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sorcerersseestars · 10 months

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synopsis: Gojo blames you for the first-years' disaster that the higher-ups caused.

pairing: Gojo Satoru x gn! reader

genre: hurt/comfort, angst to fluff

warnings: mention of death/a corpse, yelling, heavy feelings of self-blame, stuttering (it makes sense here tho I promise), emotionally constipated Gojo, mention of not eating for an extended period of time/being hungry (due to the situation), manga spoilers!! (star plasma vessel arc), indirect confessions

word count: 5.2k

notes: There are some slightly non-canon details. I’m pretty sure that Nanami and Yuji don’t know each other at this point, but let’s pretend they do. Also, I’m insinuating a more seasoned bond between Gojo and Yuji/reader and Yuji - let’s also pretend that they’ve been teaching Yuji for longer at this point, for more angst potential. :) LAST THING - you used to be a very mediocre child/adolescent actor in a few small/bad films. Only relevant for one detail.

Also, Gojo may be a bit ooc here - possibly overdramatic in his wordings - but I really wanted to write a Gojo that loses control of his emotions, since I think it'd be difficult to elicit such a reaction from him. I hope it suits him okay!!

GOJO HAS ALWAYS had a soft spot for you. In high school, he would regularly volunteer himself to take your blame, even though you never asked him to do it and would practically begged him not to. But, he was frustratingly persistent and would do it despite your many protests. If you ever cheated on an assignment, Gojo would claim he copied yours. If you fumbled during a mission, Gojo would lie in the report. If you both snuck out and got caught, Gojo would say he dragged you out with force. Whenever you would have an argument with someone, Gojo would comfort you afterwards, insisting the other person was in the wrong even when they obviously weren’t.

Although he has eventually ramped down this ridiculous treatment over the years, you will never forget this boyish idiosyncrasy from your younger days.

Today, however, it’s like those days never even existed. You don't recognize the person standing in front of you. You can’t blame him for his reaction – it's wholly natural – but it still jars you.

Today, you fucked up. You fucked up so badly that there's a very permanent, unchangeable consequence to your actions – or rather, your lack thereof. The consequence of your stupidity, the result of your thoughtlessness, lies unmoving in this room. The body of Itadori Yuji, separated from reality only by the thin plastic covering of a body bag, rests on a table only feet from where you stand.

His mentor, one sworn to protecting his students, sworn to delaying his impending execution as much as possible, stands before you. His signature blindfold obscures his eyes, and you can only imagine the wild, swirling gaze you would be faced with in its absence.

Yuji’s mentor – your long time close friend, who has never blamed you in any great capacity for anything through the entirety of your friendship – now looks at you scathingly.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He spits, tone icy.

He's not looking at you as he rigidly hovers over the operating table, but you can feel the intensity of his emotions despite the distance. Words fall out of your brain, and you struggle to string together a cohesive thought.

“I-" You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “The higher-ups told me not to go with them, I don’t know wh–"

He barks out a harsh laugh, cutting off your pathetic excuse. His head is in his hands, fingers roughly carding through his disheveled hair. He pauses in his ministrations to face you: he is suddenly towering over you, broad frame filling even the corners of your vision.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He growls. “Did you stop to think for even a second? Why would they ever ask a teacher to stay behind?”

Tears begin to slide down you cheeks. You quickly wipe them away and will your building urge to break down to go away.

He sighs, his breath leaving him loudly and aggressively. “I don’t understand how this happened. You know how this works, (Y/N)! You know how the higher-ups are!”

“I’m sorry,” You choke out quietly, voice stretched and thin. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t bring him back, (Y/N)!” Gojo shouts.

Shoko and Ijichi are silent. Shoko is looking at the ground, her stony expression difficult to determine. Shoko, your friend who always sticks up for you no matter what, especially when dealing with Gojo. Shoko, who hasn’t spoken a single word to you since you arrived. For once, she agrees with him.

Your eyes land on the black body bag laying on the operating table, and you can’t hold it back any longer. Your legs weaken underneath you and you begin to shake. The sobs you’ve been suppressing rip out of your throat. Ugly, choking sobs.

Nobody moves to comfort you. If anything, Gojo’s scowl deepens, and Shoko turns away at your display of emotion.

“I know,” You sob. “I know it doesn’t. I know it's my fault.”

You take a few shaky breaths. “I didn’t know- I didn’t mean for it to happen- I- it’s my fault.”

He slides his blindfold down, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. You are about to blurt something else out, but before the words can leave your tongue, you catch his gaze and you’re immediately frozen. His boiling blue irises steal your breath and leave you rooted to the spot. Never in your life have you seen him this angry or even display this much emotion.

“If you keep standing there and crying, I think I’m going to kill something,” He says lowly.

“Gojo,” Shoko interjects in a warning tone.

Gojo bites back, “Why not? We all want the higher-ups gone. It’d be so easy. Shit like this wouldn’t happen anymore.”

Ijichi pales. Shoko roughly says, “Are you crazy?”

He doesn’t answer, and the determined look on his face isn’t necessarily comforting. It seems a storm is brewing – the most powerful sorcerer is being driven to a point.

You’re reaching a point, too – your breaking point. You feel like you can’t breathe. When you inhale, your lungs refuse to inflate past the shallowest of breaths. It’s all hitting you now, clear thoughts rising past the fog of adrenaline that overwhelmed your mind. The reality is that you fucked up, and it’s not fixable.

You fucked up, and there’s no going back in time to change your decision, to go against orders to stay with your students. There’s no way to bring Yuji back.

“Why are you still here?” Gojo says with an exasperated huff, addressing you directly. “Seeing you only adds to my anger.”

You say nothing, your mind occupied only with your regrets. He frowns and tries again.

"Unless you want to dive further into this preventable death," He says coldly. "Leave. There's still a job to be done.”

You barely hear his words. Your brain doesn’t have the energy to collect them, to interpret them, as it hyper-fixates on the horrible hole forming in your heart. Your eyes are wide, pupils enlarged, and you are visibly quivering.

“Didn’t you hear me? You need to leave!” Gojo growls, frustrated at your lack of reaction, believing it to be indifference.

“They must be in shock, Gojo,” Shoko murmurs. “They’re shutting down.”

Shoko’s diagnosis is indeed correct. You don’t hear a single word that comes out of their mouths; your shoulders and heart have grown heavy, leaden, from knowing the fate you led your students to. One deceased, two severely injured. All because of a risk you did not take, an order you did not disobey.

Yuji’s bright smile burns into the back of your eyes, a reminder of what you’ve lost, of the ultimate mistake.

One second, your eyes are on the black body bag, and the next second you can’t see anything, your vision blurred by tears and by speed. You’re running, you realize, legs pumping as fast as they can. Your lungs ache and your legs cramp up, but you can’t will yourself to stop. You can’t think. You can’t catch your breath.

When you inevitably collapse, you don’t know where you are or how much time has passed. It’s just a patch of grass damp with dew, a few maple trees dotting the banks of a small neighboring stream. You’re laying under one of these trees, your arms outstretched so your fingers can comb through the cool, wet blades of grass. You’re vaguely aware the the sun set at some point after you left. Maybe it’s been a hour, or a few more. You have no idea.

You want to scream, you want to cry, but you don’t. You can’t; it won’t come. When his grinning face and determined smile taunt you, reminding you of your sins, you can only screw your eyes shut, willing the torture to end.

Wetness finally runs down your face, and you taste salt. It is oddly comforting. Your hands repeatedly grab the gentle grass, numbing your mind until exhaustion eventually overtakes you.

There’s a buzzing filling your brain. You groan and roll over, reaching out to your bedside table to grab the offending object. You startle at the feeling of sharp gravel under your fingertips – it’s unpleasantly damp, as well, leaving muddy residue on your hands.

The buzzing starts again, and this time you clearly feel the vibrations through your leg. You sit up, scooting back until your back firmly hits the tree trunk behind you, and force your tired eyelids to part. You have to squint, as the sun has already risen and has crossed the sky a fair amount – it must be approaching noon already.

When the buzzing persists, you grumpily rip the phone out of your pocket. It’s not an alarm, as you had expected. In fact, you startle at the caller ID: Gojo Satoru.

You stare at your phone blankly, your brain buffering. You ultimately let it ring out, although your finger hovers over the answer button. Once the screen fades to your usual background, your throat goes dry. Missed calls from Shoko, Nanami, and Gojo fill your screen. You quickly skim the accompanying texts and wince.

Shoko <3: I know we’re all upset, but we shouldn’t have taken it out on you…just let me know you’re alright, okay? (10:43 pm)

‘Nanamin’: I heard what happened. It isn’t your fault, (Y/N), no matter what anyone says. Call me if you need anything. (6:26 am)

Satoru: Where are you? (11:34 pm)

Satoru: Pick up (11:59 pm)

Satoru: please (12:03 am)

Satoru: I fucked up. I need to talk to you, please let me (12:05 am)

Satoru: I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but let someone, anyone, know you’re alright… (7:12 am)

Satoru: Megumi just told me he tried to visit you but you still weren’t home. (Y/N), please…say anything…I need to know that you’re okay (11:17 am)

It all rushes back to you: your lethal mistake, the deserved reaction you received from your two best friends, how you shamefully ran away. Fuck. There’s no way you can face any of them, especially not Megumi.

You wish this never happened. Hot tears burn your cheeks again; your eyes flood with regret. Shame quickly floods through you, making you feel hot all over. How can you feel sorry for yourself when it was your fault in the first place?

You roughly wipe your face with your sleeve and stick your phone back into your pocket. There’s no way you can respond right now. It’s bound to die soon, anyway, so there’s no point in trying.

You don’t want to move from where you sit. You want to sink into the ground and stay there until the horrible feeling inside you goes away. But…

“What if it doesn’t?” You whisper those words out into the universe, a sinking feeling in your gut telling you the answer.

You want to cry more, allow yourself to shed more tears, but you don’t. You wobbly stand up, and are surprised at how weak you are. When was the last time you ate – yesterday morning, before the disastrous mission?

You have to go home. You can’t stay here, in the middle of nowhere, neglecting yourself. It’s a thought that rings in your head and won’t leave you alone until you decide to listen. Okay. You will go home. You can manage that.

It takes a while, but you find your way back to your apartment. Last night, you had apparently meandered into an expanse of empty land neighboring the school, as you pass by Jujutsu Tech on your way back. It is a bit off the beaten path – you doubt anyone has ever intentionally gone where you ended up last night.

During your journey home, you have to reference your Google Maps app a few times, but you somehow successfully get back home, despite your directional challenges and weakened state.

Until you step into your apartment, you don’t realize how cold you are. Your feet are numb from being cold and wet, your toes icy when you peel the damp socks off. You cringe at how unaware you have been at your body for the past 24 hours: your mental state ignored all physical needs.

Your stumble to your bedroom, aching body screaming for a rest. You relent easily, collapsing on your bed face first. You’re so grimy and covered in remnants of the dirt bed you laid in last night, evidence of your outside stay covering your clothing. Bits of twigs and leaves invite themselves into your sheets – you couldn’t care less right now, though. You don’t even think about it.

On instinct, you plug your dead phone in without even looking. There’s silence for a minute or two before it whirs back to life, the screen flashing at your tired eyes.

There’s another message waiting to be opened.

Megumi: Come back soon, sensei. He’s getting unsufferable

Megumi:…more than usual

A hoarse chuckle leaves your throat, the first laugh that’s left you since the whole incident. You sigh immediately after though, as you begin to wonder how Megumi has been dealing with everything. If you hadn’t run away, then…

Your head is in your hands again. No matter what path your thinking strays down, you keep returning to your immense guilt over what happened.

You wish you were mad at someone. You wish that you felt angry at Gojo, but you aren’t – you can’t be. In your eyes, he wasn’t wrong; how could you be mad at him when you agree?

You’re not mad, but there’s this other unpleasant feeling. It feels like one of Nobara’s nails has been lodged in your chest, and every time you think about his reaction, the nail twists a little deeper into your heart. He’s never yelled at you before. That hurt.

It’s understandable, but it still hurts.

Gojo…You don’t think you can face him yet, but he may come to you if your radio silence continues. Maybe you should just get it over with and call him. You can just tell him you’re alive and hang up. That should suffice.

Without thinking further on it, you grab your phone and dial his number. Within two rings, the line connects.

“Yo, (Y/N)! Long time no hear!” His chirpy voice booms through your speakers. He’s back to his usual self – overly casual and full of mirth. He sounds way too cheerful; it throws you off guard.

A sharp inhale leaves you as you’re about to tell him that you’re fine and to not worry, so that you can hang up and avoid him. But, nothing comes out. Everything you thought of saying flies out of your brain. You’re left wordless, mouth hanging open.

“You there? (Y/N)?”

You shake your head, coming to your senses.

“Yes,” The single word that leaves you is weak and breathy.

“You good? Are you home now?”

“Yeah. Home now. I’m alive, so no need to bother checking in on me,” You say thoughtlessly.

God, that was lame. You can’t help but cringe at what you just said. It’s what you intended to convey, yes, but that’s not how you wanted to say it.

“Just alive? Sounds real peppy over there!” He chuckles. “I was going to come over anyway, but you’ve really pushed it over the edge.”

“Ah,” You say somewhat panicked, searching for a way out of this. “There’s really no need. I just need rest so there’s no need. I’ll see you later, then.”

“You mean soon!” He chirps before you can hang up. You groan into your pillow; this is exactly what you had been trying to avoid. How are you even going to look at him?

You’ve just put your phone back on your nightstand when there’s sudden footsteps approaching your bedroom. Before you can think further, the door is flung upon and a familiar figure appears before you.

“Ultimate best friend Gojo Satoru has arrived! Everyone applaud!”

A series of small claps ensues, while you just stare on in silence and disgruntlement. A wide smile stretches across his face at your displeased expression.

“C’mon angel, not even a single clap? That’s cold.”

You roll your eyes, but only half-heartedly. The gesture is so pathetically slight that Gojo’s smile falls a fraction. You don’t have much emotional energy to expend on humoring him, it seems. Because of him.

It’s then that he fully takes in your appearance. Tear stained cheeks, dirt caking your clothes and body, scraps of organic material matted in your hair and clinging to all parts of you. There’s even smudges of dirt around your eyes where you’ve attempted to wipe away tears.

He questions your appearance, trying to appear lighthearted, “Was the forest calling you? You really didn’t sleep here?”

You immediately feel self-conscious of your appearance and cross your arms. You manage out a quiet, “Something like that.”

“No, seriously…where did you sleep?” He probes, this time lacking the lightheaded tone.

A weak, sheepish smile appears on your lips, “Ah…the ground? You were right, I guess.”

He blinks. You rub the back of your head and avoid eye contact, softly laughing an awkward little chuckle.

“Seriously?” He asks, but it lacks any judgment. He is truly just in disbelief.

You just nod.

“Hey, are you…are you sure you’re okay?”

You weren’t expecting that. You wish he would stay in his childish mindset – these real questions are worse.

You breathe out slowly, “I mean…yeah. I’m fine.”

It’s not a very convincing delivery, but it was the best you could manage. The corners of his lips turn down slightly, almost unnoticeably, but he doesn’t comment on your answer. He knows he should question you further, dig a little deeper, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he excuses himself, “I’ll be right back. Just stay put! I’ll know if you move, so you better not move an inch.”

He raises two fingers to his eyes, then directs them to you, clearly saying ‘I have my eyes on you!’

It’s amusing - he’s always amusing - but when you try to smile, your lips just flatline. You can’t tell if he notices, since he has already turned away and walked into the bathroom, but you hope he couldn’t tell.

When he returns, he’s holding a dampened washcloth.

“Bath time!” He says, shaking the cloth excitedly in front of you. You flinch a little as a few stray drops of water unexpectedly land on you, which he lightly laughs at.

And then he begins swiping away the dirt that has accumulated on your body. He starts with your face. He’s on his knees, one elbow resting on the space neighboring your right thigh, leaning in to have more control with the cloth. You close your eyes when his face comes within inches of yours - too close. Even when you feel as horrible as you do now, your heart won’t stop thumping quickly against your ribs, as if it cannot deny those deeply hidden feelings you harbor.

He hums while he works, gently dabbing all the places where you have visible dirt. It’s comforting, or at least it should be. You heart begins to clench tightly, and you so badly want a hole to appear in the ground to swallow you up.

“Gojo, why are you being so nice now?” You ask, voice small. “I don’t really deserve it. I’d…prefer the alternative. This feels wrong right now.”

He sets down the cloth, wincing at your pitiful words. Is that how you really feel?

He pauses. He’s not good at this sort of thing – acknowledging other people’s vulnerability, lowering his own walls to empathize with others, any of it. He hates it. He hates how emotionally he acted yesterday, he hates how it has affected you.

“No,” He sighs. He speaks slowly as he carefully chooses his words, “I…shouldn’t have acted like that yesterday. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Your bottom lip trembles, but you force yourself not to cry, “It’s okay. I don’t blame you for it. Everyone was thinking it.”

He tries to catch your eye, but your gaze is downcast. He ducks, lowering himself to the ground even more, to enter your field of vision.

“Hey,” He says softly. “Do you trust me?”

Your brow furrows; you don’t understand why he’s asking you that. You feel yourself nodding, though.

“Everything I said yesterday,” He starts, but then shakes his head at himself. “No, everything I yelled at you yesterday – it was misdirected. What happened wasn’t your fault. There was no way of knowing what was about to happen.”

“But now, it’s obvious,” You mumble. “I should have known.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty. You were following orders. The ones assigning the orders are at fault, not you.”

You grab your sheets with tight fists. You turn your head to the side, away from his invisible gaze, “Orders that were obviously suspect. It’s still my fault as an experienced sorcerer.”

Gojo’s chest constricts. You sound exactly like he did yesterday; the consequences of his actions echo back to him from your mouth.

“I promise it’s not,” He insists, but it falls on deaf ears. “I’ve made mistakes too. I’ve made mistakes, but you never treated me like I treated you yesterday.”

Gojo clenches his teeth. This is hard. He hates bringing up this side of the past, but he’ll do it for you.

“You never judged me for what happened during the Star Plasma Vessel mission. Even though you wanted to leave that night, and I ignored you, you never blamed me.”

“You were seventeen,” You say quietly, shakily. “We were all kids. That was over a decade ago.”

“But you knew how to make it better,” He says breathlessly. “And you never even once insinuated that it was my fault.”

You smile sadly at him, and your next words are sure and immediate, “Because it wasn’t.”

Gojo’s mouth hangs open for a second, still amazed at the understanding and kindness that so easily shine through you even in the darkest moments.

He reaches out for your hands, unsure, and squeezes them when he finds them. “Can I…can I start over ? From yesterday?”

You blink blankly, not completely understanding, but give a hesitant nod anyway.

He exhales deeply and lowers his head to your hands until his forehead brushes your fingertips. It’s completely unexpected, and you freeze upon contact. His head is bowed to you – embarrassment and confusion flood you.

You are relieved when he raises his head to speak.

“What happened with our students isn’t your fault,” He says quietly but with conviction. “It’s the work of the higher ups - it’s their fault, nobody else’s. I’m…”

He pauses. Words he never says need to come out.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that this happened while you were here and I was away, I’m sorry that I blamed you for things out of your control. This was never your fault.”

You are silent. You say nothing. You don’t move. Your expression stays blank.

He panics. He takes your silence as a sign of not being forgiven – which is not what he fears, in fact he doesn’t want to be forgiven. But he doesn’t want to lose you, and that’s exactly what he thinks has happened. Did he completely sever the bond spanning more than a decade?

“I understand if you can’t forgive me, but,” He swallows thickly, the anxious feeling rising. “But I hope this doesn’t…”

He tries again, “I hope our friendship…I hope you- I don’t want to lose you after all we-”

“Satoru – it’s not that,” You say quickly. “You haven’t, I promise. I have already forgiven you. I forgave you from the moment it started.”

You close your eyes, clenching them shut. You don’t want to cry again. “It’s just that…even if I’m not directly at fault, Yuji is still dead. Our student is dead. Despite anything that can be said of the situation, that fact will not change.”

He really shouldn’t tell you this. He needs to, but he shouldn’t.

“Do you trust me?” He says again, voice only a whisper. He’s even closer now, only inches away. A hand raises to ease his blindfold down so that it rests loosely around his neck.

Your eyes on his are so clear, and reveal so much – surprised by his bare gaze, confusion clear in your beautiful eyes he finally can see so clearly up close.

“Of course,” You whisper breathlessly. “Always have.”

“Close your eyes, and hold on,” He says. “Don’t want you getting lost again, angel.”

You know what that means. Teleportation. But where could he be taking you that is so important right now? Maybe somewhere he knows you like to calm you down?

You’re taken aback by the rush of air around you even though you’ve traveled like this many times.

The few uncomfortable moments in the strange vortex allow you to question where be could be possibly be taking you. Before you can decide on an answer, however, the roar in your ears subsides, and you are steadied by his grip around your shoulders. He's so close again, wisps of his soft hair tickling your neck. One of his large hands drops down to clutch yours. You’re ashamed about now nice it all feels in such a situation.

Then all that slips away and you're immediately on guard - there's another cursed presence nearby.

“Gojo-sensei, you’re back? That movie was kind of weird and bad, but I swear that one character was (L/N)-sensei. Do they have a twin or something?”

Your eyes pop open. Your hand falls out of Gojo’s as your grip completely goes slack. That voice…Youthful, full of energy and a kind innocence. It could only be...

Gojo responds ecstatically, dramatically, “Ah, but of course not! I have brought an honored guest! An old time Hollywood star whose home was the red carpet! The famed, the budding talent, (Y/N)-”

He’s cut off by a shriek. He blinks twice, and you’re already far from his side, rushing to the secret he has to keep - the secret he couldn’t possibly keep from you.

You crash into Yuji, binding him in a crushing hug. He's open mouthed and spluttering in surprise, but you don't have it in you to be embarrassed right now. You have no idea how, but he is standing before you, living and breathing. As seemingly endless tears pour down your face, you miss now the confusion on his face morphs into a look of grim understanding. He doesn't know what you went through, but he can guess.

And then you're laughing. Crying and laughing. Heaving breaths to accommodate your almost hysterical laughter, standing back to wipe away your tears before hugging Yuji again.

The sight of you hugging your student so tightly, healing with just this action, coaxes a half smile out of Gojo. Only half because he is in danger of faltering himself, bottom lip wavering as a wave of emotion flows over him.

The abandoned blindfold is clenched tightly in his hand as he tries to hold back the emotions welling in his brilliant eyes. He almost wants to put it back on to hide the emotions underneath, but he can’t, not when the whole reason he took it off was to see this with his own eyes.

No words are exchanged for a long while. They don't need to be, and even Gojo can see that.

By the time he is taking you home, your dynamic has shifted back to something more normal. It's raining, but you insist on walking back, citing the fact that his teleportation makes you horribly dizzy. (Or maybe, just maybe, you want a little more time with him. But you'd never admit that to yourself.)

The constant overhead drizzle is a bit annoying, but is bearable despite Gojo's claims of it tainting his very existence. He’s clearly back to his overdramatics - it's comforting.

The streets are dark, with only muted warm yellow lights lining the sidewalks, creating only vague halos of light due to the misty air. Gojo walks close to your side, an arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders. At some point through your chatting, it slips down to your waist. You don't notice it right away, but once you do, all you can do is wonder if he's done that before - if it's normal for friends.

You notice something else strange. His blindfold is still loosely hanging from his body, his baby blues on display. It's hard to look at him like this - you feel too exposed - even though you desperately want to get lost in his eyes. Yes, your deep affection for him still rings true, even if he yelled at you, even if he did expose your horrible, cringey child acting.

“I can’t believe you put on that movie!” You exclaim, miming exasperation.

Gojo chuckles, “Scolding me again, that’s a good sign. Even if it’s for an illogical reason – c’mon, ‘Painters in Paris’ is a classic!”

You can’t hold back your wide, devious smile, “I guess you would think that since you literally look like a fucking paint brush!”

His jaw drops, and he looks at you faux-offended as you practically double over in laughter.

“Angel! No, I really should be calling you devil! You- get over here!”

Although you run from him, he quickly catches up to you and you’re in his grasp. He immediately overwhelms you with vicious tickles.

“Gojo!! Satoru, you– stop that!” You say between bouts of laughter. You’re off balance, and his relentless attack isn’t helping. “Hey, stop, I’m gonna–!”

You stumble and begin to topple to the cold cement, but you’re scooped up before you meet your demise.

A small gasp escapes you at your proximity, and at his eyes so clearly looking deeply into yours, yearning burning through them. He's never looked at you like this - has he?

“Woah! That was close, huh, angel?” He smiles, tone nonchalant and voice steady. He seems unaffected by your closeness, but his eyes tell a different story. You don't know what to trust - him or his eyes. But they say that the eyes are the windows into the soul – what answer does that leave you with?

And what answer do you have? Right now, with his strong arms around you, those beautiful eyes glittering as if they hold a sea of stars, that sweet smile that never fails to give you butterflies, those lips you can’t help but glance at for too long–

You know.

Without thinking, you give in to your instinct to keep leaning in, and your lips meet his. It's not a passionate crash, but more of a gentle whisper to the soul. A soft brush to his lips, all the sweetness he brings to you returned.

Then, you pull away slowly, almost in confusion. Did you just do that?

You’re horrified. What did you just do without a single thought behind your action?

A gentle chuckle brings you out of your momentary horror.

“So what, you’re a paint brush kisser now?” He chuckles softly, his thumb gently brushing against your lower lip.

You take in his expression - flushed cheeks, a soft smile, eyes full of a softness you've never imagined they could have.

"Yes,” You agree, your mouth stretching widely from the excitement and happiness you can’t hold back, “ l proudly am.”

He pulls you closer and kisses you deeply, again and again and again until you're both out of breath. You both stay in that moment, feelings that lay hidden for years finally spilling out, until you're completely engulfed by the rain.

note part 2: I have a tendency to be over-detailed about boring/fluff details, so I tried to do that less here. First one shot in a while !! I hope the flow is still okay…I also couldn't decide how to do the ending, so l hope this works?

Also wow I can’t stop writing hurt/comfort and Gojo being an ass! I have another story drafted that’s also Gojo x reader and hurt/comfort as well…

Here’s a hint about that one: 🌸🩸

If you’re looking for more hurt/comfort, here’s my gojo hurt/comfort series: here (more action-y than this though)

Thanks for reading !! :)

#gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru is a little shit #jjk #ieiri shoko #gojo fanfic #yuji itadori #gojo satoru is emotionally constipated #gojo x reader #gender neutral mc #gojo satoru x you

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skzdarlings · 5 months

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part ix: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 11,700 words)

chapter warnings: the usual dynamics. child abuse history. reader in peril. violence and death. explicit sexual content.

(THE SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER! <3)

You move back into your father’s house after graduation. You are surrounded by all your old pains, your childhood and adolescence written into each familiar brick and tile. Your past overwhelms you at every turn. It is a fight to focus on your future.

But you are ready to fight.

The only question is how, especially when you are battling your own emotions in that house.

Your reprieves are small. You find some solace in routine and the distraction of your job. Your father gives you an internship at his company. The role is honestly superfluous, comprised of busy work and redundant tasks, but it is clear he is not ready for you to meddle in any real business affairs. You are not sure if that is because he does not trust you or because he does not trust his business people with you.

You still see Jeongin and Seungmin, less than you did but often enough. They are both pursuing higher degrees so when you meet them at that campus coffee shop, it feels like a moment back in time. But lingering on the past, even the good memories, is no greater help than lingering on the bad ones.

Because there is also Felix.

You return to silent, secret communication. He will make you feel flushed with just a glance, so much thought in his gaze that you feel it to the depths of you. It seems like he does not even need to touch you to make love to you.

But when he does touch you, it releases you from the prison of your house and your mind. You put your body in his hands for a few precious moments and he takes care of it. And in the long days in which he bears the dehumanizing commands of your father, wearing the identity of a non-person to never arouse suspicions otherwise, then he places his humanity in your hands for safe keeping. You give it back to him with your own glances and careful touches.

It takes so much effort to take care of each other, so the idea of active offense seems nearly impossible. Felix certainly thought it was impossible, the one time you asked, but that was years ago. Things have changed. You and Felix have changed.

You do not know what your father is holding over his head. You only know it is something, and you think it might be time to find out what.

You want to do this right. Felix does not have to carry his burdens alone anymore. You need him to truly understand that you want to protect him as much as he protects you. You know there is a part of him that still believes he does not deserve it.

All your plans are thrown into flux the day your father calls Felix into his office.

Usually when your father summons Felix, it is for routine updates. But this is a long meeting. It lasts at least two hours with the office door sealed shut. Your mind races with the possibility of what is being discussed.

You find yourself gravitating to that side of the house, anxiety worsening the longer that door stays shut. As the clock ticks, your nerves get the best of you. You wander closer, hoping you can hear from the corridor.

The guard at the door stares at you. His scrutinizing regard gets under your skin. Before you can stop yourself, you snap at him, “What? I’m just walking.”

“You don’t need to walk here,” he says and waves you off, dismissive as always.

A lot of the men in your father’s employ seem to get some perverted joy out of dismissing or punishing you. They have since you were a child. Their surveillant eyes played host in your nightmares for years. His smug countenance coupled with his threatening stance makes your blood boil in helpless frustration.

“Fuck you,” you say. You want to hurl it at him, but it spills out of your lips no stronger than a whimper. Your fists are balled at your side and your brain is screaming to walk away, but your body goes cold.

“Do not take a tone, bitch,” he says.

The unwarranted name-calling feels like a slap. It is him flaunting the obvious truth: your father has never taken your side and he never will. You are nothing but a problem that needs to be solved. You are still just a stupid, emotional child who needs a fist closed around her to keep her safe from the greatest danger in her life: herself.

“I said walk away, little girl,” the guard continues. “Your presence is not needed.”

“I’ll go where I want,” you say. “This is my house.”

“It’s your father’s house. Now walk away or I will escort you myself.”

“I dare you to try.”

You feel like you are outside of your body, watching this ridiculous scene unfold with no way to stop it.

He takes a menacing step forward and you stumble back. You bump into the wall and hit a small mirror, barely a nudge but enough to knock it off its hook.

It shatters at your feet. Yu step on a shard of glass and sharp pain lances through your foot. It feels like someone driving a knife straight through it. You scream, the sound ripped out of you in surprise.

The office door swings open and your father storms out. For a moment, he looks alarmed, eyes wide and brows high, but this only fuels his anger when he sees you are unharmed. Fury conquers fear in moments.

“Look!” you cry in protest. You lift your foot because you must have a massive shard of glass protruding from it.

Your father does not even look down. He marches into his office and shouts something that you are too disoriented to register. Your attention has narrowed to a pinprick of a point, centred entirely around the gash in your foot.

You only register what is happening when a familiar face enters your vision. Felix is in a black t-shirt and jeans, his hair in a short ponytail with not a strand out of place. Whatever transpired in that office was clearly not confrontational. He is completely fine.

His thick boots crunch over the glass. On your father’s order, he swoops you easily into his arms and carries you into the office.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you say. Your tears infuriate you. They are the result of physical pain but it is only exacerbating the hurricane inside you. “God, it hurts so much. How big is it—”

“A foot wound hurts more than usual cuts,” Felix says.

He puts you on the couch in your father’s office. You father is standing by his desk, drinking coffee and rolling his eyes. You want to shout at him, purely on instinct, but your coherency is shot when Felix pulls the glass out of your foot.

More tears fall, some in relief. Then you look down and see an impossibly tiny shard. You cannot believe how small it is. It truly felt like it went deeper, like it slashed right through your foot.

“Show me,” your father says.

Felix meets your gaze, his eyes apologetic. He lifts the glass for your father to see. Then another glass breaks when your father smashes his coffee mug in a fit of frustration.

“It really hurt!” you protest, feeling as pathetic as you sound.

“Ridiculous, dramatic child,” your father says. “Felix, close the door.”

Felix obeys. He cannot show any hesitation. He is the emotionless robot that your father wants.

Felix closes the door as commanded then stands against it. He folds his hands behind his back and stares ahead, not sparing you another glance. He looks every inch a waiting soldier. Someone who would sooner drive a knife through his own hand than disobey an order.

“You want to cry?” your father asks, as if you are not already hiccupping on half-aborted sobs. “Do you have any idea about the scale of work I have to accomplish this week? Do you think I play games behind these doors? For you to – to – to waltz around, acting like a child and throwing a tantrum over nothing—”

You must be dripping blood on the hardwood but he does not even care to look. He stalks to his desk where he sits.

“Felix,” your father says, his rage barely suffused in the address. He gestures to you and says no more.

You and Felix meet eyes. He conceals his alarm fairly well. You doubt anyone else would see fear and concern in the subtle crease of his brow. He makes it look contemplative, but you see it. You see him.

And you know he is making a mistake before he even says anything.

“Sir?”

Your father, who was looking at a file on his desk, lifts his head.

You and Felix have been in this office many times. He has watched your father beat you, and you have watched him take as many strikes on your behalf. Your father’s instructions are implicit in the environment, under the circumstances. He is asking Felix to deliver a beating on his behalf. Experience and common sense should be clarity enough for a soldier like Felix.

This confusion, feigned to buy himself a moment, is worthy of your father’s furious stare.

“What?” your father snaps.

Felix hesitates, then approaches.

That moment of hesitation is enough. You look at your father. Just like you can read Felix, you can read that man. You can see the calculation behind his eye. Everyone is a thing, a statistic, a number, something that be crunched and calculated, something that can be used and discarded if the calculations are unfavourable. Things are supposed to function according to his commanded algorithm.

Felix is not supposed to hesitate.

You were correct to assume your father would never suspect your affair based on romance. He does not see or recognize an exchange of true love. But he understands violence. He understands its absence. Felix could kiss you and your father would not notice, but Felix refusing to hit you is worth a second glance.

With very little time to think, you diffuse those suspicions before they take flight. When Felix is near, you do not hesitate to swipe at him. You land a mean smack on his cheek that sufficiently surprises him.

He meets your eyes. They are narrowed with righteous anger as you play the part you must. You know he sees the apology in them. You hope he sees the forgiveness.

Felix returns the smack. He does not hit you anywhere near as hard as he could – even your father would hit you harder – but it is still enough of a crack that your head turns on impact. You clutch your cheek and your whole body quivers, like it is confused by the alternating directions of pain.

“Don’t you dare touch me again,” you say, looking at Felix. “You stupid animal. I hate you.”

That you know he cannot misunderstand.

And so it is within that mute understanding you hand yourself over, as you have so often done. Felix does what he can to lighten the severity, just as he always does, but it still requires a few good hits so your father believes your weepy surrender.

You are very quiet after. You can hear your father’s pen scratching across a paper pad. He watched it all then went right back to work.

You remember when you chased the high of his attention just to linger in a pit of despondency for hours after. You do not feel that now. Pure, unadulterated rage flows through you, hot as fire and as all-consuming. You feel no other emotion in that moment.

You look at your father, unwavering.

“I despise you,” you say.

Then pen on the paper stops. For a moment, he seems struck. But then he crosses a line on the page and resumes his work, not once looking at you, your bruises, or your blood. Not acknowledging your anger, the one trait you inherited from him.

“You’ll see,” your father says, with a fair degree of poise and equanimity. Unbothered, like he is talking about ordinary things. You suppose he is. What could be more ordinary to this man than the ominous prophesizing of his self-inflicted horror? “One day,” he says. “When I am gone and you really see the world for what it is, you will understand why I did what I have done. You will be safe and you will thank me.”

I will kill you before I ever thank you, you think, and realize with a shiver you truly mean it.

“Felix, retrieve Domino,” your father says.

Domino is the guard posted at the door. When he enters, he gives you a cursory glance, his cheek dimpled, the amusement towards your situation scarcely concealed.

Your father’s money might afford him influence over this stock of men, but they are all in the business of profitable pain. Military men, ex-cops: they are a dirty and criminal ilk who are accustomed to holding authority in their own right. It is little wonder they never liked you and you never liked them.

“Sir,” Domino says, at attention.

“Take my daughter to her room and see to it she is tended. Then send someone to clean up this mess. I have work to finish here and I will not tolerate any further interruptions. None. Do you understand?”

“Sir,” is the reply, affirmative, with a sharp nod.

“Good. Felix. Sit.”

Your father gestures to the chair across his desk and Felix moves towards it. Unlike the perfect boy soldier who once sat in that chair, Felix kicks it because he is glancing back at you.

You meet his eye for a brief moment, then the world spins as Domino picks you up. It is a grappling yank, like you grab a thing, with no care for injury or a polite touch.

You are carried out of the office and back to your room. One of the crew’s medics patches your foot. You sit through it with a cold detachment, then your room is empty and you are alone, waiting in bed for Felix so you can ask what is happening and discuss what to do.

Felix never comes.

In your wildest imaginings of what transpired behind that door, a job is not what you anticipate. It is at once too strange and too mundane.

A job is not an operation; it is an errand, a sleight of hand conducted in the shadowed crevice of a greater business scheme. It is not unusual for your father to send his men out on these jobs. But in all the years Felix has been in his employ, he has never been sent out. His only occupation is to serve as your bodyguard, and he has proven time and again how he is irreplaceable in that position.

You do not know what makes this job different. You glean only a little information from the chatter of the crew, just enough that you know it is a stealth acquisition and a rare, unprovoked move against Miroh. Your father is known for his defensive tactics, seldom manoeuvring in offense, so you suppose the inclusion of his best solider on a risky venture makes sense. Felix is likely your father’s only guarantee.

But you cannot shake there is something else. Felix is more than just a soldier and Miroh is more than just a businessman. You know their past is tangled together.

You do not get a chance to ask. The next time you see Felix is through a window. You are in the upstairs corridor, staring down at the driveway as he climbs into a van with a few other agents. Then the van pulls away and it is just you in that house with your temporary replacement bodyguard team.

Even your father leaves, though you doubt he will be involved in the physical mission itself. You overhear him telling your security that he anticipates returning in a week. You count down the hours until then.

By the second day, you are sick with worry. Sitting around with your unanswered questions makes the time drag. Hours pass in dissociation, unmoving and anxious. You decide that waiting will only worsen your state. Although you are not keen to wander around town with your security entourage in tow, you cannot sit here either.

The team is made of three men including Domino. They are all as subtle as a scream with their bulk and demeanour, and every bit like all the others.

Though they will undoubtedly report even the most mundane actions, they acquiesce and take you into town. The campus café is one of your father’s approved locations.

You are not sure if you want to run into your friends. The distraction would be a welcome one, not to mention the balm that is a smile from a friendly face, but you also have no idea how you will explain the obvious security. You are exhausted with lies. You are not sure you could spin a convincing story even if you wanted, and you do not.

The café is always quiet before lunch. There are a few students scattered around so even though you feel ridiculous, no one pays you much attention.

One guard waits outside the door, one inside by a window, and Domino stays by your side as you order your drink and take a seat.

You forgot just how invasive and uncomfortable this dynamic was. If you were not so drained, you would be snapping at them just to relieve the tension drawn tight in your chest. Instead, you endure. Every breath feels more strained than the last. You cannot focus on your work any better here. The words on your screen are just meaningless letters and shapes.

You stare at your hands, at their faint, vibrating tremble.

Then you hear your name. The guards have been addressing you as girl, sometimes subject or the daughter when speaking to each other. The gentler murmur of your name momentarily stills the shaking of your fingers, steady as a hand grasping yours. You lift your head and see Jeongin, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder, his dark hair a shaggy mess, and his concerned eyes flitting between you and Domino.

“Hey,” Jeongin says with that dimpled smile. “What’s up?”

“Who is this?” Domino asks. Before you can answer, he turns to Jeongin and says, “Stand back. You do not have permission to stand here.”

“Oh my god,” you say, slapping a palm to your forehead.

You are flooded with childhood memories, idiots like this intimidating everyone who tried to speak to you for longer than a minute. Whether they took the form of a guardian or masqueraded as a janitor or something else, they always made everyone sufficiently uncomfortable. Even Jisung was often disturbed by them, though he drew the wrong conclusions about their identity. He was good with weird.

Jeongin must be made of a similar mettle. He gives your guard a pinched look, lip curled like he smells something bad, but he does not move. He looks at you with a tip of the head, concern once more creasing his features.

“Do you need help?” he asks.

The poor guy must be so confused. You look like you are being held hostage in a coffee shop by a stupidly inconspicuous thug.

All you can do is sigh and shake your head. “I’m fine, Jeongin,” you say, a very unconvincing lie. “I’ll catch you around, yeah?”

“Move along,” Domino says.

Jeongin looks at him. His glance flicks up and down. Then he says, “Your fly is down.”

Domino stares at him, unblinking, as if he can vaporize Jeongin with just a glare. Jeongin stares back.

“Really, Jeongin,” you say. A genuine breath of a laugh leaves your lips. Jeongin could not even throw a punch without smacking a chair, but he is willing to stick up for you. And his annoyance tactic is the funniest defense you can imagine.

Jeongin finally leaves, but with a glance over his shoulder. You fight the urge to throw something at the guards who watch him go.

“Who was that?” Domino asks.

“I don’t know his name,” you say. “He was just a classmate a long time ago.”

You hope that is enough to make him forgettable.

You act casual, taking a sip of your coffee. Then Domino looks down into his lap, quickly checking his fly. Your snorting laughter sprays coffee everywhere.

Fortunately, this does not impact the report. You are allowed to return to the same coffee shop the next day. This time both Seungmin and Jeongin are there, books open but blathering in distracted conversation. Another young guy is sitting with them, maybe a classmate, though he has no books with him. He is sprawled in a chair, holding a coffee and grinning at whatever the boys are saying.

He notices you first, probably because you are staring. He tips his head as he looks at you, black bangs falling across his forehead. He is noticeably stocky and broad, but he smiles behind the brim of his coffee cup and it is incredibly disarming.

He is handsome but the overt flirtation brings only pain. It makes you think of Felix. You barely slept last night, tossing and turning with anxiety. Your stress only worsened when you woke in an empty bed.

You are so fraught with anxiety, your whole body feels taut like a thread about to snap.

Something is going to happen, or maybe it already has. It is bad. You know it intuitively, the way you know which hand will strike when your father is in a mood, the way you know a black car on a quiet street is an enemy, the way you have always known this life is a death sentence, a slow execution by the brutality of weathering.

You look away from the stranger’s smile. Then Jeongin sees you and his laughter fades, concern and curiosity drawing his brows together. He nudges Seungmin who looks too, tipping his head with a questioning look.

You just shrug and take a seat at a different table. There is nothing else to do.

Domino sits with you, as bored with his duty as ever. You believe your whole team is annoyed with their job. Your father would not leave weak soldiers in charge of you, but he also had to take his very best with him. These men are probably too competent for menial work and are likely offended by their assignment. They are the worst of the best.

Which is how you steal a moment to talk to Seungmin. One guard outside, one at the window, and Domino at your table. He lets you leave to get some sugar for your coffee, watching with glazed-over indifference as you fuss at the counter.

Seungmin joins you, pretending he is also grabbing sugar.

“You’re keeping some weird company,” he says in a low voice. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Do you need help?”

You swallow an unexpected lump in your throat. Your friendship with Seungmin and Jeongin was only ever casual, so it is quite touching that the two civilians are so willing to defend you, even when standing at an obvious disadvantage against your thugs.

Your prepared lie gets tangled in that lump. You swallow it down. For a moment, your mouth is open with nothing to say. You both stir your coffee slowly. Eventually you take a breath.

“It’s complicated,” you say. “It’s just to do with my dad. Thank you, though.”

There is a beat of silence before he says, “We’re friends, okay? Just let us know if we can help.”

You have been trapped in solitude for days now. Seungmin provides the comforting reminder that your world is not all bad. Though he cannot do much to help, the sentiment in his simple offer is enough to temper the worst of your anxiety, at least for the time being.

“Thank you,” you say. “Really.” You spare a glance at Domino who is watching you intensely, just waiting for you to slip up and do something that warrants a reprimand or report. “I better get back,” you say. “Say hi to Jeongin, and say sorry from me for yesterday. You guys have fun with your friend.”

“Oh, we don’t know that guy. He just sat with us out of nowhere,” Seungmin says, laughing. “He says his name is Changbin. But he paid for our coffee so he can sit wherever he likes, haha.”

You smile at his playfulness. He smiles too, then he walks back to his table. Your eyes follow him and settle on the stranger – Changbin.

You want to keep smiling, want to imagine the stranger is just an awkward university kid making friends in a weird way. But Changbin is looking at you again, with the same intensity as Domino. Your eyes skirt his shoulders and biceps and his too-charming smile.

You want to chalk it up to paranoia, exacerbated by the extra stress of the last few days. But something is off about this stranger appearing here, suddenly, at a place you are known to frequent, the week your father is moving against Miroh, when Felix is gone and you are vulnerable. He is sitting with your friends, like he knows they are your friends, like he can trick you into trusting him by their proximity.

He is not like your father’s guards who are blatantly out of place. Changbin is so visible that he is invisible. Just a friendly college boy.

Just like Felix.

You are being ridiculous, you tell yourself. You cannot walk around assuming everyone is an enemy. But you cannot shake the feeling of wrongness, the awful premonition that something is going to happen.

You try to ignore Changbin as you drink your coffee but you are unsuccessful. Your hackles are raised and will not come down, made worse by the indifference of everyone around you. Domino is none the wiser. The other guards have not left their posts. Your friends are laughing with him like he is just some guy.

You ask yourself what Felix would do. You imagine he would not cause a scene or confront Changbin. He would quietly take your arm and usher you to safety, only fighting in retaliation if necessary. Part of his job has always been discretion, but he has never relished in violence anyway. It is always a last resort.

Your instincts have often propelled you into heated action until you freeze, always one extreme or the other. Now, you calm yourself and steady your shaking hands. You comfort yourself the way Felix would. You tell Domino you want to go home. He makes some agitated remark about you needing to make up your mind, that you only just arrived, but you do not rise to his bait. You close your laptop and pack your bag.

It takes one second. Changbin is sitting with your friends, then you look down. When you lift your head, he is gone. The boys think nothing of it. Your guards don’t notice. You want to scream but you know it won’t make a difference. These men won’t listen to you.

You leave with your guards. The large campus is practically a city unto itself, separated from the mainland by a stretch of woods. It is a scenic drive with a deer park in its centre, but all you see is rain ripping through branches and the shadows between each slash of grey daylight.

You are almost relieved when something thumps heavily onto the roof. But the relief that you were right is short-lived when all hell breaks loose.

You close your eyes, arms wrapped around yourself in the back seat. Glass shatters and the car skids to a rough stop, flying off the road and onto the forest terrain.

You open your eyes to the windshield in pieces, the driver frozen with his head thrown back. Domino and the other guard are out of their seats in seconds, making the same mistake as Miroh’s men all that time ago. You know how this fight will end.

You look through the broken windshield. Changbin flies into view and knocks Domino onto his knees. It takes one roundhouse kick for him to fall over, unconscious. The other guard tries to take a shot but Changbin disarms him with a couple sharp moves. You close your eyes when Changbin shoots.

He fights with the same fluidity as Felix. For a moment, you are back there, eighteen years old and frightened and relieved all at once. Except when the back door opens this time, you are not quick to rush out. It is not Felix waiting for you.

Changbin clears his throat and you slowly look over. He is wearing jeans and a leather jacket and does not look ruffled in the slightest. Dark hair falls over his forehead as he tips his head. He smiles, handsome and charming. As unassuming as Felix when his eyes crinkle up with delight and he laughs like he has never known pain. Like he was not raised for the purpose of violence, property of Miroh, of your father, of whoever else, acting as their hand because they won’t get their own fingers dirty.

Changbin gestures to you, curling his fingers, a mute come here.

“Hurry up,” he says. “Time to go.”

You imagine escaping out the other door, trying to make a run for it through the forest. You know you will not get far.

“Are you one of them?” you ask, impulsively. “Miroh’s?”

You already know the answer.

Changbin blinks at you, then laughs.

“It depends,” he says, then tuts like he thinks you are preciously naïve. “I personally think I’m one of a kind. But I guess we’ll find out. Now get out of the car.”

With little choice in the matter, you obey. Your legs wobble when you stand so you instinctively take the hand he offers.

You have not yet steadied yourself when he yanks you into his arms. Though Felix undoubtedly holds strength in his lithe form, he is more dexterous and athletic than outright powerful. He knows how to use his body to its best advantage. But Changbin is strong and he does not hide it, the bulge of his biceps crushing you in the hard, ungiving circle of his arms. Leather and muscle cage you in tightly, so unyielding that you cannot even squirm. Your heels dig at the ground as he hauls you away from the car. A belated scream claws its way up your throat but gets strangled in his chokehold.

Then you feel ice, so cold it burns. Your racing heart propels each freezing shard through your bloodstream.

You realize he stabbed you with a needle. It is a flickering thought, only momentarily realized, then you are plunged beneath the surface of that ice, drowned in black waters, and you think no more.

You are plunged into an oblivion so deep and so fast that you wake thinking no time passed at all.

You hear before you see. The patter of rain overhead is not unlike its tapping against the roof of the car. Groggy, you think you are still there, your arms wrapped around yourself while waiting for the worst.

Then your sense of smell creeps in, overwhelming you with damp and something metallic. A cool breeze pebbles your skin as it washes over you. It coaxes you out of your bleariness.

You blink awake, the blurry world taking gradual shape around you. It is not the world you left behind, no sign of a car or campus or coffee shop. It looks like an old warehouse or maybe a factory, but the room has been stripped to its bare bone essentials. The exposed pipes and rotting damp of the high walls account for the smell.

The breeze blows from your left where a garage door is open. You squint towards the grey light of the rainy day. You do not know how long you have been unconscious. It looks like early afternoon but your body tells you that you have been asleep for longer than a few minutes.

You try to gather your bearings. You see a harbour in the distance, past the pavement and the fence and what must be a drop to water below. Your university is not near any body of water. So you must have been unconscious long enough to transport this far. A few hours at least, but given the light maybe it has been a full day.

That is all you can deduce. You do not recognize the warehouse or the harbour.

You do recognize the man in front of you, though it takes a second. Changbin is no longer dressed like a civilian, wearing a black combat uniform and boots. His shirt covers his arms but fits like a second skin, his bulk emphasized. He is squatting on the ground a few feet from you. He holds a black mask in his hand, one that covers the lower half of his face when he swings it up. He lifts and lowers it a few times, absent-mindedly it seems. Then he realizes you are stirring and fastens it in place.

Your head is pounding. Your petulant side wants to bark a complaint, but even you know taunting this man would be beyond stupid. Changbin is not just any soldier. Miroh did not send one of his regular men. He clearly learned his lesson last time. Even without asking, you know Changbin is like Felix. He did not merely train as a soldier; he was born and moulded into it.

And, unlike Felix, he has had no reprieve from Miroh.

You come into your body, stretching your fingers. Your hands are cuffed behind your back and locked to your chair. One ankle is cuffed to the chair leg. Metal jingles as you move, testing your bonds.

You stop when Changbin approaches, your heart thumping as hot adrenaline melts the ice in your blood.

“Good morning,” Changbin says. “How did you sleep?”

Your body is still slow to respond, but you manage a decent glare. It makes him laugh.

“They told me you were funny,” he says. “That you make your father’s men look like a joke – not hard, to be fair.” He tips his head, looking at you like he is waiting. All you do is stare. “Come on,” he whines. “Say something funny.”

Your stomach turns over itself, not because Changbin is taunting you… but because you think he isn’t taunting you. He does not speak with the sarcastic intonation of your father’s men, dryly mocking your helplessness in his presence. His eyes are big and resolutely focussed, seeming to genuinely anticipate your retort. He is almost child-like with his attention.

This impression only solidifies when he sighs, morose, and crouches again.

“Do you want something?” he asks.

“Let me go?” you say.

It comes out rough but it makes him laugh behind the mask, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Aha, you are funny,” he says and slaps his knee. “Anything but that. But don’t worry your head.” You flinch from his touch, but all he does is pat your head like he is reassuring a frightened puppy. “This isn’t about you,” he says. “Well, not yet. Maybe later. First… Your father took something from us. And he won’t give it back.”

Changbin removes the mask so he can smile, one of those disarming smiles that is so at odds with the rest of him. Felix might switch demeanours depending on the circumstance, but Changbin flickers between faces from one breath to the next.

“We just need it back,” Changbin says. “Then, maybe, we’ll even the score. Maybe. Don’t worry about that yet. For now, you just need to sit. Are you thirsty?”

The distinct reverberation of gunfire comes from the front of the building. You shriek and duck your head, like that will do anything to protect you, gasping as you listen to bullets ricochet off the walls in some distant room.

When everything goes quiet, you lift your head. Your chest is heaving with each deep breath, your adrenaline bleeding out your pores so even the air around you feels like it is humming. You stare at Changbin who has not moved a muscle, still squatting and staring.

“I think we have lemonade,” he says. “You want that?”

You do not even know what to say. His sincere but stunted peculiarity reminds you so much of a teenage Felix even though Changbin looks older than both of you.

There is more gunfire. You duck your head and slam your eyes shut. Changbin does not move until it stops, his mouth open with another comment, but he silences himself when the far door opens. Then he is swift, on his feet with his mask secured. He stands at your side as he silently watches the approach of a small group of men.

You are still reeling from panic, so it takes you a second to realize what is happening.

“Felix!” the cry leaves your lips.

Five of Miroh’s men surround him, suited guards in various states of dishevelment, like they have been fighting for much longer than a few minutes. Felix is bound with his hands behind his back, a yellow bruise already forming on his chin. His own dark uniform is singed with bullet holes. His hair looks like it was slicked back, but he has sweat through some of the product, tendrils of blonde falling into his face.

Despite his state, his attention is all on you. Eyes assessing, scanning you from head to toe.

When you meet his gaze, the whole world falls away. These men, this place, none of it exists for a breath of a moment. Felix is here and that means you will survive. Everything will be fine. You have always kept each other alive. This time will be no different. You can see it in his eyes, in that oh-so subtle twinge of a smile. You can hear him without him moving his lips.

Hello, sweetheart. You’re safe.

They put him on his knees. His gaze flits to either side. You can see him calculating. Oh, he is here on purpose. He let himself be caught, you are certain, so he could find you and rescue you and—

“Target acquired,” a man says.

It takes you a moment to realize he is talking about Felix.

You look at the man then at Changbin, considering his earlier words.

Something your father took. Something they want back.

It hits you all at once. You have not been kidnapped as leverage against your father. You have been taken as bait for Felix. They don’t want you, they want him. An irreplaceable soldier your father stole from Miroh a decade ago, that he has paraded in front of him for years at galas and parties. Using him as a bodyguard for his wayward daughter and not as a soldier, not until now. Biding his time before using Felix against the house that made him.

You can see your father’s stupid machinations clicking into place. He is a perpetual child throwing a tantrum. His movements are sloppy and immature. He steals from his enemy, a weapon he does not know how to use, thinking it will keep him safe, letting it make him cocky. And now he is sitting somewhere as it all blows up in his face.

Or it would. In an ironic twist of fate, you are saving your father.

Because as far as Miroh knows, Felix is here as your bodyguard, acting on your father’s orders to retrieve you. All Miroh has to do is pluck him from the fray. And as a bonus, he has you in captivity for future leverage.

It would have been a good plan. It would have worked if Felix was an emotionless machine. If would have worked if Felix was here because of a command.

But Felix loves you.

He is here to save you.

In a quick move, Felix sweeps two men off their feet. He rolls on his back and propels himself to his feet, hands bound under him, leading with his core. He slams his head into an oncoming guard and the man stumbles back. Three out of five on the ground. Then suddenly one hand is free of the cuffs – he must have been picking at it the whole time - and he swings the dangling metal in another’s eye.

You flinch away from the violence, even while rooting for Felix. A few more thuds and you know all five men are incapacitated. You open your eyes and lift your head, watching Felix drop the handcuffs on the floor. He absently rubs his wrist, his gaze drifting from you to Changbin. His fingers freeze, his eyes narrowing as he perceives the stoic soldier at your side.

Felix stares, like he if he looks hard enough, he will see through the mask.

“You’re new,” Felix finally says.

Changbin rolls his eyes.

Changbin reels back and hurls a knife in a swift arc, right at Felix’s face. Felix is just as fast and catches the handle. He returns the throw. The knife clatters on the ground as Changbin surges forward.

These two are evenly matched. Watching them fight is terrifying and unpredictable. They dance around each other, delivering equal blows and blocking similar shots. In the end, Felix wins in one move miscalculated by his opponent. With an opening granted, Felix takes Changbin down. One, two, three hits to the head. Changbin stumbles backward, his mask falling. He is disoriented when he looks Felix, but Felix sees him with complete clarity.

You learned to read Felix a long time ago. You know all his expressions by heart, the crease of each smile memorized, the track of each tear committed to heart.

You have never seen this face, this mix of horror and bewilderment as a barely conscious Changbin slams onto the ground. Then it is Felix who missteps, tripping over his own feet as he reaches for the opponent he just threw down.

“Changbin,” he says. “You’re alive, I—”

Changbin swings at him but is too dizzy to land a hit. Felix catches the punch. He should throw one back, finish him off, but he hesitates. His brow furrows. He grabs Changbin by the neck of his shirt and yanks him close.

“Chris,” he says. “Chan. Chris. Where is he?”

Changbin laughs. It turns to choking when a dribble of blood gurgles past his mouth. He spits it at Felix then heaves a rough breath.

“Oh, fuck you, Yongbok,” he says. “’You’re new’ – didn’t even recognize me—”

“It—it’s been so long—and I thought you—”

“Yah, not all of us got to attend pretty parties these last years like you—”

“Stop it, you don’t know anything about what I’ve been doing—”

“Chris he says. First thing he says.” Changbin squirms but does not have the strength to rip away, especially with Felix gripping him so hard. He heaves another aggravated groan. “You know Chris died because of you. He’s been gone for years.”

“No,” Felix says, his voice pinched. His eyes rapidly water, his knuckles white from his death-grip.

Changbin shakes his head but slips further. Felix once more catches him when he should be ending him, sniffling hard as he gets on his knees.

“He’s not dead,” Felix says. “He can’t be dead—”

“Why don’t you ask your boss?”

As if on cue, your father’s men burst into the room. Felix looks at them in surprise even though he must have coordinated their arrival.

Changbin laughs. “I hope it was worth it, Yongbok,” he says. He uses one last burst of energy to throw himself forward, propelled away from Felix. He rolls across the ground then stumbles to his feet, running past the open garage door, into the rain, and disappearing around the corner.

Felix is too stunned to chase him. You look at Felix, on his knees and holding nothing, palms up like he expects something to appear in them. He closes his fists as your father’s men approach.

Then he slides his figurative mask in place, assuming his usual role. He kicks the literal mask discarded by Changbin, then finally looks at you.

“Get the car,” Felix says to the men. “And check the grounds for anything useful.”

The men disperse and Felix approaches you. He kneels at your side and picks at the lock of your handcuffs. You are crying before you can stop yourself, overwhelmed with everything that just transpired.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Felix whispers, looking at you with pain of his own. “It will be okay. Just a little longer.”

The handcuffs drop. He squeezes your hand in his.

“Just a little longer.”

You are several cities over, hours away from home and even further from the job your father was conducting against Miroh. Miroh was clearly trying to divert his enemy. He tried to steal Felix back while doing so.

Neither he or your father accounted for you, for Felix, for all the love between you.

You are in a small hotel room away from prying eyes and military men. You are scrubbing yourself clean in the bath and he sits on the rim of the tub, wiping your back with a cloth.

You checked in two hours ago. You spent most of that time blubbering incoherently, catching your breath even hours after freedom. You have not had a real conversation yet. Felix has been quiet, his eyes intermittently far away or so intensely focussed on you that it makes you hiccup with more tears.

You hiss when he presses his thumb to the mark on your neck, the little bite from the needle so carelessly plunged into your vein.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, smoothing with a gentle circle.

“This has been the worst week of my life,” you say. “And that’s saying something. Oh my god, and it’s only Wednesday.”

Felix laughs in spite of himself, though it is more of a breath than a sound. He drops the cloth in the water and you shiver as he caresses the bare skin of your back.

“I love you,” he says, like it is something he has always said, like it is easy to say. Like he could say it again and again.

The room feels so quiet. His voice is soft but it sounds like a shout, echoing back in this intimate space. Your breath catches. You go very still.

Then he says your name in a breathless murmur that is exhaled with more adoration than the word love itself.

“No games,” he says. “No jokes. No hidden meanings or secrets.”

“Felix,” you say. It is all you manage.

“I know,” he says weakly. “I know, sweetheart. You don’t have to say anything, I just…”

His hair is wet from a quick shower, combed back neatly, more composed than the rest of him. You look up as he runs his wet fingers through it. The bruise on his jaw is darkening, a burned gold that looks incredibly painful. He shed his outer layers, is wearing a black t-shirt and black pants. He has a silver army tag, or something like it, marked with your father’s name and not his own. It’s new. Something the field agents wear. Good as a collar.

You reach out and take hold, ripping it off his neck. He looks at it dangling from your fist, as surprised as you that it broke so fast.

Maybe it really is it that easy.

His hurt jaw wobbles. He touches the bruise and looks down, away from you, head bowed as if in supplication. Worshipful. Penitent.

“I’m sorry,” he says, lighter than a whisper. “I will tell you everything. I just want to be a person for you a little longer.”

“Felix,” you say, dropping the tag on the floor. You kneel in the bath and reach for him with your wet hands. He does not lift his head when a silent sob wracks his body. His shoulders shake when you touch him. “You have always been a person to me.”

“I know,” he says, voice breaking. “I know, sweetheart. I owe you so much—”

“You don’t owe me anything—”

“I owe you everything.”

He looks at you then, his dark eyes wet with tears, his expression serious. He breathes a shaky exhale then leans away, grabbing a towel.

“Come here,” he says, and stands.

Moments later, you are standing on the floor, wrapped in the towel in his arms. He bundles you tightly and you rest your head on his shoulder, safe and secure with his strong hold around you.

“I love you,” he says, his wet cheek pressed to yours. “Even if you hate me, even if you don’t, even if you can never say it back, I love you and all the life you have in you.”

“I’m a mess,” you say, trying to laugh, but it comes out weak.

“You’re alive. I don’t think anyone understands better than you, what it means to have a life,” he says. “The way your life fills you, the way you hold onto it no matter how many times someone tried to take it away.”

You are hiding your face in his neck, embarrassed and amorous and teary all at once. Then he lifts you up and turns around, perching you on the counter. You wriggle your arms free, tucking the towel beneath them. You steady your breathing as he picks up a cloth to wipe the smudged vestiges of make-up off your cheek.

“I remember the first time I saw you,” he says. “I’ve always been so scared. I hide it, yeah? But it’s there. Miroh, your father, everything about them… It was like living in a nightmare. They were bigger than life. They controlled dangerous people. I couldn’t imagine anyone standing up to them.” He smiles now, his thumb smoothing over your cheek. “Then you burst into the room and started a fight with one of them. I was shocked. I thought, is this girl crazy? What have I gotten into?”

“That girl was crazy,” you say, laughing.

He laughs too, but shakes his head. “She was the only sane one,” he says. “God. You had more passion in your little finger than I had ever felt in my whole body my whole life. And I thought… I will never feel that much emotion. I knew it was too late for me. I wasn’t living for myself and I was fine with that. I couldn’t be saved.” His eyes are teary again. He takes your hand and looks down at it. “You took my hand. Even in your anger, even in your everything, you saw something… You touched me once and it was like life rushed into me. And I hated myself everyday after that because I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t what you needed. I could take your beatings but I couldn’t save you because I was a scared coward and you were stuck with me—”

“Shh, stop that,” you say. You run your fingers through his hair, smoothing the pieces he rucked up.

He wipes his cheeks. He plants his hands on the counter, on either side of you. His eyes are closed when he takes a deep breath.

“Miroh couldn’t kill your grandfather,” Felix says. “He tried and he failed. Your grandfather was willing to sacrifice everything for himself. Your mother died in his place. You and me were on opposite sides of the world, both just babies. You never knew your mother. I never knew my parents. Miroh decided he needed a new generation of soldiers. There were a few of us, all over the world. When we were old enough to speak and run and fight, he recruited the best. I was one of the best. So was Changbin.”

“And Chris,” you say, remembering the exchange in the warehouse.

Felix’s face scrunches in pain. He nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “We travelled together. We trained together. We were like brothers.”

“What happened?” you ask. You lay a hand on his chest and he takes it, holding it there.

“I was stupid,” Felix says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I believed Miroh. I thought… there are bad guys out there, simple as that. If we get rid of them, then we won’t have to be scared anymore, yeah? They wouldn’t have to hurt us if we just got rid of the bad guy. But it wasn’t that easy. I killed your grandfather and it didn’t end anything. Chris was right. Because he always knew. He said it wasn’t right, what Miroh was doing. Chris could have been the best if he could let go of who he was, and just be what he was supposed to be… but he didn’t. I… I felt like I… I couldn’t afford to be that way… If I wasn’t the best, I was nothing. If I couldn’t kill, I was going to be killed. And by the time I realized he was right, it was too late.”

He finally meets your gaze, squeezing your hand in his.

“I almost died on a job and Chris saved my life. He wasn’t supposed to. In Miroh’s order, if something happens to a soldier, you leave them behind. You don’t waste resources on the weak. Chris disobeyed orders and all his training to save me. I told him I wouldn’t have done the same and he said I know, that’s not why I’m doing it. It’s just the right thing, Felix. I thought, how can someone like this even exist, after everything he’s seen and done, how does he still try to find the good? I didn’t know if he was stupid or smart. Then a commander found out what he did and they took him out of our order for re-training. I still saw him but we couldn’t talk. He had so much potential and the organization didn’t want to throw it away. They tried to break him. It wasn’t working. It broke me instead. I realized I had to get us out or die trying.”

He looks at you and says, “You get it, don’t you? The way Jisung saved you. The way he was your friend. The way he was just there. That was Chris for me, yeah?” His voice is rife with desperation, like he needs you to understand this more than anything else.

“Yeah,” you say softly, feeling that very heartache all over again. “I do. I get it, Felix.”

“Then you know,” he says, voice breaking, “how I felt when I let him down. I let everyone down. I fucked up a job, trying to undermine Miroh. I thought I could outsmart him but I didn’t. It just opened a door for your father to get in. There was a stupid skirmish over a politician in Miroh’s pocket. Your dad was trying to buy him out and it ended in a fight. Three of our best men dead. Including Changbin, I thought. Just someone else I let down. I was taken alive. I knew if I went back to Miroh, I was dead. If I ran off on my own, Chris would never escape, and they would break him eventually, or kill him trying. I couldn’t go. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t take Miroh on my own. So I made a deal with your father.”

And what I get is a life worth more than mine.

You remember those words. Felix once spoke them in an emotional moment, lost to his memories. You never knew what he meant. You realize now he meant Chris, the friend he left behind, the friend he sold himself to save.

“You gave up your life to my father,” you say, “and in return—”

“He would rescue Chris,” Felix says. “It was a win for us both, yeah. Take out Miroh, steal his assets. My friend gets his freedom. Your father gets a soldier. I was willing to give up my life. I figured I never had one. I wouldn’t miss it. All I knew was how to be a soldier. I didn’t even know how to want something else. But then you… You.”

“Felix,” you say, overwhelmed with his confession and the depth of his feeling.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I let you down.”

“What? How?” You touch his face, cupping his chin in both hands. “What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t save you,” he says, voice rasping and light again, speaking above a sob. “At first because I couldn’t leave, not until we rescued Chris. And there was never an opportunity. I waited years. Years. And by then I had to keep waiting, because I couldn’t have wasted all that time for nothing. I had to save him. I had to save someone. Or else I failed everyone. It had to mean something. I couldn’t—”

“Felix,” you say. “It was an impossible situation. We were kids for half of it. I don’t blame you for anything.”

“I do,” he says, barely more than a breath, a faint whisper against your skin. “I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t do enough.”

“We have no way of knowing what else could have happened,” you say. “We did our best. And now—”

You cut yourself off. And now? What happens next? You heard their conversation in that warehouse. You know why Felix looked so torn apart.

“Chris,” you say. “Is he…?” Dead. “Was Changbin telling the truth?”

“I don’t know,” Felix says.

Dead. For years. Because of Felix. Because of your father.

It does not take much to piece together the implications. Your father is a cowardly, underhanded schemer. He poisons teenagers and beats his daughter and hides in his mansion except when he’s lashing out for attention. He put Felix under contract, but the only guarantee of servitude was his honour and one stipulation. Honour would mean little to your father. But a person, that he could leverage. That he could calculate and control. So long as he could dangle Chris over Felix’s head, then Felix would be bound to him.

And the best way to guarantee he would never have to fulfill his end of the bargain, the best way to guarantee Chris would never escape, would be to kill Chris himself and never tell Felix.

You see it written all over Felix’s face, the horror of this very plausible idea. That in his effort to save Chris, he actually got him killed.

There is a long moment of quiet. It is a very empty silence. There is no way to confirm if Chris is truly dead, and so Felix cannot truly mourn him. There is also no way to prove he is alive, so he cannot take any action.

You hold his hand. It is all you can do right now. You look at where your palms touch, where your fingers lace. The caress of his skin against yours never fails to touch your heart. Even this simple touch warms you. It affects him too, because he exhales and leans in, resting his forehead against yours.

You want to comfort him but your shiver betrays you. The heat from the bath is diffusing and you are in nothing but a towel. Felix laughs and shakes his head, withdrawing.

“Sorry,” he says. “Let’s, uhh, get you dressed first.”

“Or at least under some covers.”

“Someone could come knocking,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say with a jut of your chin. “And?”

He stares back at you. This silence is not so empty, a heady and contemplative regard as he glances at your lips then the rest of you. Then he sweeps you into his arms and carries you into the room.

You kiss his cheek, just above his bruise. You are not sure if he winces from the pain or the affection.

The moment your head touches a pillow, you feel your eyelids drooping. Exhaustion hits you instantaneously. You groan and snuggle under the covers, quite convinced this plain hotel bed is the comfiest bed in the world.

Felix hovers at the bedside, folding your towel. You look back at him with sleepy eyes. It is early evening but he must be as tired as you, from the physical exertion if not the emotional one.

“Aren’t you sleepy, baby?” you ask.

He drops the towel and has to fold it again. It is messier the second time, then slides off the dresser into a lump on the floor. He ignores it, approaching the bed. You pull back the cover in offering.

You think he strips down to his boxers, but you are fast asleep before he even unzips. You stir a little when he climbs in the bed, but his presence is so comforting that it sends you right back to sleep. It is the most restful sleep you have had in a while. But, predictably, falling asleep in the early evening means you wake up in the dead of the night, bright-eyed.

The room is dark. The clock reads 2:17 AM, blinking in red, the only light in the room other than a blue wash of moonlight pouring through the translucent curtains.

Felix is curled up behind you, an arm under his head and the other over your hip. When you wake, he follows but slowly, shifting and grumbling. He does not usually sleep so deeply. It is a testament to the day.

You sidle up to him, your back to his front. He is in his boxers and nothing else, bare skin against yours as he hauls you up against him. You lay your hand over his, resting it on your stomach then on your breast. It is not especially flirtatious, merely intimate. He touches you and you sigh contently, too awake to lose yourself but enjoying the comfort nonetheless.

He exhales. It sounds a little ragged. You look over your shoulder, at his dishevelled bed hair and dark freckles, the bow mouth you so missed, the tenderness in those dark eyes when he gazes back at you.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Hmm? For what?” You roll onto your back to look at him better.

He scrubs a hand down his face then pushes back some unruly hair. “I think, um.” He looks up at nothing. “A part of me always thought a day would come when you would hate me for real. I’m, uhh, a little… I guess I just… was more prepared to be hated than, um, cared about, after everything.”

You lean over him, propping yourself on one arm. He meets your serious gaze, licking his lips under the intensity of your stare.

“Do you see me that way?” you ask. “That I would be that unforgiving and fickle?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Of course not. It’s not how I see you, it’s… myself.”

“Well, I don’t want you to see yourself that way either,” you say. “It offends me.” You say this was a dramatic air, making a point of shoving your nose in the air.

It makes him laugh, a real smile pulling at his lips. You swear it brightens the room.

“Does it?” he says. “I’m very sorry. I’ll have to make it up to you.” He reaches for your face, strokes his knuckles over your cheek, but you pull away.

“That won’t be necessary,” you say, in the same playful tone as him.

“Oh?” he asks, chasing, stroking your other cheek.

“Yes,” you say. You catch his hand and lower it. When you speak again, it is sincerely, without any joke or artifice or double-entendre. “I don’t just care about you, Felix,” you say. “I love you. And you don’t need to thank me or pay me back. You just need to believe it.”

He blinks up at you, surprise written all over his face. You feel flushed with heat even though the admission is obvious. Saying it out loud, truly and honestly, makes your heart flutter anyway. Love and want tangle together in a knot inside you, making you feel soft and desirous at once.

His lips part with a breath as he stares at you. You chase those lips, leaning down and sealing his mouth in a kiss. It takes only a second for him to kiss you back, cupping your cheek and parting your lips with a swipe of his tongue. His bruise must not hurt too badly, or maybe he is just ignoring the pain, but you are careful with your light kisses despite his attempt at more.

You always happily concede to his more dominant guidance. This time it is a little different. You are telling him something with your kisses and you want him to hear it, without any games or distractions. So you take both his wrists and push his hands into the bed, at the same time swinging on top of him. He looks surprised a second time, looking at where you press his hands into the sheets.

He could easily buck you off, but he lets you kiss him like that. You kiss his cheek and under his jaw, avoiding the bruise, then down his neck. His hips lift under yours, rolling against you to get hard. You are already wet and naked, making him moan, a low, dark sound as you grind your softest parts against the hardening line in his boxers.

It makes you want to skip right to it, but you are determined. You kiss down his chest and he laughs when your tongue swipes his nipple, evidently a little ticklish. You smile and keep going, until your lips hover above the hard bulge in his boxers. You kiss him through the material then tug it down. He shuffles quickly, ripping them off and tossing them aside. Then his hand is on the back of your neck as you take him in your mouth.

The hotel room affords some privacy. He makes a little more noise than usual. Or maybe he truly does not care anymore.

Yes, you think, loving at him with your mouth and hands, let yourself go.

He must be getting close because he squeezes the back of your neck and lets out a groan. “Slow down,” he says. “Please. It just—”

“Feels good?” you ask, a little cheekily, but he answers earnestly, with a nod and shaky exhale. “Mmm, okay,” you say. “Tell me what you want.”

This gives him momentary pause. Then he grips your neck more possessively and guides you up.

You follow his direction, lifting your head until your pretty raw lips are hovering just inches from his.

“Get back on top me,” he says. “I’m going to fuck you.”

“Oh. Well.” He has said far dirtier things in the past, but usually in the context of your role-play, where you are the worst versions of yourselves, the real you just laughing under it. It is a little different for the real him to so blatantly state his desire.

It leaves you just as weak in the knees. It is a miracle you manage to swing a leg over him, but you get there. He helps line you up, then he holds your hips and slides you right down until he is fully inside you. It is a lot all at once, especially after time apart. You did not have many opportunities for sex before that either. But you are so wet, despite the sharp burn, it is a smooth fit, and you adjust quickly, mostly because he wastes no time rolling his hips up into you.

“Oh,” you say, hands on his shoulders and mouth falling open.

“That’s it,” he says, taking complete control even though you are on top, holding your hips, guiding you to match his rhythm. “Could – uh, yeah – could have you on your knees, begging for it, without doing anything. So easy for it, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you say, gasping. “Just for you.”

“Just for me,” he says. He pushes himself upright, wrapping an arm around you and pushing your face into his shoulder. He holds you there, fingers stroking the nape of your neck as he fucks you, drawing all those soft, whimpering sounds of you. “That’s it,” he says. “That’s my girl. Just for me. Hold onto me. I’m gonna come. Spread your legs, your pussy can take it. Good girl. Just like that.”

You are wrapped tightly around him, clinging to him as he comes as promised, deep and hard inside you while you tremble and sigh in his arms. Then he lifts your head to kiss you, a quick peck before he presses your foreheads together to just breathe.

“Can you…” Your voice comes softly. “Can you maybe stay inside me, just another minute.”

“Fucking… fuck,” he says, making you laugh. He smiles too. “Yes. I can do that.”

He keeps you in his arms as he lays back. You lay against him, his heart pounding against your chest. You stay like that for a while, almost drifting to sleep when he slides his hand up your spine, reawakening every sensitive nerve in your body.

He says your name, that loving murmur of a sound. You lift your head to look at him. His gaze darts to your lips then back to your eyes.

“I wouldn’t trade places with any of them,” he says. “I want to be your bodyguard. I want to set you free. I want to keep you safe until the day I die.”

“On a few conditions,” you say. “The first, that you cannot die for a very long time. The second, I will only be free when you are. And finally, you can be my bodyguard, but only if I’m your bodyguard too.”

He smiles, his eyes bright and his cheeks dimpled. His nose nudges yours.

“All right,” he says. “Consider it a promise.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz x reader

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ceilidho · 21 days

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im completely obsessed with take me home country roads. price is obviously to die for but your cowboy simon has unearthed something in me, oh my god. i’m also so so taken by your idea for johnny/reluctant outlaw reader, that’s so perfect for him!

thank you so much!!!!!

ok this is a bit dark but imo, Simon's family growing up was like the Bloody Benders, but rather than taking him with them when they fled town after being discovered, Simon was left behind, so he grew up with the stigma of being the child of a family of serial killers. he had a really rough childhood overall, exposed to violence at a very young age and then ostracized by the community because of the fear at the back of everyone's mind was that he would grow up with that same violence inside him.

naturally, he became an outlaw known as the Ghost at one point during his adolescence and lived that life for many, many years before Price scooped him up. i haven't figured out the lore behind what Price did, but whatever it was shifted Simon's loyalty entirely to him. he would lay down his life for Price, no questions asked.

i think this Simon has a latent protective streak in him because of what happened to him in his childhood. it goes unacknowledged for most of his life, but there's a deep need in him to save something innocent. so he imprints almost instantly when he comes across the local barmaid being accosted in the alley behind the tavern, his vision going red at the sight of her screaming behind the man's hand while he forces her skirt up. only for Simon to rip him off her and bash his skull in with the mug of ale in his hand, not even blinking at the blood splashing across his face and chest. and he doesn't stop until the man slumps over, his face an unrecognizable mess.

and then he drops the mug and turns towards the barmaid cowering against the wall, staring at him in horror.

#there is violence in him but he only wants to protect his girl so........

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lovelykhaleesiii · 6 months

Text

Daddy’s Princess

PAIRING: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x daughter!Princess!Reader

WORDS: 3,014.

SUMMARY: Based on this anonymous request…

WARNINGS: incest, mentions of death/war/suicide, mentions of depression, dark!Aegon ii, thigh riding, mentions of p in v sexual intercourse, cream pie, breeding kink, Daddy kink, praise kink, dom!Aegon ii, swearing, possessive!Aegon ii. mentions of pregnancy/birth.

A/N - posted this originally on my side kink blog [ @aegoniiwifey ], however since it’s not so explicitly kink-related and I’m also really proud of this fic, I thought I would post it here too ☺️ hope you all enjoy this naughty read!

credit to the original creators of the artworks/images.

The Targaryens were undoubtedly known for their “queer” customs, this had been widely yet sceptically recognised. Your own grandmother, the Dowager Queen, even uttered the words herself, despite having played a major role in marrying your late, beloved mother, Helaena to her elder brother, your father and the rightful King, Aegon the Second.

The Dance of the Dragons had begun to churn, when you were still nothing more than a child, however it progressed well into a few solid years throughout your adolescence, only for your father to come out victorious against his treacherous half-sister and her family of “bastards and traitors”, as he spat. The Gods had answered your endless prayers, regardless, rejoicing in success.

Once the Dance had reached its end, you had transformed into a young, modest woman, of the age two-and-twenty. Your handsome father, fifteen years your elder, conceived you during his own youth, robbing him of freedom and instilling responsibility instead, likewise with your dear mother. You had always been plagued with the pestering thought of feeling like a burden unto the young couple, as their firstborn, however your father reassured you otherwise, that you were nothing more than a blessing to him, otherwise.

Regardless, the fearsome battles determinedly fought throughout the decades, came at an inconceivable cost: the cost of the innocent, defenceless lives of your younger siblings who tragically perished in horrendous manners. Your late mother, Queen Heleana, wrought with mad grief and depression for the witness and loss of her babes, she could not bear the reality of life itself, taking her own life as a means to end her suffering.

Excluding yourself, you had no one else other than your grandmother, the Dowager Queen, who kept much to her seldom self these toiling days, isolated in her lonesome chambers, and your father...

Throughout the entirety of the ceaseless quarrels, your dear father had always ensured keeping a close eye and ear on you. Warmly reassuring your frightful self, that he would burn the world before any harm could be done unto you. He kept you close by him at all times, if he had not attended the battle himself on dragonback, Sunfyre close by your chambers, despite having a broken wing, with your own hatchling, Morghul, constantly beside you. It tore him to pieces when he made the harsh decision of having to entrust you to Larys and his unsavoury men, to sneak you off to Dragonstone where he would meet you eventually.

The most skilled guards posted ceaselessly hours on end, day and night, outside your chambers, not a single action went by without Aegon knowing, for all matters regarding your whereabouts went directly through him. During this time, you had solely instilled a perpetual trust in your father's decisions, that laid foundations in your bond with one another, which lingered even post succession of the war. It would be an understatement, that you had become heavily reliant on him, most of the time having been denied the autonomy to think and decide for yourself at such a young age, you grew to much prefer your father taking action, trusting him and only him with decisions regarding your own life. He was highly protective of you, in a way no lord nor knight of the realm could pledge and devote their lives to. You were his kin, his blood, his possession: you became his sole purpose and will to survive during the Dance.

There was, however, only one decision, you had ever made purely yourself, that would change the dynamic of the realm itself...

"Come, my sweet angel. Come to Daddy, and let me ease your mind..."

Despite the realm returning to some ounce of normalcy and peace, the nights you still endured adversity with. Troubling nightmares engulfed your slumber mind of the haunting memories of the Dance. Stirring you awake in a state of distress and panic, sweat beads drenched your forehead and mottled hair, your exposed, plump breasts accentuated in your silk, white nightgown, heaving with every haste and dense breath. Despite the adoring, relentless company of your dotting father by your side in bed, he immediately awoke in tune to your disruptive motions, persisting to remain awake, until he was assured you were comforted and sound of mind, lulling you himself back to sleep.

"Baby, sit on my lap. That's it- Another nightmare, my love?"

"Y-Yes, father."

"I know the feeling all to well, precious... Do you wish to speak about it?" Aegon huskily uttered, as his rough hands gently whisked away the odd strands of hair out of place, his other hand caressing soft circles at your lower back.

Since his heroic return from battle, despite the brutal injuries sustained, and since recovering, your father found himself constantly at your side, even in the late hours of the night. He dared not to trust many despite promisingly pledging fealty to their King, Aegon could only open up to you without the reason of duty, intimidation, or responsibility binding him to you. He wanted you. Since losing Helaena, despite never having been openly romantic with her, he had lost a companion, and had always considered you more of one than a daughter, as you grew wise with age.

Your strong-willed father had always been a man with brawn, unlike your late Uncles, Aemond and Daeron. Aegon was portly and having been raised by him, you grew familiar with his shameless, gluttonous habits. These habits exacerbated during his recuperation, as the maesters including yourself had taken to encouraging your father to eat copiously, often hand feeding him yourself with generous amounts of delicacies, rationalising that it was to regain pure sustenance.

You took pride in his recovery, aiding the maesters to heal your father back to good health, he openly stated that it was your devoted presence and love that made him whole once more. Deep in slumber with milk of the poppy to ease the pain, only he could hear your sweet, angelic voice in the blissful distance, yearning for him. Your gentle touch, as you religiously applied naturopathic ointments to his fresh, raw burns, that eventually healed his scars. He soaked in your warm presence thoroughly, mirroring your reliance on him, he too, became deeply infatuated with you.

Since becoming a mature woman, having grown into your Valyrian-esque features and physique, Aegon saw you in a fairly different light now. You noticed by the manner in which his violet, stern eyes lingered over your body for far longer than what was used to, even if it was for a few, fleeting seconds. You became a distraction in council meetings, as he vowed to have you attend, even if you were merely a cupbearer, standing aside though in proximity of him, a mere shadow: his unfazed attention oogled over you, his mind pondering over lustful, sinful thoughts, only to be beckon called back to reality by the repetitive call of his title, your Grace.

You had always admired your father, and believed there was no man that could exceed the expectations he set in stone… You were made for him, as he had sought to it himself. Blood of his blood, the Gods kept you both alive for a reason, you had discreetly believed.

"I do not wish to speak of it right now... I just need you to hold me, just for a little while," You weakly whispered with a shaky breath. Aegon, with a new found strength, a fuller and sturdy frame, lifting you effortlessly onto his lap, as he laid himself back to rest against the wooden bedframe.

"That's okay, my sweet girl. It will get easier, I promise..."

Adjusting yourself atop of Aegon's wide, meaty thigh, as you gripped and rested your head against his broad, fleshy shoulder, the friction stirring as your bare cunt grinds against his clothed thigh, slowly igniting a familiar, throbbing ache between your inner thighs.

"Hmm, how will it get easier, Daddy? Will you make it easier?" You utter, your lips lightly grazing over his plump cheek, gently guiding his head to turn in your direction: eyes inevitably meeting, your lips passionately crash against his. Aegon does not resist in the slightest, relishing in the kiss, as he shoves his tongue deep into your mouth, swallowing your taste, before his teeth teasingly bite and pull at your lower lip.

"I can distract my baby. Give her a pleasure no other man in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms can. I'll give my princess the finest treatment she deserves... But only if she listens and obeys her Daddy, like the good girl I know she is."

"Mhmm, yes, Daddy-" A helpless plea closely mistaken for a moan escaping your mouth, Aegon's pudgy hands, steer your legs to spread apart: you find that you can only spread wide enough to saddle one thick thigh at a time. Without needing to spell it out for you, you begin to sway your meek frame, rhythmically bucking your hips backwards and forwards, as Aegon harshly yanks your gown up, enough for your bare cunt to be completely exposed more thoughtfully, and in contact with his thigh.

"Deeper baby, you know you need to push yourself deeper or else I can barely feel you on top."

With haste obedience, you try to plunge your weight deeper against him, your arms embracing Aegon’s stocky frame tighter. His swollen, bloated gut pressing flatly against your own chest, earning a sensual growl from your father.

“Good girl… My good, little princess. Going to listen to every word Daddy says, so I can make her feel so much better.”

Your whimpering moans, and slow nods in agreement, as your head instinctively rocked back, eyes closing with pure pleasure, you could feel Aegon’s rough hands exploring your waistline, before one snaked behind your spine, keeping you steady by a careful grip on your neck. The other began to tug and pull at the silk strands of your nightgown, loosening the knot, to expose more of your obvious, ample cleavage.

“Look at how beautiful you have become. My little princess is not so little anymore, such a divine grace, a woman. No other beauty roams the Earth, as you do.”

The outstanding appraisal oozing breathlessly from Aegon's plump, blush lips, echo in your thoughtless mind with intense gratification. Treasuring each word, he worshipped you dearly, often placing you on a pedestal as great as the Iron Throne itself.

"Yes Daddy, t-tell me more."

Your helpless moans begin to sob from your mouth, filling the void of the vast room, other than the faint crackling of the dying fireplace. Your eager pace quickening, feeling the burning sensation erupt from the friction against your tender skin. Your body leaned forwards with Aegon's generous shove, as he in turn plunged his handsome face between your sensitive breasts. Feeling his lips trailing across your soft skin, hungrily suckling and lapping down to your nipple, as his other hand playfully massaged and kneaded at your other tit.

"Does princess want Daddy to fuck her stupid? Make her so full of me, she'll be dripping, begging for more, for nothing to be spared? All the princess needs to do is ask Daddy, like the polite girl she is."

"A-Aeg-"

"Words, princess. My cock isn't even inside you yet, and you're already hopeless. Didn't I teach you to use your words?"

"Hmm, Daddy, I-I need your cock, I-I need you inside of me, p-please."

Incoherent, you knew how weak and feeble you felt against your father, a formidable man, both inside and outside the confines of the bedroom.

"My beautiful baby, using her manners, makes her Daddy so, so proud. How did I get so lucky, being blessed by you?"

"D-Daddy blessed me."

Your hands clawed their way across his muscular shoulder blades, nails sharply dug into Aegon's bareback, as he often enjoyed sleeping shirtless, his natural body warmth radiating from his scarred body. Now one hand snaked its way into his short, unkempt hair, avidly tugging at his silver strands, begging for more.

"Easy baby, so needy for her Daddy, huh? Never change baby, Daddy's always going to take care of you okay? No one can take care of you, like I have..."

"N-No one. Daddy protects me from cruel monsters, a-and evil men. I-I could never leave, D-Daddy."

Groans and growls pooled from Aegon's lush mouth, as his tongue teasingly lapped and pulled at your perky nipple.

"My perfect princess. That's right, baby... Now, you ready to take Daddy's cock? I'm feeling pretty big, princess. You've been getting me as hard as Valyrian steel."

His hand found yours, firmly guiding it down to where his stiff, rigid cock throbbed densely with enthusiasm, beneath his pants, desperately aching to be taken.

"Y-Yes... Only I deserve Daddy's cock."

Rightfully earning a low, jovial chuckle from Aegon, scoring his mutual amusement and agreement, nodding to your proud notion.

"That's right baby... Only you."

Heaving himself and you atop with such vigour, you aided Aegon in pulling his pants down, as his cock sprung into full action. The sight made you shiver and whimper instantly, how its reddened tip flashed in the dim light, with pre cum already oozing generously from the raw tip. His length modest, its width had always been a wondrous vision. Regardless of the preparation or the amount of times you had taken Aegon before, you could never quite adjust to his glorious girth.

"Easy baby, that's my good girl. D-Don't be afraid, I got you. You can take it, I know you can. Making Daddy so, very proud."

Carefully positioning you atop, as you began to gently settle down, the sharp jolt of pain, as its tip etched between your silk folds, made it subtly easier for him to slip his full mass in.

"Wet for me already, my cock's practically drowning baby... So tight for me, my sweet princess. I can feel you swallowing up my fat cock."

Witlessly yet diligently, bobbing up and down on Aegon's lap, as your father vigorously thrusted his heavy mass upwards, craving to shove himself deeper into your slick folds.

"Good girl, Y/N. Daddy's going to fuck you so hard, fill you up to the fucking brim with my seed. Want to carry Daddy's babes, like a good princess? Make Daddy so proud, huh?"

"Y-Yes, I'll do w-whatever Daddy says, whatever D-Daddy wants. Anything to m-make you proud."

The rough texture of Aegon's battle-torn hands, cooed and caressed at your back, one hand gripping your neck once more, keeping you steadily mounted against his body. His other hand, continued to firmly squeeze at your tender breast, almost mimicking a wringing motion, as though anticipating for milk to ooze.

"Making me the proudest Daddy in the realm, princess. But you are far from being done with your royal duties... I'm going to fuck you day and night, till I see your belly swell greatly with child, with our child... Not till we fill this entire keep with the future leagues of the Targaryen dynasty. And if anyone dares to question our customs... They can play the fucking fool and answer to me."

Aegon, in a breathless, heated rut, finally reached his almighty gusto. His fresh, hot seed spilling up into you, as it oozed out of your tight crevices, clenched around his achingly, pulsating cock. In turn, your cum released in a liberating gesture, pouring over Aegon's rigid, thick cock.

"Hmm, Daddy spoils me s'good. Blessed I am th-that you want me to carry your heirs. Blessed I am to be carry on your legacy, Daddy."

Just as you were about to dismount from Aegon's sturdy lap, and tense cock, still stretching out inside of you, did you feel his strong embrace pulling you back down, keeping you situated over him as you were before.

"Daddy's not done yet, princess... I told you, I am fucking you endlessly till I see this belly-" His palm lightly grazing over your lower stomach in circles.

"-swell and these beautiful tits, leak with milk as I knead and suck. I will fuck you day and night, till you reek of my scent, exhausted of pleasure, and drenched in my cum and sweat. Princess belongs to Daddy and the whole realm shall know of it. I won the war, and I shall win the heart of the realm... That is you, my angel."

The remainder of the night, into the sleepless, bright dawn of the morrow, Aegon had kept his rigid cock buried deeply, and warmly planted inside of you. As the hours nudged on, you could feel yourself repeatedly peaking inside, as did your father, growing more and more numb to the cramping sensation. Your wincing and whimpers did not go ignorantly unnoticed, as Aegon would lull you, praising how proud he was of you for taking him so well. The only time he released was to clean up the god awful mess strewed across the sheets, and the minor bleeding pooling from your inner thighs.

In the morrow, he commanded the servants to fetch you a warm, floral scented bath, with the condition that he bathe you himself. Breakfast was brought to you directly, as you remained bed bound resting and recuperating.

"Now it's Daddy's turn to take care of his princess. Just as you took care of me during those dreadful months. My sweet, precious angel never left her Daddy's side, like an obedient, loyal girl. And Daddy will never leave you, okay."

Words had spread like wildfire, as your belly and tits had swollen healthily with a growing babe inside. The maesters to confirm and seal your fate, Aegon and yourself could not have been happier. Despite the relentless, whispering gossip alongside the timid side glances, no one dared to speak against Aegon's decision to marry you lawfully in tradition of your Valyrian customs, otherwise. Blessing the King a long-awaited, hearty male heir, the prophecy his late father often uttered about in his ill, deluded state: Aegon believed the Prince that was Promised, would emerge from his bloodline, thanks to you.

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you]- @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @bucknastysbabe @jawline-of-steel

credit for dividers - @/saradika

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levmada · 4 months

Note

PLEASE write about Levi’s mental state, i’m begging you

He’s faced death and precarious situations since he was born, yet he’s still standing strong and hopeful, WHAT THE HELL I LOVE MY SHORT KING

IT'S FINALLY HERE😭im sorry anon i hope you're around to see this and if u are i hope i dont disappoint

the tone in this analysis is so weird because i kept getting caught between 'this is an apa paper no contractions, academic language, double spacing -' and 'this is a tumblr post about a fictional blorbo wtf r u on'

i also use some scientific language i try my best to explain but if this turns anyone off i don't blame them because im unhealthily obsessed

*i'm a third-year undergraduate psychology student w/ a concentration in psychopathology

tw/cw: discussion of childhood exposure to sex (not assault)

Foreword

I’ve been putting this off for a while (I’m forgetful and this topic is intimidating what can I say), but being a year out from graduating with my bachelor’s to become a mental health professional, and being a Levi scholar(/hj), I wanted to give this a shot.

I wanted to dissect and examine Levi Ackerman’s mental health “currently” (as in general canon), and explain as thoroughly but as simply as possible how and why he thinks and acts the way he does.

Seeing how AOT is pretty renowned for leaving out the ‘insignificant’ details, especially character details, a good majority of my assertions and even details of his life are built off of correlations and “signs and symptoms”; meaning some things could be an aspect of Levi’s personality, or a symptom of psychopathology.

I will examine his childhood (especially his childhood), adolescence, young adulthood, and “present” adulthood, with a short summary at the end of where he might be mentally after the war.

*Lastly, I don’t like it when things I say about a series or character are taken as fact or make it implied that someone else’s thoughts are “wrong”. This is partly built on headcanons anyway, which are influenced by my own experiences. Don’t take away from this that this is me telling you what to think.*

Childhood

The most important period of development occurs in infancy and childhood, especially from the ages of 3-6. This is when a child learns where to find security, love, and basic skills, gaining stability as they develop.

Well, Kuchel died when Levi was 4.

Maternal Love / Learning Empathy / Anxious Attachment Style

Levi was born into deep poverty within a violent unwelcoming environment. Basic physical needs must have been very hard to meet (i.e., consistently fed enough, a clean environment, no physical threats). And where Levi was born is like the dictionary definition of a bad environment for a small child, excluding only his mother’s care and love.

As it’s generally understood in canon (and suggested from Levi’s special backstory manga so far) she was a caring parental figure early in Levi’s life that loved him unconditionally. We can conclude that Kuchel did everything within her power to compensate for both parenting Levi alone and shielding him the best she could from his horrible surroundings, teaching the kindness, goodness, and love that Levi would internalize and go on to strive for for his entire life.

As far as we know, no other children lived in the brothel. Socialization is just as important for a young child as receiving love. With this isolation, it’s extremely difficult to learn how to connect to other people, or pick up on social cues. Levi would’ve never learned how to interact properly with his peers—aside from use of aggression and violence which Kenny would go on to instill in him.

With the danger/anxiety imposed by strangers, mostly if not entirely men, he would turn to his mother for comfort all. The. Time.

And she would give him that support and affection of course. This early motherly affection is integral to child development: a child who receives empathy and affection is subliminally taught how to feel and express empathy towards others.

While Levi’s surroundings were dangerous, lonely, and chaotic—traumatizing enough for a toddler or young child—Kuchel provided a safety net from that, so I think that Levi developed an anxious attachment as a child: exhibiting clinginess, excessive fear of abandonment, and an excessive need for security and/or reassurance.

Paternal Trauma / Potential Androphobia

Born and living in a brothel, we can assume that Levi was probably seen as a burden and a mistake by others, especially by men (both the likely majority of her customers and her boss).

AOT ch69; Before the Fall, ch34

This is likely in contrast to the women (those living and working in the brothel like Kuchel). They should know Kuchel if not as friends, then acquaintances who could empathize for her and her son.

There’s an obvious trend here. If Levi is going to feel fear/danger/anxiety because of men, he should have a general aversion to men and-or the behavior of men who he encountered as a child. This is impossible to know for sure or in meaningful detail, but it seemed to be resolved by the time he became an adult if so.

Although Kenny in his words was no more than Levi's teacher, Levi did see him as a father figure.

The subject of Kenny will be expanded on later, but it's clear Kenny in no way resembled a father, who also would go on to abandon Levi (at the age of 11 or so). Children without father figures tend to struggle more emotionally, psychologically, and socially. Specifically, (especially boys) tend to exhibit intimidating/aggressive personas to compensate for resentment, fear, and unhappiness.

Sexual Trauma (Tangent, Probably)

This is unconfirmed but a likely trauma Levi went through: exposure to sex as a child. There’s no way to confirm what he experienced, so I’ll function on ‘probably’s’ and ‘most likely’s’.

Because Levi and Kuchel only lived in one room, other rooms in the brothel should have belonged to other women, and he was at the oldest four, I wager that he was babysat by women who Kuchel knew and/or was made to hide somewhere while she worked, such as in a cabinet.

(for reference)

AOT ch69

The odds are high that he was exposed to the aftermath of sexual violence (i.e., marks seen on his mother), and the sound or smells that have to do with it. That young, he wouldn’t know what it was, but he should have realized later as an adolescent.

In general, children regardless of gender exposed to sexual content usually experience early puberty (which is just as likely for impoverished children, or children who experience chronic high-stress in general); issues with intimacy; become desensitized to high-risk behavior; negative/inaccurate expectations about sex and relationships in the future; influence inappropriate behavior with other children or adults; sex addiction.

This is especially relevant to Levi’s fear of closeness/intimacy in the future. Exposure to sexual situations—possibly not including CSA in his case—very early in life inflicts on a child emotions and stress they don’t have the intellect or reasoning to process or understand. An extreme aversion to interpersonal relationships, especially physical ones, results.

This stress Levi must have felt, being powerless to this happening to his mother, is a different beast. Children aren’t capable of handling high levels of stress, and so the brain will automatically create coping mechanisms: dissociation (a severe form of “zoning out”; observing the self “from the third person”; numbness; the feeling of living in a dream), excessive daydreaming/overactive imagination, symptoms of PTSD (nightmares and terrors; flashbacks; spontaneous activation of fight-flight-freeze associated with anxiety; excessive worrying/fear; loneliness/self isolation). PTSD will also be prevalent in Levi’s later life, which I’ll delve into later.

Inappropriate behavior and sex addiction are also highlights for me because they shouldn’t exist in him based on Levi's personality and behavior throughout the series. In my opinion, Levi ought to associate sex with pain, shame, and violence; he does see it as an ordinary job—a means to an end. He should be desensitized to sex as a concept, but associates it personally with shame, sadness, and pain, possibly feeling disgust towards it. So it is highly likely that Levi in every stage of life following this experienced sexual repulsion (usually associated with high anxiety towards sex), a low libido, or a lack of sexual desire entirely.

From a trauma perspective, he could avoid sexual topics of conversation, sexual settings (i.e., brothels), or an array of things which are sexually suggestive or he as a child possibly associated with sex (i.e., cleavage, panties, specific touch). Similarly, he might avoid direct reminders or have a post-traumatic reaction to them, such as anxiety or flashbacks (i.e., the sound of a bed creaking, the sight of wet clothes).

Importantly, it can be concluded that sexual violence was often exhibited, and the idea would be ingrained in him that sex, like everything else besides his relationship with his mother, is “give-and-take”, “victim-and-attacker”, and learn to be repulsed by intimacy. This impacts his willingness for later friendships and relationships as we’ll see later.

Early Abandonment & Early Exposure to Death

As Kuchel’s health deteriorated, Levi’s sense of security would break down. Availability of shelter, food, and emotional support would be even less secure than before. He might have been providing for Kuchel for some time, even, as it can be gathered that he received little to no help from those around him while she was sick. To whatever length he had to take responsibility and both fear for Kuchel, this would cement a sense of responsibility and guilt in him from the age of just four years old.

He will fail to save her—regardless of the fact that that’s not his responsibility in the first place; a child wouldn’t understand that—and then lose her with nothing he could do to even cushion the blow.

How powerless he must’ve felt. How hopeless. How likely is it that Levi found comfort in joining her? A child his age wouldn’t be able to comprehend death, basing our understanding on Piaget’s theory of cognitive development. To summarize, at the age of six or seven, children aren’t capable of complex, abstract thought like death or the finality of it. But Levi had to learn early.

AOT ch69

This will be center in his “clean-freak” tendencies later.

Adolescence

Most of this section is going to be rather vague again, but we already got the bulk of that over with in childhood!

Emotional Train Wreck / Lack of Identity

It’s hard to notice if you’re not paying attention, but in every scene we’re shown with Levi after his mother dies but before Kenny leaves, he’s wearing some variation of his mother’s one dress styled into a shirt. He loves her endlessly, even or especially in death. And part of cherishing her memory, to him, should’ve been taking after her as much as he could.

That’s how to explain why he didn’t become a cruel person (Kenny for instance) as he grew into a teenager, even though much of Levi’s outlook and behaviors come from him (ch57).

The more pertinent question is how extreme violence, reinforcement of the idea that that violence is power, and Kenny’s total (or most likely total) lack of communicated emotional connection affected him.

Levi would still desperately want that connection deep down, especially with his mother gone. This is a major reason why Levi sought to get stronger to please Kenny. For chronically abandoned people, that continues into adulthood and even beyond. A hole inside which can't be filled.

AOT ch69

Chronic loneliness—like I explained before—basically explains his aloof nature and awkward disposition. It’s not that Levi feels as detached as he looks, but he doesn’t know how to express himself or open up. He wouldn’t learn how to process his emotions, let alone talk about them. He’s basically emotionally stunted and immature in impersonal relationships (between friends and especially in regards to intimacy).

The Underground’s environment also makes him socially awkward, rude, of course stoic/not very expressive, and blunt. Levi was forced to become extremely observant of people to suss out their intentions, remaining vigilant of his surroundings at all times.

Levi doesn’t even get affection in any sense anymore. He doesn’t get a hug or a pat on the back, and he certainly doesn’t get a shoulder to cry on.

If anything, Kenny would punish him for showing weakness. Vulnerability is weakness; weakness is death.

What results is a continuous and boundless sense of emptiness inside that can’t be filled. He’s plagued by a chronic sense of unbelonging and loneliness. There’s no time or opportunity to develop “normally” as an adolescent. Socialization is limited at best; thinking of his place in the world is irrelevant when his one and only most pressing goal is survival; he doesn’t get to explore hobbies or interests.

OCD Propensity

One “interest” Levi is passionate about is cleaning, at least. Disease is what caused his mother to die. The easiest cause to point to would be their disgusting surroundings (although, Kuchel was infected by a customer). It is canon that Levi’s love of cleaning comes from "his personal experiences". In that interview, Levi first specifically references the important of fighting disease.

In other words, his "clean freak" nature comes, primarily, from the death of his mother: Filth -> disease -> death, and abandonment by extension.

His mother would’ve encouraged him to keep their room clean. There were times he or she had to have come down with something and dirtiness was the cause. On top of Kenny’s enforcement to keep up “clean” appearances to garner respect from everyone else in the Underground.

This in particular is extremely relevant to his mental health. When someone feels out of control of what is happening to them, especially in a recurring way, and especially as a child who doesn't yet know how to feel stable in an unstable environment, they look for something to control. It can be weight, bodily functions (blinking, breathing, etc), dominance over others, or cleaning, for instance.

Fear of disease, the urgent need to have control, and the basic need for stability makes it obvious that Levi would become obsessed with cleaning. And moreover, developing OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). I’ll go deeper into this diagnosis later.

Lack of Self Worth

Despite the acknowledgment throughout canon that he trusts in his own strength, it wasn’t always that way.

Canonically, Levi sought praise from Kenny by showing his strength because that was the only thing he received praise for. The conclusion Levi came to once Kenny left him was that he wasn’t strong enough (wasn’t good enough) to warrant staying with him.

In conjunction, Levi’s first conclusion was that he did something wrong, not that Kenny possibly had some obligation that forced him to leave the Underground, pointing again to his own lack of self-worth.

This scenario created a complex in him, the very root cause of Levi’s pain, the very foundation of what Levi would go on to prioritize in adulthood. If he isn’t useful to those he wants not to abandon him, he’s worthless. He’s only useful when he shows his strength. Every other aspect of him like his interests is either irrelevant or bland by default in his eyes.

He would go on to make it his mission to try his best to be good enough in order to save and protect the lives of others, but foremost those he cares about.

Young Adulthood

Our first exposure to Levi as an adult is in A Choice with No Regrets, his OVA/backstory.

(By the way, I’ll be basing this analysis off a mix of the manga and the OVA.)

Emotional Immaturity/Affective Dysregulation

Generally, Levi’s defining negative character trait as a young adult is his emotional immaturity/anti-social behavior. Yes he’s grumpy and rude which is always indicative of him, but he’s very quick to anger, too. He cursed at the Squad Leader who offended him (by assuming that because he, Isabel, and Farlan are from the Underground, they’d be dirty), and argued furiously with Farlan that he would kill Erwin—not because it was required for the job, but because he disrespected him—for a few examples.

ACWNR ch2

He tended to be arrogant, too. Such as when he ultimately called a Scout who had experience with the Titans stupid for telling Levi to hold his swords in a certain way. He spoke to every officer the same as he would anyone on the street, having a remarkable lack of basic respect for authority. He was insistent on distancing himself from the entire setting and structure of the Scouts as much as possible, both to not get attached, and he found their mission childish/foolish.

He’s rather selfish. There is nothing Levi cares about genuinely more than Isabel’s and Farlan’s lives and the job that will set them up with a good future. Farlan’s advice is the only one’s he takes and the only judgment outside himself that he considers, such as when Farlan asks him to not cause trouble with authority to keep a low profile, but even then he acts stubborn. Levi trusts nobody wholeheartedly except himself (until later in ACWNR).

There’s a cognitive dissonance in him. Growing up, and still as a young adult, Levi’s headspace is marked by fear and uncertainty, with his power as his source of confidence. The first time he kills a Titan (with Isabel and Farlan), he uses too much gas because he refuses to potentially risk his friends’ lives; when the expedition is upcoming, he abruptly tells Farlan and Isabel to find a reason to stay back, and that he’ll complete the dangerous part of the job on his own.

Levi is full of repressed fear and uncertainty. He hides and/or buries all of it for the sake of self-preservation both emotionally and physically.

Antisocial Personality…?

It’s extremely interesting how a character as selfless, heroic, and empathetic as Levi exhibits antisocial symptoms. I’d even argue that if his childhood was spent entirely without his mother figure, then he might be a dictionary definition of ASPD (Antisocial Personality Disorder).

People with this disorder live day-to-day under the constant assumption that whoever is around them is “out to get them”/searching for a weakness to exploit. Humanity is made up of only prey and predators; morals are completely subjective, perpetuated by the society that surrounds them. This constant need to defend oneself, the effect of the exact trauma the potential sociopath experienced, combined with a muted emotional spectrum, results in a complete disregard of everything, including people outside of themself. They might believe they’re entitled to comfort or admiration, but overall, they’re intensely self-serving, often aggressive, and ruthless.

Because Levi for instance learned to rely on violence both for “love” and survival, then he might fall on violence to manipulate a person or situation into serving himself. I see reason to believe that Levi could have grown into worse than Kenny’s image if it weren’t for his mother’s influence.

However, the greatest cause for deniability is Levi’s wide emotional spectrum (especially including empathy and shame), while a lack of shame is the most significant marker of ASPD . (It is arguably one of many testaments to his strength that a victim of so much suffering, violence, and cruelty could become a man as empathetic as him.)

However, these tendencies may still be relevant: A sense of arrogance—both to the way Levi thinks of some who he perceives as weak and live without good morals—lacking issue with using deceit or violence to attain a goal, and living outside the rule of authority.

I go into more detail about this idea here.

Conclusion

As is true in general, there’s very little to say of mental development once someone has reached their early–mid-twenties. What we know of Levi’s young adulthood does reinforce his fear of abandonment, but he finds a cause where his strength and compassion can be “put to good use” and give to him a life that is worth living.

Conclusion: the ‘Present’/Diagnoses Overview

C-PTSD (Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder)

Levi’s emotional dysregulation (i.e., inability to sit with and process negative emotions), his difficulties in relationships, insomnia, negative worldview, absent sense of self, and finally, his persistent sense of unworthiness/worthlessness are all indicative of C-PTSD. It’s distinct from PTSD in that he didn’t endure one short-term traumatizing event, but he grew up surrounded by trauma and saw it as normal (e.g., gang violence, extreme poverty, death of a parent, (more presumably) physically and emotionally abusive parental figure). Levi as a child developed no understanding of a nurturing, secure environment.

Negative/Absent Sense of Self

I’ve talked about this at length already, but it’s worth noting how Levi’s perception of himself must have changed when it was revealed that he is extremely strong physically not from his own efforts as much, but because he’s an Ackerman.

His self-confidence and self-worth have always been built on the foundation of his strength. He’s useful if he’s strong, so he’s worthy if he’s strong. Along with the extreme high pressure his goal to kill Zeke put on him in season four, he might have gone to extreme measures to compensate for his strength he might have felt was “unearned” (such as excessive exercise for example). This is an aside, but it was a blow to him for sure.

Emotional Dysregulation

The causes of emotional dysregulation generally which he experienced are as follows: early childhood trauma, feelings ignored, judged, or invalidated at a young age, and physical and emotional child neglect. Beyond his first four years of life with his mother, Levi experienced all these things (early exposure to sex and likely exposure to domestic violence aside).

It’s important to focus on emotional neglect specifically, when any and all perceived “weakness”, no matter how small, is unacceptable to Levi. He will never ask for help (being independent to a fault), he can’t define or process his emotions, and it doesn’t occur to him—and it could be a shock—when he learns that his friends care about him, not him insofar as how useful he is.

As an adult, Levi appears to be emotionally mature, but I argue that this isn’t the case. It’s more accurate to say that he has better control over his emotions (in that he buries them or ignores them) with a mature outlook because of all his experiences with suffering.

Similarly, he’s not outwardly emotional not because he’s antisocial (as related to ASPD, not introversion), but because he’s so “emotionally constipated” that he’s numbed the vast majority of the time.

Relationship Issues + Fear of Abandonment

Because of his fear of abandonment and impaired emotional intelligence in close relational conflict, he’s extremely passive and/or passive aggressive. In order to avoid potential abandonment, he doesn’t go out of his way to win major arguments—such as threatening to break Erwin’s legs if he didn’t stay away from the expedition in season three, but ultimately giving in. He’s also more likely to sneak petty insults into arguments, give “silent treatment”, slam doors, etc. His kindness and exceptional empathy shouldn’t let him be physically or overly violent.

These are likely additions to why Levi doesn’t foster many close relationships.

Fittingly, as a child I thought that Levi might have had an anxious attachment style (clingy, excessive need for security), but as this possibility for security was removed entirely, and he was taught to not rely on others, he would develop more of an overt avoidant attachment in adulthood in combination (fearful-avoidant): making very few emotional demands—even though he has needs—withdrawing when there’s conflict, acting aloof yet fearing abandonment, having difficulty expressing emotions he feels intensely, and fear of depending on someone else.

Anxiety

His cool-headedness even in the heat of battle/war (other factors like experience aside) is exactly what you would expect from someone diagnosed with C-PTSD; he’s accustomed to chronic high-stress. But small stressors (i.e., a change of plans) are overwhelming and make him quick to anger/excessive annoyance.

OCD

Emotional dysregulation is also closely associated with OCD.

OCD is much much more than being concerned with keeping clean or organized. OCD is an anxiety disorder composed of anxiety-related obsessions and compulsions, such as frequent and disturbing thoughts or images (intrusive thoughts). These attempt to be managed through rituals (i.e., handwashing, counting in patterns). Although symptoms will fluctuate with anxiety, OCD at its baseline is a distressing disorder.

Since he was young, Levi should have had an incessant need to be in control at all times. A shining example of this is his mother’s death, an incident he couldn’t control but included dirtiness/disease as a cause he could pinpoint, so this anxiety with dirtiness becomes a major obsession, and the compulsion is cleaning. (Putting aside the fact that Levi enjoys cleaning by itself too.)

It’s a widely-held belief that if Levi has OCD, it’s contamination OCD, as it specifically has to do with an obsession with dirtiness and a compulsion in cleaning (i.e., damaging handwashing, ritualized bathing that may take hours). However, based on the multitude of times Levi was covered in blood and remained unbothered by it (Titan and human), and in fact the obsession’s lack of relevance entirely during urgent missions/situations, contamination OCD is simply not plausible. Instead, it’s general OCD.

There’s no way to know for sure, but I don’t see his OCD as mild or severe. Levi is an extremely orderly and balanced person, so it can be concluded he must have things done a certain way, routinely, organizational, or planned; when the dirtiness is “negative” (i.e., Titan blood, blood on a knife he used to kill Isabel’s attackers), he is never more rigid with cleanliness; it’s probable he suffers intrusive thoughts (likely of the violent nature), a fear of contamination, and/or counting ritualistically, but the most obvious compulsion is cleaning. He might have sensory issues, such as disgust if he happens to brush shoulders with a stranger; aversion to particularly bright lights, irrational rage towards “mouth sounds” (i.e., chewing, coughing, swallowing), etc.

EDNOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified)

Levi should have a complicated relationship with food to say the least.

In the realm of eating disorders, EDNOS is sort of a catch-all term when an individual doesn’t qualify for the diagnostic criteria of anorexia or bulimia, and it encompasses lesser-known eating disorders like Pica. It’s the most common diagnosis for clinical eating disorders.

I already covered how integral the early years of life are, and beginning at a young age, if children aren’t given a basic need like food, and they must seek out food on their own, it becomes an anxiety deeply rooted in the brain regardless of how well-fed they are when they’re older. There will always be an urge to have food available. Levi’s years in the Underground were spent either actively starving, or going about every single day having acquiring food as top priority. He was a young adult when he left, so it’s impossible to unlearn this (without extensive therapy, which Levi doesn’t seek). It’s similar to compulsions found in OCD: even though he logically knows that there will be a dinner after lunch, it’s impossible to put aside this worry.

That may mean always having food stashed, eating too much—especially in his early years Aboveground when he’d eat as much food in a day than he’d eat in a week Underground— stealing food, or eating way too quickly (as someone who lived in a place where food was considered something of a luxury resource and threatened being stolen at any time).

The latter factor contributes to Levi’s suggested preference to only eat alone—joining the fact that Levi only eats with Erwin after expeditions. Eating in front of others should be considered a weakness to him.

As time passes with this easy access to food, combined with his extremely narrow sense of what makes him “good enough”, his relationship with eating may become toxic. Especially when the stakes of his worthiness are so high—literally life and death. He may think that he’s privileged to eat at all, and when he feels worthless, he restricts himself from that “privilege”.

He may be so accustomed to the feeling of hunger, that it doesn’t immediately register with his mind when he is hungry.

Lastly, he may have a generally low appetite. This is often associated with depression, but depression is comorbid with C-PTSD.

Misc.

Some tangents/miscellaneous speculation about Levi’s psychology:

Queer?

Sexuality is formed and shifts due to a wide variety of factors, which most if not all are terribly understudied: genetics, hormones, and your environment/experiences. So again, my speculation.

With his fear of close relationships and negative experiences with sex, I think he should land somewhere on the queer spectrum, specifically under the asexual or aromantic umbrella (i.e., pansexuality/being panromantic (attraction to personality) and demisexuality/being demiromantic (attraction only to those he has an emotional connection to)).

MDD

The odds of Levi having MDD (major depressive disorder/clinical depression) are iffy. Most if not all of the symptoms are comorbid with childhood trauma and C-PTSD: Such as persistent apathy, guilt, and/or discontent; sleeping too much or too little; lack of energy; reduced or heightened appetite; irritability.

Oftentimes, depression, C-/PTSD, and related mental illnesses cause unexplained physical pain, such as back pain and occasional tension headaches. “Stress hormones” like adrenaline are built-up in the body, and usually persist without physical therapy and-or medication (Disclaimer this mention is based on nothing more than Levi always standing with at least one hand on his hip).

Body Language

Similar can be said of his body language from a cognitive perspective. The vast majority of the time, Levi has himself closed-off in some way, usually by crossing his arms to protect his chest; a subconscious barrier between oneself and another person.

Also see this official art of Levi asleep.

Afterword

We’ve known it’s not just Levi’s physical strength and skill that makes him the strongest, right? It should take immense mental strength to make it day-by-day dealing with the trauma and issues that he does, but not only has he survived and continues to, but he lives heroically, selflessly, with the wellbeing of everyone around him as a top priority. He buries all of his pain by moving forward always and without exception regardless of how painful the present is. Living with “no regrets” should in mental respects be a guise for pushing his trauma down, too; there’s just no words that can properly do Levi’s resilience justice.

Part of me wants to go into detail about his later adulthood, but given how very little we know (right now), I think it’d be too speculative.

However, based on what we have seen at the ending of AOT, it’s comforting to know and plain to see that Levi wasn’t defeated when he “lost” the reason to be so strong, and even his strength itself; he didn’t lose his love for his friends nor of life.

In middle age, based on Erikson’s psychosocial stages, the conflict that should enter Levi’s life is the idea of generativity versus stagnation. He seems satisfied with his life despite the negative effects of all he went through—grief, physical disability, inevitable mental scarring—and he’s still concerned with helping others, especially the younger generation in a world after the overwhelming devastation that was the Rumbling.

My speculated psychopathologies/diagnoses of Levi:

C-PTSD (insomnia prevalent)

OCD (contamination obsessions)

EDNOS

#levi aot #snk levi #levi ackerman #levi attack on titan #captain levi #captain levi ackerman #aot levi #aot levi ackerman #attack on titan levi #aot meta #levi heichou #rivaille heichou #levi rivaille #rivaille ackerman #lance corporal rivaille #levi snk #levi.thoughts #aot #attack on titan

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dizzycheetah96 · 1 month

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i’ve had this post in the drafts for like two months but with the release of poor things on hulu has come an uptick in really really bad poor things takes so here I am clocking in for the poor things discourse!!

while art is obviously subjective and can be interpreted like literally however you want blah blah blah etc. etc., I think a lot of the criticisms of poor things are pretty surface level and in the name of like performative anger and not genuine criticisms. will be addressing and commenting on the two biggest criticisms I’ve seen:

1. poor things portrays the born sexy yesterday trope

ultimately I think the film does enough to subvert the trope, and actually utilizes the trope as a vehicle to subvert it. what I think poor things is really doing is critiquing and commenting on how men seek out infantile and docile women as a means to exert control and assert their own self importance. these men then become disillusioned when said women gain intelligence, perspective, and experiences that don’t center them.

godwin, max, and duncan all sought to control bella in some way. they sexualize her, view her as an object, property, and an experiment. at the beginning of the movie, prior to bella leaving god’s house and exploring, we do get a bit of the traditional born sexy yesterday trope. but bella being who she is, she wanted more and she wanted to explore the world, grow, etc. this fundamentally changed the way these men interacted with her, and they were no longer infatuated by her innocence and curiosity, but saw her as threatening and something they needed to reign in and control.

first, when bella asks to leave the house and see the world, she is met with pushback from both godwin and max. when bella expresses her frustration, godwin fucking chloroforms her to get her to stop talking and fighting him. this pattern continues until bella leaves.

we saw this to an extreme with duncan. he noticed that bella was gaining intelligence and perspective, was threatened, and resorted to locking her in a trunk and literally fucking kidnapping her as an attempt to regain control. but after that, she continues to learn and grow. she meets new people who introduce her to philosophy and reading and intelligent conversation. this essentially brings duncan to his breaking point and he begins to mentally deteriorate.

2. all the sex was super gross bc bella developmentally had not yet reached the age of consent

people not grasping that bella having sex with all these men is SUPPOSED to make us uncomfortable is baffling. the depiction of this kind of relationship cannot be equated with endorsement. I actually think it was important that the audience know that at the beginning of the movie that bella had the brain of a child because it allows us to see how much duncan takes advantage of her. it also just further hammers home the critique of men preferring underdeveloped infantile women they can control, rather than independent intelligent women who challenge them.

I don’t necessarily have any problem with the movie depicting that bella enjoys having sex. discovering sexuality it is an ordinary part of adolescence (when she first starts masturbating I’m assuming she was like 12-14 developmentally) and ultimately what makes the lisbon scenes with her and duncan so uncomfortable is that we know that he knows he’s taking advantage of her. I do think it was intended to be uncomfortable for the audience to watch. she does not have the knowledge and understanding to know that the dynamic between her and duncan is very very bad, but she gets there eventually. I can’t fault her for in the moment not realizing what was happening to her.

but this is where my personal criticisms come in — once bella does learn how these men took advantage of her she does not fight back against them like I wanted her to. she isn’t outraged, she doesn’t tell them how violated she feels. duncan does get his comeuppance (which was hilariously played by mark ruffalo) but I think that max and godwin got off too easy. especially max who agreed to marry her when developmentally she was a child. I just don’t think she should have been so quick to forgive them.

I also just want to take a moment to discuss the common critique that “it’s so obvious this movie was made by a man like duh this is how men perceive what female empowerment is” etc. etc. this was actually addressed by emma stone in a conversation she had w olivia coleman — emma was a producer on the film and really feels like people are taking away her agency in deciding how to tell this story. she was an integral part in the production of the film, no one was demanding her to portray bella in a certain way, and ultimately what we see on screen is a product of her involvement in the filmmaking process. by reducing this to being a movie about how men perceive women you are completely removing and invalidating the women that actually had a say in how this story was told.

tldr; idk like obviously you can think whatever you want about it, but just don’t mistake depiction for endorsement and understand that sometimes the point of the movie is to make you feel uncomfortable. stories and narratives in fiction are complicated bc people are complicated!!!! we are messy and difficult and exploring certain topics in a fictionalized world allows us to better understand the world we live in. sanitizing ourselves of engaging with this kind of material will only hurt our ability to analyze and form opinions about contentious areas of life.

#poor things #*sigh* I am once again poor things posting #emma stone #yorgos lanthimos #poor things ily

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 6 months

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Editor’s note: This hypothetically open letter was originally posted by its anonymous author on Medium and was rapidly removed as “hate speech.” We found it to be a refreshing dose of honesty, a charming and relatable open letter from one parent to other parents (not to the child, obviously!) about dealing with a challenging and dangerous moment in raising children, especially “weird” adolescents who search for their identities harder than others and risk making life-damaging mistakes in a way never before possible. We are reposting it here on New Discourses with the permission of the author.

By: Donna M.

Published: Mar 5, 2021

My dear, sweet, son,

I’ve got to break it to you: you’re not trans, you’re just weird.

This seems like a cruel thing to point out right now. Clearly, you are struggling and feeling pretty awful about things. I can see that you are in a rough patch, and one of the first rules of parenting is to not pile on. The world is pretty heavy on your shoulders. You’re fifteen. There’s a pandemic going on. But here I come anyway. I’m about to throw more on you.

When you were two – a happy, chubby, little tyke in pull-ups, you watched the world with wary eyes behind the thumb in your mouth. You leapt with joy in the rhythm of the toddle music classes. You chattered and shared stories about your stuffed animals. You loved your little sister. Enjoyed cookies and finger painting. That was all pretty normal.

But you also started to count to one thousand on our walks. And you started to call out the store names as we drove around. And you preferred reading books rather than playing with the other two-year-olds at preschool. And you hated sitting in the circle when instructed. And you hated the feel of blue jeans. And you threw big tantrums when you lost any kind of game. In other words, you started to show signs that you were… weird.

The grandparents were the first to notice. They said gentle things like “You oughta keep an eye on that one,” and sent us links to Wall Street Journal articles about child prodigies. And then the other parents in the play groups started to comment; “He’s pretty intense, huh?” And the teachers were on to it pretty quickly. They started to use fancy terms like “asynchronous development.”

By third grade, we realized you were different, but we still didn’t realize you were weird. Truthfully, we’re used to people like you. Our family is full of engineers, artists, musicians, computer programmers, and a lot of “free-thinkers.” Family gatherings always have chess, political debates, and quartets around the piano. That’s just us.

And besides, you had a small but solid group of friends. There was Pokémon, then Minecraft, then Magic, then Dungeons and Dragons, then Catan. You were never in the center of things, but you weren’t alone.

But then, in middle school, things started to change. By 7th grade, school finally started to require some effort, and it turned out you were pretty disorganized. People kept calling you smart, but the teachers were annoyed at your humor, and frustrated that you wouldn’t or couldn’t follow the guidelines for assignments. Classmates didn’t appreciate your frank (if accurate) descriptions of their efforts. I’ll admit, we got pretty frustrated with you, too.

And then puberty arrived, with its triple curse of acne, braces, and bizarre growth. The girls appeared to have it all together (I know they don’t, but they do appear that way). And the popular boys seemed to know exactly what to do. They can talk sports to each other, they brag about their romantic exploits. They never get in trouble for stupid reasons like forgetting an assignment three times in a row. Your anxiety started to kick in, and it seemed like you got smaller. And some of your guy friends moved on.

So you drifted over to the weird-o crowd. Well — I’m not sure what you call yourselves, but that’s what we would have called you back when I was in school. At different schools these are the geeks, or the theater kids, the math team kids, or the artsy-fartsy kids. This used to be where the gay kids ended up, but I think they’re more dispersed now. You get some kids whose parents are going through some rough times. Some girls with anorexia. A few boys who are edgy and angry. Kids with a great sense of humor and big hearts.

And some of these kids are really passionate. Just full of righteous anger about the injustices of the world. And some of them are dramatic. And truthfully, that looks pretty attractive to you. Because you share some of that confusion and anger about the world. And though you may not be sure what you think or what you feel, you are certain you don’t want to be on the bad side. You certainly aren’t like those popular boys with their suave charm and dominating manners. You’re not like them at all.

You’re actually more like those vibrant girls who can speak for hours about their ideas. Well, you would be if you could find the words to speak. And there is something so fascinating about those girls, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. You’d never think about talking to those girls anyway, because that’d be weird. Because you are weird. You’ve never been good at chit-chat, or eye contact. Or girls. And besides, you wouldn’t want them to get the wrong impression. You understand that your peers are starting to date, but you really don’t see the point. Sex is still gross and weird to you. It’s better to just call yourself “asexual” or “pansexual.” It’s like a get-out-of-jail-free card that helps you avoid the whole mess. And your group of friends tell you that you are super cool and brave for being able to say that about yourself.

But you’ve fallen into a funk. Anyone can see that. But computer games help. And there’s always trying to beat the speed record for that one game you’re kinda good at. And that one guy on reddit always has good tricks. And the people on that message board seem to get your humor.

So when one of them posts a meme about trans rights, it makes sense that you’d check it out. You’re curious! You’re a free thinker! You’re not like the normies. And the web quiz hits home. You do feel discomfort with your body. You don’t like sports. You do wonder what it would be like to be a girl. You’ve always felt like something was different about you.

You’re right. There is something different about you.

But you’re not trans, you’re just weird.

So we’re right here for you. We’ll always be here for you. But those online folks who urge you to “crack your trans egg” and rush to hormones and surgeries don’t know you at all. They don’t know that gifted kids and ADHD kids and Autism kids and Asperger’s kids are slower to develop emotionally and sexually. They don’t know that sexuality takes time and experience to figure out, and that the majority of trans teens seeking medical treatment haven’t even masturbated or kissed someone yet. They don’t know that 80% of trans children end up becoming comfortable with their birth sex if you just give them time. They don’t know that there are increasing numbers of desisting and de-transitioning people in their twenties. They don’t realize that hormones permanently stunt your growth, decrease your IQ, and can cause sterility. They don’t know that these hormones are prescribed off-label and there’s no research on the long-term outcomes. They don’t even know that the most recent research shows that short-term outcomes are clearly worse.

They don’t realize that you’re weird. But I do. You’re weird, kiddo. You’ll figure that out in a year or two. But that’s okay. We are all weird. And I love you anyway. You’re going to be just fine.

You always hear stories and justifications like, "she never liked wearing a dress," or "he always hated having his hair cut." This is post-hoc confirmation bias. Not only does this confirm everything critics say about this being a movement based on gross stereotypes, but they always leave out things like, "she refused to eat anything yellow," and "he was obsessed with elevator and crossing buttons and would cry if he wasn't the one to light it up."

It's okay to be weird.

#Donna M #gender identity #gender ideology #queer theory #genderwang #trans egg #it's okay to be weird #it's ok to be weird #normalize weird #religion is a mental illness

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spliffymae · 1 year

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WRITTEN OFF.

synopsis: it’s just you and your ex husband speaking…at three in the morning…with tensions at a crazy high…you’re totally fine.

⚠️, swearing, mentions of cheating, smut, oral (m receiving), toji is a dickhead, reader experiencing body issues during pregnancy, angst with a mix of sadness.

pt.1 if y’all haven’t read it already :)

kio’s notes - guys i am so proud of this part. omfg idk what it is but i ate this shit up. also wanted to just say thank you all so much for interacting with my posts and loving my stories 🫶🏽🥹 honestly makes me so happy to know y’all love it!

now playing:

⊱ ──────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.}──────── ⊰

“so my name can’t be said in your house, toji? what, am i voldemort now?”

“might as well be.” he mumbled, looking anywhere but at you. he couldn’t, not when you wore one of his old college sweaters he had forgotten at your house when you two started dating, four years ago. you ended up keeping it as a part of your wardrobe.

unfortunately, you hadn’t a clue that you were wearing something of his.

you folded your arms, leaning on your right leg. you were going to start with your attitude, you knew that for certain, and you didn’t care. “really? that’s how we’re acting? grow the hell up, toji. i’m not the one who ruined our marriage.”

“no just the one who ended it, right?”

you scoffed, “well i wonder why!” you said sarcastically. if he could play the ass then so could you. hell, you’d do it better.

toji rolled his eyes as a response. “i’m not doing whatever this is with you, (y/n). just tell me what megumi took and let me go take care of him.” he pinched the bridge of his nose with his empty hand. he was stressed, the evidence all over his face.

unbeknownst to you, he had been having the hardest time as a single father, trying to manage the complexities between todays adolescent life and the development of a baby. now add on his hefty paperwork from his missions and he was positive he could be sent to an early grave from stressing so hard. there wasn’t enough time in the day.

“i don’t know what the drug is, he—.” toji cut you off,

“the hell you mean you don’t know?” he spoke as if you should’ve known, almost judging you for not. the tone had your brow raised, now looking at him with narrow eyes. it was your way of telepathy, non-verbally telling him to ‘watch it’, because he was on paper thin ice.

“like i was saying—he got in the car and didn’t say. i didn’t even think to ask at that moment because i was just concerned with bringing him home first. it was a priority but at—.”

he cut you off again, this time with a scoff.

“just not top priority, right?”

you blinked.

you blinked again.

there was a silence between the two of you. a thick silence holding all the tension you two had created from being in the others presence.

toji had regretted the words just as they came out. he knew he messed up. he knew megumi had been your top priority when he didn’t have to be. when you were nothing more than toji’s friend who would just babysit the young boy whenever his father went out on missions.

megumi had been your first child, whether it be by blood or not. you loved him like he was, raised him, and became the parent he never knew he needed.

toji would always say it was your smile that drew him in, or say to his colleagues at work dinners it was your beauty, but truthfully—honestly, it was the way you loved his son like he was your own.

“i’m gonna give you a chance to take that back,” you spoke softly, voice slightly cracking. “because i know right now you’re just saying shit to hurt me. i love megumi, and if you wanna swing low, i promise you, toji, i will swing to hell.” you pointed. your eyes had become glossy with tears and you hated it.

megumi was a soft spot for you, always has been. whenever you and toji would get in spats in regard to him you were always on the defense for megumi. you were his advocate when there was no one else. but you were also reminded by toji (only when boiling points had been reached) that your advocacy did not need to be respected because you were not megumi’s real mom.

toji looked at his daughter, who had fallen asleep against his chest, soft and shallow breaths leaving her lips. she was your twin and he knew it was his karma. karma for his infidelity, his lying ways. he knew he shouldn’t have said anything, but he couldn’t help it.

“say it, toji. tell me i’m not his mom—do it!” you stepped closer. your eyes quickly darted to your daughter to see if your sudden volume increase had startled her awake. thankfully it didn’t.

“tell me he’s not my son, go ahead. tell me i went to every sports game, recital, and parent-teacher interview by myself because he wasn’t my son. say it, i want to hear you say, ‘(y/n), you’re not megumi’s mom. he’s not your son.”

there were tears in your eyes now, droplets falling after you’d blink. “let me remind you while you were out getting your dick wet in another bitch, i was home, pregnant and alone, with megumi who had a high ass fever. i took care of him when his own father put pussy over him. so don’t come to me about my priorities, ight?”

at the mention of his cheating, toji’s lips pressed into a thin line. he had definitely struck a nerve with his previous comment.

“i told you she meant nothing to me. i wasn’t in my right mind and—”

“and were just mad at your pregnant wife, so you decided to cheat on her. that would show me, huh toji?”

how many times was he going to have to apologize for what he did?

for doing the one thing he swore to not do?

he opened his mouth to speak. what he was going to say was what he didn’t quite know just yet. he wasn’t sure if he wanted to defend himself or just fight back. what was even the point of fighting back? everything you were saying was true.

rin had fussed from under him, her little whines being a reminder to her parents she was still present.

“i—” toji began but you cut him off by raising your hand up,

“shut up and feed my child. i’m going to go check on my son.” you didn’t wait for response from him as you turned to head upstairs, stomping away to let out some anger.

you left toji to realize he was in fact about to feed rin before arguing with you. and he cursed himself for forgetting what he originally came downstairs to do.

“shit.” he muttered as he went to the couch. he took her out the carrier and sat down with her. thankfully her bottle hadn’t spoiled and was still warm. damn you for being aware of your daughters needs.

“sorry, rinny. got distracted.” he kissed her forehead as he put the bottle to her lips. there was that feeling he felt in the kitchen again, that guilt. he hated it.

it was like someone took a fire to the inside of his stomach. it was hot, burning even. he was uncomfortable whenever it came because it was a feeling he couldn’t suppress.

he felt ever since that night, and it only ever grew as the days progressed.

toji had come home later than he told you, he had to stop to bring home food for you and megumi, as well as shower to rid himself of the smell of sex.

he didn’t mean to do it, honestly. he was just mad and needy. you hadn’t been giving him the attention he wanted from you. you wouldn’t let him touch you or even kiss you anywhere that wasn’t on your face. he needed the intimacy, and you only wanted privacy.

you claimed it was because you felt gross. you tried to explain to your husband how the pregnancy was affecting your mental state, mostly how you viewed your body. you already had body issues prior to being pregnant, but now, at your six month mark, you felt like you didn’t know who was staring back at you in the mirror.

but toji couldn’t understand. he kept trying to tell you how pretty you were to him, how beautiful you were all big with his baby, but you would never really take in his words. you just shrugged them and his reassuring kisses off with a fake smile and a quiet “thanks.”

you were supposed to go with him to this big work dinner. you had promised him you’d go and be his pretty little wife months ago. smile big in front of potential clients, mention your husband’s various accolades, basically put toji on a pedestal so they would choose him.

but when the night came, you weren’t feeling up for the event. toji of course wasn’t pleased as he had been telling you about this dinner for months. he tried to convince you to come but like previous disputes you two have had, it ended in yelling and arguments.

you yelled at him for his apathy; not understanding just how tired you were from carrying his baby, working during the pregnancy, and being the present parent for megumi in terms of school while toji went on his missions.

he yelled at you for not giving him the attention he deserves as your husband. for not being there for him when he needed you. honestly he knew it was dumb to have this argument. he should’ve just kissed you and agreed to let you stay home. but his stupid pride got in the way.

so he ended up going alone, dressed in his fancy suit and shoes, silver audemars piguet watch on his wrist and cuff links to match. he walked into the banquet hall and decided he would do it all himself—like he always did.

that’s when he stumbled into her, shoko ieri. she had complimented him on the way he flipped one of the biggest and most stubborn drug lords in the city to hire him for a hit job. she offered to buy him a celebratory drink, whiskey—since she was drinking it too.

it happened fast, at least to toji. the way they went from a playful banter by the bar to sitting next to each other at one of the tables. she had been a guest of his colleague, satorou gojo. she was a doctor for men in his line of work.

“so if i get injured on the job…” toji remembers starting, leaning back in the chair and putting his arm around the back of shoko’s. he had a smirk on his face as he manspread in his seat.

“then just stop by mine and i’ll make it all better.” she patted his cheek, eyes twinkling in mischief.

she ordered another round of whiskey for the two of them. the more he drank, the more you and megumi slipped from his mind. the more he ignored the gnawing sound in the back of his head. the one that kept telling him to stop.

another round of whiskey lowers the volume of his conscience. he can hear shoko better as she tells him about an impromptu surgery she performed on toji’s other colleague—and the godfather to your daughter, suguru geto. she touches toji’s bicep every now and again, as the story reaches turning points and it’s climax. the noise in his head comes back once she finishes the story, reminding him that you are waiting for him at home.

“but i don’t want to talk about me. i want to hear about the one and only toji fushiguro,” she leans in to him and his heart swells.

another round of whiskey. the noise has been minimized to a hum toji now hears every now and again as he tells her about an operation gone wrong in nagasaki. the conversation takes a flirtatious turn when shoko’s hand flies to his knee in a somber stroke, mumbling about how tired toji must’ve been after. his ego bursts.

another round of whiskey and toji does not recall there ever being a noise in his head. it’s quiet now, with only the sound of the jazz band and shoko having his attention. her hand remains on his knee, cherry red nails scraping against his thigh as it inches higher. toji makes a comment about switching to water for the night but shoko reminds him that just like the night they are both young.

another round of whiskey. toji’s hand is squeezing shoko’s thigh, his fingers grazing higher to places he yearns to explore. her lips now the colour plum, stained from the red wine she was nursing in between shots.

“there’s a hotel above us, y’know.” her eyes were piercing into his own. lips in a smirk and cheeks red from being flustered.

“so why are we still sitting here?” toji asked, lifting a brow. shoko smiled and unlocked her phone, passed it to him with the contact page open.

“add yourself. then wait for ten minutes.” she had a confidence about her that toji found captivating. so he did as she said, tapping his thumbs against her screen and filling out the information. when he gave her back the phone, she smiled and stood up, sauntering away.

his dick was hard. he was leaning back in the chair, wiping a hand down his face to calm himself down.

in the moments he spent to himself, the noise he had long forgotten slowly made its way back to max volume. he signaled to the waitress for another round.

the glasses of alcohol were brought in front of him, two tall shot glasses. he took them down without a thought, the liquid burning his throat.

his phone vibrated on his lap,

unknown

room 615.

it happened in slow motion, at least to toji. the way his fist knocked against the door of the hotel room and shoko answered with a smirk before pulling him in by his belt. then things started to pick up.

the way he cupped her face and kissed her hungrily. his anger from earlier and passion from the lust he felt were put into the kiss, the sounds of their lips smacking and shoko moaning ringing in his ears.

she broke away to flash a wicked smile before she bent down in her heels, becoming eye level with his crotch. she began pawing at the bulge in his pants, emitting a groan from him. his hand grabbed at her hair, chestnut coloured tresses bunched up in his fist and a gruff “suck it” leaving his lips.

his dick was hard and it was leaking for her. the way she sucked on his reddened tip had his eyes fluttering closed. she opened her mouth wide and took him until her nose was brushing against his freshly trimmed pubic hairs.

those same nails that had his leg jumping traced his prominent v-line. toji was seeing stars as she began to bob her head. he hadn’t gotten head in so long, months probably. her throat was so tight, so warm.

does it help if he said he thought of you during it, the cheating?

when he had her back arched over the bathroom sink and stared at her fucked out expression through the mirror, he saw you for a minute. he blamed the alcohol, of course.

would it make you feel better if he said he used condoms?

he didn’t want to bring anything back to you. and after that night, he got tested sometime that week to make sure everything was okay. it was, and he let out a sigh of relief.

can knowing he felt like absolute shit once he finished bring you solace?

when she had come for the third and final time in the bed, he gave her a kiss to the forehead as she fell to sleep. he walked bear to the shower and at the sight of himself in the mirror he wanted to throw up.

he came home just after midnight to find you were sitting outside megumi’s door with a blanket over your body and head resting back against the wall.

“love,” toji crouched down and shook you softly. you should have been in bed. “(y/n), wake up.”

you stirred, but eventually your eyes opened to see your husband, with a curious look on his face. “you’re on the floor.”

“why didn’t you answer your phone?” was the first thing you asked him. you didn’t say hi, you didn’t ask how the night was—you got straight to it.

toji pulled his phone out from his pants pocket and turned off his do not disturb to see he had five missed calls and ten texts from you.

“i put it on do not disturb so i could focus on the clients, m’sorry baby. what happened, are you okay?” he quickly scrolled through the messages:

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

you seriously are going to throw a fit bc i’m pregnant and tired?

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

fine fuck you then

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

ok not fuck you fuck you. fuck you for now

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

megs is sick and his head is burning. is your dinner close to finishing?

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

toji i get we are beefing atm but our son is sick and i need your help

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

he just told me to leave him alone bc he doesn’t want to get me sick and possibly harm the baby. i told him that won’t happen but he won’t listen to me. toji pls call him

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

bro can you not be on your petty shit for a hot minute and just answer me?! i don’t know what to do he has chills now! holy fuck

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

toji !

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

update: it’s been an hr, idk what tf you got goin on but megs is still sick. i made him soup and he had a little before throwing up. i gave him some medicine and cold towel for his head but there’s no change. idek why i’m texting this shit to you 🙄

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

if i lock your ass out pls know it was justified.

toji looked at you with apologetic eyes. you were mad, rightfully so. you had expressed to him how uncomfortable you had been lately, with your body in more pain then before. standing up for long was difficult, he knew this. he had heard the doctor tell you not to over exert yourself and take it easy on your body.

“started to think you wouldn’t be coming home.” you pushed the blanket off of you, dressed in one of his tee shirts and a pair of your pajama pants, your cornrows tucked away under your hair scarf.

you struggled to get up on your own, your max weight now being shifted to your front and creating an imbalance. but you did it with a huff, toji standing tall now and watching. he had offered to help but you slapped his hand away.

“(y/n)—.”

“shut the fuck up. i’m going to bed and you’re on the couch.” you pushed the blanket into his chest. he was still slightly drunk so he stumbled back a bit, but caught himself.

toji didn’t have any more time to dwell on his past actions. or to recall the night you found out, because you had come back downstairs. “megs’ still high, but he says it’s better than how he was before. he said he and his friends took a pill—probably molly. i ordered him some food to eat so hopefully it comes down fast. rin doing okay?” you stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister.

in front of you was toji’s back as he held rin, who was fast asleep in a formula coma. the bottle was empty and she was content, snoring away in her fathers arms.

“she’s fine now.” he mumbled but you heard. and with a nod, you walked to the door to put your shoes back on.

“great, i’ll be on my way. listen out for his food. kiss rin f’me.”

toji heard you unlock the door, and heard the sound of it opening. before you walked out though, he called out to you.

“yes?”

“was there any part of you that would’ve taken me back….after everything?” he turned his head so he could see you in his peripheral. he wasn’t going to look at you as you said it, he couldn’t.

he doesn’t think you understand how hard it’s been to look at you since that night.

you blew air out your mouth, cheeks puffed and eyebrows raised. you hadn’t expected for this to be the question he asks you as you get ready to leave. not at damn near five in the morning.

but might as well, right?

“honestly, yeah. i would always have these random moments where i would feel like i needed you again, in my life or in my bed…but then i would remember that you cheated on me when i was pregnant, and when i was in the darkest period of my pregnancy, at that.”

the emotions were still raw for you, the betrayal and the pain. it was a feeling that felt almost close to that of stabbing. a piercing blade through your heart that turned deeper into the organ anytime you’d think about it.

“i, uh, remember how i stayed up crying for months after because i just knew that whoever that woman was, she must’ve been the definition of gorgeous—because you used to tell me there was not a being alive who could outshine my beauty. and i believed you.”

“i didn’t lie” toji said. his voice was shaky and he honestly didn’t know why he asked you such a question. it was obvious there was no sign of reconciliation between you two. but yet he asked anyways, hoping some higher being somewhere would give him back his family. he didn’t appreciate it at first, but he’s learned now.

you chuckled dryly, “no, you were just proven wrong. goodnight, toji.” you quickly left after that, not wanting to wait around for anything he had to say.

as far as you were concerned, that was the end. it was over.

pt. 3

#Spotify #🌞🍃spliffymae #jjk⋞〈⏣》⋟#toji fushiguro x black reader #toji x reader #baby daddy toji #toji zenin #toji smut #anime x black!reader #jjk #jjk x black reader #cheating #angst

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sakufilms · 2 years

Text

Time Repeats Itself

MASTERLIST

⌁ the umbrella academy x gn!teen!reader (platonic)

⌁ instead of that horrible room being empty all those years, reginald hargreeves locked you in it. what happens when you’re found by your siblings on the day of reginald’s funeral? // angst, hurt/comfort

⌁ 5.6k words

! : abuse/child abuse, confinement, isolation, the room viktor was locked in in season 1, pre-transition viktor (takes place s1e1/canon compliant), reggie hargreeves

Klaus

Klaus Hargreeves was rather known for his curious nature. The way he was constantly talking, lazily observing at all times. Small observations in his adolescence blossomed into somewhat of a sharp eye in his adult years, which he used for finding money for drugs. Anything to keep the spirits at bay.

His hand dragged along the wall of his childhood home as he scoured the halls, but he only saw it as a prison. The building that took up an entire square block, once constantly surrounded by fans and paparazzi, and now nothing more than any other old boring building on the street. Klaus laughed under his breath. Good riddance. If anyone deserved to fail so horribly it was that asshole of a father, Reginald Hargreeves himself.

Klaus began to whistle a tune lightly; something random and off the top of his head. His eyes flickered over books and knickknacks. Nothing so far looked worth selling. Nothing of enough value. His father was rich for fucks sake, there’s gotta be something good around this damned mansion.

He sighed, and Ben pouted mockingly. “Oh, Dad’s funeral isn’t as exhilarating as you’d hoped?”

Klaus waved him off. “No, no. Funeral hasn’t happened yet. We still have time for fun.” He joked lamely.

The living man and the ghost turned a corner. The hall was quite empty, and Klaus did a 180° dramatically at the sight, groaning into the palms of his hands. Where’s the good stuff?

”Klaus.” Ben sounded . . . shocked? Confused? Curious?

”What do you want, Benerino?” Klaus turned again with a huff. Ben was pointing ahead of him with furrowed brows. Klaus’ eyes flickered to his brothers line of sight, and he tilted his head. There was an elevator at the end of the hallway, standing proud with a menacing feel to it. “Oh, that’s odd.”

”Yeah, no kidding.”

Klaus jumped to the opportunity, skipping down the hall to the mystery elevator. “Think there’s something worth selling in wherever this leads?”

Ben scoffed, following him hastily. “No, Klaus— an elevator that Dad never told us about? It’s probably something more than something worth selling.” Ben’s arms were crossed over his chest as Klaus clicked the button for the elevator.

”Something more? So what you’re saying is I could be rich? Besides, Dad didn’t tell us a lot of things. Also, this house is huge, makes total sense that we missed it.” Klaus hummed to himself.

Klaus made some points, but Ben was hesitant. “No, I’m saying that maybe—“

”Ah! Here we go.” The elevator opened slowly, and Klaus strode in, Ben right behind him. There were two buttons in the elevator, Klaus clicked the bottom one which was labeled ’B’.

”Really, Klaus?”

”Mm-hmm.”

Ben sighed. “You should just be more careful sometimes.”

Klaus nodded, eyes distant. He wasn’t paying attention at all.

The elevator dinged, and Klaus silently cheered, stepping out. His smile fell in an instant. The room was almost completely empty, apart from one thing.

At the end of the room was a large, prison like metal door. There was a small window to see the inside, and he crept forward, careful and slow. Whatever this was, it made him feel uneasy.

He peered through the thick glass, and he could’ve swore his heart stopped beating in his chest. Inside, there was someone young occupying the room. They wore loose, baggy clothing. Nothing much, just the colour of simple grey. They sat on a bed in the centre of the cell, which only had white bedsheets and a white pillow to match. There was a small bedside table to the left of the bed, and on it was just one single book. The room itself was padded spikey walls and dim lights—it was no place for a teenager. And, God, how long have they been in here?

Klaus’ heart clenched because no, no, no. This was too familiar to him. Flashes of being locked in a mausoleum for hours and hours on end poured over him and clouded his vision and he couldn’t hear anything but the beating of his own heart. They can’t be in there, they can’t—

They slowly looked up, made eye contact with Klaus, and with a start they backed up until their back hit the back of the bed frame. They looked confused, but then realization hit them like a freight train, and they sat in place, body tense.

”Oh, my God . . .” Ben broke the heavy silence.

”What do I . . .” Klaus cut himself short. His mind was swarmed with thoughts and emotions, he didn’t know what to do— because what the fuck? He knew his dad was bad, but this is just insane.

You

Mom was always caring; kind. You didn’t mind that she was a robot, she treated you like a parent should. As if she were human and you were made from her blood and cells. A child of her own, though she was made. You knew it was all in her programming, but it filled you with joy nonetheless. She’d bring you new books for your reading time, with all sorts of topics and plots. She’d bring you your snacks and cook you meals, and she’d take care of you. You knew Mom—you liked her.

Pogo always had this hurting look in his eyes when your eyes met his. You never understood it, but it made your senses tingle and you always felt a pull of energy, a headache forming between your eyes. You always knew your powers were trying to reach out and uncover the secret, but you weren’t strong enough. Besides, it wasn’t in your power to read minds. You still sensed something, however. But you knew Pogo too, and you liked him.

You didn’t know many things about family dynamics, and you never had the chance to fully understand social cues as your closest friend had always been silence, but you knew that Reginald treated you how a father shouldn’t. He claimed to care about you, but you saw how in the few times that he’s admitted that, he had a calculating look in his eye. He treated you like an experiment, not his child. You hardly left the padded box. You only left for training, and using the bathroom. All the rooms were in the basement, which according to Mom, it’s not how things used to be at the academy. You knew Dad, you . . . didn’t like him. But his words had stained your bones, he raised you, he took care of you, he was your father. You wouldn’t admit that you didn’t like him.

The man standing in front of you however, you didn’t know at all. His familiarity led you to believe you had seen him in a vision, but you didn’t know him.

Why is he here, why is he here—

The funeral is today.

With that thought in mind, you were frozen in place. All of your siblings who you had never met before would all be coming today—that, you knew. You dreamt about it while in your deepest stage of sleep. It was hazy and cloudy, but you saw it. The thought of them coming home left you excited and overly nervous, but now that one of your siblings was standing in front of you, you were frozen still.

He had a shaggy appearance, yet he didn’t look awful. His clothing style seemed very out there—extravagant, and joyful. It was everything his expression wasn’t. He looked shocked, scared, confused, hurt.

His lips were moving but you couldn’t hear a thing courtesy of the thick metal box you were placed in. The expression he wore looked almost unnatural for a face like his—he had very prominent smile lines, but now his lips were tugged downward and his brows were drawn together.

He began reaching to the large wheel attached to the door. He’s letting me out? Why is he letting me out? Where are we going?

He began twisting the large wheel, face pinching together in frustration. The metal groaned and creaked from the age of the room and the lack of use of the handle. Ever since Reginald’s death, you left the box less often. It hurt you deeply, knowing Pogo and Mom were still roaming the halls. They checked in rather often, but you didn’t leave to train anymore. It pained you to know that Mom and Pogo still lived trapped in Reginald’s power and rules. Even after death had taken him, your father was still hurting you.

The door opened with a hiss, and you clutched the bedsheets so tight your knuckles changed colour. The man—Klaus, you had the sudden knowledge that that was his name—stepped in hesitantly.

”Uhm . . .” It was clear he didn’t know how to approach the situation. You didn’t either, and your mouth remained clamped shut. “Who are you?” He looked unsure if that was the right thing to ask.

Your response was nothing but heavy breaths and tensed up muscles.

He nodded slowly, an emotion akin to sadness flickering in his green eyes. “Well, I’m Klaus.” You were tempted to tell him you already knew that, but you didn’t.

He glanced to his left nervously, opened his mouth to speak, but ended up saying nothing. He turned back to you. “Are you o— why are you in here?”

You know exactly why you’re in here. You heard Reginald talk about it in a flashback—you don’t get them often but when you do they’re immensely painful, sometimes ending with nosebleeds.

You’ve had two about Reginald. The first time you had one, Reginald sat alone in his office. It was a flashback from years ago, just before you were born. His children were growing older, the academy was falling apart. You had the urge to think he looked somber, but no. He looked thoughtful.

He opened a compartment in his office closet, typed in a code, and pulled out something that baffled you. It was glowing, bright as ever. Small orbs floating around in a glass jar. He observed it for a moment, went over to the window, and set the orbs free, floating off into the night.

You didn’t know what that flashback meant, but the next one was painfully clear. You remembered the anger on his face, his quick steps.

‘I don’t think this is a good idea, Sir.’ Pogo had said, distressed.

’No, I will not change my mind. The academy is already falling apart as it is. I need complete control this time. This is the only option.’ Reginald had replied fiercely. That was how you knew that you’d be stuck in the box forever.

Your lips parted to speak, but this was all new to you. The fear that encased you was thicker than the metal surrounding you.

”Okay, okay . . .” Klaus nodded, talking more to himself. “I . . . will be right back. Uh, don’t go anywhere.” He started into a quick walk out the door, stopping to make sure it was all the way open. You frowned as he walked away, confusion settling in your stomach. Why did he leave it open?

You thought about leaving, as the opportunity was given to you.

You didn’t.

With the open door, you could hear things again. There were multiple footsteps coming from above, and you curled further in on yourself. Your siblings were all here.

Footsteps came closer and closer, more than one pair. Not too many, maybe two.

”Klaus, what the hell is this?” A man with a prominent scar on the right side of his head—Diego—said lowly. His eyes were wide, he looked startled. He looked frightened.

”I don’t know, I— I found the elevator, came to see what there was, and . . .” Klaus’ voice broke off. He fiddled with his fingers. Again, he glanced over to the side.

The two stepped into the box, and Diego spoke. ”Who are you?” He almost sounded mad, and you would’ve thought he was if not for the way he looked at you. “Kid, what’s your name?”

You felt your nerves spike, his body was covered with an array of knives. “Eight.”

Diego gave a heavy sigh. Klaus looked sad.

”Why are you here?” He asked. It seemed to be a frequently asked question today. “How long have you been here?”

You were rendered speechless again. Diego sighed again, and pointed at Klaus. “You, you stay here. I’m getting the others.” Diego walked away hurriedly. You weren’t sure you were ready to see the others, but he had so many knives. You shouldn’t argue.

Klaus looked at the way you were near trembling. ”Are you okay?”

You looked at him, he seemed kind. You relaxed your muscles a bit. You nodded at his question, even though your answer was a lie.

He looked to his right, a questioning look on his face. He seemed to look at nothing like that a lot. It confused you. “You like to read?” You got the feeling he was trying to calm you, but you weren’t sure if it was working. It didn’t make you feel worse, however.

He was looking down at the book on your desk. The Giver by Lois Lowry. “Yes.” You said. You liked this book a lot. It was your favourite.

The world Jonas lived in felt familiar to you, in some way, if you twisted the plot a little. The way each day was the same, the way there were so many rules. You saw a bit of yourself in the The Giver himself, too. The way he passed on memories to Jonas reminded you of how you’d get visions sometimes with human contact, or even by touching an object.

You hoped that one day you’d get to break free from your own world of sameness, and see the world how it really was. You wanted to leave this box.

“That’s cool,” you didn’t think that Klaus himself was a reader, his voice sounded a bit flat when he spoke. It was how Reginald spoke when he said he cared about you. “I know someone who likes to read.”

”Who is it?”

He nodded to himself, breathing in deeply. “My brother.” He laughed nervously. “Our brother, I guess.”

Footsteps grew louder and closer, and you tensed up again. Multiple people came into your line of vision. It was unsettling, this was all so new to you. You had never been around so many people. As much as you had wished to be around others, it was much more frightening than you’d expected.

The first person to enter was Diego. The next person was tall, he looked stern. It made your stomach churn— he was so so tall, and the box was so small. You felt unsafe in a way. You felt trapped. More trapped than you ever had in the box. He didn’t look as comforting as Klaus. The next person was a beautiful woman, her bleached blonde curly hair standing out on her skin, and she was dressed semi-casual. She seemed very kind, and the way she was gazing at you with her hurt and confusion filled eyes felt motherly. The last person stood awkwardly, but her expression was nothing but. An emotion peeked through the emotionless face she had, it was clear as day. It was anger.

”Diego, what the hell is going on?” The woman with bleach blonde hair asked—Allison. Her name was Allison.

”I don’t—“ Diego turned to you again, then took a step closer. “Why are you here?” He’d asked the question again. You looked around the room, body rigid. The way everyone was looking at you made you uncomfortable. It was so much attention, it was too much.

“Diego, give them some space.” The awkward one—Vanya, your brain supplied—said. Diego looked upset, but he listened, backing away. “Are you seeing this? Look at what that asshole did while we were gone.”

You pushed yourself up to your bed frame further, arms beginning to shake for how long you’ve held yourself in that tense position.

”You know what? Luther,” the tall man looked shocked that Diego was addressing him, “why didn’t you say anything? You were here when they were. You never even moved out, Space Boy.”

Luther’s frowned deepened, and he towered over Diego. The tension in the room was building, your heart racing. “Watch it. I didn’t even know they were here.”

”Okay, guys,” Allison held up a hand, stepping in between the two, “you’re stressing them out.”

The sound of the clacking of heels eased you, and you felt more at home again. If you focused on the sound, breathing in and out slowly, maybe you could forget the world around you, and fall into the comforting arms of your mother. “Oh, Hello, dears.” Mom’s smile was wide, and she looked around, her head turning robotically. “I see you’ve met your sibling.” She clasped her hands in front of her.

”Mom, what’s going on?” Diego stepped toward her, eyes softening at her. You realized that Diego loved Mom as much as you did.

”What do you mean, Diego?”

”I— they’re—“

Mom placed a gentle hand on Diego’s shoulder. “Picture the word in your head, dear.”

”No, that’s not what I—“

”Mom, why are they in the basement?” Allison cut in, giving you worried glances.

”Your father doesn’t like when I talk about this.” This was the first time you had seen Mom look something other than joyful. The ends of her brows pulled down, and her smile fell.

“Mom,” Diego started softly, “Dad’s dead.”

Moms shoulders sagged. “Oh, that’s right,” She smiled again, standing completely upright, “I suppose you’ll just have to ask Pogo, hmm?” You’d noticed that Mom had been acting stranger lately; she had been ever since Dad died. She was never human, but lately that’s been more clear then ever.

Mom turned and left, going back to the elevator. If she had been human, you imagined she’d walk with a bounce in her step to fit her peppy personality. Her smile would look less artificial, too.

Your siblings all looked back at you. There were varying expressions: awkwardness, confusion, nervousness, upset.

Allison was the one to move first. “Do you get out of the house often?”

You merely shook your head. I don’t get out at all.

“Do you leave this . . . box often?”

You shook your head again.

Vanya seemed to tense up at that. You wondered why. The reason was just barely in your grasp, nothing but flashes of a time long ago. It was all hazy and you couldn’t quite tell what any of it meant. You felt a headache forming at the straining.

Allison walked forward slowly, reaching for your shoulder. You didn’t move, so she gently rested her hand down. She was as gentle as a mother should be—she was as gentle as Mom was. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had a child of her own. “How about we go upstairs, all right?” She smiled kindly at you.

You were left speechless. You couldn’t even remember ever stepping in the elevator, let alone going on another floor. The idea of it made you feel nervous, yet eager. You slowly nodded.

Allison smiled kindly, but she kept glancing at the others. She helped you stand, and your hand immediately reached for hers. It was muscle memory; you always held Mom’s hand when you went to train. Your heart lurched when you realized you were holding a strangers hand, but she didn’t seem to mind.

You stepped out of the box, and this was the first time you felt apprehensive while doing so. You weren’t going to train—you were going upstairs. You walked slower, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look up. It took everything in you not to squeeze Allison’s hand too tight—and everything in you not to let go. It was strange, really. You didn’t know her, but she was being so nice.

You stepped into the rickety elevator, and you soon felt even more nervous when everyone else stepped in as well. So many people trying not to look at you, but you still caught their glances. It was so crowded, you didn’t have enough space to breathe. It was too much, it’s too much—

Allison began to rub her thumb over the back of your hand. You didn’t realize you were shaking until that moment, as the world was blurry around you and the only thing you could focus on was this room was too small.

There was a scraping sound, indicating the elevators age. The doors slowly opened, the others filed out hurriedly. You took in a breath of air, feeling it rush into your lungs. Your heart was beating fast, hitting your sternum with every beat. You felt unfit to walk all of a sudden, like your legs would give out at any moment.

Allison began to walk, and you eventually moved your legs to go with her, your shaking hand still in hers. You kept looking down. You didn’t like how many people were looking at you. It was too much.

“How about we get you in some nicer clothes?” Allison said. You looked down at what you were wearing—your regular clothes, just grey. The fabric was semi-comfortable, a little bit itchy, but you had grown used to it over time. All of your clothes had been that way. What else were you supposed to wear? ”What . . . do you mean?”

Allison looked at Vanya for a second. “Well, do you have anything else? Don’t you think it’d be nice to change?”

You shrugged. You didn’t have anything else.

Allison insisted you wore something better anyway. You went to her room, and immediately decided you didn’t like her old clothes. They fit just fine, but they were so colourful in contrast to your bland attire. You didn’t like how it made you stand out. You ended up taking some of Vanya’s old clothes instead, it was quite similar to what she wore now, and you liked that. It had some of the softest fabric you had ever felt, but the colours were still dull, like you were used to.

After a few more twists and turns in the extremely confusing layout of the house, you found Mom. You stood awkwardly in the doorway. You had never been in the kitchen before.

”Oh, there they are!” Klaus said semi loudly. You didn’t even realize everyone was in here until now. Klaus still looked nervous and upset—which was the opposite of how he sounded—and the others looked tense.

Mom turned around from the counter and smiled. “Oh, well isn’t it nice to see you all together again.” It felt odd to be included, you realized.

Mom began putting plates onto the table, one for each sibling, and then she put a tray in the centre of the table. There were fruits and cheese and crackers, one of your favourite snacks. Mom would bring it down to you often. “Eat up!” She grinned.

Vanya put a hesitant hand on your back, guiding you to the table. She seemed to understand that the amount of people was making you uncomfortable, so she led you to the chair at the end of the table.

When her hand came in contact with your back, you gasped, freezing in place. Your eyes glazed over, a white film covering them as you were thrown into a vision—no, a flashback.

You saw padded walls and dim lights, a small window at the end of the room. The box. You didn’t see much, just flashes, but you still got the picture.

Vanya had been in the box before.

“Eight?” Vanya lifted a finger, tapping your back lightly. “Are you all right?”

Everyone was still looking at you, and the idea of them being there while you had a vision made you nervous. You only nodded.

Vanya seemed unsure, as she most definitely saw the change in colour of your eyes, but she continued to lead you to your chair, and then took the one next to you. You waited for the others to grab their food first, but they didn’t. Instead, Vanya slid the tray near your plate and smiled gently at you, giving you a nod. You tried to ignore the way they were still looking at you, and you grabbed some apple slices, along with some cheese and crackers.

Your fingers shook lightly, and Vanya saw it, then spoke. “What do we do?” You hoped she was okay. You didn’t like the box, yourself; she must not of liked it either.

”Well, isn’t it simple, Vanya?” Klaus took a sip from a bottle of alcohol, and Vanya just furrowed her brows, “we don’t give Dad a funeral, he doesn’t deserve it.”

Diego and Allison just shrugged, while Luther looked outraged, but he took one glance at you and hesitated.

You weren’t sure what to think about Dad having a funeral or not. He was your Dad, the only one you ever had, but he didn’t quite raise you, and he certainly didn’t care for you. Not on a parent-child level anyway. He only cared for you in the name of science.

Diego leaned back in his chair. “I don’t think he deserved a funeral anyway.”

That caused Luther to snap. “Diego!”

Diego opened his mouth to argue, but Allison held up a hand. “Guys,” she frowned in a disappointed manner, “enough.”

You’d spent so long wanting to leave the basement, but now that you were out and free, you felt so strange and out of place. You weren’t as prepared as you wished you were, even with the amount of books you had read. All sorts of genres, too, and you still felt lost. It was like when Klaus had found you, the world went on a standstill and all the attention was on you, which was something you were not ready for.

Not only that, but not even hundreds of books could have prepared you for the amount of items that belonged to a home, or just to people themselves. You’d passed many knickknacks on your way here, and the walls were far from empty with the paintings covering every inch of them. You had the urge to go inspect everything—it was extremely different from the box.

There was a sigh to your left, and you turned. It was Pogo. “I see you’ve found your sibling.” You didn’t like the way he said found instead of met. You weren’t a thing to be found, discovered, and figured out. You were a person with feelings, still figuring things out—and frankly, you were still figuring feelings out as well, no matter how much you’ve learned on your own.

”Found?” Vanya's soft voice was on the verge of incredulous.

“My apologies,” Pogo said, head hanging in shame at his choice of words. He wasn’t bad, not like Reginald was, but no one could deny the mistakes he’s made. “I suppose it’s time for your fathers secret to be revealed.”

Luther held his head high Pogos words. You didn’t like how much respect Luther showed your father.

Pogo gripped his cane harder between his fingers for a moment, sighing while looking down at the floor. “Your father had always been so set in his ways that no matter what I did, it was hardly possible to convince him to change anything,”

”That doesn’t make this any better, Pogo.” Allison frowned.

Pogo nodded slightly. “Yes, that’s true. I did try my best to stop this from happening—“

”What exactly is this? Why the hell were they down there?” Diego was tense, and you had to continually convince yourself that he wasn’t angry at you.

”When Eight was born, it was very much the same as you. It was just as strange and sudden, and your father wasted almost no time in getting them. They were raised downstairs their entire life for a reason I never knew, but trust me I tried to stop it.”

”Should’ve tried harder.” Klaus’ lips were pursed together in a tense frown and he was gripping his bottle tightly.

“While I was trying,” Pogo started solemnly, “Grace and I would bring them books, and sometimes Grace would teach them if your father let her. We wanted to prepare them as best as we could for the day they’d finally leave.”

It wasn’t enough, and you knew that. You were already so overwhelmed it was almost unbearable.

All of your siblings began talking at once, their voices gradually growing in volume to the point where the amount of sound you were hearing all at once became deafening. Your hands shot up to your ears, desperation swallowing you whole. You had never heard so much sound—the box was always so, so quiet.

The voices slowly grew quiet, and you opened your eyes to find everyone staring at you apologetically. You removed your hands from your ears and placed them at your side. You were no longer hungry, as discomfort settled in your stomach. You didn’t like the attention.

”Children,” Pogo began, “if you’d like to know more, feel free to ask. I will answer what I can but perhaps it’d be better to talk privately.” Pogo turned to leave the room, and no one followed. You had an inkling that they would rather talk later.

”I need to think.” Luther stood up abruptly, leaving the room. The siblings began filing out the room after that, each of them sending you hurt and sad glances. Eventually it was just you, Vanya, Klaus and Mom. Vanya stood to leave the room, but she looked at Klaus hesitantly. Her eyes eventually landed on Mom and her shoulders relaxed, and she left the room, too.

You felt more comfortable now. The room was almost empty, and Mom was here. If you thought hard enough maybe you could pretend Klaus wasn’t there, and it was just you and Mom, in the box.

But with a deep breath, you knew that wasn’t true. Klaus’ personality, however, did put you at ease. You were glad that it was him that stayed rather than Luther.

You tapped the table lightly, focusing on that and Mom’s humming.

“Wasn’t it so nice meeting your siblings, dear?” Mom said, turning around with a grin. Her joyful personality made you feel at home again.

You only shrugged in reply, and saw Klaus’ shoulders sag.

”We are quite the group, aren’t we?” He said lightly. You didn’t respond.

Klaus nodded to himself, setting his bottle down on a nearby chair. He was sitting on top of the table, fiddling with his necklace.

Klaus may have started talking, or maybe he didn’t, you didn’t know. You were stuck in your own head, a vision hitting you in flashes.

A blue flash; flickering faces; a boy in baggy clothes.

A sound began playing loud enough to be heard in the kitchen. It was a song you didn’t know the lyrics to—to be fair, you didn’t know many songs.

Klaus reacted first. He began dancing without a care in the world, and you felt the tension in your shoulders fade away. The song was relaxing, as was Klaus’ obnoxious personality. Klaus swayed around the kitchen gleefully, his eyes closed with a wistful expression on his face. The corner of your mouth twitched.

You began tapping your finger on the table lightly. It didn’t take you long to find the beat.

You didn’t jump around the room like Klaus was doing, but you were feeling a hint of joy all the same.

Then there was a noise—a blue flash. It was loud and terrifying. Knives and forks and kitchen utensils flew across the room, one missing your ear only slightly before it impaled the wall. You flinched backwards, your chair knocking over as you reached for the counter.

Klaus looked startled as well, freezing in place and turning to you. “Uh, stay here.” He grabbed a fire extinguisher, and he ran off.

The feeling of being alone was suddenly unwanted again, like how you felt this morning before you’d met any of your siblings. You were frightened and alone, and you didn’t know what to do.

Except, before you were trapped, in a completely sealed and closed off room. Now, you were out in the open, you had access to whatever you wanted, and yet you couldn’t move. Or rather, you wouldn’t. Walls were what held you back before, but now you had nothing but your own fear in your way. Fear thick as the box walls.

You had the faintest idea of what was happening outside—flickering faces—and the idea of facing it firsthand made your stomach churn. Being in the kitchen for the first time was one thing, standing in front of a glowing blue ball was something else entirely.

Something you weren’t prepared for, however, was a blue light flashing in the middle of the kitchen. It was much smaller, quieter, and quicker, but it was shocking all the same. Someone was now standing in front of you—a boy in baggy clothes.

His face scrunched up at the sight of you, who was still gripping the counter with fear-filled eyes. “Who are you?”

You didn’t reply.

He tilted his head, his confusion clearly growing stronger.

Klaus then ran into the kitchen breathlessly, stopping to put his hands on his knees, taking in deep breaths. Diego shoved him, entering the room as well, your other siblings soon following. Klaus eventually stood next to you with a sigh, keeping about 2 feet of distance. Assumingly for your own comfort.

”Who’s this?” The boy looked to them. His name was Five, you thought.

”Our sibling.” Klaus nods, painting a gleeful expression on his face. You couldn’t tell if the joy he was showing was real or not.

Five pauses, eyes flickering to you. “Our what?”

“Yeah, a lot’s been going on today.”

“Our sibling,” Five says again, more to himself, “okay, we don’t have time for this. What’s the date? The exact date.”

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caniscathexis · 4 days

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In the recently published Cass Review (2024), there is consistent mention of the prevalence of autism in the ‘trans and gender-diverse’ population, which is ‘three to six times higher’ than in the cis population ‘according to some studies’, such as Warrier et al., 2020 (Cass 5.41). The report cites concern in de Vries et al. (2011b) about whether autistic trans adolescents are experiencing “a general feeling of being just “different”” or a ““core” cross-gender identity”. A parent is quoted saying that their child, formerly bullied due to ‘ASD’, became a ‘celebrity’ and received ‘social kudos’ upon coming out (Cass p. 160); autistic children, including underdiagnosed “teenage girls”, are noted to have trouble “fitt[ing] in” (Cass 5.43) and “express[ing] how they are feeling about […] their gender identity” (Cass 5.44). There is also a note that a higher % of adolescents who discontinued puberty suppression were autistic (Cass 14.23). (I cannot examine the relevant commissioned study yet, but would note that the raw number here is likely to be very low.)

The obvious subtext here is that autistic trans children are less trustworthy about their articulation of transness than neurotypical trans children, and should therefore face more gatekeeping and vetting. In the report, it is noted that children, who know about this preconception, are routinely refusing to disclose neurodiversity to clinicians for fear of discreditation (Cass 11.11); the report’s response to this is to advocate for mandatory clinical screening for “neurodevelopmental conditions, including autism spectrum disorder” at point of entry for adolescent patients (Recommendation 2). I’m not going to get into the full scope of problems with this; there is no evidence that autistic people are impaired in identifying their own gender, or that the higher incidence of transness/gender diversity in the autistic population is symptomatic of misidentification. But I am going to talk about one study cited in Cass:

“In contrast [to the patients in the original Dutch study of puberty blockers], in a detailed study of young people with ASD and gender dysphoria (de Vries et al., 2010), it was noted that “‘while almost all adolescents with GID [gender identity dysphoria] are sexually attracted to individuals of their birth sex, the majority of the gender dysphoric adolescents with ASD were sexually attracted to partners of the other sex” (Cass 8.29). [highlights my own]

Anyone who is familiar with Blanchardian typology will recognise what is going on here: baseline expected attraction to individuals of one’s ‘birth sex’ (i.e. trans straight attraction) is contrasted with a suspect population who experience attraction to ‘other sex’ individuals (i.e. trans gay attraction). ‘Other sex’ attraction is used to devalue claims to transness in all trans populations, especially trans women, as it marks them both as desirably recuperable to cisheterosexuality and as unable to perform either legible homosexual gender variance or sufficiently authentic — i.e. straight — future transness, rendering them an ideal plausibly deniable target of gendered abuse. Transphobic fantasy fixates on the trans woman who pursues/‘predates on’ women, and trans men who pursue men are also a disproportionate target of anti-effeminate mockery. (This model also obviously erases bisexuality, which Cass itself notes is a high incidence sexuality among all trans groups (Cass 8.3), and uses bioessentialist sex terminology — it appears that if I exclusively dated a trans woman I would be classified here as ‘attracted to males’).

It shouldn’t matter regardless; autism and sexual orientation both shouldn’t impede someone’s right to medical autonomy. However, given this claim is clearly being used to delegitimise autistic trans people — including in the original study, where they claim that ‘adult transsexuals not sexually attracted to their natal sex show in some studies less satisfactory postoperative functioning compared with birth-sex attracted transsexuals’ — it is notable that the claim is false. It is obviously false the second you look at their data. They have a sample of nine adolescents (which would prove nothing even if the majority were ‘non-birth-sex attracted’) and the claim is still wrong about their own data.

De Vries et al (2010) is a nightmare of a study. It’s an analysis of 16 children with ASD who attended a Dutch gender clinic between 2004 and 2007 — specifically 7 children (ages 7–10) and 9 adolescents (ages 12–18). All the patients are misgendered throughout. There are also deeply disturbing comments about the sexual arousal and genital discomfort of children as young as 7, suggesting that the children seen at the clinic were asked deeply inappropriate and traumatising questions from admission. Various aspects of the under-11s’ profiles are immediately provoking, such as what the ‘behavioral program’ that reduced an 8-year-old’s ‘dressing up’ consisted of, or why certain children were referred to the clinic at all (some seem to have presented primarily with cross-gender behaviour rather than cross-gender identification). In any case, the sexual orientation of the under-11s clearly isn’t known, and the Cass Review’s claim is specific to adolescents anyway.

Of the adolescents, all of whom have a stated sexual orientation, we have:

AFAB 12-year-old, attracted to boys

AFAB 16-year-old, attracted to girls

AFAB 18-year-old, attracted to girls

AMAB 13-year-old, attracted to ‘neither boys nor girls’

AMAB 14-year-old, attracted to boys

AMAB 15-year-old, attracted to both girls and boys

AMAB 16-year-old, attracted to boys (specifically ‘homosexual’ boys)

AMAB 16-year-old, attracted to girls

AMAB 17-year-old, attracted to girls

By my count, to use their terminology that’s 3 adolescents with solely ‘other sex’ attraction (and I would note that one of those is 12 years old), 4 with ‘birth sex’, 1 bisexual and 1 with no stated attraction. THAT IS NOT A MAJORITY. EVEN IF YOU INCLUDE THE BISEXUAL IT’S NOT A MAJORITY.

There’s a more salient aspect of this whole thing, though: the outcomes of the adolescents. The only adolescents approved for ‘SR’ — sexual reassignment, i.e. surgery — at this gender clinic were the ones who are ‘birth sex attracted’. The AFAB kid attracted to boys was ‘not eligible for SR’ and ‘happy being a ‘tomboy’ after counselling’; the bisexual AMAB kid was rendered ineligible and ‘referred for cognitive behavioral therapy around disturbing sexual arousal’; of the two AMAB kids attracted solely to girls, one was rendered ineligible but still had a ‘strong wish for SR’ at followup, while the other dropped out of the clinic, was ‘unwilling to assent to a treatment plan’, and got surgery abroad (good for her). ‘Non-birth-sex attracted’ trans adolescents here are obviously systematically gatekept from surgical interventions, and there are murky suggestions of conversion therapy, while most of the ‘birth-sex-attracted’ trans adolescents were awaiting surgery or hormones at followup.

But wait, there’s more. The study itself argues for lower ‘postoperative functioning’ of ‘non-birth-attracted transsexuals’, citing Smith et al. (2005) on ‘Transsexual subtypes: Clinical and theoretical significance’. (This study is straight up Blanchardian; it literally says that trans women attracted to men have a ‘more convincing cross-gender appearance.’) What does ‘postoperative functioning’ mean? It means that gay and bisexual trans people have ‘significantly more psychological problems’ than straight trans people — which would seem evidently explainable by a) less understood etiology of transness in non-homosexual-presenting trans youth, which means later treatment & more gatekept treatment, and b) worse cultural treatment of gay trans people.

So, the Cass Review took a study full of glaring markers of sexual misconduct & conversion therapy being enacted on trans children, quoted a statement about the data that is obviously incorrect if you look at the data for five seconds, used it to make a point intended to discredit autistic youth / paint them as delusional heterosexuals, and ignored blatant evidence of a long and documented history of gay and bi trans people being blocked from necessary healthcare interventions.

#cass review

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months

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CW: child abuse, abuse of parent by child, victim blaming (maybe)

AITA for potentially abusing my parents?

i am 15, turning 16, and non-binary (they/it)

my parents are about 47 (mom) and 49 (dad)

my mom has depression + anxiety

my dad has ADHD + autism + depression

i have ADHD + social anxiety + autism + depression

i get angry quite easily, i often get into arguments with my parents. this causes them to get angry at me

because of my autism (probably) (i am autistic, just not entirely sure if it’s an autistic thing), i am not good at regulating my tone of voice, so it often sounds like i’m mean. this causes my parents to get angry at me.

my parents are often (usually, even) kind to me. they comfort me when i’m sad, sometimes help me when the other one hurts me (emotionally). it’s important to know that they’re not Disney villains.

on the other hand, when they get angry at me they often yell at me, blame me, say i’m rude on purpose and i’m acting like a 2 year old.

they also often hit me.

occasions such as: sitting on The Bench, speaking in the wrong tone of voice, getting hit, hiding in the bathroom, getting forced out; not unpacking my boxes fast enough, getting slapped in the face; accidentally slamming my sister’s (20F/NB) fingers in the door while trying to close my door after a fight, getting slapped in the face; etc.

they invade my privacy: going through my phone; forcing me to leave my door open; removing the lock on the bathroom door when i used it to hide from my dad.

whenever i try to bring up these events, they either deny it ever happened, tell me they “had to,” or minimize it.

sometimes when i confront them or when i’m being mean, they tell me i’m verbally abusive.

ADHD children are oft abusive to their parents (Ghanizadeh and Jafari 2010)

But (far more) studies show that ADHD children have a higher risk of being abused (Singer and Humphreys and Lee 2016)

Am I an abuser? Am I abusing my parents? Or are they abusing me? Or do we both suck?

PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THEY ARE NOT DISNEY VILLAINS THEY ARE NICE A LOT OF THE TIME AND THAT DOESNT EXCUSE THEIR ACTIONS BUT IT MAKES IT A LOT BETTER THAN “my parents are monsters and have never told me they love me” THEY HAVE THEY DO SO MUCH FOR ME

but they do so much to hurt me too.

References

Ghanizadeh, A and Jafari, P. (2010, 10 Oct.) Risk factors of abuse of parents by their ADHD children. Eur Child Adolesc Psychiatry. 19, 75–81.

Singer, M. J., Humphreys, K. L., & Lee, S. S. (2016). Coping Self-Efficacy Mediates the Association Between Child Abuse and ADHD in Adulthood. Journal of attention disorders, 20(8), 695–703.

Am I The Asshole? And if I am the asshole do I have a right to be traumatised and flinch and stuff? And if I don’t then like… am I a bad person for that too?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #for future reference: citations are not necessary for this blog

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libraryscarf · 2 months

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i am 25% of the way through red rising and here is an incomplete list of what has made me sigh/eyeroll/say “oh jesuschrist”/rip out chunks of my own hair:

• “my name is darrow. i am 16 years old with rust red hair and rust red eyes and i’m the best helldiver there’s ever been and i’m the handsomest too. why? well. don’t ask. (it’s because i’m pierce brown’s self insert) also i’m a real asshole who needs women to die to motivate me, but don’t fuckin worry because we’re about to…”

• fridge the 14-year-old pregnant wife.

• the colors are so funny. hey guys what if we made society color-coded. (like racial segregation?) no not like that, more like classism (but you keep referring to people by their colors, and the colors have different eugenic characteristics, that sounds kind of racial—) HEY you wanna talk about piss instead?

• there’s like…a lot of talking about piss. it’s entertaining so like, don’t stop, but also why is your mc so determined to pee himself 💛

• the women are written so devastatingly one-note, it would almost be funny if it weren’t infuriating. adolescent childbride has the most character development so far, and hers was delivered in the course of a single speech to the protagonist before she offs herself by singing the Forbidden Song Of Rebellion (to motivate him to save the world. she quite literally says this)

• The Sermons. there is a sermon every chapter on how the society stands for evil and must be destroyed. every character wants to give darrow a sermon, either on why the society is evil, or why it is great. darrow also loves to give sermons, when he isn’t gratuitously threatening violence towards anyone who looks at him. REMEMBER THAT HE IS SUPPOSED TO BE 16.

• this y’all’s social commentary?

“a good man who will have to do bad things” seems to be the only reason this book was written, except he forgot to write the “good man” part and wrote “piss-covered child” instead

#scarftalks #pissBoy bookReview

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nastyavolk-cp · 3 months

Text

The Angel of Hades I

Tagging: @aphroditelovesu @the-broken-truth General warnings: Yandere themes (next part), platonic love, kidnapping, themes about autism and ADHD, mental health discussion, etc. Notes: Bianca and her mother are my OCs, do not use them without consulting me. Everyone else belongs to Rick Riordan and belongs to the Percy Jackson universe. Good reading, welcome to the part one!

“You are a demigod, Bianca.”

The young girl swore she had heard something similar in the past, more specifically the phrase 'You're a wizard, Harry.' When she had a phase of liking Harry Potter and witchcraft, in her defense she was a child who had just found herself. in a fandom she liked. But now she was over 17 years old, one step away from reaching the age of majority, she finished high school and was already listing all the public universities in Curitiba, her hometown where she currently lives with her mother and relatives, to take the entrance exam to college.

This news, however, was one of the most unexpected things she had ever heard, but it did not appear, at least in her mind, as something impossible. Since she was a child, she has seen some very unlikely things and has experienced situations in which she thought impossible to happen, but which unfortunately were very real, she believed it was because of her diagnosis of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder that she received. aged seven, in addition to his confirmed Autism Spectrum Disorder, which was diagnosed months after ADHD.

But at that moment, she was facing a fucking satyr, or faun? This didn't matter to her at the time, because the moment he had said what she really was, with her mother present, Bianca had her doubts.

“A demigoddess? Like, daughter of some god?” She asked just to make sure that was what he was talking about, as obvious as it was, and the creature nodded, confirming her suspicions. “Whose then?” The young woman continued, her pale hands trembling slightly, her right leg swayed in a discreet way but which made the satyr and her own mother a little nervous, who looked at her with a look of compassion.

“I’m not sure, you’ll only find out once you’re at Camp Half Blood.” The creature explained before taking a sip of the fresh cup of coffee that her mother, Isabel, had prepared for this visit.

“Camp Half-Blood? What is this place?” Bianca asked, leaning a little towards the coffee table, her hazel eyes showed curiosity but also slight fear, did she really have to go to this place?

“It's a camp, obviously, dedicated to training demigods, just like you, from all over the world. This specific Camp is dedicated to the direct descendants of Greek gods, I don’t know if you’re already familiar with━”

“Zeus, Poseidon, Hera, Demeter, Artemis, Apollo, Eros, Aphrodite, Had━”

“Yes, yes, those same ones. I can already see that you are already familiar with this matter.” The satyr comically interrupted the young woman listing all the Greek gods that came into her head, extending his hand and making a stop sign right in the young woman's face.

Bianca quickly returned to her original posture, she seemed more tense than before, she didn't know exactly what to do with these feelings, she felt like her chest was about to explode, or maybe she was close to having a heart attack, either way, she didn't seem to be taking this news very well.

“Do I... have to go to this place, where is it?” She asked nervously, seeing her mother looking worried, who immediately went to sit next to her daughter to try to calm her down and prevent a possible panic attack.

“It is in the state of New York, in the United States of America.” The satyr replied, drinking the last sip of the cup of coffee and placing it carefully on the coffee table. “It is rare that we find demigods who are already reaching adulthood, we usually get demigods who are entering adolescence. Maybe because you live here in Brazil it made our search for you a little more difficult. A few years ago we found a demigod just like you, but younger, who was from Rio de Janeiro. Maybe you two can get along.”

"No! I do not want to go!" Bianca said sounding a little too desperate, surprising the satyr and Isabel with her tone of voice, the latter immediately tried to comfort her.

“I don’t think that’s an option, young lady. When a demigod is discovered, heit needs immediately go there. It’s protocol and this serves to increase your chances of survival.” The satyr explained but the young woman shook her head.

“What part don’t you understand that I don’t want to go to?!”

“But sweetheart, you will be safe there, you will meet people like you, you will make friends there━”

“I don’t want to go!” The girl interrupted her mother, with tears already forming in her eyes, she couldn't stop acting like a child who refuses to go to school, but in her defense she was being forced to go to a place she didn't know, mixing with people she didn't know and the worst part of it all was that she wouldn't have any relatives or family there. How the hell is she going to stay in a camp in a different country and how is she going to get back to Brazil? Furthermore, she had everything prepared so that she could enter a public university in her city, wanting to study Arts or History, her plans could not be snatched away from her like that.

“Bianca please-” Her mother was startled when the young woman got up from the sofa and walked away, with Isabel desperately going after her worried daughter, at the same time apologizing to the satyr and asking him to wait in the living room, but the girl as soon as she arrived in her bedroom, she closed the door and locked it before her mother could reach the handle and try to open the door, the latter had no success.

As her mother insistently called her, Bianca threw herself on her bed and began to cry into the pillows, when everything seemed to be stabilizing and her life was getting back on track, a fucking satyr came and ruined everything and told her the whole truth, in addition to wanting to force her to go on this camp without respecting the decisions she wanted to make for the life that was hers.

The young woman didn't know how long she cried, ignoring her mother calling her, who eventually gave up when she saw that she wouldn't have any response and that the whole situation had upset her, but at the end of it all, after feeling her eyes pulsing and swollen , her face burning and a throbbing headache, Bianca fell asleep out of the blue, she would undoubtedly wake up feeling bad afterwards but that didn't bother her as she could finally have an escape in her dreams.

☠☠️☠️☠️☠️

Not long after she woke up, she felt really bad, the headache was worse and her eyes hurt a lot, she rubbed her face against the pillow that had previously been used to dry her tears, which were not few. She moved her arms a little until in her hands she felt the softness and fur of a stuffed animal, she turned to the side and saw that it was her plush of Tigger, a character from Winnie the Pooh, one of her favorite childhood cartoons and since she was little she was attached to him, taking him anywhere, no matter where.

Then Bianca took her old stuffed animal and pulled it towards her, hugging it tightly and rubbing her freckled face against it. This immediately improved her mood. She felt calmer, lighter, but when she remembered what had happened previously, She felt shame invade her and her first thought was…

“Ah… my mother must be upset with me…” She said, vocalizing her thoughts. Bianca was very disappointed with herself, he must have embarrassed her mother in front of that satyr, or faun…?

At the same moment, she heard someone knocking on her bedroom door, she already knew who it was because of the rhythm and tone of the knocks, it was her mother. She got up from the bed, still holding the Tigger plushie, and went to her bedroom door, she turned the key and immediately opened the door.

Isabel stood before her, with a guilty look, and in her hands she held a gourd with the already prepared chimarrão. Upon seeing her daughter's swollen eyes, the older woman sighed, feeling even more guilty about what happened.

“Mama… I’m sorry…” Bianca began, her voice was a little hoarse, her mother looked surprised but it was nothing unpredictable, her daughter apologized for many things even if she wasn’t at fault.or causing any problem.

“Honey, this isn’t your fault. I know you were upset because you… well… had other plans and no one expected that…” Isabel began and entered her daughter's room, the two then sat on the bed, the older woman handed the chimarrão to her daughter, and she took it. and drank some of it through a straw, it was bitter but at the same time it relieved the tension in her body, now allowing her to relax again.

“He told me that you really need to go to this camp, that it would be for your own safety and that you will be prepared to defend yourself from monsters. I swear, my dear, that whatever these monsters are, I know you will be more than capable of protecting yourself. I believe in you, my love. Everything will be fine."

Everything will be fine…

“How long… how long do I need to stay there…?” Bianca asked before taking a few more sips of mate.

“3 months, it would be like spending the whole summer there.” Her mother explained, this worried the girl a little because in the northern hemisphere summer would be June, July and August, and if she entered a university, she would only have a single month of full vacation which in this case would only be July. Hmm..

“And would it be that if I went to college I would only need to stay there for a month?” It was a valid question, after all she didn't want to give up going to college, and it was already the beginning of July, she spent half the semester studying so she could take the entrance exams for public universities in her state.

“You can try to negotiate.” Isabel said, encouraging her. Bianca felt more relieved, of course she was still very insecure, as this was something that came up suddenly, but with her mother's unconditional support, she could begin this journey as a demigod daughter of whoever.

"I love you my love. Mama is here, always.” Isabel said, kissing her daughter's forehead, she was one of the only people who could do that to Bianca, since she didn't really like physical touch and affection in that way, but her mother was the exception, as she was her daughter. greatest comfort person, your companion and even partner in crime.

Bianca felt scared, as it was normal for everyone to feel scared, but if she was to actually go there, she could finally answer the questions she had been asking her entire life.

Starting with the fact that she saw ghosts, but it was probably something that anyone could see, right?

☠☠️☠️☠️☠️

She had a few hours to prepare for that day, her mother had said the same day the satyr was at her house that he would show up the next day to take her to Camp Half Blood via teleportation. Yes, Bianca really thought she was living in a fiction book just like Harry Potter, but obviously all of this was different for several, many reasons.

Her mother helped her separate her clothes into a large gym bag as well as some personal hygiene items, makeup (at her own insistence), her medicines and even some drawing materials if they had free time and she didn't die of boredom. In the end, she was ready, at least physically, emotionally she couldn't unfortunately say the same.

Now it was her time to go, after having breakfast, taking a shower and getting ready, she knew that the satyr would be there waiting for her, her mother, in a way of bringing comfort to her daughter, had prepared soup for her to eat in a thermos cup, it was one of her comfort foods and safe for her to eat, since she preferred creamy foods with a soft texture as they were what pleases her sensitive palate. Before going to the satyr who waited before them, Isabel hugged her daughter, feeling that this would be the last time she would see her and who knows, after three months she would return to her arms again.

“Are you ready for us to go, miss Bianca?” The satyr asked, as much as the young woman wanted to say no, she lightly bit her lip and nodded yes. In one of the creature's hands there were two small shiny spheres, the size and shape of a marble. Bianca took this marble while the satyr explained that these pearls were used to teleport them wherever they wanted to go.

“Close your eyes, miss. Allow me to guide us to Camp Half-Blood.” Bianca sighed and closed her eyes, he instructed that on three, they would throw the pearls on the floor while holding their hands free. When the count was over, the two threw the pearls on the floor and the young girl felt a sensation like butterflies fluttering in her stomach, but she didn't dare open her eyes.

“Miss, we are here.” The satyr said in a gentle voice, still holding the hand of the teenager who slowly opened her eyes, which little by little became accustomed to the natural luminosity of the Sun and hearing birds singing in the distance, sounds that looked like laughter, screams and moans. “Welcome to Camp Half Blood, miss━”

“Bianca… please. Call me Bianca.” The girl responded by letting go of the satyr's hand and letting out a deep sigh, relieved to be able to breathe fresh air and release all the tension that existed in her body and soul. She looked at the entrance to the camp, there was a text in ancient Greek but she couldn't understand what it was, then suddenly she heard the sounds of horse footsteps and in front of her was a large centaur, but it wasn't just any centaur.

“Good morning, Miss. Santos or Miss. Alves?” Chiron he said, probably lost because she had two last names and wasn't sure which one she would feel comfortable being called.

“Alves, you may call me Bianca Alves.” The girl replied in English, it wasn't the best and had her paranaense accent, and without looking the centaur in the eye, who dismissed this flawed presentation and extended his hand to her. Still without making eye contact, she shook his hand but quickly let go, not wanting to prolong this physical contact.

“Understood, Miss. Bianca Alves. Welcome to Camp Half Blood, I believe you have already received a brief explanation about our camp and the purpose for which it was created.” After a brief pause,Chiron continued. “We are happy to have you here, how did you manage to stay out of our sights? And monsters too, I suppose?”

“I don’t know… until yesterday I didn’t know I was a demigod in the first place.” Bianca responded by scratching her neck, which was true, the information that she was a demigoddess came very quickly and she still didn't know how to handle this news well.

“Usually we welcome and find demigods a little younger than you, you must be around 17 years old, we find demigods who are 10 to 12 years old, younger than those ages, it’s not difficult, but older demigods? They are a rarity here, as many… do not survive to adulthood.” The centaur explained and the last part scared the young woman, Chiron immediately realizes that his words may have frightened her and changes his approach so as not to prolong her despair any longer. “However, miss. I believe it must be because you probably haven't manifested your powers yet. Tell me, have you never noticed anything ‘abnormal’ in your life?”

“Well, I believe that something that is out of the ordinary is the fact that I see ghosts, but I think it’s nothing too out of the ordinary.” She replied, she didn't want to go into details about her autism and ADHD, if no one asked, she wouldn't need to talk, for now.

Then the centaur invites the girl to go with him, she follows him while he gives a brief explanation about how the camp worked, the daily activities, about the cabins, basically saying what was necessary and of course clearing up any doubts the girl had along the way. He also responded how she could contact her mother whenever she wanted, preferably during her spare time, and that if she joined a public college in her country of origin, he could make an exception for her to attend the camp in a single month, despite showing his concern about how little time she will stay compared to the other campers, but education comes first so it wasn't difficult to convince him.

He also explained that, as she has not yet been acclaimed by her divine relative, she will stay in the Hermes Cabin, along with the children of the god Hermes and some other campers who were not acclaimed yet. But there was a moment when as she looked at the cabins, she felt the centaur's gaze on her, narrowing his eyes at something.

"Is there any problem…?" She asked, a little embarrassed and the centaur quickly realized that he made her uncomfortable.

“Ah, my apologies, Ms. Alves, now having a good look I swore I had seen you before, but I don't think so, you must just look like someone I must have known a long time ago.” Chiron explained but the subject died once and for all, as Bianca didn't want to ask anything about it. They immediately walked around the camp again, with some campers looking at them and the Brazilian girl becoming even more uncomfortable with all this unwanted attention, she used her black hair to hide her face more from anyone who saw her from afar.

She started playing with her rings, it was one of the ways she used to calm herself, to relax her body and release any unpleasant emotions from her, while she listened to what Chiron was saying, she continued to look at every corner of the camp, not believing that this was her life now. There were many sensations and feelings at the same time and she continued to play even more with the rings on her fingers, trying to remain calm.

“Miss Alves, are you okay?” The centaur asked, noticing that the young woman was tense, he had already noticed something the moment he met her, the two stopped in front of the cafeteria, and Bianca didn't know how to answer that question. “Do you have something you would like to tell me? No need to be afraid, I’d like to help you fit in and get involved here.” He said reassuringly, his voice gentle and concerned.

“It's just… I don't know if there will be others like me… I'm autistic, sir. And… I don't know if I'll get along like everyone else here…” She explained, without still looking at him, the centaur contemplated the girl's words. He was thoughtful about her concerns, but in the end he was satisfied that she had told him the truth and opened the game so he could help her.

"Ms. Alves, I'm very relieved that you told me this, besides autism, do you have any comorbidities?”

“ADHD.”

“Hm, I figured. Do you take any medication or psychological treatment?”

“I do both, I take medication for ADHD.”

“Interestingly, no demigod here is taking or has had treatment with medication or even psychological support, you are a rarity, but of course that doesn't mean it's something bad and that it excludes you from others, in reality I believe it will be the opposite, I would like to know how it will handle your training and on missions if you are called upon. I want you to know that I am willing to do my best to help and support you on your journey at this camp, you can come to me and I will give you my support when you need it. But everything in its time, in no way do I want to pressure you or speed you up.”

"… Thank you very much. I mean it." She said, feeling embarrassed, but Chiron's words managed to reassure her enough, now she was less tense and they were able to continue walking around the camp. In the meantime, she met some campers and finally, when Chiron needed to take care of some matters about the camp, he left Bianca with Ares' children, where Clarisse La Rue took her in and was willing to be her trainer to teach her, for now, simple combat skills.

☠☠️☠️☠️☠️

Hours had passed, Bianca had already settled in the Hermes Cabin and met some of his children, although she was still not comfortable, she had started well with Clarisse, the daughter of Ares, even though she seemed brutal and bloodthirsty, she was patient and welcomed her quickly at the speed of light. Bianca felt grateful for having achieved a new friendship, even quickly for her standards, as this rarely happened to her.

It was then that one of Ares's children ended up getting injured and someone ran to call one of Apollo's children who worked as healers. A few minutes later a blond boy a little younger than her appeared with a first aid kit. He didn't take long to tend to the son of Ares' injuries and at the same time scolded him to be more cautious in the next fight.

“I don’t want to see you hurt again today, capiche?” The blonde said and when he got up he immediately looked at Bianca, a little surprised to see someone he had never seen in his life, but he opened a huge warm smile when he realized that she was a new camper. “Oh, hello! You must be the new camper that arrived today, right? What’s your name and where are you from?”

“A-Are talking with me?" The Brazilian girl asked, surprised and embarrassed, pointing to herself and when Apolo's son approached, she was embarrassed and couldn't look him in the eye.

"Yes, I am!" The blonde stated, waiting for an answer and left his hand extended to shake her.

“I'm Bianca Alves, actually Bianca Heloísa Alves dos Santos, but you can just call me Bianca Alves. And I’m from Curitiba, Brazil.” She said, feeling ashamed at having made this shabby introduction, but still reluctant to shake his hand. Upon realizing this, Apollo's son lowered his hand seeing that she wasn't going to do it but didn't seem offended by her apathetic gesture.

“I'm William Andrew Solace, but everyone here knows me as Will Solace, son of Apollo! I hope we get along well, Bia!” Will said happily, Bianca expressed surprise at having already gained a nickname in a matter of seconds of interacting with Apollo's son.

“Ehh.. me too, I guess…” She replied, putting her hands in the pocket of her coat, she felt very embarrassed. It was getting close to dark and someone had mentioned Capture the Flag, a common activity in this camp. She was hesitant because she didn't know if she would be successful in this game or if she would end up experiencing some kind of humiliation or embarrassment, either by others or by herself. fault.

The Brazilian girl felt Will was still watching her, she had the feeling that he was analyzing her and that made her even more awkward, but Will quickly decided to leave saying that his obligations called him and that he had to prepare for the Capture the Flag.

“I hope I don’t fuck anything up.” Bianca thought, sighing deeply and deciding to follow Clarisse so as not to miss one of the only familiar faces. But little did she know that someone, from far, far away, was closely watching her and her movements.

☠☠️☠️☠️☠️

Bianca can definitely say that she hates the Capture the Flag, she obviously stayed on the Ares children's team and Clarisse put her in a hunting position, the part of facing rivals was up to her, as leader, and the others. However, at a certain point when Bianca was distracted by some noises, she lost her team.

She felt panic but tried as much as she could to calm down, not wanting to destabilize herself in this way, but that proved impossible, the desire she had to sit on the dirt floor and remain silent, dealing with her panic attack alone as he often dealt with when he was younger. However, she needed courage and to move forward, of course the feeling of guilt also bothered her, as she only had one job and she was already capable of failing miserably.

But patience, that was all she needed, one time or another she would meet other people, whether they were on her team or not, but the darkness of the forest didn't really help her get around or get to where she was, she tried to guide herself through of the sounds but seeing that she was basically lost, she reconsidered actually sitting down and crying, waiting for someone to find her and later being seen as cowardly and scared.

So after walking so, so much, and not finding herself anywhere, just in front of a stream but still without finding anyone, she sat down near a tree and started crying, how was she really able to get lost like that? Bianca knew that this was not a grown-up attitude, that she should be more resilient and courageous, but it was impossible to contain herself like that.

One sound, however, caught her attention, she heard it as if it were several people celebrating from afar, is the game over? For how long was she lost? Did her team win? When she got up to finally go find her colleagues, something appeared from the shadows and appeared before her. It was a huge dog and had black fur with scarlet red eyes, thirsty for blood.

A hellhound.

Bianca stood frozen, watching in terror at the creature before her, ready to make mincemeat of her, growling loudly at her, then the creature waited for her to make a sudden movement to attack it and at the height of her panic, Bianca walked back, stepping on a branch and breaking it, opening the gap for the creature to attack ferociously.

She let out a cold and dark scream, but she was quick enough to avoid the hellhound, being narrowly caught by him, but Bianca fell to the ground and she wouldn't have time to get up and run away, it would be useless, she continued to scream. desperate, an attempt to get someone's attention but she had no hope.

This was definitely the end, it was almost pathetic, die on your first day.

But when the creature got dangerously close to her, ready to attack her, with Bianca still screaming and hearing sounds of people getting close, something hit the great hellhound and the earth beneath her shook, she couldn't see what was really happening, but the hellhound moaned and made sounds of pain, as if something was hitting him from behind and finally, the creature couldn't resist and fell to the ground, revealing its back pierced by sword blows and a bunch of skeletons holding swords.

Bianca was paralyzed once again.

The skeletons looked at her with their non-existent eyes, they were wearing gladiators' uniform and had shiny bronze swords in their hands, there were three of them and one of the group walked over the dead hellhound and walked towards her, she managed to recover her movements but was left with her back pressed against the tree, thinking that perhaps her destiny was to die.

To her surprise, the skeleton raised his bony hand and gently patted her head, as if she were a scared puppy, and she felt as if he was trying to comfort her from her fright, she thought he had even said 'It's okay. It's okay, my lady.' The footsteps became more audible and the voices called her name, suddenly a light took over the ambience, the glow came from the top of her head.

When the light dimmed and many of her campmates arrived, she saw that a figure was forming in the middle of that glow, it was a bident, Bianca could see the shock on the faces of everyone who was with her, the skeletons took off their helmets and knelt down before her, which left her even more confused but it didn't take long for Chiron, who was in front of her, to take action.

“Everyone hail to Bianca Heloísa Alves dos Santos, daughter of Lord Hades, the Unseen, God of the Underworld, Riches and the Dead.” With that, everyone without exception hailed before Bianca, who couldn't handle all the pressure towards her and lost consciousness quickly.

She is Daughter of Hades...

☠☠️☠️☠️☠️

For Nico di Angelo, it was just another normal day, he could easily sum up his day as staying at his cabin, spending time with Will and some friends, as well as sending Iris Messages to Hazel, Reyna, Jason and Frank at Camp Jupiter. However, he knew, through some campers, that there was a new girl wandering around, but he didn't pay any attention to it, after all, it was just another one.

How wrong he was.

A whole day had passed, after having spent hours talking with his Roman friends, he left his cabin and went to meet Will, who he had heard was in the arena area to take care of a neglected son of Ares. However, when he entered, but still hidden through the shadows, he saw his blonde boyfriend talking to a girl, but he couldn't see her face well.

“... I hope we get along well, Bia!” The son of Hades only managed to capture this phrase coming from his boyfriend and he froze when he heard the nickname, Bia was the way he affectionately called his older sister Bianca, who had died so long ago and who he missed every day. Curious, but slightly afraid, Nico came out of the shadows a little while still remaining hidden so he could closely observe the girl with whom Will was trying to have a decently animated dialogue.

Now a little closer, Nico could see some more features of this girl, although he couldn't see her face, it was scary how similar she was to his sister, she had straight black hair that went past her shoulders, she wore a wide brown flannel coat, a long ankle-length skirt with several cutouts of distinct dark prints and black sneakers. Nico wanted to tell himself that this was just in his head, there was no way the girl could be his sister, as she was obviously dead.

But when her boyfriend walked away from her he could see a part of her face, even though she couldn't see him, he froze. Identical. Almost an accurate reflection of her sister, except that she looked much older, perhaps around 17 years old, the same age Bianca would be if she were alive, had paler complaxion, quite similar to his, her freckles were subtle and she had a languid, delicate form.

"My love!" Will said, appearing next to his boyfriend, Nico almost jumped and looked at the blonde with his black eyes looking at him seriously, he didn't really like being surprised but as he was his partner, he ignored it most of the time. They greet each other with a quick peck but even with that, Nico couldn't stop seeing the girl in his mind and how frighteningly similar she was to Bianca.

“Will, who was the girl you were talking to just now?” Nico asked, wanting to quell his curiosity, maybe it was all in his head, maybe just a freak out he was having.

“Ah, it’s Bianca, she’s the new camper who came from Brazil.”

Nico froze once again, he hadn't heard it wrong, the girl's name was Bianca, it wasn't possible that fate was playing a sick joke on him, as if the fact that he had lost his older sister several years ago, suddenly, wasn't enough. Just because he got over it, a girl came along who looked extremely similar to her and had the SAME NAME AS HER.

He was just a few steps away from having a mental breakdown and Will quickly realized that his boyfriend was acting strange, but decided not to ask at the moment, considering it might make the son of Hades more uncomfortable than he already was. The blonde took his boyfriend's hand and decided to take him to the infirmary to spend time together, but he wouldn't forget the strange way his boyfriend had reacted when he found out about the new camper.

Hours later, everyone was playing Capture the Flag, after some time, the game had ended, resulting in the victory of the team led by Athena's children, but Ares' children showed concern not because they had lost the competition but because they noticed the absence of a person and just when they began to question themselves, screams were heard from not far away, many ran to help the missing camper who was in obvious danger.

Nico went with the crowd with his boyfriend Will and some friends, following the sound of the camper's screams, but as soon as they arrived at the scene, they came across an unusual scene. A dead hellhound was on the floor, with a bunch of skeletons wearing gladiator clothes with swords in their hands and one was patting the new girl, Bianca, on the head.

Then, with a touch of magic, a bright source of light appeared on her head, which gradually revealed itself to be the sign that she had been acclaimed, and she was the daughter of none other than Hades himself.

“Everyone hail to Bianca Heloísa Alves dos Santos, daughter of Lord Hades, the Unseen, God of the Underworld, Riches and the Dead.” Chiron spoke and everyone with no exception hailed to her, but due to the shock and fright Bianca fainted. Clarisse was in charge of taking her to the infirmary where she would be taken care of and they would carry out general examinations to locate possible serious injuries.

When Clarisse passed by his side, Nico couldn't help but look once again at the passed out girl, her unconscious face was really and inevitably identical with his long deceased sister.

Who was she? What did Fates have in store for them? Why is she identical to his sister and why the same name? Was it really all coincidence or was it the work of the Fates, ready to fuck with Nico di Angelo's life again?

☠☠️☠️☠️☠️

Oh my God, guys. Finally I did it, it took me whole weeks to write it, I know my writing skills aren't refined and English obviously isn't my first language, but I want to thank everyone for reading the first part of Angel of Hades, I'm so excited to write the next part, I promise it will be way more interesting than this part, since it's only an introduction!

And yeah, Isabelle Fuhrman is Bianca's face claim, keep that in mind, hehehe ❤️

Edit: Oh God, how embarrassing. I corrected some writing mistakes I just noticed now 😡😡

#platonic yandere #yandere percy jackson #yandere nico di angelo #yandere hades #nastya's stories #nastya's oc #percy jackson #the Angel of Hades #part one #bianca heloisa alves dos santos

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