remembered ‘the rules’. They were engraved into his heart like scars.

Many people thought that the ‘Keeper of Fire’ was just a tale. No one knew what details were true and which part of stories and ballads, yet it seemed like it had just been another one of his fathers well kept secrets.

On your way home from that hill - the beginning of your shared way - he persuaded you to tell him everything about this incredible power:

1. There can only be one Keeper of Fire at a time. When the choosen one dies one and for all, a randomly selected child will inherit this attribute. There is no way to affect who is chosen next.

2. The Keeper of Fire is blessed with the Power of the Phoenix - technically, he can never die. Every time he does, he’ll be reborn randomly as a creature of the Nine Realms.Their appearance stays basically the same, expect for the characteristics of the respective race.

“So you can turn out to be something else than an Asgardian, right?”

“Yeah, the moment I take my last breath, my soul will be transferred to a child that’s about to be born in this very moment. It's coincidence, really."

“Have you already experienced this?” Everything about you was so exciting, so different from this whole, boring life that Loki could only harldy hide his excitement.

“It is wonderful, actually. You see so many different points of view, ways of living... It's truly a privilege.” Remembering your past lives, you began to smile so bright that Loki thought he might faint. So that's why you were so calm, understanding and thankful. Did he even deserve to walk aside such a pure creature? “My whole existence, your father would always manage to find me. It’s not that hard to find the Phoenix’ Flame, if you know how. So I’ve spent all my lives earning experience on the battlefield, dying very young.”

Much to your surprise, the prince looked very sad upon hearing this - little did you know it was because he felt like he should blame himself. You were trained to become his bodyguard, after all. And it had surely not been easy on you.

Not that he would ever voice those feelings, nor admit that it would affect him this much. Maintaining his distance to people he might open up to was his main commandment.

3. Your new body will age very fast, up to your “blossom time”. Around that time, you’ll stop aging at all, making it impossible for you to die. None of your fellow beings will ever be aware of this fact, and neither are you. So everyone around you behaves as it was completely normal.

4. After having been reborn, you'l have no memory of your past lives, until something very important from reminds you of them.

Chuckling, you tried to lighten up the mood as you added “I lived 2 lives as an Asgardian, one in Alfheim and...one in Nidavellir.”

Loki laughed, loudly and heartily, and you almost forgot that this man was known only for making everyone’s life miserable. Right now, it felt like the two of you knew each other forever - that’s how freely and satisfyingly you could talk.

“So that’s why you’re so small” he joked, wiping a tear of joy from the corner of his eye. "You were a dwarf, hilarious!"

"Hey!" you responded, "Maybe you're just too tall! You're almost as big as one of the Jotuns!"

His face darkened again when he thought of all the comrades he lost in battle against them. "This is no matter for jokes. Do not compare me to those vile beasts."

By the gods, this guy really has mood swings, but you guessed you should prepare to get used to that.

Actually, you wanted to say something about the Jotuns - yet you thought it'd be better if not all secrets were to be lifted from the very beginning. A feeling told you it would be better if you kept your mouth shut about this topic - at least for now.

"One last question..." Lokis own voice was echoing in his head, "If there can only be one of you at a time, but you cannot perish... How can there ever be an end to your immortality? How do you pass it on?"

His silent tears turned into loud sobbing as he slammed his fists onto the ground, until his knuckles began to bleed.

His heart felt like it was bursting under the pressure of him once again realizing the reason of you not coming back to live like you always did.

There was no hope, he now understood.

It was him, he knew that much. Everything he's done to you made this cruel, final rule work:

"That's easy. I will only reincarnate if I have the will to live on."

Taglist:

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[hejer-maomao]

Can I make a request in how the Ikerev suitors react to a MC with Depression? If you aren't comfortable writing this, I understand.

… This right here has to be the most challenging request I have ever received and I’m honestly terrified of writing it.

I have hesitated for some time now and I even thought of simply turning you down because depression is not an easy topic to write about. But when I thought of the possibility of these HCs somehow making anyone, anyone, out there feel a little bit better about themselves, then I will force myself out of my comfort zone for it.

Just few words of serious warning here. I am not an expert on mental illnesses nor am I a doctor. Although I am not exactly mentally healthy myself, I have never been diagnosed with depression either. I will try my best to make this as accurate as possible, based on my readings, my own experience and my friends’ struggles. So, please, do not hesitate to tell me if something is erroneous or can potentially offend or trigger anyone who has depression and I will immediately take this post down, you have my word.

The purpose of these HCs will be to heal and to comfort and NOT to belittle or mock depression.

For all of you out there, who are battling with depression, you are real warriors my friends and I pray to God you never stop fighting. Keep clinging to hope and never be ashamed to seek out help. Many people , including myself, are always ready to hear you out. My ask box is also open for everyone who simply wants an ear to listen.

Trigger Warning: Depression.

Ikemen Revolution Suitors Reacting to an MC with Depression:

Lancelot:

Lancelot would quietly listen to you as you confess everything to him, his eyes never leaving your face, his hands gently enveloping your cold ones.

Once he is sure you have said it all, Lancelot will slowly guide your body to face his own, bring his face closer to yours and solemnly say, “You’re not a burden. You’re a strong woman. So strong. But I’m here now, so try to lean on me even for a while.”

Lancelot would tightly embrace your trembling body with his strong arms, trapping you against the solid warmth of his chest, and burying his face into the crook of your shoulder, leaving behind soft kisses on your skin.

His hands would come up to pat your hair, tightening his hold on you further as soon as he begins to hear your sobs echoing in the room. After letting you cry your heart out, the King of Hearts would gently pick you up and carry you to the bed. Carefully tucking you under the covers, he would place a soothing kiss on your forehead. 

Lancelot will not leave your side for the rest of the night, nor the night after it as well as all nights for the rest of your lives.

Just like you have managed to save him from the throes of despair, supported him when he was distant and cold, and forgave his cruelest actions, Lancelot took an oath to himself to never stray away from your side, and to hold your hand as you find your way out of the darkness inside your head.

Jonah:

As soon as the words left your lips, it would take some time for Jonah to process the situation and for his brain to register the new information. When it fully sinks in, Jonah’s eyes would immediately begin to water, his cheeks taking on a soft shade of red before he chokes out. “How can you be so strong?”

Jonah would gently hold your hands, bringing them to his lips, kissing each and every knuckle of yours before nuzzling your palm against his own cheeks. Throwing his arms around you in a hug, Jonah would gently whisper how strong, how fierce and how beautiful you are, because even in your darkest hours, you never gave up on yourself.

The Queen of Hearts would then puff up his chest and slightly pout, his eyes still red from all the tears he shed and order you to stay put until be comes back. Jonah would then leave for a few minutes before returning with a plate full of sweet treats, plopping next to you on the sofa and shoving them into your mouth. For each cookie you successfully eat, Jonah would reward you with a gently peck on your lips, softly smiling at you as you slowly make your way through the desserts, Pine nestled quietly on your lap.

Jonah cannot be prouder of you after your confession. He always respected the incredible woman he fell in love with right from the start, but knowing how much pain and suffering you had to go through on a daily basis made Jonah wants to hold you inside his arms and never let you go.

You’re the bravest soldier Jonah has ever met.

Edgar:

Edgar’s surprise in reaction to your words barely lasts for a few seconds before his regular, soft smile returns to his lips. He adorably tilts his head and softly tells you, “I love you regardless of anything.”

For Edgar, there’s nothing you can say to him that can make his love for you decrease even by a mere inch. After all, you have accepted him wholly, with his bloody past and disappointing actions, deceiving nature and horrible secrets. How can he not do the same for you?

The Jack of Hearts knows all about self-loathing and the awful feelings of anguish and hopelessness. Even now, Edgar still hasn’t learned how to completely let go of his past, nor how to accept that this cruel world actually deserves to be loved. 

Edgar will hold your hand in his, and will ask you to stay by his side as you both learn, bit by bit, to love life again and see that there’s hope even in the midst of the darkest nights.

If Edgar managed to return from hell itself with your help, then you have no doubts that he will give up everything he has in order for you to keep on living and learn how to smile again.

Zero:

Zero’s first words to you would be, “It’s okay to feel this way,” as he tightly holds your hand, his eyes trembling with raw emotions. 

Zero is no stranger to the feeling of utter emptiness in one’s chest. He has, for very long time now, felt as if he does not belong anywhere, as if he is destined to feel lost and meaningless for the rest of his life.

So Zero, knowing that you feel almost the same as he, if not worse, smiles gently at you and squeezes your hand a bit tighter. Just as you chose to see past his flaws and his deeply-rooted insecurities, Zero will forever see you as the strong warrior you are. In your dark just as your bright days, Zero promises he will be there. He will smile when you do and hold you close whenever you feel like crying. He will give you space and time whenever you need them and stick close to you if you feel like the world is crashing around you.

Zero will be more than content to simply walk by your side and match your pace. He will be there when you feel courageous enough to take baby steps towards healing and he will never abandon you even when you shut yourself in your room and come so close to giving everything up. Zero will be there, through it all. So do not be afraid, and lean on his sturdy back, and let his gentle warmth and kind heart heal your very soul.

Kyle:

“Is there anything I can do to help?” would be Kyle’s softly whispered words as he gently holds you close to his chest, one hand patting the crown of your head, tousling your hair in a familiar gesture.

Kyle might not be a psychologist, but as a doctor, he knows that talking about one’s fears and doubts might prove quiet efficient in the process of healing. He is more than ready to introduce you to one of his psychologists friends, whom he has absolute trust in their skills. But if you do not feel ready to talk to anyone yet, Kyle will respect your decision and encourage you to take as much time as you need. He will be there, whichever choice you make.

Kyle’s soft heart and awkward kindness will shine through your darkest days as his rough hands will guide you back to the surface every time you feel like you’re drowning. Kyle will use every means in his hands to bring you back to health, all the while making sure he does not force you beyond your limits. 

His golden eyes will never stray from you as he alternates between gently pushing you towards the sun and tenderly enveloping you in the safety of your shared room. No matter how hard things become, Kyle will be there with his silly smiles and stupid jokes, and he will repeatedly save you whenever you feel too tired to even stand on your own.

Ray:

Ray’s emerald eyes would tremble for so long, his hands softly rubbing your back as he quietly waits for you to finish speaking before he calmly whisperer: “There is hope.”

Ray is not excessively optimistic, nor is he unreasonably idealistic. He simply knows the woman he loves and he knows what she is capable of. He is certain that she will make it through it all, no matter how many times she falls, no matter how much it bleeds and hurts, he knows you will get back up even if you choose to stay down for some time, gathering up your strength.

Ray fell in love with a real fighter, same as him. And just like he never gave up on his own self for years, Ray will undoubtedly never give up on you either.

He knows it’s hard. He knows how painful it is to get up in the morning when all you want to do is to lay in bed, crying your heart out, doing nothing at all. He knows how tedious life can become, when all the people around you are smiling and enjoying themselves while you feel like suffocating with each breath you take, your insecurities piling up on your shoulders, threatening o pull you under the tide at any given chance.

Be ready to be completely accepted by this man. All of you, from head to toe, will be embraced by Ray as he walks you the same road as you towards self-healing. 

Take as much time as you need with this man by your side. With Belle gathered in his arms, he will follow you to the ends of the world.

Sirius:

Sirius will be silent for a long while after you finish talking. He will hold your hands between his own, his fingers tenderly caressing your knuckles, as he thinks for a while.

Once he reaches his final conclusion, Sirius will hum in approval before getting up, dragging you with him in the process.

“Let me help,” is Sirius’ next words as he wears his usual, familiar smile.

You will pampered to death by this man. Do you feel like staying at your room all day without doing nothing at all? Sirius will make sure you have soft blankets, water and warm meals whenever the darkness in your head gets too overwhelming. Do you feel a little bit better, ready to go out for a while? Sirius will also be there, hand intertwined with yours, as he allows to pick whichever destination you want to go to, without ever pushing you too far or forcing you do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.

Life is unfair, and Sirius is well aware if that. Although he cannot exactly banish your doubts and insecurities, he will be there to deny them all and remind you how much you are loved and that when all of this is over, he will still be here and so will you.

Seth:

Ever wondered how it would feel if you had someone who understands your very soul without even needing to speak? Well, Seth will become that person for you.

You don’t even need to spell everything out, Seth would be up on his feet declaring that you’ll get through this together. 

Just like Sirius, Seth will be able to read your every mood and act according to your feelings for the day. He will alternate between providing you with days full with shopping trips, delicious food and girls’ talk and others simply spent watching classical movies in the darkness of your shared room, curled up together under the blankets, munching on simple treats.

Don’t hesitate to lay everything bare to this man and rely on him to hold your hand as you fight your way through it all to reach the surface. Seth will never judge you nor deny any of your efforts. Whether you only manage to get up from your bed in the morning or spend an entire day smiling or laughing, Seth will be proud of you regardless.

Harr:

“I love you”, is Harr’s response to your confession.

For him, a strong fighter like you who managed to help him out of his own darkness is more than capable to save herself, but he will be there with you, each step of the way, keeping you safe from the demons inside your head, and holding your hand whenever it feels too much to bear.

Harr’s kindness and concern will mainly show in actions rather than words. A cup of warm chocolate and soft tissues after you finish sobbing your heart out for no reason. Your favorite flower appearing right beside your pillow after you spent an entire day holed up in your room, refusing to let anyone inside.

Small acts like these will contentiously prove Harr’s determination to share his warmth with you, as you both find your ways towards loving yourselves and loving this world.

Oliver:

Clenching his teeth in irritation, Oliver will most certainty tell you how much of an idiot you are, if you thought this will change anything between you.

“You chose me, so don’t go around trying to escape. You’re stuck with me, so deal with it. You won’t drive me away.”

Oliver’s behavior will not undergo any major changes after your declaration. He will still treat you the same way since he does not consider you to be any different. In his eyes, you’re the same silly woman he fell in love with. It doesn’t matter for him that at certain days, you would feel too empty to even get up from the bed or too tired to even brush your hair or drink your coffee. It does not matter because Oliver will be there in any case, every day, whether good or bad, and will kiss you good morning, insult your bed hair before threading his fingers through it, tenderly kissing its ends.

Oliver is the same as ever, and his love for you will remain unchanged. He fell in love with a human after all, and he will embrace that human, with all of her mood swings and flaws.

Hey little fighter, soon things will be brighter ❤