#this is so much more bleak than i meant it to be

[mayonakano-archive]

i'm going to delete this later but i need to just. yell.

[miniimight]

DISAPPEARING ACT . rindou often disappears for weeks at a time, showing up at home as if it's nothing. a brief exchange triggers a factory reset in him, but you're not as open to it as he expected you to be...

prompt used "better than me disappearing for good. / is it?"

with married!rindou + fem!reader

warnings cursing. a lot of cursing. angst? rindou is an idiot and possessive.

you never got to see your husband anymore. so much so that you considered the chance of it happening next to nothing. you knew what you were getting into being in an relationships with him; lots of meetings and flights to other cities all meant extended time away from home.

you would've been a little more forgiving had he chosen to tell you these things. but no. morning after morning, you wake up to him gone without a trace, without consideration for how you feel. was he alive? was he with someone else? did he not care enough to call or even send a text?

it was as if you lived alone, and a stranger crashed at your place every once in a while. and while you shared polite exchanges, no amount of small talk could overshadow how bleak your marriage was.

it was eleven days before he showed up again. you were, surprisingly, awake when he returned. he was perfectly groomed, albeit a little jaded, but still regarded you with the same coldness you endured since he started leaving. you missed the warmth of your younger days, where he would hold you close and reassure you that you were meant for each other for life.

you decided today was as good a day as any. heck, he even might be gone tomorrow and it would be like you didn't say anything.

"i'm tired of you disappearing for days and then coming back like it was nothing." you said plainly.

he slipped out of his shoes, looking down at you. rolling his eyes lightly but sighing heavily, he started to pull off his tie. "better than me disappearing for good."

a wry smile spread on your face. oh, if he only knew. "is it?"

those two words sent an arrow straight through his heart.

rindou was silent, pretending as if he didn't hear what you just said. but when you scoffed and walked away, he knew it was too real for him to overlook.

"you don't mean that." it was less of a question and more of a please, don't mean it.

you shrugged and went back to your phone, too benumbed to even look at him.

he stared at you, utterly confused as to how to tackle this. "y/n." he said firmly.

you slowly raised your head to meet his eyes, void of any care. "what?"

"i said, you don't mean that." he stood like a tree in the middle of the living area, palms growing sweaty. he loved you. he couldn't lose you, not when you both went through so much to get here.

"don't i?" you responded, placing your phone beside you. not like i see you anymore, anyway. what's the difference?

"stop fucking talking like that and answer me." he snarled. you rolled your eyes, rising to your feet.

"look, rin. who the fuck cares what i think or say? certainly not you." you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "just—just forget i said anything." you turned towards your bedroom. "goodnight."

wait. he lunged forward, grabbing your arm and spinning you around to face him, backing you against a wall. caging you with arms on either side of you, he stared into your soul, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of you.

you just stared back.

his heart clenched. yeah, he was away for weeks at a time. of course he didn't tell you. why would he? why would he burden you with that information?

"you really think me going away forever is better?" his voice was a whisper, but held the sharpness of a knife. "huh? you want me gone forever?"

you sighed. "i didn't say i wanted that. i just meant that, either way, it doesn't matter. going away forever, going away for weeks and weeks but only staying for a night..." your eyes met his, glossy but fierce. "it's the same to me. i don't care what the hell you do anymore, rindou. just let me go to bed."

he studied the person he truly loved for so long, wondering when it all went downhill.

you were impatient, ducking under his arms. "shit..." you cursed, rubbing the back of your neck as you walked away.

he watched you go. and he never saw you come back.

the next morning he woke up, expecting to see you in the kitchen or watching tv, but his house was empty.

"y/n?" he called out. no answer. he pulled up his phone. no texts, no calls. he bustled around the house, looking for some indication of where you went and he found nothing.

he called his brother, thinking that he was the next best person you would've gone to, but ran had no contact from you.

rindou sat on the couch, nothing to do but sit and wait. he looked around. everything was well-kept, pristine, and sanitized. it was like no one lived here at all. no one except a lonely spouse in an eternal cycle of wait for a husband that wouldn't even give them the time of day to say, i'm heading out.

i love you.

goodbye.

he leaned back, closing his eyes. he doesn't even say goodbye.

he hated himself for it.

hours passed and he didn't move from the couch. he knew you sat there for much longer, day after day, waiting for him. no wonder you were uncaring. coming home meant nothing if he would simply leave again.

then he heard the click of the door. he practically jumped off the couch, racing over to the entrance. he saw you with a couple groceries hooked on your forearms, struggling to keep the door open long enough for you to slip inside.

he rushed over. yanking the door open with such force, it slammed into the wall causing you to jump. rindou winced a little, steadying the door from swinging wildly.

you eyes met his and your face immediately scrunched with confusion. "what are you doing here?"

"well... it's my house..?" he said dumbly.

you pressed your lips into a line. "hm."

you expected me to be gone again, he thought bitterly. he cleared his throat. "let me help you with these," he alleviated the weight off your arms, bunching up a couple bags and carrying them all in one go. "you know, you could just order them for delivery."

you sidestepped him and walked to the kitchen. "why would i do that?"

"so you can have them brought to you from the comfort of your home." he responded lightly. following robotically, he was unsure where everything was supposed to be put away.

you laughed, catching him off-guard. on closer inspection, though, he knew that wasn't a genuine laugh. "rindou, do you think i want to stay in this place any more than i have to?"

you said it so casually, grabbing a bag from him and stocking the cabinets and fridges.

his stomach swirled with much more unease than he'd ever experienced on the job. it was the way you simply didn't care anymore, talking about the rift between you and him as if you were reciting the weather report.

fight me, he wanted to say. kick, yell at me, scream at me, do anything at all to show me you're upset. he knows he fucked up. you definitely know he fucked up. so why weren't you telling him that? why weren't you cursing him out for being a bad husband? your nonchalance came from a long time being cast aside, so much so that you expected it to happen; so much so that you gave up on him.

indifference was the final nail in the coffin of your marriage, and you were about to bang it shut.

he observed you, thinking about how many times you'd busy yourself with mundane errands to feel like you were living. how many times you'd come back to this flat, putting away shit you'd probably never touch. how many times you'd listen to the silence ringing off the walls.

he set the bags down and held your shoulders, turning you to face him. "i've taken the next few days off."

you smiled insincerely. "great."

rindou felt like a kid again, when he had work up enough courage to ask you out. "we... we could spend them together."

your eyes squinted. "why?"

he spluttered. "what do you mean, why?"

you swatted his hands off your shoulders. "god, i shouldn't have said anything," you mumbled. "rindou, this is just you feeling guilty because of what i said last night, okay?"

he frowned. "it's not."

your eyebrows raised as you rummaged through another grocery bag. "it is. don't pretend like you're gonna change. what did you think we were going to do—go out together? like old times, when we were happy and in love?"

his face burned. anyone else—if it were anyone else speaking so flippantly with him, he'd have them beat til they're unconscious. and past tense? when we were in love? his brain was doing backflips trying to find a way to salvage the situation. "yes."

you laughed that fake laugh again. it grated on his ears. "that's funny. i was just feeling a little vulnerable last night, is all. had a couple of drinks and maybe was feeling sentimental about the days when everything was simple."

rindou stepped closer to you, ripping the bag away from your hands and towering over you. "it is simple. we can—"

"we can't do anything." you curled your hands into fists, your voice trembling. "can you just..?" go away?

rindou's breath caught in his chest, fully anticipating another heartless laugh.

he hated it when you cried. he hated it when you were angry. he would do anything for your eternal happiness, he realized, and he'd been falling short of his promises for far too long.

rindou leaned onto the counter, bending at the waist. his hand rested on your waist and his eyes were laser focused on your expression, a confusing mix of frustration, sadness, and the will to remain emotionless.

"baby," he whispered.

"don't fucking call me baby." you hissed.

he pursed his lips, unwilling to compromise. "pretty baby. i don't wanna go on like this." his fingers brushed your cheek. "i don't want to you to be sad anymore."

"well, isn't that righteous." you rolled your eyes though your heart ached. it ached for him, for the boyfriend he was and the husband he promised to be.

he glared at you. "would you just listen?"

"no, rindou." you shoved him away from you, despite the overwhelming urge telling you to pull him in and hug him tight. "stop acting like i'm the one making things difficult. like you're being a fucking saint trying to bring us back together when the only reason we're like this is because of you." your voice became watery, growing in volume as you finally succumbed to all the hurt and pain inside you.

"i tried to be understanding." you sobbed. "i did. i tried. you have your work and i know that it's dangerous. but seriously—you promised you'd make time for me. you promised." you sniffed, rubbing tears off your cheeks, ranting without any goal in mind. "you don't even say goodbye."

he stood frozen, your emotions hitting him square in the face and leaving him dazed. it was like the only thing he could do was stand and watch.

"i didn't want to do this." you said tearfully. "i'm sorry i said anything, okay? i'm sorry. just—leave me alone."

his eyes narrowed. "never. i'm never leaving."

your glassy eyes shot up to meet his with a hard look of their own.

"i love you, y/n. and i'm never letting you go." he said firmly, stepping closer and closer to you. he was done beating around the bush; you should know that no matter how many times you push him away, he will never leave you. he'd make up for his mistakes; all you had to do was give him a chance.

you scoffed. "love? you love me?"

he caged you against the opposite counter with two arms on either side of you. "yeah. i do."

you stared up at him, tears staining your cheeks. "you're a liar."

"y/n." he growled—a warning.

"can't go back into the world having the poor little wife weighing on your conscious, is that it?" you snapped. "never stopped you before."

"y/n."

"no." you ducked under his arm, leaving the kitchen. you evaded his attempts to pull you back, running to the closet. grabbing a coat and your purse, you slipped on your shoes.

"where the fuck are you going?" rindou yelled after you. "this conversation isn't over."

"it is for me." you mumbled, throwing the front door open and ignoring the fire in the pit of your stomach. you got into your car and started it up. the garage opened at an agonizing pace, enough time for rindou to come bursting out the door. he stood at your window.

"y/n, you are not leaving. get out of the car."

"fuck off." you grit your teeth, your eyes raising to the rearview mirror to reverse. you screeched to a halt when you saw rindou's purple hair in the reflection. you gaped, rolling down your window and whipping your head to face him. "are you insane? move!"

he shook his head, standing in all his glory right behind the car. his arms were crossed and his weight rested on one hip; the picture of stubbornness. "you're gonna have to run me over."

you scoffed, laughing breathlessly at the absurd situation. "i'll call the police."

"you won't."

you grabbed your phone. "i will, don't try and stop me from leaving."

"you won't call the police, and you wanna know why?" rindou let his head fall to his shoulder. "you love me. i know you do."

you opened your mouth to retort.

"don't even try to deny it." he chuckled lowly. "you're just protecting yourself, baby. you're protecting yourself from the nightmare you call a husband, right?"

your eyes rounded, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

he walked to your side of the car, reaching through the opening to flick the window button. he slipped his hand out as it began to slowly slide back up.

"leave, then. just know i'm not going to stop my efforts to get you back." he smiled as he went back into the house.

the window closed completely.

you were brimming with annoyance, yet you couldn't help but feel a pang of heartache when you pulled out of the driveway, leaving your house—and rindou—behind.

this was so self-indulgent lol. i know they mean well, but when people apologize so quickly and with such intensity, i just get frustrated that i had to get to such a low point to see any remorse or change from them. and of course, i can't argue without crying my eyes out. anyway, do we want a part two?

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[solarpunkwarlock]

Ways to Live in Direct Opposition to Capitalism

I am by no means an expert in any of these things I’m gonna talk about, so keep that in mind! I am just making a compilation of things I know of that we can do to lessen the stranglehold the capitalist lifestyle has on us while enriching our lives, our surroundings, and the lives of others. Please add anything I miss or correct anything I may be getting wrong! Anyway here goes!

Use what you have, fix what’s you can, make what you can, accept from others, thrift what you can, and finally purchase as a last resort.

This is advice I have seen float around here a couple of times that can apply to a lot of things including clothing, furniture, food, and more besides. It’s meant to be done roughly in that order as it applies to what you’re wanting/needing/doing. It’s about preventing waste, promoting self-capability, having a heightened reliance on your community, and consciously rejecting the ingrained habit many of us have to just purchase things or services.

Here’s where you can read about growing an indoor garden!

Here’s where you can read about sewing things yourself!

Here’s an online site for giving and receiving items for free!

Here is where you can find a local Mutual Aid to get things from, learn skills from, give do, volunteer for, etc. (in the U.S.)

Be politically active! (from a U.S. perspective)

Vote for every election. Know your representatives and those who will be competing in the next election. Vote without ignorance and without falling for unfounded claims. While operating within the system that actively oppresses us will not bring about the future we want, it can serve as damage control (preventing worse candidates from taking office) and it can potentially create a national atmosphere more open to change.

Here’s a good article about getting more involved in the U.S. political process.

Here’s a site that will show you how to register to vote, when and where elections are held, and more!

Here’s good advice on finding protests in your city!

Here’s some readings on unionizing! It’s your legal right to unionize!

Here’s a more user friendly site for learning about unions!

Be active within your community!

Developing strong, motivated, capable, knowledgeable, and inclusive communities is the ultimate way to combat the relentless and bleak present and future. When you’ve worked on the things above and have gotten good at it (or even if you haven’t gotten good at it yet), start spreading what you know and what you can do with others!

Give your neighbors, coworkers, and friends some of the vegetables you’ve grown.

Invite your community members to volunteer events.

Talk to folks about how to vote, when you’re doing it, etc.

Take part in Mutual Aids to teach what you’ve learned or whatever you may be an expert in! Invite neighbors, friends, and coworkers when you take part in the Mutual Aid!

Accept your community. Take them for who and what they are. Discrimination is the enemy of cooperation. You have much more in common with everyone in your community than a single billionaire or corporation. We’re all passengers on this spaceship earth.

Do it one step at a time!

Obviously we can’t do all of these things at once. Do what you can when you can, and you’ll start to notice real change in your life!

Our online communities where we talk about our visions and hopes are fantastic, but they have little impact if we don’t actually get up and do the real work that change requires.

Want to be better, and keep hope for the future!

Harbor and nourish that desire to be a better person and to be the change you want to see in the world. You need to be hungry for a better future if you plan to make it through the rough times when everything feels pointless and without hope. Reach out to others when you’re down, and be someone others can lean on when their lives get hard.

That’s it! Please interact with this, spread it to others, and add your own thoughts and ideas! It’s important that we do the real work to get the change we crave!

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 5

Shy!reader really wants to tell construction worker!rafe how she feels but what if he doesn’t feel the same?  

cw: the L-word, mostly fluff, reader being an overthinker and getting a little jealous, pda

wc: 2.3k 

hi! this is the last part of sweet treat (might write some extras but I make no promises) and just wanted to say how much I appreciate everyone who reads my stuff. the first part was my first proper piece of writing I posted on this account and I was overjoyed by the warm welcome and all the kind comments, asks & reblogs (nothing goes unnoticed by me!) so thank you so so much for being so lovely <33  

hope you enjoy xx 

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

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

It’s been exactly two weeks since she came to terms with the fact that she’s in love with him. She hasn’t been able to sleep all that well and has tried her very best to avoid Rafe, albeit fruitlessly since he insists on driving her home from work every day and on top of that, he often invites himself over to her house or asks for her to stay the night at his; not accepting her excuses about being tired and having to wake up early.  

”Why don’t we just…be tired and wake up early together, then?” His grin is playful when he argues with her reasoning. And how is she meant to refuse that? 

And if all that wasn’t already suffocating her, of course he’s now helping with the renovation of the cafe since her boss wanted to expand the business; make the small coffee shop into a bigger one in hopes of more space for new tables and seats because the amount of clients they got was beginning to be too much for everyone to comfortably enjoy their stay.

Therefore, she now has to practically work in the same building as him every single day because the renovation work isn’t disturbing the current cafe from running nor decreasing the number of customers with a sweet tooth or a craving for their usual morning coffee from strutting in.  

This wouldn’t be a problem, if Rafe wasn’t walking around all sweaty and dusty, biceps bulging whenever he’d lift wooden planks over his shoulder or carry around different equipment; looking as attractive as ever.

And with these newfound lovey-dovey feelings trying to break through the surface, she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to stop herself from ogling him or keep her rapid heartbeats to herself whenever he wanders over to chat with her on his breaks.  

She tries to act as normal as she can, but she can tell that he’s picking up on her excessive rambling and stuttering, flushed cheeks and anxious fingers fixing her hair every two seconds whenever he’s talking to her.

She’s certain he can see right through her, knows that she’s hiding something. She can practically see how he wants to bring it up more often than not but seemingly hasn’t found the right way to approach the subject yet and she can sense that she’s running out of time; can’t tolerate lying to him for much longer.  

She’s been thinking this whole thing through over and over, to the point of her head hurting as she bakes Rafe’s favorite lemon raspberry cookies as a distraction and because he’s been working so hard and she wants to surprise him; see the soft smile that makes the whole world glitter whenever he graces her with it.

She wants to tell him, wants him to know how deeply she feels for him, how much she appreciates him but every time she tries to open her mouth, the words seem to evaporate before they’ve even begun to sprout on her nervous tongue.  

What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if this is all just a casual thing for him and she’s making it into something more than it is? These bleak thoughts turn her mood sour; a pout forming on her lips as she concentrates on topping the flamingo pink icing covering their most popular vanilla cupcakes with fresh blueberries.  

As she’s taking out Rafe’s cookies out the oven, she comes to the conclusion that she has two options; she either tells him she’s in love with him or she doesn’t. If she tells him, there’s a very high possibility of him looking at her with a crease between his brows and words about not wanting for this to be anything serious hitting her against the face.

And if she doesn’t tell him, then…well she doesn’t really have anything to lose, does she? Except maybe the what ifs haunting her for the rest of eternity.  

She tries to get rid of these tormenting thoughts with a shake of her head as she sets the cookies off to cool down and begins to place the finished cupcakes onto the display counter, trying her hardest to forget about it all.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Later that day when Rafe is contently munching on the cookies she plated for him and happily distracting her from work, someone approaches the counter; a girl with glossy lips and shiny hair.  

”Hi, could I get a mango matcha latte, please?” Her eyes are as green as grass as she places her order. 

”Of course, would you like it with ice or no ice?”  

”With ice, please,” she answers in a friendly manner.  

”Coming right up,” she gives the girl a polite smile when her payment goes through.  

”You’re working on the renovation?” The girl’s attention then turns towards Rafe, making Y/N’s gaze flicker over to them as she puts blended mango into the bottom of a tall glass. 

”Yeah, the cafe’s gon’ be twice as big as it’s now,” his gravelly voice drawls, putting the half-eaten baked good down.  

”That’s so cool, I’ve always wondered how construction workers are so strong. Do you go to the gym a lot?” A saccharine voice reaches Y/N’s ears, making her brows furrow as she’s measuring the right amount of matcha powder and trying to appear nonchalant.  

”Uh, yeah, yeah. Also think my workdays sometimes count as workouts,” he scratches the back of his head as she lets out a giggle. It wasn’t that funny, Y/N thinks with a roll of her eyes.  

”Hey, I was actually wondering if maybe you’d wanna hang out sometime? Could give you my number?”  

Something muddy swirls in her stomach at the girl’s straightforward question. She doesn’t appreciate the fact that she’s blatantly hitting on Rafe right in front of her. Even if she’s well aware that they’re not together and the girl probably assumed they were just friends, which they are.

However, she can’t prevent herself from turning grumpy from the mere notion of him being interested in someone else. After all, the girl is stunning and she wouldn’t really blame him if he wanted to at least consider her offer.    ”Nah, I’m actually not available right now,” he offers an apologetic smile when the girl’s shoulders slump.  

”No? That’s a shame. Well, let me know when that changes?” She gives him a flirty smile that makes Y/N quietly scoff as she pours the milk into the mix. 

”It’s not changing anytime soon,” she mutters under her breath, making both of them turn their heads towards her.  

”Sorry?” The girl asks, muted jade settling on her suddenly tense form. Fuck, did she really say that out loud? 

”Oh, um— just that…here’s your drink,” she peeps out, feeling Rafe’s eyes burning into the side of her face as she sticks a paper straw into the beverage; the ice cubes clinking together when she hands it out to her.  

”Right, thanks,” she says looking over to Rafe once more, seemingly expecting him to give her an answer of his own. 

”Uh…yeah, what she said. Not changing anytime soon,” his grin is wide, making the girl’s cheeks flush as she hurriedly leaves. 

And when it’s just the two of them again, she flits her eyes down, busying herself with a wooden container of tea bags she’s trying to organize, not wanting to face him. 

”What was, uh…what was that about?” His tone is teasing, an annoying smirk playing along his features. 

”Nothing,” she quickly dismisses, avoiding his gaze. 

”Nothing? You’re telling me you weren’t just really fucking jealous two seconds ago?” 

”N—no,” she can’t even convince herself with the pitiful denial. 

”Don’t worry, I’m all yours, alright?” He chuckles as he stuffs the rest of the cookie down his maw.

”How did you know I was craving these, by the way?” He asks around the mouthful as she tries to brush aside the sudden tingle in her ribcage and the blush dusting over her cheeks.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

A few days later when her shift is coming to an end, her other coworker already beginning to take orders and telling her she’s free to go, she drags Rafe behind the counter and practically forces him to taste test a new recipe she’s tried out; a walnut carrot cake with lime buttercream.

”Wow, this is…amazing. The lime gives this fresh sourness to the frosting, it’s so good,” his voice is muffled by his chewing and her heart warms in response to his detailed commentary, never one to shy away from showering her in compliments. 

”You think so? I actually added the lime just cause I know how much you like citrus fruits so, I’m really glad you like it,” she beams up at him. 

”Yeah? Made this just for me, huh? Can I ask why I’m getting this special treatment all of a sudden?” His tone is playful, tongue licking over his bottom lip to clean up the bit of icing lingering there.  

”Well, cause I love you and—“ she blurts out and then her entire body tenses; mouth hanging open in chock and wide eyes slowly moving to look at him, trying to verify whether he heard it or not. Of course he did. She wasn’t exactly quiet now, was she?  

“You…you love me?” His brows raise in surprise. 

“Uh…I— I didn’t mean to…I mean, you probably don’t feel the same so doesn’t really matter. Just— um...just forget I said that. I don’t know why I—”  

“What are you talking about? You think I spend most of my time with you cause I…what? Dislike you? You can be so silly sometimes, you know?” He scoffs, setting the golden fork down on the porcelain plate. 

She stays silent.

“What I’m saying is that I’m obsessed with you. I mean, you’re even in my fucking dreams, right? But listen, love has always been a little…tricky for me to grasp onto cause my relationship with my family has always been…complicated? But if me wanting to spend every second of my day with you means I love you too then, shit, maybe I do. But I need some time before I can really say that shit, you get that?” His words are honest and raw and she thinks her rattling heart is going to beat out of her chest.

“Oh. I— um…yeah, of course. Take all the time you need,” she finally manages out.

“Hey, c’mere,” he says before he’s practically dragging her dumbfounded form into his embrace; beefy arms pushing her flush against his chest with a steadying grip on her waist.  

“I mean, we’re basically already dating at this point, no? Wasn’t sure how to make it official without freaking you out but since you love me, I think you’re all good, yeah?”

She croons something incoherent in response.

“So, wanna be my little girlfriend or what?” He asks into her hair. 

“I— of course I do,” she mumbles against his shirt.  

“Yeah?”  

“Mhm,” She hums before he tucks an index finger under her chin and raises her face to look up at him; thumb toying with her bottom lip before he’s leaning down and smearing a sloppy kiss against her mouth.  

“Shit, you’re so cute. Just wanna swallow you whole sometimes,” he murmurs with a soft smile tugging at his lips and blue hydrangeas twinkling with something syrupy in them.  

“I love you,” she mumbles, almost inaudible; words still too tender to consciously say out loud.  

“Say it again,” he practically demands. 

“Um…I love you,” her voice is nearly a whisper. 

“What was that? Think you can say it a little louder?” He teases.  

“Rafe, stop…you’re embarrassing me,” she whines, cheeks coloring over with a strawberry hue.  

“No, I’m not. Just wanna hear you say it,” his smirk is all big and smug and it makes her huff.

“ILOVEYOU, okay?” The words mesh together like fluffy clouds in the sky and her volume is louder than he’s probably ever heard it, a couple of curious heads turn to look at them, the lively chatter around them quieting down some.  

“Yeah? You guys heard that? She loves me!” He’s nearly shouting, looking around with a stupid grin on his face, making her flush and hide behind her hands as a few customers cheerfully titter in entertainment. 

”Congrats, dude!” Someone even yells.  

“Oh my god, Rafe. Why would you do that?” Her mortified eyes widen as she crouches down; trying to find shelter from behind the pale yellow counter. ”I’m never leaving my house again,” she complains with a glare.  

He doesn’t seem to be all that bothered by the whole thing, simply chuckling with dimples denting his cheeks; the light-hearted sound making her stomach flutter despite the humiliation crawling up her spine and making her want to vanish into the cracks on the floorboards.  

“Of course you are. I’m your boyfriend now which means I’m taking you out on a date tomorrow, yeah?” He lifts her up with a grip on her waist, pulling her flush against him as his devious fingertips slip underneath the hem of her shirt, smoothing over her bare stomach and making her let out a squeak.

Then he’s grasping her jaw in one hand and pressing his mouth on hers once again; her protests withering away like a dead rose when he slips his tongue past her lips, dragging out an involuntary whimper from her.  

She pulls away, hiding her face in his chest when she can feel multiple pairs of eyes staring at them. 

”Rafe, can we just go already?” She pleads with her voice small before he’s guiding her out of the coffee shop with a big palm resting on her back, calming her down some.  

And despite the little scene he just caused, she thinks she might just be the happiest girl on the island as he helps her climb into his truck with a honeyed kiss warming the apple of her cheek.

[vexwerewolf]

why is it that we only have like two licenses from any mech producer that’s a good guy? For a game where like there are clear good and bad guys (even if who you play isn’t necessarily linked to that) it seems strange to me that the only loot and XP you get is… more benefits from the bad guys

I can tell you the answer, but to do so, we're gonna have to talk about a completely different TTRPG.

If you've read @makapatag's truly excellent Filipino martial arts TTRPG Gubat Banwa (and if you haven't, here it is), you may notice that every single character class description (with one notable exception) ends with one of these babies:

I am not Makapatag, and I cannot write with quite as much grace and eloquence as he can, but I will try:

If you choose to become a Lancer, ask yourself why you mock the name of peace with these weapons of war. You call yourself a saviour, but your steed was forged from the murder of a world. You stride across the sky in a colossus built in your own image, so why are you too cowardly to give it your face? Why do you believe these machines of death can preserve life?

It is important to note that the admonitions in Gubat Banwa are not just there to make you feel bad; they are there as legitimate questions. The Sword Isles have seen so much blood, death and tragedy. Wars are not glorious and killing is not a game. So, knowing all of that, why have you taken up this discipline - no matter how noble and virtuous it might claim to be - to shed more blood, to bring more death, to write more tragedy? What could possibly drive you to this? What need is so great that you must kill?

The thing with Gubat Banwa is that there are legitimate answers to these questions! There are bad people doing bad things, and some of them will not be stopped with words or kindness. Sometimes, as sorrowful as it is, killing is the correct choice to prevent greater suffering and deeper tragedy - but adding less misery and death to the world is still adding some amount of it. Even the most necessary wars will drench the ground in the blood of the innocent.

A sword is a tool meant to kill humans; while it can be used for other things, it is not well-suited to anything other than this. A mech is, in its most basic essence, just a very complicated sword: it's usually used on things larger than a person, but it's still a tool built to kill.

So why have you taken up this path? Humanity was saved from the brink of extinction and has created wondrous technologies like printers, cold fusion and mind-machine interface, and yet you use them to play soldier in a giant metal man. Why do you choose to take up this machine of death, built by the greedy and pitiless? Why do you think these machines can ever make things right?

Because sometimes, despite everything, they can.

Warhammer 40K shows an awful world full of monsters and monstrosity, and in the darkest moments of its history, Lancer's world looked just as bleak, but Lancer's world differs in one crucial way. Warhammer's world has long given up trying to be better, but Lancer's world never did. Lancer's world kept insisting a better world is possible, and it used what tools it had to make it so.

Sometimes the correct choice, no matter how bitter it may seem, is to kill someone. When you need to do this, a sword is a perfectly good choice for the job.

If you find yourself discomforted by the fact that all the people you can buy mechs from are corrupt and immoral - good! You have correctly engaged with the text. You have understood that the sort of people who would make giant walking death machines and sell them for profit are not good people. But you still have a job to do, and you need the correct tools, and those people have them.

Lancer is not a game about a perfect world - it is a game about a deeply flawed and imperfect one that does not let its imperfection stop it from trying. You have to try to make a better world, even with imperfect tools made by unpleasant people.

[kierongillen]

General Player Advice For RPGs

I published this in my newsletter here a while back, and discourse reminded me I wanted to put it more public. I probably should get around to actually doing a proper blog for this kind of stuff. You can sign up to the newsletter here.

One of the things which I’ve been chewing over since getting back into RPGs is that there’s so much advice for GMs and so little advice for players. I keep thinking over why - though the whys aren’t what I’m about to write about. However, some other folk think any worthwhile advice is system/genre specific.

This got me chewing over whether I agree with that. As the list below shows, I don’t.

The first four are ones where I think I succeeded, and as principles generally guide you towards better play no matter what game you’re playing. The last three are mainly applicable to games with a significant story component (the last especially). There’s a few more I played with, but they were more about being a good at the table generally – about being a better player in any game rather than specifically about role-playing games. I also avoided ones which were more GM-and-player advice rather than just player advice (if there’s a problem in game, communicate out of game, use appropriate safety tools, etc).

I also didn’t include “Buy The GM Stuff”.

Anyway – here they are. See what you think.

GENERAL PLAYER PRINCIPLES FOR BETTER PLAY

1) Make choices that support the table’s creative goals

If you’re playing a storygame, don’t treat it like a tactical wargame. If you’re playing a tactical wargame, don’t treat it like a storygame. If it’s bleak horror, don’t make jokes. If you’re in a camp cosy romp, don’t bring in horror. It also varies from moment to moment – if someone’s scene is sincere, don’t undercut it.

2) Be A Fan of The Other Characters

This is GM advice in almost all Powered By the Apocalypse games – for the GM to be a fan of the characters. It’s a good trait for a player to cultivate. Be actively excited and interested in the other characters’ triumphs and disasters. Cheer them on. Feel for them. Players being excited for other players always makes the game better. Players turning off until it’s their turn always makes it worse.

3) Be aware of the amount of spotlight time you’re taking

This is a hard one for fellow ADHD-ers, but have an awareness of who is speaking more and who is speaking less. A standard GM skill is moving spotlight time around to players who have had less time. Really good players do this too. Pass the ball.

4) Learn what rules apply to you, to smooth the game, not derail it.

To stress, this isn’t “come to the table knowing everything” but learning the rules that are relevant to your character along the way, especially if they are marginal (looking at you, Grappling and Alchemy rules). Doing otherwise adds to the facilitator’s cognitive load and hurts the game’s flow. The flip is being aware that knowing stuff isn’t an excuse to break the game’s flow with a rules debate either – that’s an extension of the third principle.

5) Make choices which support other characters’ reality

If someone’s playing a scary bastard, treat them like a scary bastard. If they’re meant to be the leader, have your character treat them like the leader , for better or worse. A fictional reality is shared, and you construct it together.

6) Ensure The Group Understands Who Your Character Is

This is the flip of the above – having a character conception that is clear enough that everyone gets who you are, what you want to do and how you want to do it. If you don’t, the table will be incapable of supporting your choices. This links to…

7) If asked a preference in a story game, a strong choice is almost always better than a middling choice.

Don’t equivocate. If asked “You’ve met this person before. How do you feel about him?” either “I love him” or “I hate him” is better than anything middling. The exception is if it’s something you’re really not interested in pursuing.

[hannieehaee]

content: badboy!wonwoo (he's actually a cutie pie he's just v careless with his safety T-T), established relationship, break up, angst, fluffy ending (it's always fluffy endings here or i die), mentions of shady work, mentions of bruises, etc.

part 2

wc: 1191

a/n: thank you so much to the person who requested this!! im rlly bad with angst so this was hard haha if any of u want a smutty continuation pls lmk <3 i was gonna finish w smut but i wasnt sure ;-;

masterlist

"how can you expect me to care about you when you have such little regard for yourself?"

those were some of the last words wonwoo had heard from you last time he saw you.

he had, once again, arrived home late, blue and grey from yet another altercation he'd found himself in. he had promised you he'd leave his shady past behind. that he'd take care of you and you'd exist happily together, never having to worry for the other's safety.

it had taken you a while to break, begging him to put you out of your misery and either leave you or promise you a life in which you wouldn't be terrified every time he stepped foot out of the door. living without you was just unconceivable for wonwoo, which left him with only one choice.

he managed to keep his promise for about a week or two, happy to arrive punctual at home every night and find you waiting for him, more than ready to shower him with your affections.

he hadn't meant to break his promise. nothing broke him more than the look in your eyes as he entered your shared home, two hours late and with twenty missed calls from you. his skin was once again covered with bruises, disheveled hair and exhausted state to match. he hadn't thought this would be the end. that despite of his pleas to please stay, you'd still pack your bags, eyes filled with tears as you cried at him that you couldn't stay and watch him slowly kill himself like this. what you hadn't realized was that nothing could kill him more than your absence.

~

it had only been two weeks since you left him. two weeks since his last genuine smile graced his face. two weeks since he was able to sleep. and most ironically, two weeks since he'd gotten into some type of life-threatening altercation. his bruises had healed by now, taking longer than usual now that he didn't have you to tend to him like before. he still kept up with you, watching you from afar as you cruised through life. he didn't want to make you uncomfortable, hoping to respect your decision to leave and take his heart with you, but your absence was too much for him. if he couldn't have you, he'd at least watch you from afar, dreading what he had lost. so that's what he did, and thats what he was currently doing right now.

you were attending some party, he'd found out. which meant he needed to be in attendance too and watch over you. he felt dejected as he watched you have fun with your friends, sad that maybe the breakup just hadn't been that big of a deal to you. maybe you were truly better off without him. maybe he needed to leave you alone and allow you to enjoy life without a burden such as jeon wonwoo.

he wanted to leave, he truly did, but his body wouldn't let him. he just wanted you back into his life so badly. everything had turned bleak the moment you left, making him just a shell of himself. he wanted to approach you and get on his knees (in front of all the wasted party goes, even) and beg you for forgiveness. he wanted to cry out to you how much he loved you, that you were the light of his life, that he'd leave it all behind for you. but he was too much of a coward to do that. so, he prepared himself mentally in order to leave, sparing one last look your way before disappearing into the crowd. except you were gone. in his distracted state, you had left. your friends were still there, but you were the sole disappearance. wonwoo knew he should've just left you alone, but he couldn't live with himself if something were to happen to you.

he frantically looked for you for a good five minutes before finding you in some empty balcony, sitting down against the rail with your legs hanging from it. he could only see your profile, but was able to spot the shine of your cheeks, a clear indicator that you'd been crying. he once again couldn't help himself when he spoke up.

"baby?" he was slow at approaching you, not wanting to surprise you too much.

you jumped a bit anyways, "wonwoo? what are you doing here?"

"i ... i wanted to see you. i'm sorry"

you had gotten up, now facing him but keeping yourself closed off, arms wrapped around yourself and eyes not meeting his, very much unlike your usual affectionate self.

"wonwoo ... you can't keep doing this. i know you've been following me around. you need to leave me alone."

"i .."

"do you think this is easy for me? i love you. so fucking much. i just cant watch you get hurt over and over. i cant wait home late not knowing if you'll actually come back," you'd began ranting, your emotions getting stronger by the second, "every time you leave it's like i have to hold my breath, and i cant breathe until i have you back to me safely. i can't do this anymore. i love you, i-"

wonwoo couldnt take it anymore. he walked the rest of the way and held onto you. he lightly grabbed you and placed you in his arms, engulfing your shaking form against his chest. you'd begun crying halfway through your speech, your words becoming slurred and you shook and sniffled throughout. wonwoo couldn't physically handle seeing you in such distress without wanting to take it away. so he held onto you. what surprised him was that you held him back. you nuzzled your face into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around him as you sobbed against him, crying that you loved him.

"i love you ... so fucking much," pulling away, he made sure to look into your eyes as he spoke, "i can't exist without you. i'll stop- i stopped. i'll leave it all behind for you. we can leave. together. i'll do anything for you, just- please. please come back to me. i love you."

"wonwoo ..."

"i mean it! i'll keep you safe. i'll keep us safe. we can start new. just us. you'll never have to worry about me again, i promise. just need you back. please. i can't do this without you, i-"

like in any other cliche, you pulled him into you, kissing his words back into his mouth. but he didn't care. he kissed all emotions right back into yours, letting all the sadness he had in him dissipate against your lips. you kissed until you became lightheaded, sighing against each other's lips even when you were out of breath, refusing to pull away. wonwoo was finally the one to pull away, almost losing his mind at the way your lips chased after his.

"let me take you home? i love you. wanna take care of you."

and with that, you walked back into his life, hand in hand, with the promise that his love for you would keep him safe.

[spacedace]

Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

-

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

[ukelele-boy]

I was rereading some of my posts from 2021 and was reminded of how much meta I used to write so imma share my crazy headcanon/ theory which i thought up as plot for a revolution fic:

RR verse is on the "Olympus will fall" timeline and Zeus' actions are speeding it up.

In the recent decade there has been several great prophecies back to back. And people have remarked how weird it is that there have been so many. What if the reason is because of Zeus?

Remember, in greek mythology there is a major theme of how Your Fate Cannot Be Defied. And Zeus, king of Olympus, has a major Fate: being overthrown. However he managed to "defy" it by eating Metis.

My idea is that he has been forcefully clawing out a future where he is still king of Olympus. By doing this, he is literally changing the flow of fate. And obviously fate wants to correct itself, so the harder he fights it, the more counterforce he triggers. All prophecies meant to lead to his overthrowing are suddenly sped up. Olympus begins to lose power. Zeus is aware of this. He is also aware how people are becoming suspicious. And he needs a scapegoat. And who better than the god of prophecy who is also a threat to the throne?

Apollo mentions that Zeus blamed him for his oracle revealing a prophecy "too early" and therefore causing it to happen early. However, everyone knows it's not possible to actually cause a prophecy to happen early...so why would Zeus even have this weird line of thought? everyone probably dismissed it as Zeus being irrational, but there a juicier theory this ties into:

Apollo being the one to overthrow Zeus.

The idea of "fall of the sun, the final verse". What if this is the final prophecy that is meant to happen before Zeus is overthrown? And what if the fall this speaks of is actually when Apollo fell close to chaos? When he pulled himself together there?

What if he reformed different from his original godly form. He was literally almost gone, his body was disintegrating. Maybe he pulled himself together using the energies of chaos. Apollo himself isn't aware of this, due to a suspicious memory gap between him clawing up from the cliff and him waking up next to Artemis.

And this adds to another headcanon of mine, the fates choose Apollo to be the god of prophecy on purpose. At first glance, this is a horrible match. If they wanted a good servant, why would they choose someone so closely tied to his heart and so likely to fight fate? Someone who dares get them drunk just to extend a human's lifespan? UNLESS... they WANT him to eventually try and defy fate??

Imagine if fate was a compass and Zeus had forcefully wrenched the needle point at a bleak dark future where Olympus falls with him. And this river direction has been set so deeply in stone and run on for so long, it has worn a grove and become the mostly likely future.

you need someone willing to fight, someone to wrench the needle out. SOMEONE FAMILAR WITH FATE AND Prophecy. Someone who has the power to fight it and win. Someone who has the will. Perhaps a baby god who was willing to fight Python, and who would have likely died there. But if he successfully did take on the powers of prophecy, one day that same godling would fight Python again, would absorb the powers of chaos to recreate himself.

Perhaps not today and maybe not even for the next four thousand years

but one day that godling would stare down at that wretched compass hand and decide to yank the flow out of its place. And maybe, that godling means a chance for Olympus to have a different future.

Anyways that's my crazy theory i hope it wasn't too confusing. It also links up with my other story theme idea about fate, hope and apollo blah blah blah, which i rambled about in a different post.

Edit: just remembered my other crazy thought, what if ZEUS PURPOSEFULLY TRIED TO GET RID OF APOLLO NOT ONLY CAUSE HE IS A THREAT TO THE THRONE BUT ALSO BECAUSE AS THE GOD OF PROPHECY HE IS MOST LIKELY TO REALIZE SOMETHING IS WRONG AND THAT ZEUS IS MESSING WITH FATE?!???? Basically pulling a imma say you're the murderer before u realise im the murderer. (i cant remember the actual saying Lmaoo)

[atlabeth]

wake up, sunshine

knight!luke masterlist

based on this ask

pairing: knight!luke castellan x princess!reader

summary: you and luke repair some things at your kingdom's annual flower festival.

a/n: have some fluff after i destroyed their relationship in the last fic! also this is based off of the scene from rapunzel because how could it not be <3 title from the all time low song bc it is soooo them "somebody loves you for yourself" <3 they're everything

wc: 2.5k

warning(s): once again luke is kinda angsty but this is much fluffier than usual! princess is nice again, they have a couple sweet moments <3

we’ve been focusing on a lot of rough times between luke and the princess but things aren’t all bad for them!! even though she’s trying to ignore him and being forced to court a prince she isn’t interested in at all and war is imminent, war has not struck YET 

which means that things are still pretty great lol. and things are going to get a little better 

Aurelda’s flower festival always happens at the peak of spring, when all of the flowers (especially the ones only found in your kingdom) bloom, and it is full of revelry and merriment 

You’ve gone every year since you were old enough to walk, and though things have been a bit bleak for you, you’re actually excited about it! that boring prince has gone back home so you don’t have to spend the entire festival entertaining him. 

For the first time in a while, you actually get to focus on yourself and having fun. and you plan to do just that 

Of course, things are still weird between you and Luke — you know it’s your own fault, and you know that’s how it has to be, but you still hate it — but you can’t stop thinking about his words from that night as your lady’s maid helps you get ready for the festival. 

You may not care about what you want, but I do. And my loyalty is to you, princess. Not to your parents. And certainly no prince. 

Your heart twists painfully but you hide any emotion. The last thing you need is your maids spreading rumors. They already gossip about how close you and Luke are. You don’t need any star-crossed lovers narratives going on when your friendship is being put through the wringer of your own accord. 

You’re wearing a more casual outfit than usual—though your parents usually want you adorned in gowns and over the top dresses, you insisted on a simpler dress that cut off around your ankles for the ease of movement. It has plenty of embroidered flowers, of course. 

You planned to participate in every festival activity, no matter what your parents said. You deserved to have some fun after being so serious for the past month. 

You’re stuck in meetings the entire day before the festival, so you’re brimming with unspent energy the second you step out of the palace. Your leg bounces up and down the entire carriage ride, and you talk at (not to) your parents the whole time. 

You’re excited, okay? And you deserve to be. things have been rough lately, and with the prince’s presence, woefully boring. You can’t wait to get back in the middle of your kingdom and see your people. You love your subjects, and you always love when you get to meet and talk to them in person. 

Luke, on the other hand, is slightly stressed. 

As this is his inaugural year as your knight, it is a season of firsts for him, and every first comes with unhealthy amounts of stress. 

His first ball with you, his first time in another kingdom with you, his first festival with you, his first time being at odds with you. 

Luke honestly doesn’t know how you feel about him right now. You’ve put an impressive amount of distance between you and him, and you rarely talk to him outside of necessity, but he sees your lingering glances in his direction. He notices when you don’t rebuke his attempts at friendly conversation.

Luke meant every word that he said. He knows you, and he knows you don’t want this—you at least don’t want to leave him in the dark like this. So he isn’t going to let you go that easily. 

Your avoidance of him may be a good thing, though, because at least it means you don’t see his reaction when you leave your room wearing your festival dress. 

Luke has always thought of you as the most beautiful girl he knows, and that hasn’t changed with time. 

You always stun in your ballgowns and any Aureldan finery, but there’s just something about you wearing such a simplistic dress, heightened by embroidered flowers, that makes him weak in the knees. 

Maybe it’s because Luke has imagined a life away from all of this so many times. You’re not a princess, and he’s not a knight, but you’re devoted to each other the same—you just don’t have any royal strings attached. 

Apart from being a knight, Luke has never really cared where his future took him, as long as it was with you. He knows he would give up all of this and more if it meant he could share a simple life with you. 

Thankfully, he’s composed himself by the time you look at him, though he can’t push away all the lingering thoughts. 

“Are you attending the festival today, Sir Castellan?” you ask.

He hates it when you call him that, but he nods. “Of course. You’re going out into the kingdom—you need security.”

“It is a festival,” you drawl. “Nothing will happen.”

“It is still necessary,” he says. “You can think of me as your knightly escort.”

That actually gets a bit of a laugh out of you, and he suppresses a smile. “My escort. How improper of you.”

“Today is meant to be a day of festivities,” Luke says. “Impropriety may be allowed just this once.” 

Your smile remains as you start to walk together, and Luke knows he could live off of its warmth alone. 

And when you finally reach your destination, your smile gets even bigger.

It’s been far too long since you’ve gotten to be in the midst of your kingdom, surrounded by all your people. This is the part of your position that you love—you just wish your parents trusted you with it more. 

Your parents are busy with their image—they’re speaking later today, you’re sure, and right now they’re discussing things with some kind of village leader—which gives you the perfect opportunity to slip away. 

Luke is right behind you, of course, but it’s always been hard to keep up with you. You’ve grown very skilled at weaving your way through crowds, but thankfully Luke has grown very skilled at keeping an eye on you. 

By the time he catches up to you, though, it’s too late. 

“Princess—” Luke calls in protest, but you’re already off to greet a group of children calling your name. 

You know exactly how to stress him out, running off like that without him immediately behind you, but he can’t find any anger inside of him.

Luke hasn’t forgotten your words. He doesn’t know how he could. 

But in this moment, it’s so easy to see why he can’t just do his duty and let you go. 

The way you crouch down to be on their level, how you listen so intently to everything they say, your dazzling smile. 

Yes, one could say it’s your duty to be kind to your people, but for many royals, that’s not true. You’ve always cared about the people of Aurelda, ever since you were young—that may have been one of the few things that hasn’t changed as you’ve grown. Luke has always admired that about you. 

In this moment, you’re not the crown princess. You’re just you. And it’s hard for anyone not to love you. 

…It’s hard for him not to love you. 

yeah. 

this is the moment that luke realizes he loves you. like loves you loves you. 

And it doesn’t come as much of a shock to him. Luke has always loved you, one way or another. He’s just now understanding the kind of love he holds for you now. 

wants to spend the rest of his life with you, would throw himself onto a sword for you, would do absolutely anything for you type loves you. 

If anything, it brings some form of relief. 

He loves you. You don’t love him, and you’re going to marry a prince someday. Maybe within the year. 

It’s as simple as that. 

except it isn’t, obviously 

because you love him too!! you just don’t know it yet!! and you don’t really want to marry the prince your parents are pushing at you, you just don’t see any other way. 

But it’s not like Luke knows that. he may be the youngest person to ever become part of the kingsguard but he is ~ insecure ~ and he cannot imagine anyone liking him like that, especially you!!! 

Luke comes back into himself when you bound back over to him, and he notices the flower crown balancing precariously on your head. 

You have the biggest grin on your face, and though the gowns you wear at balls and fancier events are great, you’re nothing less than stunning in your simple dress. You’re slightly out of breath and your skin is luminescent with the glow of exertion. He can’t help but smile.  

Have you always been this beautiful? He’s pretty sure you have, but he doesn’t know how he didn’t realize it sooner. 

Luke has loved you for a while, he thinks. Maybe he always has—maybe that’s what the warm feeling he gets in his chest when he looks at you is. Maybe that’s what made his heart clench every time a prince danced with you at that ball. 

Maybe his love for you has always been what’s pushed him forward. 

“Luke,” you said, and once again, you snapped him out of his thoughts. You were absolutely beaming at him, and you wore a flower crown on your head. “Are you there?” 

Luke, he realized. Not Sir Castellan, for what felt like the first time in weeks. 

“I’m always here,” he said. “I’ve got superior training, princess.” 

“Of course,” you said with mock austerity, nodding sagely. “I could never forget.” 

You held up another flower crown, one similar to yours, and your smile grew. “The kids made another one, too. They said it was for my grumpy looking knight.” 

Luke scoffed, but there was no edge to it. “I’m not grumpy. Merely cautious.” 

“Oh, yes,” you said dryly. “I’m sure those kids had devious plans, Luke.” 

That got the slightest of smiles out of him, and it spurned warmth in your chest. “It’s my—” 

“It’s your job to watch me,” you finished. “I know. Just teasing you.” 

“And I welcome it,” he said. “It’s nice to see you like this, princess.” 

“Talking to my people and actually making a difference?” you guessed. 

“Happy,” he corrected. 

“Yes, well…” you trailed off, glancing away for a moment as you shrugged. “I’ve been busy.” 

“And for once, you don’t look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.” Luke’s eyes drifted to the flower crown sitting on your head, and his smile grew. “It suits you.” 

“Carelessness or flower crowns?” you asked wryly. 

“Flower crowns.” Luke crossed his arms. “You’re far from careless, princess.”

You rolled your eyes 

“You’ve got to stop talking down on yourself like that,” he said. “Like nothing you say or do matters. Because it does. It may not feel like it, but you’re doing valuable work.” 

“Oh, yes,” you said breezily. “I’m sure sitting in meetings that don’t matter and looking pretty as I stand in the background during my father’s speeches is valuable work.” 

“That’s not what I mean.” Luke gestured at the crowd of people around, specifically pointing at the group of kids that you’d entertained. “You fight for them every day, even if you don’t realize it. You care about these people, princess, which is already more than half of the people in that castle do for them. Why else would they adore you?” 

You bit your lip and glanced away. It was hard to take Luke’s words to heart when you truly felt like you were doing nothing—when it felt like the only thing you could possibly be good for was a marriage. 

But you did argue with your parents near every chance you got on matters of support and aid for your people. It was the least you could do, especially when you knew you would never really have to deal with consequences. 

(There was a reason most of your father’s advisors had to suppress groans every time you would sit in on a meeting. You took pride in your ability to annoy.) 

“Let’s call a truce, okay?”

You frowned. Now it was Luke bringing you out of your thoughts. “A truce?”

“I don’t want you to keep avoiding me, and I don’t think you’re really enjoying it either.” Luke met your gaze. “We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember, princess. Don’t let boring princes come between that.”

You glanced away. “Luke…” 

“I know,” he said with a sigh. “I know your duty, and I know mine. But seeing you today, so carefree and happy—it’s worth more than a million gold pieces to me.” 

You’d been dancing around this topic since the night you pushed him away. It just hurt too much to talk about, and you felt like you didn’t have a right to be hurt—not when you were the one that did it. 

You loved Luke—he’d been your best friend for as long as you could remember. But you would be lying if you said you didn’t hate the time you’ve been spending apart. 

“We’re both getting older, I know. And we both have responsibilities we’re going to take on. God, someday, you’re going to be queen.” Luke huffed a laugh, though his eyes never wavered from you. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t get through it together. Just like we’ve gotten through everything else together.” 

Luke held out his hand. “So? Truce?” 

You stared at his hand for a moment, unable to meet his eyes. You knew exactly what you wanted to say but you felt like you couldn’t. 

Because dammit, your days felt so dull. You always wanted to talk about your day and how boring your lessons were or the bullshit your father’s advisors have been discussing in meetings, and Luke was always the person you wanted to talk to about it all. He always has been. 

And you pushed him away. 

Before you could doubt yourself, you ignored his hand entirely and pulled him into a tight hug. Luke wrapped his arms around you immediately, holding you close. 

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” you whispered. God, how you’d missed his embrace—you never felt safer than when you were in his arms. “And I’m sorry for being so stupid.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, princess,” he murmured. “And you’re certainly not stupid. Don’t even think that way.” 

You let out a breathy laugh as you pulled away, smiling softly at Luke. “I’m stupid to ever think I could really stay away from you.” 

and for the rest of the festival, you and luke are practically inseparable<3 not just because he’s your guard but because you’re best friends. 

You’re not going to let anything change that going forward. any prince that wants to marry you is just going to have to deal with that. 

(you even get him to wear that flower crown.)

(and though he tries to hide it, he kind of loves it.) 

(mostly because he loves you<3) 

[eunseoksimp]

Golden Boy ; Osaki Shotaro

Pairings: Bestie!Shotaro x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst

Description: Shotaro is everyone’s favourite person. Extremely lovable and kind to those around him, but there’s only so much he can take, especially when you keep pushing his limits.

Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, smut, minors dni.

a/n: shotaro’s been heavy on the brain recently, so this is extremely self indulgent.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

‘can someone remind me why we decided to put sohee in charge of the booking?’ chaewon’s irritated tone rang through the room, and anton who was nearby snickered.

‘don’t go laughing like that isn’t your best friend.’

it was finally summer break, bleak winters and stressing in libraries far behind you. so naturally it was right for you and your friend group to plan a getaway for the week.

only, things weren’t going quite to plan. at the start of the month, everyone was assigned with different tasks and unfortunately, sohee was left to book the place you were meant to stay.

but in typical boy fashion, he had chosen something far away from the activities you wanted to do, and the rooms weren’t looking the best either.

‘i told you to leave it up to shotaro, we were doomed from the start,’ you quipped in, the aforementioned boy not too far behind you as he broke into a wide smile.

osaki shotaro was the glue of the friendship. the dependable friend who always planned ahead, and got along well with everyone. you could never catch him without a smile on his face, and everyone else’s comfort was always a priority.

‘i booked us another place, just in case something like this happened. lucky us,’ he basked in everyone’s praises, paying particular attention to the way you patted him on the top of his head.

‘you’re a star taro.’

‘shotaro to the rescue.’

‘what’s wrong with the place i got us,’ sohee grumbled, phone in his hand pitifully as he pretended not to notice that it was in fact better.

‘stop whining and get in the car.’

wonbin and shotaro were the designated drivers, given that sungchan complained about a wrist problem, which he may or may not have been lying about just to get out of being the one behind the wheel.

so it left those two, and the friendship group decided the cars they were getting into based on an alarmingly competitive game of rock paper scissors.

‘yes, i got shotaro,’ you pumped your first in the air after being the second one to win, no longer caring as you hopped into the front seat, barely catching sight of seunghan dramatically dropping to his knees after losing to sungchan.

the journey felt longer than necessary, mainly because wonbin kept getting lost on the way. but your group of you, chaewon, shotaro and sungchan were more than okay because shotaro was the one behind the wheel.

his speed never faltered, skilfully maneuvering the car so that speed bumps were barely felt, and his playlist left you decently entertained, a couple songs that each individual could enjoy in there.

‘remind me to never get into a car with wonbin again,’ anton dramatically hopped out of the car, headphones now around his neck as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

‘oh come on, it wasn’t that bad,’ wonbin was the last to get out, keys in hand.

he had only gotten his license last month, but you had witnessed him almost reverse into the metal pole in front of your house, and instantly knew you were in no rush to be riding with him any time soon.

‘my poor baby, did the big bad diva scare you?’ you cooed, and anton played into it, jokingly sniffling as he dropped his head to your shoulder.

‘at least i have a license. not all of us can rely on shotaro to drive you places,’ he fires back, narrowing his eyes at the both of you.

‘don’t be jealous because i’m treated like the princess you so badly want to be.’

but he was right. your parents had nagged for months, wondering why you weren’t even trying to study for a drivers test. but why would you need to when shotaro would be there at a drop of a pen.

‘i’ll take you wherever you want to go,’ he told you last year when he first got his license, and he stuck to his word, picking you up and dropping you off whenever you needed. if he wasn’t available he would ask eunseok, who would complain about gas prices and leaving his warm home, but still come and get you anyway.

you were spoiled.

‘i’ve got your bags, let’s go in,’ shotaro passes by, your luggage juggled between two hands as he already makes his way through the now opened door, courtesy of sungchan.

the villa was beautiful, a dream vacation home, equipped with marble tiles and panoramic views. the kitchen was as wide as your living room, the appliances new and countertop squeaky clean.

‘maybe shotaro was on to something,’ sohee accepted defeat, that once again shotaro was the best man for the job and you all agreed.

excited to be away from the loud bustle of the city, you were the first one to slide the doors open and step into the patio, a huge pool greeting you.

this was going to be fun.

you felt another presence beside you, the familiar tufts of blonde hair coming in to view.

‘i put your stuff in your room, you’re sharing with chaewon,’ you grinned, drawing nearer to press a kiss on his cheek.

‘thanks taro, you’re the best,’ the blush on his cheeks only made you smile wider. he was too cute.

‘just doing my job.’

and that was what he continued to do. he was there when you spoke about craving pancakes the night before, waking up early to drive to the grocery store just to get you what was needed.

when you got out of the shower, lazily walking though the house and flopping onto the couch, he held your head in his lap as he dried your hair.

opening car doors, doing your seatbelt, holding your hand as you walked through the rocky beach. but not just you.

‘shotaro you should drive to the grocery store.’

‘shotaro can you call the guide and tell him we’re going to be late.’

‘shotaro i’m hungry can you make me some food?’

shotaro, shotaro, shotaro.

his smiley disposition made it harder for his friends to notice just how far they were pushing him. he didn’t mind helping others, but it was beginning to take a toll on him.

his energy slowly depletes, and on the last night of the trip he plops onto the couch, sighing as he tilts his head back.

how long could he keep his act up?

it wasn’t like he was a sociopath or anything, he did truly like his friends and loved that they relied on him, only showing off just how dependable he was.

but it all added up to the image that everyone had of him. the cute golden retriever, who needed to be babied and coddled, because he was too ‘innocent for this world.’

conversations about sex were often paused, with jokes about him not being able to handle it being thrown left and right.

he was always being hounded about the fact that not many girls seemed to linger around him.

‘you know how shotaro is, he’s probably just shy.’

the first time seunghan saw a girl leave your room one morning it became the topic of conversation for the next week.

‘how did you manage to do that? did you start crying half way through? my bet is you only lasted one minute.’

the friendship group was very oddly sexually charged. of course you never made advances towards each other, but your closeness permitted each other to talk about everything. in great detail.

and when shotaro wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing what happened, they just believed their assumptions were correct, cooing and teasing him.

he didn’t mind as much, after all he was sure that a lot of it were just jokes. it wasn’t like he wanted to stop hiding his desires anytime soon anyways.

‘we’re playing a game, courtesy of our little friend,’ your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, soju bottles in both of your hands as you sank down into the seat next to him.

thus started an alcohol fuelled session of truth or dare. for the most part the asks and dares were fairly tame; text the last person you messaged that you missed them, down 5 shots in under a minute.

quickly it was your turn again, and it was clear that the effects of the sweet liquor was seeping into your behaviour.

‘if you had to fuck one person in this room, who would it be?,’ chaewon slurred her words, eyes barely open as she points right at you.

you tap your chin, as if you’re actually giving great consideration to the question, before going through everyone in the circle.

‘hmm let’s see. eunseok has too much of a god complex, he’d probably moan his own name. respectfully sungchan has a girlfriend so pass. i think anton might call me mommy unironically, probably cry too. wonbin loves himself too much, same as eunseok. i only see sohee and seunghan like my little brothers.’

everyone laughed along, some protests thrown your way from eunseok and wonbin, but only one person sat waiting eagerly, the only persons name you didn’t mention. did that mean he was the one?

‘wait you skipped shotaro,’ anton called out, holding up six fingers.

‘did i?’

‘yeah you spoke about everyone else here but him.’

‘probably just a subconscious thing. my mind knew he wasn’t an option,’ you shrugged.

ouch.

‘why not?’ everyone waited expectantly as they watched you. it was no secret that the both of you were extremely close, so it wouldn’t be strange if you had thought about it before.

‘too boring,’ your answer was short, like it was something so obvious, not even worthy of debate. chaewon snorts, soju shooting out of her nose but she covers her mouth, because she knows exactly what you’re talking about.

‘what do you mean,’ shotaro speaks up finally, and for a split second the air feels tense. everyone thought he would just laugh it off, like he usually would, but he was the only one that looked serious.

‘you’re just too vanilla for me babe, no hard feelings.’

his jaw ticks, eyebrows furrowed as he processes what you said.

‘are you sure? you haven’t been- laid in a long time. i personally think shotaro would be a great fuck,’ sungchan vouches for his best friend, although the weight of his judgement was seriously downplayed by the fact that he couldn’t even keep his head up.

‘osaki shotaro? the most vanilla guy on this planet? i’ll pass,’ you’re doubling down on your statement, and it only emphasises the way you view him.

‘i’m not vanilla, stop saying that’ shotaro retorts, the laughter of everyone else in the room causing

his head to spin.

‘sure you aren’t babe. and i’m not the hottest bitch in this friend group,’ you pat his thigh.

your words linger in his mind. vanilla? he was far from it. if only you knew the dirty thoughts that circled his mind.

he was so sick of everyone coddling him, treating him like a little virgin boy, a novice at the act.

just because he wasn’t as vocal about his experiences as the rest of you guys were, doesn’t mean they didn’t happen at all.

he allows it to eat at his mind for the rest of

the night, and you continued to only make it worse for him.

‘stop touching each other, gross. poor shotaro doesn’t even know what to do.’

strike one.

someone could literally run over his dog and he would probably apologise. biggest pushover in the universe.

strike two.

he’s definitely got golden retriever energy. i just pity the girl who tries to start anything sexual with him, he’ll probably freak the fuck out.

strike three.

his blood was boiling, a dull thump ringing in his ears. his hands were turning white, the way he had continuously clenched and unclenched his fists.

what was so wrong with being a good guy? must everyone display on their foreheads the freaky shit they like to get up to in their free time.

‘tell them- tell the guys what you said to me yesterday,’ chaewon sat on wonbin’s lap, practically screaming in his ear as he winced, slapping a hand over her mouth.

‘about what? that shotaro has a small dick?’

you’re out.

the alcohol had clearly gotten to you, your mouth a lot more sharp as it lacked the ability to filter the things you were saying. it was obviously a joke to you, you couldn’t care less if it was big or not, it wasn’t like you were ever going to fuck him.

‘come find out if it’s really small,’ he glares, the words sharp on his tongue, but you couldn’t take him seriously.

‘who let shotaro loose.’

all the teasing does nothing to quell his anger. is this the image everyone had of him? a small dicked pushover? if only they knew.

the mind of shotaro osaki was dark. riddled with lust and mean thoughts, but he kept them all at bay. ever since he was in high school he figured he would scare people away if they knew how he truly felt, what truly kept him up at night?

one by one everyone reached their limits, retreating to their beds for the night, a stumbling mess.

but you sat there, empty bottle in hand, head pounding as you tried to sober up a little. you hadn’t even realised you had dozed off, not until you woke up and were met with a semi dark room, completely silent.

shotaro’s jumper was draped over you, and a glass of water and some tablets were placed on the table in front of you. appreciative, you guzzle the cool water down, loving the way it soothes your throat.

you would have thought you were alone if it wasn’t for shotaro’s hunched over figure in the corner of the room, almost scaring you shitless.

‘taro, are you okay?’ you call out.

he lifts his head, seeing that you’re awake and rises to his feet, completely ignoring your question.

‘my room. now’

he left no time for you to protest, already walking towards the room he had to himself, as you trailed behind nervously.

this was the first time you’d ever seen him so angry, and you feared that you might have taken it too far this time.

you racked your brain, thinking of the right things to say, anything to bring back your friends usual self.

he waited for you to come inside before closing the door behind you, and you heard a click.

‘shotaro i-‘

‘i didn’t ask you to speak.’

you froze in shock, not used to his tone of voice, and you almost craned your neck around to see if he was talking to someone else.

he stalked closer to you, stopping right in front, only inches apart.

‘is this what you would call small,’ in an instant he has your small hand in his, guiding it towards the print in his trousers and you gasp in shock, jumping back.

it was huge, enough to make you swallow your words and bite your lip as your mind runs rampant.

‘you know, everyone expects me to be some type of angel sent from heaven or something. i’m at everyone beck and call, innocent little shotaro who will do anything you ask. he’s too nice to know anything, he’s probably a virgin.’

‘it pisses me off. especially hearing you do it.’

‘it was-‘

‘stop.fucking.talking,’ he’s livid, enunciating each word and he’s soon got you backed up, edging closer and closer to the edge of his bed.

‘you’re a fucking brat, you know that. i do all these things for you and this is how you repay me? brats like you need a good fuck to get their minds straight. don’t you?’

you’re at a loss of words, trying to figure out how the sweet, lovable shotaro that you know is now looking down at you with a twist of malice and lust. but more importantly, why was it sending a shiver down your spine, squeezing your legs together as you gulp.

he notices, and he chuckles, running a hand over his face, ‘i fucking knew it.’

in one swift movement you were on your back, back hitting the mattress hard, but you have no opportunity to adjust as shotaro settles over you.

‘no hard feelings babe, i’ve got a lot of anger built up inside of me. you’ll let me take it out on you, yeah?’

you nod dumbly, thinking nothing of his words, expecting nothing too crazy. but boy were you wrong.

that’s how you found yourself in your current position shaking with pleasure and pain. twitching, sniffling, and trying to get away but he won’t let you escape so you resort to begging and pleading.

‘please im sorry, im sorry please just-‘ you can’t even finish your sentence, another moan ripping through your throat and you blink rapidly, the tears sticking to your eyelashes, that had been building up for the past couple of minutes, began to fall.

you hope that he’d see your current state, take mercy on you and eventually ease himself out of you. but the tears only encourage him to see how messy you could really get.

‘don’t cry now- fucking take it,’ he’s ruthless, your legs are pushed back, further and further till they’re almost reaching your ears, and the new angle makes you feel him even more.

‘take it, take it, take it,’ his hips snap viciously into yours, practically splitting you open as you use all the strength you can muster to push away, your palm flat against his pelvis as you shake your head.

‘move your fucking hand,’ he doesn’t slow down, looking down at your weak attempt to get him to stop.

‘taro-taro please- i-‘

‘i didn’t ask you to fucking speak did i? just shut the fuck up and take it,’ he delivers a harsh slap to your cheek, and although it stings, it makes you start to cream around him.

‘look at you, like a dumb fucking slut. cant even use your words, just panting like a bitch in heat.’

‘stupid slut, you like when i call you names and throw you around. such a fuck-fucking whore,’ you’re squeezing him, tighter and tighter as you feel your third orgasm of the night approaching you.

shotaro had spent the majority of your friendship lending his ears to all your sex stories, slightly jealous when he heard all about how much you loved it rough.

but now he didn’t have to fuck other girls and pretend they were you, he had the real thing right in front of him.

‘fuck-fuck-fuck,’ you chant, practically floating as you feel so close. he’s fucking you so good, so deep that you’re sure his dick will leave a permanent imprint in your pussy.

‘look me in the eye, there you go. look at me while you- shit. while you make a mess all over my cock,’ he’s dipping his head lower, till your noses are practically bumping against each other, wanting to see for himself how he destroys you.

you don’t last much longer, a couple of rubs to your clit and you feel the coil in your stomach snap as your head hangs back, lips parted as you convulse under him.

you expected that to be the end, for him to at least slow down, but he does nothing of the sort, overstimulating you till you’re practically wrestling out of his grip, legs giving out as a string of curses escape your lips.

‘n-n-no more. please taro,’ it’s getting harder for you to breathe, the grip he has on your throat and hip simultaneously giving you no chance of escaping.

‘aww but i thought this was what you wanted? getting fucked stupid, that’s why you said isn’t it,’ the smile that used to bring you comfort was now making you shiver, something so sinister about the way he looked down at you.

‘i can’t anymore. p-please taro let me go.’

‘i’m not done with you yet,’ you see the evil glint in his eye, as he flips you over, forcibly pushing down onto your spine until you arch perfectly for him.

you find yourself crying once again, overwhelmed as you scrunch the sheets between your hand, needing something to ground you.

‘you say you don’t want it but look how that pussy’s squeezing for me,’ it’s hard to believe such filthy words are leaving shotaro’s lips.

‘who’s got you so wet?’

‘fuck baby, do you feel that?’

digging his nails now into the skin of your hips. your eyes roll back as you feel the head of his cock now pressing up against your cervix with each brutal, angry thrust.

‘who’s fucking you this good? let the whole house hear it.’

you shake your head, biting your bottom lip so hard it draws blood as you desperately try not to scream but shotaro has other plans.

‘what did i just fucking say? huh?’ he wraps his hand around your hair, yanking you up until his lips are right by your ears.

your senses are overwhelmed as you try oh so hard to contain yourself, clenching around him even harder.

‘shit, you taro. fucking me so good’ you whine so loudly, you’re sure that the neighbours would be able to hear.

it’s all becoming too much for you, your eyes unfocusing, rolling behind your head. head buried in the pillows, throat sore as you shake your head from side to side

your hands snake out from underneath your head in an attempt to slow him down but it’s no use. it makes him go even faster, even deeper as he holds your wrists between his hands.

“tsk, i thought i taught you better than that, princess,” shotaro quips, the condescending tone sending waves of heat up your spine.

the squelching noises gradually increasing, the sounds you were making were filthy and it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.

but other people walking in on you two was the least of your concerns. it was hard to conjure up a single thought, the way shotaro is pummelling into you overtaking ever single sense.

you could barely hold yourself up anymore, leaning all of your weight into shotaro, legs and mind numb, as you let him degrade you even more, leading you to yet another orgasm.

only this one feels a little different. he was hitting the spot, over and over again, practically drilling into you and you felt an immense amount of tingling in your bottom half.

‘taro- oh fuck- you have to-have to stop. i think-shit i think i need to pee.’

you’re embarrassed, scared that if he doesn’t listen to you that you might end up urinating all over him. but he doesn’t care, nor does he stop.

you hit his thigh repeatedly, shaking your head as you desperately try to get away from him, but he’s much stronger than you, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you there as he continues.

you felt so full, the pressure only increasing with each thrust as you practically grow limp in his arms. a squeal leaves your lips, followed by a large volume of clear liquid, soaking both you and shotaro, all over his thighs and seeping into the sheets underneath you both.

‘there we go, knew you could do it,’ he groans, unable to take his eyes away from the pool of cum, obsessed with how you were both covered in it.

he wants to make you do it again, to tease you and draw another orgasm out of you, but you’re well spent, twitching in his arms as you mumble.

‘no more- no more.’

although he knew he could go for two more rounds if he really wanted to, he respected the way your body was telling him that you were done.

‘shhh it’s alright. i’ve got you baby,’ he lifts you off of him, sweat coating your body as you cling onto him.

and then you pass out, unable to carry on anymore, letting shotaro take care of you as he cleans you up, then tucks you in your own bed, whispering some excuse to chaewon about finding you asleep on the couch by yourself when she stirs from her sleep.

then he’s back to his normal self, smiling widely as he watches everyone take their seat at the table, busying himself by the stove.

you were the last one to arrive, barely able to walk, legs practically jelly as you take small steps.

‘what happened to you?’ sungchan quipped, but you were too busy trying to relearn how to work with the newfound ache in your legs to give him a suitable comeback.

if it wasn’t for the effects you were feeling from last night, you would chalk it all down to being an extremely vivid wet dream.

but there was no mistake, shotaro osaki fucked you within an inch of your life yesterday night. and judging by the smirk on his lips, his eyes following your every moment, something tells you it wouldn’t be the last time.

guess he wasn’t such a golden boy after all.

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 6 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warnings(s): 2004 was not a good time for the gays. homophobia persists. insecurity about weight and insulting oneself about it.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 7

You dipped into your savings and got Regina a new, fancy moisturizer. You couldn't count on her using it instead of the lard, but well. Guide a horse to water, can't make it drink, and all that.

You didn't tell her about the Homecoming prank, though. She'd been pissed about that. Not for long, because then it turned into a sort of trend at Northshore and it only boosted her popularity.

You were perhaps more upset about it. Upset you'd let it happen, upset they'd done it in the first place, upset Regina stood there with Aaron. He didn't even look like he wanted to be there.

Regina managing to turn it around for her benefit didn't stop you from feeling bad. It was the principle of the thing. You'd taken some distance from her. Everybody, actually. People just didn't feel all that great to be around. You were betraying Regina by letting her be essentially bullied by Janis, you were tolerating Regina's abusive reign over the student body, Aaron was getting on your last nerve by simply existing, and your mom's death anniversary was coming up.

You went to the Georges' less. Regina came to yours when you didn't lie about having to catch up on homework or doing a project. You did do some yard work for them since you still needed the extra cash. Just basic things like raking leaves and doing small repairs here and there. You also covered the pool with Mrs George's help.

"Whew, I forget what a chore that is every year!" She wiped at her forehead. You laid on the grass, chest heaving. You'd carried maybe seventy per cent of that thing.

"You said it, Mrs George." You managed to get out.

"How many years have I been telling you to call me Jude. Or just mom." You looked up at her. She looked so much like Regina. Or Regina looked so much like her.

She'd known your mom. Cried harder at her funeral than your dad or even yourself. You hadn't really gotten it, at that point. She'd hugged you tight and told you what an amazing woman she was, that she hadn't deserved to go yet. She sent you food for weeks after, which you appreciated because dad was too busy sorting stuff out to cook for you.

She'd been more of a mom to you than your own had ever gotten to be. Still, it felt wrong to call her anything other than Mrs George. It was weird. Word association gone all wrong. Mom meant a casket being lowered into a hole on a bleak November day, an echoing house and an empty kitchen, sad and wistful things. Mrs George meant afternoons spent running around in the backyard, eating 'till your belly was full to bursting, happiness and summer.

"Many, many years." You groaned as you got up. "Is Reggie home?"

You figured it would be weird if you didn't go say hi, at least. You didn't want to cut her out entirely. It was just hard being around her when the weight of your own actions, and inactions, weighed on your shoulders.

She smiled in a way that told you she'd noticed your deflection. "In her room."

"Great. Oh, by the way, what did you do with the apples this year?"

"I convinced Rick to donate them to the women's shelter downtown. They'll be put to good use there."

"That's awesome," You put your hands to your hips and looked around. "Anything you want me to do?"

"I'll just hose down the rose bushes, you head on inside. Avoid the living room, Rick's on a conference call." She waved you off with a smile.

You trod through the house carefully, shoes in hand. You knew the Georges were a shoes-on household, but it just never felt right for you to walk on carpeted floors with your shoes on. What if you had stepped on dogshit? What then?

"Reg?" Her door was open a crack, so you peeked in. "You decent?"

"Yes, I'm decent." You could hear the eye roll in her voice. "What do you want?"

Yikes. She wasn't happy.

You walked in and closed the door behind you. She was on her bed, reading a book on her belly. She was snacking on some candy bar.

"I just came to say hi. I put the pool cover on with your mom." You walked up to her. "What're you reading?"

"I could hear you huffing and puffing all the way up here." She turned on her side to look at you. "The Catcher in the Rye. It's boring."

"I dunno, I liked it." You climbed in hesitantly. When she didn't protest, you settled down on your side facing her, head leaned against your palm.

"You've read it?" She tossed the book on the floor next to the bed, now giving you her full attention. "Can you write my paper?"

"Depends on how much you'll pay me." You grinned and rubbed your fingers together like you were handling cash.

"Boo, you whore." She pouted. "Aren't we supposed to be beyond that?"

"I don't do charity, my friend." You flopped onto your back and crossed your arms. Shit, she had a comfy bed. So soft but just firm enough, too. You let your eyes close. You were so tired from all that physical labour.

"Get off my bed, you traitor." You opened your eyes too late. She was already on you, pushing you, and you had no time to resist until you were toppling onto the floor. You clambered down in a mess of limbs and sheets, which you'd grabbed in your desperate attempt to stay aboard.

"Reg! Your bed is actually high up! Help me!" You felt like Mufasa clinging to the face of the cliff, fingers digging into the slippery bedding. One of your legs was still on the bed, but not securely enough that you would've been able to pull yourself to safety.

"Just put your leg on the floor, dumbass." She cackled, watching you panic over such a small drop.

"No, look, it's not that- close." You lowered your leg and your knee made contact with the floor. Regina fell back, gasping as she laughed. "Shut up, you teapot!"

"No! I'm not-" She tried to stifle the laughs escaping her, the real wheezing ones she didn't let out of their cage willingly, but one look at you set it off again. "Your hair!"

You lifted your hands to your head. "It's not my fault your sheets are fucking static."

By the time Mrs George came to inform you that she'd be starting on dinner, thus signifying you should probably go, Regina had stopped laughing, if just barely.

"Have you been using the moisturizer I gave you?" You tried to analyze her face. It didn't look any less flawless than usual.

"Yeah, it's really great. My old night lotion started smelling weird for some reason. Maybe it expired early or something." You just hummed in response.

"I should probably go home and make myself dinner too."

"I'll walk you down."

You walked down the stairs and to the backdoor, avoiding the living room despite the blaring of the TV. Mr George was definitely not on a call anymore.

"What're you making today?" Regina asked, standing somewhat awkwardly on the porch.

"Probably tacos. I found a great deal on some corn tortillas at the store. They're all going bad today, so. Gonna stuff myself."

"Save some for me, yeah?"

You weren't sure what she meant by that. "Sure."

You walked home and as you'd said, got started on dinner. Moving around the kitchen without Regina there in the way, chopping whatever vegetables into misshapen cubes, felt weird. She wasn't over that often, but you'd gotten used to it regardless.

It was perhaps your biggest flaw as a person, how intolerant you were to being alone. Ironic, considering how much time you had to spend alone.

If it was up to you, you would've made Birria tacos with a good cut of sirloin, but you didn't have the money for fresh cuts of beef. Besides, you hadn't even started on the stew, and that took a whole day. So, you settled on some basic ground beef filling. You had made Pico de Gallo earlier that day, so it was nice and flavourful by the time you were constructing your tacos.

Back when you'd still needed a babysitter, there had been this one Mexican lady who appeared on the roster most often. It was so long ago you couldn't remember her name. She'd made you call her Abuela. She was sweet and taught you the wonder of Latin American cuisine. From what you could understand, she'd been well-travelled and really loved food everywhere.

She stopped coming when all of your babysitters did. The last time you saw her, you hadn't known it would be the last time.

This time of year really made you a monster. A dull grey, depressing monster. You'd have to find some exciting hobby because even you were getting sick of this. Maybe cliff jumping?

A knock on your door was the last thing you expected when you were finally ready to chow down. Making such a huge amount of food took time.

"What?" You barked to whoever dared to disturb you. "Oh, shit."

"Is that how you greet all your dinner guests?" Regina asked, batting her eyelashes. She had on a deep red dress, shiny satin that licked at the curves and edges of her body just right. It reached all the way to her feet, where you could see black heels peeking out from under the hem. She stood taller than usual, but still so short you could see above her head. The dress was strapless as far as you could tell as her jacket was covering her shoulders. Sweetheart neckline and a clutch to match. She had a thin gold chain around her neck with a small R-charm on it. Gold hoop earrings, hair done up in curls.

A grin crept up onto her face as you continued to gape at her visage. "I know, right?" She posed, one hand holding the clutch at level with her thigh and one poised at her waist. "I'm so sexy."

"Yeah, uh, yes, you are." You stuttered, stunned and flustered. You wanted to touch her, feel the fabric of the dress with the tips of your fingers, grab a hold of her and press close to her. She looked so fucking good.

"Thanks, baby." She took a couple of steps forward to reach you and, nonchalant as could be, brushed her hand at your shoulder as if she were brushing off dust.

Your knees wobbled.

"I have dinner for us." You blurted out. "I, uh..." You needed to pull it together. "I'm gonna go change."

"You do that," Regina said with an indulgent smile. You shot up the stairs.

When you came back down, still tucking your shirt into your trousers and tie undone, Regina was sitting on the couch perusing a magazine. It was probably from last year or something, you didn't exactly update the stuff under the coffee table.

You coughed to get her attention. "Ready for dinner, Reggie?"

"Ugh, don't ruin the moment. Anything other than that."

"I'm Jorts and you're Reggie, that's how it's been." You reminded and gently plucked her clutch from her hands before gesturing for her to turn around. She did, looking a little confused. When you reached to take her jacket off, she recoiled.

"Um, I would like to keep it on." She said, the confidence from before diminishing.

"Oh, why?" You asked. "Are you cold?"

"No, it's just, um..." Regina George stammering. You didn't think you'd live to see the day. "I don't look like I used to before."

"What does that mean?" You checked her out, toes to forehead. Drop-dead gorgeous as always.

"I've gained a bunch of weight." She looked down as if she needed to be ashamed. "I barely fit into this gown. I had to suck in even with the Spanx. And I still look like a whale."

As much as you would've liked to be incredulous and loud about just how wrong she was, it didn't seem like the right course of action. She was being open and vulnerable with you.

"I don't think you look like a whale." You stepped close to her tentatively. You set the clutch on the coffee table. Then, just as tentatively, circled your arms around her. You slotted your fingers together at her lower back and pulled her to you so that your bellies touched.

"I couldn't hug a whale." You pointed out helpfully, leaning back slightly to still look her in the eyes. "I'd love to see the dress in its full glory."

Regina, hands fussing with unmade your tie, bit her lip in contemplation.

"Careful, don't mess up your lipstick." She rubbed her lips together at that, a smile threatening to break out.

"Fine. But you can't laugh or stare or anything."

"I swear." You put one hand on your heart and the other up. "Now turn around."

She did as you asked. "You're being awfully chivalrous."

"It's what you deserve, Reggie." You crooned jokingly, pulling the jacket from her shoulders. The dress was cut elegantly so that there were no straps, but bits of fabric hanging by her upper arms. Cold-shoulder. You hoped the jokes in your tone hid how nervous you were.

"What did I just say?" As if that little moment between you two hadn't even happened, she was right back to her normal self.

"Fine. But you'll always be my Reggie. I guess tonight we can pretend." You sighed. "Whatever you say, honey."

"Better." She turned and tugged at your tie. "Now, let's get you sorted."

"I had very little notice, okay?" You grumbled but bent down obediently so she'd have an easier time tying your tie. You'd used to play dress up mixed with house all the time. You'd nearly always been the dad and so, you had to wear a tie. Obviously. Mrs George had gotten tired of constantly being asked to do it, so she'd taught Regina.

Now, it felt a little different. For one, you were taller. Secondly, this wasn't a children's game. Maybe you were playing a little bit, pretending, but it didn't quite feel like that. There was something undeniably real about this.

"There." She said once she was finished, smoothing it out against your chest. "You couldn't find one matching the dress?"

"You're impossible to please." You chuckled. "I'll make sure to go tie shopping as soon as possible."

"Good." She liked to ignore your sardonic tone pretty often. "Now, what's on the menu?"

You tucked the rest of the shirt into your pants and, voila, you were done.

"Tacos, my lady." You offered up your arm half in jest. She hooked her wrist into the bend of your elbow with an incline of her head. Clearly, she was a girl that liked to be wined and dined.

You snuck a bottle from your dad's wine collection, hoping it wasn't some speciality. Looking at the label, it wasn't very old. Wine quality was assessed like that, right?

You ate your fills and then some, drinking wine all the while, then retreated to the couch to recover, and turned on the TV to watch while eating dessert. Sharing a pint of ice cream, curled up on the couch in fancy clothes, warm and away from the cold of late November, you wondered what had brought this on.

It wasn't an official date, that much you knew. Regina wasn't a lesbian like you. Maybe she was indulging you. That would mean she knew you had a crush on her. You hoped that wasn't true. Regina was an observant person, though. Fuck, that'd be humiliating.

It didn't feel like she was playing with you. It looked like she was having as much fun as you. Maybe she wanted to have a nice, romantic dinner without the pressure of having to impress or perform for her date.

It was nice she'd chosen you. Regardless of why she'd come here tonight, you were just glad she was with you. You'd had a lot of people leave, most of them never coming back. The exceptions to the rule were Regina and your dad. They were similar in that, but nothing else. When dad came back, he brought with him a never-pleased frown and a stifling presence. When Regina came back, she brought light.

She had her flaws. You had yours. Thanksgiving was right around the corner and Christmas would soon follow. You had no doubt that Janis had something nefarious planned for at least one of those events. Nothing was sure, things were undecided.

"I'm going for a smoke." You said when the episode ended.

"I'm coming with."

"You won't be getting one."

"I don't want it anyway. Cigarettes taste like shit."

You laughed and walked to the backdoor. Through it and onto the patio, you slumped onto the bench swing. Regina followed a lot more gracefully, heels chucked somewhere in the house, bundled up in the blanket she'd claimed as hers since the first time she slept over. She sat next to you and spread it over both your laps. You hummed in thanks and lit up.

Regina might've been a massive bitch. She had, and there was no denying it, done some awful things. And maybe it was fucked up for you to like one part of a person and not the whole of them, but did that count if you were sure that the undesirable part was all a facade?

"So..." You started. "Better than any of the dates Aaron took you to?" You couldn't help but ask. Veiled under a joke, you hoped your jealousy didn't show.

"Don't be cocky." She admonished, resembling her mom almost creepily. "He didn't really take me out."

"What? Why?" If you could openly date Regina there wouldn't be a limit to how much you'd be taking her out, showing her off to anybody who'd listen.

"How should I know?" She shrugged indignantly. "We broke up a little after Homecoming."

"What? I didn't hear about this."

"Really? I thought you would've since it was pretty big news for a while." You didn't want to admit you'd been purposefully avoiding rumours about the couple for the majority of their relationship. "He outlived his purpose."

"The Halloween Party and Homecoming." You clarified and she nodded.

You took a drag. Regina pulled what seemed like a candy bar out of her clutch. It was the same brand she'd been eating earlier today.

Considering she'd been insecure about her weight, you didn't comment on it. You took another drag. You couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something weird.

"Hey, can I look at the packaging of that?"

Wordlessly, Regina handed it over. You looked at the product info. Great, it was all in Swedish.

"Where'd you get these?"

"Cady got me a box of them. They're good for weight loss. Like, they just burn all your carbs." You furrowed your eyebrows and looked back at the product info. The numbers didn't seem like that of a weight loss product.

You didn't like she was eating something that would empty her stomach right after dinner. That couldn't have been healthy.

"You're trusting something Cady gave to you?"

She tilted her head, as if about to question you. Her mouth opened, then closed, and opened again.

"Shut up. Shut up."

You took a long drag.

Taglist: @autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism, @9unknown0, @sage-rose2000, @massive-honkas, @nattys-swiftie, @likefirenrain, @luz-enjoyer, @dandelions4us, @natashamaximoff-69, @alexkolax, @jareaul0ver, @here4theqts, @charleeeesworld, @natsbiggestfan1, @brocoliisscared

(i keep forgetting to add this note. comment on this post if you want on the taglist!)

[haveateadude]

bleak horizons ii.

summary *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ christmas and hot chocolate

warnings *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ depression, family issues, and i think that's it?? it's mostly fluff??

author notes *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ why is it christmas you might be wondering... well i don't fucking know okay??😭😭wrote this when i was in another country and it was cold and it reminded me of christmas so i wrote this. anyway. this one is boring as FUCK... just saying. i'm embarrassed about posting this actually. also, i accidentally put this on chat gpt and it gave me more than 10 things i had to fix so. don't get your hopes up LMAO

hope y'all have a great day, night, morning or whatever. take care of yourselves!!!!!!! if u don't you're an asshole.

AND THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT ON MY LAST POST!!!!!!!!! i love everyone who liked it :)) even just knowing people have read it makes my heart warm. i really thought it would get cero recognition, y'all are amazing <3

(readers mental health gets addressed in the next chapter btw)

(not proofread either, sorry if there's any mistake)

pt1 — pt2 — pt3

i don't wanna talk about anything

i wanna kiss, kiss your eyes again

wanna witness your eyes looking

For Christmas, I go to Ellie's house, and I lie to my mother about having too much work. She says it's fine, which weirds me out. I never thought she would say yes. I’m excited and happy to go to Ellie’s house, anyway. This is important, I feel—meeting her family, I mean. She never speaks much about them, but I know she's adopted, and that she gets along with them. She also never met her mother. She says she had her aunt to teach her all that Joel couldn't, like what periods were, how to wash her clothes, and how to paint her nails with her left hand.

I think a part of me is afraid to go because I'm afraid I'll get attached. My mother never taught me what periods were and my father never seemed to know what empathy was. Her family sounds like a dream to me.

"We’re here," Ellie says with a smile on her face as she pulls up on the side of the road next to a white house. It’s got a green lawn, it looks nicely cared for, and a white picket fence. I take a deep breath, I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I think Ellie senses that. She puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it, which feels comforting. "Hey, just know my dad is really fucking chill. It’s just going to be us, and my uncle's family. They’re going to love you, I promise."

"Okay," I nod because I know it and that's what I'm afraid of. I look outside the window. It’s Christmas Eve. It's already snowing. I then stare at Ellie's eyes and smile. I kiss her and when I pull apart I speak. "I don't want to go out, it's cold."

"C’mon, let’s go inside then. I don’t want you to freeze in this car."

I nod and fix my hair in the mirror before I go out. The cold makes me unable to feel my face or my hands, so when I go inside I'm a bit surprised by how warm it is. Ellie makes me hand her my coat and my stuff, and she puts mine and hers aside.

The house inside looks way better than it does outside. The lights are dim, the Christmas tree has colorful lights wrapped around it, and it smells like an apple pie is cooking. It feels like an actual home, and the chimney is decorated with socks, and next to it, on the wall, are pictures of young Ellie.

"You look cute," I tell her, speaking about the photos, as she walks towards me.

She blushes, her ears go red, "Uh, you weren't meant to see that."

"Oh, stop it," I chuckle. "You look adorable.”

"I bet you looked way more adorable than me."

"I looked like a disfigured mosquito with a big ass."

Ellie laughs as her hand goes to my hip, "First of all, if you were a disfigured mosquito—which you're not by the way—I would still like you; second of all, I love your big ass."

"Oh, so that's all you love about me?" I ask, teasingly, slightly tilting my head. "Just my ass?"

I feel Ellie's hands move downwards, nearly gripping my butt, before I hear someone clearing their throat. I'm so red I'm not even a tomato... I probably look like a fucking chili pepper or something.

I know it's Joel because Ellie has a picture of him with her on her nightstand. She looks at Joel as her hands linger on my hips for a second, then she takes them off and walks towards him.

"Joel," Ellie says, hugging him. "Hey, old man."

"Kiddo, you've grown so much."

"I look the same as last month."

"Yeah, just thought it’d make you feel better."

Ellie laughs as she pulls apart. I just stand there, awkwardly behind Ellie. Finally, Joel looks at me.

"Oh, hi," he says, now looking at me. "Ellie has talked a lot about you."

I nod, "Thanks for letting me stay, Mr. Miller."

"Just call me Joel."

"Well," Ellie interrupts. "We're going to my room, I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, I'll tell you when Tommy and Maria get here."

Ellie takes our bags, which she insists on doing alone, and leads me to her room.

Her room, it's… so her. Posters of bands cover every inch of her walls, and her desk is stained with paint.

I sit on her bed and look around as she sits next to me.

"I like your room," I tell her, feeling her knee bump against mine. She's so close to me I can feel her breath on my neck. 

"It’s messy, though." She’s looking at me, but I can't dare to look at her. 

I feel guilty for not being at home now, it gnaws at me. Is mom alone? And why do I care? Why do I feel guilt over the person who made me hurt more? She always wants to fight—there's always constant battles between us, battles she always wins. So why do I miss her and why is it hard to accept?

"What are you thinking?"

I chuckle, "It’s nothing."

"Well—alright," she lets the subject the subject slip. She kisses my cheek and then my lips and her hands roam my body. We just make out, though.

Christmas dinner goes fine. Better than I thought it would. The Millers are like a real family, they talk to me like they've known me for years, even though I feel like an intruder in their house. I don't want to be fond of them, or else I'll cling to them like they're family.

Maria and Tommy have a baby and most of the night is spent with Ellie cradling the baby and me sitting next to him. We drink hot chocolate with marshmallows. This is the happiest I've ever been at Christmas.

At night, I leave Ellie's warm embrace to go for a glass of water. I can't sleep, my mind is racing and it won't shut off.

When I go downstairs Joel is sitting at the kitchen table, I don't know what to say to him. Which is okay, because he speaks first.

"Can't sleep?" He asks.

For a moment I think he has confused me for Ellie, because why is he talking to me?

"Yeah," I say, getting my glass of water.

"I won't give the 'hurt my daughter and I'll kill you' talk if that's what you're worried about."

I try to laugh, "Thanks, I guess. You're—you're a great dad."

"Well, you're a great kid."

"Thank you," I answer because I don't know what else to say. He's indeed a great dad. He's funny and nice and caring. I've seen the way he talks to Ellie. Unlike my father he doesn't look at her daughter like he's trying to fix their relationship, therefore their conversations don't look forced; Ellie has referred to me as her girlfriend at Christmas dinner, and all Joel did was smile. It made me want to throw up, even if I felt welcomed.

"Hey—uh, I'm sorry if I approach this in the wrong way… but Ellie has told me that your mother is causing you trouble."

"Yeah," I don't know what to say, again. How do I answer this? How should I feel about this? "She's been a little difficult, but you know. It's the normal mother-daughter fight, nothing to worry about."

"Okay," he nods. "If you want you can talk to me, or Ellie—she's… she's been a little worried."

I hadn't seen that coming. Is Ellie's worried?

"I—I will talk to her. Thank you."

She doesn't want you. She's your friend, she doesn't want you. She will fall in love with you, not your brain nor your scars, and when she finds out about the way you think she'll leave.

I want to say Mr. Miller but I know he wants me to call him Joel—which makes me a little awkward. "I'm going to sleep now."

"Get the rest you need," he smiles. "Leave the cup on the table, I'll wash it."

I wake up being the little spoon.

Ellie has her arms wrapped around me like she's afraid I'll leave. As I slowly open my eyes I can also feel Ellie shifting behind me.

"Morning," she speaks in her morning voice, the vibration of her voice against my neck sends shivers down my spine—in a good way.

I smile, "Hey."

"How did you sleep?"

"More than good. Your bed is very comfortable."

"Yeah," she pulls me closer to her front, "I could stay here forever."

We don't stay there forever, though, because we open presents. It's just Joel, Ellie, and me. Surprisingly there's one for me from Joel, and Maria and Tommy.

Ellie gave me a necklace and a ring, which might seem simple to others but I had been planning on buying it for a fucking long while. It always was out of sale. And the ring had a moon on it.

"Fuck, Ellie," I say as I look at her, sitting on the floor with my legs crossed. "This is amazing, I love this."

"Yeah?" She asks. She's sitting next to me, her legs stretched out, resting her weight on one of her arms behind her. I notice she looks flushed. Her cheeks are slightly more pink than they always are.

I nod, kissing her, "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

She chuckles after I give her one last kiss, "Time to open mine now, I guess."

I look at her as she opens what I gave her. It's small, compared to what she gave me. Is just one of the first pictures we took together framed, just after I moved in. I also gave her a white silver beaded bracelet I had made.

"I remember this day," she says, looking at the picture. "I remember I was trying to impress you all day long, you know? I just wanted to make you laugh... and well, you did."

I chuckle, "I did laugh at all your jokes, but I think that's just because I have a very shitty humor."

"I'm glad we share it."

Ellie looks at the bracelet and the framed photo with a tender smile, her eyes glistening.

"I love it," she says softly, as she puts the photo down, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love you."

Her words make my heart race, and I feel my cheeks heat up.

"I love you too," I reply, my voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside me. I think this is the happiest I've ever been; I think I'll remember this moment forever.

We spend the rest of the morning together, laughing and sharing stories. For the first time in a long while, I feel like I belong somewhere.

After breakfast, as Ellie and I sit on the couch with our fingers intertwined, Joel comes over with a cup of hot chocolate.

"Merry Christmas, you two," he says with a kind smile, handing us the mugs.

"Merry Christmas," I say.

Alright, yeah. This might be the best Christmas I've ever had.

[heartpascal]

forgive the sea

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: after a trip into the outside world, you come back different.

▹— a/n: i don’t really like how this ended HOWEVER it is a fic and it was written by me and that is positive, no matter what state the writing is in!! go easy on me pls it’s been a rough few weeks <3

▹— warnings: references to suicidal ideation, kinda (not really sure if that’s what it is but to be safe), unspecified trauma, loss of childhood (ish?), mention of getting old/ losing memory, bottling up of emotions, angst, comfort?

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop (pedro)

masterlist

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Joel has plenty of memories from the years he has shared with you, plenty of memories depicting the way you grew over the years. In each of them, he cements the image of that spark in your eyes into his head, in fear of his age causing him to deteriorate, corrupting the memories.

He holds the memories close, and he holds you closer, as if he could stop the growing distance between the two of you by holding on tighter.

But the fact of it was that you were growing up. You weren’t the same kid Joel had taken under his wing all those years ago. And while that wasn’t entirely a bad thing, with you having shed the fearful nature you used to have, as well as the paranoia and distrust, it did mean you had lost the small amount of childishness you had retained back then.

There were days when life felt so bleak for Joel, days where all he could think of was his daughter, where the world just didn’t seem worth living in, and then there was you. Like a burst of light in a dark world, you had managed to brighten Joel’s thoughts with what, to you, had been a measly joke. A passing comment. A grin, maybe.

It would be far too much for Joel to hold an expectation of you, in that sense. He couldn’t imagine the kind of weight it would carry if he had told you about what you meant for him, what you helped him through, unknowingly.

Despite all of that, there was an involuntary reaction in Joel now, one in which he seemingly just brightened around you. As if your mere presence could relieve the weight of the world he held on his shoulders. Somehow, you had allowed Joel to do something he hadn’t done for a long time prior to meeting you; you allowed him to grow. Rather than withering away in his grief, in his dark world, with no apparent purpose, he grew with you.

Where you had become more confident, more assured, Joel had become more open. He had acknowledged his daughter’s life, rather than focusing only on her death. He had found a reason to live, to thrive, rather than survive another day.

Joel didn’t quite realise just how much he relied on you, nor how much you relied on him. He also didn’t know how much you protected him from, with his best interests at heart.

It’s why, when you returned home one night, after venturing outside of the wall, he didn’t entirely know something was wrong. It wasn’t unusual for you to be withdrawn after facing the horrors of the outside world, so your behaviour, initially, seemed normal. Each time you returned after you had started going out without Joel beside you, you behaved the same way.

He passed it off as that, alongside the late hour, and your visible exhaustion. Joel knew himself just how much surviving could take out of you, especially when you were as sleep-deprived as you had been upon leaving.

But as the days passed by, Joel grew more concerned.

While it had been a while since you had begun to grow out of that slither of childhood innocence — if you could call it that — which had remained, something about you seemed… off.

Joel had expressed as much on more than one occasion, but you shut him down each time, with a “I’m fine, Joel, really.” Acting as if he was just some sort of overly worried parent, as if he was hovering.

The two of you had never explicitly stated the shape your relationship had taken, but it wasn’t exactly a secret that Joel saw you as his kid. And, Joel hoped, you reciprocated that. He could remember, all those years ago, how much his Sarah had protested to his helicopter-parent nature, when she was young. He had grown out of it, but perhaps, in the presence of the apocalypse, Joel had fallen back into old habits.

When nothing changed after weeks of your strange behaviour, Joel was certain that it wasn’t just his caution. How could it be? Sure, you had been growing slightly distant from him over the weeks — months? — before that trip, but it had never been like this.

It had never been anger filling the space between you, or irritation, or any other form of emotion. It had just been space. Growth.

Now, Joel was growing worried that what was once a familial bond was cracking, fracturing, into pieces. He wasn’t sure just how many times the two of you could pick each other up, and put each other back together again. Just how much strain could the two of you take? How much was too much?

But your weeks of odd behaviour were quickly turning into months, the time flashing before Joel so fast that he was sure that he had been missing it. He may have been a carpenter in his past life, but he was becoming nervous that fixing your bond wouldn’t be as simple as fixing some wood.

“You gotta talk to me, kiddo, what’s goin’ on with you?” He asked, one night, when you made to leave the room after being in it for no more than twenty minutes. “Something’s wrong, now you just tell me what, and I’ll do my best to fix it.” Joel had continued, in your silence. It had apparently been the wrong thing to say, as you snapped at him.

“Nothing is wrong with me, Joel. I’m fine.” Your voice had been crackling along the edges, something staticky in your sudden burst of anger. Really, though, it had only been confirmation that something was wrong.

Joel was starting to realise that you had no intention of opening up to him, not this time. And it seemed that the more insistent he became, the more closed off you were. He was almost at a loss. What was he meant to do? He didn’t know where the boundaries of your unspecified familial relationship lied. At the end of the day, Joel wasn’t your dad. At any moment, you could choose to leave, and Joel would lose another child, except this one was never really his.

Loving someone in the apocalypse was something that remained unspoken, and that much was true for the two of you. So how could he tell you, how could he put to words, his concern? How could he explain that it grew from a place of love, of care? It seemed like an impossible task, constantly looming in the cracks of your bond.

You could see the battle he was going through, and you were fully aware that it was your fault. But what could you do? The problem wasn’t him, not exactly, it was you. After everything, you just couldn’t be who you were sure he needed you to be.

These last few years that you had spent with him, you had been aware of the ways in which you helped him. After all, you had lost your naivety long before you even met Joel Miller, so it wasn’t hard to notice the way he opened up, the way you seemingly healed some long-damaged part of him. He became scarred, rather than wounded.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pretend that you were the same person that you had been back then, and a part of you just… resented yourself for it. Logically, you knew that Joel valued you, not what you had done for him, but that didn’t change the way you felt.

How could you tell him that? How could you voice to this man, the closest thing to a father you had, that you couldn’t be the child he had known? How could you explain that you had changed, that the apocalypse had wounded and scarred you?

Joel had a tendency to blame himself, and this was something you just didn’t want him to take responsibility for.

So, you continued on. You spent time putting as much physical space between you and Joel as you could manage, while also trying to remain in the safe environment he provided. But no matter how far away you got, it never seemed to match the cavernous distance you had created in the bond you shared with him.

And you could see just how much it was eating him up, with no explanation for your behaviour.

But you just couldn’t allow yourself to admit to him that you were changed. That you could never return to the version he had known you as. And that was eating you up, leaving you with a gaping hole in your chest, an ache of tears in your throat. The space in your chest was only being filled with your guilt, which grew heavier despite you knowing it wasn’t your fault that you had changed.

There was a breaking point.

There always is, isn’t there?

And yours, for this, was when you came home one day to Joel sat on the old couch, head in his hands.

He practically jumped to his feet when he heard your footsteps on the rotting floorboards, ones which he’d promised to fix before they broke. He said your name, sighing with relief as you smiled tightly at him in greeting.

“Thank the lord you’re alright,” Joel said, shaking his head before crossing the room and all but pulling you into his arms as the floorboards creaked beneath his weight. “You had me worried there, kid, where have you been?” He asked, holding on to you tightly.

Joel certainly wasn’t expecting his tight hold to result in you crumbling in his arms, but he did his best to hold you together nonetheless. There were tears bursting from your eyes, pushing past the lump in your throat that you had been swallowing down for months, now.

The past few days had been particularly hard for you, and you hadn’t even realised that night had fallen, stretching into the early hours of the next day by the time you got home. You hadn’t been expecting Joel to be waiting for you, and the guilt of him worrying over you had crashed down on you so suddenly that the added weight on top of everything else had you collapsing.

He held on to you tighter, hand squeezing gently at the back of your head as he murmured. “You’re alright, you’re alright.” Joel repeated it like some sort of mantra, like if he said it aloud enough times, it’d be true. “Please, tell me what’s going on with you. You gotta let me help you, kiddo, please.”

It wasn’t as if Joel missed his manners often, so you had heard him say the pleasantries more than a few times, but for a reason you couldn’t explain, it just broke you. Never did he sound so… pleading. So helpless, perhaps.

“Joel—” It was like your voice was stuck in your throat, crowded underneath the weight of everything you had been bottling up. Your inability to speak only made you cry harder, and you did your best not to think of how many tears were seeping into the material of Joel’s worn flannel.

“Shh, I’ve got you, kiddo, I’ve got you.” He said, remaining steady in his hold on you, able to keep you upright despite the sudden weakness in your knees, the urge to just collapse to the ground and weep.

You gripped the flannel between your fingers, squeezing it so tightly you should’ve worried about the seams tearing. “I’m—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You garbled out, between sobs that tore through your vocal cords, reducing your voice to a barely comprehensible, hoarse mess. You repeated the apologies, in hopes that Joel would forgive you for something he had never even been upset over.

“You got nothing to apologise for, you hear me?” Joel said, confidently, despite not even knowing what it was you were apologising for. Still, he seemed certain of his words, like nothing you could do would possibly warrant an apology in his eyes.

You shook your head, forehead against his chest, and gripped tighter, as if that would stop him leaving following your confession. “No, Joel, I do, I—” You sucked in a few deep breaths, trying to suppress the way your diaphragm was starting to spasm under your laboured breathing. “I—I can’t be the kid you want me to be, I can’t, and I’m just so—so sorry.” You fought to get out, trying to stop the tears from streaming down your face.

Joel stilled then, his mindless motion of rubbing a hand up and down your back pausing suddenly, though his grip never faltered.

“‘The kid I want you to be’?” Joel repeated, sounding almost confused, his chin digging in to the side of your head as he pressed you closer. “I don’t want you to be anybody but you, you got that?”

It wasn’t fair of you to be frustrated with his response, but you were. How could you not be? Joel didn’t even seem to know that you had realised how and why he relied on you. He didn’t know that you knew he needed you to be a certain person, a person that you weren’t, any longer.

“No, you don’t get it!” You insisted, pulling away from his hug for the first time since he’d started it. You keep him at arms length, a hand raised between you as the other wipes the tears and snot from your face. “I can’t be that—that kid, the one I used to be.”

Joel’s face falls as if he’s having some sort of realisation at your words, one which you take in a negative light, as if it was confirmation of every bad thought and image you’d had of his reaction.

“I just can’t do it anymore, Joel, and I know it’s not fair to you, but I—” You continued, before he cut you off with a furrowed brow, his slightly confused and awfully stern expression just causing more tears to spring to your eyes, which were already stinging.

“‘Not fair to me’, kid,” Joel sighed, seemingly dumbfounded by the words he’s quoting back to you, and the nickname which he had used for you since the first day you had met him only served to make you more upset. “Why do you think I need you to be that same kid, huh?”

His hands were held out, his expression open, and the only thing he was waiting on was you. For you to be ready, for you to go to him when you finally were. He just hoped he wouldn’t be waiting too long.

Your hands dropped to your sides, where the clutch the bottom of your shirt just for something to hold on to. “Joel,” You said, talking to him as if you didn’t know why he wasn’t understanding. “I—I know that I helped you, that I cheered you up, or something, back then. That me, being that kid, was what helped us get to this.” As if it was possible, Joel’s expression fell further, crumpled, even. “And I just don’t want to disappoint you, or—or ruin everything, or make you regret taking me in. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep me, if you don’t want me, because I’m not a kid anymore.”

And there it was, everything out in the open, placed into his outstretched palms.

Palms which reach for you, despite your confession, despite you giving him that out now that you couldn’t be what he needed. You, despite everything in you screaming otherwise, reach back to him, and you hold on to his hand as if it’s everything tethering you to the world.

“I am sorry,” Joel said, surprising you, and he released your hand only to hold on to the sides of your face, a frown marring his lips. “That I ever made you feel like this. You being a kid was never what made my life worth living again, it was you being my kid.” His thumbs wiped away the tears streaming from your eyes at his words. “You listen to me, now. That has not changed, that will never change. You could never disappoint me, not like this. And as long as you’ll let me, I’ll try not to disappoint you, either.”

If your lips were trembling as he spoke, he gave no indication, nor did he make a comment when you all but flung yourself towards him. There’s something almost… warming about his acceptance, something which makes that cold, empty feeling of guilt in your chest boil over, evaporating through the sobs that left your mouth.

Joel holds you tighter, squeezing so firmly that all those cracks seem to seal back together, leaving only the scarred remains. Tender, but not painful. Even when your heart clenches, trying to refuse what was right in front of you, Joel’s firm hands stop you from overthinking.

Despite all your words, your confession, Joel thinks that you, here, crying in his arms, showing more vulnerability than you ever had in the time he had known you, makes you the very child of his that you didn’t believe yourself to be. Because this was familiar, Joel knew this feeling. He knew that the way his chest clenched tightly wasn’t because of what you were saying, but the pain you had been in, the wounds you had been hiding.

“You’re sure?” You asked, through shuddering breaths, eyes squeezed shut and hands gripping Joel as if whatever answer he gave wouldn’t matter, as if you were never letting go.

“I’m sure, kiddo.” Joel answered, deciding that here, in this moment, you were his child. Openly, without uncertainty. And he was sure that no matter how much older he got, no matter how much his other memories deteriorated, he would remember this moment. Because this was, to him, at an equal level of importance in his life as the moment his Sarah was born. Those memories, the ones of his children being his, at last, would never lose clarity, would never rot.

[forever--darling]

request: and for anakin I love the idea of how he comforts his girl. hugs, nicknames, cuddling together.

summary: being in the midst of a war came with many problems, but you had never accounted for the possibility of your general anakin skywalker being one of them, especially when a specific nurse seems to be all over him

pairings: general!anakin x jedi!reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings/notes: swearing, mentions of war, mentions of death, jealous!reader, fluff, mentions of sex, 501st clone trooper battalion, forbidden love

masterlist

It appeared almost out of thin air, like a billowing blow that seemed to almost knock you on your ass. It was worse than the battle you somehow had survived only a few hours before, sure to be stuck in the same predicament again soon. After all, when in an active warzone, it was always the reality, the scenery unable to escape but practically tattooed across your skin. It was means for disaster, of a bleakness that was sure to leave you depressed at night as you lay awake listening to the constant gunfire and screams from men and women meeting their fates. 

That deserves your full attention, your care, and yet something else had appeared. It made you feel guilty, like a horrible person, at the way your heart tightened and ached. How had it come to be? 

This thick grimy green monster that had latched upon your shoulders, interfering with the only mission you had been focused on for months. When you were assigned to the 501st Clone Trooper Battalion, you hadn’t even thought of the possibility, the mere ability to let your guard down, have it risk ruining everything. And yet there you were, in complete inept with your General, with a man you had been pulled towards as if the force was willing it to occur. 

You wished then you could have run, somehow been taken captive, at least to save your heart from falling into the same fate. Captive she was, but not by the Separatist enemies; no, it was so much worse. It jeopardized everything it meant to be a Jedi, a knight, a warrior of the Republic. 

It appeared, and now suddenly, it was all you could feel. Even more so as you found her delicate hands brushing along his bicep, eyes surveying the minimal cuts that littered his perfect skin, mixing within the dirt. Blood dried, but marks that would remain for most likely the rest of his life. As she did her job, you surveyed from the corner of the tent, the large tan tent you had spent a few nights in yourself, staring at the ceiling as a lamp crowded the darkness in the softest of golden light. 

It felt diminished in some way as her eyes, so doe-like, innocent, unwilling to be caught up in a war, stared up at him through her lashes. A blush appeared on her cheeks, the same soft pink that you had so clearly seen even that first day when she had met him. She was smitten with the general, and you had never cared, and yet at that moment, you felt the rage swell in your chest. 

He wasn’t paying attention, not to the way she oggled him or the small smile that appeared every time she noted the muscles of his bicep. He was too busy staring down at the latest casualty report one of the other soldiers had brought to him. It was long, at least five pages, three pages longer than it had been for most of the course of the time you had been here. Names and ranks littering them, sure to fade into the road of forgotten ones, only to be kept alive by the mark they left on wherever they came from. 

Your chest ached then for a moment at the thought, but it only hardened further as you heard the nurse’s soft voice fill the tense air of the tent. “General Skywalker, I was told you experienced some impact that was quite severe along your abdomen. I’m afraid I’ll have to take a look.” 

His blue eyes snapped up to hers, that stone-coldness commonly there met her kind ones, and you hated how your stomach turned involuntarily. You huffed slightly, brows knitting in so much anger. His glare flickered over to you, but only for a second, barely surveying your stiff posture. 

He sighed then, almost of disappointment, before nodding, “Make it quick, will you?” 

“Of course,” she replied, almost too enthusiastic. 

Anakin peered back down at the list of his soldiers, but his face hardened again as the nurse cleared her throat awkwardly. He looked back up at her. 

“I’m going to need you to remove your clothing, sir.” 

He didn’t look at you again, and you felt your arms drop in defeat. You were crazy; you knew that much, but it didn’t stop you from turning on your heels and storming out of the tent. He had asked you there to go over some details of the battle, and yet the five minutes you spent standing there had you feeling so out of place even though you had spent the night there two nights before. He was silently staring down at the reports for the entirety of those few minutes, but you couldn’t care, and you couldn’t stay. Too blindsided by the anger that filled your chest, eliciting your veins on fire from the sudden rush of your blood going straight to your balled fists. 

It was something that could surely wait because you were too afraid.

Afraid if you stayed any longer, you would do something that would have the nurse talking, sure to have the rest of the troop and brigade in a state of knowing. Sure, to go back to the Republic, then you both would be in trouble because, after all, Jedi had responsibilities, a code to follow, and work to do. And attachments weren’t allowed, even in a state of sadness, even in the darkest places where it’s the only form of comfort to have. 

You found the only way to really deal with this sudden feeling that seemed to consume you was to take it out on anything you could. It was why you had gone and trained, your lightsaber stretched out, meeting the clashes of another soldier you commonly fought with. Your blows were more forceful, fueled by the sudden rush of feelings you hadn’t known you could even feel. You hated it, the way it seemed to never fade, never fall to the back of your mind even as hours passed. Instead, only the images of her possibly tracing his bare chest and stomach with her fingers remained. 

It was hours upon hours of training, trying to tire yourself into a state of exhaustion, even with the possibility of having to go off into battle at any moment. You couldn’t care, knowing this had to be gone when that time finally came. Not only for your survival, for the mission but to keep him from ever knowing. 

General Anakin Skywalker, the chosen one, the professed hero of this war, could never know. Never know of the sudden feelings that had befallen you. 

That night, you stood in your own tent, far smaller than the General’s, you were getting ready to sleep. Bathed as well as you could manage, you were bundled in clean robes, ready to succumb to the darkness of sleep; it somehow more comforting than being awake. However, as soon as you were ready to do so, a soldier appeared at your door with a message.

“The General requests your presence.” 

It had taken all day, hours, for Anakin to ask for you, to seem willing to want to talk to you, and that seemed to enrage you all over again. Perhaps, he enjoyed the comforts of the innocent nurse warming his bed rather than you. Perhaps she was some sort of light, untouched by the true grit and devastation of war, having never truly left the camp. She had not met death, had not drained life from someone so carelessly. You, on the other hand, were tainted, left in a wallowing sense of pain that only others could understand who had watched death parade day in and day out. 

Yet he had called for you, as he did most nights, but you didn’t go. 

You couldn’t. 

Something you had never done. Something no one had ever done. When the General requested you, you went, no questions asked, and yet your feet were glued to the ground. 

A half-an-hour later, it seemed he became tired of waiting because he had appeared in your doorway, the tent falling closed enough that not even a sliver of the outside world could see inside. He stood in clean black tunics, grime washed free from his delicate features, but that stern look was still apparent. 

He was so breathtaking, like sin itself. 

“I called for you,” he said, voice breaking the air, sounding demanding. 

You stood, fingers carding through your hair, pulling free a knot, back turned towards him. “Did you?” 

His furrowed look only deepened, somehow confused if the message had gotten to you or if you had chosen to ignore it, “Yes, hours ago.” 

“Hm, it seems I must have forgotten.” 

He could hear the spite in your tone, it unable to be hidden. He became frustrated at that point, “Forgotten?” 

Stepping further into the tent, he approached and you felt his presence seem to wrap around you completely, leaving your heart an aching mess. “You don’t merely forget. When your general fucking requests you, you come. Do you understand me, Y/L/N.” 

You turned then, anger palpitating, sure to burst any second as you thought of just how much you were suffering. Your knitted brows met his glare intact, “I was merely giving you time, sir. Time for you to recover, have your wounds tended to.” 

It seemed your words, paired with the spite in your tone, revealed something to him because suddenly his expression was waning, collapsing in on itself into one of wonder. A single brow raised, lips almost lifting in a smirk. His hard exterior disappeared, the General in him no longer there, but only Anakin himself. The true twenty-one-year-old man he was. 

“Seriously?” he chuckled then, spotting how your chest rose and fell in frustration. 

“What?” you spat.

He seemed to be enjoying it, evident in the way his smile only widened, a look of pure amusement appearing. “I wasn’t sure at first if I was imagining it, but damn it seems I haven’t.” 

He had caught on, you realized then. You were unable to truly hide it, not when the fear filled you of what exactly this could mean. Caring for a man this much who you were sure to never see again one way or another when this war ended. Sighing, you turned away again, unable to face him. 

“You can’t just call me whenever you need a woman to nestle yourself into, Anakin.” 

It seemed your words had pulled all air of the room, the amusement he felt somehow falling away at the way your shoulders slumped into themselves. “Y/N.” 

You couldn’t reply then, too shocked, too afraid to. 

“Baby,” he corrected himself, the name only heard at night under the stars. You hated how it felt paired with the way his hands took hold of your arms, turning you to face him again. 

You couldn’t meet his stare though, instead focusing on his shoes. 

“Look at me.” 

You denied him again. 

“Look. At. Me.” This time, his thumb and forefinger took a hold of your chin raising it so your eyes were forced to meet his, the blueness the only comfort you had found in this life. He chuckled again, “You’re cute when your mad.” 

“This isn’t funny.” You huffed then, willing to push him away but his hands stopped you, taking a firm hold of your wrists. 

“Oh, but it is. You’re so clearly jealous.” 

The word awoke something in you, because you felt your glare appear in a moment of defense. “I am not.” 

“Are you sure about that?” he goaded and you felt your entire resolve crack, it so easy when his hands traced down your sides to your hips. They rested there comfortably.

A side only you got to see of the general somehow convincing enough. 

“Does it always have to be her?” you asked then, letting it all out, “I mean, every time a nurse is requested to check you over after you return from the front, it is always her. Every fucking time, and she isn’t good at hiding it either. She is so fucking obvious with how she looks at you. How she even touches you. It’s…”

“Not anything to be worried about,” he finished then, his hand coming up to cup your cheek softly. 

Your eyes met his and softened them almost immediately. 

“You really think that I would do that to you? To us?” 

“I don’t know what to think, Anakin.”

“Why is that?”

“This is wrong, and you know it. If the Council found out, what would come of you? Of me? It seems like a lot to risk just for sex.” 

“Just sex? Since when have I ever given you that impression?” 

You couldn’t answer, somehow feeling as if the weight of the world would crush you if you did. It was all too much once again. How you felt about him, about this predicament of life that had befallen you.

“You were never and have never been just sex to me. You must know that. The way that I feel is…” 

He trailed off as if trying to find the words, find how to say the exact things he had promised himself never to say, because of the code, of his Master, of fear of what would become of him. Leaning forward, his forehead met yours, and suddenly, you could only squeeze your eyes shut, breathing unevenly. 

“When I go out on the front every fucking day, when I have to leave everything else behind to ensure that I am giving everything to these men, to this mission, to the prophecy, one thing still remains. The only comfort I have in all of this is returning so I can see you. Living for the possibility of hugging you, seeing you, kissing you. When I first convinced you to fall into my bed, it was never just for sex. It was because I felt as if you could save me. Save me from the darkness that looms too close to my heart most days.” 

“Anakin,” you whispered in disbelief, in an ache of how much you truly cared, possibly loved this man. 

“You’re the future, the only future I can focus on day in and day out. So understand when I say you have nothing to worry about. No nurse, no other woman, could take the place of that, okay?” 

You nodded, eyes squeezed shut, trying to will the tears away, so desperately hoping they wouldn’t fall in front of him. You couldn’t let them, evident in the way your hands dug into his shoulders, as if afraid of him walking away. Leaving you as you always thought he would one day. Instead, he held you back just as tightly, his forehead pressed along yours.

You heard him chuckle again, though, remembering why you had been so upset. “I still think you’re cute when you’re jealous.” 

You couldn’t help it, not as your own laugh appeared, the tears falling then as you opened your eyes to meet his kind and loving stare. “She was all over you.” 

“I’ll make a note to ask for another nurse then. Or even better, ask that you are the one to take care of me. That way, you can be the one all over me.” 

You smiled, that ache falling away, somehow being buried back where it came from. Simply cured by the man before you. How inevitably screwed you were one way or another. 

“Now, can your general request you to his tent? Or are you going to deny him of that for the second time today?”

What were you ever to do? Compassion is one thing Jedi acted upon, something so completely unable to be avoided, and Anakin Skywalker had practically laid himself out to you. There was no way not to fall inexplicably for a man. No possibility or other life where you couldn’t have loved him. Especially when you didn’t know if you would be alive tomorrow.

[anthurak]

So I think we all understand at this point that much of the Fairy Tales of Remnant and various other in-universe folktales and legends that have been told or otherwise mentioned up to now are IMPORTANT. That these stories, particularly the ones that are given some kind of focus, are meant to relate to specific events or characters and generally foreshadow things that will happen or be revealed in the show. Whether in the direct sense of ‘this story is actually relating real events that are significant to characters’ like The Story of the Seasons to the Maidens and Oz, or in more indirect, symbolic fashion like Oscar and Ozpin idly discussing The Girl Who Fell Through the World in Volume 8.

Suffice to say, fairy tales in RWBY clearly MEAN something. Especially if a fairy tale is clearly being connected to a character or characters.

To that end, going forward I think we should really be looking at The Warrior in the Woods, and in-particular the animated short, as being narratively tied to Summer, Raven and Taiyang. And specifically meant to foreshadow what Taiyang’s relationship with Summer and Raven was REALLY like.

For one, the connection the animated short draws is not exactly subtle. The short is flat out framed as Tai reading the story to Ruby and Yang for bedtime, with the boy in the story looking like a young version of Tai while the titular Warrior looks literally like a combination of Summer and Raven. And to top it all off, the story even broadly reflects what we already know about the relationships of the three; with the young man losing the woman he so admired and loved just like Tai lost Summer and Raven. Again, the connections are not in ANY way subtle here.

So with that base established, what more can we potentially glean as foreshadowing here?

Well, as I’ve stated in previous posts, I think it is telling that while the Boy in the story did love the Warrior, it is ultimately a tragic, doomed love that was never meant to be.

And more than that, the story notably only gives us the perspective of the boy, and never the Warrior. And likewise, we never learn how the Warrior truly felt about the boy. She clearly cared about him, enough to consider him something of a friend, but did she feel about him like he felt about her? The story never makes this clear, and I think that in and of itself is rather telling: Despite the boy’s attempts to reach out to her, the Warrior maintains her distance. Whatever growing care or affection she might have felt for the boy, it clearly wasn’t nearly enough to get her to break her isolation or duty to safeguard the village in secret. While the boy may have loved the Warrior, it was a love that in all likelihood, could not and was not returned.

So when we apply this to Taiyang, Summer and Raven, a rather bleak picture emerges: That Tai’s relationships with Raven or Summer were NEVER going to work out. Or that neither Summer NOR Raven actually loved Tai in the same way he loved either of them.

And the thing is, this IS supported even by what little we have seen of Tai, Summer and Raven. Just like in the story, we have been told of Tai’s love for Summer and Raven, yet told precious little of how either of THEM felt about Tai. And what little we HAVE been told or shown has left it rather questionable how either of them cared for Tai.

Raven has made it clear that she cares little for Taiyang in the present, which really raises the question of how or if the two were ever in a relationship in the past. And while the existence of Yang might imply some kind of relationship, let’s also consider the possibility that Yang was actually an unplanned pregnancy. The result of a possible drunken, one-night-stand between Raven and Tai. Which would certainly put Raven’s reluctance to be a mother in a VERY different context.

Then we have Summer, and thanks to Ruby’s tree-vision, I think we can count her feelings for Taiyang as being at best ‘ambiguous’.

For one, as I’ve stated elsewhere, Summer’s scene with Taiyang is curiously lacking in especially overt romantic gestures. A lack of noticeable flirting or particularly romantic physical acts like a kiss. They do hug, but as I’ve said before, RWBY has used these close, intimate hugs just as much if not more often to convey platonic or familial affection. Note also that Taiyang is the one to clearly initiate the hug, not Summer

More than any of that, it’s clear that Summer is putting on an act for Tai in this scene. In the scene she is clearly pensive and uncertain and maybe even afraid, but the moment Tai walks in, Summer immediately adopts a mask of ‘everything is normal, don’t worry about anything’. Which calls into question how much of anything Summer does/says in this exchange is truly genuine, and how much is simply an act for Tai’s benefit.

Summer clearly does not trust Taiyang with the truth of what she is ACTUALLY doing. And the clear ease with which Summer assumes this mask implies that this is likely far from the first time Summer has done this.

Just compare Summer’s scene with Tai to both her previous scene with the sleeping Ruby and Yang, and her following scene with Raven; both showing Summer not putting on any kind of act for anyone else.

Most notably, despite whatever resentment she might feel towards Raven for leaving them (or perhaps just leaving her), Summer clearly trusts Raven, more than ANYONE, with helping her on this mission she considered so vitally important.

Summer certainly cared for Taiyang, that much is clear. Otherwise she wouldn’t put so much effort into reassuring him that everything was fine.

But did she love Tai in way that he loved her? Or was it simply a role she went along with for his, and possibly more-so Ruby’s and Yang’s benefit? Given the clear emotional mask and barrier we see her put up when around Tai, I would call the answer, at BEST, ambiguous.

Which all ties perfectly into what we see in The Warrior in the Woods.

The boy in the story, who is presented as looking just like Tai, loved a mysterious but noble warrior, who is presented as looking like Raven AND Summer. But the love the boy felt could not or was not returned and the warrior would instead vanish into the night. Just like Summer and Raven did.

Oh, and the ending of the story match-cutting a shot of the ‘cross between Summer and Raven’ Warrior to a shot of Ruby who likewise has a lot of visual similarities to Raven as well as Summer MIGHT be hinting at something too…