#usually reality is much worse in fact

[oysters-aint-for-me]

hey have i ever told you guys that i have a strange (and some say statistically unusual) gift for finding four-leaf clovers?

[wild-at-mind]

If you ever see me becoming one of those transmisandry people, please fucking call me out immediately.

[cy-cyborg]

Disability Tropes: The Perfect Prosthetic

[ID: A screenshot from the movie Nimona, showing Nimona, a small white girl with red hair, grabbing the right prosthetic arm of Ballister, a knight in black armour with black hair and light brown skin. He is holding a broken bottle in his prosthetic hand while Nimona admires his arm. Overlaid on the screenshot is white text that reads "Disability Tropes: The Perfect Prosthetic" /End ID]

In a lot of media, prosthetic limbs are portrayed as these devices that act as a near-perfect replacement for a character who has lost, or was born without a limb. So much so that in a lot of cases, the use of a prosthetic has basically no impact on the character beyond a superficial level or their appearance, or it's portrayed as something that's even better than the old meat-limb it's replacing. This trope shows up most often in Sci-fi, but it shows up in all kinds of stories outside of that, even otherwise very grounded ones!

If a story isn't depicting the loss of a limb as the be-all-end-all worst thing that can happen to a person, they almost always default to a perfect prosthetic, functionally curing the amputation with it. But the reality is that prosthetics are FAR from perfect, and as someone who has used them for their entire life I don't think they ever will be. Limb difference is still and always will be a disability, regardless of the prosthetics available, and this really isn't a bad thing.

Why is this trope so common?

I meant it when I said this is a really, really a common trope, so much so that the majority of the media I've seen with amputees and characters with limb differences that released in the last decade or end up using it. Even stories where becoming an amputee is treated like a fate worse than death, ironically, aren't excluded from this. I have a few theories as to why this has happened: The pessimistic answer is that it's easy. You get to have a disabled character and claim you have disability representation, without really having to do much extra work or research because most of your audience won't notice if you aren't accurate - in fact they kind of expect it. You also, for the most part, dodge the backlash other kinds of disability representation (or really any minority representation) usually get. The more optimistic reason is that, for a long time, amputees and people with limb differences (as well as a lot of other disabled people) were predominantly shown in media as sad, depressed and unable to do anything, very much falling into the "sad disabled person" trope. As a kid, this was really the only way I saw people like me on screen or in books. And so, the limb difference community pushed back against that portrayal and were pretty successful in changing the narrative in the public's eye. A little too successful. A lot of creatives were genuinely trying to do right by our community, listen and do better, but many simply overcorrected and instead ended up creating stories where prosthetics were essentially cures instead of the mobility aids they are. I also think the public's general lack of understanding about disability plays a roll in all this. There are a lot of people who, in my experience, believe that the more visible a disability is, the worse it is. Limb differences and amputations are very visible, but prosthetics, even those that aren't trying to be discreet, make them less so. While using a prosthetic is very, very different to a biological limb, you won't necessarily see how in a casual interaction with, say a co-worker or neighbor, especially because there is a very real stigma applied to people with limb differences to keep those things hidden from the public. There are other reasons too, such as the fact that a lot of creatives don't even consider the connection to real amputees when creating characters with robotic limbs in genres like sci-fi and some fantasy, so they never stop to consider that these tropes could be impacting real people. Amputees are also very frequently used in "inspiration porn" content that uses the angle that disabilities can be "overcome" with a good attitude, downplaying the way those disabilities actually impact us. The prosthetics industry - specifically the component manufacturers, often also push the idea of prosthetics being the only way to return to a "normal" life, both to the wider public and to people with limb differences and amputations (which can add to that sense of shame I mentioned when it doesn't play out that way for them). On top of that, I also think the recent increase in popularity of concepts like trans-humanism contributes to it as well. these movements often talk about robotic or bionic body parts being enhancements and "the way of the future", and I think people get a bit too caught up on what may be potentially possible in the future with the real, current experiences of people with "robotic limbs" aka prosthetics, now. There are also inherently disabling things that come with removing and replacing parts of your body, things that will not just go away with some fancier tech.

So How do you actually avoid the trope?

So, we have some ideas about why it happens, but how do you actually avoid the "perfect prosthetic" trope from appearing in your work? The most important thing is to remember that this is still a disability. The loss of a limb, even with the best prosthetic technology or magical item in the world, will always have some inherently disabling aspects to it - and this is not a bad thing. The key is to not over-do it, lest you risk falling into the old "sad disabled person" trope. So let's go over some of the ways you can show how your character's disability impacts them. You don't have to use all of these recommendations, just choose the ones that would best fit your character, their circumstances and your setting.

The prosthetic itself is just different

Probably the most important thing to address and acknowledge for prosthetic-using characters, is the actual ways in which the prosthetic itself is different from a biological limb, and the drawbacks and changes that come with that. For the sake of simplicity, I'm mainly going to focus on modern prosthetics here, but it's worth considering how to apply this your own, more advanced/fantastical prosthetics too. One major thing that most people writing amputees fail to acknowledge is that prosthetic limbs are not fleshy-limbs with a different coat of paint. They do the same basic thing their meat-counterparts do, but how they do it is often drastically different, which changes how they are used. A really good example of this is in prosthetic feet. There are dozens of joints in a biological foot, but most prosthetic feet have no joints or moving parts at all. Instead of having dozens of artificial joints to mimic the real bone structure of a foot, which are more prone to failure, require power and make the prosthetic much, much heavier for very little gain, prosthetic feet are often constructed from flexible carbon fiber sheets inside a flexible rubber foot-shaped shell. This allows the bend and flex those bones provide, without all the drawbacks that come from trying to directly mimic it. Making the sheets into different shapes makes them more ideal for different activities. E.g. feet made for general use, like walking around the city, are simple and light, shaped to encourage the most energy-efficient steps, while still allowing their users to do things like wear normal shoes. Feet made for rough terrain often have a split down the middle of the foot to allow the carbon fiber sheets to bend better over rocks when there is no ankle, and some newer designs also include a kind of suspension using pressurized air pulled from the prosthetic socket to allow some additional padding. Running feet have large "blades" made of these carbon fiber sheets to absorb more pressure when the foot hits the ground, and redirect the force that creates to propel their user forward as quickly as possible.

[ID: A photo of 4 prosthetic feet. On the left, the foot is covered with a black shoe, the one to it's right consists of a small, carbon fiber blade, split down the middle, in roughly the same shape and size as the previous foot. Next to the right is an even simpler and smaller carbon fiber foot with no split, and finally is a very short foot that is vaguely rectangular in shape. /End ID]

These are some of my own prosthetic feet I've had over the years. The two on the right are designed to be used by someone who is less mobile, and the ones on the left are made for someone who is more active. As my needs changed over the years, I've used different designs and styles, and keep the old ones since my needs do tend to fluctuate.

There are also robotic feet available that are designed as a kind of "all-purpose" foot that use an electronic ankle which more closely mimics a biological foot, but they are not very popular as the mechanism adds a lot of extra weight and it requires a battery and power to work, with many amputees feeling the jointless carbon fiber feet do a better job at meeting their needs. The same goes for arms and hands. "Robotic" hands that mimic a meat hand exist, but they aren't really that popular, even in places like Australia where the prohibitively expensive price tag isn't as much of an issue due to government programs that pay for the device for you. Instead, most arm amputees who use prosthetics that I know prefer simpler devices that do specific tasks, and just swap between them as needed, rather than something that tries to do it all. A big part of this is because the all-purpose hands can be clunky. they often require manual adjustment using the other hand to do simple things like going from holding a deck of cards to putting them down and picking up a glass of water, for example. The few that don't require that, I've been told, are often temperamental and don't actually work for every person with a limb difference.

Altered Proprioception

Loosing a limb is a big deal and this is always going to have an impact on the body in some way that won't be solved with a fancy piece of tech. One such example is how limb loss effects your sense of proprioception. This is your sense of where your body parts are in space. It's how you (mostly) know where your foot is going to land when you're walking, or how you're able to do things like lift up a glass of water without needing to actually watch your hand do it. Your brain does this by creating a mental map of your body, but this map doesn't get adjusted if you loose a limb. If that map doesn't accurately reflect your real body, you're not going to have an accurate sense of proprioception. This might look like a leg amputee being a bit less stable on their feet, or like an arm amputee needing to look at their arm or hand to be able to grab something with it. Those born without their limbs who take to using prosthetics often have a lot of trouble adapting, as their brains aren't used to having that limb in the first place, whereas an amputee's brain can sometimes be tricked into using their outdated body map to help them adjust to the prosthetic (though its impossible to line it up perfectly). Prosthetics that directly integrate with the nervous system, while rare, do exist, and even this direct connection doesn't completely erase this issue for reasons doctors aren't quite sure about. This is something that does become less of a problem with time. Eventually, someone proficient with their prosthetic will learn to compensate, but their sense of proprioception will never be 100% perfect. At the end of the day, no matter how it attaches, a prosthetic is still not a natural part of the body, and that will always cause some issues. It also means if they aren't practicing it all the time, they may have to relearn how to compensate for it.

Extra weight

You also have to remember that a prosthetic is not a natural part of the body, like we already talked about, and so no matter how good it is, your brain will most likely always interpret the weight of the prosthetic as something attached to you, not part of you. This means that, even though prosthetics are actually a lot lighter than biological limbs, they feel so much heavier. This is because, while a meat limb is heavier, a lot of that weight is from muscles which are actively contributing to the limb working, so it doesn't really feel like its that heavy. When you have less of your meat-limb though, you have even less muscle to work with to move this big thing strapped to it, so it feels heavier. The more of the limb you've lost, or just didn't have, the heavier the prosthetic has to be, and the less muscle you have left to move it. It's for this reason that a lot of amputees and people with limb differences get tired faster when using prosthetics. Some of us are fit enough where you almost wouldn't notice the extra effort they need to put in, but once again, just because you can't see it from the outside, doesn't mean it's not an issue.

Avoiding Water

Most prosthetics also aren't waterproof, and so prosthetic users have to be very careful about when and how they come into contact with it. For amputees with electric components, contact with water at all will likely damage the device. This can even include especially heavy rain, something I was told to avoid when I got my electronic knee prosthetic and something I assume would also apply to arm amputees with complex, electronic hands. For those with non-electronic prosthetics, water can be hazardous for different reasons. If the prosthetic has metal components, water may cause them to rust, especially if it's salty water. Other prosthetics have foam covers to give the illusion of a limb with the general shape of muscles and fat, but these covers do not come off, and if they get wet enough that water seeps all the way through, it is very hard to dry it and they may become moldy. Finally, cheaper modern prosthetics may also float. Many are made of very light-weight materials and some have pockets of air trapped inside them. For leg prosthetics in particular, this means a user might, at best, struggle to swim with them on, but at worst, may get flipped upside down and become trapped underwater - something that happened to me as a very young child. On the flip-side, older prosthetics were usually made of heavy materials like wood or steel, and so had the opposite problem, acting like a weight and pulling a person down if they were to wear them in the water. Water-safe prosthetics do exist, I had a pair of prosthetic legs as a teenager that were hollow, and designed especially for me to swim with fins on when swimming in the ocean, and Nadya Vessey, a double leg amputee in New Zealand even got a mermaid-tail prosthetic made especially for use in the water. Most amputees though just swim without any prosthetics at all, and in 99% of cases, this is the easiest and safest way to go.

Prosthetic-Related Pressure Sores and Pain

Many people with limb differences also experience pressure sores from their prosthetics. Modern prosthetics typically attach to the body using a socket made of carbon fiber or fiberglass, held on either by pressure, using a vacuum seal or through a mechanical locking system built into the socket. No matter the specifics though, the socket has to be very tight in order to stay on, and this means that extended periods of use can lead to rub-spots, blisters and pressure sores. Many socket prosthetics also use silicone liners to add extra padding, but this means wounds caused by the pressure can't breathe, and bacteria in sweat has nowhere to go, meaning if the person doesn't rest when one of these wounds occur, it can very easily and quickly turn into a serious infection. In a properly fitting prosthetic, used by someone who has fully adjusted to them, this doesn't happen often, but it is something most amputees and people with limb differences have to at least be mindful of. Some new prosthetics use a different method of attachment, called Osteointegration - where the prosthetic attaches to a clip, surgically implanted into the person's bones. While Osteointegration avoids many of the issues like pressure sores that come from a socket, they have their own issues: mainly that they are incredibly expensive, and as of right now, have a pretty high failure rate due to the implant getting infected. Because the implants are directly connected to the bone, these infections become very serious very quickly. Many people with Osteointegration limbs have to be on very strong medication to keep these infections at bay, and they are generally considered unsuitable for anyone who is going to regularly come into contact with "unclean" environments.

Maintenance

[ID: A screenshot of Winrey, from Full Metal alchemist Brotherhood, a white woman with blond hair handing out the sides of a green hat. She is measuring a piece of metal from a prosthetic she is making while Ed, the prosthetic's owner, gives her a thumbs up in the background. /End ID]

Finally, prosthetics also require maintenance from a specialist called a prosthetist, and they don't last forever. Some parts, like a foot or hand, can be reused over an over, but the sockets of a prosthetic need to be completely remade any time your body changes shape, including if you gain/loose weight, you start experiencing swelling, or you're just a child who is growing. Children in particular need new prosthetics every few months because they grow so fast, and as such, their prosthetics have to be made with this growth in mind. If they go too long without adjustment or an entirely new prosthetic, it can seriously impact the child and their growth but even small adjustments can be costly, depending on where you live. While prosthetics are built to be sturdy and reliable, they need a lot of work to stay that way. The more complex the prosthetic, the more work is needed. Complicated electronic components may need to have regular maintenance done by your prosthetist or even the specific component's manufacturer, and depending on where you live, this might mean having to send your prosthetic limb away for this to be done. While my prosthetist technically has the skills and knowledge to do the maintenance on my electronic knee, for example, the manufacturer forbids anyone not from their company to provide this service, meaning my leg needs to be shipped off to Germany once every few years if I want to keep the warranty. This has the unfortunate side effect of sometimes your limbs getting lost in postage (shout-out to Australia Post, who lost mine twice), meaning it can be months before you get it back or get a replacement. Usually, you'll be given a replacement in the meantime if you need it, but walking on a leg that isn't yours, even when its correctly fitted, always feels a bit weird (maybe that's just me though).

Not every difference is Inherently Negative

We've talked about some of the negatives that come from having a prosthetic, but not every difference is negative or even really that big of a deal. In fact, often times, it's these little moments in the depiction of a disability that go the furthest and make it feel the most genuine. My amputations effect me from the moment I wake up, to the moment I go to bed, but that doesn't mean every single way it impacts me is always inherently bad or negative. For example, back when I was working a normal job and going to university, I would often come home, throw my legs off at the door with the shoes still attached and get into my wheelchair, the same way you might throw your shoes off after work and replace them with comfy socks and other comfy clothing. This is something I've only ever seen on screen once, with Eda from the Owl House (and she wasn't even an amputee yet, her limbs were just detachable)

[ID: an screenshot of Eda from the owl house, a very pale woman, laying on the couch in a bathrobe, her hair in a towel. She has taken her actual legs off, throwing them to the other side of the seat. /End ID]

After that, my day mostly looked the same as most other people working a 9 to 5, I'd make myself dinner, watch some TV or play some games, maybe do some extra work at my desk or chat with friends. The only difference is that it would all be from a wheelchair, mainly because my prosthetics were heavy and it was just easier to use the chair around the house. The fact my afternoon and evening routine was done from a wheelchair wasn't a bad thing, it was just different. Likewise, I also don't sleep or shower with my prosthetics on, for the same reasons most other people wouldn't take a shower or sleep in thigh-high, steel-capped boots. In your own stories, this might look like giving your characters similar alterations to how they go about their day. Let them take their arm or leg off when they're resting or relaxing, show them taking a few minutes longer to get ready because they have to put it back on, show them doing some things without it. Arm amputees in particular tend to get very good at going about their days without their arm prosthetics, and leg amputees often either learn to get around more relaxed spaces like their homes using a different mobility aids like wheelchairs or crutches, or just through hopping if that's something they're physically able to do. Even when everything is going well and working as intended, your limb-different character won't wear their prosthetic 24/7, no matter how much they love it. There doesn't have to be something wrong with it or painful about it to not want it glued to them at all times, just like you can love a pair of big heavy boots but not want them on when you're trying to sleep. For more action-focused stories, being an amputee, also changes things like how you fight. The specifics will vary from person to person, but for example, when I did Hap Ki Do, a Korean Martial art, my instructor heavily modified when I learned what techniques. Beginner-level kicks and most leg attacks were impractical for me, as the force from the kicking motion would usually cause one of my legs to fly off. I also couldn't jump very well, due to some complications with my original amputation that made my stumps too sensitive to withstand the force of landing again. So I ended up learning a lot more upper-body attacks much earlier than it is typically taught. By the time I got my green belt, I was practicing upper-body techniques usually saved for black belts - including weapons training that I could use my secondary mobility aids for, like crutches and my cane in a bad situation. Many holds that rely on creating tension in your target are also less effective on amputees, because either the anatomy that causes those holds to be painful just simply isn't there, or the body part in question can just be removed to escape. Whether we're talking about the negative things, or just neutral differences that come with using prosthetics, you don't want to go too far with any one example. The key is to strike a balance. Of course, the old writing advice of "show don't tell" also applies here. It's one thing to tell us all of this stuff, but unless we actually see it play out, it won't mean much.

How NOT to avoid the trope

Before we move on, let's focus for a moment on some common things I've seen that you SHOULDN'T do as a way to get away from the trope.

The Enhanced Prosthetic

A lot of sci-fi in particular will take prosthetic limbs, make them function exactly the same as a biological limb, but add something extra to it. This does change the way the prosthetic functions and is used, but it usually still ignores the actual disabling parts of having a prosthetic. A really good example of this can be seen in pretty much any futuristic setting, but personally, I think Fizzeroli, from Helluva Boss is the best one to demonstrate what I mean. Fizz is a quadrilateral, above knee/above elbow amputee with highly advanced prosthetics that function, more or less exactly like the limbs he lost, but with the added benefit of being super-stretchy. Fizz is an acrobat and a clown in service, at least initially, to Mammon, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. These prosthetics help him perform and we even do see how they change little things like how he walks and just goes about his day, but the show still treats them like natural arms and legs, but better. 

[ID: A screenshot of Fizzeroli from Helluva Boss, a white-skinned imp with 4 black, prosthetic limbs, dressed in teal a nightgown as he lays in bed, reading from a list /End ID]

We see that he never takes them off, even when sleeping, and when he needs to use them as regular arms and legs, they do everything he needs, perfectly fine - at least when they're working correctly. The only time he ever even takes them off or has any issues with them, is when they break in season 2. The word amputee is never used to describe him, as far as I remember, and the fact he is one never really comes up at all, except for when they break or when the story focuses on how he lost them. Which brings me to my next point.

The Glitchy/Broken Prosthetic

One way I see people try to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to take the prosthetic and break it or otherwise make it unreliable by having it malfunction, but not really changing anything else. This approach is heading in the right direction but still kind of misses the point of the criticism a lot of limb different folks have with the depictions of prosthetics in the media. Yeah, prosthetics do break down and some do require extra maintenance, but if your character's prosthetic is still exactly the same as a biological limb (or even better, in the case of the "enhanced prosthetic") when it's not broken, and the only time their disability is treated like a disability, is when it breaks, you're not really addressing the issue. Real prosthetics, like we discussed, even when functioning at 100%, exactly as the manufacturer intended, don't function the same as a meat-limb. They are fundamentally different, and the glitchy/unreliable prosthetic completely ignores all of that. Once again, Fizz is a really good example of this - the only time his prosthetics are not perfect, is when they break or are malfunctioning (despite the criticism, I do genuinely love Fizz as a character, but he unfortunately does fall into a lot of disability tropes).

[ID: Another screenshot of Fizzeroli, this time in a torn up jester outfit, looking down, panicked, at his prosthetic arms which are fully extended and laying motionless on the ground, with his left arm visibly short-circuiting with electricity around it. /End ID]

Now this isn't to say you can't have your character's prosthetics break down or malfunction at all. just that this shouldn't be the only way you differentiate the prosthetic from a biological limb. You should also be mindful of how or why they're breaking. A typical prosthetic isn't going to break down randomly from normal use unless something is very, very wrong or your character just has a terrible prosthetist (which unfortunately, does happen). You might experience issues if you try to make the prosthetic do something it just wasn't designed to do, or expose it to something it wasn't designed to deal with though (e.g. submerging an electronic prosthetic in water and trying to use it to swim).

Just add Phantom Pain

Another common pitfall I see when people are trying to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to just give the character in question phantom pain - which is a side-effect of amputation where your brain's mental map of the body doesn't acknowledged you lost a limb. Your brain tries to fill in the gaps, since there is no signals coming from that part of the body anymore, and assumes either something must be wrong and so you should be in pain, even when you actually aren't. Alternatively, it can also happen when your brain was so used to feeling pain from that area before, in the case of people who had chronic conditions before they lost their limb, that it just keeps remaking those old signals itself. Like the broken/glitchy prosthetic approach, this also doesn't really address the issue with the perfect prosthetic trope, because it has nothing to do with the prosthetic itself. Phantom pain doesn't come from the prosthetic, nor does it effect how they're used, and so including it doesn't really address the issue of the prosthetic being functionally the same as the original, biological limb. This isn't to say that you shouldn't include phantom limb sensation or pain as something your character experiences, but just keep in mind that, when used on it's own, it doesn't counter the trope. Also, just be sure to do your research, everyone's experience with phantom pain is different and it's not something everyone with a limb difference even experiences.

Why is this trope even a problem?

Alright, so we know what the trope is, we know why it became so prevalent, ways to avoid it and also how not to avoid it. All good information, but why is this trope even bad? Why should you try to avoid it? Outside of just wanting to portray a real disability that effects real people more accurately in your creations, the prevalence of this trope actually contributes to a lot of real-world issues, especially when it's as overused as it currently is. I've talked before about "the jaws effect" - where the depiction of something in the media, especially something that the public is widely uneducated on, influences how people see it in real life. The Jaws effect specifically referred to how the popularity of creature-feature movies featuring sharks, like Jaws, caused the belief that sharks were monstrous killing machines to become much more wide-spread, even going so far as to influence decisions about laws and policy surrounding real-life shark preservation and culling in some parts of the world. But sharks aren't the only thing this has happened to.

Disabled people are so thoroughly misunderstood by wider society, that when tropes like this one become popular, people can and often do start to believe the misinformation they spread - in this case, believing that our prosthetics are a perfect replacement for a biological limb, and that getting a prosthetic means you're not disabled any more. While this can be annoying and cause small scale issues for some of us, like people giving us a hard time for using disability accommodations we very much need, it can also impact us in systemic ways too. If the wrong people believe these tropes, it can and does have a very real impact on the lives of disabled people through things like changes to policies to make it harder for amputees and people with limb differences to access financial assistance for other things outside of our prosthetics we may need assistance with.

Conclusion

Despite the very real harm tropes like this can do when it's overused, I don't think it should go away entirely. Some of my favourite pieces of media even use the perfect prosthetic trope and there are even some kinds of media where I even think it's somewhat unavoidable. Characters with perfect prosthetics in kids media in particular, especially when talking about side characters, can help to correct some of the other stereotypes kids may have seen elsewhere - such as prosthetics being "creepy" or "scary" - in a way that is casual and easy for them to understand. The problem with the trope, in my eyes, is it's excessive overuse. It's the fact that it seems to be the only representation amputees and people with limb differences are getting now. Not every story with a limb-different character can or even should delve into the reality of what using prosthetics is actually like, but we need at least some stories that do, without it being this majorly depressing thing.

[infinitelystrangemachinex]

Jayce and the fallacy of the butterfly effect in Arcane's narrative

If Jayce's symbol is the butterfly, then my theory is that we're going into a full "butterfly effect" narrative in Act 2. Either we'll watch it happen, or we'll only see Jayce come out the other side of it changed by the experience, knowing - or more importantly, THINKING he knows - what to do to change the future. Literally, to "defend tomorrow."

tl;dr: Jayce will encounter the butterfly effect in season 2. Viktor and Mel both foreshadowed this in season 1. I think Jayce will fixate on Viktor and will believe that stopping or changing Viktor either in the past or the present - most likely the present - will mean he can save the future. I believe this will lead to an even worse tragedy and may have the same effect as a self-fulfilling prophecy. Ekko's approach to changing the future by sticking closer to the present - considering only tiny increments of time to alter more immediate future outcomes - will be the superior approach. I also think that Jayce attempting to change the future will create the conditions that push Viktor to become the Machine Herald.

One of the most common reactions even the casual viewer had to Arcane season 1 was this: "If [character] had just done this one small thing a little differently, [tragic event] wouldn't have happened!"

Arcane has been called a Greek tragedy for the main reason that because of how well built up the characters' personalities and reasonings are, there's no other way season 1 could have gone. There was no stopping the multiple tragedies that occurred, because with one event leading to another, the chain of seemingly inevitable events goes too far back to identify what one singular event caused everything, what one character made what one decision to put our characters on the terrible paths they walked.

Arcane is about to investigate this idea in its own narrative, and I think that Jayce will be the character to stumble into the flawed idea that you can change one event, or stop one character, and change the future for the better. This is because Jayce struggles with a few very interesting character flaws, one of them being that he believes himself to be the main character, and it is therefore his responsibility to intervene, be a hero, and fix things.

Viktor and Mel both foreshadow Jayce's future encounter with the butterfly effect.

Recall that Viktor said: "There is always a choice."

Jayce sees choices in black and white, believes that he has no other options but to go along with what he's persuaded and pushed into, and acts too boldly with too much power multiple times.

Recall that Mel said: "We can't change what fate has in store for us, but we don't have to face it alone."

Jayce tries to solve big problems on his own, and though he delegates to Enforcers and the like, Jayce relies on his reasoning and his alone to make important decisions if he doesn't simply become persuaded - usually through strong emotions like fear - by other characters. In addition, since Mel is specifically talking about Viktor's plight here, it's worth mentioning that while Jayce did say that he would help Viktor in acts 2 and 3 of season 1, Jayce does wind up leaving Viktor to face his fate alone. When Jayce tries to change that fate in s2 ep1, ep2 shows that only tragedy can come of this as well.

Viktor and Mel's statements here are not contradictory. Viktor makes the point that you can always make a choice. In context, he's literally referring to the classic "secret third option," because given a choice between aggression and passivity, war and surrender, Viktor chooses to defuse the bomb instead. Mel, interestingly, seems to believe that destiny is fixed in a broad sense, and she operates as a politician and diplomat and investor who navigates that line of destiny in the most optimal way possible. In reality, in context, she is referring to the fact that Viktor can't change the way he was born and so he has no way to change his fate and therefore must face it, which is true - she's only missing the information that Viktor actually does have the means to change his illness and his body. Her wisdom still applies however, because he'll have to accept the hand that fate deals him after he makes that choice. Will he face it alone, or not?

There is always a choice, there's even secret third options, because having a fate doesn't mean that you are doomed to make only one possible series of choices. What it does mean is that each choice comes with a hand that fate deals you. It is impossible to know what all of these branching choices and consequences are in advance, and it is just as impossible in hindsight - the branches are too complex and the end outcomes are all equally meaningful, just different. If Arcane season 2 is to be a tragedy, it may show us that each possible outcome is still tragic if you fall for the fallacy of the butterfly effect.

Jayce is counseled by some of the wisest, cleverest characters with the deepest life experiences in Arcane, but he hardly ever takes that counsel to heart. If he does, he still acts on that counsel in flawed ways that have unintended consequences. This will come to a head in season 2.

Viktor and Jayce both have a butterfly following them around in season 1. The butterfly effect refers to one small seemingly insignificant event changing the course of history, and changing that event therefore changes history. Viktor bled over the railing of a Hexgate in season 1:

And Heimerdinger sees what we can only assume is Viktor's blood contaminating (?) the Hexgate in s2 ep3:

This might be the seemingly unimportant "inciting incident" that Jayce (and Heimerdinger and Ekko) settle on as something that should be avoided or erased by changing the past (if they time-travel with Ekko, for example).

I doubt that, if this is what this crew chooses to fixate on, it will be the only event that is considered as something to change. But let's take this and run with it for the sake of discussion.

As silly as it sounds, how do you stop Viktor from allowing his blood to come into contact with the arcane? Stop Viktor's involvement with the Academy entirely? Don't invent Hextech at all? But what if someone else invents Hextech besides Jayce? What if future tragedy befalls Piltover because it didn't invent Hextech?

The possibilities and what-ifs could branch on forever. But because Jayce is who he is, and because his tragedy with Viktor is still raw and recent and frightening, I think Jayce's butterfly effect experience will have to do with Viktor.

My personal prediction is that the timeskip between s2 ep3 and ep4 will be Jayce experiencing a timeline where Viktor, taken over by the Hexcore, brings about an apocalyptic event similar to what Heimerdinger experienced in his past. Either Jayce and co. can't go into the past to change the present, or Heimerdinger and/or Ekko advise strongly against it to avoid a paradox. This will lead to them re-entering the canon Arcane timeline before this apocalypse, but still after the timeskip. Jayce, believing that destroying Viktor and his cult will save the future, and believing that resurrecting Viktor was Jayce's mistake to fix, attacks him. But the consequences don't unfold the way he hopes, because trying to change fate once the cards have already been dealt has led to tragedy before.

The butterfly is a symbol of something other than just the butterfly effect - change, evolution, and rebirth. If the butterfly symbolizes the butterfly effect for Jayce, then I think it has a different meaning for Viktor - the change and rebirth meaning.

I've always found it very interesting that we see a similar-looking butterfly on Progress Day... but made of metal.

Every time Viktor's situation changes, he adapts and evolves. If Jayce attacks him, if his cult is destroyed, if the Hexcore is causing Viktor to decay, if all of these things happen at once - he'll just evolve again, and I think the Machine Herald is the next step. And the Machine Herald will be a triumph for Viktor, but Jayce will believe that he's created something even worse. The resulting feud will be a personal nightmare for both of them.

I think this still allows Viktor to use his own agency to choose to become the Machine Herald (the MH will probably be the "secret third option" that saves Viktor, or there will be a secret third option that ends the feud) while still allowing Jayce to be offended and horrified at whatever the Machine Herald represents or is trying to do in the undercity. Introducing the element of time travel allows Arcane to explore the meta concept of tragedy and fate that season 1 was built on while showing that you can't "solve" a tragedy, because there are other terrible possibilities lurking behind alternate choices. Especially if what you're trying to change is singular people or events and not systems of power.

This is why Ekko's approach with his Z-drive will be superior to Jayce's sweeping attempt at changing the future. Ekko's goal has always been societal change. He creates his own punk society in the undercity, more progressive and successful than anything Vander or Silco ever created, and a better bastion of safety, hope, and progress than what Heimerdinger founded in Piltover. Trying to change systems by going back in time is most likely futile. But taking what Ekko has already built in the Firelights, curing his tree, and fighting for the Firelights' survival bit by bit by optimizing the present with the Z-drive shows that:

It's more worth it to focus on becoming wise (Ekko's mask is an owl) and making choices you won't regret

It's best if you don't face your fate alone (act as a collective and take care of each other)

Consider every option, not just the obvious black and white choices

Maintain and fix what you've already built instead of abandoning it once things get difficult

Adapt as needed if the choices you made lead to dark consequences, and once again, stick together and take care of each other when the bad times do come

That's my Act 2 but, ultimately, my season 2 prediction based on the butterfly symbolism we've already seen. Ekko's involvement is what will give the series the at least partial happy ending that the creators have referred to. I personally don't think that the Viktor/Jayce feud will end quite so well, but maybe, they will still survive.

[mrfoox]

I've done it again (acted like an lovestruck fool infront of my friends)

[nerdyjournals]

Thank you for your request! Other than the little mishap, this was a fun one to do! You really had me thinking over what each one would get upset over, so hopefully they all fit!

Bang Chan

You could feel his eyes bore through you as Chan stared at you through the glass in the hospital door. He looked frazzled. Hair a mess, the bags under his eyes even worse than before.

He stepped in and you watched all the air escape him as he took in your bandaged wrist.

"And what have we learned?" He said, voice soft but stern.

"To wait until help arrives and to not be a stubborn and impatient baby," you whined as he lifted up your hand. "They said it'll be a week or so before I can lift anything."

"Do you see why I was so insistent that you wait?" You nodded. "Plus I have seven able body movers who were ready to help us later tonight after rehearsals."

You whispered another apology as he took you into his arms and held you tight.

"I'm just glad you're okay and it was nothing major."

Lee Know

You felt yourself wince as you stepped over the threshold of your apartment. You had been hoping to do some spring cleaning before Minho got home so he could just rest.

He had told you to do it in stages so you wouldn't overwork and hurt yourself, but what do you do? You overwork and hurt yourself.

Now you softly flinch as you spot him sitting in an armchair that you swear was never positioned in the middle of the hallway.

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?" You scratched the back of your head nervously.

"Big time." Minho stood from the chair and walked over. "You know I tell you not to do things because I care about you, right?" You nod. "So why go against me?"

"I wanted you to have a nice place to rest since you've been working so hard, but I just screwed up again." He pulled you into a soft hug, silently trying to find where you were hurt. "You're not even supposed to be home early. Why are you here?"

"You always send me a photo of your food before my lunch break if you're home, and I know for a fact that you have today off."

"You were worried?"

"Don't tell the media. I do have a reputation to uphold, you know."

Okay, the laugh hurt a little bit.

Changbin

The front door opened and closed without Changbin's usual fanfare. Yup, you were in trouble.

His figure came around the corner with a small pharmacy bag and two cups of boba. Okay, so he wasn't that mad....yet.

"Are you okay?" Those words shocked you, having been ready for his beratement or something along those lines.

"I'm okay. A little sore, but okay." He walked over and handed you the drink and bag. "I thought you said you'll be late tonight."

"And I knew that if I didn't come home at my earliest convenience, you'd try something stupid again." You pouted as both of you knew he was right. "I know you want our first place to be perfect, but we have all the time in the world to decorate."

"I work from home, Bin. I need something to do other than watching a computer screen for eight hours."

"Then bring your laptop with you and visit the studio. The guys won't mind. They love you."

"Are you sure I won't be distracting?"

"Never. If anything, you might get annoyed with Jisung's antics."

"I'll take that risk."

Hyunjin

The sound of feet rushing against the tile of your apartment floor brought you back to reality. Your little perch on the balcony slightly helped alleviate your headache.

Hyunjin stood there with a small pharmacy bag and a hand fan.

"Are you okay? Any breakouts or irritation?" He asked, worry filling his voice with each word.

"No. I got out quickly enough." You said, obviously tired. He switched on the hand fan and placed it yours as he set the bag aside. "I'm sorry."

"What were you doing in there anyway?"

"I wanted to clean up a bit. You were really stressed about it."

"I'd rather have a messy studio than have you in the hospital." His gaze drifted from you to the view. "Fresh air help?"

"Not as much as you."

Han

Hearing footsteps approach, you quickly tried to get off the floor but to no avail.

"Aish..." Han's soft curse came from the doorway. "Didn't I tell you to wait for me before trying to unpack?"

The two of you had moved in together recently and your stuff was the last to unpack and also the heaviest.

"Did you finish your book already?" He asked as the two of you began to pick up the fallen novels. He could see your face scrunch at all the bent pages and covers.

"I thought the next one was in the stack of opened boxes. I just wanted to start and not have to bug you for something so small."

"You enjoy reading, yeah?" You slowly nodded. "Then it's not so small. I think it's small when I interrupt your reading for a thirty second clip opinion."

You nodded and placed another book back in the box as he tilted your chin over to look him in the eyes.

"If any of your books got ruined, they're replaceable. You know what's not? You. So ask me next time, okay?"

Felix

It was a little embarrassing to have Felix walk in and see you with your hand submerged in a bowl of water.

"I thought I told you to do an ice shower," he sighed as he placed the bag in the table.

"Why would I need to shower for just my hand?" You slowly lifted out of the water and showed off the damage. "How bad?"

"Well, it's not blistering so that's good." Felix grabbed the kitchen towel to dry pat your hand. "What were you doing anyway?"

"Taking cookies out of the oven." You pointed over to where a batch of cookies still sat on the baking sheet. "I couldn't find the mitts so i used the rubber ones, but the back of my hand touched the metal."

"You're very brave to even keep them on the tray while in pain." He put the cream on and began to wrap it. "You're not allowed to bake without me here anymore, okay? At least, not until this heals."

"Oh no. I have to spend more quality time with my boyfriend. Whatever shall I do?" The sarcasm dripped from your words, making him smile and press against the injury.

"Don't make me regret it."

Seungmin

His steps were frantic as he unlocked the apartment door. Part of him was thankful they had chosen to put security cameras in the house, but the other part cursed him cause it forced him to watch his partner take a nasty fall.

"Y/N?" He didn't raise his voice, knowing that you might have a bad headache.

Your hand peeked out from behind the kitchen island and he rushed over. He found you leaned against the cabinet with an ice pack against the back of your head.

"Hey," he whispered, "1 to 10?" You held up four fingers then four more. "Can you stand?" You signed out the sign for 'no.' "Can I carry you? I got the car running outside." You signed 'yes.' "Talking hurts?" You signed 'yes' again as he carefully lifted you into his arms.

You signed 'sorry' as you made it to the car.

"Why are you apologizing? It was an accident and the guys understand that." He gently placed you in the passenger seat. "They will want an update once you're all clear, okay?"

You signed 'okay.'

I.N

Something was off. You had been avoiding his hand ever since he got home. Normally Jeongin won't mind, but you won't even hold it in front of you.

"You tried to hook up the gundam already, didn't you?" He said as he watched you freeze. "Show me the damage."

You slowly held your hand out, placing it softly in his. Small bandages say on a few knuckles while little red dots covered your palm.

"You tried to solder the wires without knowing how to use the tool, didn't you?" You tried to take your hand back but failed. "I told you to wait for me."

"But I wanted it done so that I could show it to you when you got home. Now it's just sitting there, taunting me."

"What's more fun? Building together or building alone?"

"Together." You sounded so shy.

"Then let's have dinner and we'll finish your project together." You nodded. "And then I yell at my brother to never give you a complicated set again."

"JEONGIN."

[yanmuffins]

SAFETY IN IGNORANCE.

Yandere! Prince! Gojo X fem! Isekai! Maid! Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve been transmigrated to the world of an otome game, taking the place of one of Prince Satoru's personal attendants, a measly side character with no name or relevance to the story.

As it turns out, life in the castle isn't so bad, and the certainty of food and shelter is welcome when finding a way home isn't ever guaranteed. Besides, your boss isn't as insufferable as you thought he would be. It could be worse. Isn't it nice, knowing you're safe?

WORD COUNT: 7.4k words (😮)

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: NONCON (no intercourse), somnophilia, mentions of past s/a, mild yandere behavior (if you squint?), mild derealization, AU setting.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: please be aware my writing is quite rusty!! this is the first piece of writing that i finish IN YEARS and it's a fucking jjk darkfic. sigh. writing smutty scenes is also so awkward lmao, forgive me if it sucks severely. at least i hope you enjoy this little fucked up fic in have cooked up. it's hot and ready to be consumed! (๑>؂•̀๑)

-> MINORS DNI !

“TALES OF SPELLBINDING LOVE is a visual novel that takes place in a fantastical setting, where you can find your happily ever after with the character of your choice.”

It's been years – in this world, at least – but you still remember every word skimmed with dry, irritated eyes, as you stared at a bright screen, surrounded by the darkness of your own bedroom. It was another restless night among many, spent watching YouTube videos and reading pirated manga in questionable website, sipping on valerian tea.

So, like any other night, your adblocker dutifully served its purpose, shielding your browser from annoying, abusive, virulent ads.

Except for one.

“Enter the enchanting world of TALES OF SPELLBINDING LOVE through SARA, a kind-hearted peasant, as she meets all sorts of swoon-worthy suitors!”

You should have closed the page, sketchy as it was, but it had piqued your interest. It was a Friday night. You were sleepless. It was past midnight, tossing and turning in bed had done little to welcome slumber. Your home was tidy and organized from insomniac hours from nights before. You were bored.

“Play with a cast of handsome men, make the right choices and uncover exciting secret routes...”

Nothing about the web design told you the game was anything but a harmless dating simulator for an adult audience. Maybe it was the pastel color-scheme, with soft pinks, yellows, blues, purples and greens, or the elegant cursive font and colorful flowers adorning the page. In fact, other than the initial synopsis, there wasn't much to look at. No content warnings, nothing about the capture targets or the heroine you were supposed to be playing as, not even the usual information on how many endings or CGs you could get.

At the bottom of the page, “ENTER.” and “LEAVE?” buttons waited for a decision.

Maybe... you could give it a try? Hopefully it would entertain you until your eyelids finally grew heavy, allowing you to drift off before sunshine seeped through your window signaling dawn had arrived.

You clicked “ENTER.”.

... And here you are now, mending Prince Satoru's shirt before another hunting trip.

It's been ten years since you've come to this world. Your own body replaced that of a nameless background character with no narrative purpose, allowing you to exist as yourself in this entirely alien reality. You're not sure how much time has passed in your original world, whether you've been dead for a decade or simply unconscious for a couple of minutes, and you haven't gotten any closer to finding out.

You sigh, weary, looking down at the flax linen shirt laid over your lap, needle in hand. Simple, at first glance, a bit worn, but a nice piece of garment not everyone could afford to have in their wardrobe. One of its puffed sleeves now torn at the shoulder lining, an unfortunate result of it being caught by a tree branch during horse-riding. Nothing you couldn’t fix, however, skilled as you’d become over the years.

Ten years in this world.

Ten years working as Prince Satoru’s personal maid.

You got rewarded for that.

The luxurious pearl necklace that became a part of your distinguished blue uniform, accompanied by a gold pendant encrusted with gemstones shaped like the Gojo’s family crest. It was an honor given to faithful, dutiful servants to the crown, closest to the royal family.

Satoru and you were both eighteen when you’d first presented yourself as his new personal maid. This body, undoubtedly yours, seemed to have aged down a few years, most likely to match the age of your predecessor. They had, apparently, been working hard to better their lot in life, aiming for an often-vacant position at the prince’s small circle of personal attendants. You inherited the skills they’d nurtured, bettering them along the years, allowing you to secure your spot as long as you have.

That, and Prince Satoru Gojo’s character trivia really came in handy an absurd number of times.

There were worse fates out there, especially for a transmigrated person like you. Sure, maybe life as a privileged noblewoman would have been ideal, even more useful in searching for a way home, but being a personal servant to Prince Satoru, as… Eccentric as he was, gave you advantages compared to other peasants, even other castle servants. Plenty of food, fine fabrics, individual accommodations, not having to exhaust yourself scrubbing floors all day or sweating by the heat of the kitchen fires – besides, the Gojo heir wasn’t quite as terrible a boss once you got used to him.

You remember finding his route in-game quite boring, full of cliché tropes and little to no conflict. He was also kind of an overbearing asshole the entire time, unlikability salvaged only by his elven good looks.

But nothing could have prepared you to the otherworldly beauty he posed standing right in front of you, in the flesh, for the first time, glacial orbs eyeing you up and down. You admitted to yourself – although begrudgingly, as he was your least favorite character among the ones you’d played – that Satoru Gojo was as handsome as they come and had every right to be smug about it.

Smiling to yourself, you put aside the needle and thread to hold up the shirt with one hand, gently tracing over the repaired sleeve with the other. You tug at it to test its resistance, nodding absentmindedly when its stays in place. It’s good as new, just in time for his hunting trip. You get up, taking a moment to adjust your skirts and straighten your white linen apron and coif, neatly folding the shirt and draping it over your arm. According to your pocket watch, his attendants should be waking him up at any minute now.

You grab the doorknob, wondering when you’d become so accustomed to this life.

And then you’re heading towards the prince’s chambers.

Gojo’s head snaps in your direction as soon as he hears the door creak open, a lazy smile gracing his features. You bow to him, respectfully averting your eyes as an attendant removes his undertunic to reveal his naked form.

“Good morning, Your Highness.”

He doesn’t regard you immediately, arms raised as William, one of his attendants, quickly fetches the shirt from your arm and slips it over his head. It’s a morning ritual familiar to you by now, efficient movements shared between all three blue-clad servants in the room to make sure the prince will be properly dressed for his daily affairs.

Kai, your other colleague, hands you a black leather surcoat. It’s undoubtedly fit for royalty, handcrafted by the best tailor in the land; buttons of silver, western dragons embroidered on each side of its chest, facing each other, with gold thread some miller’s daughter had spun from straw – or so you’d heard. You feel his gaze upon you as you button up the overgarment, knowing exactly what he expects.

Gojo steps back when you’re done, doing a slow spin to show off his outfit.

“What flattery does this little doll have for me today?” He asks, “Do I look dashing?”

“Yes, my lord Prince, as always.” You respond, with a courtly nod of your head.

“What about my hair?”

“Soft like the finest silk in the land, fairer than the first snow of the season, Your Highness.”

“What about my lips?”

“Tender and pink like freshly bloomed petunias in springtime, Your Highness.”

“And my eyes? And my eyes?” Gojo goads you on, a boyish excitement to his voice, his face coming a bit too close for comfort as if pleading to look up at him.

Playfully, your eyes meet his, granting his unspoken wish, holding his gaze for nothing more than a few seconds, a simpering smile as you speak.

“So strikingly blue it would put a midday sky in a summer’s day to shame, Your Highness.”

He releases an exaggerated sigh before grabbing your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks – his touchiness hardly phased you anymore; harmless, albeit pestering –, head slightly cocked to the side and a pout on his lips.

“You tease.”

Kai, newer to the group, shoots an alarmed look towards William, who merely shrugs him off.

And just as quickly he releases you, storming out the door as you and your colleagues follow after him, hurrying along the hallway steps behind him like ducklings after their mother.

Gojo Satoru is exactly seven minutes late to meet his guests. Not his servant’s fault at all, of that, you are sure. You had checked your pocket watch while walking through the castle hallways, confirming he would be on time to meet his guests at the open area of the stables – that was, of course, before all the meaningless detours he took along the way. You’re not sure if he does it on purpose.

William had his weaponry arranged, waiting at the hands of a servant, while Kai had personally spoken to the Marshal to have his Highness’ horse ready, both having woken up earlier than usual to make the proper arrangements.

Naturally, they would follow him to the hunting trip, as part of his entourage, while you stayed behind and made sure all was perfect for their return.

Your arrangements included waking up as early as the kitchen staff, the sun barely peeking through the horizon, to revise the ingredients you’d requested in advance with the head cook, so a kitchen maid could go and fetch them from the forest or the market. You’d love to be able to traverse the markets or the woods freely, exploring, meeting new people, finding out new things about this world that could potentially lead to a way home — but alas, being a personal attendant to the prince meant tasks such as picking herbs at the woods or buying strawberries from a merchant were, per your colleague’s words, below you.

It's a nice day out. A faint breeze caresses your skin, cool enough to be refreshing, and the skies are clear and blue with not a cloud to be seen. The autumn sun shines gently upon the earth, sparing of its overbearing heat. Your presence isn’t exactly necessary, but Gojo has made a habit of you seeing him off and you wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be outside.

“Fashionably late as always, Satoru.” His grace, Geto Suguru, is the first one to speak up.

A swoon-worthy duke, with a storyline much too… disconcerting… for your taste. Though the number of times you’d spoken to Geto could be counted on your fingers, being in his presence still put you on edge. Not that he had ever done anything to you, but you’d accidentally met his eyes countless times, caught him staring at you with a gaze so invasive it made you feel like a criminal awaiting judgement.

“Late? Treason. A prince is always on time, Suguru.” Gojo replies with a nonchalant shrug, “You were the ones here early!”

Awaiting his arrival were a group of familiar young men. Most you had seen in-game through the extensive selection of capture targets, coming to meet them in-person over the years due to their ties with the prince. You had played some of their routes, but with the exception of Megumi – Gojo’s protégé – you hadn’t a reason to talk to them, merely exchanging a word or two or none at all when in their presence.

“Finally.”

Nanami Kento looks mildly inconvenienced as he speaks, tone flat, arms crossed over his broad chest and a visible scowl creasing his features. He was a retired knight, born a peasant, presently a Baron; a personal favorite of yours. You couldn’t help but steal a glance or two whenever he was around. You remember kicking your feet up in the air during his playthrough. Sometimes you still do.

Next to him stood Prince Yuji Itadori, too entertained by his own horse as he fed him a carrot. You have faint memories of playing his route, although you don’t remember finishing it. He was a sweetheart, from what you knew, periodically visiting from a neighboring kingdom to learn from Nanami and Satoru and cultivate friendly diplomatic relations. You’d cracked your head trying to recollect bits and pieces of his story, unsuccessfully. You had a pesky feeling it was relevant.

Fushiguro Megumi was last. Broody lost prince, currently hidden under Prince Satoru’s protection – you hadn’t played his route, but he was a constant side character in Gojo’s. He was still a child when you met him, shortly after Gojo brought him into the castle.

When Megumi notices you, there’s a smile; faint, barely noticeable, and he waves. You respond with a brief curtsy.

“Can we go?” Yuji protests, interrupting some petty squabble between Satoru and Suguru, “I hear there’s a huge wild boar running around causing ruckus around the village, I want to catch it!”

Mounted on his white steed, Gojo is a cliché as old as time; a trotting reminder of your being in a world that isn't your own. The anodyne sight of him looking down on you, pink lips softly curving upwards to gift you a kind smile as the sun shines from behind him is almost identical to one of the game’s CG’S. It shouldn’t – you’ve grown used to him, to living inside this game, material as your own world – but for a moment, and just a moment, the sight of a whimsical prince on a white horse wiggles an uncomfortable, yet familiar feeling of surrealness, unreality into your mind, making your stomach churn.

You ignore it. Mentally sweep it under the carpet of your subconscious. This is nothing new. You can spiral into an existential crisis over the absurd condition of your circumstances later, when you’re lying sleepless in bed staring at the ceiling.

You’ve run out valerian root, anyway.

“I am obliged to be away for an entire day!” He whines, words punctuated by dramatic sullenness to his body language.

You step closer to him, taking a respectful bow before offering him a pair of neatly-wrapped sunglasses, which he takes – a distinctive feature of his character.

“So, you must, Your Highness. Go, and may the mother of good luck be with you.”

Satoru extends an arm toward you, presenting his hand. You kiss it – your own lips touching soft, pristine skin; a needed reminded he was a person, made of flesh that could be touched and not pixels limited to a screen.

From your peripheral, Kai elbows William as discreetly as he can.

You return to the prince’s sleeping quarters immediately after their departure. Overseeing the chambermaids, you watch them change the bedding for a fresh set, correcting the pair on your favored arrangement of pillows, fussing as they dust around the priceless ornaments around the chamber, amiably warning them to be careful.

When they’re done, you move onwards to the kitchen.

There are people watching you as you march through the hallways. Spying little peepers full of envy or admiration, or both, and you know what they’re looking at – the telltale blue fabric of your dress, a color so inaccessible to many, and the necklace you bear from years of service. Despite your own wishes, it makes you an intimidating figure, as if you’re an extension of royalty. Being a personal attendant to the prince meant upholding that image, keeping yourself unapproachable, discouraged from socializing and making merry with anyone but servants considered to be on your level.

Still, you greet the kitchen staff with a smile, trying to be as cordial as you possibly can. You know all of them by name, from the head cook to the scullery maid, all exceptionally busy for tonight’s private feast. It’s not your job to review the selection of dishes to be served, but you do so anyway, even if superficially, reminding them to provide a non-alcoholic beverage for the prince. Attentively, you listen to the head cook as he showcases the ingredients for the pastries you requested, assuring of their quality.

It's a bit of a hollow feeling when you leave the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, knowing the rest of your day will be spent alone. Without Gojo, there’s nothing much to do. Without William and Kai, your social circle has been just about reduced to zero.

But you do know where you’ll be spending all of those long, unending hours.

Being a personal servant to Prince Satoru gave you advantages. Privileges, if you will.

When he asked you what you would like for your latest birthday, you made quite a bold request. It’s the newest addition to the key bunch hanging from your waist – full, unbridled access to the royal library. The thought of having an entire day to search through never-ending shelves, making notes and finding books that could possibly lead to finding a way home cheers you up a bit.

“Are you fornicating with the prince?”

You nearly choke on your drink when the question abruptly comes out of Kai’s mouth, unable to speak from the utter shock. William is at his side, chewing on a chicken leg, and can only stare wide-eyed at his colleague’s bluntness. It’s been a while since the hunting party returned, clear blue skies fading into shades of orange adorned by heavy, rumbling clouds. Outside, tree branches sway to the force of the wind, preparing to welcome a starless night of rain and cold. Gathered at the table on Prince Satoru’s solar room, the three of you were having dinner to replenish your energy before the feast while Gojo entertained his guests.

It was usually a casual moment to decompress. Not tonight, Kai had decided.

“What– No!” You retort, scandalized, “What could have given you that impression?!”

“What hasn’t given me that impression, you mean.”

“Kai–” William tries to interject, but you’re quicker to rejoinder.

“I am not… fornicating with anyone, especially not prince Satoru. There’s nothing like that between us. That’s… How he is. You’re just not used to him yet.”

“But–”

“I think we’re better off cutting this topic of conversation here.” William interrupts, slightest bit of panic in his voice, eager to deflect conflict, “I know you’re still adapting to your new position, Kai, and that’s why I’m sure (Y/N) will be kind enough to let this slide.”

William looks at you expectantly, almost pleading, and you scoff before crossing your arms over your chest. The mere notion seems ridiculous – you, doing the deed of darkness with one of the game’s capture targets, destined to fall in love with the heroine regardless of whether she decided to pursue him or not? It would be a disaster waiting to happen. You were nothing if not a professional, serving your boss to the best of your power, and all of Satoru’s affections stemmed from his own outlandish personality. That was all. Your dynamic could be less than orthodox, but it was platonic in its nature.

“Come now, we can’t afford not to get along. Kai, apologize to (Y/N). I have worked alongside her for ten long years, and if she says she’s not engaging in improper acts with the prince, then she’s not.”

Kai silently looks between the both of you, finally letting out a defeated sigh.

“It’s a reasonable question, seeing you two…” He insists, shifting uncomfortably on his seat, “But I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“It’s fine, I guess. No one has ever insinuated that before.”

“Not to your face, doll.” Kai shrugs, nonchalant.

You want to snap back at him, but in comes the realization that he’s not wrong. Perhaps it was living within your bubble, mostly limited to your coworkers and your boss, had made you clueless to people outside and what gossip ran about you. William and Benji, Kai’s predecessor, had accompanied you in serving Gojo for a decade; neither of them would ever dare question your relationship with the prince or the harmless liberties involved; they were accustomed to it. And, well, you were accustomed to the point you thought everyone else saw it as you did: normal. The sudden realization that not all would find Prince Satoru’s affections towards you something ordinary was a staggering concept in your mind – but it was so simple. So obvious.

Then again, it never occurred you to ask…

“Do you think it’s weird, William? Be honest.”

“I have no opinion of anything, ever.” William stated, crossing over his heart with his right hand, “But now that you mention it, Benji did confide in me, shortly before he was relieved from service. Said something about ‘inappropriate displays of affection towards a heedless maiden’, I believe?”

“Oh. Benji never said anything like that to me.”

“He wouldn’t. Between you and me, he had a soft spot for you, so I do believe that statement was a little biased.”

On your face, an expression of utter confusion. You never noticed any signs of Benji liking you romantically, but then again, you apparently don’t notice much around you. The chicken seems to have lost its taste when you bite into it, mind too preoccupied with the conversation you just had. Not that there’s any use reminiscing about Benji – the man having been released from service only a month prior, after prince Satoru arranged him a marriage to a marquis’ daughter.

Now that you think of it, he didn’t seem too pleased about the match. Or about leaving.

The stone-walled bathroom smelled of fresh flowers and citrus. Sliced oranges and grapefruits, calendulas, sunflowers, rose petals, mint leaves, forget-me-nots, floating in the steaming hot water that filled the circular, wooden bathtub. Night has long since arrived, and even with the shutters of the only window in the room closed you can still hear the heavy rain pouring against glass and the rattling of wood caused by unrelenting wind.

Despite that, the candles illuminating the room, as well as the small fire burning underneath a boiling pot of water, kept the room pleasantly warm.

On the other side of the door, William and Kai undress the prince. All had retired to their respective bedchambers by now, and it’s not long before the pair of attendants are dismissed for the night. Gojo is already disrobing by the time he enters the bathroom, excitedly blabbering about the hunting trip as he plops the velvet garment onto your waiting hands, stepping into the warm embrace of the thoughtfully drawn bath. Suddenly, the ceiling becomes particularly interesting.

He lets out a long, satisfied sigh.

“… Not that I’m complaining about tonight’s banquet, though. I’m just a bit disappointed, you know? All the fuss people were making over a silly boar, and it made a passable meal at best…”

You hang the robe. From a tray placed beside the fireplace you select a pink macaron, feeding it to him before you start to work a soapy sponge along his skin. It had been a deeply embarrassing experience at first, aiding him in his baths; with time, however, like many other things, it had faded into normalcy. Nothing but work, is what you tell yourself when you elevate one of his sinewy legs with your hand, sponge inching closer and closer to his groin. You steal a quick glance at him, half-listening to his words, seeing Gojo laid back, unashamed by your ministrations, playing with the petals of a soggy sunflower.

“Ah– Megumi! His aim is getting better. He’s gotten really good at shooting with a bow and arrow…”

You wash the soap off your hands when you’re finished with his body. You feed him a small tart, topped with vanilla cream, strawberries, and blueberries. Still, he prattles on, words muffled by his munching,

“… mmph… And Suguru is still being weird about that wife of his… Something-something ‘she’s different from before’ and refused to elaborate…”

He quiets down a bit once you retrieve a warm compress, placing it over his eyes, fingers moving to either side of his temples to massage them with gentle circular motions. He relishes a bit on the relief it brings after a day straining his eyes. As he relaxes further under your touch, you let your mind wander, recounting the frustratingly slow progress with your research.

Even with access to the great royal library, the sheer number of books on varying topics was discouraging enough to tempt an emotional breakdown. You scoured through shelves, gathering a collection of sorcerer biographies, spell books, history books, encyclopedias – anything that could hold the subtlest bit of information regarding transmigration. And still… Nothing. Your eyes still felt a bit dry, a lingering headache from reading within the ill-illuminated library. All you had at this point were your own theories – and that wasn’t saying much.

If only you could leave the castle for a bit. A frightening thought, of course, as you could count on a single hand the number of times you had seen the world beyond the castle walls, never straying too far from the place you now called home. All of those occasions you had been following Prince Satoru on some of his trips, mostly diplomatic, with no freedom to walk around and talk to people as you pleased.

Perhaps a vacation was all you needed. Your “parents” lived not too far, if you remembered correctly, on one of the neighboring villages subservient to the Gojo crown. A favored place for merchants to gather, fairly populated, maybe if you tried investigating–

“(Y/N)?? (Y/N)??” Gojo’s fingers are snapping in front of your face, his eyes still covered by the compress, “Are you listening to me?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Your Highness. I think my mind just wandered for a bit…” You apologize, hurriedly forgoing his temples in favor of washing his hair, “What was it?”

He remains oddly silent as you pick up a smaller bucket of ambient-temperature water, delicately wetting his hair. You weren’t giving mere empty flattery earlier in the day; running your hands through his hair truly felt like touching the finest of silk.

“You know…” He starts, “I notice your mind tends to wander a lot, especially these days...”

There’s an edge to his tone, one you rarely hear him use.

“Your eyes seem to wander an awful lot, too, lately.”

Another pause. There's no silence in the room, just an uncomfortable absence of words; You hear the fire crackling. You hear the water boiling and bubbling, thinking for a moment you should check the temperature of his bath to see if it needs to be warmed. You hear the muffled sound of rain against glass. You hear wooden shutters rattling. There's a strange shift about the air, and you're confused, unsure of what he could mean.

He answers your unspoken question before the words have a chance to leave your mouth.

“I saw you stealing those little glances at Nanami.”

You stand, bucket in hands, mouth agape – embarrassment. The heat of complete embarrassment that overtakes you feels like cold water poured down on your body. Your hands feel a little weak as you quickly try to regain your composure, looking away from Gojo despite knowing his eyes aren’t on you.

Fiddling with the hem of your apron, you try to find your words.

“When… When did you–” You stammer, “How…”

“Ah-ha! So, you plead guilty. That’s soooo shameless, flower.”

The familiar playfulness in his tone brings back a bit of confidence. Still, there’s something about it you can’t quite place; for a moment, you think there’s a bark to it, bitterness. Perhaps it’s something unpleasant about his day that he’s hung up about, increased by you not listening to him. He’s just teasing, you conclude, trying to vent whatever annoyance peeved him by picking on you.

You massage Prince Satoru’s scalp with shampoo – or the closest thing they had to it, in this world – hoping to placate his abrupt change in mood. Maybe you’ll hand-feed him another macaron.

“I was just… Looking.” You offer, cautiously, unsure if any explanation would make it better or worse for yourself, “There’s no harm in looking. Lord Nanami was admirable as a knight, and he’s handsome…”

Worse, if the crease between his eyebrows is anything to go by.

“… But not nearly as handsome as you, my prince.”

That seems to appease Gojo who, with a petty harrumph, relaxed into your touch again. Appealing to his ego always seemed to get you out of trouble. You’d never thought to be grateful for his petulant grouching, but it's music to your ears compared to the spitefulness from a few moments ago.

“I just find it vexing. Why would you ever bat those little eyelashes at Nanamin when you have the Morgan le Fay of men right in front of you to admire?”

“There’s no need for jealousy, Your Highness.”

You were just a humble fangirl admiring your bias, after all. You weren’t made of stone.

“At the stables. During the banquet. Would you like to have a portrait of Nanamin, so you can gawk at him when he’s not here, too?”

You rinse his scalp, running your hands through locks of his hair.

“I am so very sorry, my prince. Speaking of... Uh... Speaking of banquets! I hear there will be a ball."

It's a poor attempt to change the subject, and you can only give Satoru a sheepish, almost apologetic smile when he raises one side of the compress to acknowledge it as such, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow at you.

There will be a ball. In a month, to be exact. You know that not just from the growing agitation within the castle, or the coming and going of unfamiliar faces hired for temporary work, but because you had been counting the days for this very event ever since you realized this was the ball that kickstarts the main story, taking place towards the end of the prologue. It meant the heroine would finally show up.

You're not sure what it will mean for you.

“Sure, a ball...” He says, “My old folks said they would invite all the eligible maidens across the land because they want me to find a wife.”

“I'm sure you’re not too psyched about this...”

Prince Satoru vehemently nods in agreement.

“... But who knows? Give it a chance, you might just meet the love of your life there.”

“Pfft– Right, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“And why not?  

“Well, what if I already met the love of my life?”

Then that would be some pretty weird timing, Your Highness. Prince Satoru wasn’t supposed to meet the heroine until a few days before the ball takes place, in a beautiful clearing out in the countryside, where they’ll share a lovely meet-cute after he nearly tramples her with his horse.

“Alright…” You spouted, unsure, “Why not bring her to the ball, Your Highness?”

“She’ll be there.”

His rosy lips curve into a conspiratory smirk, mostly to himself, blissfully unaware of the can of worms he just opened inside your mind. Had he already met the heroine? But it was way too early! It couldn’t be– or could it? You’ll have to check the makeshift calendar on your notebook. The timeline you wrote down, as well. There has to be some sort of plot hole you’re missing, or maybe the events have been thrown out of place for some reason.

“But you’re right, maybe a ball won’t be so bad. They said any eligible maiden across the land, rich or poor, of high or low birth. It’s an opportunity!” He announced, the last word said with enough enthusiasm to make you jump.  

Once again, you don’t have the time to ask what he means– or to avert your gaze as he abruptly steps out of the bath, getting an eyeful of his bare ass against your will. You pat him dry with a towel as he helps himself to the tray of tarts and macarons. He extends both arms when he’s done so you can slip on the velvet, deep blue robe back on his body. Another towel is wrapped around his head.

The robe keeps him warm as he sits on a chair, waiting for you to come and finalize his night routine. You stay behind in the bathroom, emptying the bathtub, turning out the fire, disposing of the unused boiling water since Prince Satoru had decided to cut his bath short tonight.

When you close the door behind you, the smell of flowers and citrus is still in the air, stuck to his skin. You hum a tune as you brush his hair, its strands like gossamer, offering no resistance to the bristles.

“(Y/N).”

Gojo lifts up his head, not a hint of playfulness in his face or his tone.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

And yet his eyes are soft as they burn into yours, as if thinking, evaluating.

“Who, in this land, is the fairest of all?”

Every time he asks you this, you wonder if there was some dialogue you missed in the game. Nevertheless, the blatant reference makes you want to laugh; with him, though, the answer is always the same. There is no one to overshadow his beauty, objective, obfuscating, infuriatingly incontestable, and he knows that– you know that.

“You alone, my prince, are the fairest of all.”

If you were anyone else, you’d swoon at the smile he graces you with.

“By the way, I have something for you.”

There is a small box on the table he’s seated by, simple, with a golden latch, inconspicuous enough to only catch your attention when Gojo slides it closer, opening it to reveal an assortment of herbs tied together with a string.

“Since you ran out of valerian root…”

There wasn’t a single herb you could recognize, at least not with the dim candlelight. Despite this, you were pretty certain there was no valerian in that box.

“How did you know, Your Highness?”

“Those eyebags under your eyes, I know you haven’t been sleeping well.” He says, matter-of-factly, “Some old hag passed by the hunting lodge today, selling all sorts of things. Said this was a potent mixture of herbs for those with sleeping problems. It’s all safe, I’ve had the royal apothecary check it.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, retrieving the box and holding against your chest. You hope it knocks you right out. Heavens know you need it, after today.

“This is so generous, Your Highness… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need.”

He latches the box closed.

“Just have a deep, dreamless sleep for me.”

It was the very witching time of night, and the castle lay silent. Darkness reigned in its corridors, desolate and cold, broken only by flashes of lighting tearing through stygian skies.

Take pity, take pity on one who is sick of love.

Fire dances at the top of a candle, threatening to vanish at any moment, as one living soul treads through slate flooring, airy footsteps growing closer to your chamber door.

Satoru feels guilt twisting inside his stomach, that nauseating feeling of contrition before consummation. It doesn’t stop him, it never did – he isn’t delusional as to think his actions are without sin, but at least he knows he isn’t fully without a conscience. And yet, what is the point of guilt, overridden by excitement, conquered by overwhelming love, as he turns the key to your bedchamber, to defile you once again?

Defile, Satoru thinks to himself, is such an ugly word.

Your door doesn’t creak when opened. A simple spell to ward off prying ears, lest he has to replace another servant; Satoru had come to learn how thin those walls could be, sensitized to the littlest of noises in the dead of night.

He locks the door behind him, placing the candlestick holder on your bedside table.

There’s not much to see in the darkness, except for your pliable, sleeping form. You don’t feel the weight of your mattress shifting, so deep in slumber, as Satoru sits by the edge of your bed with the familiarity of a husband; and he likes to pretend, too, that these late-night rendezvous have an amorous twist to them. Isn’t it romantic, to be visited by a paramour so secretive you’re neither awake nor aware to receive?

What is he, if not a dedicated, twitterpated, infatuated princely lover sneaking through the hallways of his own castle to meet his beautiful dove, his golden trinket, his falcon’s eye–

But he isn’t delusional as to think his actions are without sin.

Satoru knows there’s nothing appealing about exploiting your vulnerabilities. If you were to ever find out, if you were to open your little eyes at this very second to see him stripping of his undertunic, the lovely relationship you’d built would crumble in a matter of seconds. It would break his heart into a million pieces, to see the horrified look of realization upon your face. And he feels the burning of guilt at the back of his mind, easy to dismiss, as his hands roam your body, past your clocked stockings of cotton and up your white shift.

He would hate to hurt you.

Which is why you’ll never find out. Your relationship can bloom into something far more precious that way, and soon he won’t need these nightly visits to fulfill the base needs you ignite in him. He often dreams of your wedding night, with you awake, receptive to his embrace, and then he’ll finally cross the one line he hasn’t dared to trespass all these years.  

The shift is carefully slipped off your body. His cock is dribbling with pre-cum, twitching at the sight of your hardening nipples. He bedews one digit with his saliva as he lays by your side, spreading your legs just enough to slip one hand between to stroke your clit, peppering your breast and neck with kisses, nibbles, and nips.

Your body is more than accustomed to his touch by now – and for a moment, he wonders if you’ll be confused on your wedding night when, just like now, your folds grow wet with so little stimulation. Soon he hears the change in your breathing as it becomes heavier, increasingly ragged, little whines starting to come out of your lips.

Still, you don’t wake. 

Not even as he slides a finger inside your soaked entrance.

It’s tight, temptingly tight, torturingly tight, but Satoru has enough self-control not to push himself through your folds. Not tonight. He can wait, he will wait until, eventually, you’ll be awake and willing to take his cock. He takes comfort knowing that day is not too far.

Satoru sits between your legs to rub his cock as he fingers you, biting his lip as not to let a wanton groan out.

"Fuck..."

It's not very regal to swear. He's never done so in front of you.

His voice is already strained, not above a whisper, when he sits up, settling between your legs to rub his cock with one of your limp hands. There are two fingers inside you now, Satoru biting his lip as to repress a moan stuck in his throat. He hates having to keep quiet, but the walls are thin, and it would be a lot more trouble than it's worth to deal with nosy neighbors.

Satoru isn't alarmed when you stir, eyebrows knitted slightly as he kneaded your clit with his thumb. It's not a sign you're waking up.

His fingers are coated in viscid, clear juices, thrusting in and out of your pussy with practiced ease. He can barely keep them inside when you tighten up, little tremors running through your body as you cum with a strangled whimper.

Satoru forgoes your hand in favor of positioning himself on between your folds, using your wetness to rub his length along your pussy, prodding at your clit with each upward motion. He’s lying atop you now, muscled chest glued to yours, gently suckling on your neck and muffling his low, guttural groans on your skin. His hips move at a controlled pace, refraining himself from how rough he wants to be with you – he’s still hung up about Nanami, after all –, feeling his own orgasm approach.

Your bed doesn’t creak, either.

He thinks of finally being enveloped by your insides, how your velvety walls would choke his cock when he made you cum. How your lips would touch his and you’d kiss, really kiss, how your body would respond to his touch when awake. What faces would you make for him? Would you look away, embarrassed, throw your arms around him and hold him tightly to you? He was dying to see you, to fill your womb as he looked deep into your open eyes.

Satoru Gojo isn’t delusional as to think his actions are without sin.

He’s delusional to a fault. And as much as he feels bad for you, for his horrible acts of debauchery against your unresponsive body – and all other perversions along the way – there’s hardly any guilt when he grips his cock with a tight fist, tugging at his length as spurts of pearly-white cum land on your bare stomach. His chest heaves, breath labored, half-lidded blue eyes staring at his handiwork with a dopey smile on his face.

Lightning illuminates the room, followed by thunder rumbling so deeply across the earth he swears he feels the walls shake. Candlelight flickers.

He cleans you up, not a trace of arousal to be found when he’s done, shift slipped back onto your body. For a moment, he sits at the edge of your bed again, leaning back on his arms. How he would love to wake up with you between his arms – but alas, you’d be much alarmed to see him by your side when morning comes.

He dresses himself, not before placing a chaste kiss goodnight on your forehead.

A ball, he ponders, that ought to be fun.

And as he leaves, candlestick holder in hand, locking the door behind him, there’s no guilt badgering his mind – only dresses. A selection of skirts and frills fluttering about, an appointment with the best seamstress in the kingdom; Satoru wonders which design he’ll choose for you to wear at the ball, smiling smugly to himself as he skips down the hallway, back to his chambers.

You wake with a startle, groggy, disoriented.

Resting in its usual spot at your bedside table, your trusty pocket watch indicates you’ve woken up a little over fifteen minutes later than you’re supposed to – Not too bad of a delay, which eases your initial panic. You’ll have to hurry up a bit when getting ready, but at least you won’t be late for work.

The herbs have worked a little too well, you conclude – gifted you dreamless sleep, devoid of interruptions, knocking you out barely an hour after drinking the tea you brewed. Although you had yet to fully wake up, there was newfound motivation to get on with your day after a much-needed good night’s sleep.

You make a mental note to properly thank Prince Satoru again. It was unexpectedly considerate of him to notice.

A shiver runs down your body as fresh air enters through your bedchamber window, caressing your face with its gelid touch. You see movement downstairs, servants and knights who have begun their day earlier than you. Beyond castle walls you saw the city, merchants coming and going through dirt roads among trees painted in breathtaking yellows, oranges and reds, its fallen leaves scattered over green grass. In the distance, you see neighboring villages and castles so far they nearly fade into the horizon. The sun is out again, blue skies adorned by white, fluffy clouds.

The faint, comforting smell of freshly baked bread hits your nostrils.

You should get ready– you don’t want to be late, of course. But there is time for a quick look in the mirror, to check if your exhaustion-induced eyebags have been minimized, even if ever-so-slightly. It’s only then that you notice, attention diverted from the area around your eyes, three small, faint red spots on your neck and collarbone.

You touch them, briefly wondering where they could possibly have come from; but you don’t have the time to dwell on it for more than a few seconds, your neck will be covered regardless. One last look at the mysterious marks and you shrug, brushing them off. It’s nothing to worry about, anyway.

Must have been a bedbug.

[ursuu-la]

Just in time. - S. Reid.

summary: Where Spencer was at the right place and time.

wc: 1.9k

tw: mentions of suicid3, suicid3 att3mpt, not feeling enough, driving at full speed(?).

a/n: this is not exactly romantic, but I felt the need to post something angsty and this was the first thing that came to my mind. I hope that you enjoy it, but that you don't identify with the feelings :( if so, my inbox is open♡

Also, requests are open!! I think I'll write about Hotch too, just so yk

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"See you guys tomorrow!" Spencer waved goodbye and walked out the door. You smiled before he left and turned your attention back to your stuff.

You were organazing all the things on your desk, at the same time you kept on your bag the ones you always took home: your phone, your keys, and some paperwork that you didn't want to finish in the office. It was almost 9p.m. and there were now only three members of the team left in the office: Morgan, JJ and you.

Once you finished clearing your desk and had everything you needed inside your bag, you walked past JJ and Derek, greeting them both goodbye. You spoke a little with both of them, making sure that the case hadn't affected them so much. You cared about your friends, and wanted to be there for them if they needed someone to vent to. Both of them told you that they felt as usual, which conformed you.

"And you? How are you doing, (y/n)?" JJ asked when you finished checking up on her.

"Fine, I guess." You spoke and smiled to her. Your friend just returned the gesture, wished you goodnight, and then dragged her attention back to the paperwork.

You walked out of the office and, for a second, you kept the smile on your face, but then it slowly started to fade as you walked towards your car.

Even though you had just told JJ that you were feeling fine, the truth was that the last couple of months had been rough on you. The explanation was hard to find, but during this time, you were feeling... just bad about yourself. No matter how many people you saved or how many cases you solved with the team, whenever you got back home, you couldn't help but feel that you hadn't done enough.

The feeling started growing bigger and bigger as the months passed by. You had tried to speak about it with the rest of the team: but something was stopping you. It was frustrating because you didn't usually have any trouble communicating your emotions, and the fact that no one noticed you were struggling made you feel even worse.

Now you were driving back home, no music playing, only your thoughts filling your head. You remembered every part of the case, and as you replayed it in your head over and over, you found new ways in which you could have been more helpful.

"Agh... I hate this..." Your voice sounded frustrated. What was the point of keep going to cases if every single time you felt the same afterward? What was the point of having people around you if you couldn't open up to them and vent your feelings? What was the point of it all?

Suddenly, you felt one tear falling down your cheek. You wiped it off. It brought you back to reality. You were driving, and since it was late, there was no one on the street. Your hands started to shake as the thought appeared in your head.

The whole street was empty, your car would be the only one damaged. You would be the only person hurt, the only mortal victim. Your hands were still shaking, anxiousness creeping inside you as you tried to think of a reason why that was stupid.

But nothing came to your mind.

Nothing was stopping you.

Not even red lights.

Now there was more than one tear falling down your cheek, and you were wiping none of those off your face: you were letting them fall. Your foot pressed the gas with all of its strength, you could hear the engine getting louder each second.

Your heart rate accelerated, your eyes were blurring because of the tears, and you could feel how every part of your body shook. You were about to turn aside your car, knowing that at that speed there was no way of getting out of there intact, but you heard a noise: it was another car.

You stopped the car as fast as you could because your vision had suddenly been cleared, and you noticed that a car was in front of you waiting on a red light. That same car had made the noise. Scared of not stopping at the right time, you turned sharply the steering wheel, causing you to end up in another lane.

When your car was still, you took your hands off the steering wheel and placed them in your head. Just in that moment, you noticed what you were about to do, which made you burst into tears.

"What the hell was I think- AAH!" You yelled out of fear when you heard a knock on the car window. You rolled it down, ready to yell at whoever was standing there. But when you saw the person, your words got stuck in your throat.

"(y/n)?" His voice was like a slap across your face. You felt like you couldn't move. "Hey, are you okay?" He placed one hand on your shoulder, taking you out of the state you had gotten into.

"Spencer..." Was the only thing you were able to say. "Did you...?"

"Yes. I mean- I saw a car coming at full speed behind me, and I tried not to get killed. But... Are you... Are you okay? What were you doing driving like that?" Spencer questioned, yet he didn't have an accusing tone. It was a worried and concerned one.

"I was..." You couldn't speak. How were you supposed to tell him that you almost committed suicide and that almost got him into a car crash? 'Hey Spence, guess what? I wanted to kill myself and almost took you with me, haha!' There was no easy way to say it nor a way to disguise it as something else.

You looked up at Spencer, his gaze met yours. His face was scanning every inch of yours, looking for an answer. When you saw him properly, you felt like you didn't need to speak: you felt like you needed a hug.

"Step back, I'll open the door." You spoke, Spencer took a few steps back and looked confused at your every action. When you walked out of the car and suddenly hugged him, his face turned surprised.

"I don't know what to..." His voice was low. He was hugging you back, perceiving that you needed it. "If you need to talk, I'm here."

You nodded with gratefulness, appreciating Spencer's words. The two of you remained silent for a while after you let go of the hug until you dared to speak about the situation. Both of your cars were parked on the side of the street, and you were sitting on the sidewalk.

"Spencer, I was... trying to end it all, I just wanted to..." He lifted up his gaze to meet your face, but you were looking down at the floor. Not sure if you wanted to make eye contact while confessing the situation.

"Where you about to...?" Reid couldn't finish the question, he averted what you were about to say, he just didn't want to believe that it was true. You were one of the happiest people Reid knew, and thinking that behind that bubbly personality he knew, hid an amount of pain that made you think of suicide as a solution, made his heart sank.

"Yes. I... I don't know what I was thinking... I just reached the edge, and everything feels like too much." Now you dared to look into his eyes, concern filled his face. Seeing Reid like that made you feel worse because you felt like you were only bothering him. "Oh, dear lord. Now I'm just taking away your time. Maybe I'll just need to sleep this off..." You started speaking as you tried to get on your feet, but Spencer stopped you.

"Wait. Don't try to escape the problem." He spoke as he gestured you to sit comfortably again. "I'll be here until the sun comes up if it's necessary. I care about you (y/n), and what just happened is not something to take lightly."

Spencer's words were simple, but they were the right ones; as soon as you heard him, you started crying. Reid tried to hide it, but seeing you like that made him want to hug you as tight as possible and never let you go. How could someone so good be suffering this much? He thought you didn't deserve to feel that way.

"I just don't know what's happening to me... I don't usually feel like this, but these last months have been from bad to worse."

"And we didn't notice?" His voice was loaded with guilt. He was a profiler, and he couldn't have been able to notice your mood or signals. "I'm so sorry, (y/n)."

"It's fine. I jus-"

"No, it's not. We should have noticed, I should have noticed you were struggling. Because what would have happened tonight if I wasn't there with my car?" Reid's voice cracked at the end of the sentence, you could swear that you saw a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

"But you were there. You saved me." You spoke as you rested a reassuring hand on his arm. Spencer chuckled and shook his head. "What is it?"

"I'm the one that's supposed to be reassuring you. Not the other way around." You couldn't help to smile, which had the same reaction on Reid. "You're always putting others first and yourself last... You're too good for this world."

"I'm not that good. I can always do better on cases, and I barely help to resolve anything." The words that had been repeating inside your head for the last couple of months were spoken for the first time. Spencer looked at you, his face getting sadder than it already was.

"Stop putting yourself down. You're literally the best human being I know." He spoke with a sad smile on his face. "I truly can't understand where you got those awful ideas about you."

You didn't speak. Every word that came out of Spencer's mouth made you feel worse for even trying to do what you tried to. For the third time that night, you were crying, but this time, a hand was caressing your face. You looked at Spencer, who had started to wipe the tears off your cheeks.

"I just... Don't understand myself... I feel like everything I do has a negative effect on people. I need to take a break... from everything..."

"I get it. Maybe it would be better if you just take some time off work. Take some time to care about yourself, treat yourself with some love, and maybe that will help you to heal whatever has triggered these emotions." Spencer took his hand away from your cheek. "Furthermore, I could help you to find any kind of professional help to overcome this. There are plenty of ways in which I can help you, just say the word."

"Thank you, Spence." You spoke with a soft voice, he only nodded lightly.

"I didn't do anything, really. I just happened to be there." He was trying to be modest, but you were way too grateful to let him be like that.

"Spencer, you saved my life. Take a little credit for that." You chuckled, and Reid's face lighted up: seeing you at least a fraction as happy as you were before made him feel better.

Reid wanted to tell you how happy he was for being there at the right moment. He wanted to tell you how important you were to him and how he would have been devastated with your loss. But now was not the time: he knew you needed to think about yourself, and once you felt better, maybe then he would dare to confess his feelings to you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The clinic waiting room reflects the silent turmoil of your existence. You sit in the rigid plastic chairs and stare at the wall. Your mouth still tastes of bile. Only minutes ago, you were in the bathroom, spewing up your guts. It’s as if you’re own body is trying to convince you of reality. You don’t need this test, idiot, you’re fucked. 

When your name is called, you follow the dour nurse to a room. She goes over your chart and your reason for coming. She puts the clipboard in the plastic pocket mounted on the door and shuts it behind her as she goes. 

The doctor is thirty minutes behind. She gets you a stick to pee on and takes blood to send to the lab. The first test comes back positive but the second will take longer to process. It doesn’t matter. It’s really just repeating what you don’t want to hear. You are pregnant. 

The detached treatment has you feeling even more dejected. You’re given a stack of literature at the front desk before you go. You toss it in the bin by the building entrance and trod on.  

It isn’t just the child, it’s the father. You know deep down it can’t be your husband’s. It’s been too long since you... did that. As much as you want to lie to yourself, you can’t. All that’s done so far is dig the hole deeper. 

So, you don’t have much of a choice. You can’t afford it. Not financially, physically, or emotionally. An innocent child doesn’t deserve to be dragged into the mess you’ve made. 

First, you need to leave. You already have a plan. You’re packing your bags as soon as you get home. Wendy said you can crash for a while. You’ll have to figure it from her couch. Once you’re settled, you’ll go to another clinic and do what needs to be done. 

It isn’t the baby. Your marriage was already over. It just hurts. It’s not acceptance, it’s giving up. You can’t fix this. You tried so hard and it just didn’t work. The wasted time if worse than the wasted effort. 

A car honks but you barely notice. There's always someone raging in the streets. It comes again, shorter than before, and an engine whirs up to the curb, sliding in between two parked cars. The silver paint glares in your vision. 

“Hey,” the window rolls down, “how’d it go?” 

You stagger and face Steve Rogers as he hooks his elbow over the open window. You shake your head, “Excuse me?” 

“I was right.” He says. It’s just a fact, not smug. Just a statement. 

“Stop. Please. Leave me alone. I told you--” 

“You can’t run away from me.” He clicks free his seat belt and opens his car door. Before he can get out, you’re on the move. He catches up to your easily. “It’s mine.” 

You splay your fingers in frustration and keep walking. Please, just go. “No, I’m married. It’s up to me and my husband.” 

“I know you haven’t been fucking him.” His language has you skidding to a stop. You turn to him, aghast. “I can smell it. For a few days after.” 

“It would be more than a few days ago,” you snap. 

He scoffs, “yeah, it would be.” He stares at you and your heart flips.

“Have you—have you been following me?” 

He doesn’t answer, just looks back at you. He doesn’t need to say it. You know. 

“How long?” You hiss. 

“Look, that night...” he begins. 

“No. That night nothing! It’s over. One night and it’s not going to be the rest of my life. Alright?” 

“I’ll take care of you and the baby. Your husband won’t be happy to know that you and I--” 

“He’s not going to know, Captain.” You snarl. “He can’t know. Alright? This is a mistake but it can be undone. Got it? So go and live your superhero life while I scrape the barrel.” 

“You’re going to leave him anyways so why are you doing this?” He asks. His tone is so fucking annoying. As if it’s all so easy. 

“How do you—oh my god, oh my god. Please, back off.” You put your hands up and take a step back. 

“You can’t just get rid of my baby,” he follows you as you fall back into step. 

“Go.” 

“No, I won’t let you.” 

“I’m begging you--” 

“Just like you did that night. I know you didn’t forget.” He grabs your arm and pulls you around to face him. “You can’t. It was the best night of my life and you just disappeared. I can’t let you go again.” 

“Let go of me,” you wriggle in his grasp. 

“I’m trying to help you. I’m telling you that you don’t need to do all this. I can help with the baby. Please.” 

You stare up at him defiantly and tear away from him, “I don’t need you to save me. That was my first mistake. Thinking that a man could ever do that.” 

You turn and stomp away. He calls your name but you keep going. You can’t look back. You’re terrified. Deep down you know if he doesn’t follow you then, he will find you later. This whole time he’s been playing your shadow and you never even knew it. 

[theemporium]

[1.7k] travelling can be stressful, but it's a little easier when your swiss grizzly bear boyfriend is by your side.

.

It was stupid. 

You were fully aware it’s stupid. People liked to remind you how stupid they found it. It was something so, so stupid and being so painfully aware just made it worse. Because logic didn’t work, despite what countless people tried to tell you. Their reassurances and rationality didn’t help the way your brain spiralled until it could latch on to every single possible thing that could go wrong.

And you knew, nine times out of ten, nothing would happen. In fact, you could count on one hand the times your spirals had played out and became a reality. But that didn’t stop you having the spirals, and it didn’t stop the way your brain processed everything. 

Unfortunately, even your own common sense lacked in the battle between your brain and the anxiety travelling brought you. 

It was something you were mostly mocked for and, truthfully, you could understand their perspectives. It did sound silly when you tried to explain to your coworker the fact you couldn’t sleep the night before a journey, even if you had done it a million times before. It did sound dramatic when you tried to explain the fear a new destination brought you, regardless of how much research you did. But they didn’t get it, they don’t understand that voice in the back of your head whispering away. 

What if this is the one time something goes wrong? What if there is an accident?  What if something gets cancelled?  What if the traffic is worse than usual and you’re late? 

Random but burdening questions rattled in your head on the days coming up to a big trip. It’s why you hated booking them in the first place, because you knew exactly how you would react. And you told yourself it would be different, that you wouldn’t be so dramatic this time, that you could handle it.

And, without fail, you would find yourself sick to your stomach the morning of the trip, unable to stomach anything beyond a piece of toast (if you were lucky).

“Do you think you would know if I was replaced by an alien?” 

You blinked, taking a few moments to process the question before you turned to find Nico already looking at you, a contemplative look on his face. 

“What?” 

“Like, I’m sure you would notice but how long do you think it would take you to figure it out?” He questioned, his hand resting on your knee and lightly squeezing as he spoke. 

You stared at him for a few moments, trying to wrap your head around his question before you let out a breathless laugh. “What are you going on about?” 

“You looked lost in your thoughts,” he said, keeping his voice low so he couldn’t be heard above the music the taxi driver was playing through the radio. “I can see inside that pretty head of yours. You were spiralling.”

Your cheeks flushed in response. “I’m sorry—”

But Nico cut you off with another squeeze to your knee and a kind smile on his face. “You don’t have to apologise for it,” he reassured you. “I just wanted to help.”

Something in your chest tightened at his words. 

“For the record,” he continued, saving you once again when he could see emotions overwhelming your ability to speak. “I think it would take me five minutes tops if you got replaced by an alien.” 

You snorted. “What? Five minutes? There’s no way.”

“I know you, schatz,” Nico shrugged in response. “I would be able to tell.”

“Aliens could have crazy technology far too advanced for humans to comprehend,” you argued back and, for the first time since you went to bed last night, your brain was thinking about something other than long security lines, overpriced airport snacks and cancelled flights. “I could have been replaced by an alien months ago and you wouldn’t have realised.” 

“I would know,” Nico said, sounding far too sure of himself as he flashed you a smile. “I doubt aliens would know that you make a little sound whenever I–”

“Nico!” You hissed, your eyes widening as you glanced at the taxi driver with worry. 

And the fucker had the audacity to giggle in response as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, tugging you against his side as much as your seatbelt would allow. 

“I was just going to say when I tickle you,” he said with a shameless grin. “I don’t know what dirty thoughts are in your head, schatz.” 

You huffed, nuzzling further into his side. “You’re evil.”

“And you love me anyways.”

You rolled your eyes, but Nico knew from the smile on your face that he was right. 

You knew exactly what he was doing and, truthfully, you couldn’t even find it in yourself to call him out on it. Because it was working. Because he was Nico and he would deny it but he wouldn’t stop, even if you did call him out. Because there was a warm feeling in your stomach at the idea that someone—that Nico—cared enough to go out of his way to make you more comfortable.

Because he was Nico Hischier and he was just the kind of guy that went out of his way to make his loved ones more relaxed, to take on that captain role beyond the ice.

You barely got a chance to climb out of the taxi before Nico was already reaching for the bags in the boot of the car, pulling them out and only giving you the lightest ones he couldn’t physically carry whilst also holding your hand. You didn’t bother to hide your smile.

It was a feeling you didn’t have with many people. Or at all, usually. Especially when you were travelling. Your brain was working on overdrive, your eyes constantly looking around like some unexpected variable was going to throw your plans off. You couldn’t physically stop how wired and on edge travelling made you.

But something about travelling with Nico made it easy to just let your brain switch off. 

You were far too focused on ogling the way he casually carried more bags than one person should, carrying them with such ease that made your head spin a little. Far too focused on the way he guided you through the bustling airport, so sure of himself and so in control as he led you towards the front desk where you could check your luggage in and grab your boarding passes. 

You didn’t even get a chance to reach for your hand luggage before Nico took the smaller suitcase in his hand, his other hand on the small of your back as he led you towards security with no sight of the panicked rushing that you were used to. 

“Do you think aliens could make it past airport security?” 

You snorted. “Do not start this again.”

Nico’s smile widened in response. 

Security passed as quickly as one would expect for such a busy airport (meaning not very fast at all) but it was easy to not think too long about it when Nico was chatting your ear off with a million different topics. The possibility of missing your flight (despite being over three hours early) didn’t cross your mind as Nico scrolled through the endless TikToks Jack had sent him, or pictures Jonas had sent, already back home in Switzerland earlier than Nico.

“Here,” Nico called out to get your attention. 

You turned around, finding him reaching into his backpack before pulling out a bundle of fabric. You raised your brows in questioning but took it from him without second thought. It took you a few moments before you realised it was one of his hoodies. 

“You brought two hoodies?” You questioned. 

“No, one is for you,” he answered like it was obvious. “It’s your favourite one, too. I made sure not to pack it away in the big case.”

Your face softened in seconds. “Nico.” 

“None of that,” he murmured as he stepped forward, taking your face in his hands as his thumbs lightly skimmed along the apples of your cheeks. “I want my girl to be as comfortable as possible, okay? So, you’re gonna put that hoodie on, we are gonna get some food in you and then we can relax by the gate. I have card games and playlists and your kindle in my bag too, because you almost forgot to pack it last night. I made sure it was charged too.” 

Your eyes welled up with tears before you could stop yourself. “I love you.”

He beamed in response. “I love you too,” he answered before leaning down to press a lingering kiss against your lips. “And I cannot wait to kick your ass at the new card game Timo taught me on the way back from LA.”

“Oh?” You raised your brows. “You’re so sure you’ll win?”

“I always win,” he murmured against your lips, kissing you again before he pulled away. “I won you, didn’t I?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You’re so cheesy today.”

“You’re going to be stuck on a plane with me for the next few hours, better get used to it.” 

“I should have taken Jack up on his offer to go to the lakehouse instead,” you grumbled, but there was unwritten relief on your face as you wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning against him as he squeezed you closer. 

“You’ll love Switzerland far more than you would have liked Michigan,” Nico assures you, lips brushing against the top of your head. “The food is better. And so are the views. And it has something Michigan doesn’t have.”

Your curiosity peaked. “Hm?” 

Nico’s head shifted down a bit, his lips brushing against your ear as his voice dropped until it was a whisper only you could hear. “A cabin I booked away for the week, just for me and you. No city, no people. Just us, a lake and so many surfaces I can’t wait to fuck you on.”

Your cheeks burned as you pulled back, glaring at his smug expression. “Nico!”

“What?” He looked giddy, dimples popping and making your stomach twist in desire. “I saw those little dresses you packed, baby. Don’t think I won’t be taking full advantage of it.”

“You’re a menace.” 

“And this menace loves to make you come,” he retorted, quickly leaning down to kiss you again before you could reply. “Now, c’mon. We have plenty of time to kill and I even downloaded some movies Nina recommended. Everything is going to be fine, baby.”

And you were just so inclined to believe him. 

.

[yolli-es]

I’m so sorry I loved your yandere jinx headcanons I was just wondering if we could get a alphabet yandere jinx since we both love it

Yandere!Jinx alphabet 💥

Tags: NO spoilers for season 2, mentions of death, mentions of blood, PROBABLY some points were misunderstood by me due to not knowing the language. LET ME KNOW IF I GOT IT WRONG!

Yandere!Jinx was liked by so many people :D

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Physical contact is number one on her list of "how to show people you're not disgusted by them." She certainly showers you with attention before the relationship begins, but you will notice a dramatic difference once it's official. Jinx tried to keep her boundaries and stay away from you for at least a couple of hours. But why would she do it now? You always hold hands, even when it's awkward and uncomfortable. Even if you're in the middle of a shootout right now, don't worry; she has a gun that she can use with one hand. 

Most of the time, Jinx's hands reach out to you unconsciously. She doesn't worry about it much. 

Another way Jinx speaks is by suddenly becoming talkative. She is usually not eager to tell anyone anything about herself, even if it's something insignificant like her favorite food or what she did that day. But with you, she can't shut up, she wants to tell you everything, preferably twice. You'll notice that at some point she'll stop talking right in the middle of her story, awkwardly looking down. After the question "What next?" she starts to beam and continue as if nothing happened. She likes it when you really listen. 

Over time, Jinx will become greedier about this, and if you tell her "no," she will get angry. 

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Not really much messy. Jinx definitely won't just watch someone try to beat the crap out of you, but she won't destroy anyone who looks at you the wrong way either. More often than not, it ends with just one shot to the shoulder or knee. That was, is, and always will be the most clear explanation of why you shouldn't be killed.

She won't let them repeat what they started if one warning wasn't enough.

However, sometimes the voices get loud, and in a fit of rage, Jinx can kill a couple of people. Insecurity and doubts overcome her at such moments, and she sees no better way than to simply remove the threat and competition. She won't be sorry, but it certainly won't be part of her plan or desire.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Find yourself a replacement for Jinx, say you're going to leave, and she will kidnap you. She will never let you go so easily; it will not happen. Jinx will console herself with the fact that you are simply naive and stupid, that the other person took advantage of this, and now she is simply saving you from an irreparable mistake. After all, in reality, you do not want to leave her, and no one except her is really interesting to you, isn't it?

But Jinx isn't stupid after all. She knows what she's doing, and you definitely won't be thrilled by that. Jinx will be patient. As much as Jinx can be, of course. Yell at her, call her names, and try to break free; she will endure all this. Until you say that you will leave her forever, like everyone else before you. Her emotional breakdowns won't take long to come. During this, Jinx may scream, get angry, and even swing at you. But she will never hurt you, even if you are a pain in her ass. Even if you try to fight her, she will patiently endure the blows, simply immobilizing you and not causing additional damage.

Jinx didn't want to resort to it, and she's really worried that she's only made things worse.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Jinx will definitely control your every move and will be aware of everything that happens in your life. She sees nothing wrong with forbidding you to walk alone, communicate with certain people, and do dangerous work.

At first you'll even like it, but later you'll understand how suffocating it is. She won't leave you alone even in the shower, won't let you communicate with your childhood friend, and won't let you do your favorite archery. What once seemed like concern to you turned out to be just the whims of her insecurity.

"All this is too dangerous; you know that I want the best for you, trinkly?" Jinx will say for the thousandth time with the most innocent eyes in consolation, knowing full well that your opinion about this is of no interest to her. You know this, but you still fall for it, unable to escape its trap.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Jinx tells you a lot, but not everything. She finds it hard to be vulnerable with you, even though she knows how warmly you embrace her flaws. Whenever she thinks about telling you about her past, Mylo shuts her down. Jinx can't help but think that her past makes her a weak Powder, and you only need a strong Jinx. And she can't be a disappointment for you, that's what Claggor said to her. 

Only once will she be able to tell you her real name.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Surprise, adrenaline, pride, affection and a strong desire to suppress it.

She appreciates your fighting spirit, but she can't ignore your attempts at resistance, no matter how much she wants to. After all, it could become a problem in the future, and Jinx genuinely doesn't want to confront you in a serious fight. No matter how strong you are and how seriously you attack Jinx, all your attempts will be a joke in her eyes. You will never compare to her sister in this.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It depends on her mood, the weather, her plans for the day, and the noise level of the voices in her head that day. Jinx is very unpredictable, so one moment she's laughing and counting to ten, and the next she's threatening to amputate your legs. You know these are just threats, so Jinx has to chase you around the building until she catches you.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

That moment when you told her you didn't need her and wanted to leave for the first time. That was when she kidnapped you, and you so desperately wanted freedom.

Jinx had definitely gone crazy, and the echoes of your words still tormented you both. Unfortunately, you said it too confidently, viciously, and sensually. Jinx was silent for a couple of seconds, while her breathing stopped, her pupils became wider, and her face turned pale. After realizing how serious this was, Jinx jumped up from her seat and rushed towards you. But not with the purpose of hitting, but only to put your tied hands on her throat. She didn't even cry while she frustratedly told you to kill her since you didn't need her under your hysterical screams and requests to forget about it. She looked so apathetic, broken, and disappointed that you began to hate yourself for it. Why did you say that? Do you hate this fragile girl so much? You couldn't stop thinking about it while you tearfully begged Jinx to stop strangling herself with your hands.

You apologized more than a hundred times that day, and you will never forget this the scene. It is truly traumatic to watch your beloved girl strangling herself with your hands because of the cruelty of your own words.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Next to her, and the rest is completely unimportant. Jinx never thinks about the future, wanting to live in the present. It is difficult for her to follow the plan in Zaun, so she can only hope.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

She's jealous as hell, and there's no better way to deal with it than to blow something up. Someone, to be precise. She won't be able to do this and will simply shoot them. Jinx is very insecure and thinks that everyone around her is a better option than her. She is afraid that you will also realize this as you become more sociable, so Jinx does everything possible to prevent this.

Jinx herself doesn't realize how jealous she is. Just doesn't want to realize. She won't take responsibility for it, so denying the problem is the best way to survive it.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

If you're here, it means Jinx is nearby and everyone knows it. She'll be back in a few minutes and let everyone see Jinx obsessed, dependent, and loving again. She won't hesitate to hold your hand, body, or even your ass in front of everyone. She doesn't indulge in kissing often, but sometimes Jinx feels the need to do it, even if it's awkward for you while everyone is watching.

She can't stay too far away from you; it physically hurts her.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

What would seem romantic and loving in Zaun? Protection and shelter for free. That's what Jinx did first. It seemed most logical to her to do it in a way you understand and only then resort to the romance she knows. Without saying a word to you, Jinx will sort out your problems as deftly as she creates her weapons. Still, the years with Silko take their toll, and even the most fearsome thugs are just children to her. Don't think too much, and just enjoy caring from Jinx before she gets too much.

Then don't be surprised when you see burning buildings in Piltover with the words "love my trinkly <3" written on them.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Jinx with you and Jinx without you are completely different, strangers to each other.

People who have never dealt with Jinx and see her for the first time with you mistakenly think that she is just a petty idiot and everyone around is afraid of her for nothing. Never shows violence, uses small guns, and is just busy with you most of the time.

And then they meet the real Jinx. She still seems harmless, but her aura is suddenly completely different. You don't know what to expect. Laugh at her, but don't shout too loudly when she jokingly rips your arm off because you weren't paying attention to her instructions. "Oh, it's not fatal; don't whine like that. Shut up and listen," Jinx smiles tightly, making funny faces. She'll give him the shimmer, but not right away; maybe it'll teach him to take life-threatening situations right in front of them more seriously. Only then do they get it.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Not too cruel, something like "no dessert this time." Jinx doesn't see you as particularly dangerous or serious about escaping.

But what if she senses it? Jinx will lock you away somewhere for an indefinite period of time again. If you were close to escaping, be prepared for heavy security measures and possibly no chance of ever getting out. There are no windows, minimal furniture, and belongings; your hands and feet will always be chained to the wall. Don't make her do soft upholstery in the room; don't hit yourself the walls.

Jinx may punish you during sex, but it will be playful and for pleasure.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

It's easier to say that you will be allowed to do basic things like eating food, have a safe hobby, go outside, participate in safe deliveries, attend negotiations, and help Jinx in the workshop. Of course, all this together with Jinx and nothing more.

Remember, she does all this out of caring.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

As I said, as patient as Jinx can be. She forgives you a lot of things. A lot, but not everything.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No. This will be the end for her.

One can only imagine what she will do. Kill herself? Go completely mad? Blow up all of Piltover? Start a war? Perhaps she will do all of these things in order. Jinx's psyche is cracking every day, and you were the only one who supported her. Someone who would always be there and who she could rely on in difficult times. She did everything she could just to know that you would feel all the love, care, and acceptance from Jinx. If you abandon her like everyone else after all this, then what is left for her to exist for? All the good will be destroyed by her own hands, and she will not be able to forgive for it.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

She let you go when you confessed your love to her, and your relationship became official. Of course, not right away and only after Jinx was convinced of it. Sometimes she even doubts her sensitivity to the emotions and real desires of other people.

She regrets that abducting you, but she'll do it again if she feels the need. Jinx just hopes it doesn't affect you too traumatically and that you understand why she's doing it.

For love and only for love.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Jinx has always had her own peculiarities, and after Vi and Silco left her, they only made the problems she already had worse. Insecurity, a sense of worthlessness, and weakness haunt her every day. She desperately needs to have support, someone she can trust and not be afraid of being abandoned again.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Shit. It's like her soul was turned inside out.

Jinx is very good at understanding people's emotions and their intentions. After spending a lot of time with you, Jinx can tell by just one look that something was wrong with you. And she immediately starts feeling the same way. No matter how good she feels, everything changes if you feel differently. So when you scream, cry, and are completely broken, Jinx feels the same way. It's hard for her to be supportive at that moment because grief has overwhelmed her too. But she still will be there, always. And no matter how shitty or super good you feel, Jinx will always share your feelings.

Only once did she manage to look at you blankly while you cried and screamed, pleading with her to forget your words.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

While other yandere act by the rule "you will be mine!", Jinx is more like "I beg you to be mine".

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

None. Sorry, but she is too smart and sensitive to understand your true intentions. All that remains is to hope for her mercy.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

No, no, and no again. Jinx wants you to stay, not break.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

You are the only one who looks good in her eyes in any state and the only one who attracts her sexually. She will definitely idolize you, although she may not tell about it.

Jinx will also do anything. Tell her to make you president, and she will. Don't be silly about it; Jinx will take your task seriously and will expect love and appreciation in return.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap? (This is the question that I couldn't understand, so the answer is short)

Not for long. Jinx is impatient, and her feelings weigh on her more than most people.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

No matter how carefully Jinx treats you, no matter how loving and patient she tries to be, you will still break. It is impossible to be sane when your entire world is filled with just one person. There will be too much Jinx and too little of the other world. You will also face a lot of manipulation just to stay with her, many of which will be traumatic.

And yet, you love Jinx. You did.

I spent 4 hours of my life on this, and I'm still not happy with the result. It could have been better, but I'm just tired of writing this, and it might be noticeable in the end..

[sh1-n0bu]

𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 1: bondage/shibari with blade from hsr!

warnings: shibari/bondage obv, subspace, affirmation of consent, cockstepping, forced self praise, nipple stimulation, masochist blade, slight feminization, praise

notes: oh shit, here we go

being in a relationship with blade comes with many surprises and way too many heart attacks. no, really, the amount of times you almost had a heart attack because of this man is insane.

coming back home injured and on the brink of death. sudden reopening of his wounds and stitches because he was so used to pain. or the fact that he literally fell unconscious on your lap because he forgot to eat anything for the last who knows what long?

or even now, when he holds out a red rope, asking you to tie him up like a helpless prey.

it took a lot of tries and failures. wrapping the pretty red rope around the bare skin of your masochistic lover is quite hard when you have zero experience on full body bondage. if it were just hands and legs, you were a master at it. but not when it comes to shibari.

“color?” your voice comes out soft and gentle, tightening the last part of the red rope behind his back. all you got in response was a quiet shuddered breath.

“bladie, color?” fastening the end of the rope behind his back — not too tight, not too loose — your hand comes up to rest atop his head before slowly stroking his hair. that snapped him out of his current thoughts real fast as his hazy ruby eyes shift up to look at you.

“g-green… green” blade nods, gulping down what saliva was being collected in his mouth.

looking down at your handiwork, the stellaron hunter almost lets out a loud moan at the sight. red rope, one that is the same color of his eyes, fastened around his body so prettily. his chest, breasts you like to call whenever you squeeze them, looked bigger than usual. a part of the red rope going down and around his pecs, digging into his skin just enough to remind him of the current action you two were about to do. and his cock, standing angry red and proud.

he was hard. embarrassingly so.

you haven’t done anything but tie him up to his request and oh gods, he was already so embarrassingly hard.

if you were to see his arousal and the slight pre already on his tip, what would you do? would you scold him? call him mean and degrading names? would you leave him untouched and desperate for hours? would you slap his cock and make him cry and sob in a twisted sense of pleasure and pain?

a hand comes to rest on his chest, momentarily snapping him out of his thoughts. oh, what would you do? what would you do to him? your poor, pathetic, helpless lover.

“my sweet bladie. look at you, staying there all tied up like a little prey” he briefly hears your voice call out, hands starting to fondle and squeeze his pecks. unconsciously, he pushed his chest further into your hand, wanting more of your sweet touches. it felt like his entire body was on fire and only your hand could soothe him. or even make it worse.

“do you like it, dear? does my pretty boy like it when i fondle his tits like that?” he lets out an embarrassingly loud noise at your words. a pathetic sound that’s akin to a mewl that a cat in heat makes. without even noticing, his hips stutter in his position on the rug covered floor as well.

“such a cute and round breasts you have, my love. so full. they fit in my hand so prettily. do you think if i suck on your pretty nipples for long enough, you would start lactating?”

oh. oh no. just that mental image or the thought of having your mouth wrapped around his areola had him whining out loudly. rutting his hips on the material of the soft rug desperately as he tries to make your words a reality. oh, would you help him out if that actually does end up becoming real? would you suck and stimulate his nerves so often and too much to the point that he would actually start lactating just like a woman would? would you suck on his leaking milk?

such vile thoughts that made him squirm on his place on the floor with a long, drawn-out whine. who would have ever thought your stoic looking lover would be such a weak little thing.

not that you minded it. you loved it actually. all the more reasons to circle a thumb around his hardened bud, making him twitch and buck his hips, searching for the tiniest bits of friction to his poor leaking cock.

"ah right. how mean of me. i forgot about your little problem" you let out a soft coo, deciding to try out a new thing as well. no point in backing out now. your sweet boy was already a mess on the floor with just a few touches and caresses. might as well help him out and fulfill his fantasies.

"color?" you ask again, one of your feet lightly resting on his stomach, pressing lightly, just enough pressure to cause blade to gain his words again from wherever his pretty mushy brain is swimming in once he gets to this state.

understanding the implications of your words and what you were asking affirmation for, blade couldn't help but nod his head a little too eagerly. the dirty and vile side of him wanting what exactly it was you were offering. the dark and more twisted part of him just wanted you to do that already. to take what you wanted without asking, make him scream, jolt, sob from the suddenness of it all.

but of course, you would never do that. you were so caring of him. makes him wonder how he even was lucky enough to have you as his own lover.

"my love, i need to hear you use your words" your voice sounded a bit harsher than he remembered. did he made you mad? disappointed? sad? he didn't meant to! poor little blade was just too damn lost in his own little space. all thanks to the rope and the suffocating amount of trust he blindly puts in you.

"green... please? aeons, please just touch me" his response was sluggish. slow. slurred. drunken and lost in the hazy grips of pleasure and anticipation. that was all you needed.

with a comforting headpat, the feet that you had placed on his stomach slowly trailing down before coming to rest over his hard on. just a simple buck of his hips and he can get to feel you step down on his cock. the thought had blade already panting and drooling. but you haven’t even touched him yet. what a perverted boy, he was.

slowly but gently, you pressed down on his arousal before putting just enough pressure to cause him to let out gasps and loud whines. it felt good. you felt good. you were making him feel so good and blade? oh, he could never be happier nor could he ever thank you enough for it.

“t-thank you…! gunhhg thankyou thankyo—oounpp!!! gccck♡︎!” the man blabbers on drunkenly, his hips twitching as he tries to rut up into your feet further to make you just stomp on his pathetic cock. he would love that so much. the disgusting, masochist part of him would love that so fucking much.

“you’re my pretty boy, right? my sweet toy. my cute prey. my darling blade, right? you’re still my good bladie, right?” he could briefly hear you hum so sweetly. voice like a honey on his fried brain. in response, all blade could do was nod and nod eagerly like a pup. hands straining against the pretty red ropes that you tied around him.

“words, blade” the hand that was still playing and squeezing at him breast — god he completely forgot about your hand there — squeezes at his hardened nipple before pulling on it slightly. that was a warning for him to use his words. to repeat back what you said to him like a broken record. or else, you would probably deny touching him all-together and your sweet boy would hate that.

“guuh— i am! i am i am! ‘m your good boy. y-your sweet boy! ‘m still your cute bladie nyaah♥︎!” that last part slipped out unconsciously. he could barely even form any words now. just pathetically humping the rug and your feet that’s pressed down on his leaking cock, face pressed against the side of your thigh as his noises become more loud and debouched.

all he knew was to keep repeating the words you said. there was no need for him to think. why would he have the need to think when you were right there in front of him, helping him and being so cruel yet so sweet to him? blade didn’t needed to use his head when with you.

so, he just simply kept parroting your words through jumbled heap of mess. how he was your toy. your cute prey. your good boy. your love, blade. yours, yours, yours, yours—!

“uuunghh! mmpf-fuck! fuckfuckfuck! n-nnyaaghh♡︎♡︎!” twitching violently on his place on the floor, the immortal tries to break free from the ropes keeping his hands tied tightly to his sides. blade had always been a touchy guy, wanting to scratch your back, sides, hips, wherever his hands could reach. and yet he couldn’t. not this time and it’s all because of what he said and his own wishes.

so, he simply settles on mewling embarrassingly loud as his hips stutter in place, cock cumming untouched as he tries to hide his drooling face into the soft flesh of your thighs, soiling your feet with his own cum.

“g-gcckk.. m-more… unngh need you t-to fill me up” blade mumbles, voice muffled as he rubs his cock against your feet. he was already hard again and the skin on skin contact stung whenever he slowly humped your leg. oh but he loved it.

the red ropes matched his flushed cheeks and bleary eyes perfectly. so, who are you to stop now and deny your sweet boy?

[bomber-grl]

Hi, can I get something w the prompt 30? Maybe w Damian.

If it's friends to lovers-

Idk, I just want some inocent fluff and jokes.

I‼️ Need‼️ Sweetness‼️

Prompt #30: laying their head on the other’s shoulder

Today was an exhausting day, both at school and doing your vigilante work. Luckily, before you left back to your place Damian had invited you over, and how could you refuse?

Your bags were taken upon entrance by Alfred and then you were led deeper into Wayne Manor. Damian led you to the living room, or in other words- one of them.

It was a place to just relax and it’s not like any of the other residents were going to intrude so you and Damian whipped out snacks that you both bought on the way and some that were already here.

Not to mention how he had prepared a blanket and sat on the couch next to you…

The plan? It was to watch of movie of course! I mean it was already deep into the night and as much tired as you were- you just couldn’t sleep.

The same could be said about Damian, he was up right alongside you. It was kind of him to.

I mean, it had hardly been a few weeks that you were only friends now turned lovers. Things were bound to get awkward or lovey- or both, eventually.

Well a voice brought you out of your thoughts and back to reality. “So, you know what you want to watch or am I gonna choose?” Damian was standing by you on the couch facing the tv as he scrolled through Netflix.

“Um no I don’t know, how about you decide?” Best to cover up the fact you weren’t paying attention by forcing the question back at him.

“Alright then…” his tone was obviously suspicious but he went along without a fuss and chose a random movie that you weren’t familiar with but knew he enjoyed.

After, he snuck under the covers and sat by your side as the movie began. Throughout the movie you could tell from your peripheral vision that Damian was looking at you to gauge your reaction at certain scenes but you pretended to be none the wiser.

Since the movie was 2 hours long you got a bit lost in keeping track of time. You searched for your phone under the covers and once you found and read the screen you made a mental note of it being 12:00

One more hour to go… which you miserably failed. You were struggling to stay awake and the only thing that snapped you back to reality was a sudden weight on your shoulder.

You turned to face whatever it was, I mean were you really so off guard that this snuck pass your defenses?

Well much to your not so much surprise, it was Damian. His head was rested against your right shoulder and his eyes were closed and you took note of the gentle rising and falling of his chest.

He was so cute and looked peaceful as he slept. You sort of felt an ego boost at the thought of Damian feeling so safe around you that he could not only fall asleep but also let you touch him without rousing him awake.

Which is something you found out when you glided your fingers through his soft hair and gently pushed aside any stray ones from his face.

Maybe it was because of how late it was, maybe because of the lack of light, or maybe just the urge to cuddle with Damian but you let out a breath and let your head go limp and rest on top of Damian’s.

What’s the worse that could happen?

Well not anything particularly bad in your opinion. Luckily it was the weekend so you didn’t worry as much once you awoke but what really bothered you was the snickering sounds surrounding you.

Once you opened your eyes and saw Damian, his usual cool demeanor was gone. His face was flushed to the nines and you soon found out why.

Three of his siblings Dick, Todd, and Tim had found you sleeping there and thought I’d be cute to take a picture.

That wasn’t so bad but you knew Damian so him reacting this way wasn’t so bad.

Until Tim revealed that although he found you all that way, he left and returned with the other two to find Damian planting a kiss to your cheek.

You were shocked and turned to Damian as your cheeks filled with red. “Is that true?!?”

Your question fell on deaf ears and despite that you knew your answer when Damian turned away and refused to make eye contact.

Let’s just say it was an awkward family breakfast, leaving Damian with everything but his honor and dignity.

[alwaysmoncheri]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐈 | 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

summary: you've always had a thing for JJ, but your relationship with Rafe has always been intense—heated and frustrating. The two of you are bound by similar trauma and can't deny that your hate for each other might not be hate after all.

cw: fem!reader, slightly bitchy!reader, pogue!reader, mentions of alcohol, mentions of parties, mentions of sex, swearing, mean!rafe, jealousy, angst, 1.8k

<3

The morning light filters softly through the blinds, a faint warmth settling over the room, but all you feel is a prickling sense of guilt inching up your spine. Getting involved with Rafe was never a good idea but last night the two of you finally crossed a line. You glance over at Rafe, his breathing even, the rise and fall of his chest calm and steady. His expression is neutral, a harsh contradiction to his usual tense jaw and frustrated scowl. You can’t help but remember the way he was looking at you just hours before—intense, irritated, hungry, like you’d driven him into a maddened haze where he saw nothing else but you. 

You take a deep breath, laying back to stare at the ceiling, tracing the patterns in the plaster with your eyes. What were you thinking? What the fuck were you thinking? You hooked up with Rafe Cameron, the man you who you’ve been tip-toeing around for ages but the same man who fucks any living thing. But this isn’t just a fling, it never could be. You knew he would be trouble from the moment you met him—catching your eye from across the beach with a grin that was way too charming and a polo shirt hugging him in a way that made your head spin.

Fuck.

You feel a knot in your stomach. You aren’t that stupid, you made your own choices and dug your own grave. You hate it though. You hate him. And worse, you hate yourself—for being so reckless, and wanting more. 

Quietly, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, your feet hitting the cool floor. The cold jolts up your legs, grounding you to reality as you hastily get dress, heart pounding with every movement—but you can’t even make it to the door. 

“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice still thick with sleep. 

“Don’t do that.” you reply, your voice steadier than you feel. He can’t say anything when you know he probably regrets it more than you. You’re a Pogue, he’s a Kook, it’s goes beyond that fact that you both gave in, he shouldn’t be with you. 

“Don’t do what?” he shoots back, his brows furrowing as he reaches for his a pair of shorts, “I hope you know last night didn’t mean anything.” He adds, but the way his gaze shifts suggest he’s still thinking about it, though. 

“Wow, charming as always, Rafe.” you retort, sarcasm dripping from your voice. 

“Just calling it like it is.” he says, throwing his shorts on lazily as he stands, towering over you, his presence making you feel small. Though, you have to admit, he’s still a piece of fucking eye candy. 

You clench your jaw, “You’re so fucking difficult.”

“Oh, come on,” he sneers, crossing his arms and giving you a glare, “You needed a distraction, I was here.”

You lips press into a tight line, heart pounding with guilt and regret, “You’re unbelievable.” you fumble to get the rest of your clothes on. You grab your heels and shove them on, wincing as you buckle them up, unsteady on your feet. Rafe takes a step to hold your elbow as you wobble but you yank your arm away with a scoff. He doesn’t say another word as you storm out, not wanting to give him to satisfaction of seeing just how much he’s gotten under your skin this time. Frustration and shame clings to you as you walk out of Tannyhill, feelings that you’re just unable to shake off. 

Gravel crunches under your feet, the sting of discomfort shoots up your legs, and you wince as your shoes pinch against your skin. The remnants of last night cling to you, an unpleasant headache pounds in your skull—you forgot how many drinks you actually had before hate sex sobered you up. Your clothes are sticky and sour, leaving you to search your brain for pieces of the night you can’t remember. You glance at your reflection in a shop window, your hair is a disheveled mess, and your makeup, once artfully applied, now smudges your tired eyes. You feel suffocated as if you’re trapped in your own skin—itchy, irritable. Then, your phone buzzes in your pocket, pulling you from your spirling thoughts. You pull it out, glancing at the screen. It was a message from John B, “Hey, we’re heading out on the boat. Are you coming?” You hesitant to respond, fingers hovering over the screen. Part of you wants to decline, to wallow in your frustration, JJ and Kie were going to be there—the ones you needed a distraction from in the first place, but now you need a distraction from something else. Someone else. Taking a deep breath, you reply with a quick, “I’ll be there.” before shoving your phone back into your pocket and heading toward the chateau.

When you finally reach the familiar structure, the afternoon sun casts a warm, golden glow over the weathered wooden planks and sun-bleached walls. The air is thick with the scent of saltwater and you relish in the gentle breeze that cools your skin. As you draw closer, faint voices drift toward you, along with laughter and clinking cans. You make your way down the worn path that leads to the dock, where you find the group gathered in a loose circle, loading cheap beer and snacks onto the boat. Sarah and Kie are tossing a cooler filled with ice and soda into the boat, their laughter ringing out, while John B and JJ rummage through a bag, pulling out bags of chips and sandwiches. Pope stands to the side, a smile on his face, before JJ joins him against the railing.

When they finally notice you, the chatter fades, and your friends still. Kie’s smile falters for a moment, replaced by an expression of worry. Sarah and John B share and glance and Pope looks uncomfortable, hands shoved in his pockets, head hanging low. JJ’s gaze is sharper though, a flicker of irritation passing over his features as he straightens against the railing, “Well, look who finally decided to show up,” he remarks, his tone harsher than usual. 

You let out a huff, rolling your eyes, “Yeah, I’m here. What’s your point?”

“It means, where have you been lately?” Sarah asks, her brow furrowed with concern. You frown, taken aback, “Y/n, you’ve been distance for days. What’s going on with you?” 

Sure, you hesitated to go to the party last night, but that didn’t mean you were avoiding them. You danced with Sarah, shared laughs—so why was she upset now? A pang of guilt hits you, and you bite the inside of your cheek, glancing away. Disappointing everyone has become a habit lately, and it gnaws at you. Still, you cross your arms defensively, trying to maintain your usual composure, “I’ve just had a lot on my mind, alright.” you mumble, anger simmering beneath the surface. They never seemed to care until now—why was it suddenly your fault?

“You know you can just say if you don’t want to hang out with us anymore,” JJ says, leaning against a weathered post, his arms crossed over his chest. His words strike a nerve. The two of you used to be so close, it hurts to know he doesn’t even realize you’ve grown apart. It wasn’t entirely his fault, but he certainly wasn’t blameless. He’s so focused on Kie now that your friendship has grown more distant, perhaps distance that has make it’s way to the entire group. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I not meeting your standards?” you snap, heat rising in your cheeks.

Kie steps closer, her eyes narrowing, the late afternoon light catching the edges of her expression, “You’re acting like a complete bitch.”

“That’s rich coming from you Kie,” you retort, the words dripping with annoyance as you fight the urge to roll your eyes, “You don’t even know who I am anymore!” The words are thick and suffocating, and you can feel the flicker of a memory—a shared laugh, a late-night conversation—slip away, like grains of sand through your fingers.

“Maybe we wouldn’t have to guess if you just talked to us!” she shoots back. You can see the pain in her eyes, longing for the friendship that’s slipping away. 

“I can take care of myself.” you insist, the statement firm but hollow. You take a half-step back, trying to regain some control, but inside you’re quaking. 

“We just want to help,” John B chimes in, his tone earnest with a hint of desperation. You catch the way he shifts his weight, hands fidgeting in his pockets as if he’s searching for the right words to defuse the situation. 

“Why does it matter so much to you now?” you counter, the heat of your anger flaring again, “You never cared before, so why now?” As you lock eyes with them, you see the flicker of regret in John B’s gaze, the way Kie’s shoulders slump slightly, the hand Pope almost reaches toward you, and for a moment you all realize the once tight friendships that you’ve lost. 

Pogue for life, my ass.

“Because we’re worried,” Sarah interjects, her voice softer but firm. “You’re not acting like yourself, and it scares us.” The words hit you harder than you expected. They were right, usually you were fearless, the kind of person who could waltz into a party and effortlessly capture the attention of everyone. You could take down those Kook girls with a couple snide comments and a smile. You were outgoing, lively, your laughter rang out like music, vibrant and contagious. You were a whirlwind of energy that was an acquired taste. Now you were constantly quiet and insecure, that spark you once had was dimmed. You were hurting and you were finally letting your friends see through you. 

“I don’t need your help.” you finally reply, your voice sharper than you intend, each word tumbling out with an edge that surprises even you. Your heart aches as you watch JJ’s expression shift. 

“Fine. If that’s how you feel, then go.” JJ snaps, the irritation in his voice covering the hurt behind it. He turns away, his back ridgid, and climbs into the boat, “But don’t come crawling back when it all falls apart,” he adds, his words leaving a bitter aftertaste. 

You stand the for a moment and watch the rest of your friends slowly turn away, going on with the rest of their day. You scoff, a swirl of emotions tightening in your chest—regret, anger, and a hint of something else you’re too stubborn to acknowledge. Turning away you pull your phone from your pocket, fingers trembling slightly as you dial the number of the one person you can’t help but want to see.

<3

masterlist . rafe cameron masterlist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

New Fear

I have been on tumblr a long time. A looooong time. Far longer than I should have been, really.

And I've been arguing with schmucks about birds being dinosaurs... pretty much that whole time. Folks tend to get angry when a dinosaur blog posts birds, after all. It happens.

And while the game of whack a mole is ancient, it's not unpredictable. Usually, it ends in one of two ways:

the person admits they were wrong, and they back down

the person stops arguing with me and blocks me

I'm okay with either one, really. the former is ideal, the latter at least brings me peace.

Never before this past weekend has someone insisted they were right no matter what I say

And this isn't a coincidence.

Over the past few decades, anti-science sentiment has risen worldwide. I mean you just have to look at the COVID19 pandemic, or general reactions to the problems of climate change.

While of course people who think their opinion matters more than evidence have always existed, they have never been quite this bold before.

The idea that the colloquial definition of dinosaur matters, at all, is a completely new idea and one that has no basis in reality.

And yet, multiple people this past weekend argued exactly that.

And it sounds exceptionally similar to the idea that people could pick and choose things about COVID19 to believe, or the general republican position on science (only things that back up their bigotry are true).

It really seems to reflect a general increase in anti science sentiment and public anti-intellectualism.

Reality isn't actually up for debate. Reality isn't actually subjective. And science is the measure of reality

This isn't the same as the biases of society impacting science and making it worse. Saying "what people think is more important than science" is not the same as saying "science forgot a very important variable / factor / to consider data gained by different cultures / to have a wide variety of perspectives/ etc."

And allowing people to continue to perpetuate and believe in delusions leads directly to the spread of misinformation, leading to more people not understanding reality, and so on

This matters because reality matters. Because the reality of our world is not something we can change or escape. And, in fact, us ignoring the reality of the world - like thinking we can have infinite growth on a finite planet - is directly leading to the destruction of that world (climate change).

I am terrified of the rise of anti-science sentiment. I am terrified of the rise of cherry picking, deciding reality is what you want it to be, ignoring evidence. We see this from purely scientific topics all the way to social justice (how much of racism is ignoring the evidence of a) race being a social construct and b) how much racism impacts people's lives? Almost all of it).

This is bigger than birds being dinosaurs or evolution or climate change. This is about our society going on a deeply disturbing and self-destructive path.

And I really don't know what to do about it.

[sleyu]

thinking abt an sfw thing for mean bf!remus and mean bf! sirius rn (separately). hes a loving boyfriend and ofc his gf is the apple of his eyes but he was in the worst mood when the poor girl walked in on him one day just sweetly inquiring whats wrong with his mood and if she can help but when hes in a bad mood...hes just soooo much meaner and poor girl glares at him, tearing up and before he can even process his guilt storms off, ignoring him calling her name and oh now hes grovelling like hell

remus in particular fits this concept so well.

i think this is predictable, but this happens once every few months, particularly at the end of the month when the full moon is approaching and what remus considers his worst, most menacing traits manifest and reveal themselves.

before dating you, remus was consumed with foreboding and anger. of course, his friends helped and even school took his mind off of his transformations. however, remus never had a release—someone in particular that he knew he could rely on—someone he was certain would adore him unconditionally. since dating you, remus found a sense of normality in his life.

despite this, as the full moon crept, so did reality. this damned remus with not only his transformations but also with his most haunting, reoccurring insecurities. it was inevitable and as his mood and disposition heightened, he became increasingly sensitive, triggering sinister, petrifying fears in his mind that pertain to his biggest weakness: you.

in actuality, remus is terrified that one day, “you’ll come to your senses” and leave him. he’s afraid because he knows that he would easily let you. he is conscious of the fact that he’ll accept it despite the crushing, torturous pang in his chest that yearns for you.

with these rising, uncontrollable, and inevitable emotions and oversensitivity, remus is prone to hideous, gut-wrenching jealousy. of course, remus is possessive and territorial already, but its toxicity is never directed at you. however, near the full moon, his corrupted mind deludes him into believing that you take interest in the endeavours and offers of the people that flirt with you—that you reciprocate and feel fondness for the subtle touches, teasing whispers, and longing eyes that you receive from everyone else but him.

you begin noticing his peculiar behaviour in class when he didn’t greet you as you slid next to him on the desk bench. anyone could tell that it wasn’t remus lupin’s day and that they’ll receive the worst end of his behaviour at any attempt to interact with him, but usually, you’re not included as another target of his anger.

his hostile behaviour and refusal to talk to you continued the entire and it wasn’t until you kindly asked him what was wrong that he finally broke, speaking to you as if you were foreign to him.

‘just can’t ever fucking leave me alone, can you? y’know, y/n, why the fuck don’t you go on and talk to someone else? been smiling and eye-fucking tremblay all day and now you remember me? fuck off.’ he all but spits bitterly.

his heart immediately drops when your frightened look twists into one of hatred, bitter tears filling your narrowed eyes. his hand twitches as your voice shakes, attempting to fight back any sobs to prevent him from gaining any satisfaction from your sadness.

‘you’re a right foul delusional git, lupin. you should fuck off. come back and talk to me once you’ve come back to your senses, fuck.’ despite your shaking voice, you maintained a scarily calm demeanour before storming off, ensuring to slam the door behind you, the loud sound reverberating throughout the room of his dorm.

he was so stunned that all he could utter was an apologetic, disbelieving, ‘y/n,’ that you rightfully ignored before you left. it was only then that remus groaned and slammed his fist on his desk in frustration, feeling far worse than he’s felt all day.

tears of frustration would sting his eyes, an aching lump in his throat would form, and all he can do is sigh shakily, feeling his hatred for himself only grow more. he hates himself, knowing that he constantly sabotages what he feels is the one thing he breathes for—the one thing that calms his heart and alters his view of the world.

remus would take his time in attempting to give a sincere, deep apology. the full moon was approaching and after the turmoil he’s gotten himself into, he’s lost all his energy to provide you with the sincerity he knows you deserve. all he can do to cope is unleash his sharp tongue on everyone else. in between his threats to his desk mate, his heart would twinge and his cheeks would flush when he catches your distant stare.

all he can do is clench his jaw and let his heart ache in yearning, watching you from afar, looking as though you’ve already moved on from the fight whereas your awfully mean glare haunts him day and night.

all he craves is for you to pet his head and coo at him, assuring him that you’ll always be there to take care of him no matter what. all he pines for are the tender, sweet kisses you press to his temple and his cheekbones. he tries to replace the feeling of your chest by lying on and embracing his pillow but he can only kick it off the bed and groan at the unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling that isn’t you.

remus becomes ridden with anxiety while imagining his apology, fearing that when he does beg on his knees for forgiveness and takes accountability, you are indifferent. he’s terrified that you’ll shake your head, and instead of cradling him in your arms, you would tell him that you’ve had enough and that you can’t possibly deal with him anymore. it’s these thoughts that have tears streaming down his eyes in the shower, that have him breathing heavily in the middle of studying, that break his heart into pieces.

before he has enough energy to verbally communicate his regret, no one has ever seen remus lupin as pliant and obedient since he stepped foot into hogwarts. as soon as slughorn would declare the materials necessary for the potion, remus would be bouncing his knee anxiously, waiting for his professor's approval before he jumps out of his seat and races to the cabinet, carefully studying which material was flawless and polished enough to present to you.

you’d take it with silence but he would inwardly beam. this is a step in the right direction, he thinks. the marauders would be gawking at him, watching him say a quiet ‘here you go,’ with a tight-lipped smile and soft eyes.

he couldn’t care less if he was left with a tarnished cauldron or rusty textbook. what mattered more was that he gave you the best one and he was slowly redeeming himself.

before class would end, remus would hurry to the door, holding it open for every single person in the class and holding it especially wider for when you walk through. every other person that walked out of the door was shocked and hesitant to take advantage of his kind gesture—remus, however, didn’t spare them a glance, his stare intensely focused on you, studying your reactions to his unusually chivalrous demeanour.

he has to charm you with this. but there you go, laughing happily with one of your friends, completely ignoring your miserable boyfriend’s existence and walking straight toward the great hall.

‘fucks sake,’ he mutters before racing there, determined to fix a plate full of your favourite food himself.

once the full moon passes, remus decides to make a move, heading straight toward the library where he knows he’ll find you studying away.

you’re so focused on your parchment. his heart swells at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows and the slight pout on your lips. he’s so in love with you. that softness is quickly interrupted when he realizes your eyes don’t even look up when he walks towards you, quietly whispering your name. fuck, he thinks.

remus walks behind you and bends down near your ear, slowly and carefully brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. you didn’t flinch. you didn’t move away either. you didn’t reject him.

‘oh, darling, i’m sorry.’ he would mumble despairingly, reaching down to gently take your hand in his. ‘i didn’t mean to, you know that, right?’

between every tender kiss to your head and the gentle, soothing stroke of his thumb on your hand and shoulder, his sweet words only continued. ‘i’ll lend you my books, sweaters, anything you want, baby. everything of mines is yours—i’m yours.’

suddenly, you immediately snatched your hand out of his grasp and continued writing, concentrated on the piece of parchment in front of you as if remus wasn’t even there. his eyes widened and his stomach dropped, churning unpleasantly.

remus tries to squeeze your shoulder as gently as he can to remind you that he’s there and that he would wait as long as it takes. he remains calm, taking deep breaths, all the while inwardly panicking, unknowing of how long he can keep up with your silence and lack of concern.

after a couple of long, tedious minutes of standing, remus quickly pulls a chair beside you, eliciting a sharp scratch against the hardwood floor that the librarian narrows her eyes at. remus rolls his eyes before settling annoyingly close to you, hesitantly resting his chin on your shoulder after pressing a soft kiss there as well.

‘i could help you with the test, i got an outstanding on the last one.’ he says quietly, smiling weakly, attempting to mask the desperation he knows is laced in his tone.

still, nothing from you. not even a glance, not even a hum of acknowledgement. he hasn’t even gotten your eyes to meet his and he begins feeling a wave of nausea at this realization and his lack of success.

‘please, love, just say anything. take me outside and yell at me if you must—please do. just anything. i just wanna hear your voice. i’m sorry—i’m so, so sorry.’ he takes away his seemingly calm, indifferent facade, voice wavering pleadingly, and you inwardly smirk at the difference in his tone.

remus takes your head in his hand and presses a firm kiss to your temple in an attempt to coax you out of your indifference.

‘i’m so fucking sorry, baby. i was a git, right foul one, yeah?’ he laughs forcefully, miserably attempting to soften the tension in the air to which he failed. ‘you could do anything to punish me. yell at me, hit me even, do anything but this, please. do whatever you want to me—just not this.’

again, you do nothing. he desperately wants you to push him away, to yell at him and tell him to leave you alone. any form of eye contact, any sound of his name—acknowledgment is all he needs.

‘i’m not leaving—i hope you know that. i’ll follow you right back to the common room and i’ll steal you away so that you end up in my dorm. i’ll even get on my fucking knees for you and beg you to forgive me. i’m staying here.’