#who's figuring out who they are in the absence of their toxic relationship to their family

[pdriesta]

CHAPTER SEVEN

baby, i'm talkin' crazy, i need you right in my space"

pairing — trentxblack!r&b artist

tropes — fake dating, enemies-to-lovers

warnings — sexual tension, toxic relationships, mature themes (minors dni)

word count — 8k

summary — y/n, a rising r&b star, is stuck in toxic situationships, with tabloids constantly overshadowing her music. to fix her image, her team pushes her into a fake relationship with liverpool’s trent alexander-arnold. both reluctant, they soon realize keeping things strictly business isn't so simple. will pretending to be in love stay a game, or turn into something real?

an — i am sorry for the late update! i've been ill :( stream all of AAA and how does it feel by flo!!

masterlist

trent’s text had been annoyingly vague.

trent: come over. we need to talk.

y/n hadn’t expected much. she figured it would be another tense conversation about keeping up appearances or whatever trent decided was his priority of the day. but as she stepped through the door of his house, she was hit with an overwhelming wave of chatter, laughter, and the smell of home-cooked food that wrapped around her like a familiar hug.

his whole family was there.

“y/n!” trent’s mom was the first to greet her, pulling her into a warm hug, her arms squeezing just tight enough to make y/n forget to breathe for a second. she pulled back, eyes warm and scanning y/n with the kind of softness that made her heart clench.

“finally! trent’s told us so much about you.”

“oh, has he?” y/n raised a brow, her voice laced with humor as she glanced at trent, who stood behind her looking like he wanted to disappear into the floor.

“mum, don’t start,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“oh, hush, trent.” his mom waved him off, her full attention returning to y/n. “you’re even prettier than i imagined,” she said, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “and your music! it’s so good. we’ve all been listening.”

y/n’s eyes widened in surprise. “really?”

“absolutely. you’re incredibly talented, love. you should be so proud of yourself.” trent’s mom reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “and i’m proud of you. it’s not easy doing what you do, but you’ve done it with such grace. you’re strong, and you’re good for my son.”

the words hit y/n like a punch to the chest, knocking the air right out of her. she felt her throat tighten as she tried to swallow the sudden wave of emotion. the absence of her mother, felt so stark in that moment, it was suffocating. she hadn’t heard words like that in so long—words filled with love, warmth, and pride.

she blinked quickly, forcing herself to breathe, to pull it together. she couldn’t break down here, not in front of trent’s family.

but trent noticed. of course, he did.

from his place beside her, he watched the way her lips pressed into a thin line, how her eyes dropped to the floor for just a second too long. he saw the way she tried to cover the rawness in her expression with a small, polite smile.

“mum,” trent said, his voice softer now, stepping in before y/n could crumble under the weight of her own emotions. “don’t overwhelm her, yeah?”

his mom chuckled, clearly oblivious to the storm brewing inside y/n. “oh, nonsense. she’s family now.”

trent placed a hand on y/n’s back, grounding her. his thumb traced slow, soothing circles as he leaned down, voice low enough for only her to hear. “you okay?”

she nodded, blinking up at him with a grateful smile. “yeah. i’m good.”

but he knew better. and so, he kept his hand there, steady and reassuring, while his mom continued to talk, her voice soft and filled with love.

before y/n could process much else, a younger alexander-arnold siblin—who had to be marcel—rushed over, his eyes wide with excitement. “y/n! oh my days, i can’t believe you’re actually here.”

she laughed, taken aback by his energy. “hi, and you must be marcel?”

“yeah, yeah, that’s me. okay, i have to say it—you’re, like, my celebrity crush. this is mad.”

y/n felt her cheeks heat up, but she grinned, playing it off. “well, thank you. that’s very sweet.”

“marcel, chill,” trent groaned, pulling his brother back by the collar of his shirt. “you’re gonna scare her off.”

“what? i’m just being honest!” marcel protested, his voice cracking slightly as he looked at y/n. “you’re even prettier in person, by the way.”

“okay, that’s enough,” trent cut in, giving marcel a pointed look. “go help dad or something.”

y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange, especially when marcel shot her an exaggerated wink before walking off.

for the rest of the night, trent didn’t take his eyes off her. he watched how she slowly relaxed again, how she laughed with marcel, how she charmed his sister-in-law and mum. and though she was still a little quieter than usual, she never let her guard slip again.

but trent had seen it—the way her walls had cracked for just a second, leaving a glimpse of something tender and broken underneath.

and he couldn’t shake it.

the hours passed in a blur of laughter, food, and playful teasing. y/n found herself easing into the warmth of the alexander-arnold family, who welcomed her like one of their own. but the real chaos started during an intense game of uno, with everyone shouting and accusing each other of cheating before they began to trickle home, leaving y/n, trent and the youngest alexander-arnold sibling (who his mum mocked for "thirdwheeling").

“you’re so bad at this game,” y/n teased trent, placing down a draw four card with a triumphant grin.

“you’re cheating,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes at her.

“sounds like someone’s a sore loser,” she quipped, earning laughs from his siblings.

marcel, ever the instigator, suddenly leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “now that you’re basically part of the family, y/n, i’ve got to ask you something.”

she raised a brow, intrigued. “what’s that?”

“your exes,” he said bluntly, making everyone pause.

trent groaned loudly, his head falling back against the couch. “marcel, don’t.”

“no, no, i gotta know,” marcel insisted, ignoring his brother’s protests. “what’s real and what’s fake? i mean, with all the articles and stuff… i’m curious.”

y/n couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “seems like everyone’s interested in that topic lately.”

marcel pulled out his phone, opening an article from The Sun. “okay, let’s start with the obvious—jadon.”

y/n’s cheeks flushed, and she shyly nodded. “yeah… that one’s true.”

trent scoffed immediately, sitting up straighter. “not anymore,” he muttered under his breath, earning a pointed look from y/n.

marcel grinned, clearly enjoying the tension. “alright, what about central cee?”

y/n scrunched her nose in visible disgust. “nope. we have a song together, sure. but people handled that. i think we’ve said maybe three words to each other. that’s it.”

trent couldn’t hide his smile at her answer, which only annoyed her more.

“okay, next—damson idris.”

y/n sighed dramatically, a dreamy look crossing her face. “i wish.”

trent immediately stiffened, his jaw tightening. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

marcel, catching his brother’s reaction, smirked. “y/n’s got a type, and it’s definitely not you.”

trent shot him a glare, but y/n, sensing an opportunity to tease him, leaned closer with a sly smile. “you’re still my best boyfriend, though… unless damson calls me. then i’m out the door.”

trent rolled his eyes, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “no one would be able to deal with your attitude anyway.”

the banter continued until marcel brought up one more name. “what about tee higgins?”

y/n’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “yes,” she admitted quietly.

marcel’s eyes lit up. “oh, an american football player? now this is interesting.”

trent frowned, his gaze snapping to y/n. “what’s that about?”

she shrugged nonchalantly, trying to downplay it. “i was in america for a show, and he came out. we hung out a bit, and that was it.”

trent’s frown deepened, jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. “i don’t like it.”

y/n raised a brow, clearly amused. “well, good thing it’s not up to you.”

“i’m the only footballer you need,” he said firmly, his tone possessive.

y/n, ever the instigator herself, leaned closer with a teasing smile. “oh, but tee was such a pretty boy. just my type.”

trent didn’t say anything at first, but the twitch in his jaw and the fire in his eyes said enough. without warning, he reached over and pulled her onto his lap, his fingers digging into her sides as he started tickling her mercilessly.

“take it back,” he demanded, a rare smile breaking through his usual seriousness.

“never!” y/n squealed, squirming in his grasp as she laughed uncontrollably.

marcel, watching the chaos unfold, smirked. “mission accomplished.” he stood up, stretching lazily. “i’ll leave you two to it. try not to kill each other.”

as soon as marcel left the room, trent loosened his grip, letting y/n catch her breath. she stayed on his lap, her face flushed from laughter, and looked at him with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“you’re ridiculous, you know that?” she said, still breathless.

“and you’re annoying,” he shot back, though his tone was far softer than usual.

they stayed like that for a moment longer, the playful tension between them giving way to something quieter, something almost tender. but neither of them said a word about it, both too stubborn to acknowledge whatever was brewing beneath the surface.

lately, things between them had shifted—soft, almost imperceptible at first, but unmistakable now. more outings. more moments that felt like stolen pieces of something bigger. trent was the type to just tell her to be ready, showing up at her door with no explanation, sweeping her away to hidden corners of the city like it was her own personal fairytale.

but it wasn’t really a fairytale. it was them, caught somewhere between friends and something dangerously close to more.

tonight was no different.

the restaurant hummed with quiet conversation, the faint clinking of silverware against plates filling the air. they sat tucked into a cozy corner booth, the warm amber light casting a soft glow over their table. the night felt easy, their laughter and conversation flowing as naturally as ever. it was a date, but not really. just another outing that blurred the lines of what they were supposed to be. yet, trent couldn’t help but think it felt all too real.

she looked beautiful tonight—oversized blazer, mini skirt, heels that showed off her legs, and that barely-there gloss on her lips that caught the light just right. his eyes kept drifting back to her even as she scrolled through the menu, her brows furrowing in thought as she decided what to order.

“i can feel you staring,” she teased without looking up, her lips curling into a playful smile.

trent leaned back, unbothered. “can you blame me?”

she shook her head with a laugh, but a blush crept up her neck anyway.

moments like this were dangerous. they tiptoed on the edge of something unspoken, both of them too stubborn—or too afraid—to admit how much they liked it here, caught in their own grey area.

he couldn’t say it aloud, but this was starting to feel like more than just fun, more than just convenience. he didn’t just like her company—he wanted it. craved it.

and the way her eyes lit up every time he showed up at her door, no questions asked, told him she felt it too.

but neither of them dared to say it. not yet.

his leg bounced nervously under the table, the question he’d been trying to ask sitting heavy on his chest. he wasn’t usually like this—hesitant, unsure—but something about asking her felt… different.

“so, what are you thinking of getting?” she asked, glancing up at him, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“uh, haven’t decided yet,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. his nerves were getting the better of him. the words were right there, on the tip of his tongue, but every time he opened his mouth, they refused to come out.

y/n tilted her head at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “you okay? you’ve been weirdly quiet all night.”

“yeah, yeah, i’m fine,” he said quickly, shaking his head as if to clear it. “just… thinkin’.”

she didn’t push, simply nodding and turning her attention back to the menu, but trent knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. he needed to ask before he lost his nerve completely.

“hey,” he said suddenly, making her look up again.

“what?” she asked, her voice curious.

he hesitated, running a hand over his jaw. “so… england’s playing at wembley next week,” he started, trying to sound casual. “and, uh, i was wondering if you’d want to come. you know, to… match.”

her face softened, a small smile tugging at her lips. “of course,” she said easily. “i mean, it’s a public outing, right? gotta play the part of the supportive girlfriend.”

her words were lighthearted, teasing, but they still made his chest tighten. because that’s all it was supposed to be—playing a part. but lately, it didn’t feel like pretending anymore.

“yeah,” he said, forcing a grin. “exactly.”

the conversation moved on, and they ordered their food, but the comfortable rhythm of their night was broken when y/n suddenly cleared her throat, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her napkin.

“trent?”

“hm?” he glanced up from his plate, his brows lifting in curiosity.

she hesitated, her eyes darting to his before quickly looking away. “i, um… i wanted to ask you something.”

“yeah? what’s up?”

she bit her lip, clearly nervous, and it made his stomach twist. whatever she was about to say, it was important.

“zaia and cash’s wedding is coming up,” she started, her voice quieter than usual. “and… i was wondering if you’d be my date.”

the words hung in the air between them, heavier than he expected.

trent blinked, taken aback. he knew how close she was to zaia—her best friend since childhood. this wasn’t just any wedding. it was a big deal, and she was asking him.

his thoughts spiraled. was this just another part of their arrangement? was she asking because it made sense, because they were supposed to be seen together? or did it mean something more?

but then he looked at her—at the way her hands nervously played with her napkin, the way she avoided his gaze, her cheeks faintly pink. there was something shy and vulnerable about her in that moment, something that tugged at a part of him he couldn’t quite name.

“it’s just… you know, it’s a big deal,” she rambled, her fingers tugging at the hem of her shirt. “they’re my family—like, real family, not just close friends—and everyone’s gonna be there. my best friends, my mom, everyone.” she paused, taking a breath. “i usually just go to these things solo and handle it fine. i’m okay flying solo most of the time, actually, but—”

her words tumbled out so fast that she barely had time to breathe between them, her voice rising slightly as nerves took over. she glanced up at him, her cheeks warm, feeling a little ridiculous for putting so much weight on this. “i don’t usually… ask anyone to stuff like this. but it feels right, asking you. so… yeah.”

trent’s chest tightened as her words settled over him. she was trying to sound casual, but this wasn’t casual at all. not for her.

she didn’t just bring anyone into that world—into something as sacred as family.

her family was private. important. untouchable.

and here she was, asking him to be a part of it.

“y/n,” he said, his voice softer than he intended, eyes searching hers.

she shifted under his gaze, suddenly regretting everything. “you don’t have to say yes, by the way,” she added quickly, trying to backtrack. “it’s totally fine if you’re busy or if it’s too much, i’ll just—”

“i’d love to,” trent interrupted, his lips curving into a slow smile.

her breath caught. “really?”

“yeah,” he said, leaning closer, his eyes holding hers with a warmth that made her feel like maybe she hadn’t just made a fool of herself. “i’m honored you even asked. it’s not just a wedding—it’s your family’s wedding.” he paused, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. “that means a lot.”

she smiled back at him, the tension in her shoulders easing. “good,” she said softly, her voice steadying. “i’m glad you’ll be there.”

trent couldn’t stop thinking about how big this was. being her date meant something. being seen with her at something so personal, so intimate—she was letting him into a world she didn’t share with just anyone.

and he didn’t take that lightly.

the air in the stands was electric as fans filtered out of the stadium, still buzzing from england’s triumphant match. y/n was caught up in it all, her excitement evident in the way she practically glowed as she spoke to trent’s family about the game. she couldn’t stop smiling, her phone clutched tightly in her hands, still warm from snapping pictures throughout the match.

she hadn’t expected trent to come up to them so soon after the final whistle, but when she spotted him climbing the steps toward their section, her breath caught. his medal glinted under the stadium lights, the man of the match trophy in his hands as his gaze landed on her almost instantly.

he greeted his family first, sharing hugs and quick words of gratitude, but then he turned to her, his grin softening into something almost shy.

“you played incredible,” she said before he could say anything, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.

“yeah?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes searching hers, as if her opinion mattered more than anyone else’s.

“you know you did.”

without a word, he leaned in and kissed her cheek, the gesture so quick and fleeting it almost felt imagined. her heart skipped at the contact, but she told herself it was just for the cameras. there were plenty of phones around, after all, and a player celebrating with someone in the stands was always a headline. she convinced herself it meant nothing as he handed her the trophy and slid into the seat between her and marcel.

“here,” he said, nodding toward the gleaming silver in her hands. “you should hold it.”

“what?” she blinked at him, cradling the trophy like it was fragile. “you’re seriously letting me hold this?

“why not?” he shrugged, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “looks better in your hands anyway.”

she rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile pulling at her lips. her fingers traced over the engraving as she admired it up close, the weight of it grounding her excitement.

“pose with it,” trent said, pulling out his phone

“pose?” she laughed, glancing around nervously. “for what?”

“for appearances, of course,” he teased, his tone light but his eyes warm.

y/n gave him a mock glare but shifted the trophy slightly, holding it up as she puckered her lips in a playful air kiss. trent snapped a few photos, his grin widening with each click. when she lowered the trophy, she caught him staring at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen as he uploaded one to his story.

“what?” she asked, raising a brow.

“nothing,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. but the way his smile lingered told her everything she needed to know.

as the conversation around them flowed, trent leaned closer, his attention fully on her now. “so,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “how’d you like the match?”

“oh, i loved it!” she said, her face lighting up. she unlocked her phone, scrolling quickly before turning the screen toward him. “look, i got some great pictures. see this one? and this? oh, and this!”

she flipped through shot after shot, her excitement spilling over with every frame. trent didn’t say much, just watched her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. pride, maybe? or something else entirely?

“you’re really into this, huh?” he asked, his voice soft.

“of course!” she said, glancing at him briefly before focusing back on her phone. “how could i not be? you were amazing out there, trent. seriously.”

he smiled at that, his chest swelling at the sincerity in her voice. “thanks,” he said quietly, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer before he turned back to the ongoing conversation, though his attention never fully left her.

she was wearing his shirt, holding his trophy, sitting with his family. it felt… right. and he didn’t want to let the moment go.

she was still scrolling through her phone, her excitement making her words tumble over each other as she recounted her favorite moments of the match. “and this one—look at how sharp you look here. oh, and this one’s from the free kick! the angle is perfect. i’m telling you, trent, you looked—”

he couldn’t help it anymore. the way her eyes sparkled when she talked, the way she was so genuinely proud of him, it made his chest ache in the best way. she was buzzing, glowing with excitement, and trent was captivated.

“y/n,” he said softly, interrupting her mid-sentence.

“what?” she asked, glancing up at him, her brows furrowing slightly.

before she could say anything else, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, cutting her off completely. it wasn’t hurried or forceful, just deliberate, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment. her lips were soft, warm, and he could taste the faint sweetness of whatever lip balm she was wearing.

she froze for a second, her phone slipping slightly in her hands as the kiss caught her off guard. her heart was pounding, and when he finally pulled back, just enough to look her in the eye, her cheeks burned.

“what was that for?,” she breathed, her voice quiet and unsure.

“just cause,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering.

her lips parted, but no words came out. y/n, who always had something clever to say, was speechless for once, her thoughts racing faster than she could process.

“you—you can’t just do that,” she finally managed, her voice a mix of shyness and disbelief.

he chuckled softly, his hand brushing against hers as he leaned back slightly. “why not?”

“because…” she trailed off, her cheeks still flushed.

“because?” he prompted, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

she shook her head, unable to form a coherent response. instead, she turned back to her phone, pretending to focus on the screen even though she couldn’t stop glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

but trent didn’t stop watching her, his expression soft and full of something she couldn’t quite name. she felt it in the air between them, unspoken but undeniable. and as much as she wanted to brush it off, she couldn’t shake the way her chest tightened every time he looked at her like that.

the studio always felt like a different world to trent. a little sanctuary tucked away from everything, with dim lighting, soundproof walls, and the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air. it was hers—every detail, every piece of equipment, every soft hum of music that filled the space—it all belonged to y/n in a way nothing else did. he could see it in the way she moved, the way her shoulders dropped in relief as soon as she crossed the threshold.

he liked being here. maybe a little too much.

his eyes drifted to her across the room as she adjusted a mic stand, her braids falling over her shoulder, lips slightly pursed in concentration. she had that effortless kind of beauty, the kind that hit him harder when she wasn’t even trying. no cameras, no crowds—just her, in her element.

he wanted to tell her how good she looked. how proud he was every time she let him listen to a new track. how his chest felt lighter just being near her. but he couldn’t. not really. not without risking the quiet thing they had, this unspoken closeness that felt too fragile to push.

because y/n was quick to pull away. always had been. she had a way of retreating whenever things got too heavy, too real. trent learned to read the signs: the slight shift in her tone, the way her smile would falter for a second before she’d brush it off with a joke. she’d never say it outright, but he knew her well enough to know when she was putting up walls.

so he stayed quiet. kept it light. he’d rather sit here and be a part of her world in whatever way she’d let him than risk saying something that would make her push him out.

“you sure you’re not bored?” y/n asked, turning to him with a raised brow, her eyes catching the soft light from the corner of the room.

“nah,” he said easily, leaning back in his chair, his lips curling into a small smile. “i like watching you work.”

she rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched at the edges, trying not to smile back. “you say that now. wait until i start obsessing over one line for twenty minutes.”

trent chuckled, his gaze never leaving her. “i’ll survive.”

for y/n, it was strange having him here. this place had always been hers—a space where she could be messy, raw, vulnerable. no one ever stayed long enough to see what it meant to her. but trent was different.

he didn’t ask too many questions. didn’t hover or try to take control. he just… fit. like he belonged here without even trying.

she glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she fiddled with the controls. it felt good, having him here. warm, steady, grounding. almost dangerous, how easily she had gotten used to his presence.

y/n stood in the booth, her voice filling the studio with a sultry richness that had everyone’s attention, but none more so than trent’s. he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on her like she was the only thing in the room. she had this magnetic pull, something about her that made everything else disappear when she sang.

the track rolled into the second verse, and y/n’s voice dropped lower, almost like a secret, smooth and dripping with confidence. it curled around the words like they were meant to tease, to challenge.

"i bet you feel like that man when you next to me, just as you should. i know that you like your hands up on my body, toss me, it’s good..."

trent’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as her words wrapped around him. the way she sang that—playful, almost daring—made his chest feel tight. he knew this was just music, knew she wasn’t supposed to be singing to him. but damn if it didn’t feel like she was. every line sent a jolt through him, her voice steady, deliberate.

"but you better play your position, don’t let it slip, better not fold. need loyalty, ‘cause i’m royalty with this grip, treat it like gold..."

his fingers tapped restlessly on his knee, his mind spiraling. this grip, treat it like gold... it wasn’t a stretch to imagine y/n writing those lines with him in mind. the thought made his stomach twist—half with pride, half with something much deeper. she was always guarded, never giving too much away, but this... this felt like a glimpse into the parts of her she kept locked up.

he wondered what it would be like if this wasn’t just a song. if they weren’t just flirting around the edges of something real. if he could actually claim her—not just in private moments but out there, for everyone to see. trent alexander-arnold, dating the biggest r&b talent in the game. the image burned itself into his brain, filling him with a dangerous kind of pride.

y/n finished the verse, stepping out of the booth with that casual confidence she always carried. she grabbed a bottle of water from the counter, taking a long sip, avoiding his gaze—like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“you wrote that?” trent asked finally, his voice low and rough.

she glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “yeah. it’s just a song.”

just a song, but his heart was still racing.

“that might be my new favorite,” he said, his hand finding her knee, thumb brushing over the fabric of her sweats. “seriously... loved it.”

her lips curved slightly, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—something vulnerable. “really?” she asked softly. she felt a warmth creep up her neck, her heart speeding up for reasons she couldn’t admit. the song was about him—every line, every note. but she’d never say that out loud.

“yeah,” trent said, his gaze holding hers. “i’ve listened to all your music. thought mad at me was the one, but this takes the cake.

y/n smiled softly as she let trent’s words sink in, her heart fluttering in a way she wasn’t used to. the quiet between them felt tender, almost fragile, like neither of them wanted to break it. she was about to say something, maybe even thank him again, when the engineer called her name, asking her to head back into the booth to re-record a section.

trent frowned immediately, his brows pulling together. "what? that was perfect," he said, his hand still resting on her knee as if to keep her in place. his voice held a mix of disbelief and protectiveness, like he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to change a single thing.

y/n laughed softly, reaching over to squeeze his wrist. "it’s just how it works," she teased, her voice light as she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "don’t look so offended."

his frown eased slightly, but he still didn’t seem convinced. "nah, seriously, they don’t know what they’re doing. it’s already a hit."

she shook her head, laughing again as she stood, adjusting her hoodie. "you’re biased," she said, giving him a playful look. "but thanks."

he leaned back into the couch, crossing his arms as he watched her. "so how long are you gonna be in there this time?"

she glanced over her shoulder as she reached the booth door. "could be a while," she admitted, shrugging. "if you wanna head out, it’s cool."

trent scoffed, sitting up straighter. "and leave you here? nah, i’m good."

her lips curved into a warm smile, something soft flickering in her chest. "okay," she said, her voice quieter this time.

as she stepped into the booth, she could still feel his gaze on her, steady and reassuring. even as the door closed behind her and the music started up again, she couldn’t help the way her cheeks burned from the memory of his words, his touch, and that quiet, tender moment that had left her feeling more seen than she ever had before.

trent’s living room was dimly lit, the soft glow from the television casting shadows across the room. fifa commentary droned in the background, but trent wasn’t paying attention anymore. his eyes flicked between the game and y/n, who was curled up against him, scrolling through tiktok with a lazy ease. her head rested on his chest, braids spilling over his arm as she chuckled softly at a video.

“look at this one,” she said, turning the phone toward him. “this trend is everywhere.”

he glanced at it briefly, smirking. “why do i feel like you’re about to make me do one of those with you?”

“because i am,” she teased, poking his side. “you’d look cute doing it.”

“not happening,” trent shot back, shaking his head with a laugh. “you’re not embarrassing me on the internet.”

she rolled her eyes dramatically and returned to scrolling, her body relaxed against his. it was comfortable. easy. the kind of easy that snuck up on you and made you forget that there were rules to whatever this was supposed to be.

but then his phone buzzed beside him, the screen lighting up with a notification. he glanced at it instinctively, his jaw tightening when he saw the name.

jadon.

his grip on the controller tightened, and for a moment, he debated saying nothing. but it ate at him too quickly. too loudly.

“you still talking to him?”

y/n blinked, caught off guard. she sat up slightly, her brows furrowed. “what?”

“jadon,” he repeated, nodding toward his phone. “you still talking to him?”

“oh.” her face softened. “i mean... not really. he just checks in sometimes. sees how i’m doing, you know?”

trent’s gaze didn’t waver. “and you’re sure that’s all it is?”

she shrugged, brushing it off like it was nothing. “yeah, it’s innocent. it’s not like he’s—” she paused, catching herself. “it’s not like you’re my boyfriend or anything.”

the words hit harder than she probably intended, their weight settling heavily between them. she wasn’t wrong—they weren’t together. not really. but hearing her say it out loud made something twist in his chest, a dull ache that caught him off guard.

y/n didn’t notice his shift. she leaned back into him, her focus already back on her phone as if nothing had changed. but for trent, everything had.

he clenched his jaw, the silence growing thicker, pressing in on him. “so you just let him check in? whenever he wants?”

her head shot up, eyes narrowing at the edge in his voice. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

trent leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his back no longer relaxed against the couch. “just seems like he still thinks he has a shot. that’s all i’m saying.”

y/n blinked, processing his sudden change in tone. “and so what if he does? why do you care?”

the question was soft, casual even, but it cut through the tension like a knife.

trent leaned back into the couch, jaw still tight as he watched her, tension crackling between them. the air felt thick, suffocating in the silence that followed. his eyes flicked toward his phone again, and something about the way her name lit up the screen on jadon’s message gnawed at him. his voice dropped lower, a little too sharp.

“you always let him back in, huh? just like before. always putting yourself in another mess.”

y/n froze. her fingers tightened around her phone, her face carefully blank even as her heart lurched at his words. she blinked, processing them, the sting more potent than she expected.

“another mess?” she echoed softly, voice calm but edged with something dangerous. “like this one?”

trent’s breath caught in his throat, his regret immediate. he opened his mouth to take it back, to soften the blow, but the damage was already done.

she sat up straighter, her gaze locking onto his now, eyes shining with something between disbelief and hurt. “if that’s how you see it, trent, then what the hell are we even doing?”

he rubbed a hand over his face, tension rolling off him in waves. “that’s not what I meant—”

“then what did you mean?” she pressed, folding her arms across her chest, her voice cracking slightly at the end. “because it sure sounds like you think this—me, you—was just some kind of mistake.”

trent hated himself for the flicker of pain in her eyes, for how vulnerable she looked in that moment. for how real it felt. he stood up, closing the space between them, his frustration melting into something softer.

“y/n, no,” he said, his voice gentler now. “you’re not a mistake. i didn’t mean it like that.”

“then why would you say it?” her voice dropped to a whisper, her walls cracking just enough for him to see the truth—the doubt she’d been hiding.

she stood anyway, brushing imaginary lint off her leggings. “it’s not a good idea for me to stay.” she paused, her voice quieter this time. “we can’t forget what this is.”

y/n stared at him, her heart in her throat, torn between every instinct screaming at her to protect herself and the pull of his words, his touch. she opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

trent’s voice was barely above a whisper. “don’t go.”

her words felt more like a reminder to herself than him, her eyes refusing to meet his as she grabbed her phone.

“y/n,” trent said, standing too. his hand brushed against hers, lingering for a second too long. “you don’t have to go.”

she shook her head, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “i do.”

he wanted to argue, wanted to pull her back down onto the couch and make her stay until the tension eased and they could go back to laughing at tiktoks. but the look in her eyes stopped him—something fragile and uncertain, something he wasn’t sure he could fix in that moment.

and just like that, she slipped out the door, leaving him standing there, the words he couldn’t say caught in his throat.

trent sat back down, running a hand through his curls, his fifa game still paused on the screen. he hated how much her absence suddenly filled the room, how the air felt heavier without her in it.

and all he could think about was the way she said, we can’t forget what this is—because the truth was, trent wasn’t sure what this was anymore. but whatever it was, it mattered. more than he was ready to admit.

the bridal shop smelled like fresh fabric and lavender candles, soft afrobeats playing faintly in the background. racks of flowing gowns lined the walls, glittering under the warm lights. y/n hadn’t been to a fitting like this in forever, surrounded by zaia and her cousins, laughter spilling from every corner of the shop. it felt easy, familiar, and for a moment, she forgot how much she’d missed this—how lonely things had felt lately, despite how much she loved trent’s company.

she loved being around him, craved it even, but the lines were getting blurry. dangerous.

as she disappeared behind the curtain, the air shifted, quieter, almost intimate. the fabric of the emerald green gown was soft beneath her fingertips, heavy and rich, embroidered with gold and glittering stones that caught the light every time she moved. y/n adjusted it carefully, catching her reflection in the mirror. for a second, a fleeting thought crossed her mind—if she ever had a wedding of her own, would it look like this? would she wear something this stunning?

but no man came to mind. not really.

her brain whispered a name, low and familiar, but she shook it off. it wasn’t trent. it couldn’t be.

“god, this dress is heavy,” y/n called out, brushing the thought away as she adjusted the fabric on her shoulder.

“beauty is pain, babe,” one of zaia’s cousins teased, laughing from the other side of the curtain.

zaia’s voice was calm, steady. “is it fitting okay?”

“yeah,” y/n said softly, smoothing the front one last time before glancing at herself again. for a second, she let herself admire the way it clung to her curves, the way it made her feel like royalty. the matching fan rested on a stool nearby, waiting to complete the look.

behind the curtain, she hesitated, glancing at zaia. “you really think it’s okay if i bring trent to the wedding?” her voice was softer now, a little unsure.

zaia arched a brow, leaning forward on the cushioned bench. “why wouldn’t it be okay?”

y/n shrugged, fingers brushing the delicate stones on her dress. “i don’t know. it’s just… complicated.”

zaia tilted her head, her tone casual, but there was something in her eyes—something sharp. “complicated how? y/n, you’ve been spending all your time with him lately. it’s cute, but… girl, you know you’re gonna have to tell that boy you like him eventually, right?”

y/n peeked at zaia, eyes wide. “it’s not like that,” she muttered, though her pulse picked up at the words.

zaia smirked. “oh, it’s not? babe, it’s like watching a slow-motion car wreck. you both like each other, and it’s so obvious it hurts. just do something about it before we all go insane.”

y/n’s laugh was soft, almost nervous. “you’re dramatic.”

“you’re in denial,” zaia shot back, grinning.

before y/n could respond, she took a breath, pushed back the curtain, and stepped out. every conversation in the room stopped, all eyes snapping to her as she walked into the light, the gown shimmering with every step.

“y/n…” zaia whispered, standing slowly. “you look… beautiful.”

y/n spun in front of the mirror, her lips curving into a small smile. “you think? i feel like a princess or something.”

“a queen,” zaia corrected, her eyes warm. “green is definitely your color.”

the cousins agreed, pulling out their phones to snap pictures, laughter filling the space again as one of them adjusted y/n’s gele, making sure it sat perfectly.

but then, just as everything settled, zaia’s expression shifted—her lips parting slightly, her eyes suddenly glassy.

y/n froze, her heart thudding. “zaia, are you… crying?”

zaia laughed through her tears, wiping her face quickly. “sorry, i’ve just been… emotional lately. it’s ridiculous.”

concern flickered across y/n’s face. “are you okay? should i call cash?” she asked, already reaching for her phone.

zaia grabbed her wrist gently, shaking her head. “no, no—don’t call him. actually, there’s… something we were going to tell you together today, but…” her voice cracked. “i can’t wait. i need you to know now.”

y/n’s breath caught. “zaia, what is it?”

zaia hesitated for just a moment before the words tumbled out in a rush. “i’m pregnant.” her voice shook as she spoke, a soft sob escaping her lips. “you’re the first person i’ve told.”

the world tilted slightly, y/n’s mind struggling to catch up. her eyes welled up instantly, her hand flying to her mouth. “zaia… are you serious?”

zaia nodded, tears streaming down her face. “i’ve been dying to tell you. cash and i were going to do it together, but… i couldn’t wait. i needed you to know.”

y/n almost buckled at the weight of it, rushing forward to wrap zaia in a tight hug, their bodies trembling together as tears fell freely.

“oh my god,” y/n whispered against her shoulder, her voice thick with emotion. “i’m so happy for you. you’re going to be the most amazing mom. i can’t believe this.”

zaia laughed through her sobs, clutching y/n tighter. “thank you. i was so nervous, but… hearing you say that makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay.”

y/n pulled back just enough to cup zaia’s face, wiping her tears gently. her own tears blurred her vision, but she didn’t care. “it is going to be okay. more than okay. and i’ll be here with you every step of the way, you hear me?”

zaia nodded, sniffling. “i hear you.”

a beat of silence passed, warm and steady, before y/n laughed softly, shaking her head. “i’m gonna be the best aunt.”

zaia’s smile brightened, her eyes sparkling. “god mother. we want you to be the baby’s godmother.”

the words hung in the air for a second, heavy and beautiful.

y/n’s mouth fell open, her hand flying to her chest. “zaia… are you serious?”

“of course,” zaia said, her voice cracking again. “there’s no one else it could be.”

the tears returned full force, and y/n hugged her again, clutching her tightly. “i love you so much,” she whispered.

“i love you too,” zaia said softly.

and as they stood there, wrapped in their own little world, y/n knew this moment would stay with her forever—a reminder that love came in all forms, steady and unwavering, right when you needed it most.

y/n pulled into trent’s driveway, the car’s headlights casting long shadows on the driveway. her pulse quickened, but it wasn’t just from the excitement of seeing him again. she had needed to be near him, to escape the overwhelming sense of closeness she had felt at the fitting. the laughter, the hugs, the anticipation of her best friend’s wedding... it had all left her with a bittersweet ache in her chest. she had been happy, but it only highlighted how much she longed for something deeper, more intimate, something to anchor her in the midst of the swirling love and joy.

when the door opened, trent stood there, casual in a hoodie and sweatpants, looking effortlessly perfect. his eyes immediately locked onto hers, searching her face with that familiar intensity.

“have you been crying?” his voice softened, the concern obvious in his eyes.

y/n gave a half-smile, blinking rapidly to hold back any more tears. “happy tears,” she said, but there was a lingering tremor in her voice. “it was a good day. zaia’s wedding is really coming together.”

trent didn't look convinced. he reached for her hand, pulling her into the warmth of the house without saying another word. the house was quiet, cozy, and comforting in a way only trent’s home could be.

“you sure you’re okay?” trent asked again, his voice low and calm as he led her to the living room. “you’ve got that look.”

“i’m fine,” y/n insisted, brushing it off as she sat down beside him on the couch. “i just didn’t feel like being alone after everything. thought i’d come here, you know?”

trent settled beside her, his arm easily wrapping around her, pulling her closer. they both sank into the couch, the soft fabric of the cushions embracing them like a cocoon. y/n rested her head on his chest, and for a moment, all she could hear was the steady thud of his heartbeat, a calming rhythm she found herself syncing with.

there was something comforting about the way trent always seemed to know when she needed him. the way he held her without question, without hesitation. it made her feel like she belonged, even if it was only for this moment. he gently stroked her back, a slow, soothing motion that made her feel safe.

“you looked really beautiful tonight, you know?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “something about you in that dress—it was like you were glowing. i could see it. i mean, i always think you look good, but tonight was... different.”

y/n chuckled softly, her lips brushing against his chest. “i wasn’t even planning to go, but i’m glad i did. you’re sweet for saying that.”

they sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the crackle of the fire in the corner of the room and the soft music playing in the background. but after a while, y/n shifted, her thoughts swirling again. her mind wandered to the wedding, to the love in the room, to the future that seemed so certain for her friends and family... and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty that clung to her heart.

“do you ever think about getting married?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost hesitant as she gazed up at him, her face just inches from his.

trent’s eyebrows knitted together in surprise, his hand pausing mid-motion on her back. “where did that come from?”

y/n shrugged, forcing a lighthearted smile. “well, not to me, not like that,” she joked quickly, but there was an edge of something deeper to her words. “i mean, in general, you know?”

he leaned back, his eyes scanning her face as if trying to read something between the lines. after a moment of hesitation, he nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “yeah, i’ve thought about it. when the right person comes along, i guess.”

there was a slight pause, a quiet moment where they both seemed to be waiting for something unspoken. trent’s eyes softened as he considered the idea, his mind drifting.

y/n waited, but when he didn’t speak, she tilted her head, looking up at him curiously. “what? no ‘you’ in there?” she teased lightly.

“well...” he paused again, as if the thought had just occurred to him. and yet, as he imagined the life he might want, he couldn’t picture it with anyone but her. it was as if she had always been there in the background of his mind, the one constant he never truly acknowledged until now.

he imagined waking up beside her on lazy mornings, the sound of her laughter filling their shared home as they made breakfast together. he saw the two of them walking hand in hand through a park on a crisp autumn afternoon, with the warmth of their connection tangible, unshakable. he imagined late nights in their living room, surrounded by books, papers, and random ideas, sharing thoughts, dreams, and fears.

he imagined them growing old together—her smile still as bright, her laugh still as contagious, but the lines of age marking their faces, evidence of a life well-lived. he couldn’t picture a future without her, without the way she made him feel: grounded, loved, understood.

“i can only picture you, y/n,” he wanted to say quietly, his voice filled with a raw sincerity that surprised him. “when i think about spending my life with someone... it’s you. i can’t see anyone else. maybe that sounds crazy, but it’s just the truth.”

“yeah,” he settled on, his voice softer now. “when the right person comes along, i guess.”

y/n felt a rush of warmth in her chest, her heart swelling in a way she hadn’t expected. “i used to think it wasn’t in the cards for me,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the edge of his shirt absentmindedly. “like maybe love and marriage... it wasn’t for me. i thought i wasn’t lovable enough for something like that.”

trent’s heart ached at her words, and without thinking, he pulled her closer, brushing his lips against her forehead. “you’re more than enough, y/n. you’re everything. never think you’re anything less than that.”

her breath caught again, the tears threatening to return. but she fought them back, focusing on his words, on the warmth of his arms around her.

“i don’t know,” she whispered. “maybe marriage is possible. maybe... maybe it’s something i can see for myself now. maybe with the right person.”

trent’s hand cupped her face gently, lifting her gaze to meet his. “you’re never going to be alone, y/n. not with me.”

the sincerity in his voice was almost too much, and y/n swallowed hard, feeling overwhelmed by everything. but it felt right. being here with him, in his arms, feeling safe, feeling loved.

she smiled softly. “thanks for always being here for me.”

“always,” trent whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead again.

they sat there in silence, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air, but there was something peaceful in it, too. for the first time in a long time, y/n felt like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone in the world. maybe, just maybe, she was meant for more than she had ever believed.

© PDRIESTA 2025

[mstopportunity]

There is one, ONE comic that gets my Blorbo right, with a part in a larger crossover. There was another comic that did the setup for the one that got them right, which is acceptable. There is one comic that vaguely hinted at the correct version of my Blorbo, which was not enough. 

All other comics can burn in a fire.

No the live action series isn’t acceptable either.

more people need to consume media how dedicated comics fans consume their media of choice

[muzansfangs]

hello, may I request bleach male characters reaction to F! reader breaking up with them in a modern au?

You break up with them.

Starring: Kyoraku Shunsui x f!reader; Jugram Haschwalth x f!reader; Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x f!reader; Urahara Kisuke x f!reader; mention to Jushiro Ukitake, Ulquiorra Cifer, Yoruichi Shihoin and Sosuke Aizen;

Format: short-imagines;

Warnings: sfw, angst, modern au, breaking-up, alcohol consumption, toxic relationship, self-deprecating behavior, mental struggle, anxiety, psychological abuse, inferiority complex, suggestive themes, mutual pining, power imbalance, family problems, trust issues, infedelity, violence, gore;

Plot: Once upon a time, you were happy by their side. Things changed, though. Their flaws, their behaviors hurt you to the point of no return. You left them, they are now coping with the absence of the only woman they had ever claimed to love, whilst you try to build yourself up again.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Kyoraku Shunsui.

Lumpish, unsteady steps approched your bedroom. He probably figured you were already asleep. After all, it was three in the morning. However, you were wide-awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, a luggage at your feet and a livid expression plastered over your face. You had spared him the fatigue of moving cautiously in the room not to startle you. The last act of magnanimity you had ultimately decided to grant him.

“What are you doing awake, sweetheart?” Shunsui slurred, a frown on his face, droopy eyes boring into yours as he sauntered towards you confidently.

You scoffed, even jumping on your feet to catch him in your arms, when he tripped over the carpet. He was blind drunk, the stench of saké wafting over your face making your skin crawl and your heart shatter in your chest. It was already broken, for what could matter, hence your decision to leave. On the other hand, you cared way too much about him.

Shunsui sighed, slumping down onto the bed, weary from the lack of sleep and hours spent chugging down enough alcohol to slip you, or anyone else, into an ethylic coma. Dark circles under his eyes, disheveled hair and a feminine perfume that was not yours had given him away that night, like the privious ones. This relationship was toxic and you were not going to spend the best years of your youth attempting to save the life of a lothario who had a tendency of loving self-destructive activities.

“I’m leaving, Shunsui. We’re done. I can’t do this anymore” you simply explained, watching him sulk, obviously expecting you to give up on him, sooner or later.

“Is there anything I can do to make you stay?”.

You felt tears prickle at your eyes, jaw clenching as you shook your head and picked up your trolley. You were devastated.

“Don’t make it harder than it already is. — you admonished him, swallowing the lump in your throat as he stood up and tried to reach for your hand, but you stepped away — No, Shunsui. I tried really hard to show you how much I cared about you, about us. All you did was choosing bottles of liquors over me”.

“Honey, wait, I care about you, let’s go to sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow—” he rambled, his grey eyes shimmering in the dimly illuminated bedroom. They always seemed sincere, even his tone was softer and somehow more serious than it usually was. Yet, you knew better than falling for his sugarcoated promises to work on himself.

“There’s no tomorrow for us. We’ve been there before, Shunsui. I’m tired of being the only one invested into this relationship! It’s one-sided and, frankly, I don’t deserve it” you declared, watching him slick back one of his unruly cowlick constantly tickling his nose. You were going to miss him, of course you were.

No one fell out of love in one single night. Naturally, you were not an exception. You could not stop the tears rolling down your cheeks, not even a sob escaping your quivering lips, but you could run away to save your heart from being buried underneath a pile of ashes and dust, shambles of the wildfire consuming what remained of your love. Shunsui knew he had lost you. He fell onto his knees the moment you turned your back at him and walked out the room. He was in no condition to chase after you, not right now. He cussed and fell onto his knees, hands planted onto the carpet, fisting the fabric in his huge hands out of frustration and despair. It was all his fault and he knew you were right.

The sound of the front door slamming close made his heart sink into his chest as he punched the floor in anger. He was worried sick about you. Disappearing from his life in the dead of the night, alone, in a city as big as that. He felt miserable. He wanted you back. He wanted you safe in his arms, not alone at the bus station looking for a place to spend the night at.

You were right to leave him. He had no right to stop you. Shunsui knew he did not deserve you. But he could try to change and, hopefully, win you back. The last thing he did before laying down onto the floor was sending a message to you.

“Please, send me a text, when you’re somewhere safe”.

Obviously, you did not text him back, but your mutual friend Jushiro did. At least, Shunsui thought, you were in good hands. Better than his ones, undoubtedly.

Haschwalth Jugram.

It happened after the umpteenth dinner at the Royal Palace. Your relationship with him was balanced. He treated you with so much care, stared at you from across the rooms in adoration and reverence, gave you more than you could have ever asked for. The real problem was who he was: a Prince, the scion of a Royal family that had never truly accepted you and the class you came from.

His father’s glacial stare spoke volumes, it made you feel so out of place you often ended up having panic attacks during balls and dinners. The spotlight was perpetually on you. Snippy remarks from his mother and the uptight members of the upper class hanging around the royal family poisoned you to no end. Restless nights and a sudden incapacity to concentrate on easy tasks, such as walking down aisles alone, or dancing with your beloved boyfriend under their attentive eyes, were the results of their ferocious tongues.

The worst part of it was that you had no one to talk to about the stressful situation you were experiencing. You had been forced to move to the castle with your boyfriend, determining your connections outside to keep their distance from you. Your old flat had been abandoned along with your ordinary life. Nights out in a pub with your friends had become a taboo and even the necessary visits to your parents had been drastically reduced to mere lunches with bodyguards roaming through their house.

Talking to Haschwalth about your uneasiness and discomfort had led to arguments between the two of you and you had not failed to notice how his mother seemed uncharacteristically gregarious the day after your altercations with her son. Maids talked a lot, unfortunately. However, you were not going to tolerate this situation any longer. Collecting your clothes and belongings into a bag, you had asked Haschwalth to meet you at the train station, after escaping the bodyguards’ watch, while shopping at the mall.

When he found you, alone, piercing blue eyes pinning you on the spot, he realized it was the end of the road for you two. You were distraught, hands wiping away the tears from your face, whilst you attempted to talk.

“I love you. I really do. But that’s not the life I expected to live with you. It’s never the two of us. They hate me, Haschwalth” you started, your boyfriend’s jaw clenching.

“I am expected to become the King of this Country. If you wish for me to turn my back at my family, you are clearly mistaken” he replied lowly, twisting the blade in your heart already making you bleed out before his magnificent eyes.

You shook your head “That’s why I have to leave, Haschwalth. I don’t want you to give up on the throne, or go against your family. I just… I needed you to stand by my side, when they denigrated me publicly” you punctuated, but even this was not enough to make him flinch.

They had taught him how to suppress his emotions well. Stolid, impassive, detached from sentimental matters. Maybe way too much for him to build a strong, intimate connection in a healthy relationship.

He did not look away, instead he took a single step closer to you “You do understand that’s not affordable for the future heir of the throne? It’s something beyond my willpower. — he replied, voice firm and devoid of any affection he had usually opted for in your regards — I would never ask you to disrepect your parents, if their antics offended me. Insofar as possible, I’ll make sure you can rely on me. Don’t make a scene”.

“No, Haschwalth. I refuse to be mistreated by the band of lackeys your mother surrounds herself with and pretend everything’s fine! — you blurted out, drawing the attention of some people waiting for their train on the platform — I should have known I meant less than a noble title” you choked out, right before turning around and heading straight to the coach assigned to you.

His eyes followed you, a turmoil of contrasting feelings making their way in his mind. This was far from the life he wanted to share with you. Only when he saw the train departing, he realized he had lost you forever and how severe the emotional damage his parents had inflicted to him really was. He felt kind of dehumanized, an empty shell even in private matters.

Your absence affected him more than you could have ever imagined. He watched you from afar for months, making sure you were fine without him. And you were. It hurt him immensely and, even though he wanted to contact you, he did not. You needed space and time and it was probably for the better. He had watched your lovable smile fade from your face through the time you had spent at the Royal Palace. Now, watching you eat a pizza with your friends, he witnessed to you blossoming again into the radiant girl he had met a long time ago.

Maybe, one day, if you still wanted him, he would have come knocking at your door again, offering his heart to you on a silver tray.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

From the moment you had seen him getting off of his motorbike outside a bar, black leather jacket and cheeky grin modeling the wondrous eyes of the girls sipping on their drinks into glossy hearts, hoping vainly for him to choose them, you knew he was troubles. The wise ones turned their heads away from him, reminding themselves of who he was, where he came from and what kind of a player he was. You had tried to do the same, but you were a little more adventurous and naive back then.

He bought you a drink, rizzed you up and you decided to stay by his side for more than a one-night stand. Boy, how delighted you were to find out he actually had decided to stop collecting broken hearts anywhere he went. You dated for a while, then you settled down and your life turned upside down. You met his friends, learned a little more about the place he came from and you had the confirmation he was part of a gang called ‘The Espada’.

You thought you could handle the situation. You even stitched up his friends for free, when they dropped by your house wounded, collecting scars from the violent fights with cops, or members of other gangs. It took a while to realize Grimmjow did not want to change his lifestyle. According to him, he already had made a lot of progresses since you two had become a couple. You would have been a liar not to agree with him on that: after all, he had even dressed up in a nice clean white shirt and attended a dinner with your parents. He behaved that night, you felt on cloud nine.

But things changed abruptly a couple of weeks later.

He began to come home later than usual, battered, nervous. The news an emerging gang was raising and had declared war to ‘The Espada’ began to spread.

It was your best friend’s birthday and Grimmjow had been invited too. He was busy patrolling a zone, hence he had let you know he would have met up with you later. When hours began to pass and most of the guests had left the party, you sensed something had gone wrong. You hopped into your car, driving to what you had grown to learn was his gang’s den. Of course they tried to keep you out of the situation, but how could you not fight your way inside, when you heard someone screaming at the top of his lungs. The scene welcoming you into that barrelhouse made your stomach churn. A man, battered, tethered like an animal to a chair. His face was a bloody mess, but so was your boyfriend’s one.

When your eyes met, he cussed and punched that man one last time before marching towards you. For the first time ever you feared he was going to harm you too and, when his hand gripped your forearm with far less grace than you expected, you began to wriggle in terror.

“Let me go! Grimmjow, hands off, now!” you squealed, your protests falling to deaf ears as he led you out of the pub.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”.

“Is that even important?! Look at yourself, Grimmjow! That’s blood! There’s blood on your clothes, on your face! What the Hell was that?” you questioned him, hands trying to reach for his face to check on him for any injuries.

He groaned and turned his head to the side scornfully “It’s not mine, alright? Mind your damn business, princess. That’s not a place for you. What is it, don’t you like this anymore?”.

His words blinded you, the sound of your hand colliding against his cheek made you flinch as well. You had hit him. You really had. Despite that, the one sobbing before his eyes were you. He sighed, glaring down at your smaller frame like a caged animal. He was restraining himself.

You took a step back, swallowing thickly “I can’t stand there and watch you ruin your life and… And kill people” you stated then, hands shaking.

Grimmjow shoved his hands into his pockets, eyeing you contemptuously “I was like that before I met you, sweet cheeks. — he gruffly said — If you want to stick around, suck it up. Otherwise, go hook up with a Prince. One of those fuckers whose hands smell like money, not of gasoline and blood”.

The world seemed to shake under your feet, your hand clasped over your mouth as you realized how stupid you had been to fall for him. To believe he could actually change. He was toxic for you. He was a monster. This was not your boyfriend.

“Fuck you” you muttered, jogging towards your car with a blurry vision and stomach cramps. You drove away into the night, miraculously making it back home safe and sound. Clueless, among other things, that Grimmjow had sent Ulquiorra after you to make sure you were fine.

Deep down he knew he had screwed up and, every single time he drove by your house, he remembered all those summer evenings spent on your rooftop with your fingers running through his soft blue hair and how much loved he had felt for the first time ever in his life. It was not just sex. It was not just about the way he fucked you. You were not a random girl. He loved you.

Urahara Kisuke.

A brilliant, laidback engineer who had easily whisked you off to live a colourful life travelling the world by his side. It was easy loving Kisuke Urahara. He never missed a chance to make you laugh and tell you to pack your stuff for your next tropical destination, a trip organized specifically for a project he was working on. He was also a party person, very popular among important people and, unfortunately, with the ladies.

Kisuke would have never broken your heart. This was what he had promised you so many times, espacially while you were tangled into the bedsheets of your bedroom. Panting, sweating, he swore to love you through breathy groans. You believed him, of course you did. Maybe, you should have kept an eye on him and his best friend, the eclectic artist Yoruichi Shihoin. Maybe you should have not let her hang around with him so often. Still, you did not like being controlling. You had no apparent reason to be resentful to her, or to put a leash on your boyfriend.

Staring in horror at the two of them, naked, into the bed where Kisuke had told you so many times you were the only woman he loved, felt like someone had kicked you in your guts. They had played you like a complete idiot. It pained you to find out your boyfriend’s rival was right. He had tried to warn you about Kisuke’s habit of enchanting people with words and hide his second nature masterly.

“I can explain!” Kisuke breathed out, reaching for his sweatpants in a hurry to chase after you.

Yoruichi, on the other hand, sat comfortably on your side of the bed. Her topaz yellow eyes bored into yours, a mocking grin gracing her lips. She could keep him, for all you cared. A man who cheated would have done it again and again.

You scoffed and stormed out of the bedroom hastily “I don’t need a goddamn oculist, Kisuke. Go to Hell” you snapped, hellbent to leave that house as soon as possible.

He ran after you, quick to block your path “Baby, please, I know I fucked up. I’m sorry, I’m terribly sorry! Just… Just let me explain” he pleaded you, the vulnerability in his eyes almost making you faltering. But it was enough. You were fed up. He had cheated on you, you had wasted opportunities and chances to support him in his work. All for what?

Where did it get you? To be disrespected in your own house, under your nose.

“No, thank you, I don’t want to hear another word coming out of your mouth. Congrats for having reduced our relationship to a huge pile of shit. That’s the best construction you’ve ever made” you spitefully hissed at his face, your throat constricting with each hateful word leaving your mouth as you pushed past him and ran off to your car.

Kisuke fell onto his knees, hands fisting his sandy hair, while he realized what he had done. He felt lost without you. Yoruichi made her getaway almost immediately, leaving him alone and with a shattered heart in his chest. The bitter taste of your break-up indulged on his tongue for a long time, culminating in a terrible phase of regrets when he saw you walking by Sosuke Aizen’s side. A gleeful smile on your lips, you let that bastard loop his arm around your waist.

You seemed happy. You truly were. The problem was you were happy without him. This was something he could have never done a damn thing about.

Kisuke knew he had lost you forever.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Angst, yes, a lot of angst. If any of the above shit happen to you, RUN FROM THAT MAN. Those are not red flags, those are RED BLANKETS. Love you all! Let me know what you think about this!

As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Love,

Luce

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

LOVESICK Boyfriend pt. 2

TW: Yandere boyfriend, toxic relationship, controlling bf, possessive bf, just not a good relationship altogether, angst, cheating, smidge of physical abu$e if you squint. MDNI

Summary: Oliver feels like shit without you. Good thing his assistant, Lily is there to help him.

Inspired by character made by nipuni on character.ai (link for the character) part one

WC: 1766

Oliver had been a total mess for the past month. He threw himself into his work, trying to distract himself from the pain of losing you. But he couldn't ignore the fact that your absence was a constant torment. The apartment felt empty without your presence. Pictures of the two of you together were reminders of what he had lost. Oliver missed everything about you—your laugh, your touch, your voice.

Lily, Oliver's longtime friend, noticed the change in him. He seemed withdrawn and distracted at work. Oliver wasn't the same cheerful and charming man he used to be. The bags under his eyes spoke volumes about how much sleep he wasn't getting. As his friend, Lily was concerned about Oliver's well-being. So, one day after work, she walked into Oliver's office, closing the door behind her.

"Hey, Olly. Mind if I come in?" she asked sweetly despite already inviting herself in. She slowly walked towards his desk and sat in one of the spare seats in front of him. "You've been a bit different lately. I just wanted to see how you're doing."

Oliver lifted his gaze from his monitor as he heard Lily's voice. He hadn't been expecting anyone to stop by, but he knew Lily well enough to know she wouldn't care about him working. He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his messy hair.

"I'm fine," he replied, though his tired tone said otherwise.

Lily pouted her thick, glossed lips and gave him a once-over. "You don't look fine. Come on, I'm your bestest friend here. Can't you tell me, or...is it that girlfriend of yours?" She knew that most times she'd hit the jackpot when it came to guessing Oliver's problems. Not a lot got a reaction like this out of him, and one of the few things that did was his girlfriend.

Lily hit the nail on the head as soon as she brought up you. Oliver's shoulders tensed at the mention of you, and he averted his gaze from hers. He knew Lily would pry for answers, but he didn't know if he wanted to reveal the truth. He also knew that even if he tried to lie, Lily would figure it out anyway.

"It's her," he admitted with a sigh.

A small smirk came to her lips before she hid it again. "I'm so sorry, Olly." She reached out to his hand to comfort him. "I can't say I told you...she would never be able to keep up with you." She innocently spoke as she rubbed circles on the back of his hand. "You need someone as lively as you, someone who can keep up with you and your energy, you know?"

As Lily spoke, Oliver couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest. She was right, wasn't she?

In the beginning, you were lively, bubbly, and full of energy. You and he would have a great time together, constantly going out and hanging out. But as the relationship went on, you began to change, and Oliver failed to notice. He found himself agreeing with Lily's words. He did need someone who could keep up with him and his energy.

It was the perfect trap for Lily. "Honestly, Oliver, I don't know what you saw in that girl. I never would have thought of her as your type. You just need someone who knows you and everything about you...like me." She finally snatched the opportunity as she saw the look on Oliver's face, a look that said he was falling for every word she said. Lily leaned forward, getting closer and closer to him as he wondered.

Oliver's eyes flicked over Lily as she kept speaking. She knew him well. She understood him on a level that even you couldn't. Why hadn't he noticed that before?

Oliver felt himself getting lost in her words. She made sense. Lily would be a perfect match for him. Oliver's gaze darkened as his eyes dropped to her lips, thinking about how soft and plump they looked.

Lily leaned in closer until there were just inches between the two of them. She was finally getting what she wanted. "You know, I can't say I never liked you. If I can be frank, I always had a crush on you, Oliver."

The space between them was almost non-existent now. Oliver's heart rate picked up as he realized how close they were to each other. He inhaled sharply, taking in her scent, which was a mix of light citrus perfume and something sweet.

When Lily confessed her feelings for him, it was like a punch to the gut. He felt conflicted. He never viewed Lily as more than a friend, but at the moment, he couldn't find it in himself to reject her. Not when she was so close, and her lips looked so inviting. He swallowed hard.

It was then that the office door opened, unlocked, and in stepped you. You held a bag of katsudon in your hand, a bento box just like you made before. It was his favorite, and you just wanted to drop it by along with some of his things left in your apartment. You should have known better, really. You felt like an idiot as you saw Lily and Oliver centimeters away from a kiss.

As the door opened, both Lily and Oliver's heads jerked towards the sound. Oliver's eyes widened in disbelief, almost as if someone had just thrown ice-cold water at him. Seeing you standing there, holding his favorite food, left him speechless.

Lily, however, had a different kind of reaction. She pulled away from him, her expression turning sour in an instant. "What are you doing here?" she asked with a tone of annoyance as she looked you up and down disdainfully.

You couldn't speak at first, trying to process just what you saw. You knew you were right about her. You were right about everything, but you didn't feel right. You felt disgusted, and your heart felt like someone grabbed it and ripped it out of your chest.

Your eyes hardened, and you walked towards the two before shoving the bento box onto the table. "I was just leaving some of Oliver's things, Lily. Sorry for interrupting you two." Your tone didn't sound sorry. "Although, I'm sure you'd be glad to know that you can have my leftovers now."

Your gaze switched over to Oliver before looking back. "You always were so interested in anything second-handed, if not trash." You gave a final hiss before turning around and leaving.

Lily's eyes widened in shock at your words, her cheeks turning red in anger.

Oliver sat there, stunned. He was still processing the fact that you were standing in front of him after a month, but now you had witnessed him and Lily about to kiss. He quickly snapped out of his daze, the realization of what was happening sinking in. He started to rise from his chair.

"Wait, Belle—" he called out your name, his voice sounding desperate, but you were out the door before he could say anything.

Oliver's heart dropped to his stomach as he watched you walk out the door. He couldn't let you leave, not again. He pushed himself away from his desk and started walking towards the door, determined to catch you. But Lily had other plans.

She grabbed Oliver's arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Where are you going?!"

She was so close. Lily was close, and just at the sight of that girl, Oliver was chasing her with his tail between his legs. She just couldn't understand. "You're not going to actually chase after her, Olly? She insulted you, she insulted me."

Oliver tried to pull his arm away from her grasp, but she held on firmly. The look on his face showed his annoyance at Lily's interruption.

"Let go, Lily." His voice held a hint of irritation.

He was focused on you walking out the door, wanting to follow you. He didn't want to let you go again. Hearing Lily's words, he shot her a glare. "She didn't insult me. She didn't like you."

Lily's face twisted with anger, but Oliver didn't care. He pulled his arm free from her grip and hurried out of the office, determined to find you. The elevator doors were closing as he reached them, and he took the stairs instead, rushing down to the ground floor.

As he exited the building, he spotted you getting into a cab. "Rhae, wait!" he shouted, but the cab was already pulling away. Oliver stood there, breathless and helpless, as he watched the cab disappear down the street. Oliver's heart felt like it was being crushed under the weight of despair. He watched helplessly as the cab you were in got farther and farther away until it disappeared from view. He wanted to reach out to you, to keep you from leaving him again. But he was too late.

Oliver slumped against the wall, feeling a crushing sense of guilt and disappointment. He punched the wall beside him in frustration, regretting ever letting you go the first time.

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

You were sitting by your table, looking for new work when a knock came from your door. You weren't really expecting anyone so you were confused as you stood up and went to open the door. The sight of your *ex* boyfriend brought a frown upon your face.

Upon opening the door and seeing Oliver standing on the other side, you felt a mix of emotions. Surprise at his unexpected appearance, but also annoyance. You still hadn't moved on from the painful break-up. You crossed your arms and leaned against the door frame, your expression neutral.

"What are you doing here?" You asked coldly.

Oliver stood there, looking into your eyes with a hint of hope despite your cold expression. He knew he messed up. He knew he was probably the last person you wanted to see. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for your response.

"Can...can we talk? Please?" He asked softly, his voice laced with guilt and remorse.

The audacity You thought as you put on a fake surprised face. "Oh, you want to talk? About what?"

Oliver's shoulders tensed at your response, sensing the sarcastic tone in your words. He knew he had hurt you deeply, and he couldn't blame you for feeling that way. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. His expression looked almost desperate.

"About us." He finally replied, his voice quiet. "I...I need to talk to you about us."

[lunarw0rks]

Old Bones | Chapter One

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does. | Word Count: 2.2k

Warning(s): strong language, mentions abusive relationship, gun mention, talk of death, trauma/PTSD themes, Fem!Reader

A/N: gonna be honest I got this idea from a c.ai bot. If you want to be on the taglist for this let me know <3

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ next chapter | masterlist | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

On The Lam

The luminance of the sun beating down on you nearly distracted you from every tense thought telling you to back out. It felt ridiculous, standing out in the open like this, even if it was a populated area. The conversations of bypassers came in pieces.

A woman bickering with her husband about what takeout to get; an elderly woman talking to a most likely disinterested grandchild; a fuckboy bragging to one of his friends about how he scored the previous night—you yearned for the days where life was that simple. Living in blissful ignorance, when you were hopeful for the future ahead of you.

If you’d seen your past self, only a few months younger, you’d have called her a moron. How could you have not known? The red flags were all so obvious in hindsight. And for your stupidity, you’ve been living a life of recluse, wondering which stranger who passes you will eventually have his face.

In the present, cursing yourself for making an even denser decision: meeting a stranger online, someone to keep you safe. Shelters are too crowded, the police department is a joke, and cat and mouse can only go on for so long.

What can you say? Desperation makes people do things far from themselves. The saying goes both ways, you figure—each day that passes when he can’t find you is an increasing jeopardy to your safety.

You nearly squeeze the life out of the coffee cup you’re holding when the black pickup truck parks near the curb, just like you’d planned. His car was real, that’s all you knew. The windows were tinted, as dark as the law would allow. It could be anyone sitting inside the driver's seat.

The engine idles for a few seconds, before it comes to a stop. However, the driver doesn’t leave the truck to reveal himself. It’s up to you to make a decision. He’s surely already staring at you, as you stand there like a roach that’s staying still to avoid detection.

The speed of your steps towards the vehicle are about as fast as the pitter of your heart, increasing when you climb inside. You look in the backseat first, and indeed, there’s no one back there waiting to ambush you.

He’s staring at you, hands resting on either of his thighs, as if this wasn’t some sketchy meetup straight out of CSI, where the unsuspecting woman ends up wrapped in a tarp by the five minute timestamp. But he’s not giving you a look of malice or anger, it was the absence of emotion.

You fish out the envelope from your pocket, the deposit for his trouble, and then flash your phone screen, showing proof that you were the other text bubble responding to him. He takes the package and skims through the bills with his calloused thumb, giving a nod of approval.

If he wanted to hurt you, he could’ve locked the truck door by now and drove off God knows where. But he hadn’t. This ridiculous situation could be real after all.

He speaks first, revealing his weathered deep voice, with an accent you can’t locate. “Apartment or house?”

You take a few moments to process, shaking away the metaphorical cat that has your tongue. “It’s an apartment… Downtown, by the projects.” Your voice wavers slightly as you meet his callous gaze.

The ragged voice dripping with disdain, the eyes that look like they’ve witnessed it all, muscular arms that could choke you out in seconds, the insignia tattooed on his forearm, the small scars you can see around his eyes. You can only imagine how he looks under the balaclava tightly gripping his face.

You feel like it’s one danger stacked on top of the other—on the lam from an ex-lover, living in a chancy neighborhood, and now sitting in the car with one of the most intimidating men you’ve ever laid eyes on.

He closes off the envelope again, sticking the wad of cash into the cup holder. Next, he reaches into the center console, pulling out an ancient flip phone and a scrap piece of paper and pen.

“This is the burner phone you’ll use until our contract is up. No outside calls, no texting, and under no circumstances will you use your personal cell.” He has the phone outstretched, but won’t allow you to take it until you’ve nodded to reassure that you’re listening.

You flip up the screen, seeing only one number listed in the contact. No photos, no apps, nothing else. You stuff it into the pocket of your jeans, retrieving the paper and pen next.

“Write down your address, flat number, and cell. Everything we discussed before.”

You scribbled down all the info, cursing yourself at the awful handwriting before you. He doesn’t glance at your work, just hastily takes the items back and stuffs them into his pocket.

He then gives you a look of vexation, like you’re supposed to know what the next step in all this is.

With the tightening of his brow, he huffs and reaches across your lap, so close it makes you lean as far back into the seat as possible at the sudden proximity. His elbow is digging into your abdomen as he outstretches his arm toward the lock.

Click.

You jump at the sudden noise, despite the threat of him immediately harming you diminishing now that you have a possible escape. You’re not going to take your chances now, despite the fact that your address is folded in his pocket. Not your smartest decision, but neither was marrying the one that landed you in this situation.

You climb out of the vehicle, giving him one last glance before you shut the passenger door. There’s no going back now. You’re a few hundred dollars less, and a few hairs away from packing up and skipping town again.

You get inside your own car, turning the key to begin your drive home. His black truck tails you the whole way back, looking even more out of place in the sketchy neighborhood your apartment resides in.

When you enter the lobby, you gaze out at him through the window. He’s parked in front of the opposing building, probably trying to appear conspicuous. The landlord is sure to notice a “visitor” taking up your second parking space day by day. He moves like he’s done this a thousand times, like he’s thought of every way for someone to flag his presence.

By the time you reach the stairwell, he’s behind you, following your path up to your apartment. When you reach the inside, it’s as if you’re seeing your own place for the first time.

The barren walls where you hadn’t bothered to tack anything onto, the pathetic looking sofa in front of your box TV, not to mention your kitchen—the counters and stove untouched. The only sign of life is little traces of you; your laptop, still open and displaying what you were last browsing, the laundry you hadn’t folded yet, not to mention the mess of luggage in the corner.

It’s obvious to him by now that you’re not here to stay for long, and there’s a palpable reason for him being here. No one lives like this by choice. That wasn’t his problem, though. He was your muscle, your already paid muscle, so what does he care about the disorderliness of your apartment?

“I cleared out the spare room for you. It’s not much, I know.” You turn the corner, revealing what was more of a broom closet than a bedroom. You’d put out an air mattress for him, as well as a folding chair to pose as a nightstand.

He doesn’t react, just gives the scene a glance, then moves on without you. He’s casing the place, taking note of the layout in his mind. The lack of grandeur would come in handy. Two exits—entrance and terrace, only a few small windows, and not many rooms for an intruder to hide in. This was nothing to him.

Once he’s finished his walkthrough, you’re both standing in the entrance again.

“I supply my own weapons,” he pronounces, giving the living space one more scan. You had noticed it by now, the holster on his dominant side.

His eyes instinctively come back to you as you fiddle with your fingers in apprehension, how you’re wearing a wedding ring, but clearly no sign of a lover with you.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the situation at hand: a woman fleeing from her spouse. But he knew there was more to this plight than just a hotheaded spouse. You weren’t the stereotypical battered woman he was expecting—no visible injuries, no cowering at the sight of his large frame, nor were you a petrified dear in the headlights.

He’d prefer it that way. Less strings attached, less drama, less chance of this job turning messy.

You force your nervous hands to your sides, noticing how he studied them. Though he was technically on your payroll, you felt you were in no position to question him.

He was actively standing in your apartment, had access to your information—it was a little late for cold feet.

—

“Did your husband strike you?” The officer questioned, not bothering to read the cues in front of him.

You hadn’t called them. It was your nosy neighbor, who somehow spent more time eavesdropping on your arguments than anything else. The icy concrete steps provide no comfort to your shivering legs as you’re perched on them, still in shock of it all.

“No, we were arguing,” you mutter, feeling overwhelmed by his grilling and the blue and red flashes lighting up the street. He hadn’t struck you. That was the truth. Why was it so goddamn difficult to tell the truth?

You felt this was all smoke. That the tension between the two of you would ease up after your place is swarmed with cruisers.

It should’ve been, at least. The serenity came and went as fast as the impatient officer. Instead of the previous dramatics of flying cutlery, it was hushed threats and holds on you that bruised where only you could see.

It was those evenings that you prayed for your nosy neighbor, or anyone for that matter to give you an out. No one did. He was too stifled, and too smart for that; the type of temper more disturbing than any man throwing violent punches.

You weren’t foolish. Things would get worse, you’d be completely dependent on him, and then dead before you had the chance to make an escape. You swore that wouldn’t happen to you—becoming a martyr for abused women. You weren’t going to be the next awareness story spread on social media.

Legalities were laughable, so you bailed. Packed up each of your belongings piece by piece, and bought the first plane ticket out of there. The leaving wasn’t the daunting part, like you’d heard before. No, it was the running—hiding away in your apartment, having to look over your shoulder in the checkout line, all of it.

Your husband’s wit was what charmed you in the first place. Then, it was his determination; it was jarring and never ending. But now, they were parts of him so potent they sent a chill down your spine. 

You weren’t going to cut and run without that damn persistence of his close on your tail.

—

You find yourself repeating the same routine. Laying there, staring at the water damaged ceiling above you, worrying endlessly about the road ahead of you.

Fate was something you once viewed as the reason for all the bullshit—the happenings already in place for you, sometimes ending in a lesson or a new chapter. It had to be fate, the way he’d find you eventually, no matter how much distance you make.

As you wandered out of your room, you rub the fatigue away from your eyes, steadying your view of the dim apartment. The carton nearly slips through your fingers when you see him lightly snoring in the armchair instead of his room. That was something you needed to get used to, that’s for sure.

He stirs awake, coming to attention immediately. You give him the pointless offer of something to drink, met with the rejection you were expecting. He remains there, hands folded across his chest in restlessness.

You flick on one of the shotty lights, which flickers constantly as it does a terrible job of lighting your kitchenette. You pull out a chair and take a seat at your table, rubbing your thumb along the glass in a soothing fashion as you take small sips from it.

It was becoming a pattern, long before you moved here. Gazing out at the shimmering stars in the sky, using them as a distraction from the chaos around you.

When you’d run out of tearful words, or the dread of what he’d do wouldn’t let them escape your lips—you look out the window at the stars. It felt sick to find solace in something that reminded you of him, but you did nonetheless. Your mind wasn’t plagued with remembrances—rather, it was deserted, as if its way of coping with the scars it still harbored.

The man sitting in your apartment knew that freeze all too well—the pause of total dissociation. The eyes of the person glossed over and expressionless. All he could do was hold his gaze on you as you sat at the table, unable to form any words of reassurance.

An intruder busts in, and his countermoves would be swift, precise, and lethal. Beyond the shadow of his nonchalance, he was a man yearning for the distraction of the night sky.

[youremyheaven]

Do you think it’s common for Saturnians and Ketuvians (especially risings) to have awful childhoods?

YESSS

Different planets have different types of bad childhood experiences but

Saturn & Ketu = poverty, financial duress, not receiving attention or love , being told you're not good enough, being bullied etc

Jupiter = life that is overall comfortable but mother is someone who's been through a lot so you become her caretaker and hate your dad, probably very lonely, but otherwise good at school, has friends etc

Rahu = struggling to meet high expectations and being treated like an adult and not allowed to chill out like other kids

General material lack and feeling like you have less than others

Mars- moving around a lot and only having just enough to live. emotional duress from the absence of a parent figure, usually the father.

Venus- neglected in some way by both parents and forced to grow up on your own. Usually matures early. Introduced to sex early and may develop trauma from it. Lack of adult supervision.

Mercury - struggles with school environment and teachers. probably the outcast in some ways. feeling disconnected from others and struggling to make friends. intelligent but maybe not always in ways that align with exams and grades. feeling unworthy

Moon- dysfunctional relationship with mom. Toxic family environment that promotes unhealthy gender roles. perhaps materially comfortable but toooo messed up to enjoy it. A severe lack of love.

Sun- dysfunctional relationship with dad. a strong toxic masculine presence that dictated everything or maybe the absence of a father at all. the need to be the leader because you're surrounded by people who are inept

Malefic planets (Sun, Mars, Saturn, Rahu and Ketu) create daddy issues

Benefic planets (Moon, Mercury, Venus, Jupiter) create mommy issues

[mylastmoleculeofserotonin]

The Tragic Fall and Potential Redemption of Caitlyn and Jinx

Disclaimers

I really like both of these characters. I think they are both very nuanced and really well written: neither one is completely good or evil, This is not an attack on either of them or those of us who like either/both of them, I’m just discussing their character flaws and their actions at some of the lowest points in their lives.

As an older sister, I probably hold undue sympathy for Jinx, so please keep that in mind when you read this and if you find anything that I overlooked or unfairly glossed over, please let me know!!

I almost exclusively watch animated fantasy kids shows, so my views on fictional characters’ morality has been shaped by that genre.

Now with that out of the way, onto the actual content:

Jinx and Caitlyn’s arcs are quite similar, sharing many of the same major beats: after tragically and traumatically losing a parental figure, they fall into the hands of a powerful and manipulative mentor/parental figure and go on to do horrible things, with Jinx spreading Silco’s shimmer to the citizens of the Undercity and Caitlyn adopting Ambessa’s ruthless tactics in the name of protecting Piltover. However, despite their nearly identical arcs, I have vastly different opinions on what their potential redemption arcs should look like due to a few key differences in their stories and characters.

For starters, Jinx was very young when she lost Vander and fell into Silco’s hands. She was never able to establish a stable identity for herself in her formative preteen and teenage years (until Season 2, which I’ll get to later), as shown by her two different names, how she can’t let Powder drown, and how her hallucinations get worse and more overwhelming every time she’s reminded of her past self. She also wasn’t as invested in Silco’s plans as she was in receiving his praise and affection, which we can see by how she constantly seeks physical affection and words of encouragement from Silco but is also completely willing to disobey him, diverge from his plans, jeopardize his missions and jump ship the moment she finds out that Vi’s alive. This shows how much Silco has corrupted her core motivation of wanting to help people, which we know from the sheer number of times she says some variation of “I want to help” in Act 1 of Season 1, and how everyone always comments on how selfless and helpful she is in the alternate universe.

Meanwhile, Caitlyn was in her early-mid twenties when she fell into Ambessa’s web, and had already formed a stable, if not fully formed, sense of self and purpose. She wants to actively do good and improve the world around her, as evidenced by her decision to break away from politics which and join the enforcers and her subsequent exhaustive efforts to find and dismantle an crime organization, which was then corrupted by Ambessa who got her to seize power and ruthlessly crack down on the Jinxers and crime in the Zaun.

So, what does this mean for their possible redemption arcs?

Because Jinx was very much not her own person until Season 2 and a child for most of her time working for Silco, I believe that all Jinx needs to live a happy, peaceful life is to have some healthy support systems/coping mechanisms and her own sense of self as she does in the alternate universe. And we see in Season 2 how much of a better person she can be with simply the absence of a toxic familial environment: she cares for Isha, rescues many Zaunites from inhumane treatment following their dubiously justified arrests, takes the lead in healing her relationship with Sevika and Vi and then leading the Firelights and other Zaunites to fight for Piltover against Noxus, and I believe she can do so much more good and 100% deserves a chance at a new life with a fresh start.

That’s not to say that Jinx didn’t do bad things and didn’t seriously hurt people. She has been implied to have killed many people and helped get Zaun addicted to shimmer. However, she was a child and dependent on Silco for survival and whatever scraps of sanity she could find. She also knew she was more or less replaceable, which we can see when she was afraid of appearing weak and then stole the hex tech crystal to prove her worth to Silco, and if she left, Silco and a bunch of other Zaunites would have tried to hunt her down. Simply put, she had relatively no power to not go along with Silco and even if she did, Silco would have achieved very similar results regardless. And I do believe that in most cases, children, especially those with mental illnesses, and/or toxic/abusive parental figures, deserve a fresh start and a clean slate when they are able to develop their own identity, ideals and world view, so I really can’t fully blame Jinx for what she did prior to the Season 1 finale. And then, after the dinner scene, I don’t believe she does anything bad enough to disqualify her from redemption: if I remember correctly all she did was try to kill Vi and the task force who were hunting her, kill the three goons who were after Isha who were implied to have enslaved her to work in the mines, and then fire her rocket at the council to start a revolution for independence, which I think is completely justifiable since the under-city had largely been supportive of a revolution since she was a child and a decapitating strike is the quickest and least bloody way to end a war and she only really ended up killing three people who were oppressing them. That just leaves the kidnapping of Vi and Caitlyn and the murder of Silco that she should make amends for, but since Vi never really held it against her and killing Silco was arguably a net positive for both Zaun and Piltover, the only thing that she owes is an apology for Caitlyn, but I don’t think that that’s enough to make her irredeemable.

Caitlyn’s redemption would be a bit more involved since she had a lot of power, and with it, the responsibility to not abuse it. However, she personally used chemical weapons against anyone suspected to have ties to Silco or Jinx, didn’t honor the plea bargains she offered, allowed Noxian troops to arrest and torture anyone with blue hair on the grounds they were affiliated with Jinx, and threatened prisoners with the most inhumane conditions in Stillwater should they not cooperate. Under normal circumstances, that would be an unforgivable breach of power, however, Caitlyn’s circumstances were anything but normal. She had just lost her mother in an unexpected attack on Piltover’s Council which did warrant some sort of response, she was being manipulated by a Noxian mastermind on top of being relatively young and new to politics. All things considered, it could have gone a lot worse which is why I think that Caitlyn deserves the opportunity to make things right.

What I think redemption could look like for Caitlyn is: reforming the justice system and Stillwater, compensating the Jinxers she arrested and the Zaunites who fought with her against Noxus, leading the reconstruction of Zaun and putting it on as equal footing with Piltover as possible (which we do see start to happen), install adequate air and water filtration in Zaun, create government programs and fund community organizations to help people quit Shimmer, research ways to help people heal from the long term affects of shimmer and resign from her role as Commander. I think these actions would help heal the damage she inflicted on Zaun in her time as Commander while also working to make things better for them in the future to reduce the chance of civil war and another ruthless crackdown on Zaun.

My congratulations for making it all the way through my many many thoughts. I find morality and redemption really interesting concepts especially in fiction, and Arcane has so many good characters to discuss those topics with! So please, lmk what you think!!

[whxtedreams]

Lovesick in Jackson - Preview

comming soon, a coral island, stardew valley inspired Rancher!Joel fic.

no tags yet as I'm starting to write this tomorrow but will update with tags. It's going to be fluffy! But basically Jackson is a little coastal town known for it's farmland. Characters from the last of us will be included but it's a strong AU.

or: Joel finally get's his sheep.

Sarah has passed in this fic but he has a healthy relationship with Ellie, a run away orphan who he found on his ranch stealing food and eventually takes in as family.

I'm looking at making this into a medium sized series? 10-20 chapters and well under 100k. seriously under 100k. (will probably be 100k lets be honest. I don't know when to stop)

a little thank you to @toxic-seduction for helping me brainstorm this idea and being as obsessed with coral island as I am. if this story gets sad, blame her.

little sneak peek, preview under the cut!

You stand before the front door to your grandmother's cottage, a place long forgotten and now abandoned. Cobwebs and critters are scattered all across the exterior of the house, the once meticulously maintained walls now covered in unkept vines that are slowly crawling their way up the structure. The exterior has an eerie and uninviting aura to it, as if the place has been left to become an echo of time lost to memories.

The inheritance letter hangs loosely in your hand, your fingers turning the creased paper over and over again. The words on it have been worn with time, the writing now barely legible.

At the center of the front door hangs a small piece of paper, its edges frayed and fluttering in the breeze as the rusty nail it's held to struggles to keep it in place.

Heard someone was moving back in to Rose's place, if you need a hand rebuilding, let me know. Joel Miller ps. I used to work in construction, I know what I'm doing.

You rip the note off the front door and sigh as you look back over the farm, its beauty all but fallen apart since your grandmother's absence. The farm, once a beautiful and lively space, seems almost lifeless now. The plants are all unkempt and overgrown, most of them withered and dry while others are covered in a thick layer of weeds. It's a sad sight, one that reminds you of how much time has passed since she was last here.

How long it's been since you've been here.

You look at the sprawling space, trying to figure out all the work ahead of you and feeling slightly overwhelmed by it. Maybe having an extra pair of hands around for help wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

As you look down at the note in your hand once more, you can't help but exhale. "Joel Miller," you mutter to yourself, slightly amused and even grateful knowing someone actually wants to help you rebuild this place.

You let out an exasperated sigh as you turn back around, opening the front door before you and stepping into your new life. You know that it won't be easy, but you also know that it will be worth it.

[enrosadiraanisaaa]

Within Session .Part Six.

Holy shit, happy December and Merry Christmas y'all! I'm so happy to finally post another chapter of Within Session. Yes, its been a while but starting a new job is stressful. Thankfully, I figured how to manage time. This part is extremely long, more than 5k. words. I'm proud of myself! This fanfic consists of Yandere!Leon Kennedy. I intend for this fic to progressively become disturbing and fucked up with each chapter. While the first few chapters will be tamed, expect the following in this series:

~Stalking, Kidnapping, Forced Breeding, Degradation, NonCon, Gang Banging, Forced Pregnancy, Somnophilia, Blackmail, Manipulation, Abuse, Pet Names, Obsessive Behavior (Duh), Torture, Constraints, Mentions of Blood & Gore, Mental Degradation, Toxic Relationship, Sexual Abuse, Masturbation, Drugged & Drunk Sex, Loss of Virginity, Forced Penetration…

Also you will be retconned (Too bad 😏): Female Reader, 24 Years old and from Texas 💝 (yeehaw)

This story was purely written with RE 4 (Remake) Leon in mind. So no puppy dog Leon from RE2 or DILF Leon from later games & movies. The story takes place several months after the events of RE4. Yay, you’re in 2004!

I plan to make this series long and fleshed out, but I promise what you want will hit you like a train~🚂

This story does contain +18 content (NSFW) 🔞 If you’re a minor, please go read a real book or something, don’t cry to me when your mom finds your shit. 

Summary

As an on sight therapist for STRATCOM in Nebraska, you’re tasked with providing quality therapy for US military personnel and government agents. After working at the headquarters for 6 months, Hunnigan recommends you to a notable government agent, Leon Kennedy, who is in need of therapy. After a number of sessions with you, Leon notices a substantial stability in his sanity yet is threatened when you are offered a position back home, closer to your family and friends. Your choice doesn’t sit well with one particular client, who can’t fathom you out of your role as his therapist. Leon has found a means of keeping his precious therapist and realizes you are the key to his permanent solace. You were obviously destined to be his in some form. Why dream of him letting you go?

A\N: I was heavily inspired by Satoshi Kon’s Perfect Blue 💙, ExploreVenus’s Something Permanent and Guardian Angel by NexysWorld. We're finally getting into the nitty gritty of the story. Reminder that if you're not comfortable with male obsession and stalking, this is not for you. But if you're fucked up like me, please enjoy this! This is a really long chapter, hope y'all like it. 😉 Please comment on what how you feel about this chapter, I'm a whore for feedback. Hate it? Comment. Love it? Comment, por favor.

This is the longest chapter with 5k words, pretty much twice than I typically write for a chapter. Keep this in mind if you are wondering why, it seems longer.

Hope y'all enjoy the sixth part! More to come 💝~ Anisssa أنيسة

Here is Part One , Part Two, Part Three, Part Four and Part Five of Within Session

Blue Monday

  For several months, the disdain for the winter season was prominent as the days were still short of daylight. Along with the absence of familiar faces from family and friends from home, winter blues roused thoughts of returning to home. Even with the presence of Mateo and his buddies around at the house, it never satiated your homesickness. The transition into this New Year was strenuous, yet you continued the routine of attending to clients at the USSSTRATCOM headquarters during the week, the occasional LAN parties hosted on weekends with the dudes, and friend dates with Hunnigan. Still, you could not deny there were urges to pull out your suitcase and call quits on the government position. Home was not here in Nebraska. 

       Now in the middle of February, the extensive drive home seemed to kindle symptoms of burnout. Upon opening the entrance door to your apartment, the dead silence prompted your eyes to glance around the living room for the presence of your roommate, Mateo. For once you arrived home before him. With every step further into your living room, the floor boards seemed to creak under pressure. Your body immediately gravitates towards the couch, slumping on the cushions to sprawl out in exhaustion. In one hand, you gripped your purse while the other held a bouquet of flowers. 

      Until the last session earlier today, it did not dawn on you that today was Valentine's Day. Leon, of all people, arrived at session with a bouquet of roses in his possession with his usual smuggish smirk. The gesture caught you off guard that you simply accepted the bouquet without protest. This questionable offering from him was unpredicted, a moment of vulnerability impelling you to accidentally violate a simple policy between client and therapist. 

     A groan emits from your mouth, decisively kicking off the heels to note how sore your feet were. No doubt the roses in your hand were beautiful, but they were from a client on this particular holiday. You grunt in disapproval, instead eliciting to assume he gifted the roses for his appreciation for your dedication to him as his therapist. Yes, those thoughts brought peace of mind. But you then realized the price tag sticker on the bottom of the bouquet. 

      “Holy fuck! Who spends $80 on a bouquet of roses? Well shit, now I’ll feel guilty if I toss them out… Dammit, Leon…” 

          Leon Kennedy, a client you have been providing treatment with for the last three months since November. Along with his substantial progress in his intervention goals, you had the opportunity to further learn about the peculiar character that is Leon. Every session he never failed to crack jokes on whim or comment snide remarks, his attempt to speak off topic. Beside his efforts to conceal his discomfort with humor, there was also an underlying suspicion that Leon was withholding details regarding certain discussions. He avoids topics through escape by immediately steering the conversation. Every instance that Leon avoids a subject, you take note of it, knowing somehow you would eventually touch base on it.  

      With the bouquet of roses in your hand, you notice several detached rose petals on the couch cushion. A pang of guilt coursed in your chest, registering the maltreatment of the flowers in your grasp. Despite the aching pain in your feet, you stand from the couch to walk to the kitchen in search of a vase. You were no flower arranger but the glass vase you found complimented the red of the petals. Next session you would have to bestow some gratitude to Leon, since the guy deserves some appreciation for the gift. Maybe the man really was trying to express his reverence, Valentine’s Day was not all about romance, right?

       In the moment of admiring the roses you placed in the glass vase, you realize that it has been a while since you have received something like this from anyone. While you let out a gentle huff, your hands reach out to rearrange several roses until you were appeased with the arrangement. Then the abrupt ringing of your phone from your pocket interrupted your trance from the vase of roses, a phone number unbeknownst to you displayed on the small screen of the flip phone. 

     ‘It’s an area code from Texas… is it from San Antonio, Dallas, or Austin? But who calls late on a Monday night?’ You decipher, debating the thought to answer the call knowing the area code was from one of the major metroplex cities. 

    This time you sigh, adjusting your throat to answer in a pleasant tone. “Uh, hello?” You greet hesitantly, holding the pink flip phone to your ear. 

     A gentle feminine voice responds with “Hello…” along with your full name.

     The utterance of your first and last name from the unknown voice nearly startles you to the core, immediately furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. 

    “This is her… Uh, who are you?” You ask, slight concern obvious in your question. Was this call a scam?

    On the other end of the line, the female voice chuckles lightly into the phone,”Sorry to call this late, I am from a counseling program partnered with a foster care facility based here in Austin. We are looking for new recruits with the right credentials.  I came across your application from a year ago and I am curious if you would still be interested in doing an interview and perhaps be interested in joining our team? From your application, I can see your address is in Corpus Christi.” 

      At that moment you seat yourself on a chair in the dining room, glancing at the adorned vase of roses on the dining room table. This was an unmistakable opportunity that manifested itself in one phone call, but you could not allow yourself to become excited so soon.

     “Unfortunately, I am not living in Texas at the moment. I actually took a therapist position here in Omaha, Nebraska. I won’t be able to schedule an interview, I apologize,” You express in a solemn tone, assuming this would end the conversation. 

     “Oh, if you don’t mind…. We can do an interview right now over the phone.” The lady mentions, followed by silence on her end. 

       You direct your eyes at a digital clock in the distance, noticing the time was a little past 9PM, which meant no minutes were being wasted. 

      “Sure, why not…” You respond, guessing this opportunity was unprecedented to simply dismiss.

        For the next 30 minutes, you were asked a series of questions, mostly about your experience and qualities. In your efforts, you answer professionally while you slug against the dinning chair in exhaustion. Your hand became cramped as you gripped the flip phone to your ear. Every time you glimpse back to the vase of roses, you notice several petals shed from the roses. With one rose petal, you twindle it between your fingers as you speak to the woman over the phone. 

         “I’m impressed with you, I really think you would be a great addition to our team. I’d like to offer a full time position, with a Monday through Friday schedule. Instead of hourly, you will be paid a salary with benefits. If you need help with moving, we can pay your first few months of rent wherever you decide to move in Austin. How does that sound?” The lady expresses, seemingly to be entirely impressed with you. 

      For a moment, you were hesitant as the offer seemed too good to be true. “When can I start?” You then ask, feeling the sweat in your palm as you grip the phone to your ear.

      “Since you said you’re out living in Nebraska, I can give you a month… March 14th on a Monday, and we will run a background check and proof that you can work in the US. Nothing major, it’s usually quick. For any certifications you need, we will pay for them…” The woman explains, her voice cheery with every word.

       By the end of her explanation, your body involuntarily begins to shake. Several thoughts coursed in your mind yet the most prominent thought was obvious… you were finally returning home. 

      “I look forward to starting,” You respond, matching her voice of enthusiasm.

       “That is great to hear… Well, I will let you enjoy the rest of your night. Please call this number again if you have any questions or updates,” She infers.

      “Thank you, have a great night!” You add before clamping the flip phone shut, ending the call.

      In that moment, your body slumps in the chair while a long exhale of breath escapes your mouth. Every part of your body was jittery to the point it was difficult to contain despite the laborious deep breaths exercises and your hands crossing to squeeze your upper arms. No doubt, the ticket home seemed to magically appear on your lap. Maybe the universe had finally answered your prayer, and within a month you would travel back home. 

     Tears formed, your eyes evidently becoming glossy while you were seated slumped on the dining room chair. With tears flowing down your face, a part of you felt ridiculous for becoming this emotional. 

      The front door knob jiggle, the sound of keys from the other side of the door interrupting your mini crying session. Once the door opens, you whip your body to direct your attention to Mateo standing there in the entrance. The evidence of crying was still conspicuous as your cheeks were entirely wet and your eyes were puffy. 

    “Ah shit, did I come home at a bad time?” Mateo mutters, cautiously setting his black bag on the floor by the entrance after he shuts and locks the front door. 

      “No, you little jackass. I just got a job offer back home… I start in a month,” You respond in a sincere tone, cracking a subtle smile to Mateo. 

   Mateo appeared taken back, now walking into a plethora of confounding information. With a few steps into the dinning room, he sits beside you at the dining table. He notices the vase of roses placed on the center of the table yet does not comment on them for now. 

    “Are you moving because of me?” Mateo questions, a pout forming on his face. He was honestly a child at times.

     “Huh? No, absolutely not because of you… I just think I have overstayed here in Nebraska, and need to return home so I can be near family,” You explain, your tone heartfelt as you glance at Mateo with a grin.

     Mateo deeply exhales, his brown eyes narrowing at the sight of you, “I guess I'll allow you to leave… on the condition you visit,” He expresses smugly. 

    A soft chuckle emits from your mouth, nodding in agreement to his prerequisite,” Deal…But I plan on moving out in three weeks. Tomorrow, I am putting in my two weeks resignation letter. Some of my clients are not going to be happy.” 

     To your verdict, Mateo expresses a solemn smile before his hand points to the roses you arranged in the vase earlier,” So… who bought you these?” He asks with an eyebrow raised. 

      “I’ll let you guess, but the answer is obvious,” You respond bluntly. 

       “Leon?” He answers immediately with his lips curved in a grin.

        “Mhmm..” You hum, scratching the side of your hair with a finger. “He arrived at session with them, and pretty much shoved them in my arms. Never been so caught off guard,” You then comment. 

      With a sudden snap of your fingers, you jolt up to stand before scurrying across the room to your bag, “Oh shit, I almost forgot, he also gave me a card. I haven’t opened it yet.” Within a moment, your hand digs inside your beg to then reveal a red envelope once you pull it out. By holding the red envelope in hand, you return to seat yourself at the dining room table beside Mateo, ripping the side of the envelope with your hand. A blank expression instantly appears on your face once you slide out the Valentine’s card. By opening it, you notice a gift card and Leon’s writing inside the card, “Mateo… He gave me a gift card to Chili's… Dude, look what this says…’To the spiciest therapist I know’... What the fuck does that mean?!” You glance at Mateo, biting your lip from amusement and disturbance simultaneously. 

     Mateo only burst out laughing, snatching the card from your hand to read Leon’s writing closely, “Damn girl, what you be doing to him during your sessions, huh?” Mateo questions you in an accusatory tone with a hint of humor behind it.

     “Absolutely nothing… Goodnight!” You huff, snatching the card from his grasp back into your possession before stomping off to your bedroom. 

      By next morning, you were able to have written a two weeks notice letter explaining your resignation with a clear date that you would be concluding your tenure with USSTRATCOM as a therapist officially on Tuesday, March 1st. The following days were heart-wrenching, revealing to clients that you would be concluding your position as their therapist and only a few sessions with them remained. Several clients congratulated your new position while others simply were in denial of your departure, or expressed their grief to you. 

        Friday eventually arrived with the anticipation of preparing the last client with the news of your resignation. Instead of being seated at your desk, you waited patiently for the arrival of Leon on one of the two chairs that you would usually sit during the session. Every minute that passed, you contemplated on how to deliver that in a few weeks, you would no longer be his therapist. Last Monday, he gifted flowers and a gift card to you, clearly there was a modicum of admiration from him. Would he congratulate the advancement in your career or distress over your inevitable departure like other clients? You could not rationalize with yourself on why you were nervous to tell him. 

    Right at 5PM, you heard the knock on the door of your office. Leon was always on time for his sessions when he was not sent away on missions. For his division, you still did not know the kind of work he did but only that he was revered as a top dog in his position. 

     Upon hearing his steps, your eyes instantly gravitate to his ocean eyes piercing back at you as he treads further inside the office. Leon seats himself on the chair across from you, an obvious grin plastered on his face. No words were exchanged, but your thoughts spiraled,’Shit, should I tell him now?’ Your thoughts debated but you shook your head on the notion.

    “Leon, how has it been these past few days?” You then ask, mustering a soft smile on your lips. 

     “Great, since I knew I’ll be seeing you today,”Leon smooths, leaning comfortably back into his chair. 

     Your lips falter, steering to not encourage this behavior from your client. “Leon, how many times have I repeated to you to respect the boundaries between us?” You remind him, followed by a soft sigh. This was his mindless flirting that recently sprung up in sessions. 

   “Too many times, miss. I apologize,” Leon chuckles, averting his eyes to the side at the floor. Ultimately, those icy eyes return their gaze to you even though his face was directed away. “So Miss, how were those roses I gave you last time?” He questions you, his eyebrow quirks as he awaits your answer.

     “They were nice, I was able to place them in a vase. Thank you… But understand that as a therapist, I could lose my license for accepting gifts, okay?” You remark, your tone firm with blank expression.

       His tongue clicks along with a small nod, “Oh no, I can’t have that happen. I- We need you here…” Leon mentions, his gaze studying your face. 

        As you examine the features of his face while he spoke, you realize how exhaustive his features appeared. Before he could utter another word regarding gifts, you interfere,”Hey, how are you sleeping as of late these past few nights?”

        In that moment, his grin deflates in an almost surprised expression. Leon adjusted his throat, shifting in the chair.“I’m experiencing nightmares…” Leon admits, blushes blooming on his cheeks. 

          You expected him to retort with humor or downplay his exhaustion. But Leon was actually opening himself to you about his nightmares. This was an opportunity too good to let pass by. By extending your arm to your desk, your hand grabs a notebook and pen. Every detail that he verbalizes, you need written down. 

        With your pen awaiting on the lines on the paper, your eyes return to his face, the bleak blue in his eyes not as bright as they usually are. “Describe what you remember from your dreams, Leon.”

          “Burning bodies, blood caked on my skin that did not belong to me, and things I can’t even explain…” He shifts in his seat again, his voice feeble.

             His narrative could not paint a picture for you, the few details not being enough, but only suggested he endured an incident so horrifying. On paper, your pen scribbled down the only two details he described: burning bodies and blood on skin.

             “Leon, can you recall an incident you might have seen or experienced?” You ask, bringing the top of the pen to your lips.

                After a moment, his head shook,” No ma’am, I simply have watched Dawn of the Dead too many times,” He chuckled, seemingly forcing a smirk. 

            If you could roll your eyes at this moment, you would. An internal scream echoed in your head, and you nearly wanted to slap your forehead with the notebook in your hand. When he finally opens up about something regarding his trauma, he fucking does this bullshit… again.

          Instead of proceeding in your usual passive tone, you adjust your voice to become stern,”Leon, do you honestly need this service?”

          He was clearly offended at the change in tone in your voice, his eyes narrowing at you. An expression you never expected to witness him guise, yet you kept your composure. “Yes, I do,” He merely responded, his voice consisting of no humor. 

         “Then please help me, help you. These past few months you have progressed, but you would honestly be further in your treatment if you allow yourself to open up. I’m not expecting you to explain everything in one session, but understand if you were a bit more cooperative, I can guide you more efficiently through your trauma. I’m not a therapist that wants you to be in therapy forever…” You breathe out along with a huff. 

       The words seem to echo into the room as the room falls into silence, Leon just sitting there with no words to exchange. Nonetheless, every word spoken from your lips was valid. But on the back of your mind, time was inching closer for you to reveal the news. 

       “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, miss. I know I’m your favorite client,” Leon retorts, that same smug expression on his face.

        This session was going nowhere, 30 minutes somehow wasted. Time was working against you, so it would be easier to rip the band aid off the wound, right? 

       “There was never a competition between my clients in the first place. I regard and care for all my clients equally, Leon,” You retort, directly staring at his eyes. “Also…” Your voice proceeds along with an adjustment in your throat. At this point, it can not be helped, he deserved to know. “Uh, to simplify it… in a few weeks I will no longer be working with USSTRATCOM, I’m moving back to Texas. But don’t worry, I already notified the next therapist on your case on your goals and what we worked on.”

       The heart in your chest was beating, feeling anxiety ridden, but nonetheless you revealed the big announcement. Then that same tense quiet air settled into the office once more, Leon had a blank stare directed at your face. Those eyes of his blinked several times before he mustered a warm smile. “That’s very sudden news, but congratulations,” He breathed, his fist clenching on his thighs. 

      While an exhale of air escapes your nose, the ache in your chest seems to ease away. This time, you permit yourself to smile in response to the commendation from Leon. “I really appreciate the congratulations from you… But we will still conduct session the same until I leave. So tell me…what is an incident that may be a considerable source that prompts your nightmares, Leon?” 

      “Wait-” He utters, tilting his head as his mouth tries to form words. “Can you at least explain why you’re leaving? I know three months is not a long time, but I have made so much progress with you…”

       His voice betrays him, nearly breaking yet Leon sustains a smile on his face. Subtle taps on the floor peak your attention, your eyes glancing down to notice his foot tapping on the floor.

       “Sure, I can explain… Um, I have close family in Texas, and my next job allows me to be closer to them,” You answer simply, keeping your voice calm. 

       You see Leon nod in his head in acceptance as he glances down to his hands resting on his lap. “I see… just… you don’t seem like a Texas gal..” He chuckles, bringing his gaze back to you.

        A laugh emits from your mouth, not expecting Leon to return to his whits suddenly. “If you expected me to wear a big cowboy hat and speak with a twang, I might just punch you,” You suggest with an empty threat, raising a fist in his direction while your other hand holds the notebook to your lap. 

       Leon lets out a fake gasp while appearing offended. “Hmm, sounds like someone is in need of anger management.”

       “Oh, you think you’re funny, huh?” You retort, pursing your lips at his remark.

       “I think? Oh, honey, I am funny…” 

        ‘Honey?’ This little endearing nickname riled your core, perceiving it as condescending, nonetheless you opt to let this slide. With a small sigh, your eyes peer to the clock on the wall, silently thanking the universe that only 5 minutes of the session remained. 

       “Alright comedian…” You speak, leaning over the armrest of the chair to grab the clipboard from your desk, “It’s that time you give your signature, and that will be all for today’s session.”

    Leon chuckled once you extended the clipboard to him before he wrote his grand signature: ‘Leon Kennedy’ on the signature line. He extended it back to you, except his expression appeared solemn.

     “So you really are leaving Nebraska? Quitting USSTRATCOM to move back to Texas?” He inquires, no hint of humor in his voice.

     Your head nods, only responding with a hum in agreement. 

    “Well I’m happy for you… I will see you next week,” He expresses, giving a brief smile before he leaves the office.

     “Bye Leon!” You call out, proceeding to shut and lock the office door after he leaves.

     An exasperated groan iterates into the empty room, letting out that strenuous hold of breath out your chest. While the complicated part of informing all the clients was settled, now the actual moving process was the next course of action. At that moment, you reluctantly retreat to your desk, knowing that the legal documents, session notes, and insurance signature sheets need to be submitted to your supervisor before you can leave for home. It was Friday, all you wanted to do was drink to your heart's content, play video games, and pass out on the couch. Typical Friday night shit.

      In time, all necessary documents were submitted to your supervisor. The familiar brunt whirl of flurries stung the skin of your cheeks once you step outside the building, being welcomed into the dark parking lot. Every step along the parking lot was careful while you walked towards your car, seeing the red among the white.

    Even inside the car, your body shivered, desperate to warm up. The inconvenience of the winter night sky entirely made it difficult to see in your car, but you were able to insert the car key into the ignition. With anticipation for warm air, your wrist turns the key forward. 

      Kkkkkkk.

     The sound of the car struggling to start only furrowed your eyebrows in response. 

     Naturally, you turn the key one more time. Two times. Three times. With a disgruntled groan, you continue to turn the key, your foot persistently pressing the gas pedal. 

     “No no no no. Baby don’t do this to me now!”

           With every desperate turn of the key, the car only responded with jerks before dying completely. Hot visible breaths huffed from your mouth, that bitter cold was already piercing through the fabric of your clothes. Your hand pulls out the key from the ignition and your foot ceases from stepping on the gas pedal. That sense of anxiety crept into your chest once more at the awareness you were oblivious to the malfunction in your car. 

        Your hand decides to reach down to pull down a small lever, hearing the familiar pop of the hood. While hesitant, you then retrieve your flashlight from the middle console before returning to the brunt winter weather as you exit the driver’s seat. Once the hood is propped up on the stand, you click the flashlight to instantly illuminate the engine under the hood. The problem was then apparent, the light revealing ripped spark plunges that were supposed to be connected to the engine.

     “Oh, what the fuck…” The words seem to let out, unsure how this happened to your car.

      Crunches of ice behind you alleviated you from deep thought, prompting you to immediately whirl your body to the source of sound. Light from the flashlight directs to a broad figure, startling you to where you nearly scream. Your hand points the flashlight up and you recognize the familiar sandy blonde hair.

     “Leon?” You mutter into the air, your eyes widening at his sudden appearance. “What are you doing here?” You then ask, pointing the flashlight down from his face out of courtesy.

     “I heard a car struggling to start, so I thought I would check it out…” He responds, proceeding to walk to the open hood of your car. Leon glances down to the flashlight in your hand, gesturing you to hand it to him. “Here,” You whisper, extending the flashlight to him. While he holds the flashlight, he directs it down to the engine, “Damn, your spark plugs are damaged,” He remarks, his demeanor confirming your earlier speculation.

      “They were recently replaced, this shouldn’t have happened,” You retort, your tone obviously confused. 

        “Well they look like they've been bitten… Maybe a small animal searching for warmth crawled inside and decided to chew them out,” Leon suggested, returning his attention to you.

         Leon’s revelation was plausible but when you return your glance to the spark plugs, the damage appeared like a clean cut as if they were physically cut by something. Regardless of how they were damaged, your current situation ensured that you were stranded in the parking lot of your job. The road conditions were horrible, piled with snow, and you honestly did not know how long a tow truck would get there. 

     While you contemplate your options, you hear Leon adjust his throat. “If you like, I could drive you home. It’s cold and dark now, there’s not much you can do," he suggests. 

     Spark plugs were easy to install, but to travel to a nearby auto shop was complicated enough in this weather. Your head immediately shook at his offer, shifting your attention to his face. “Thanks for the offer, Leon, but I have to decline. I’m still your t-“

  “Therapist. I know. Miss, it is dark and freezing. A tow truck would take an hour… I can’t leave you out here,” Leon interjects, his tone stern to prove a point. “Come on, let me take you home. It wouldn’t be an issue for me at all,” He continues, proceeding to let down the hood of your car. 

      Deep down, you knew his proposal would violate ethical codes as a therapist, but his persistence swayed your verdict. Your body was visibly shaking while you stood there, glancing around the parking lot to ensure no one was watching. “Fine, but straight to my house, Leon.” You sternly express, going to quickly retrieve your purse before returning to his side. 

     You hear chuckles from Leon while you follow him to a black SUV, obviously a government vehicle. “Perks of being an agent,” Leon mentions, his voice laced with humor. It honestly seemed he was enjoying this.

     By sitting in the passenger seat, you experience the loving warmth of heat from the vents once Leon turns on the car. A pang of guilt coursed at the realization you were leaving your car behind at the parking lot. “So you drive a Nissan Z? Didn’t think you’re into cars like that, especially with turbo,” Leon strikes a conversation, driving off the premises of the USSTRATCOM parking lot. 

    “Ah, it was a parting gift from my dad. She is practically a family member…” You say, blushing a bit. 

    “There’s no shame in that, it’s actually interesting you’re into cars. But I could definitely swing by in the morning and I could personally switch out the spark plugs,” Leon offers, shifting his attention to you in the passenger seat. 

      “If replacing the spark plugs is no hassle, then I am okay with it…”

        Leon grins, ecstatic that you conceded to his assistance instead of blatantly rejecting his offer. For a moment, he remained quiet as he drove on the snowy desolate streets before eventually realizing he did not know your address. “Ah shit, I got ahead of myself. Tell me where to drive from here to get to your home,” Leon nervously chuckles. 

       In response, you nod with an assuring smile, ”That’s fine…”

               Other than Leon’s rock music playing on the stereo, the car ride became quiet as the exchange of words died down. The moments you only spoke were when you provided directions to your house. Soon the sight of the familiar Victorian house was in view, although you notice a line of cars parked in the driveway and street, along with an absurd amount of people hanging around the house. Once Leon gradually slowed infront of the house, he turned his head to you sitting in the passenger seat. 

       “This is your house?” He asks, turning down the volume of his rock music. 

         A sheepish smile appeared on your lips, nodding to Leon,”Yeah, I guess my roommate decided to throw a party.”

         Leon returns his attention to the amount of men chilling on the front porch, drinking beers or smoking cigarettes despite the freezing air. You see Leon narrow his eyes at the scene yet smirks when he glances back to you. “Looks fun… but I will see you in the morning, right? Is 9AM alright?”

        Your head nods frantically, presenting a pleased smile on your lips,”Uhh, yeah. It sounds good,” You reply, somehow almost forgetting about your car stranded at the parking lot of your job. At that moment, you open the passenger car door before slipping onto the pavement of the road. “See you tomorrow, Leon! And thank you for taking me home…” 

       Leon seemed content, before waving off to you, "I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night,” He responds. Once you shut the passenger door, he drives off, leaving you to watch him as you stand there in the middle of the road. A nagging intuition provoked an uneasiness into your body regarding this night. Nonetheless, you decided to ignore your paranoia since there is a party that required your attendance because even God knew you deserved it after this whole week. 

[cadmium-free]

Day 2 of 26 with @neopetsdotcom

POISON FOR THE FAIRIES (1986)

Lauren's review (from letterboxd)

First of all this happened to me in real life. Secondly it’s really cool to have a movie that explores the specific flavor of horror of like. Being a child, and not having been in the world long enough to be sure of what is true or not. The world felt more magical to us as children, the boundaries of what is possible had not been filled in yet, the yet unknown world was filled with endless potential. but for these same reasons, it felt equally more terrifying to us too. This movie captures that really well

While watching this, we know that Veronica is lying to Flavia, we as adults know that witches aren’t real, and that Veronica is just a neglected child who has experienced terrible tragedy and is grasping at whatever power she is able to. But you can feel Flavia’s fear just as strongly as if you didn’t know, her mind caught right on the edge between the absurdity of Veronica’s claims and the fact she has been shown just enough evidence that it’s impossible for her to write Veronica off completely. You can feel horror of the toxic friendship she falls deeper and deeper into, the sheer helplessness of the situation. It generates true horror, and completely without any true supernatural elements and little to no violence. With one. Notable exception

Also I have GOT to give a shout out to like, costuming, set design, cinematography, sound design, etc, for genuinely tricking me into thinking this movie was made when it was set (1965) and not when it came out (1986)

Awl's review (from letterboxd)

There is a niche of horror films interested in friendships between young girls, but none tackle it quite so well as Poison for the Fairies. I think these movies often take the stance that something is wrong with one of the girls, or that the act of separating two girls is what leads them to do something terrible. Poison for the Fairies deftly states that little girls are weird. They like to play in the mud and catch frogs just as much as they like to pamper dolls and puppies.

That isn't to say there is nothing deeper going on than weird girls in this film. This is a movie about an absence. Flavia has everything: wealthy parents who adore her, nice toys, a beautiful dog, and love. Veronica's parents are dead, and she is left in benign neglect in her grandmother's home in her nanny's care. She wants terribly, and Flavia has no defence against her. 

And so the pair flit between gentle goofy play and Veronica asserting power over her new friend. She is full of tales of witches and fairies from her nanny and she aspires to the power the figure of the witch commands in a world where her classmates mock her. For all her bossy cruelty, she strikes a tragic figure.

And the two are trapped in an insular world separate from adults. The film reinforces this cleverly by making the adults a faceless authority. They are abstracted into rules and love by filming them from behind or their faces cut out of frame. We only see the faces of dead adults or the terrifying visage of the old witch.

This all worked for me because I've been in these childhood friendships. I've been taken in by the charm of a domineering friend and then rushed home terrified at the ghost stories other little girls told me. Toys they covet demanded from me between making witch brews in the mud. These friendships hurt in ways you're too young to know how to deal with yet. But each side of that relationship is struggling to find their own place in the world.

In the end, only one girl holds herself as a witch, familiar cradled in her arms, and cruel deeds laid bare.

[nonbinaryeggrolls]

Battle of the Larynx I

Miguel O’Hara x afab!reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4

Synopsis: Having Spider-Man as a boyfriend was becoming increasingly more difficult, and his reoccurring absence is tearing you apart

A/N: hi y’all! ik ive been so MIA with my stories lately. if im being honest sometimes i just don’t have ideas for new chapters or how to continue in progress stories, but hopefully i can get some more done soon! but for now enjoy this quick Miguel O’Hara story cuz i am OBSESSED with this man atm

Inspired by Battle of the Larynx by Melanie Martinez!

Warning: smut (fingering), toxic relationship, ANGST (yk i fucking live that shit), neglectful Miguel, LONG ASS CHAPTERS

MINORS DNI. AGELESS AND MINOR BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

You knew what you were getting yourself into when he told you. You knew the nights that laid ahead for both of you filled with his crying and screaming after a failed mission led to a loss of innocent life. You knew the days would consist of hours holding your breath wondering if he was alive or not, and finally exhaling when he arrived there at your doorstep; battered and bloody but still, he was there. That was really the only promised you asked Miguel to keep— be there. You could handle him leaving randomly and not coming home until 2 in the morning, it was his obligation as a hero and that came before anything else. But he also took an obligation as your partner to be present when it mattered most, and according to him he cherished that concept with his life. So if that was the case why wasn’t he here now?

Miguel had been gone for 5 days now, longer than he’s ever been gone for. Five days of nothing, no calls, texts, emails, even an owl with a note would’ve sufficed at this point but he chose to leave you in the dark yet again. You touched up your mascara in the shiny elevator door reflection as you prepped yourself for the celebration party you and your art school classmates planned after you all landed the animation internship. What was supposed to be a chance for your friends to finally get to know Miguel was clearly turning into yet another evening third wheeling other couples. Another night of watching girls curl up with their lovers while you downed a spiked lemonade to forget about yours. This was the 26th time Miguel had abandoned an important event with no notice whatsoever (yes you’ve been keeping track). It started with simple things like picnic dates or small get togethers, then his absence gradually became more impactful. Missed family dinner’s, birthdays…anniversaries. Disappearing for days on end with no check ins, it was becoming torture. It was becoming increasingly obvious that people started to question whether or not you even had a boyfriend, and slowly you did too…

To Miggy 🧸:

please tell me you’re coming tonight, you know this means a lot to me Miguel

4:23

can you just call me and let me know youre alive at least????

4:49

i hope youre chaffing in your suit asshole

8:14

The elevator door opened letting you onto the top floor of Alchamex, it was pointless checking but you always did anyways. You crept your way into his office hoping to see his usual tired figure slumped over in his chair, ready for you to nag him like you usually do to take a break and eat something, but the only thing occupying the space was scattered papers. You looked through his window that towered over the Nueva York city streets trying desperately to hold back the tears that were fighting their way out.

“Y/N?”

Y/N: “Jess! Im- Im really sorry.” You turned your head only slightly so she couldn’t see your puffy eyes.

Jess: “Y/N, you’re part of reception you know you can get in a lot of trouble being up here without authorization.”

Y/N: “I know I know I just…I thought Miguel be here.” You mumbled between hiccups that came up from you failing to hide your sobs. Jess wasn’t stupid, it didnt take a genius to know what you were upset about, or who you were upset about, “If you um… if you see him can you just ask him to come home please.” Working through your sniffles, you wiped your face with your sleeve and made your way out of the office before she even had time to respond

Jess sighed feeling a twitch of anger brew inside her towards the young man, she scowled and muttered obscenities under her breath as she dialed Miguels number…

The next week came and you missed the party entirely, the calls from all your friends and colleagues went unanswered. Honestly, your self esteem couldn’t take another embarrassing, lonely entrance into an event that Miguel was supposed to accompany you too. Another endless night of sympathetic looks and pity hugs. 

The clock read 7:48 pm when you arrived home from work, another day of taking calls and booking meetings for a man that wasn’t even there half of the time. With a heavy sigh you set the bags of groceries you had in hand down in order to get your keys out of your back pocket. The space was dark and cold when you walked in, it had been for the last week. You stocked the fridge with your new groceries then before taking a quick shower and finishing your nightly routine. You were in the middle of applying your night cream when you heard a loud thud causing you to finally leave the bathroom. In the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of a tall dark figure emerging from the window. You let out a shriek managing to fumble everything in hand as you scrambled to find your pepper spray.

Miguel: “Woah woah! Relax it’s just me! it’s me Y/N!” Usually you’d be used to Miguel’s late night window entrances but it had been so long since you last saw him you forgot he even did it. He turned on the living room light revealing his tired and bruised figure. He was still dressed in his spider suit, the suit you excitedly spent hours on your ipad drawing and redrawing to get the perfect design; now you hated the sight of that thing.

Y/N: “Miguel?”, seeing him gave you relief knowing it wasn’t an intruder, but the anger that’s been stirring in you for the last 2 weeks slapped you back to reality. Silence filled the space between you two, neither of you taking the initiative to speak first. It took 2 weeks for him to come back and you weren’t going to wait another second waiting for him to find the balls to say something.

Miguel: “Y/N please wait!…” he pleaded when you turned away and slammed the bedroom door behind you. You plopped down onto your mattress, you were exhausted and couldn’t stand to look at his face anymore, but you felt the empty bed space behind you dip with his weight.

Miguel: “Congratulations on your internship cariño, I knew you’d get it…” No response. “I…I got this for you. Y/N?” If you turned around you’d see the small gift wrapped box he held in his hand but you were motionless. This new silence terrified him. The possibility of you finally giving up on him made his heart sink a little

Miguel: “Y/N I’m really really sor—

Y/N: “Just shut up Miguel, shut up already…” you finally spoke through gritted teeth, “You’ve never cared about a single thing that I care about, if you did then you would’ve been there like you said you would but you weren’t! SO JUST FUCKING SHUT UP!” you sobbed and curled your legs closer to your chest

Miguel: “I know you’re angry at me… but Y/N I really am sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t call you or text you. I’m sorry it took Jess calling me to make me realize how terrible I was being. I should’ve been there to take you to your friends party, like I promised I would. I wanna be someone you can count on and trust but I’m screwing it all up.”

At this point Miguel had already stood up from the bed, you could feel the floor thump as he paced back and forth trying to find the right words to say to you. You couldn’t help but peek over at him, he looked horrible with his head in his hands and blood and dirt still caked on his suit. Regardless of how angry you felt towards Miguel you always took pity on the poor man. He loved you with everything he was and everything he wasn’t, all he wanted was to be everything you ever needed, but you were the first woman he had ever been with since Dana and Gabriella passed. You knew loving you was like learning to walk again.

You called his name in your soft voice. His head shot up, you were finally facing him with your arms open inviting him in for a hug. Miguel practically jumped from his seat and into your arms. Words couldn’t describe how good it felt to feel your touch and even though he smelled like ash and rubble you felt exactly the same, practically crying as you melted into his hold

Y/N: “I thought you were dead Miggy, you can’t keep putting me through this I can’t take it.” He settled deeper into your embrace and rested his head into the crook of your neck

Miguel: “I know, I’ll be better for you…” You felt his lips latch onto your neck and pepper you in small kisses, “I love you Y/N. I love you so much.” He groaned against you, pushing his stiffened member against your groan and pulling out a desperate moan from your lips

Y/N: “I…I love you too Miggy…fuck!” You screamed has he drove his thick fingers into your already soaking cunt. Every curl and thrust against your plush walls pushed you closer and closer to your edge.

You cried against his shoulders. There were times when the space that was wedged between you two felt infinite then dwindled every time he came back home to you.

It was euphoria, to feel him with you again.

But every high has to come down at some point.

The sound of arguing pulled you from your sleep. It was 2 in the morning when you rolled over to see a space where Miguel was originally sleeping beside you. It wasn’t unusual for Miguel to wake up in the middle of the night to work at the kitchen table or yell to Jess about some other spider variant that messed up a mission; one named Peter seemed to come up very frequently. However it seemed like this specific conversation went on for a fairly long time, you could even begin to here Miguel’s voice shake with whoever he was speaking to.

You slipped on a new t shirt from Miguel’s drawer since the clothes you previously had on had been ripped to shreds. His voice became more and more clear as you made your way down the hall

Miguel: “Do you already have an idea on who it could be?…Fuck. Okay, I’ll *sigh* I’ll be there soon.” He hung up and pinched the bridge of his nose in a mixture of frustration and disappointment.

Y/N: “Youre leaving again aren’t you?” Your voice startled him out of his sulk.

Miguel: “…Jess suspects there’s a spider variant that’s purposely letting anomalies run loose in other dimensions. I have to handle this Y/N...”

7 hours, it took 7 hours to fall into the same old routine. It was honestly amusing at this point, all you could do was laugh. How stupid you were to think things could be any different. How stupid you were to think that HE could be any different.

Y/N: “Are you fucking serious?!” You shouted

Miguel: “Y/N Stop it, not right now please. I need you to just go back to bed and let me—

Y/N: “Let you what?! Let you leave me and come back anytime you find it convenient? How long are you gonna be gone this time Miguel, a month this time? Do you even care about the promise you kept to me? Or do I even cross your mind when you’re out there dimensions away from home playing hero for everyone else but me? This isn’t a hotel Miguel, this is our home! At least that what it fucking used to be!” You fumed. He towered above you but that didn’t stop from getting in his face, “It’s not fair Miguel! You don’t get to leave me alone for weeks and come back and fuck me thinking that’ll make it all better! You have to be better!”

Miguel: “You need to stop acting like you’re the only person in my world that needs my attention! I’m not a monster for putting the safety of the multiverse first. Im sorry I can’t be here to rock you to bed and give you a kiss goodnight all the time. Sometimes we have to put personal matters on the back burner Y/N, it’s called responsibility!” He gathered his phone and the rest of his belongings off the kitchen table

Miguel: “I have enough to worry about as it is, having you and Jess blowing up my phone to go to some party with people I don’t even know doesn’t he—

Y/N: “What?” Your tone was softer and started to become laced with hurt, it was evident in the way your voice started to shake, “Jess called you that night and it took you a week to come back?”

Realization of what he just said settles in and it makes his brows furrow in frustration and both himself and you. When he looks over at you with that same stupid emotionless face he always has you can’t help but boil with anger. His nonchalance towards your problems made you curl your fist until your knuckles turned white

Y/N: “No you’re not a monster, but you are an ASSHOLE for making me believe you could balance work and me! Why are you even with me if you can’t—

Miguel: “This conversation is over, I have a job to do and youre keeping me from doing it.” He cut you off harshly, dismissing your concerns yet again.

Y/N: “I never asked you to sacrifice your obligations! I said from the beginning that being a hero comes first, just make some goddamn time for me now and then! Why Miguel? Why do I have to beg you to see my family at Christmas?! Why do I have to beg you to meet my friends or give me an ounce of attention?! Why do I have to ask you to care about me?!”, This was frustrating him too much, your lack of understanding was infuriating. Miguel had to leave before he said something he might regret. He turned away from you and your manic sobbing and made his way to the window seal without another word, afraid that he might damage things worse than they already were by speaking

Y/N: “If we switched places I wouldn’t DARE treat you as terribly as you treat me—

Miguel: “WELL YOURE NOT ME! YOU SIT AT A DESK AND DOODLE ON A FUCKING COMPUTER! YOUR CAREER IS A JOKE, A CHILD COULD DO WHAT YOU DO. YOU CONTRIBUTE NOTHING TO THIS WORLD, I DO.” His nostrils flared and his eyes burned red with anger, “SO DONT YOU DARE SPEAK ABOUT MY LIFE LIKE YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT IT, WHAT IVE HAD TO SACRIFICE JUST TO MAKE THINGS RIGHT IN THIS WORLD!”

Y/N: “GOD. YOU ARE SUCH A CUNT!”

Miguel: “AND YOURE A REPLACEMENT!”

Miguels eyes widened and his rampage instantly stopped. You couldn’t believe the words that had just left his mouth, and honestly he couldn’t either. He didn’t mean it at all, he wanted to take back those words as soon as the left his mouth, he just wanted to leave. Why didn’t you just let him leave? He wouldve been right back. The air was thick and uncomfortable, your combined heavy breathing was the only thing filled the space between the two of you.

Miguel: “I…I’ll be right back.” There was a shakiness in his voice and in his movement when he stepped out onto the fire escape.

Y/N: “Dont come back. If you leave tonight…don’t come back Miguel.” You spoke in a tone barely above a whisper

Miguel: “We’ve said things we don’t mean…I’ll be back later to fix things.” His suit integrated onto his body and he leapt off of the building ledge. A blur of blue and red was the only trace he left behind.

The truth was out now, how Miguel really felt towards you. You were never a first priority or even a second or third, you were nothing but a soul to fill the space where something else was missing. His wife, his daughter, you never tried to stand in their place or become what they were to him, but now you knew that’s the only reason Miguel kept you around. You were his vice

Your heavy cries carried throughout the apartment as you laid in bed cradling the maroon cardigan that was in the gift box Miguel got you.

The spider society headquarters was empty and calm, but the office at the top floor was anything but. Miguel sat atop of his hovering platform brooding in silence in front of his computer monitors, It’d been like this since he arrived. Miguel was always stern and reserved, he never held a conversation with anyone other than Jess or Lyla so him being fairly quiet was normal. But for Miguel to not say anything at all was strange, and it didn’t take long for others to take notice of his behavior shift since leaving your apartment

Margo, Peter, and Jess were the last people at headquarters, after a long day of interrogating potential rogue variants the crew was finally successful and able to apprehend Spiderman on Earth-3360. What will happen to the young man wasn’t decided yet but catching him was a cause for celebration. The group sat around the cafeteria table sharing empanadas and Soju for a few minutes before they went back to their own universes

Margo: “Yeah Ive been in his office all day with him and Lyla and he’s barely said 2 sentences, he wasn’t even mean during interrogation. It’s like he didn’t have it in him to yell. I think he’s depressed or something.”

Peter: “I thought he was always depressed, that’s like his thing isn’t it? That’s why he’s not funny.” He joked and finished off the last empanada

Jess: “I don’t know but I need to get home, my back is killing me and I can’t deal with The Grinch any longer.” She said taking letters hand to help her up from the chair.

The group said goodnight to each other, Margo logged off and Jess went home to some much needed rest, honestly this line of work seems too dangerous for a pregnant woman. Peter made his way up to Miguel’s office, who he knew could hear the entire conversation thanks to his enhanced hearing.

Peter: “You know they’re right Miguel…” he shouted up to Miguel who was brooding on his platform

Miguel: “About what?” he asked in a condescending tone

Peter: “About you, you don’t think we’ve noticed you moping around all day. Do you wanna tell me what the deal is so you can stop pouting?” he swung onto the platform and took a seat next to Miguel, crossing his arms and sitting firm in place waiting for Miguel’s response but he was met with silence, “Is it the rogue variant? Cuz we’re not gonna let this happen again…”

Miguel: “No.”

Peter: “Miles? Gwen? Ben?”

Miguel: “No it’s none of them.” He turned his attention away from him and focused on organizing the handful of papers on his desk

Peter: “Then what is it? Is it Y/N?”

Miguel: “Did I say anything about Y/N?! Why even bring her up?!” He snapped, it was exhausting having to work and act like every terrible thing he said wasn’t weighing on his mind. Miguel couldn’t even interrogate the variant with losing focus, having to have Jess switch him out is gonna remain one of the most embarrassing points in his Spider-Man career. Peter was never a first choice for a sounding board, but it was only going to get worse for Miguel if he didn’t turn to someone for advice, because Lord knows he was terrible at handling relationship problems on his own

Miguel: “I said something bad, really really bad Peter…” he confessed. He took a seat in the chair next to him

Peter: “Do you wanna be more specific?”

Miguel: “I told her that her career was a joke. Then I called her…a replacement.” Peters eyes widened, he knew Miguel was capable of harsh words, he’d seen it first hand with Miles but this was unexpected. Especially with you, the girl he fawned over and practically stalked at work until you made the first move.

Peter: “Shit, Miguel. That’s really messed up…Did you mean it?” He asked

Miguel: “No of course not! I didn’t mean any of it, I was just frustrated. I’m not the bad guy for prioritizing my duties! She just wasn’t listening Peter, she wasn’t understanding any of what I was saying or where I was coming from. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Peter: “So why did you say it?!” Peter exclaimed

Miguel: “I DONT KNOW!”, He slouched over in his chair and cradled his head in his hands, his own words made him sick to his stomach. How he urged to tell you how guilty he was for what he said, for never being there, for making you feel like you didn’t mean anything, “I just wanted her to be quiet, everything she was saying was right but it made me feel guilty and awful. I wanted to make her feel worse than I felt. God I’m so fucking dumb…”

Peter: “You know I’m not good with this, it wasn’t long ago that I was a sad piece of shit too with a partner at home who basically couldn’t stand me. That being said, I also know that when it feels like nothing you say can make up for everything you said, and you said A LOT, maybe too much. I would never say something like that, that was insane…”

Miguel: “Peter…” he said through gritted teeth

Peter: “Sorry sorry, that being said when it feels like there’s nothing you can say that could make up for everything you said, a simple apology means more than you think it does. A real apology Miguel.” Peter looked at him, he didn’t need words to know that Peter was basically tell him to finally get his shit together.

Miguel: “What if she doesn’t accept it?”

Peter: “She will if you mean it…”

Passing buildings were a blur to Miguel, he was racing home so fast he couldn’t even focus on anything around him. While he swung from structure to structure he planned out every single thing he’d say to you, how he’s sorry for failing you in this relationship and he’d change for the both of you. He even tried to remember if there was still cinnamon in the spice cabinet so he could make you your favorite comfort drink, champurrado.

Miguel soon landed on the fire escape outside your apartment, you made a habit of leaving the curtains open for him so he could see if you were up or not and now it was an involuntary part of your routine. He peeked inside and saw you sleeping peacefully on your bed, hoping to come join you he tried to open the window but it wasn’t budging.

‘Had you locked it on purpose?’ He thought to himself, no you couldn’t have, you always left in unlocked for him. But when he saw the book you had used to block the window from being moved he panicked. Miguel knocked on your window, frantic and desperate

Miguel: “Y/N! Y/N! Unlock the window!” He pleaded. His knocking stirred you out of your sleep and you sat up in your bed, your puffy eyes on full display. When you finally looked over at him you were emotionless just as he was to you, it terrified him seeing you look at him with no longing or affection

Miguel: “Let me in…please cariño”, he begged

You were so tired, you were so tired of wondering why your boyfriend left you to question his love for you and now after tonight you know why. You stood face to face with him, the window still a barrier between you and him. It ate away at you but you couldn’t stand another night asking yourself why you weren’t getting the love you deserved. You had your answer and you didn’t need Miguel around anymore, not if you were going to be another substitute for what was missing.

Miguel: “Y/N…Y/N please wait!—

You closed the curtain in his face and went back to bed but it didn’t stop his knocking and pleading, begging for you to let him in and mend what he broke. It continued for an hour until you were convinced he eventually gave up and left. Him being gone finally gave you a chance to break down once again into your sheets, but Miguel sat on the fire escape listening to every choked out sob and hiccup you let out. Every painful cry the he caused you and now he wondered if he’d ever be able to fix it.

[oceanic316]

A very short analysis of all* the dads and daddy issues on lost

*Considering every character that was a main character

Daniel

Charles widmore- complete sociopath in many ways, only met Daniel when he was an adult to manipulate him into going to the island on which he would be killed by his mother which Charles witnessed

Boone

Split up with his mother at some point, was clearly left with a nanny frequently enough to kill her, definitely has unresolved issues with his dead stepfather as he fell in love with the stepsister

Miles,

Very obvious dad issues from being raised without him present. Did get to meet him but he was a bit of a dick tbh. I guess he did love him but too little too late

Michael

Little known about his dad but only his mum was looking after Walt off island. His role as a dad could be interpreted as daddy issues

Ana Lucia

Deffo has mommy issues but the lack of clear father figure points to possible daddy issues as does her time with Christian

Charlotte

Goes to shithole island to try to discover her father who was never there. Clearly has daddy issues regardless of her fathers (unknown) quality.

Frank

Has issues but there’s every chance they are NOT daddy issues. Good for him

Shannon

He’s dead and his widow is a terrible stepmother. Daddy issues up to here-may have contributed to her sleeping with her brother

Desmond

He had to raise his siblings so this points again to an absent (at the very least emotionally) father. Daddy issues

Eko

Had to raise his brother suggesting a largely absent father who wasn’t around much

Kate

Blew up her real father due to his general terribleness, her stepfather was in the army so probably has issues over him not being around all that much even though he seems like an alright guy

Jack

Jacks daddy issues regarding Christian are basically a main plot point of the show and even made it into the finale. Points to Christian for feeding into a lot of the characters daddy issues

Sawyer

Dear Mr Sawyer… probably the nastiest daddy issues, doesn’t really get much worse than murder suicide with your kid under the bed. All of sawyers bad bits are due to his daddy issues. Also has daddy issue ties to Christian and Anthony

Locke

Attempted murder was a pretty bad look from Anthony as was the kidney theft. Anthony traveled across the world giving kids daddy issues left right and centre, despite only Locke being shown as his biological kid

Ben

Skeletor was not a great dad and is a key reason captain bunny killer is so messed up. Also bens habit of adopting children (Ethan, Alex) is likely linked to his own crappy upbringing

Sayid

His dad the war hero gave him some toxic masculinity problems, sayid not killing a chicken is our only main clue but it was pretty dark

Libby

Like everything involving Libby’s past, her parents are a big mystery. She does have dead husband issues?

Sun

Mr Paik for sure messed Sun up. His treatment of Jin and his general murdery tendency affected sun not only as a child but also screwed up her marriage

Jin

Jins dad is the nicest guy on the list, but jin had intense daddy issues due to his shame and being raised by a single father.

Claire

Christian really putting it out of the park here! Being the result of an affair involving an American doctor cannot have been fun and his absence in her life probably didn’t help with her wanting to give Aaron up. Also may have contributed to her not trusting Charlie that much

Hurley

David Reyes is an asshole, but he’s a pretty run of the mill, leave my family and don’t come back til there’s money, but he made the most effort to fix things. Hugo has big daddy issues tho

Juliet

Pretty standard daddy issues but her parents divorce clearly stayed with her and led her into some pretty unhealthy relationships later on in life

Charlie

Charlie’s dad seems like quite a nice guy if I’m honest but his older brother messed him up enough I’m happy to say Charlie has something very close emotionally to daddy issues

Richard

Too much of an enigma for a strong analysis but imma go out on a limb and say yes

Bernard

I don’t think so?

Rose

She seems pretty well adjusted so I think no

Vincent

Everyone on the island has been his dad at some point- probably missed Walt his original dad a lot

[maryannecrimsworth]

part 3?

Here, I don't know if you're done yet. But I was thinking that it would be cool to show the people of Jericho worried about the reader, and even showing flashbacks of the reader helping them or just being kind, either with an old man who was naturally grumpy or with a cheerleader with performance concern, or with a student who was bullied by some of the boys on the football team and the reader helped him and the boys who bullied him by taking it out on someone with pressure at home or part-time work or his position on the team being threatened. .. I think it's an interesting world building to show others besides the reader's father, it could also have Eugene, Ajax and Enid upset with the disappearance of normie who was nice and extremely genuine with them. As Wednesday seeks out and wins the reader back to Addams Mansion. Wednesday more obsessed with getting her man back and how the family is doing after they were lied to. I really liked the three sides of the reader could have more of that. You're terrified of Yandere and I found out I love yandere wednesday addams it makes me scared and horny at the same time

Part 1 / Part 2

Pairing: Yandere! Wednesday Addams x Football player! Normie! Reader

Warnings: graphic violence; Stockholm Syndrom?; toxic relationship; violence, beware!

Cerberus and Discordia

There was something inside of you. Something you've never quite recognized.

Something dark and dominant, oppressing — as an impulse, a glimpse of thought during one of your plays, an urge you repressed before doing what you had to. A whisper in the back of your mind — only that: a whisper.

Now it was a scream.

"You're just like me" She said, and her words echoed in your mind as you walked more and more, each step further away from her. "You're an abominator."

Your muscles trembled with the memory: your body, somehow, missed it, it felt the absence of her touch and chains. You blamed time at first — it was your routine, your body naturally became used to it.

So you walked and walked, slept and hid until your body could forget it all. Until your ribs stopped showing and the bruises left your skin. Until the city you now lived was somewhere lost and distant — impossible to find. No one sane would live here, and no one sane would look for you there.

Truth be told, now no one would ever look for you.

Your coffin was empty, Wednesday was right: Jericho left you. It was easier to give you up than to investigate your missing. It was easier to cry and mourn over you than explore heaven and hell after you. 

No matter how crowded your funeral was, — the whole city was there — still, none of them would go after you. The police did, for a while. The same police officers who said bears were killing campers in the woods, and who allowed Laurel Gates to come back and to almost destroy Nevermore. They would never find you because they could not — only Wednesday could. She was smarter, better than them all — a ruler, like you.

Some of the people who spoke at your funeral said they were expecting you to become the mayor some day. To bring peace and friendship between outcasts and normies. Because you could; you were kind, helpful and thoughtful — that's why the ceremony was so full and long, that's why there were so many students, from Nevermore and Jericho High, in it. 

But it was a farce. It wasn't enough.

No matter how much they spoke, cried and mourned you, they accepted your absence. The boy who helped them constantly, who gave her blood, sweat and tears for the city and its team — the boy who the town adored, and yet, forgot so easily.

Your gravestone was surrounded with flowers in the first week, but a month later, not even your father visited it anymore. He wanted to forget too. He was ready to leave you, your house and all your memories.

It was hard to figure out all of this without being caught, but Enid's blog helped. After a time, however, she stopped talking about you too. There were more interesting gossips and news than to remember the pretty boy who was now dead.

Maybe you really were — the part of you that worshiped Jericho, the part of you that helped and loved so many people. The part of you that helped jocks, cheerleaders and outcasts. The part of you that wanted to be prom king — it was dead. It no longer existed.

Now, your chest burned at the mere thought of it, and you regretted it all. All the time you've spent with idiots from your team and with mean cheerleaders — you worked so hard to help and understand them. And they forgot you.

Your kindness was useless, and now you were completely alone.

In a city no one knew, in a place no one would dare to step in, you lived your days with pain and bitterness. There was something missing inside of you — something dead and rotten within. Maybe it was the corpse of Y/N, the dead side of you that was forever left behind.

The healer, the kind, the leader. 

You hated yourself for it.

Now, you chose to be an artist, an outcast — a cook. It wasn’t hard for you to find a job; you just had to please and know the right people and now you were working on the best – and only – dinner in town.

The menu from the place was minuscule and the helpers could barely clean a plate decently, but you managed to improve your kitchen quickly. The customers remained the same, nothing could grow there, no matter how hard you tried, but at least you started to get some tips. The money soon was enough to take you away from the shittiest motel of the city, and you got a flat next to your job. You thought, naively, that this would bring you peace: not happiness, but contentment. Something different from dirty and shame — and, in some way, it did. 

It made you feel what you also thought only Wednesday could make. It made your stomach churn, it made your skin heat, it made your breath falter. It made you alive, it made you feel wrath and rage — it made you violent. 

It made you completely different from the boy of Jericho. It made you, finally, who you truly were.

And you didn’t notice that until the metallic taste of blood was pleasant in your lips.

x

The man above you was foaming with rage: his saliva spurted from his agitated breathing, and their fists dug into your face. Your body gave way for an instant, absorbing the repeated blows and ignoring the insults shouted in the empty alley.

Part of this was your fault: you could have ignored it. You could have smiled and joked. But that part of you was gone - today, you would never let an old, drunk man grope one of the waitresses in your restaurant, and you were never going to allow there to be a reason for a lawsuit.

This scene had already happened in Jericho: at your old job. It had happened with a waitress who worked and studied with you.

"Hey, sweetie" you heard the inebriated voice grow on the other side of the restaurant. A filthy, smelly man, who had grabbed the waitress on her way to the restroom. She, with her eyes still watering from her conversation with you, reacted in a reflex and hit the man in the face. The drunk jumped up from his chair, knocking the plates and cups off his table, and advanced on the teenage girl.

"You who-"

"Sir!" You came between them so abruptly that the man took a step back. "I think there has been a misunderstanding. You don't know my friend, sir." Your smile was stiff, cold, and wide: it mesmerized the drunk like the cheerleader's walk earlier did. "I'll bring you a dessert, sir, courtesy of the house, and we can forget about it." You stepped closer, and he stepped back: in moments, the man was forced to sit down again. "Enjoy your dinner."

You were bigger than he was. At the time, your athletic build and constant training made you a menacing figure to any asshole and predator. You were an upstander, physically and emotionally. The waitresses always came to you for help.

Today, they barely looked at you. Aside from the ringing of the bell and the number of the orders, their faces barely turned in your direction.

Today, after weeks with the Addams Family, and after weeks of running away from them, your body remained slender. Almost fragile. Your skin, now cleared of bruises, revealed thinner, tauter muscles that moved with a fearful, hostile quickness. Your eyes, still deep from sleepless nights - nights when you dreamed about her - spoiled the gentle, friendly look that the boy from Jericho once possessed.

But it was that same look, dark and intense, that spotted the wandering hands of the only customer of the night. It was late, almost dawn, and the twenty-four hour restaurant in town was as full as the city - that is, deserted. There was just you, the waitress, and the man who was shouting for bottle after bottle of beer.

You were leaning over the counter, certain that the drunk's empty stomach would incapacitate him faster, and that the restaurant would be empty soon. But the sound of shattering glass distorted the silence of the night, and your body contracted in a reflex.

Your fists clenched. Your back tensed. The burning in your chest pushed you forward, and the part of you that had been restraining you was now gone.

You didn't allow his hands to reach the waitress. You didn't allow any singing or complaining to be proclaimed - you grabbed the man by the shoulders and dragged him to the back exit of the restaurant. The waitress may have screamed in the hallway behind you, but you weren't sure - your ears were buzzing, and not even the man's grumbling was enough to make you stop.

You could feel only the blood, running fast and hot through your veins, and the sweaty, smelly skin of the man in your grip.

"Go away." You suddenly ordered, overcoming your impulse to squeeze his shoulders tighter and tighter, to twist his skin: your chest burned, but your hands moved away. You couldn't see him. You couldn't. To raise your face now, to face his smug smile and listen to his slurred speech, would make you lose control. You would lose your job. You would lose what was left of your past life - you would lose your kitchen.

You would kill the cook, the artist, the outcast.

And maybe it was this - your free and artistic side - that made you wait for him to hit you first. The punch, as crooked and weak as it was, knocked you down, and a few seconds passed before the wet weight of the drunken man covered you.

He raised his arms, slowly and heavily, and hit you in the face. He screamed and cursed, threatened and swore, roared and barked until your skin was painted red.

Crimson blood stained his knuckles, and colored your lips and nose like a blank canvas. The strokes increased, layer by layer, covering your face - until you reacted.

His body fell, lifeless, in the blink of an eye: you remembered standing up, and he falling down. Now his bloodied clothes were pooling on the floor, touching the tips of your shoes and warming the soles of your feet. You reacted, until the drunk and disgusting man did not react anymore.

He deserved it. You smiled. Your chest finally softened with a feeling of satisfaction. He deserved it.

The peace of the darkness and stillness of the alley, now with bloodstains all over its corners, relaxed your body after a rush of incomparable adrenaline. Your body warmed and trembled like never before: it wasn't like when you played with your team, it wasn't like when you felt Wednesday's hands, it wasn't like the energy you felt when you escaped.

It was greater, better - it was you. The repressed, violent, unknown part of you had finally broken through to the surface: your fists showed, and so did your true nature.

The one that Wednesday saw, and welcomed. The one no one else would ever appreciate.

The one that would now make you arrested.

The police and ambulance sirens reached your ears like an early morning ringer - like the alarm that had brought you out of your trance, out of your calmness.

Before, when you heard this sound, there was only one instinct: to run away. That's why your teammates called you in the middle of a party, that's why the cheerleaders called you from inside a bar; they needed to run away from the police and solve a problem, just like you needed to now.

But your instinct was not to run.

Your instinct, now unsuppressed by any other, created a smile on your face and made your legs bend. The adrenaline coursing through your veins didn't allow you to feel any pain, and you fought - you fought and won. Your wounds and fists showed that it was a fair duel. Now, however, with your pants wet with his blood and your laughter filling the silence of the alley, the scene the police found was not of a fight.

It was of a massacre. A murder.

An abomination.

And the way the hands grabbed you and held you -- the cold metal rubbed against your skin for just an instant --made your instincts rise. The feeling of fervency before the coolness reappeared, and your body ignited in an energetic reaction.

You recognized each of the faces that were now trying to overpower you; they were very similar to the dead man at your feet. They too hissed and harassed, groped and threatened.

They deserved it too.

And they got what they deserved - and your smile returned. Blood now covered all your clothes and skin, and your hatred had brought justice to the most despicable city you could find to live in. To rectify. They deserved it. It deserved it.

And your footsteps created a trail of crimson red through the city, spilling and spreading the blood of all those who deserved so. It created a trail of violence, of bloody justice, and of peace.

One night, in only one night, and the houses of the city no longer had their doors locked and mothers no longer cried in dread. The waitress walked through the streets, for the first time, feeling safe.

You tried to do this in Jericho, by loving and helping those who threatened and screamed - and you failed. You were killed by those you devoted yourself to helping.

This time, however, your success was as firm and palpable as the calluses on your fists, and the darkness around you surrounded you like home. It was your home.

But it was an empty home.

After a week, the dirt and blackness had already become a part of you - your clothes and skin, still covered, alarmed and cleaned the city. Your smile was constant, as was the simmering in your chest, but you still felt that: the emptiness.

Like a darkness, a hollow happiness. As if an abomination like you created fear, and not safety - as if you were a monster. The people of the town looked at you with dread, no matter how much you had helped them and got rid of all their problems. You served them, you bled for them, and they hated you - you knew as soon as you tried to enter the restaurant again and they shoved you out.

Then the impulse came again. The smile broke. You wanted to raise your fists and show what you had done for them - show why they should love you, thank you. But it was useless. You knew before you even tried: there was only one person who would touch you even if you were covered in blood. Even dirty and wounded by all those you hated.

You marched back the way you had once used to escape: your steps were as steady and fast as the day of your fleeing, your certainty was as great as the fear you had once felt. The sweat from your body now moistened again the dried blood covering your skin, your face shone with wetness and redness. Your gasping breath reached the doorway before you could hear what was behind it. You didn't knock, you burst through the door, running inside the house like a predator after its prey.

Morticia and Gomez gasped and yelled at the sight of you: first in fear, then in praise. Your smile, unperceived by yourself, returned slowly, and you paced across the kitchen, past Gradmama until you found. Until you found her.

Wednesday was at the edge of the garden, with a shovel firmly handled by her dirty, quick hands; she was burying something. Later you would find out what it was - a victim of the girl, who stood in the way between her and you - now, you could just run to her.

Your loud steps didn't alert her fast enough: your body hit hers hard, and you both fell into the hole she was digging. Your arms wrapped around her in a reflex, and Wednesday pressed herself against your chest in a violent, almost bestial thrust.

"Mi Cerberus."

"Mi Discordia." you sobbed. "I must tell you."

"You left me."

"You found me." You held her face immediately, violently, as her fists sank into your chest. "I am like you."

Wednesday's eyes fell to your figure: her pale face felt the heat and blood on your hands, her cold gaze followed the strength and brutality of your features. She saw, not just the leader, not just the cook, but the vigilante. The guardian of hell. Her Cerberus.

"You came from hell after me."

"It was empty without you." You kissed her brutally: an urge you could no longer control. "Come with me. Be with me."

Her fingers stroked across your skin, the blood on her hands now mingling with the blood on your chest. She forced you against the soil, her body now covering and glued to yours.

"You're mine." She whispered, gaze locked on your lips as hers moved slowly, expectantly, only an inch away.

You grabbed her neck and pulled her closer - the closer you two could be.

"I'm yours."

@lucasm8 @izumikokomi @carlosgrimhildedevil101 @sadcat5544 @lukam8

[gurugirl]

Hi, uh. This is the first time I am doing this, yk opening up to someone… have few friends, cousins, family members to talk to, but they did find me guilty, foolish even… I NEED someone to say what I did was for the right; got asked to get married… a guy proposed me. But said no. I know him since birth, since I know myself. His family is close to mine, we went to school together, camping, swimming, playing games together. Anyway, we began dating in like 2-3th grade, he was my first in every single thing. He helped me to be who i am now, adding me so much, shaping my personality for the better, blooming me into a young woman. I will always love him for that. But what we had at an early age was beginning to be not enough when we were like in high school, college. His love was a bandaid for my wounds, but I want it to be more, something I can count on, something I can confide in my entire life, something real enough to step into adulthood with. I wanted trust, more than this childish friendship-like relationship, the pure and innocent connection, joy, enthusiasm failed to align with the love adults have or a kind of love I was wanting. Am I making sense? It was like wearing this good old T-shirt, so comfortable, familiar enough that I know every single detail, little holes on it but outdated… unupdated… not enough to be enough with. Not strong enough to continue in. We were slightly toxic, too. Couple years ago, when I was 100% sure that I don’t want to continue, don’t want him to be my endgame or forever rock I was giving hints, clues that I wanna break up or no marriage there is up on the hill, whatever he sorta had his mum and dad involved with… don’t wanna talk about that at all.

To say the least this relationship was ended years ago. Never cheated psychologically or emotionally, but for me his presence and absence felt like the same thing years ago and I was doing everything to avoid him… going to different colleges in different country, asking for the space and giving him to space just to have him not near me.

Two months ago he moved to my city, and we were closer than ever… but i felt suffocated. Everything I was already figuring out was just getting cleared and clearer. Everything I felt was just the same feelings I have had for years. Nothing has changed. He was again a good guy, but not the one I was seeing myself with, becoming more of a friend and nothing more.

Anyway I just said no… came home. Talked n texted few ppl but i feel so lost. Not because of what happened or what i did or what i felt for years, but still lost. I know myself for sure that I did the best… do i?

Hi hon. I think at the end of the day you just don't have those kinds of feelings for this man and that's okay. It's fine to go through childhood and having certain comfortable feelings with them but as you grow up you start to see you want more and he just wasn't doing it for you.

You did the right thing in saying no to someone you simply don't want to marry. It's sad you might have lost a friend in this but honestly you don't want to marry someone you don't love or don't find that passion with. Don't sell yourself short!

It's not fair that your family and friends are trying to make you feel bad about this. Right now you deserve support to move on and not be made to feel like a bad person for not wanting to marry someone you simply don't love romantically.

I wish you all the best my love! You did the right thing - just remember that. Marrying him would have eventually made you feel miserable and even more suffocated. Good job standing your ground.

xoxo

[kradogsrats]

tumblr user @raayllum is a HUGE enabler so here's some "Harrow and Viren are married and raise Ezran as their son" AU garbage

After Ezran is a year or two old, Sarai returns to her full-time military career (which was put on hold after Callum's father died). Callum is raised alongside Ezran, but is always hyper-aware of their difference in status, which makes their relationship a bit less close than in canon.

"Your highness." "Callum, you know you can call me 'Ezran,' or even 'Ez.' We're brothers." "Half-brothers, and you're the prince."

Viren does intend to teach Ezran magic, but Ezran ultimately refuses to learn (to varying degrees, depending on whether it's ultimately important that he NOT be susceptible to Aaravos's control). He also doesn't believe Ezran's explanation of his ability to understand animals, and is hurt and resentful of what he perceives as personal rejection. Harrow has to intervene and it's a big point of contention in their relationship.

Viren also has a deeply toxic rivalry with Sarai because, being hyper-aware of status dynamics, he's insecure about not being Ezran's "real" father and that tends to manifest as him being extremely possessive of Ezran and trying to drive a wedge between him and Sarai. Sarai, for her part, is very protective of Callum in that she trusts Harrow to ensure he's taken care of in her absence, and... tolerates Viren, at best. (She definitely looks at the royal portrait of him like "I've had enough of this dude".)

This is important because it's Callum who Viren winds up training in magic, because Ezran refuses but Callum is open to it. Ezran went through a phase before he began outright refusing lessons where he demanded Callum be present for them, so Callum learned enough to be interested and also demonstrate that he's potentially very good at it. He may not be a prodigy like Claudia, but he's desperate for something to be good and useful at, which is both deeply resonant with and exploitable by Viren.

Since Soren never exists, Kpp'Ar doesn't have his major falling out with Viren. @raayllum wants him to be around as a grandfather-like figure to Callum, which I acknowledge would be awesome. However, I am a bad person and want him to stop Viren from riding out after Neha and Annika during the Titan Heart expedition like "your son needs you, mine no longer does" and go himself.

On the geopolitical front, a mage king in the human kingdoms is a big red flag for Xadia. Without Sarai (and Sarai's early death) as a moderating influence on Harrow, tensions continue to escalate on both sides, to the point of actual dragon attacks on Katolian border outposts and settlements.

Sarai is killed(?) during one of these escalating skirmishes. (I say ? because it would be kind of fun for Callum to have Rayla's "my dead parent is alive" arc.)

Out of both genuine feeling for Callum and also knowing a golden opportunity, Viren convinces Callum to provide the blood and hatred that will kill Thunder. (The spell here would have to be tweaked a bit, since Sarai's last breath is not available, but I don't think that's insurmountable.)

Killing Thunder at a point where open warfare is basically already beginning is less out there than randomly showing up to do so in peacetime, but it does kind of complicate stealing the egg. The problem here is that either the egg still needs to be stolen, or there needs to be something else that convinces Rayla to not go through with the assassination mission. Coming up with a way for the egg to still be stolen is probably the easier option, but I'd try reeeeally hard for some other Rayla pivot point just because it would be a lot of fun to have her character dynamic also changed by the fact that her parents are still alive and not disgraced. Maybe something to do with Ezran's abilities?

Either way, Zubeia's reaction is basically "This was Avizandum's war, not mine. Fighting it won't bring him back. Cut off the head of Katolis and end it." She gives the order to assassinate the entire royal family--the blood king, the dark mage, and the heir. Series plot kickoff ensues. (OR maybe the directive is to kill the kings and capture/kidnap the heir, since that uncertainty would be even more crippling to the kingdom than a decisive end to the royal line.)

Who goes after the prince(s) and egg if Soren and Claudia don't exist? Well, I think it would be fun for novice dark mage Callum to have to face off against one of his teacher's powerful spells, and for Rayla to have to fight her lost comrades, so--shadow assassins.

Where's Aaravos? Shhhhhhhh. I want him to get to Callum first.

[pochapal]

I feel like someone/I should of asked this sooner, but: Any guesses/thoughts based off Kyrie, Rudolf, and Battler towards Ange’s… everything? You knew who they are but in case you forget: Kyrie & Rudolf’s daughter. Rudolf’s second kid.

i forgot ange existed 💀💀💀

anyway reviewing my liveblog notes i do find it very interesting that there are two absent female figures at the very top and very bottom of the ushiromiya totem pole (grandma ushiromiya, ange). like... that feels like a very deliberate choice. i think my answer will be similar for both individuals: they are symbols standing in for some specific theme/mystery that isn't fully clear yet. what i will say is that grandma and ange are not in the story and are both mentioned as much as the other, but neither haunts the narrative in the way that beatrice does.

my best guess is that like how grandma ushiromiya possibly represents a diminished and killed sense of female empowerment and agency within the ushiromiya household, ange represents something to do with family unit construction. perhaps also in conjunction with maria's absent father? you have ange the beloved absence, maria's father the hated absence (presumably), and grandma ushiromiya the ambivalent absence. not sure. i'm spitballing a lot over here.

the only fact we get about ange is that she's a baby and she gets sick around the time of the family conference - specifically, she gets a vomiting bug. there's a lot of very easily symbolism to read into that; as the most Innocent member of the family, the Ushromiya Essence poisons baby ange to the point where it makes her ill as a manifestation of what this family is doing to all its members. the vomiting part is maybe in a purging/purification sense? ie that ange is expelling the ushiromiya poison and is also guaranteed to survive the weekend of the conference thanks to the fact she's not there. perhaps in the wake of this all this means ange is fated to escape the cycle of abuse and cruelty or something like that? not sure since i think ange's role in the text is limited to her as a conceptual stand in for the union between rudolf and kyrie than anything else.

perhaps if we're thinking about the family unit there's something to the fact that in 1986 the child that is authentically rudolf and kyrie's is absent but battler, the specter of a previous relationship and one who has rejected the ushiromiya family, is there in her place. like obviously we need a battler-like figure as a basic narrative device in order to tell the story of umineko in the first place but he also exists as a potential point of contention between rudolf and kyrie. from what we saw kyrie was cordial and fond of battler even if their relationship was little more than a casual friendship but i wonder how that would have held if the killings hadn't happened and battler re-entered the ushiromiya fold and kyrie was forced to witness rudolf's kid from the last marriage walk in and not only be loved more than her child, but also possess more power in the hierarchy than kyrie herself does. hard to tell because none of this came to pass and kyrie was never overtly part of those toxic powerplays in the way that, say, eva was.

ange might have something to do with that secret rudolf was going to share with battler and kyrie but never got the chance to before he was killed, but at this point in the story nobody who would meaningfully care about ange is even still alive unless something new is revealed on that front. grandma ushiromiya might have something to do with the epitaph but i'm not sure where ange would fit into that. it's a little perplexing trying to figure that one out with the information i have!

idk i think ange's Everything is that she's a baby who managed to escape the horrors and who might be the key to understanding some kind of as-yet-unseen riddle/mystery to do with rokkenjima or the ushiromiya family that rudolf was clued in on. i'm really not too sure!