#also this may have been some kind of childhood wish fulfillment on my part

[har-rison-s]

mask & seek: 15

batman x fem!reader

based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she’s from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson’s universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn’t trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues??

author's note: hey all :) mask & seek is forreal back this time. i think this is my favourite series ever, sooooo.... i really want to like actually finish it. there's not a lot left honestly, but don't worry, no spoilers. i hope you guys are still tuning into this, i know it's been like..... more than a year since i published 14, and almost two years since i started mask & seek too.... wow. that's insane. so! bruce and y/n are so cute in this. happy reading <3

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part fourteen

word count: 4.7k

warnings: little bit of smut towards the end, it's pretty short, some anxieties, self-doubting

gif credit goes to author! (i know it's neil but i needed a sorta domestic bruce gif and there are none!!! i cannot find them!!)

“okay, here goes,” y/n mutters with a heavy heart and a chest that seems to have grown ten times its usual weight. she sticks the porta filter back into its place in the coffee machine and faces vanessa with a heavy sigh. everything is heavy as of now, most of all - her own heart. vanessa meets y/n’s dark eyes with her bright ones, “i... will be quitting this job soon.” y/n finally tells her. 

immediately she thinks her voice was too quiet, too unsure, too dark even, maybe? and maybe she uttered the words too fast. but really, no matter what voice she uses or how she says it, the news stay the same, and they still break vanessa’s heart. her eyes grow wide and her mouth hangs slightly agape. “what? you’re leaving?” she asks in nearly a whisper, shock and sadness all over her features. y/n can do nothing else but nod. “why? are you going somewhere? did something bad happen yesterday or something?”

“no, no, no, not at all,” y/n answers with a shake of her head. god, does she tell her the truth? it’s been a only a few days since that faithful night and morning that were followed by this decision being made, officially. it’s been hard for y/n to muster the courage to tell her co-workers, much less her boss, about leaving this job, but it’s also been killing her not to tell them. so here she is, choosing vanessa as the first person she tells. mainly because vanessa has become sort-of her best friend, and she trusts her the most, “i, uh... i got a really good job offer. it’s something completely different, but actually in the field or, value margin, that i wanna work in, and have wanted to for... a while. basically since i was a kid.”

“not a team of crazy scientists, i hope?” vanessa asks, now her face changing to doubt. it makes y/n laugh, and she does so while shaking her head. “okay, what is it, then? some genie came up to you and offered you three wishes, one of them being getting your childhood dream job?” vanessa gets more casual and closer again. y/n chuckles again.

“something similar to that,” y/n nods along, “only the genie is a man who happens to have very, you know, thick pockets,” y/n wiggles her eyebrows, and vanessa laughs, “he’s honestly the kind of man who’d fulfil more than three of my wishes, he’s made that quite clear.”

vanessa grows an ear-to-ear wide grin and gives y/n a wicked look. “is this about bruce wayne coming to visit you here those days back?” she asks and steps even closer to y/n, so their conversation would get more private in the café with nearly all full tables, “did you guys work it out? and how do you even know him? he’s a very hard man to catch outside his enormous house, much less to meet.”

now, bruce had predicted that this kind of question would come up for both of them, and that they couldn’t just dodge it. he also predicted that people would want a clear status of their relationship, to know how the business would really work and how it came to work at all. his and y/n’s conversation about it came to start on something like...

“i don’t want to be a faceless fling of yours in the eyes of the media and public,” y/n admits with a frown on her face, and bruce looks to her.

“well, you’d be the first one to have that title,” bruce faintly jokes. y/n gives him a curious look, still thinking that it sounds kind of impossible, “at least we’re the same age. they’ll take you somewhat seriously.”

“somewhat seriously?” she echoes, now turning to face him completely, one leg bent at the knee before her, on which she lazily splays her arm. bruce shakes his head.

“trust me, i know this so-called industry,” he clarifies, “the press love the old billionaires and their young fling-of-the-months.” bruce says and has a dark-humoured chuckle. it’s sad, really, that old men go after much more younger women, and that the press make all their money off it. bruce knows that. he’d never want to be that kind of man, and he’d never wish that fate upon any girl. “what do you want to be to the public?” bruce asks y/n as he looks to her again, his shoulders hunched forward.

she shrugs. “don’t want to lie about anything that i am, or what we are,” she says truthfully, “but then again – tell the truth, and they find a way to make up lies, anyway.” y/n chuckles and shrugs her shoulders, looking thoughtfully out of the window.

bruce wears a faint smile on his face. “how does being my wife sound to you?” he asks her in a soft tone. that question, though it’s just a casual one mentioning an option for their title, makes y/n look at bruce again. she smiles, too, her head tilted to the side as it’s resting on her knee now. 

“for the papers or... in actuality?” she clarifies. bruce smiles wider. he wouldn’t mind having her as his wife, though we all know that’s an understatement, but he needs her consent, of course. he already feels closest to her now, sitting with her in her apartment, and he felt close to her and with her when she was at his mansion. marriage is only a document, two rings and a ceremony. he doesn’t need that to know that he loves her, to have proof that they’ll want and belong to each other forever. 

so bruce shrugs for an answer. “whichever one you want.” he answers truthfully. it’s really all up to her. it’s her image to society, after all. and yes, of course, the medias and public change it to what they want it to be, but at the end of the day, she is the foundation of herself and how she is viewed. y/n smiles again, this time with a hum.

“neither, to be honest,” she answers and turns her gaze back to the window, “i’m not ready to be someone’s wife. not because i’d be scared of commitment or anything, no. i feel you and me have committed for quite some time now,” y/n says and they both chuckle, knowing it’s true, “no, it’s just that the word has so much meaning, so much... weight and unnecessary stigma around it, you know. like, you tell a person that you’re someone’s wife, and in their eyes you’re already pregnant, have two cars, a cul-de-sac and its garage full of washing machines, fridges and driers.” bruce laughs further. “plus, being a wife is just a legal paper and title. i could be your wife in my head, if i liked the title, without any legal, official papers.” bruce has quieted down, and just smiles now. it kills him to realise more and more, with each day and each new conversation with her, just how similar they are. they both see marriage the same way. “i wouldn’t say no if you proposed at any point in the future, though,” y/n clarifies and bruce chuckles again, like a school boy, “just making sure you heard me.”

“i hear you,” he confirms with a nod and that smile still on his face, “how double standard of me to not need to worry about my title. what if i wanted to be your husband or your fling of the month?” he suggests, and that makes y/n laugh loudly. she hops off the window sill, only wearing one of her huge thrifted sweaters and a pair of pajama shorts, and still giggling, tiptoes her way over to bruce, her thin socks touching the wooden floor of her apartment. he watches her all the way of doing so, and now that she’s comfortably sitting close next to him on the sofa, his eyes take on a more private gaze at her. she makes one of her beautiful smiles at him and breathes a short sigh. “what about you being my... girlfriend?” bruce now suggests, his voice a bit quieter. 

y/n’s smile grows even wider, and her mushed cheeks are complimented by a deep crimson blush. she smiles so wide her eyes are barely visible, but the small portion of them still visible shine with the few tears gathered in them. just pure happy tears, nothing else. she shrugs her shoulders and then moves closer to bruce. his body grows immediately aware of the proximity. “well, my only condition would be...” y/n starts to say, and sighs quickly again, “that you’ll be my boyfriend.” she says. and she thinks god, there must be more age appropriate terms for boyfriend and girlfriend for people their age, something between boyfriend and husband, and girlfriend and wife. partner seems too formal, as well. she feels too young saying saying boyfriend, and too old saying partner. but, she guesses, since they’re just playing with these terms, also the ones the medias like to use, there’s no harm in saying boyfriend and girlfriend.

bruce cracks a wide smile at that, something only y/n gets to see and even she rarely does, and his pale cheeks blush a rose pink for a moment, too. on the rare occasion y/n sees him blush, she always takes note of how the rose pink brings out the soft brown of his eyes, and the gentleness of his eyes altogether. they’re usually dark, filled with emotion to the brim, and encircled by that dark matter he uses. but his eyes are gentle, as is he. the light brown irises look up into y/n’s eyes with care and ease, and a smile still faintly displays itself on bruce’s lips, “i think that’s a good deal.” he says in a voice deep and soft. 

y/n smiles wide again and gets the closest to him that she can. legs entangled, y/n partly laying in his lap, faces close but hands still withdrawn from each other. “yeah?” she asks him in a faint whisper, and now her hand glides over the side of bruce’s face, like he’s often done to her, and she adores it. she only expects more of that in the future. 

his eyelids flicker as he looks up at her, and any expression except adoration and submission fades away from his features. bruce only gives her a nod in response and y/n smiles. the world goes completely quiet as she presses her lips down onto his. only their inhaling of breath can be heard as bruce encircles her waist with his arms and pulls her body impossibly closer to his own. y/n holds both sides of his face now, continuing to kiss him—still hoping she’s good at it—and draws in breaths through her nose because the event and sensation of kissing bruce is drawing out all air and suffocating her in the best way possible.

“we, uh...” y/n’s mind fogs a bit from that memory, but only pleasantly so, “we met through friends in the justice department.” she tells her, hoping it’ll be enough. she and bruce planned out a small cover story for them to use, involving an old friend of bruce’s in the justice department, who happens to be on vacation right now. 

“oh, you never told me you had friends there!” vanessa muses. “tell me exactly how you met, i need all the details.” 

y/n chuckles, and hopes the nervousness in her chuckle doesn’t appear too strong. “it’s nothing romantic, i promise,” she tells vanessa, “they visited me here on a closing shift after some dinner they’d had, and bruce happened to be with them.” y/n says, but she knows she’s gotta do better than that. funny, how her whole life here in gotham has been built on lies she’s told, and she’s suddenly nervous to lie. maybe it’s because she has to lie to vanessa. but she’s done that before, too. “he told me recently that i struck him in the first moment he saw me. i do remember how awkward he was when he tried to order a drink.” y/n says and makes a small laugh again, but this time it’s genuine because she knows how awkward bruce, in truth, can get sometimes.

“i don’t care what you say, to me that is romantic,” vanessa replies. y/n shakes her head. the reason why she hates to be lying right now could be that the circumstances of how they met are much better than this made-up story. much more special, “wish i could have been there to see it.” vanessa admits. y/n doesn’t like the light this cover story paints her in, either. rich business man falls for the woman serving him. in her eyes that feels very weird for some reason. maybe it’s her feminist character that finds it weird. 

but judging by vanessa’s face, the cover story and y/n’s acting are natural and convincing enough. y/n wishes she could spill the truth to vanessa, because god knows she trusts her, but she can’t tell her the truth. it would jepordise everything. “you would have got second-hand embarrassment, v,” y/n tells her and both women laugh. 

“so, what, are you gonna be working for wayne enterprises now?” vanessa clarifies.

“sort of,” y/n answers with a shrug, “you’ll see. but don’t tell anyone else yet. and don’t tell anyone outside of work, ever. they’ll be all over you, and i do want us to make our relationship public, not anyone else.”

“yeah, yeah, you and I both know how tabloids work around here,” vanessa answers, “even though i’d love to tell everyone, i promise you on sebbie’s life that i won’t tell a soul.” she promises y/n on her cat’s life and does a cross over her heart. y/n chuckles at the superstition element. “you’ll have to deal with them a lot, though. i’m sorry for that.” 

“yeah, thanks,” y/n replies quietly, taking that vanessa has mentioned the thing she’s most afraid of. she guesses vanessa knows the character assassination women face in gotham if they’re on any tabloid or news banner. y/n is in for a big portion of that—people don’t take too kindly to women who work in the same company for their male partners or spouses. it’ll be even worse for y/n perhaps, because she’ll be getting a job at wayne enterprises because she’s in a relationship with bruce. there’s nothing wrong with it, and it was bruce’s idea. god knows what kind of speculations will spiral out of that fact...

y/n feels bruce’s tongue against her own as he brushes his hands underneath her sweater now, petting her waist gently. the image of his large calloused hands on her bare skin already entices y/n more, her sharply inhaling breath through her nose. it feels difficult to breathe now, her fingers digging into the skin of his face. bruce softly groans at the feeling, and an almost animalistic shiver sends his hands to the back of y/n’s thighs and pulls them closer to his crotch, positioning her legs on either side of his body. 

the pair nearly fall over from the impact, but y/n steadies them both with ease that her instincts provide, and they only interrupt their kissing with laughter over their slight clumsiness. she really has me feeling like a teenager, bruce thinks to himself before kissing her once more. they melt into each other so easily you’d think they were two pieces of butter on a hot pan. y/n is just about ready to eat him up, she feels this insatiable urge to touch him and kiss him all over, for as long as she has breath.

and when she’s reaching into his sweatpants and adjusting him up with her entrance, panties slid to the side, it’s almost like they sync up completely. the final transaction, the closest they can get, yet they still want more. they’re messy, panting, giggling, hands trembling as they hold onto each other and y/n rocks her hips on bruce’s length. he thinks this must be heaven – her on top of him, her chest in his face, her hands in his hair. he loves her on top of him, always did when she used to patch him up, clean his face, all those times. now their relationship has been turned around and this intimate position they’ve been in before has gained a different turn, too, one bruce was secretly thinking of beforehand.

“you’re so perfect,” he breathes against her skin, laying hot kisses across her chest, her sweater now pushed up, barely covering anything. y/n gasps at bruce’s lips on her breasts, mewls softly, and feels herself so close to release already. she pulls her sweater off over her head, it being in the way, and lets bruce pull her closer, smothering her chest with kisses, arms around her holding her securely. 

“fuck, i’m close, bruce,” she tells him in a heave of breath and bruce nods in response. it might be his familiarity with her body, and it might be her spidey-sense growing on him, but he could tell she was close before she uttered the words herself.

“i know, i’ve got you,” he tells her quietly and keeps his hands supportingly on her back. y/n looks into his eyes, her hand now on his cheek. 

“you f-feel so good inside me.” she whines and arches her back, hair messy in the air, complete surrender to her feelings. 

bruce feels himself twitch inside of her at the words, and he doesn’t resist the groan coming out from between his lips. he grips one of her thighs in his hand, one palm completely capable of covering it, and sees the bump he’s made in her, completely visible to him. “fuck,” he moans out and takes one of her hands in his, guiding it down to the bump, looking into y/n’s eyes as he does. y/n feels the phenomena there and gives him a tired smile, her cheeks sweaty and shining from it in the half-dark. 

“you’re so big, bruce, no wonder,” she compliments him and it makes them both chuckle quietly, though the praise once again goes straight to bruce’s hardness inside of her, “ah, fuck—” she starts to say, but can’t even finish her sentence, whatever it might have been, because her orgasm has taken hold of her and is washing through her entire body like an intense wave. bruce completely succumbs to her, feeling himself unloading inside of her, too, nearly in unison with her milking him in all his length. 

he tries to watch her face as she comes, not wanting to miss the sight of it, and he manages through his eyes filled with euphoria to catch the look of her. eyebrows scrunched, cheeks glistening with sweat, breasts on display for him, hair falling over her arched back. that is until she crumbles on top of him, her head resting on his shoulder and her hands gripping the back of the sofa. she pants heavily into his ear as he does the same, both of them grounding themselves back to reality. “you’re incredible, y/n,” bruce tells her and y/n smiles in response. 

she easily hops off him and finds her sweater on the floor and puts it on before sitting back down next to him. bruce stuffs himself back into his sweats and runs a hand through his hair. she turns her head to look at bruce and they smile at each other. “you’re not so bad yourself,” she tells him and kisses his lips gently. she circles her arms around his neck and they rest their foreheads together, “i could never get tired of this. physically, i mean. i think my stamina is through the roof,” y/n admits, making bruce chuckle, and she enjoys feeling the rumble of his laughter.

“i’ll try to keep up,” he promises and glances into her eyes, this time he’s made her laugh. with her he comes to realize how much he’s capable of. he can make her laugh, he can make her smile, he can make her blush, he can make her reach ecstasy-level orgasms. all of these are honours he holds dear to his heart, “i could never get tired of you.” he tells her quietly. 

“me, neither, of you,” y/n responds, then averts her eyes from bruce’s briefly, “what if i can’t take it? the press, the job? what if i’m not... good enough? classy enough?” she lets her anxieties wonder. it breaks bruce’s heart that she feels this way. 

“you’re more than good enough,” he assures her, “the press may want to say horrible things about you, and i know it’s easy to give into hate and... critique, but...” bruce shakes his head, “you’re the amazing spider-woman, without the suit and powers, too.” he makes a smile at her and y/n gives a weak one back. “you’re going to be so great at this, i already know it. and don’t be afraid to ask for help—me and alfred will be supporting you every step of the way.”

y/n sniffles quietly, but gives bruce a nod. she leans against the back of the sofa, letting go of bruce, and his skin misses her touch immediately. she rubs her eyes and sighs. “i’ve wanted to do something like this, be someone who can make a real change, all my life, since i was a little kid,” she tells him, “and everything that happened throughout growing up just made me want to do it more. and now you’ve given me this amazing opportunity to finally do something like it, and it scares me,” she turns her head to look at him again. bruce nods, understanding, and splays an arm over her frame, “i can never thank you enough for doing this for me. i’m really grateful for it. i’m just scared i won’t be any good at it.” 

“you will be,” bruce tells her, “i never expected this kind of... role would fall on me. i did know, of course, that i would have to follow in my father’s footsteps, and i was more than happy to, but doing it alone, especially when there’s so much pressure about it, and relentless work, never made me like it.” he shook his head. “i know i still want to help people, i always have, and being batman was my way of doing it, but... you’ve made me realize it’s never going to be enough. yes, i can make people fear me, but there’s always going to be someone not so afraid.” he makes a pause to clear his throat. “you remember that brothel we went to on our first night together?” he asks and y/n nods along. “we’re never gonna stop more of those being made by just... doing what we do on our night shifts. crime and corruption in gotham are like diseases. we gotta do more.” he says and y/n nods again. 

“i’m glad you see it now, too,” she tells him and runs a hand through his hair, “we will do more. but i can’t do it without you.” she says and makes a sad smile. bruce holds her moving hand in his and lays a kiss on the top of her palm. 

“you won’t,” he promises, “you won’t be alone. i’ll go to every interview, every event, anything with you.” so you won’t be alone, like i was, in this business. 

y/n chuckles. “really?”

“yeah, i promise,” bruce says with a smile and that’s what makes her believe him. she nods, “i’ll take care of you.” she presses their intertwined hands against his cheek.

“we’ll take care of each other,” she corrects him, and bruce nods, lips once again on her hand, “thank you for this. and for believing in me.” she makes a smile at him and curls herself closer to bruce. he nods at her. he’ll always believe in her. ever since that first night she took him to her apartment, he has put tremendous faith in her and she has always proved worth it. she has never disappointed him. she’s only ever surprised him and hurt him when she fled the manor that night. but never disappoint him. she should have ‘exceeds expectations’ written in her resume, in her passport. 

“always,” bruce says and kisses her lips. 

“uh, vanessa,” y/n calls for her attention again, and vanessa turns to her with welcoming eyes, “can you promise me that... you won’t say anything the press want you to say? no matter how much money they’re offering.” she requests shyly, hoping this won’t close vanessa off to her. but her friend-colleague nods. 

“of course,” she says, “i would never do that to you, man, come on,” she bumps y/n’s shoulder and they both laugh, “no amount of money could make me want to lie about you.”

“thanks so much. i’d never assume otherwise, you know, just had to make sure.” y/n says timidly and rubs her hands together. “i’ll hand in my resignation tomorrow. a month’s notice.” she tells her and vanessa nods with a smile, though she also sighs sadly.

“only a month with you left,” she says and makes a playful frown. y/n shakes her head, “it’s gonna be weird here without you.”

“i know,” y/n says in an aching voice, “it’s gonna be so strange not working here. but i’ll come here for coffee, i promise you that.”

vanessa smiles. “it’ll always be on the house,” she says and does a salute. it makes them both giggle again, but the bell ringing at the entrance door alerts them of a new customer and their laughter dies down a little. 

“that won’t go unnoticed, v,” y/n tells her as she takes her post behind the cash register. vanessa raises an eyebrow at her, “if i’m ever invited to a gala and i can take a plus one, it’s gonna be you.” y/n smiles at vanessa and she nearly bursts at the proposition.

“are you serious? but won’t mr wayne be your plus one?” she makes sure, but y/n shakes her head. 

“no, he gets his own invites. we could go as three, and i wouldn’t wanna go with anybody else, anyway,” she admits. 

“ah, just imagine – us getting ready together to go a gala! what a dream,” vanessa ties her apron around her waist again and passes y/n to stand behind the coffee machine, “your life’s definitely getting better.”

that statement sort of stops y/n in her tracks. her life is getting better, that’s true, she just hadn’t admitted that to herself yet. probably because she feels she doesn’t deserve it, isn’t worthy of such good circumstances. a great relationship, a job she’s wanted to do since she was a kid, a job in helping countless people in peril, poverty, hunger and everything else that’s eating gotham up from inside. but she doesn’t let herself enjoy it. well, truthfully, it hasn’t happened yet, and she’s already hesitant towards it.

being scared of the job is one thing – how good is she gonna be at it? how will everyone else at wayne enterprises like her? how will the media take her work? how will the people of gotham embrace her? but another thing is feeling like she doesn’t deserve it. she doesn’t come from upper class, she wasn’t born into money like bruce was. she comes from a different universe altogether. 

but shouldn’t an advocate for people who can’t defend or support themselves be someone exactly like them? maybe y/n should tell her story to the whole of gotham, about her hardships growing up, about her mother’s hardships – not the whole story in details, but just enough that would make people see that she’s just like them, no different, and wants to help. because she knows how she can help. she knows exactly what these people need because she’s been one of them. who better to protect and vouch for them than someone who comes from the same gutter? that would be a great article headline for the press, y/n thinks.

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[hellas-himself]

Where There Are Shadows Pt26

AKA in my feelings aka I am Lucien and Lucien is me (but that’s a personal problem)

The whole Dawn/Day got me fucked up. I had to fix it. DAWN JUST FLOWS BETTER. AND IT IS THE SAME DAMN THING. but whatever. not my world. SJM knows best. 

I tried to play with what little info we got in WAR and then in the novella and make some sense out of it. I hope I did Helion justice. 

.

.

.

-Lucien-

Son of day.

Elain’s voice had echoed in the darkness. Sometimes, I’d hear Rhysand crying, asking me to wake up. I might have heard Feyre describing the color of the sun. But it always came back to Elain.

She held the sun in her hands and gave it to me. And then I was falling, falling, falling. Until I was welcomed by a darkness so deep, so endless that I let it consume me.

I looked at Helion, High Lord of the Day Court. There was something akin to remorse in his eyes. He looked at me, expectant, anxious. Feyre and Rhys were still at my side, they had known. Somehow. I wasn’t stupid- yes, I was stubborn and at times I was dense, but it did not take much to put the pieces together… Even if some of them were missing. But for now, I did not care. 

“I’m not Beron’s son,” I whispered, leaning forward as I brought my hands to my face. Beron and I- there was nothing there that bound me to him. Every childhood dream came to mind, the ones I’d confessed to Mor. However late, it was here. I was not Beron’s son. It was as if this terrible weight had at last been lifted from my shoulders, and I could breathe. I didn’t realize I’d been crying until Rhys pulled me into his arms. After kissing my tears, he took my hands in his.

“I’ve theorized that losing your eye awakened another sense, to see beyond what others see. The mechanical eye was a perfect disguise for it,” Rhysand said.

My eyes fell on Helion once more, his eyes were glossy. Had he been crying, too? Feyre and Rhys both took turns giving me a kiss and without a word, left us alone. Until of course, I heard him whispering filth into her ear as they descended the stairs. Prick.

“I’m certain you would rather be in the midst of that,” Helion said, “Than sitting here with me.”

“Unfortunately, I’m forbidden from any activity that brings me pleasure.”

He smirked. I expected some kind of inappropriate retort, and I knew that it was at the tip of his tongue. But it was as if he remembered himself, remembered what he’d admitted and all of that arrogance was gone.

“How… when?” I didn’t even know what I wanted to know, if I wanted to know.

“A year before she was sold off to Beron. There had been a ball, it was the Equinox, after all.”

I opened my mouth and then closed it.

“During the war, the first war with Hybern- I rescued your mother. And that… well, that was when we threw all caution to the wind.”

“But I wasn’t born during the war.”

He chuckled. “No. You were not.”

“So that means…” They had managed to have an affair far longer than I could have imagined.

He shrugged.

“Mother’s tits,” I muttered.

“He discovered our affair, of course. But to admit it, to admit that he’d been bested- humiliated by her. Beron could never survive such a thing. And he never saw her as anything more than a possession.”

I felt the power that threatened to escape him at the thought of Beron’s treatment of my mother. He unnecessarily smoothed his tunic and twisted one of the cuffs at his wrist.

“I never knew,” he said softly. “I never even thought that it was possible that I would sire a child. Let alone with Aurelie. We had never dared to dream of such things. And then she went back to him. Chose him. And I let her go.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Helion still held hope for her. I could see it in his eyes. In the way he spoke of her. The way I had once dared to hope for Feyre, even at Tamlin’s side. Helion still loved my mother.

“I know that my reputation is… well known across Prythian. But for her, for Aurelie- I would have given her the world if she’d asked it of me.”

“But she never did.”

My mother never fought against tradition. Never fought against Beron. Silent. Timid. Pawn.

“I am not too proud to admit that I’d begged her to leave him. Once. But she refused. Had I known that you were mine-” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“Would it have made a difference?”

“Yes. No. It has and always will be Aurelie’s decision.”

“Even though it was a fucked up decision?”

I knew that my words were sharp, I saw in his eyes that I’d hit him low. But I knew that I’d made the same decision to stay with Tamlin and I only left because if I’d stayed my fate would have been worse than death. I sighed, running my fingers through my hair.

“I’m sorry, I should not be so short. I forget my manners.”

Helion smiled.

“You’re not wrong.”

“It took me this long to get away from Tamlin… I can’t blame her, nor you for Beron’s actions. As I cannot blame myself for Tamlin.”

Something vicious flashed in his eyes but was quickly replaced with… curiosity.

“I do not understand how I never noticed. How many times had you come to my court?”

I chuckled. “I think I’ve seen the Day Court more in the last few centuries than Autumn.”

“I suppose we’ll have to ask your mother about that conundrum, won’t we?”

I raised a brow.

“We’ll have to get her out of there first.”

Helion grinned and I realized how similar he and Rhysand were. I was not sure how I felt about that.

“Leave the scheming to me. Your only job is to get out of bedrest.”

I chuckled. “I think I can get out of that one.”

He raised his tea cup at me. “A fox, through and through.”

.

Side by side, Helion and I walked through the halls of Beron’s home, led by guards that had met us at the border. Wards were useless against him, but he’d given them the illusion of control. Helion walked as if Autumn were his, and I knew if he wanted it, it could be. Was that what Beron feared?

The throne room was perhaps as long as it was wide, trees lining it on either side instead of walls, breaking it up into various ‘rooms’ for other court matters. The leaves overhead kept out the sun… But one look at Helion and I knew better.

I saw my brothers… half-brothers standing near Beron’s throne, an old gnarled tree with roots that grew right into the stone floor. It always looked as if Beron’s magic had to fight nature from reclaiming its rightful place. As if it refused to submit to his will.

Beron looked as cruel and angry as he always did. But as Rhys had helped me into my fighting leathers, he’d told me not to falter. Not to let my eyes waver when he looked at me. So I stared him down as we approached the throne.

And there she was, sitting on her small seat below his. My mother was still, her eyes on the floor. Behind her glamour, I saw the bruising. Old and new.

Beron chuckled. “Lucien… I see we are still climbing the ladder. Was Rhysand not enough?”

“I am not here on Night Court business,” I said as proud and arrogant as I could. “I’ve come to deal with family matters.”

My half brothers laughed. Save Eris. He had managed to step back beneath the shade of the trees. Watching. Waiting.

“Family? You denounced your family after you chose that low born whore over your court.”

“Oh, forgive me, Lord Beron. I should have been more concise. I am here for my mother.”

I heard her little gasp, and I saw the way Beron looked down at her.

“The Lady of Autumn does not have leave to go anywhere outside of this Court,” he said to which my brothers and others in the room laughed.

I opened and closed my hands. How Helion remained so calm was beyond me.

“I don’t believe anyone was asking permission,” Helion replied.

Beron was now furious. I could feel it. I remembered the ferocity of his wrath. Everything that had made me happy had been burned to ash by it. When Beron rose to his feet, I fought the urge to step back as he stepped down. He grabbed my mother by the arm and forced her to her feet.

“To your quarters,” he growled at her, but was met with a low snarl that silenced the room.

“You will take your hands off her if you value your life.”

All eyes were on Helion now. It was grounds for war for anyone to take a High Lord’s wife. But he had promised this would go without bloodshed. And I wanted to believe it.

“You dare threaten me?”

“It is no threat, Beron. I have come to claim my mate and no one, not even you can keep her from me.”

The room might have held its breath. I was staring at Helion now. He had failed to mention that particular fact. But it was as clear as day now. My mother’s eyes were wide and she finally looked up at Helion. She had not known it either.

With a look of absolute disgust, Beron shoved my mother away from him, but she barely missed a step before she was rushing to Helion’s side.

Helion wrapped an arm around her, but his eyes never left Beron’s.

“You have committed acts worthy of death,” Helion growled. “What do you say, my son? How shall we address this?”

He finally looked at me, and I swore that my heart might burst in my chest.

“She has seen enough violence,” I said softly, but I knew everyone could hear me. “But if she wishes for his head on a platter, we will surely gift it to her.”

Helion grinned as he looked back at Beron.

“Your marriage is forfeit. Your claim to her and her lands, her wealth is forfeit. Your claim to Lucien is forfeit. They are mine by blood and bond.”

Beron was growing red in the face as he staggered back. A dog with its tail between its legs.

At once, whispers erupted in the throne room. Beron would now be humiliated. Shamed. He would lose an insurmountable amount of wealth and property without my mother. They whispered if I could claim both Courts, if Helion would wage war against Beron. Some were surprised that someone as timid as Aurelie could have an affair and get away with it for so long. What a fool Beron had been to keep her at his side all these years. But the whispering stopped when Eris finally came to the front. He gave them all a look of utter repulsion before his eyes fell on our mother.

Something silent passed between them before he looked at me and gave me a nod, bidding me farewell.

“Be sure to sleep with one eye open,” Helion said, before he reached for my hand.

Eris was smiling when we winnowed away.

.

I knew I needed rest. I knew that Madja would surely kick my ass when we went back home. I knew that Rhys and Feyre were waiting for us in Kallias’ palace. But I couldn’t move. Helion stood there, both hands cupping my mother’s face. Her glamour was gone, her eyes were lined with tears as she looked into his. And he… Helion looked at her the way Rhysand looked at Feyre.

“I’m sorry,” I heard her whisper. Helion shook his head.

“I should have told you… I should have killed him.”

Her nervous laugh broke my heart. And then she looked at me and she sobbed.

“Lucie…”

“Mother.”

When I held her in my arms, she began to weep.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“This was not your fault. None of it ever was,” I replied. I looked at Helion, and perhaps, my words were for him as much as they were for her. “I don’t blame you for any of it.”

If tears lined his eyes, I was not sure. Not when it began to snow and he begged us to go inside as he was only wearing sandals and his legs were too lovely to get frostbitten. My mother laughed, a true laugh, and let him take her by the hand and lead her away.

Our arrival was met with hugs and an assault of kisses from Rhysand, who only made my mother giggle. There were many tears. Far too many tears. But for once, they were of joy.

“I’ve never forgotten what you did for my son,” my mother said to Feyre who couldn’t seem to leave her side. They sat beside the fireplace, hand in hand. Rhys sat on the armrest beside them, listening as he drank from his glass. Feyre insisted on looking at my mother’s arm, but there was no evidence of that old hurt.

“We are fire made flesh,” she said to Feyre, looking at me with a glimmer in her eye that I’d not seen since I was a child. “It’s alright… He deserved what he got.”

“So, Helion,” Viviane began, crossing her arms as she unceremoniously sat on Kallias’ lap. “Your mate is the Lady of the Autumn Court.”

He poured himself a glass of liquor. “Yes.”

“Your heir is also the paramour of the Lord and Lady of the Night Court.”

He took a long sip before pouring again. “Yes.”

“So when Rhysand marries him, Lucien will be High Lord of two courts. Three, if you decide to get rid of that bastard.”

Helion shrugged.

“Lucien will have three titles! Three!” she shrieked at Kallias who sighed in a way that reminded me of Azriel. The sigh of the long suffering.

“Let them have their moment, my love. When it passes, we will discuss the matter then.”

“That’s what you said on Solstice.”

Helion put an arm around my shoulder, leading me away from the others. Now in white furs and actual boots for once, Helion looked as though he would survive the winter.  

“You and your mother are free to do as you will,” he said softly. I knew none of the others could hear. Not even Rhys who was now charming my mother. “All that I said to Beron… It was all for show.”

I looked at him in disbelief. There had been truth to his words… But very much like Rhys, that choice was ours to make.

“What if that was what we wanted?”

He seemed surprised by that.

I looked outside, watching the snow fall, the fae playing in it. The ice of the windowsill was a welcome relief, and I was surprised it didn’t melt beneath my touch.

“I’d always dreamed of this. That her mate would find her and take us away. Like-”

A small ray of light in all the darkness.

“I dreamed of you,” I said out loud and felt my face go warm.

Helion set his glass down on the windowsill and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I was Under the Mountain… All those years. Knowing what she was to me, and ignoring it. She didn’t know, Lucien. What we were to one another. I had felt it right to spare her from what you and your mate have had to endure.”

“Her sons were all she lived for… Until they grew up to become worse versions of their father. And then you came along… I had never even thought that far. I had only wanted her to be happy. And we were so young. What the hell did I care for children? Except that when you were born and that news spread across Prythian I knew that I’d been lying to myself. It was deeper than the sting of her refusal to leave him. It was like an emptiness I could never quite fill.”

He sighed.

“You’re not a child, Lucien. I can’t raise you,” he said with a chuckle. “But the Day Court is yours, as much as it is mine. And I would like it very much if you went to experience it as my son. Nothing will be denied to you… Although I would prefer it if you kept Rhys away from the throne room. He might just charm the mirrors off the walls.”

We both looked at him as he spoke with my mother and laughed.

“I would love to go… But after my mother accepts the mating bond. Much, much after.”

Helion’s laughter brought all eyes on us, and by the look on my mother’s face, I realized that though many things were broken and unsaid, there was a chance for things to change. A chance for us to have the life we had only dreamed of and never thought possible. 

.

.

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@readingismycopingmechanism @fuzdog @gently-say-aha @highladyofherondale @alxanxah @city-of-fae @rhysands-highlady @myfeyrelady 

If anyone would like to be tagged, please let me know!!

#a happy Lucien means everyone is happy #now that all this is where it needs to be #I need to start wrapping it up #lmao #I might be mia for a bit just #where there are shadows pt 26 #feyrhycien fic #acofas spoilers #acowar spoilers #feyre x rhys x lucien #feyrhycien #Lucien vanserra #helion spell cleaver #feyre archeron #beron is a bitch ass loser #I haven't forgotten about nesta #I have to tie the loose ends before I end this thing #also this may have been some kind of childhood wish fulfillment on my part #but you guys aren't my therapists so don't worry about it lmao #oh and beron will be dealt with #just not yet

[raifenlf]

Why Loki’s Sylvie Is A Mary Sue

So I am firmly in the camp that Sylvie on the Loki series was/is a Mary Sue.  The last episode made me feel better and like maybe the show was doing a thing where they were faking you out that she was a Mary Sue only to show she was actually sort of a bad guy and I liked that.  But all the recent interviews make me think the show wants to go back to her being a Mary Sue.

But I feel like when I call her out for being a Mary Sue people tell me what are you talking about, she’s not a Mary Sue, bad things happen to her, etc.  But that doesn’t actually make her not a Mary Sue.  

Also, before we start, I know some people find Mary Sue sexist.  But I personally use the term for guys and girls. I don’t use the term to belittle women.  I use the term to criticize a poorly written character.

And I know Mary Sue is often used to describe fanfic characters.  But to me, this series is kind of like a fanfic because the writers took a character who had been in canon MCU material for ten years and then created characters around that character.  So, I kind of review it like I would a fanfic.  It’s very different than if the writers had created a brand new show with all of their own new characters.

Anyway, if you are not totally familiar with the Mary Sue term, then check this out:

I know the term Mary Sue probably means different things to different people.  But I have always used these guidelines when I write my own fanfic to make sure my characters never come off as a Mary Sue.

This article really gives you a full scale of what a Mary Sue is.  If you start reading it, you’ll immediately see why Sylvie is.  But I’m going to take out the parts that most fit Sylvie just to highlight why I believe she is a Mary Sue.  I apologize for this being so long.

Mary Sue Character Traits

Personality

Erm... what personality? The typical Mary Sue doesn't have one per se, because she isn't meant to be a character; rather, she's an entity by which the author makes cool stuff happen.

I feel like that is Sylvie in a nutshell.  She doesn’t have a personality.  I feel like even though she ate screentime, I still don’t really know her at all.  The writers love to say she’s badass.  That’s not a personality.  

Sometimes when I am writing stories for fun and creating new characters, I like to take surveys as my fictional characters.  Like the kind of surveys you’d see in a magazine, like personality types, what’s your dating style, etc.  I figure if I don’t know what my character would do in any of those situations, then I need to keep working on my character.  And if I was trying to fill out a survey pretending I was Sylvie I would have no idea what to answer because she doesn’t have a personality.  She’s just “cool”.

What little personality a Mary Sue has isn't as important as how other characters react to it. No matter how shy or socially awkward Mary Sue is supposed to be, other characters will be inexplicably drawn to her

This is so Sylvie.  Loki falls in love with her...why, exactly?  He falls in love with her in the big Nexus event moment...why?  Because she had a tough childhood?  Mobius spends like two seconds with her in a car and goes from hating her to saying she’s his favorite Loki.  For. No. Particular. Reason.

She's extremely persuasive; everyone finds her opinions to be better than their own

She enchants Hunter B-15 and then immediately Hunter B-15 makes it her whole entire life mission to back Sylvie up.  

And occasionally she'll be a complete asshole...This can manifest itself in several ways...The author wants to write a badass but doesn't know how. This leads to a character who mistreats everyone around her and is never called out on her abrasive, casually abusive behavior.

Sylvie talked down to Loki and treated him like garbage for all of episode three, but it was never portrayed as a bad thing and we never got any impression Sylvie later felt bad for the way she treated Loki

The author doesn't know how to hold back the character, meaning that she will succeed at practically everything. This means that when she encounters rules or authority figures who would otherwise prevent her from doing what she wants to do, she rolls right through them (and they praise her for her "boldness" in defying regulations). If a bad guy is violent and aggressive, she can beat him by being more violent and aggressive (with all that entails). It's impossible for her to go overboard because she's protected by Protagonist-Centered Morality.

Sylvie is shown as a kid to immediately be able to grab a Tempad and run away.  And she can kick ass way better than Loki, for no known reason.  She is always able to fight back against the TVA when they attack her.  And she can kill lots of innocent TVA agents but it’s okay because TVA bad, Sylvie good.

Skills

She will always be superior to the canon characters, regardless of what canon has established they can do or whether it makes any sense.

Whose skill was needed to defeat Alioth?  Sylvie’s.  Of course.  Sylvie needed to teach Loki her skills in order for him to succeed (!).  And again, she is literally called the superior Loki.

Relatedly, there's no effort to her skills. She never actually trains or learns anything to become more powerful; she just wins the Super Power Lottery, or is a freakish natural learner, or is just Inexplicably Awesome

We’re told Sylvie literally taught herself magic.  She literally taught herself to enchant people.  That. Makes. No. Sense.  Like, I have so many questions.  Like, why would it even occur to her to teach herself that?  And how????????????  This is really lazy writing.

Canon Character Relationships

Mary Sue is often designed to hook up with another character, often as a form of Wish Fulfillment. This isn't that bad in and of itself (okay, it is kinda weird), but Mary Sue accomplishes this without any sense of realism. She just grabs her lover's attention straight away, and their relationship will never face any obstacles or tension; it's true love from the start and nothing else. The biggest giveaway is if the love interest is explicitly the author's favorite character, and she essentially "cures" him of all the angst that ails him (at the expense of his characterization).

Yeah, so...this one should be pretty obvious to anyone who watched the show.  Loki literally falls in love with Sylvie immediately, and then he suddenly turns from “villain” to “hero” just because of loving her.  And this was definitely at the expense of his characterization.  And Loki just knows he falls in love with her.  There’s not even any moments of hmm what do I feel for this person?  It’s just true love, immediately.

She will be related to a canon character in some way. This (marginally) helps explain such phenomena as her being a Copy Cat Sue and other characters accepting her so easily.

Sylvie is a Loki variant.  They use this to help explain why Loki is drawn to her and why their falling in love immediately “makes sense”.

Most characters give her more heed than they normally would. The good guys never stop praising her

Seriously, it was so over the top and OOC for Loki to gush over her.  He literally tells her she’s amazing.  They don’t even make it subtle.

Characters' previously established personalities change in reaction to her. Proud, arrogant gimps suddenly acknowledge her superiority in everything. Reckless youths will listen to all her advice. Responsible leaders will defer to her instead. Villains will obsess with her to the detriment of all else. Extremely competent characters will become stumbling buffoons who require her help to do anything. Sweet, mild-mannered characters whom the author doesn't like turn evil and insult her. They all become unnaturally focused on her in some way.

Again, Loki’s whole personality changed in reaction to her.  He became a buffoon who needed her help to enchant the Alioth because of course he couldn’t do anything without her!  Hunter B-15 goes from doing whatever the TVA said to fighting the TVA just because of Sylvie.

Story Elements

Mary Sue is without exception a single-person Spotlight-Stealing Squad. The entire story hinges on her existence; if you removed her, there would be no story. 

Sylvie undoubtedly drove the whole story this season.  It all became about HER meeting the TVA heads because of HER trauma.  Loki’s life was only saved at the beginning because the TVA was trying to capture HER.  And SHE was the one who started the whole multiverse (!).

Mary Sue is The Chosen One, even if the setting already has one. There are many ways she can accomplish this: she can be a Sailor Earth type who "shares" the position with the canon hero; she may be vaguely "destined to help the destined one fulfill their destiny" (i.e. do all the work except the final blow so that the prophecy is still technically correct); or the canon hero may be revealed to be a Fake Ultimate Hero all along. Being the Chosen One doesn't necessarily involve her being a God-Mode Sue, especially as authors become aware of the phenomenon and try to avoid it, but it does make her critically important to the world and allows her to continue stealing the spotlight without the "god mode" label.

HWR wanted Sylvie to come with Loki in the end, like she was chosen all along right alongside Loki.  Like one of the most important characters in the entire MCU is now this character who we only met a few episodes ago.

Most Sues have an unusually Dark and Troubled Past. It's often used to create a Sympathetic Sue, but any type of Sue can have one

They tell us, over and over, how hard Sylvie’s life was because she was kidnapped by the TVA in order to create sympathy for her.

She almost never does anything wrong. In the rare instance that she does, it's usually; (a) a way for the author to disclaim her being a Mary Sue by introducing a single imperfection (that has no bearing on anything anyway), and (b) designed to show her smarts by making her feel instant remorse, and she'll be Easily Forgiven anyway:

So this one hopefully will not come true, as a lot can change between now and when the show is taped. But if the show goes on the way the behind the scenes team is talking, Sylvie immediately felt remorse for betraying Loki, and Loki has already forgiven her and is desperately looking for her.  Ugh.

Alternatively, she is more than capable of doing something wrong, be it in general moral terms or something that goes against whatever code she abides by, and she maybe even frequently does so, but don't expect the other characters or the narrative to ever acknowledge or comment on it in any real capacity. If the other characters do call her out, expect them to be treated like they're the problem for daring to criticize her at all.

Mobius calls her out for killing people, but Sylvie immediately says he’s a bad person and then Mobius agrees, because, of course.

She will often suffer from Special Snowflake Syndrome; i.e., she has a trait or backstory that sets her apart from her group or race.

She is the only female Loki, thus making her the special one among all the Lokis in episode five.

Presentation

In visual media, the camera just can't stop staring at her.

The camera would follow her in fight scenes rather than Loki.

Mary Sue Tropes

Okay, so there are specific Mary Sue tropes that Sylvie is.  One of those is Copy Cat Sue, which I think was referenced before.

Copy Cat Sue

A lot of fanfic writers...start to write something because of their passion for this character, but they find something about the character that doesn't mesh well. Maybe they're the wrong gender or are otherwise not close enough to the author's expectations...In any case, rather than put them through the Possession Sue process, they just get a Clone-O-Matic™ and out pops a Copy Cat Sue...the character might be intended as a replacement for the canon character, but without whatever icky traits the author hates. They'll then rob the spotlight, prove the canon character to be unworthy of his/her position, and either relegate the character to obsolescence or, perhaps, even remove them entirely.

Sylvie is basically a clone of Loki, she is a variant.  But she absolutely robbed the spotlight of Loki’s, and they literally call her the superior Loki.  I mean, they are literally not even being subtle about this.  And there was a feeling by myself (and a lot of other viewers) that Sylvie might ultimately replace Loki in the MCU. 

Black Hole Sue

Much like a black hole, this is a Mary Sue who "sucks in" the plot and characters to her. Characters will behave outside their personalities, logic will be defied, and rules will be broken for her sake.

Sylvie really does suck up all the plot and Loki definitely behaves outside of his personality just to fit the Sylvie show.

Jerk Sue

A Mary Sue who is mean or maybe even cruel, but are still treated as an ideal person.

Once again, Sylvie is basically a jerk all of episode three, but you’ve got Loki falling over himself to call her amazing in just the next episode.

Relationship Sue

A Mary Sue who exists to be the perfect mate for a specific character...this character has everything in the plot conspiring to enforce this One True Pairing...in Fanfiction, they are the perfect beloved of a canon character.

They literally have Mobius speculate that Loki falling in love with Sylvie is so extraordinary that it causes an entire Nexus event, that’s how huge this One True Pairing is (!).  And Sylvie is the love interest of Loki, the only character who had been around before the beginning of the series

TLDR: Sylvie has all the tropes of a classic Mary Sue character.  So calling Sylvie a Mary Sue isn’t being sexist or just randomly hating on the character.  If you use common Mary Sue characteristics to examine the character, she just has too many of these characteristics to ignore.

#loki negativity #antisylvie #loki critical #loki criticism #antisylkie

[secretbangtnn]

Love Lies | kth I

➤ summary : You never had it easy. From the first day of your life it seemed like fate was a big joke, making every effort to make you feel miserable. Shortly after taking the first step into adulthood, you are convinced that childhood doom follows you like a shadow. On the verge of being broke without any help, you take your friends advice and try your hand in industry you have no idea about.

➤ genre : CEO! au, prostitution but not really au, strangers to enemies to lovers, Smut, fluff, angst

➤ pairing : Taehyung x reader ft. Jimin (This chapter Jimin x reader)

➤ ratings : 18+ NSFW

➤words : 10k

➤ warnings : swearing, prostitution, sex for money, mentions of mental health, toxic household, mentions of violence, explicit sexual content, mxm, fxm, family problems, dishearitance, toxic relationship, Taehyung is bad at feelings, reader is lost, soft boy jimin, sexy hot taehyung (couse that will need a warning) - more to be added

notes ~

I finally did it! I'm so sorry for the wait and how the chapter came out - it's a little more messy than I predicted but i wanted to give you something before the big story. I promise the next chapter is going to start with the big action and main plot and finally with Taehyung. I really hope for some feedback, I worked hard for it to be done before the next week and even though it may seem boring i really hope it’s okay.

taglist:

@jinssexytoe @danyxthirstae01 @alwaysasadaesthetic @luvmingyu @chimincubus @minshookie29

Underneath the sunrise

Show me where your love lies

Relationships that are based on lies never last long and everyone who found themselves in artificial feelings, knows of the truth of those words. Although that sweet sinful lie sometimes replaces that thing we could have never got.

You never thought about yourself as someone low, at least not that low to kneel to beg of something so materialistic like money.

You respected yourself at the same time being sure that you would fight everything alone. Just like a good fighter - you didn't need a good sword in a big war. Even once in your whole life you wouldn't have thought of stepping that low to actually work as a cleaner in old school or supermarket lady, that couldn't even use the calculator right.

How ironic, we love when inevitable doom falls on people that did not deserve it.

You were taught from the beginning, how to live, what to do, how to look, and the most important who to listen to. It's so weird when we find a character that's not extremely bad or good, not the shy mouse of the school, also not the hot rebellious cool girl with too big ego, and mouth so unbelievable that you actually start to think if you have ever met someone without such basic manners.

Fact is that you are bland, your life never yours to live, as someone recorded it with a script in their hands, and a plan for an ending and second part. It was frustrating knowing how many people never cared about you, however you could not say that you indeed did too.

Lessons were taught, those made you somehow resistant to disappointments in life. First happening in early stage, not even first year of your high school, people started to know - know about this and that, about family of yours and how privileged they would be if they had you on their side.

But you did not have a problem with it, mindset so set that you liked to think about money as a guarantee of friendship. And with this thought you let the first people use you, not minding their motive of only getting part of your prosperity.

So you believed to those days that your childhood indeed was normal.

You never tried to run from your life, you never saw yourself as a hormonal teenager in need of attention.

In the end only those who were born in respecting families, where work and pride is placed higher than blood ties, knows how upringbing really looks in such a household. Your standart always high, doing that to not need to put it higher again.

Parents instilling you dreams that were not yours, making you believe in something they always wanted. Like it was written, your whole life does not belong to you, and realization over it came in the moment when it was a little too late. Happy smiles never real, friends you swore would not leave you, disappeared within a night.

However let’s not impose that your parents were monsters, killing you on the inside with their cold demeanor or making your life miserable.

The first problem began when you had enough, when a virus in your mind told you about your own desires.

You remember this day like it was yesterday. Invisible mark on your check is still pulsating, with a wound much deeper inside screaming at you that it is still not healed.

“I want to study medicine.” Those were the exact words you first told your mother, freezing her in place and scarring inside with the power and destruction they held. She did not hold back with ignoring you, acting like the sentence was a mere passing wind, just fluffing hair in a not nice type of way. You expected that, nothing new from a shell of a person your mother has become, money and power empowering her mind, probably killing the young woman you are now, in her.

So the first step of actually making a point of how you processed to cut your family ties, were with your mother, kind of preparing you for what has to come.

Dark room, with marble accents and a woody smell that came straight to your nostrils. Mahogany desk, big enough to contain tons of papers scattered over it like some kind of nto important rubbish. You however knew better, and those innocent stock of inked pages held more value than maybe you yourself.

It was so hard to breathe in this tiny space, now feeling ever more closed up, dark and not welcoming. You tried to believe that the reason for it was not really a man sitting just before you, not minding your presence in a slighlets, but a stress and emotions on your back, you were trying to bear by yourself.

“I’m busy.” Short answer, not even directed to you - not that the man ever looked at you with those dark eyes. Predictable, exactly like you guessed. Cold feeling with a hot flush over your cheek, not knowing where the previous patience had gone.

Maybe you finally had enough. You were too tired to try to understand.

“Dad, please listen to me.” Ice cold bucket over your head, a void eyes now on you, not really expecting them to stay on you for so long, or even look up. Pupils a little blow out, stirring the dark color pallet of his eyes, similar to the tone of the bags under them. What a wrack of a man he really was, lanky hands under the suit, scribbling over something not even a minute ago, now lying lifelessly on a brownish desk.

“You really couldn't find better time for your whining? Go on, I still have a lot of work to do before I need to actually go.” Unconcern, you could even feel the unitresment oozing from him, hitting you with those eyes. They were looking at you, but at the same time it felt like they never were there. Black holes, no feelings found, gaze scary for those who never met someone so indifferent.

“I dropped out.”

“What?” Words came after some silence, piercing straight your beating heart. Hands in fist, just beside your thighs, so white that it could even be a little concerning for those looking from the side. You were nervous, even after you told yourself that this conversation was not going to be easy. Smooth information that it should be, your own life choices never discussed so openly.

“I dropped out of college”

Not a breath was heard, a heavy hand landed on the desk with a smack, knocking in the process some of the scattered pens.

“You did what?” Too calm, his voice was too calm for such information. Nerve wracking feeling once again welcomed you inside, making you take one step back. Soft material of the shirt creased under your hard grip. “It’s not the time for such a jokes Y/n”

“I’m not joking dad, I took the papers yesterday. I'm tired of wasting my time on something I never wanted.”

“Oh? But are you really? What are you going to do then? I'm getting really curious” Tone momocking you in every kind of way. You clench your teeth, an annoyed expression came over your face, just to disappear within one glance of the man.

Questions were rhetorical, laughing at your whole being in the cruelest manner. He knew about your every vulnerability, molding your persona from the beginning. So it must have been funny for him, seeing a little girl, someone he treated not entirely equally, however putting some kind of hope and dreams he himself could not reach, standing before him like a scared puppy asking for a treat.

“You yourself know the best how important those studies are for you. You prepared your whole life to go there and take my place one time, so don’t joke about it like it’s some kind of dish you are bored of eating.”

“You forced me to do it! I never wanted to take your place, study the stupid law.”

“And you decided that this is the time to suddenly realize that? Y/n from the beginning, we always gave you what you wanted, fulfilling your every wish, buying everything you wanted, and even after that you can’t be grateful. We only asked you for one thing, one thing Y/n, there is not such a thing like your dreams, there is only our family.” You wanted to laugh, those stupid exucess, only making you annoyed and wroked up. Manipulating you into believing you were selfish, that you are the problem, and you owe them right to living.

“Don’t be ridiculous father, you are not in the place to talk about family or do I need to remind you of Na-”

You heard it before you felt it. Burning feeling right in your left cheek, head on the side from the harash contact it made with the ringed hand. It was not the first time you saw or experienced such an act. Father being the man that loved to lose his temper rather fastly, hiding on the outside behind the calm demeanor and innocent smile.

Blood on your tongue, the metallic taste in your mouth like a forbidden flower you just tasted.

“You really want me to get mad today hm? “ You really wanted to nod, looking straight at him from your hair that fell after the slap. Hand on the cheek, trying to stop the pulsating ache to echo so much, however you know the best that the hot feeling is only building up and it's the only matter of time till the beautiful tones of purple show on your soft skin.

His own hands now begin viped over the handkerchief, a little blood over the white fabric, likely from the little scratches the rings were able to make.

His back to you as he went back behind the dark desk, sitting on his chair like nothing happened. And you knew, secretly that it was the end, that the conversation was done and nothing else could be said.

You closed your eyes, not even noticing you did it, realizing it after the first salty tear fell to your mouth, giving you a taste of sorrow. Head down, not in shame but in anger, with a pulsating cheek not letting you forget about the consequences your every word bears, you turned around going to the door that before somehow gave you so much hope.

“Oh and Y/n, there is no you without this family, but there is family without you. It won’t be the first time when I lose a child.”

Those exact words hunted you till this day. Rather heavy feeling, three years not long enough to make you forget, or let you accept a new life.

Loud noise of passing cars just outside the dirty window with a pounding of heart echoing in your ears. It was one of those bad days - you liked to say, those however started happening a lot of more. Breaking was never something you wanted to do, working so many jobs you could not count on your fingers, living in shitty apartments for no longer than two months just to end up on someone's couch.

That is the life you chose, the life you barely lived, everyday wishing for a miracle.

Harsh paper under your fingers, weighting your hand weirdly down - maybe it was the words that made the letter so heavy, maybe the truth you needed to face. Fact is that you do not know what to do, trying for the last months to make a living for yourself, get better pay and settle down for a longer time.

Words of your father echoing once again, making your eyes squish with the feeling. It was so hard to accept a defeat, something that you worked so hard for and for so long. You could not beg, you could not go on your knees again, and even if it was an option, imagines and memories of life in such a household keep you in the place you are now.

Head resting under your arms, shielding bright rays of sun from your eyes, long locks falling down in waves just over your pale face. You pulled them with a strength you did not know you possessed at the moment, as if it was because of them you needed to deal with all of this.

“Think Y/n, think” Mutters fell from your mouth like a mantra, supposed to make you cheer up a little. Void in your head, not ending emptiness that scares you as much as the strings of unpaid numbers on this goddamn paper.

An late hour struck on the side clock, hanging on one of the grey walls of the run down apartment you lived in. Sight itself is depressing, leaving you in wonder if maybe it is not one of the reasons for your current mood.

Who you wanted to trick.

A little knock once again echoed in the quietness of your home, reminding you of the late hour. Looking from your thick locks of hair, you sighed seeing how little time you actually got to get there. With one move, you left the scrap of paper on the side, and stood up from the ugly green couch, taking in the process bag of the crookedly hanged hook.

Fast footstep as you nearly run over one of the olders ladies living in the same flat, trying to messily wrap an apron over your waist, which is not as easy as it seemed to be earlier. Bluish fabric holding on to you with all the power, hanging a little on the too long strings, that untied themselves with each step.

You tried not to think about all those stares, looking at you as you run past them, not minding where your feets go, or if you accidentally push someone on the side. Let people think what they want, it's not like your opinion matters, and being a disgrace to your whole family disappears.

Familiar neon letters came to your sight forming the greenish title of caffe you soon found yourself in. A little bell rang as the door opened informing everyone about your presence. Calm atmosphere, everyone was busy in their own word, you loved this, a quiet place which you often found yourself admiring.

You wished that working there was not such an obligation, the only thing that let you stay in your current apartament. Rosy cheeks, and cheeky smiles as people got their morning coffee, thanking you quietly for the drink with such a pure impression, that you could not hold back the smile you gave each one of them.

“I’m so sorry for being late, I hope you didn’t need to run too much.” You said between heavy breaths, still trying to catch remaining puffs of air, head tilted to the side, hands on knees as you looked at the little blonde behind the counter.

Said boy only laughed a little, shaking his head from the embarrassment after the statement. Ringed hands cleaning some cups, quiet melody living his plump lips.

“Am I suppose to feel offended? I’m not an old man you know.” He asks, knowing that the answer will never be given. Voice on the lighter side, something you would expect from such a soft looking boy, warm and sweet to listen, and you indeed do, always keeping quiet when the boy talked about his own day to fill the quietness of your workplace.

You knew the boy was one of the things that made you feel normal, with his bright persona and angelic personality, you liked to believe he was one. He did not ask, knowing some things should stay in the dark, and you repaid him the same, being fully aware of the boy's secrets.

“Not at all. Beside we all know that it's not about you, but about who will get in trouble from your whining - and yes, it would be me. “ You say, patting his back on the way to the other side. Confused gaze now on you, as you smirk at the questioning boy waiting for some kind of elaboration, only getting from you another cup to wipe.

“Should i remind you of a certain person, which came to me with a complaint of how his favorite boy was tired - what was his name? Oh yeah Yo-”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

You laughed at the squeaky voice that came in a form of fast spoken answer, a little too fast to understand every word completely. Pretty blush came over his round cheek, soon appearing on tips of his lears, hidden by mop of blonde hair.

Not a piece of judgment in your gaze, but rather sweet caring look over the embarrassed boy next to you, trying so hard not to look bothered by your everyday teasing, that he was slowly getting accustomed to, liking how your voice gets a little lighter, your eyes light up and a pure giggle leaves your mouth.

Yeah he definitely could live with it if it means he can see the sparkle pops out in the dark of your pupils.

Cup in his hands a little heavy with the next thought that came over him. Melody coming with the pleasant wind of the early monday morning, his eyes however discreetly gazing over your figure. He knew when the times were worse, when your collarbones stood out more, welcoming i'm from the collar of an old shirt, you probably needed to wash by hands, and he hated that even if he tried to explain it, not care so much, he simply could not stop the worry seeking of him.

You were a sweetheart, never judging him, understanding his reason even after he told you about the second job he needed to take. You simply smiled, wishing him all good, and getting excited about dreams that were not your own, laughing with him and talking about his future plans as if you had place in them.

Thanks were never enough to pay off all the hardship you helped with. He respected you, admired so many things about you, how you don’t need a reason to give an arm to cry on, always taking a piece of burden on your own shoulders, whispering promises and talking about a better future that comes with hardships.

“Don’t be so embarrassed~ “ You sing to his ear when you pass him, going over to the coffee machine, big bag of beans in your hands. “I dare to say I got a little jealous when I saw him for the first time.”

“Gosh I hate you sometimes.” He whines, throwing his head back, closing his eyes to remain calm. Smile now on your lips, little giggles leaving your busy persona, trying not to be too loud in such an early hour.

An enjoyable silence came over once again, only sounds of working machines and knocks of cups, that were cleaned and wiped, mind automatically getting fuzzy from the fresh brew of coffees and autumn wind. Not a person in a shop, being still a little too early to welcome customers or get a morning drink, subtle music playing a little louder at those times filling little breaks of silence.

So how surprising it was, when those little giggles tickled your own ears suddenly and strong arms, clothed in white shirt, sneaked around your waist, making you lose the focus on filling the cup with beans. Blonde hair over your cheek, stroking the soft skin with a funny feeling, only pushing you to squirt more.

“You know if you liked him so much, you could have just said. I would think of something.” He whispers mockingly, smacking his lips in the end. Shiver comes with his next move, hands on your hips, keeping them from stirring so much, hot and on the smaller side however still noticeably bigger than your own. “Sadly I do not share my clients.”

With those words, he quickly detaches himself, hitting your bum with a cheeky smile that you soon could see right before you as the boy grabs one of the fresh croissants, putting the whole thing into his mouth.

“It must be big for you to say that.” You laugh, looking at the choking boy with the same expression he was giving you not even a minute ago.

“That was totally inappropriate.” Says blonde, chugging a glass of water you gave him out of pity.

“Now, don’t play an innocent Jimin, I see how you look at that one girl that comes here every friday. Didn’t you even memorize her order - gosh i heard you repeating it so many times that I know it myself.”

“Okay, okay maybe you are right, but it doesn’t mean you can judge me.”

“Would I ever?” A dramatic sight from the boy's accusations leaves your lips, you touch your heart looking at him with the most hurt eyes you could manage to do, a little tear spins in your eye. Mouth full of baked goodie, he laughs showing a little of non eaten food, with a proud expression to it. Your own smile now noticeable on face, happy feeling over your whole being, loving how this short amount of time with the bubbly boy let you forget about some problems. You take one of the left rags of the counter and throw it at his face, hoping to get him to work. “Stop eating! We are opening soon and I don't want to listen to how the coffee machines should be ready before the first client, because someone didn’t want to move his ass.”

“Just say you don’t want to deal with that old raisin.”

Nobody did, but Jimin had some superpower you sadly did not possess, and could at least shut the old businessman that somehow always comes first. Coming back to an earlier job, you pour black beans in the measuring cup, trying not to let the weight of the bag swoop you.

Place once again in a nice atmosphere, Jimin singing somewhere in the back, probably preparing syrups and goodies, sorting eveyrything on the displae plate. You two fell in a pleasant rhythm, doing your jobs like robots, knowing where things should go, and how not to disturb each other in the middle of action.

And it was something you really enjoyed, that piece and order, making you feel secure at least in such a place. Like you had power over your own life, your hands did what you wanted, your mind clear with tasks to be done.

Peace.

You both knew that this place was a mere act in the theatre of lies, you played in. Cafe such like that one, a happy place for two broke students, that tried everything in their power to make a living, pursue dreams so far away, still hoping that they are not going to disappear with all the hardships.

You could just drown in this lie of beauty picture you painted yourself, pretending your lifes do not look as bad, and even though you did not know the boy so well, you could tell from his eyes that he indeed is a player in the same game as you.

The truth being you did not know each other, you were not close. You knew about his job, about his own problems - some of them left unsaid, but who could you judge when you acted exactly the same.

Understanding from each other was enough.

However the boy tried to help you, offering sum of money or better paid jobs in times when you were too tired to hide it, those although - he learned after some time, never were an option for you.

And so with the next passing wind, the first client came welcoming you with kind of a grumpy smile, wishing for you to just make him the coffee. It was as always, a busy morning on the first day of the week, that always seems a little more crowded than any other, with business men and middle aged women trying to get over their morning sickness as fast as possible.

You saw the girl you talked about some minutes ago, looking from her covering eyes bangs, squashed from pink beanie on her head, nevertheless still laid perfectly. A little wave, hand hid under the panda mittens she liked to wear every other day the temperature goes down.

You smiled at the interaction, the excited smile on Jimin's face he tried so hard to hide, not doing a good job with his nearly nonexistent eyes that disappeared just because of it. She was pretty, a student in a university you both go to, however you were not sure what exactly she was majoring in.

Her funky style makes you take a shot at something related to fashion, but that might be completely wrong and the girl could just like wearing such bright clothes.

“Love the mittens, they look nearly as cute as you.” You heard, looking back from your busy hands, to gaze at the flustered pair. Adorable giggle soon leaves her mouth, covering lips with the said gloves as her own eyes disappear from weirdly similar eyesmile.

Jimin was a sweetheart, someone who deserved a happy future. And so you did everything to make that happen, wishing him the best and trying to help him even if it means your own happiness goes on a second plan.

“I'm sorry but could I order.” Coming back to your own job, you look up immediately, catching the gaze of one of the clients you did not recognize.

“Oh yes of course, I'm sorry for the wait. What can I get you?”

----

A loud noise of a closing locker echoes in a quiet room in the back of the coffee shops. Night air chilling from the open window you opened some minutes ago, to get rid of a smell so many people.

The calm of the room soothing your buzzing nerves and shaking hands, that always seems to do it after a hard day of work. Your attention now somewhere else as you try to take off the blue apron, laying it somewhere on the lonely bench next to you.

It was a busy day, helping you forget about what waits for you at home, and what person will probably visit you in the meantime. You didn’t like those times, the quiet after such hard working hours, leaving you with anxious thoughts rotating around the same problems you tried so hard to run away from.

So you tried once again, silence your mind with your hands, taking every job you could, now wiping lockers that never needed to be wiped before. The same rug from before in your hands, sliding over an uneven surface.

“Y/n?” You jumped from the sudden voice, swearing that Jimin was in the other room just a second ago. Turning around, you try to look unbothered, clenching the old rug in your hands with such interest. A little noise comes from your mouth, hum to let him know you are aware of his presence.

“Everything alright?” He asks a little unsure of the question, looking at you from the other side of the room, close to the door connected to the main room.

“Yeah, why would there not be?

“You were cleaning the lockers like not even a minute ago.” He says without thinking. Voice somehow suspicious, full of hidden concern as his suspicions from before seem to be true. You were not alright, and Jimin knows exactly what it may be. “If you need hel-”

“I'm alright! I'm really alright there is no need to worry, I'm just stressed because med major is harder than I thought.” The sigh is enough to let you know that he is not buying it.

Hard steps as he comes closer, opening his own locker situated right next to you, eyes glazing back at you from his clothes is started to put back. Tight lipped smiles is the only thing you are capable of answering with, catching his dark stare for a second.

“Im worried, and I know what you want to say, but I can’t help it. You are always the one that takes my burden so why can I not do the same?” He closes the locker with too much strength, making you jump again from the loud noise.

“It’s different.”

“How is it different? You help me with everything, you let me cry, you let me crash at your apartment when my parents try to make a mess again, so what’s the problem with me?! You don’t even want to tell me what's wrong dammit.” His eyes glassy from all the emotions, hands in a fist as if he tried to hold himself back. He turned completely to you, cornering you to the lockers behind, not letting you leave this time.

“Is it because of my work? Are you ashamed to take dirty money from someone who can’t earn normally and needs to sell themself. Is it this?! Tell me Y/n, I’m tired of seeing you in such a state, you are my friend.”

“You know it’s not that.” You tried to argue catching his watery eyes.

“So tell me, tell what is going on.”

Your own mouth in agape, words lost somewhere in the back of your head. So many years going alone, keeping everything to yourself shows itself with such a hestation of saying easy words that could let you breathe easier at night.

But would they really?

Giving someone your own burden was something you were taught as a shame. Problems should stay in family, and even there your father always told you to fight them alone.

“I - “ Eyes hopeful, looking at you with new found desperation. Big and different from the ones he was giving the sweet girl with panda mittens, and that alone made you sick knowing that the sparkle left because of you. “I’m sorry Jimin I just can’t.”

And you broke. With the remaining energy you mustered, you fell onto Jimin, him nearly not catching you on time. First tears fell, with such a power, rolling down your cheeks, wetting the soft fabric of Jimin’s shirt. You did not know why, why now you decided to just let go, sobbing so much, hoping the boy will understand that you only need someone to hold you.

And he did, wrapping his arms so securely around, letting you hide the red face in a crock of his neck. Fresh smell of flowers and perfume he always wore with a noticeable hint of coffee, you probably possesed yourself. Quiet whispers of comfort, tickling your scalp a little, hands patting your hair with care, brushing them with such a delicacy, like he secretly knew how breakable you are now.

“It’s going to be okay.” Void promise, his lips close to you kissing your forehead, with shaky hands trying so hard to gather every tear that fell down. With a little move he sat on a bench, an apron which you earlier left there dropped on the floor, a quiet thud ran in the small room, you on his lap, trying so hard to become smaller nearly molding in the bigger body of Jimin’s.

Sorry’s fly through your mouth, realizing it after Jimin's starts to rock your body. He peels your face from the safe space of his neck, wiping your running tears with both of his thumbs and trying to smile a little.

“I know it’s hard, but sometimes we need to let someone in, let them help put broken pieces together.” Eyes shining in the dim light of the room, your mouth ready to disagree quickly however quieten by his own speech. ”I know what you want to say Y/n” He starts again taking a big breath. “Being helpless doesn’t mean being weak, asking for help is not something to be ashamed of. Being strong however - is letting someone in, taking they hand and standing up with them - you have to have courage to do it, and I know you do to - but whoever put such a toxic mindset in you, keeps you from it and you need to realize that there is no longer people who will judge you for falling down a litte.”

Eyes falling down, sore from all the crying that has no plans to stop. You wipe the snot with your sleeve as well as wet cheeks, laughing a little after it, sniffles in the room as you try to calm yourself a little.

Jimins gaze still at you, now softer still brushing your hair in a calming manner with the second hand drawing circles on the side of your waist. It was shameful, hearing such words, knowing deep down they were true, but too prideful to agree with them.

“Gosh If I knew you cry like that, I would take a bucket with me. I wouldn’t need to pay water bills for like two months with it. “ He laughs as you smack him with your hand. Smile on your face, you tilt your head leaning on his arm with all the weight, a small sigh leaves your mouth. Smell of coffee now is more prominent with his own perfume, which he wears everyday, pushing your mind into own fuzzy feeling. “You know that I will always be there for you, right?”

A silent nod is enough, not too much to say after such an outbreak from your side still buzzing inside you. You know it was true, with how much you both came through together, it would be stupid to leave someone who become somehow a safe heaven.

“What are you going to do now? You won’t take any money, I guess you either are not going to be too willing to crash in my apartment.” Your head immediately shots up, eyes searching those of Jimin. A look of confusion cross your face for a second, with the words repeating in your mind once again. His face however is still serious, not leaving your surprised gaze.

“W-what how do you kno -”

“Your landlord called, I didn’t want to disturb you on your break - by the way I saw you sleeping you are not as sneaky as you think.” He interrupts you in the middle of talking, brushing his hair.

You frown, looking in disbelief at the boy, a little upset from the news. Touching your phone was okay, but taking a call and not saying anything, it just fell wrong.

“So why were you trying so hard to force me to talk?” The questions came a little more aggressive than intended, but who could you blame when your private life was exposed so easily. Truth being that you felt not as angry as embarrassed, never sharing such information before leaving them in the dark.

“I know you would be angry when I tell you about the phone - which I was right about.” He pouts looking somewhere in shame, like a child that was caught with sneaking sweets.

“But it doesn’t matter, what are you going to do without help? It’s not like our boss will gave you a rise from nothing, and do not even think about starting another job - we have studies, it would be plain stupid unless you ask your family for help, you never mentioned them but they would understand right?.”

“They sure would.” You sneer, standing up from the comfort of his lap. Your smile turned down on the mention of those people, it's not like you want to have something going on with them, it would be asking satan for help and that always comes with a price. “Thanks for everything Jimin, but I will be alright.” You add walking back to the hatstand where your hoodie hangs, grabbing it with your free hand, second one carrying the bag. Jimin's eyes follow you, surprised by the sudden movement and innocently big, like he waited for some better explanations - which he won’t get.

“B-but wait! Where are you going, don’t leave me like that!” You heard the shouts, desperate movements in the previous room meaning the boy tried to catch up, however you were long ago outside the cute coffee shop, starting the journey to your quiet apartment. Maybe it was mean, and maybe Jimin was too good to be treated like this, but your own mood was now too fragile to stay in the same room as the insistent boy.

Autumn wind welcoming you once again, cold weather sneaking inside your clothes, the light hoodie not doing any justice with such temperature - still it was the only thing you owned with better quality. Head full of thoughts a little overcrowded with a starting headache, not letting you walk in a peace you somehow needed just now.

Walk to your house - at least the recent one, was not one of the long one, rather passing as a nice stroll. And even though your shifts ended in night hours, the quiet and calm way never made you feel scared of any sudden dangers awaiting you on Seoul's streets. It was a nice neighborhood, one where families that were a little lower than middle class tried to make a living, keeping their kids in a safe environment. Happy smiles and laughs welcoming you sometimes in the morning, kids rushing to their own school, greeting you even after those months you stayed there, only making you nostalgic at the thought of leaving such a safe haven.

So it was more than surprising when a quick footstep rang in your ears, soon nearing you even faster. Your beating heart now rapidly knocks in your chest, as your eyes try to search for the reason for those sounds.

You didn’t need to search for loong, soon hearing the screech of a voice not so far from you. “Y/n! Wait for me!” It was even worse when the little man started to dramatically draw his hands to touch, however your concern only lay in the thought of waking up the whole neighborhood. Eyes slitted, an annoyed expression crossing your face at the sight of the panting boy, soon stopping before you, not without tripping and nearly taking you with him. “You… really want to kill me.”

Heavy breath hitting your face, his voice strained and tired from the miles he needed to run to catch up to you. You however were more than a little shocked - yes Jimin is stubborn, and yes he is the person to run after someone just because the said person lost a penny, but his appearance here was different. It was crossing the invisible line you both draw, accepting each other's bubble of comfort.

So the question still stayed, your face hard with a thundering gaze waiting for the boy to calm a bit.

“Why did you suddenly leave?” Seriousness leaked out from his tone, however the way his eyes scrunched only meant that he indeed felt a little hurt from your previous action. And you don’t even wonder why, knowing how your choices could wound the innocent boy. “Is it about your family? If its a soft topic we can never talk about it ag-”

“You want me to walk away again?” His eyes got bigger at your cold tone, his foot taking a step back. Your family, the topic you did not want to bring up today, explaining the harsh demeanor you suddenly took. Eyes however softened as fast as they met the boy’s hurted ones, a gulp of remorse sliding down your throat. “Look - I appreciate your help but I don’t need a person to be helpless with.” You took a step forward placing your hands on the boy's arm, squeezing it in reassurement. Looking him straight into eyes a sight left your mouth soon forming in a little awkward smile - the only one you could force yourself into. “You helped me enough, there is nothing else you can do, It’s not your battle to fight you have your own problems and asking you to take mine would be cruel.”

And how awful it was to turn back leaving him again, you did just that, giving him the last pat with a smile. His own mouth opening and closing, agape from the schock you probably left him. And you were sure that this time he will let it go, your words full of coldness not leaving room for arguments.

“But what if I do?” His voice stopped you in the middle of the step, freezing your form with a new squeeze in stomach. You did want to hope for nothing, feeling how your eyes got bigger in surprise, being so close to turning back to face the blonde boy. “What if I can do something?”

“Jimin we are over it - I won’t take any of your mo-”

“I didn’t mean that. I’m not that stupid to not understand first hundret times you made it clear.”” You turn at his clear voice, full of seriousness and unsaid promises. New thoughts fell over your messy mind, Jimin’s voice still ringing in your ears as well as the hot gaze he kept on you, fixated on your weirdly sluggish posture. You were more than confused, his help however not new for you, the sudden change of demeanor was like a bucket of cold water maybe pushing you into admitting that the boy indeed had some kind of solution. “Please try to listen to me first and please try to be open minded.” He adds taking a big breath making him close his eyes for a second, only to stare at you even more firmly, nearly hiding his shaky hands. A silent nod from you lighted once again the enduring fire of his eyes.

Now you were even more curious.

“What if I get you a client?” Innocent question, firstly confusing you even more with the weird words, the realization came with your mouth opening a look of disbelief crossing your eyes for a second even if you tried to remind yourself that you situation it's not the one to be judgy.

“You do-”

“Let me finish, please?” And you could not find the power in yourself to not give in. Looking straight into his gaze you closed your mouth, still hanging from the previous schock you experienced. “I was in the same place as you some years ago, a broke student without any help or hope - and I know what you want to say, but it's not as bad as it seems. You don’t even know how much I wish that at that time I had better option, but there was none and probably won’t be if I still want to chase my dreams The job is really not that bad, people don’t know, they do not need to know - even if they wanted the community of them would not allow it cause they want only that - discretion.”

You winced, the cold brushing your cheeks even more from the chill night, moon being your only source of light shining at boy’s figure like in some kind of movie. And to be completely honest, you indeed feel like in some kind of drama, emotions oozing from both of you in waves crashing in the middle with a tension to it. You didn’t want to seem rude, your face trying to stay some kind of neutral, however you knew that Jimin saw the first pull you unconsciously did, decided to let it slip instead looking at you with even more solemnity.

Yeah you knew about his past, history he one time told you in the middle of breakdown, then seemingly crazy and full of hardship, now you started to see yourself in the boy, his place now taken by you in the most awful way.

“It’s really not that bad Y/n” He whispers, voice full of softness you were thankful about. You felt breakable, the thought of actually doing it scaring you with how probable it really is. “I’m so sorry I can't do more, but it’s the only way I can help.”

You didn’t even realize when he came so close, touching your arm with his little bigger hands clenching it. Your eyes squeezed as your hands fell to your sides lifelessly, emotions now once again leaving you a little too suddenly, the grip you always had on your life slipping from your grasp with a gasp. It was hard, facing something you worked so long for only to ruin it because of such a thing as money. It was so funny, your own younger self laughing at you probably, telling you how your choices led you to that state.

“It’s really the end huh?” You didn’t need to look to know about the sad gaze he momentarily gave you. Arm sneaking around your shoulders, your posture seemingly smaller than normally, bringing you to the warm body of the blonde boy. Not a word said, only the silence being louder than aggressive shouting.

There was no need for a better explanation, your mind was already processing the idea of selling yourself to someone, and how shocking it could be that it never crossed your mind before. You can’t say the job disgusted you, you can't say it did not leave you with a sour taste on your tongue, like something is wrong with the image of you in such an environment again.

Again.

Well that was something that did not sit right with you, running away your whole life from it, now going back to the cave of a tiger - conscious suicade.

Face plastered on the surface of the brown coat, fluffy fabric brushing your face with every breath he took. The gesture leaves you with a heavy heart, not understanding why Jimin wanted to help you so much. Was it an obligation? Did he feel like he owed you something?

You just couldn't grasp the idea why, why was he so insistent, it’s only you in the end, a friend from the same coffee shop he worked in, someone who is not important in his life, someone who he will leave when the time comes. So why?

And maybe with the next gust of wind, a quiet whisper in your ear you realized deep down, that he was the first person in your life which genuinely cared for you. However the musky scent and heavy thoughts still repeated the same question, but you knew somewhere in your mind that it’s only a matter of time when the quiet suggestion will be proven.

“It’s getting late. You should go home.” A silent nod, your head still leaning on his shoulders, too tired to move. His hands petting your hair, a quiet hum leaving his mouth while he did it, melody not familiar, dancing in the silence of the night. You sighted taking one step back, immediately feeling a cold breeze hitting you, the source of heat now gone, making you shiver in the lighter clothes. Little smile screeching on your lips after you saw his worried gaze, sitting on your figure not planning to move.

“You too.” Sticking your hands into the big pocket of your hoodie, you turned your head in the way he came nodding. None of you moved, gaze met in the middle as you tried to not show how cold you really wera, body shaking in unnatural ways wanting to move for some kind of warm up.

He did not smile, even after your own stretched into a larger one, you decided not to pry and just turn around with a silent wave, head ahead of you eyes looking in the dark depths of the street where you lived. He knew you were not alright, gaze piercing you through every layer you tried to put in a situation like this, a copy mechanism you were not that proud of. And so with the head lowered you took the first step away not minding the still lingering stare on your shoulders.

The main worry now being the cold weather and little clothes that shielded you from it, the idea of the whole conversation put somewhere on the side.

However, he and you were pretty well aware of what is going to happen the next day.

In the end it's you who soon is not even going to possess own body.

----

Sleepless nights were not new, the feeling of tiredness you could not just wipe with the piece of the fabric a familiar one, the eyes trying to stay focused on things even though they were so hard to close themself for some sweet time, just to be forcefully open. Two words were enough for you to not hide the utter ache, you so perfectly masked in the middle of the coldest night.

And so maybe it was the cold keeping you awake in the dark, the blanket not enough to warm up your lifeless limbs, or maybe the lingering touches of the blonde boy that stayed even after so many afters after the whole conversation.

You felt weak, blinking in the grey room watching the wall like it would show something incredible, the scratches on it similar to the one you did when the stress was too much, decorating pieces of your skin like an art. The night was a big blur, hours now looking at the nonexisting stuff passed with a blink of an eye only to put you in another of the memories.

Blonde hair somewhere there scrolled in the side of your mind. Oh yeah, the said boy came the next day, look on his face too hard to forget as the next wall you built was just ruined.

He looked at you from behind his eyelashes with eyes dimmed with a sort of fog. Silence being the only comfort in the moment - early morning helping with it. He knew that this time the situation did not have many options, not any without any loss.

However he came, with a mind to let you help with thinking of any other ideas to help you, the conversation from the other night forgotten after he stepped in the gloomy apartament. And it doesn’t surprise you, the look you probably carried spoke for himself.

In his hands soon layed inconspicuously looking scrap of paper, tempting with his appearance like the most loucioust sin. He read it with squinted eyes, not needing a lot of time to find out what exactly the letter applied to.

What surprised him after such information is, how really the girl hid behind such an innocent facade, the new wave of respect crashed on him with the thought how strong you really are to not ask for help. The human thing was to linger, searching for attention so long to have someone finally do everything for us.

He had money, he had it so much that he could easily help her for next month, but he knew how every proposition like that would end up.

In the end they were really similar.

“Maybe there is another way.” He cut the silence, after a while regretting the action. Eyes met somewhere in the middle and both of their gaze was meaningful enough to answer his void of hope. “Have you tried to talk with the flat owner?”

Grimace on your face once again was enough, you shook your head remembering not the best meeting with the older man. “Many times. The guy is purely business oriented, he doesn’t care about your private life but if you pay everything - which as you can see I have a problem with.”

“I know that it’s a hard topic, but what about your family. There needs to be at least one person.” You looked down, carpet under your feets still fluffy and soft under your feet, the silence embracing you both. Jimin awkwardly scratched his arm, biting his lips in the process, the topic one again making your mood even worse. “Im sorr-”

“There is no need, it doesn’t matter anyway. My family is off limits when it comes to those types of things.” You cut him off, looking from the side at the little embarrassed boy. A sigh leaves your mouth as you lean on to your old couch, ruffling your hair after. “Jimin there is really no other way. Your option is the only thing I can do, even if the idea scares me.”

He looked at you with a small smile, the memories from his past coming back to him, when it was him who was sitting at your place, maybe with a different situation, but the fear in the eyes remained the same. He sat next to you, hand catching yours latching fingers with yours, as if that small gesture was supposed to pass everything.

And maybe it was like that, however how sweet and calming the motion wouldn’t be, nothing has been solved, and your decision it's going to change your life completely.

“You start to accept it with time.” He whispers tightening the grip on your head, the sentence seemingly had a bit more to the story. You guessed he tried not only to convince you both himself too.

Idea still fresh in your mind, hard to process it actually is going to happen, eyes meeting once again with the dark ones of the boy, millions of heistations flowing in the circle of your pupils.

“What If I don’t want to accept it? Jimin, I'm going to sell myself like some kind of animal.” You started, soon seeing how every word pierced the boy, a hurt crossing his face for a while. However he himself knew how his job was not something to brag about, something that should be kept to yourself.

“First - you are not going to be a prostitute, it’s their job. Second - you are not selling yourself, your body maybe, your time - yes. This whole messed up business, which no one truly understands, it's not only based on pleasure and successful bargain. The people you are going to provide services will require more, however you too will be able to demand - and that’s the difference.” He instinctively stood up, turning his back to you to hide his face for you.

You decided not to question that, the topic probably being equally hard for him. Following his figure, you listened to every word which could calm your buzzing nerves.

“Mone-” You started trying to guess about the demand he was talking about. The cash suggests itself in your mind. The boy quickly turned back, dark eyes catching your breath in the middle.

“Respect.” He finished, taking an earlier abandoned cup of tea to his hand. You were confused, your gaze spoke for himself, the utter questions building with every quiet minute he left you with. “Do you know why so few people are able to survive in such a business, or why so few people know about it?” He asked knowing fully he won't get any answer from you. He sighted brushing his blonde hair back, a little oliy from the last day of work, he came to the other side of the room sitting on one of the smaller tables just before you.

“You will need to play a role, you will become an actress in real life without the power to question your own character. People that are directors in fact are going to be your clients, giving you the script you will need to act on. In the beginning it’s going to be hard, but with time you will understand that you can either love it or you are someone who is not suitable for such a job.”

So many questions, which only bundled up with the said words. A weird twinge in your heart, forcing you to stop thinking about it like a sweet temptation, however the beautiful words he wrapped everything with stronger. The idea seems so easy, so free and so good, too good to be true.

You looked at him, the tiredness hitting you suddenly but so many not arranged issues kept you on your toes, so with the remaining power you sighed rubbing your eyes. You decided, your last way out.

“How i'm even going to start?” The question filled him with a relife, not understanding exactly why, the thought of having someone close in the same job loaded him with unanswered happiness. He gazed back, the look making you sit more comfortable forcing your attention directly at him.

“The clients are mostly the people you least expect to. Although they are not people which can afford a whore - lame millionaires or self-proclaimed gangsters. Don’t get me wrong but if they were them they could have just bought the random first person that is willing to do everything they want, for them however the most important is discretion and loyalty.” He started, stopping for a while to take out his phone and quickly search something on it.

With one move he showed you a picture of a man, you strangely knew. Black hair, similar to the blackness of the sky so different from the boy sitting just before you and a beautiful porcelain looking skin. He looked proud, even as a imagine the frozen photo oozing of confidence and power.

You knew those people pretty well, a little too well. Too proud for their own good and too proud to admit their wrongs, making money in such a way to not get attention if they are dirty or not. Familiar contempt towards others. You tried so hard to run away just from people like that, you hoped the clients Jimin was talking about are just the little CEO’s, not that important or dangerous.

And how ironic it was that you yourself are going to willingly put yourself in such a toxic environment again, people that are more influential than politicians and authorities. Next question popping on the side, how the blonde boy survived there without any knowledge.

“I see you can guess about who i’m talking about, and It’s not your first contact with them, right?” He started, brushing his hair once again, a habit you noticed. He needed to admit that your expression put him in uneasiness, look on your face nearly scared like a child that watched horror for the first time. He didn’t want to annoy the topic, leaving it in the air with the restless tension, instead he closed his phone hiding it back into his pocket.

His eyes still on you, your mind somewhere else as the quietness of the room started to spin around. The unanswered question lingered on your tongue, kept in the end of your mouth like some kind of secret. And as you thought it’s the end, the little ping came from the pocket he put his phone into.

“Well, I don’t know If you are interested but there is someone who is willing meet.”

#yandere taehyung #taehyung #taehyung angst #bts #bts fanfction #bts fic rec #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fic recs #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyng x reader #namjoon #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung x you #taehyung imagine #jungkook fic recs #jungkook x reader #seokjin #yoongi x you #jimin x reader

[phoenixyfriend]

Rex and Anakin Raise a Family: Part Two

Part One

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

Anakin takes the news with... not grace, really, but an odd sort of resignation.

"Room to fix things," he mutters to himself, eyes set unseeing on Luke's tiny form.

Twins are often born smaller than single births, Rex remembers hearing somewhere. He hopes that's the only reason these two are so small. Leia feels absolutely minuscule in his arms.

He wishes he could ask Kix.

"Do you want to find Jango?"

Rex lifts his head to find Anakin staring at him with an earnest kind of depression. It's strange, and sad, and not helping with the question. "What?"

"You... you grew up with a lot of family," Anakin mutters, eyes cutting away to the side. "Fett would be a kid right now, yeah? He's... young. And you don't have the family that you used to have, but--"

"I'm not going to go out and find Fett to adopt him," Rex says firmly. "He was a genetic donor and once or twice a teacher. I have no interest in forming any bonds there."

He hesitates, but that was--Anakin was trying. Not succeeding, but trying. "Thank you for asking. It's... maybe if my childhood had been a little different, I'd have wanted that. But I don't, here."

Anakin winces. "Right."

Rex watches his general bounce a newborn, and thinks this is my life now.

There is no GAR to fight for, no brothers to save, no Empire to fight against. They'd thought there would be, but there isn't, not yet. They could find and warn the Jedi, but none of them would know Anakin. Nobody is going to look at Rex and see a clone. He's older than Fett, now.

"We're staying here," Rex decides. Anakin looks up from Luke's little face. "I'll figure out how to get us some Republic Idents. We'll get the twins registered. This planet is safe and out of the way, and we can figure something out for the money. You're a good mechanic, that's honest work, and I'm... I don't know. We've got a ship, so I can maybe do what Fett did and take bounty work. We'll figure something out."

"I can't ask you to stay with me."

"You're not asking," Rex says firmly. "I'm telling you. You don't get to push me away, sir. We're all the other has left, and you're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Okay," Anakin says. "If that's what you want."

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

They don't have a whole lot of money personally, but this was Padme's ship. She'd been rich, and prone enough to danger to know the worth of hiding money where she could. They may not have more than a few weapons on here, but they have money.

For now.

Rex knows his general is itching to go to Tatooine, sees the man muttering and twitching about it, needing to do something, and that the something has to do with Tatooine.

"Can it wait?" Rex asks.

Anakin stares at him, uncomprehending.

"Your kids are only a week old," Rex tries to explain. "They need you right now. Is this something that can wait a few months, where I can watch them while you take a week or two to handle what you need to do?"

Anakin takes Leia from Rex, and doesn't bring it up again.

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

Rex goes with Anakin, when they visit the nurse. He catches gossip about the two of them, but people don't go out of their way to approach. Mostly, people are just repeating the 'died in childbirth' cover that he gave before, telling each other who the strangers are, and why they shouldn't try to get involved.

The nurse asks only enough questions to get a medical baseline established for the twins. Anakin doesn't volunteer much, and when the Twi'lek woman asks if they'd like her to set up medical files for either of them, Rex has to immediately decline.

He has no idea what his blood is going to turn up. Genetic fuckery and something to deal with the advanced aging, maybe. He's not sure he wants to know, but either way, it's probably not going to be something this small clinic can handle.

"I'll have to set one up if you want to take the lactation aid," she tells Anakin.

"Yeah, okay."

She takes blood. Almost everything is mostly normal, except.

"Your midichlo--"

"I know."

"Are you--"

"Jedi aren't allowed to marry."

She doesn't dig further, just glances at how Anakin's holding Luke, and nods.

"It doesn't seem like there are any complicating factors. I can write up a prescription right now and you should be able to get it filled same-day. There will be a list of instructions and side-effects on flimsi when you pick it up, but I'd like to go over it in person first. Do you want Mr. Torrent to stay here with you as we do that, or to wait in the hall?"

"Up to him."

"I'll stay," Rex promises.

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

Three pills a day, one with every meal. Tissue stimulation by massaging the pectoral area, and allowing the twins to suckle even before there's anything to actually drink. Expect soreness and increased appetite, don't drink caffeine or take any form of stimulant while nursing. Here's a list of possible side-effects, the best way to handle the minor ones, and which ones to contact a medical professional about.

All very normal.

Anakin's rarely ever done anything with less than his whole heart, and Rex isn't surprised to know that Anakin is this dedicated a parent as well. He's... he was proud to serve his general, but he thinks there's something just as fulfilling as being by his side here and now. There's something better about helping raise the little ones that would never be found on a battlefield.

"Do you want them to call you Uncle Rex?" Anakin asks during a feeding. "Or... ba'vodu? Or do you want to just..."

"Just what?"

"...we're going to be co-parenting," Anakin says, not meeting his eyes. "And every time I try to suggest you go and find something for yourself, something that doesn't revolve around me, a person you were literally tube-grown for, you say you don't want to leave. So if you're going to be sticking around, really staying for years and years... we could tell them to call you buir. If you want."

"Oh."

Oh.

It's a lot. It's something Rex has maybe fantasized about before, getting to be a parent instead of just a soldier, but he'd also resigned himself to the fact that it wasn't really an option. Even now, he'd just expected to be a friend of the father, maybe an honorary uncle if he was lucky, or--

"Are you sure?" Rex asks, before he can start to hope. "I don't--I don't want to take Padme's place."

"You're not," Anakin says, fierce as anything. "You won't--nobody can ever take her place, but there are people with five parents, or none, and I'm not going to--I don't want to--"

Anakin squeezes his eyes shut and breathes harshly for a few moments. Leia fusses, like she's seconds away from crying, and Rex watches as his general holds the child in his arms closer to his chest, visibly focusing on calming down in a way he rarely, if ever, had during the war.

"It's okay, Papa just got a little upset, it's fine, we're calm, I'm sorry I got sad, honey, I'm sorry you had to feel that," Anakin whispers under his breath as he bounces the baby.

(Raising Force-Sensitive children was never going to be easy anyway.)

"You're sure about this?" Rex asks again.

"You want to be involved in their lives," Anakin mutters. "So... yeah, you should get to be their dad in name, too. And if you use Mando'a, it'll be easier for them to have different names for us."

"People are going to think we're together."

Anakin shrugs. "People think a lot of things."

Rex wants this. He wants to imagine the twins toddling up to him, grins on their faces, calling him buir and meaning it. He wants to have what he saw at the Lawquane's, where a lack of blood connection and a half-sliced age hadn't stopped those children from claiming Cut as their father. He's only thirteen, technically, but he wants to have a family, even if it's as broken as what they've found here.

"I'd be honored, sir," Rex says. "I... thank you. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

"You don't have to," Anakin mutters, refusing to meet his eyes. "I can feel it."

Right.

"They already love you," Anakin continues, as if his goal today is to just smash Rex's decorum to pieces. "Part of that is just baby stuff, I think; they don't exactly know more than us yet, but you're around them all the time and are primary caregiver whenever I'm not... not okay. So they love you, so much, and I just... I'm not going to ignore that when you already love them too. So you should get to be their dad. If you want."

He does want.

"I'd like that," he says, and knows that he hasn't bothered shielding in days, so Anakin knows just how sincere that is.

Anakin hesitates, visibly so, and then stands and crosses the room to join Rex on the couch, each of them holding a twin.

A head rests lightly on Rex's shoulder. He lets it.

"There are rites," Anakin says quietly. "On Tatooine, for the slaves lost to the desert. People that died in search of their freedoms, where there's no body to bury but you still need to mourn."

Rex knows this. He says, "the clones had mourning traditions for the brothers who died in explosions or behind enemy lines, the ones we couldn't retrieve."

Anakin knows this as well. He nods.

They sit together, quietly, as calm as they can be for the too-perceptive children in their arms, and they know they need to mourn properly.

Rex can only hold his jagged edges in place for so long.

#Rexwalker #anakin skywalker #captain rex #star wars #the clone wars #time travel #Skywalker twins #male lactation #but otherwise rated T for teen #grief #depression #parenting #phoenix posts #Rex and Anakin Raise a Family #and yes this IS eventual rexwalker but right now it's just... a whole lot of grief #they'll get there eventually

[soldier-poet-king]

well no way home was actually kinda good????? 

despite everything with brother 1 today, we had pre-booked tickets we couldnt exchange bc covid, and brother 3 is little and loves tom holland and spiderman so we still went

many and various thoughts below, but dont worry i am not about to become a mcu blog bc i am marvel fatigued and most things they’ve put out in the last half decade or so have been....bad....and also propaganda and i purposely havent seen much of their stuff in the last 3 years anyway

it’s not into the spiderverse, dont expect it to be or you’ll be disappointed

yes some of my love for it is definitely nostalgia, i wont pretend it’s not, i grew up with the tobey maguire movies and watched them SO MANY times as a kid, EVEN THE THIRD ONE, and the andrew garfield ones came out when i was in highschool and first getting into ‘big fandom’ and also i was a little in love with him\

yes it still suffers from too much cgi and witty-one-liner-marvel syndrome, HOWEVER, i am willing to forgive these grievious sins bc the movie has heart to back it up, heart that all the other tom holland spidey movies sorely sorely lacked

honestly most of the stuff at the beginnign with dr strange sucked, i dont care about it, and the magic-y multiverse intro WAS dumb and poorly handled, even for a comic book adaptation

the ending was even more stupid with the mass memory wipe HOWEVER it had some redeeming qualities and i will return

HOWEVER

once the spidey rogues gallery shows up???? all my childhood beloveds??? ALFRED MOLINA??? A REAL SOLID MAN????? FORMATIVE TO MY YOUTH???

yes this movie was wish fullfillment but not in the way most marvel movies are straight white man wish fulfillment, this one was MY wish fulfilment because it looked us in the eye and said over and over and over. yes. people deserve second chances. everyone should have a chance to heal and atone and try again. yes. yes even them. giving a person that chance, choosing to do right. that is always always worth it. and i MAJORLY FUCK WITH THAT

like ive been talking alot lately about having read books recently to do with my Fave Themes like Duty and Obligation and Goodness and doing all these things in the face of a complete absence of hope, simply because they are good

and sure its a marvel movie, it’s not THAT deep, but there was this wonderful core that was there

speaking of themes, this was the first time holland spidey movie that actually felt like a spidey movie

tony stank’s influence was very little

no spiderman being manipulated into international war crimes

it’s ABOUT the friendly neighborhood spiderman

it’s about second chances, and kindness, and of course, duty and power and responsibility

aunt may takes the uncle ben role, and i liked it? i cried ofc bc i am soft. but the emphasis on goodness for its own sake. that making that choice is the right one, always. that yes, yes it IS your responsibility, it IS your duty, no matter how unpleasant and painful and terrible, it is what we as people, what each of us, what we owe to each other

part of what made the themes work is the return of the two previous spideys who had been much more in character in their movies

i liked that they had grown, in a way, this movie gave their spidey’s closure as well

maguire gets to save green goblin, he gets to spare osborne and fix the greatest regret of his own time as spiderman

he can forgive himself, and osborne

garfield cant bring back gwen, but he can save this MJ

literally i was crying, he was crying when he saved her and i love andrew garfield and i was also very much cryign

i mentioned the memory wipe mumbo jumbo shit was dumb af at the end, and it is

it’s ONE redeeming quality is that it essentially presses a ‘reset’ on holland’s spiderman

he’s not an avenger anymore, he’s not tony stark’s protegee, he doesn’t have all the fancy stark tech

he’s a teen living in a shitty NYC apartment, making ends meet, creating homemade suit on a old sewing machine, and just like.....being the friendly neighborhood spiderman....this is what it’s SUPPOSED to be

i Do Not Go For a lot of cheap marvel banter, hoWEVER all the dumb jokes between the three spideys???? i loved it

perhaps bc, to me at least, it felt like these silly moments were not cheap laughs or gotcha moments (gestures to the entire infinity war/endgame nightmare) but they were made from a place of love? a place of love toward the older spidey movies, a place of love toward the source comics, a place of love on behalf of the spidey actors themselves

nostalgia? perhaps. but i really really really am in love with garfield’s peter parker

#mcu critical #no way home spoilers #spiderman spoilers #spiderman no way home spoilers #yes this is a lot but ive been having a real bad time #so i need to just ramble a bit #and pretend im being listened to #it's about CLOSURE #but aLSO #about DUTY and OBLIGATION and RESPONSIBILITY #and what we owe each other as human beings #like quite literally. great power and great responsibility #but not in a trite pithy way. in a genuine sacrifice way #and im just #actual substance???? however hidden beneath jokes???? in a mcu movie????

[gotta-get-back-to-hatchetfield]

An unsolicited take on the Twisted soundtrack from some bitch that can barely read music

Since we’re at the end of Twisted week I just want to add a quick(ish) note on the soundtrack because while I am so glad that the absolutely glorious and iconic lyrics get so much credit, I think not enough is said about the actual music itself. So, introducing an unsolicited take on the Twisted soundtrack from some bitch that can barely read music.

Twisted is unique among Starkid musicals in that the thing it’s parodying is also a musical and goddam did AJ rise to the challenge. Specifically I think the thing that makes the Twisted soundtrack so good for what it’s trying to do was the decision to sample Disney songs rather than either directly parody them or make them entirely original.

Part 1: Narrative

Firslty, using familiar Disney refrains acts like a shorthand to help you track the narrative, and allow you to draw on those emotions you’ve previously associated with the Disney equivelant of the song, almost like the effect of using a narrative/character trope. Good examples of this are ‘I Want Everything’ sampling ‘Part of Your World’ from the Little Mermaid and ‘Golden Rule’ sampling ‘Hakuna Matata’ and ‘Bear Necesities’ from the Lion King and the Jungle Book, because the Twisted songs fulfil a similar role in the story to the Disney ones they borrow from.

Book marking the narrative in this way, firstly makes it easier to follow what’s going on, which is important when you’re taking long ass detours about some guy fucking a tiger, but secondly it highlights where the plot deviates from the standard Disney narrative which is literally the whole point of Twisted. When Jasmine gets the standard Disney introduction of princess-that-wants-shit it makes it easy for us to connect with the character and understand the tropes she’s drawing from, by using the music to signpost to us that we have met this exact character before, not just in Aladdin, but in literally every Disney princess movie. This meas that the eventual character development she undergoes at the end, which is not typical of the Disney princess character arc, becomes more impactful. This is then where the decision not to rely too heavily on parodies really comes into its own, because (as far as I can tell) ‘The Power In Me’ doesn’t seem to sample any Disney songs, which signals to the audience that Jasmine has broken free from her trappings of her Disney character to become the Twisted character. This point is shown more generally by the fact that the songs in Act 1 sample Disney songs far more than in Act 2, because their role is to set up the tropes of a classic Disney story, whereas the songs in the second half exist to support its subversion.

( Fun note: The Starship soundtrack (my beloved) also uses this same trick. ‘I Wanna Be’ very clealry samples ‘Under the Sea’ from the little mermaid, and also serves a similar role in the narrative, ‘Kick it Up a Notch’ is very clealry in the style of every Disney villain song (and also what every Disney villain song wishes it could be) etc.. (and I do mean etc I could keep going on with this comparison ‘hideous creatures’ -> ‘kill the beast' etc...) )

Part 2: Humour

The contrast between hearing familiar Disney songs from childhood and Starkid style humour, really emphasizes certain jokes and takes them from funny to hysterical. My favourite example of this is the first joke of the musical which is hilarious and sets the tone brilliantly:

Jafar: and all the greatful citizens will say to me

citizens: fuck you, fuck you, fuck you

This joke, while hilarious anyway, is made so much funnier by the contrast between ‘Dream a Little Harder’ very heavily sampling ‘Belle’ from Beauty and the Beast. The sampled song sets our expectations for the kind of response we should expect to follow Jafar’s pronouncement, so then when the very un-Disney response of ‘fuck you’ comes along, still to the tune of the Disney version, our subconcious is taken by suprise which is one of the key ways that humour happens. The same thing is achieved by ‘I Want Everything’ leaning more heavily into ‘Part of Your World’ just as it comes up to some of the key punchlines in the song (e.g.’so the fuck what’, ‘I want the moon, I want to live on the moon, and eat it in a pie, and keep it was a pet, and wear it like a gemstone in my hair’). I also think this is why keeping ‘Take Off Your Clothes’ as a parody of ‘A Whole New World’, and also one of the only direct parodies in the whole show works so well, because the contrast between the words we expect to hear next (because we all subconciously know at least a good chunk of that song) and every single fucking sentence we actually hear makes it so much funnier than jus the lyrics alone ever could.

This is also yet another instance where I think they did just the right amount of sampling, because the contrast trick is an easy way of getting a cheap laugh on the night so would have been easy for them to lean into too much. But, the problem is since contrast jokes rely on a degree of suprise, once the audience starts to expect it (as would be the case if it had just been a soundtrack of 12 straight parodies) then it loses its power so by deploying it responsably and sparingly, it means it doesn’t lose its magic through the course of the musical and even on rewatches. There may come a day when I don’t spit out my drink on the opening joke but last week proved that it is not this day.

In conclusion the Twisted soundtrack is a masterpiece that feels exactly like a Disney soundtrack without straying too close to any actual ones that already exists. I also love the Brittany/Carlos pop cover of ‘A Thousand and One Nights’ as the end credits firstly because it fucking slaps and also because that’s such a Disney easter egg because they literally always do that.

It’s 3 in the morning and I know very little about either Disney or music so I might be wrong about some of the references so please feel free to add or correct any that I’m misidentifiying. Would be interessted to hear which ones other poeple have picked up on.

#starkid #twisted #rewatchers1000 #how did this end up as an essay i'm literally an engineer I ahven't written an essay since school

[faintingheroine]

Wuthering Heights Reread - Chapter 3

This chapter is a bit overwhelming, since it is the chapter that is comprised of the most diverse parts and has the iconic ghost scene, but I will try my best.

“While leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide the candle, and not make a noise; for her master had an odd notion about the chamber she would put me in, and never let anybody lodge there willingly. I asked the reason. She did not know, she answered: she had only lived there a year or two; and they had so many queer goings on, she could not begin to be curious.”

Heathcliff has forbidden people to lodge in Catherine’s room, which is unsurprising since it is more or less kept as it was during her childhood.

Zillah has been at the Heights for a couple of years since she had taken the job from the unnamed housekeeper who left a couple of years after Linton’s coming to the area. Zillah claims to be incurious about the goings on at the Heights which does fit her apathetic character but which raises the question of whether she had let Lockwood to lodge in the room solely for the sake of charity as this would imply or she was curious about the haunted room.

“Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and glanced round for the bed. The whole furniture consisted of a chair, a clothes-press, and a large oak case, with squares cut out near the top resembling coach windows. Having approached this structure, I looked inside, and perceived it to be a singular sort of old-fashioned couch, very conveniently designed to obviate the necessity for every member of the family having a room to himself. In fact, it formed a little closet, and the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a table. I slid back the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else.”

I was able to properly visualize the oak-paneled bed for the first time in this reading. Apparently this type of box-beds were fairly popular in Northern Europe to keep one warm during the cold winter, but here the bed encloses the window which might defeat this purpose.

This bed is the symbol of Catherine’s childhood and Catherine and Heathcliff’s connection within the story. Its solitary state and it enclosing the window may symbolize them having no one but each other and the outside world. It also resembles them lying in a coffin together which is effectively what happens at the end.

“The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled up in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters, large and small—Catherine Earnshaw, here and there varied to Catherine Heathcliff, and then again to Catherine Linton.”

These carvings basically both summarize and prophesy the story. Earnshaw-Heathcliff-Linton is Catherine’s life story, the reverse - Linton-Heathcliff-Earnshaw - will be her daughter’s, the potential “Catherine Heathcliff” actually being realized through Heathcliff’s own machinations. Only in Wuthering Heights a teenage girl experimenting with her potential husbands’ surnames can have a prophetic, almost mythical significance.

“It was a Testament, in lean type, and smelling dreadfully musty: a fly-leaf bore the inscription ‘Catherine Earnshaw, her book,’ and a date some quarter of a century back.”

“Quarter of a century” is most likely close to the truth. Catherine’s diary entry that is featured in the text must be from November 1777, 24 years almost to the month before Lockwood reading it in 1801.

“Some were detached sentences; other parts took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish hand. At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph—rudely, yet powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith to decipher her faded hieroglyphics.”

Catherine is characterful and rebellious even in her first introduction. She is also effectively portrayed as an antagonist of Joseph.

Note the use of “hieroglyphics”, Catherine’s childhood memories are given the status of something mysterious and important, just like with the carvings. I love this.

“‘An awful Sunday,’ commenced the paragraph beneath. ‘I wish my father were back again. Hindley is a detestable substitute—his conduct to Heathcliff is atrocious—H. and I are going to rebel—we took our initiatory step this evening.”

We first hear Catherine through her own voice which is significant. She is thoroughly sympathetic in this anecdote, acting like a typical tomboyish character except for her harming the religious book given to her by Joseph. She is thoroughly empathetic and caring towards Heathcliff, and I don’t think that this should necessarily be negated through her narcissistic identification with him. They have a beautiful friendship and they are each other’s only allies in a loveless and cold household.

“All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church, so Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the garret; and, while Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire—doing anything but reading their Bibles, I’ll answer for it—Heathcliff, myself, and the unhappy ploughboy were commanded to take our prayer-books, and mount: we were ranged in a row, on a sack of corn, groaning and shivering, and hoping that Joseph would shiver too, so that he might give us a short homily for his own sake. A vain idea! The service lasted precisely three hours; and yet my brother had the face to exclaim, when he saw us descending, “What, done already?” On Sunday evenings we used to be permitted to play, if we did not make much noise; now a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners.”

Lockwood’s religious dream about Jabez Branderham is clearly influenced by him reading this. In this reread I really noticed how much Lockwood’s two dreams are a consequence of what he read in Catherine’s diary.

Mr. Earnshaw was known to be quite religious, but he did let the children play on Sundays. We must remember that Heathcliff was his favorite though, I am not sure if he would let that if it were Catherine only.

Hindley’s first line is actually “What, done already?” rather than what I posited it to be here. I was mistaken. Still the diary entry introduces us to Hindley’s character and this introduction reflects his character and his role in the story pretty efficiently. He is a tyrant but a fairly incompetent one.

“You forget you have a master here,” says the tyrant. “I’ll demolish the first who puts me out of temper! I insist on perfect sobriety and silence. Oh, boy! was that you? Frances darling, pull his hair as you go by: I heard him snap his fingers.” Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and seated herself on her husband’s knee, and there they were, like two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the hour—foolish palaver that we should be ashamed of. We made ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph, on an errand from the stables.”

Hindley insisting on perfect sobriety and silence is clearly ironic.

Hindley and his wife’s relationship is clearly portrayed as sexual here. Hindley doesn’t actually care about Catherine and Heathcliff’s religious education, he just wants to be alone with his wife. Catherine and Heathcliff are disgusted by this display of affection which is fairly normal considering their ages.

Catherine and Heathcliff isolating themselves does resemble the isolation of the oak bed.

““Maister Hindley!” shouted our chaplain. “Maister, coom hither! Miss Cathy’s riven th’ back off ‘Th’ Helmet o’ Salvation,’ un’ Heathcliff’s pawsed his fit into t’ first part o’ ‘T’ Brooad Way to Destruction!’ It’s fair flaysome that ye let ’em go on this gait. Ech! th’ owd man wad ha’ laced ’em properly—but he’s goan!””

I love the books’ names, especially “The Broad Way to Destruction” being the name of Heathcliff’s book. If Wuthering Heights is ever adapted as a Kill Bill style duology, let the first film be named “The Broad Way to Destruction” and the second “The Helmet of Salvation”.

Catherine remembers her father as better than Hindley, but here Joseph praises how he was physically violent to the children. This is a reflection of how Catherine’s nostalgic view of the past may be better than the way things actually were, as it always is with nostalgia.

“‘Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into the back-kitchen;”

Graeme Tytler notes how the kitchen is the place of punishment or the residence of the servants, but also the most resilient part of the house; a lot of significant events happen in the kitchens of WH and TG, and the kitchen is the only part of Wuthering Heights that will not be shut down after Cathy and Hareton’s marriage.

“I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a shelf, and pushed the house-door ajar to give me light, and I have got the time on with writing for twenty minutes; but my companion is impatient, and proposes that we should appropriate the dairywoman’s cloak, and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion—and then, if the surly old man come in, he may believe his prophecy verified—we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here.’

I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next sentence took up another subject: she waxed lachrymose.

‘How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so!’ she wrote. ‘My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow; and still I can’t give over. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a vagabond, and won’t let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more; and, he says, he and I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if we break his orders. He has been blaming our father (how dared he?) for treating H. too liberally; and swears he will reduce him to his right place—’”

An important question is whether this scamper on the moors is the same one as their fateful visit to the Grange. There are many indications of them being one and the same. They both feature the dairywoman’s cloak, they are both on a Sunday, they both happen after the children are banished from the sitting room, and they both lead to a difference in the situation of Catherine and Heathcliff’s friendship. But on the other hand Nelly presents Heathcliff’s demotion as happening before their visit to the Grange. I don’t know. It probably is the same incident since the Grange incident is arguably the most pivotal event in the book and it would be fitting if this were the anecdote that Lockwood read before his encounter with the ghost. And there are many details pointing to them being the same incident. But it is still debatable.

“we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here.’” - This is heartbreaking and points to why Heathcliff and Catherine had connected so much with the moors. The “inside” didn’t have a place for them.

What I like about this diary entry is that apart from the possible relation to the Grange incident there is nothing extraordinary or exceptional about it in the context of the book. It is probably a typical day at Wuthering Heights. It probably sounds familiar to people who were raised in an oppressive and abusive household.

“Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper! What else could it be that made me pass such a terrible night? I don’t remember another that I can at all compare with it since I was capable of suffering.”

I just like the “bad tea and bad temper”.

“I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim’s staff: telling me that I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated. For a moment I considered it absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there: we were journeying to hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach, from the text ‘Seventy Times Seven;’ and either Joseph, the preacher, or I had committed the ‘First of the Seventy-First,’ and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated.”

I think this is a very well-written account of how dreams work. Especially the first sentence of the paragraph, yes sometimes one dreams while also being half-awake and still half-aware of one’s surroundings. And the way he rationalizes the illogical stuff in his dream and directs the course of the dream according to that rationalization is great. The portrayal of dreams in the novel is ahead of its time.

“We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks, twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an elevated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses deposited there.”

And here, my friends, is why Catherine’s corpse didn’t decay. No, Heathcliff wasn’t hallucinating, her corpse genuinely didn’t decay. Catherine Earnshaw’s corpse is a bog body. She was buried in the churchyard and the peat almost buried her grave. The reader doesn’t even have to independently know the concept of a bog body to come to this conclusion, the author explained how it works here.

“The roof has been kept whole hitherto; but as the clergyman’s stipend is only twenty pounds per annum, and a house with two rooms, threatening speedily to determine into one, no clergyman will undertake the duties of pastor: especially as it is currently reported that his flock would rather let him starve than increase the living by one penny from their own pockets. However, in my dream, Jabez had a full and attentive congregation;”

This kind of points to a hypocrisy, people were really particular about Heathcliff and Catherine going to the church as children but not enough to actually aid the pastor. On the other hand there are less mentions of the characters going to chapel in the second half of the book which might be related to the dilapidated state of it, but it also might be a coincidence. I will pay closer attention to it when I reach the second half of the book in this reread.

“Jabez had a full and attentive congregation; and he preached—good God! what a sermon; divided into four hundred and ninety parts, each fully equal to an ordinary address from the pulpit, and each discussing a separate sin! Where he searched for them, I cannot tell. He had his private manner of interpreting the phrase, and it seemed necessary the brother should sin different sins on every occasion. They were of the most curious character: odd transgressions that I never imagined previously.”

This religious dream is the most puzzling part of Wuthering Heights since it doesn’t seem to be directly related to anything else in the novel. But it bears some significance for the rest of the novel: It heightens the impact of the ghost dream since it is now not the only dream Lockwood has dreamt. It is clearly a reflection of how much Lockwood was effected by Catherine’s diary entry with his dream being about an overly long religious service. It is also related to the rest of the novel with its themes of forgiveness, revenge and the misuse of religion.

I would like to hear the odd transgressions Jabez came up with, I bet they were funny.

“The four hundred and ninety-first is too much. Fellow-martyrs, have at him! Drag him down, and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no more!’

‘Thou art the man!’ cried Jabez, after a solemn pause, leaning over his cushion. ‘Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy visage—seventy times seven did I take counsel with my soul—Lo, this is human weakness: this also may be absolved! The First of the Seventy-First is come. Brethren, execute upon him the judgement written. Such honour have all His saints!’”

I love how the transgressions here are an overly long religious service and yawning. This religious dream was much less serious and obviously allegorical than I remembered. It is interesting that Lockwood was the first to use violent language.

“With that concluding word, the whole assembly, exalting their pilgrim’s staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having no weapon to raise in self-defence, commenced grappling with Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the confluence of the multitude, several clubs crossed; blows, aimed at me, fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded with rappings and counter rappings: every man’s hand was against his neighbour;”

This is foreshadowing of the cycles of revenge in the rest of the novel, where the victim of the vengeance isn’t always the original wrong-doer.

“What had played Jabez’s part in the row? Merely the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant; detected the disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again: if possible, still more disagreeably than before.”

I did forget about this passage. I remembered this as a “dream within a dream” situation but no, the two dreams are clearly two separate dreams, Lockwood remembers waking up and sleeping again.

“I thought, I rose and endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the staple: a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten.”

Heathcliff soldered the hook of the window of Catherine’s room after Cathy had ran away through it to see her dying father for one last time.

“I must stop it, nevertheless!’ I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand!”

The absence of any blood on Lockwood’s hand or the glass not being broken are indications that this was a dream after all. This does not necessarily mean that the ghost is not real, she could have haunted Lockwood in his dream just like she had presumably done when Heathcliff had slept in the room. But in this reread I have given more credence than ever to the idea that this was a mere dream of Lockwood’s and the ghost is not real. Lockwood’s first dream is clearly influenced by Catherine’s diary entry and so is the second one. In the diary entry Catherine was a sad child wandering on the moors in the cold, and that is also what she is in the dream.

“The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, ‘Let me in—let me in!’ ‘Who are you?’ I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. ‘Catherine Linton,’ it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton) ‘I’m come home: I’d lost my way on the moor!’ As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child’s face looking through the window.”

It is interesting that in the diary entry she yearned to leave Wuthering Heights and scamper on the moors, and in the dream the ghost tries to get in Wuthering Heights.

She is “Catherine Linton” because she had only become truly lost and left Wuthering Heights when she had become a Linton. For all of the disorder and violence of Wuthering Heights Catherine feels that she belongs to there. Which is what some children in abusive households might feel, since this is what they are used to.

“Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still it wailed, ‘Let me in!’ and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost maddening me with fear.”

Despite his mamma’s boy antics Lockwood has a latent potential for violence, throughout Chapter 2 he wanted to beat up someone. Now that he has encountered someone both weak and scary he becomes truly violent. This scene is also the first indication of how dark and violent Wuthering Heights really is and especially of how violence in it is depicted so nonchalantly rather than being sensationalized and especially focused on.

“ ‘How can I!’ I said at length. ‘Let me go, if you want me to let you in!’ The fingers relaxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer. I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on! ‘Begone!’ I shouted. ‘I’ll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years.’ ‘It is twenty years,’ mourned the voice: ‘twenty years. I’ve been a waif for twenty years!’ Thereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust forward. I tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb; and so yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright.”

20 years is interesting. 20 years ago Catherine was a 15-16 years old engaged to Edgar. This is probably a reference to how Heathcliff had run away about 21 years ago, which is interesting since later in the book the scene adult Catherine returns to is their first separation when she was 12, but here she seems to be haunted by her engagement to Edgar and Heathcliff running away. And 20 years ago, at the time of the engagement, Catherine was 15 years old, not an adult but certainly not a child in the way the ghost is. Is it simply an indication that the ghost lacks logic? Does it point to how Catherine had never really been able to grow up after the age of 12? Is it a reference to how dying at the age of 18-19 she never really had the chance to grow up? Is it proof that this is just Lockwood’s dream after all?

This scene is actually kind of frightening. Not when you are reading it in a Gothic novel in 2021, but it probably was mildly terrifying when it was 1847 and you weren’t expecting to encounter it. It could be fairly scary in an adaptation with the right cinematography and music and to be fair to Lockwood I would be horrified if it happened to me.

“At last, he said, in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an answer, ‘Is any one here?’ I considered it best to confess my presence; for I knew Heathcliff’s accents, and feared he might search further, if I kept quiet.”

Heathcliff does not truly expect the ghost to be there, which is interesting.

“With this intention, I turned and opened the panels. I shall not soon forget the effect my action produced.

Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers; with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an electric shock: the light leaped from his hold to a distance of some feet, and his agitation was so extreme, that he could hardly pick it up.”

This is just a really good scene. It paints a very vivid picture.

A conservative older man on YouTube referred to Heathcliff’s face being as white as the wall as proof that he is white. As I have explained here this is clearly just a literary device to emphasize how scared and shocked he is. At most it might prove that he is not very dark skinned, but many non-white people can get pale when sick or shocked.

“Oh, God confound you, Mr. Lockwood! I wish you were at the—’ commenced my host, setting the candle on a chair, because he found it impossible to hold it steady. ‘And who showed you up into this room?’ he continued, crushing his nails into his palms, and grinding his teeth to subdue the maxillary convulsions. ‘Who was it? I’ve a good mind to turn them out of the house this moment?’

‘It was your servant Zillah,’ I replied, flinging myself on to the floor, and rapidly resuming my garments. ‘I should not care if you did, Mr. Heathcliff; she richly deserves it. I suppose that she wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted, at my expense. Well, it is—swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have reason in shutting it up, I assure you. No one will thank you for a doze in such a den!’”

It is easy to find Heathcliff’s physical mannerisms and reactions overly melodramatic and extreme and even I do sometimes, but I think in this case his anger and shock are wholly understandable.

Zillah might have left or been fired because of this reason. If I recall correctly she isn’t there when Lockwood visits the Heights in Chapter 31.

Did Zillah really wonder about whether the room is haunted? I think that she probably did. She might have wondered about it because it is shut up or she might have heard gossip about it.

“Scarcely were these words uttered when I recollected the association of Heathcliff’s with Catherine’s name in the book, which had completely slipped from my memory, till thus awakened. I blushed at my inconsideration: but, without showing further consciousness of the offence, I hastened to add ‘The truth is, sir, I passed the first part of the night in—’ Here I stopped afresh—I was about to say ‘perusing those old volumes,’ then it would have revealed my knowledge of their written, as well as their printed, contents; so, correcting myself, I went on ‘in spelling over the name scratched on that window-ledge. A monotonous occupation, calculated to set me asleep, like counting, or—’”

Lockwood is a well-drawn character and his mental processes are very well-described in this chapter. I love how he tries to save face here, it is really relatable.

“‘What can you mean by talking in this way to me!’ thundered Heathcliff with savage vehemence. ‘How—how dare you, under my roof?—God! he’s mad to speak so!’ And he struck his forehead with rage.”

Heathcliff is offended by the slander against Catherine or maybe he just can’t bear her being mentioned in any way.

“Not liking to show him that I had heard the conflict, I continued my toilette rather noisily, looked at my watch, and soliloquised on the length of the night: ‘Not three o’clock yet! I could have taken oath it had been six. Time stagnates here: we must surely have retired to rest at eight!’

‘Always at nine in winter, and rise at four,’ said my host”

Yet more discourse about when to go to bed. Yet another difference between Lockwood’s habits and the habits of the locals.

“‘Always at nine in winter, and rise at four,’ said my host, suppressing a groan: and, as I fancied, by the motion of his arm’s shadow, dashing a tear from his eyes. ‘Mr. Lockwood,’ he added, ‘you may go into my room: you’ll only be in the way, coming downstairs so early: and your childish outcry has sent sleep to the devil for me.’”

Regardless of what the reader thinks about Heathcliff in general, this is a very poignant scene.

Heathcliff is weirdly helpful to Lockwood in this chapter. And it isn’t just because of the ghost thing either, he tells him to spend the rest of the night in this room even before hearing about the ghost. Heathcliff isn’t unnecessarily horrible to people who are unrelated to his revenge and he doesn’t actively dislike Lockwood.

“A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.’

‘Delightful company!’ muttered Heathcliff. ‘Take the candle, and go where you please. I shall join you directly. Keep out of the yard, though, the dogs are unchained; and the house—Juno mounts sentinel there, and—nay, you can only ramble about the steps and passages. But, away with you! I’ll come in two minutes!’”

I find Heathcliff ironically calling the company of oneself “delightful company” interesting. It might point to his growing unsatisfaction with solitude or the fact that he is never truly alone because of Catherine’s spirit.

I like to think that he is subtly making fun of Lockwood’s encounters with the dogs here. He might be nicer and more sentimental than usual in this scene but he won’t just pass up the chance to make fun of someone.

“I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, ignorant where the narrow lobbies led, I stood still, and was witness, involuntarily, to a piece of superstition on the part of my landlord which belied, oddly, his apparent sense. He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears. ‘Come in! come in!’ he sobbed. ‘Cathy, do come. Oh, do—once more! Oh! my heart’s darling! hear me this time, Catherine, at last!’ The spectre showed a spectre’s ordinary caprice: it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the light.”

Lockwood is surprised by Heathcliff’s superstition which belies his apparent sense. Heathcliff isn’t visibly “mad”. He is rude and asocial but normal at the first glance and can function normally. He has a very specific obsession with a very specific thing.

This scene is our first introduction to Heathcliff as a romantic figure and I have to admit that I find this scene to be one of the rare truly romantic moments in the book. I really like the saying “my heart’s darling”.

“There was such anguish in the gush of grief that accompanied this raving, that my compassion made me overlook its folly, and I drew off, half angry to have listened at all, and vexed at having related my ridiculous nightmare, since it produced that agony; though why was beyond my comprehension.”

A rare instance of Lockwood being truly empathetic and not making a show of it.

***

The three paragraphs following this are really good slice of life depicting all the characters at the Heights slowly waking up and resuming their occupations. I am not quoting them since I don’t have much to say on them, but I really like the movements of everyone and the general activity in the farm house.

It also makes one realize how irrelevant a character Lockwood really is. We assume he is more relevant to the story and the characters than he actually is because he is the one telling the story. He is probably relevant to Heathcliff and Zillah because of the ghost incident and he is obviously the friend of Nelly, but he is nothing to Joseph, Hareton or Cathy. He is a curiosity as a rare visitor, but he isn’t actually relevant to their lives or their stories in any way.

“He stood by the fire, his back towards me, just finishing a stormy scene with poor Zillah; who ever and anon interrupted her labour to pluck up the corner of her apron, and heave an indignant groan.”

I do kind of pity Zillah here. She is trying to do her job and being scolded at the same time. I think she either left or was fired because of this.

“And you, you worthless—’ he broke out as I entered, turning to his daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet as harmless as duck, or sheep, but generally represented by a dash. ‘There you are, at your idle tricks again! The rest of them do earn their bread—you live on my charity! Put your trash away, and find something to do. You shall pay me for the plague of having you eternally in my sight—do you hear, damnable jade?’”

I think “bitch” is the word being censored here. Ironically, as one of the book’s first reviewers remarked, this actually ends up bringing more attention to the word. Heathcliff expects everyone in the household to work, male or female, but it is important that he uses not one but two sexist insults against Cathy here, “jade” is a word meaning “bad-tempered woman”.

“‘I’ll put my trash away, because you can make me if I refuse,’ answered the young lady, closing her book, and throwing it on a chair. ‘But I’ll not do anything, though you should swear your tongue out, except what I please!’”

I love Cathy.

“Heathcliff lifted his hand, and the speaker sprang to a safer distance, obviously acquainted with its weight. Having no desire to be entertained by a cat-and-dog combat, I stepped forward briskly, as if eager to partake the warmth of the hearth, and innocent of any knowledge of the interrupted dispute. Each had enough decorum to suspend further hostilities: Heathcliff placed his fists, out of temptation, in his pockets; Mrs. Heathcliff curled her lip, and walked to a seat far off, where she kept her word by playing the part of a statue during the remainder of my stay.”

It is interesting that Heathcliff cares about decorum? I am guessing that he doesn’t want to lose a tenant by beating up a young woman in front of him.

“My landlord halloed for me to stop ere I reached the bottom of the garden, and offered to accompany me across the moor.”

Heathcliff being helpful.

“It was well he did, for the whole hill-back was one billowy, white ocean; the swells and falls not indicating corresponding rises and depressions in the ground: many pits, at least, were filled to a level; and entire ranges of mounds, the refuse of the quarries, blotted from the chart which my yesterday’s walk left pictured in my mind. I had remarked on one side of the road, at intervals of six or seven yards, a line of upright stones, continued through the whole length of the barren: these were erected and daubed with lime on purpose to serve as guides in the dark, and also when a fall, like the present, confounded the deep swamps on either hand with the firmer path: but, excepting a dirty dot pointing up here and there, all traces of their existence had vanished: and my companion found it necessary to warn me frequently to steer to the right or left, when I imagined I was following, correctly, the windings of the road.”

Nice description of the road. Sometimes you should just stop and appreciate it.

Some critical essays point to this loss of signs as a mirror of how Wuthering Heights itself doesn’t provide an interpretive framework for the reader. It certainly gives the feeling of uncertainty and being lost in the narrative.

“The distance from the gate to the grange is two miles; I believe I managed to make it four, what with losing myself among the trees, and sinking up to the neck in snow: a predicament which only those who have experienced it can appreciate. At any rate, whatever were my wanderings, the clock chimed twelve as I entered the house; and that gave exactly an hour for every mile of the usual way from Wuthering Heights.”

I know that Lockwood is “ridiculous” but I really relate to him here.

“My human fixture and her satellites rushed to welcome me; exclaiming, tumultuously, they had completely given me up: everybody conjectured that I perished last night; and they were wondering how they must set about the search for my remains. I bid them be quiet, now that they saw me returned, and, benumbed to my very heart, I dragged upstairs; whence, after putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro thirty or forty minutes, to restore the animal heat, I adjourned to my study, feeble as a kitten: almost too much so to enjoy the cheerful fire and smoking coffee which the servant had prepared for my refreshment.”

“My human fixture and her satellites” is very telling of how Lockwood perceives servants.

This is foreshadowing of how relatively normal death is in this place.

It is funny that two chapters in a row end with a drink being given to Lockwood as refreshment.

@dahlia-coccinea

#wuthering heights #wh reread #wh reread 2021 #chapter 3

[kneamet]

Thomas Sharpe says to the portrait of reader that he has always loved, loved and will love her. He says he will not accept her engagement to Count Harrison. She belongs to him. The next day, reader wakes up in a strange room tied to an armchair. She pretends to be asleep. Thomas is talking to her now.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere, kidnapping, jealousy

Word Count: 2439

Character: Thomas Sharpe/reader

Summary: Thomas never wanted anything more than to marry you. When he learns of your future marriage to the hated earl Garrison, he knows that something must be done.

POV Thomas

Thomas knew he couldn't afford to be silent. He'd been silent for too long, and now was the moment to snap. He won't let anyone steal you from him.

Sharpe had never expected to find the love of his lost life. That he could find someone he would love and who would love him. A girl who would take care of him, and he would protect her from people.

But it just so happens that Thomas was born in a place where your right to vote doesn't count. Especially with Lucille. He loved her, he really did, but she probably didn't understand that it was more a need for a person than love, because Sharpe could hardly survive alone in this huge house, which also needs to be provided for. And her obsession with him, which Thomas hated, was also very annoying and dripping on his brain. It was very unpleasant to be thought of as some kind of object, thanks to which you can fulfill your desires. And these were used by all the girls in his entourage.

Parents, as Thomas noted, for the most part also did not care about the emotional outbursts of children and their hobbies. Well, why care about it? They're just kids. They can also be raised by nannies and teachers who were hired.

And the women... All those moments, all the things that his late sister controlled, mostly related to the women he married and later received money from. And he didn't particularly like it. Why is she controlling him? Why him?

However, even in the largest darkness, you can find a small corner that is dedicated to light. And that light for Thomas was you. His sweetest, most beloved, and most incredible girlfriend. He would pick up so many epithets, metaphors, and comparisons with you, fearing that even they could not describe all your beauty.

He smiled dreamily. It was so nice to think and fantasize about how you would live together, you would caress him, and he would stroke your soft, honey-scented hair, telling you how much he loved you and cherished you. But what was the point of thinking about it if they were going to be together?

Thomas looked down and passed his gentle hand, which had no bruises or wounds, for which he in turn had once been scolded by Mr. Cushing, Edith's father, perhaps the only woman who could attract his attention a little and almost even accept that he could not marry you, but his thoughts quickly dissipated then.

***

"Have I ever loved anyone before you?" Thomas spoke in a low voice that echoed small and tiny in the walls of the dilapidated but pleasant-looking room. He turned his slow gaze to the beautiful Edith, who lay beside him on the slightly stiff bed, looking straight into his eyes, blue as clear water.

Thomas sighed. He didn't want to talk about you. His favorite girl, who helped him believe in himself. I knew Edith wouldn't like it.

"Yes, I did once -" Sharpe began again in a whisper, lightly squeezing the girl's light hand in his. He did not want to share his thoughts and feelings with others, because he knew that they would betray him. Otherwise, they will use it against you, which was very insulting.

Thomas looked at Edith again with a lost look, a girl who was different from the others and who might soon be dead. Damn it. He didn't think she was beautiful. She might be pretty, but there was nothing remarkable about her. Well, maybe it was just the beautiful eyes and the unusual mole above the soft lips that she didn't even try to cover up. Perhaps it was the openness that drew him to her.

But no. No, no, no, no. He won't fall for that pretty face and possibly witty mind. He only loved you. Only her flower, which fortunately her sister did not know about.

***

Thomas shook his head quickly. He didn't care now. He and Edith had never been in love. A hobby? "yes, perhaps. But no more. He can't do more than that. After all, all his steely heart and soft soul belonged to you, his childhood friends.

Childhood friends. It's been so long... Memories of his past childhood flashed through his mind as if they were the wind that tries to impress a person. His most vivid memory of you and your current fate was when you came to visit them in Crimson Peak, as your parents were busy with his parents and spent time with Thomas while Lucille was doing something else.

That's probably what influenced him back then. After all, if you hadn't been there at that time. At that difficult moment, when he was, if I may say so correctly, beaten with his stick by his mother, with whom she always went, and even connected the rod after.

And Thomas didn't know why. What did he do wrong then? What's the big deal?

He sighed and touched the small framed portrait with his palm. Before the portrait of his favorite flower. His favorite girl, who probably doesn't even know what he thinks about her right now. He couldn't remember when the portrait had come to him. If an artist came to him who painted to order and he had a photo that his beloved sent him, then it was the portrait that sent his flower.

She was so beautiful in that picture. Her light, slightly curled hair fell gently over her shoulders; her lips smiled a soft smile that wished everyone well; her nose was slightly tilted up, but it did not show disgust or contempt; her beautiful, transparent eyes looked at him intently.

Suddenly, a fleeting but painful tear ran down Sharpe's cold cheek, and with a quick swipe, it fell to the carpet, then dissolved into water.

He always liked to imagine you — the most joyful and smiling princess-marrying him of your own accord. He has so often, since that very moment in childhood, imagined how he would put a ring on your fragile finger, which would symbolize your love.

"I loved you, my flower..."

It's true. His love was always there. She started the exodus as a child and never stopped.

"... I love you..."

But still an engagement. Yes, the damned engagement party you invited him to, apparently thinking Thomas would be thrilled that you were marrying the Earl of Harrison. But no, he already hated the hell out of him. This dirty man who was unworthy of you and probably only used you.

"... And I will always love you..."

He would not allow this engagement to happen. That's not why Thomas waited, waiting for you to fall in love with him. However, he is tired of waiting and hinting to you that he loves you. You belong to him.

"After all, my flower belongs to me."

The words spoken by the portraits were immediately swallowed up by the dark house, absorbing them.

***

POV You

Oh, how you loved Earl James Harrison. He was the very person who, at a difficult time for you, your family and your family situation in general, pulled you out of such a blizzard. He was the one who helped you.

James was probably the most attractive person you've ever seen. And both in terms of external parameters, and in terms of his spiritual and mental abilities. Being very well-read and intelligent, he always found moments in which you can learn something new. Yes, it's no secret, you both learned new things thanks to each other, because each had a field in which he understood.

And when he proposed to you, you couldn't help but agree, because you knew that he loved you just as much as you loved him.

If you were a writer, the kind of writer who delves into novels, describing the tumultuous lives of people, revealing all the mysterious secrets, then you would definitely describe your relationship as very fickle, unfathomable, and possibly equal. After all, he did not humiliate you, did not lower your abilities, but treated you as an equal person, which greatly impressed you.

Very handsome was your lover: dark, brown hair that was usually scattered in a careless hairstyle, brown eyes that were carefully watching what was happening and usually beautiful clothes. Beautiful clothes. Oh, you should have one.

***

"I love you so much, James," you murmured sleepily, resting your head on the man's strong shoulder and closing your eyes. You could feel him chuckle.

"I love you too, honey," he said after a few seconds. You no longer heard it, because you were in a perfect state of sleep. In a state where you can rest.

He never stopped looking at you, smiling a gentle smile

***

Suddenly, your wrists felt very uncomfortable. There was a persistent feeling that they were rubbing against something. But what could it be? It felt like a rope woven into several knots.

And the smell... The smell was also completely different from the one in James ' room, where you went to sleep. There was the smell of old books and tart milk, and here there was the smell of clay mixed with the smell of some metal. No, if Jim didn't decide to start making toys and drag you to the workshop, then fine. But there was a smell of something else, too. Something is unclear.

You opened your eyes a little, trying to see the place you were in. You couldn't have been kidnapped, could you? Or could they? And who could it be, if we follow this theory?

However, nothing surprised you. You were in a not particularly large room, which by its own condition was basically normal, only one thing did not paint it, so it was the smell and appearance of dust that lay on the shelves with old books. You flinched a little. A large bed stood beside you, strewn with a small number of rose petals, and covered with a dark corduroy coverlet. There were large windows nearby. Does the theory about your kidnapping include that if you jump out, you'll break every bone in your body? Or were you on the first floor?"

At the bottom, or rather the floor of the room, was decorated with a large dirty carpet with large drawings of incomprehensible shapes. It seems to have been a spontaneous fantasy. Although you could see the flowers there, too. Across from the bed was a large wardrobe that probably contained all of your captor's clothes.

"I've been waiting for this moment for so long!" an eerily familiar voice exclaimed. Such a soft, husky baritone. He was definitely familiar to you.

When you heard the voice, you immediately closed your eyes. I'd rather pretend to be asleep than face the man who kidnapped you." No, you'll talk to him later, but not now. Now is not the time.

Suddenly, you heard the floorboards creak beside you and someone blocked out the light that was continuously pouring out of the window in a cold stream.

"I love you so much, my flower," a voice murmured in your ear, barely audible. His heart was pounding at a furious rate now, replaying in his brain the words that the man had spoken earlier. Who is he? What is it about? Why had he waited for this moment? Why does he love you? Do you know each other at all?

"I know that you love me as much as I love you. I know you hate that damned Earl Garrison, and you want to marry me because you only love me."

What? You tried to focus on your thoughts, trying to remember what that familiar voice was. What kind of person would dare to do something as audacious as kidnapping?

"I loved you. I've loved you since the day you comforted me in this house, protected me from my parents, and showed me your concern... I never forgot about you."

All of a sudden, you feel like you've been electrocuted. Protection, comfort, care. The words echoed in your brain. You didn't listen to the man just now, because you realized who it was.

Thomas. Thomas Sharpe. Your first person to open up to. To whom she confided all her secrets. You didn't really know him as a person, only as a child, as children, you crossed paths a couple of times, and only because your parents and his parents collaborated.

And nothing else. What kind of love is he talking about? What do his thoughts know, which he seeks to convey? Why did he think it was love? Why not a less powerful feeling?

***

The clock ticked. They gave off a slight tinkle that broke the silence that had arisen in the room. Only the soft whispers of the children trying to comfort each other could be heard. They were quiet, almost inaudible.

"I'll always help you, Thomas, just call me," you muttered to yourself, turning to the boy and scratching his dark head with your thin hand. Trying to comfort him, to show him that you care.

***

But for this to happen — by kidnapping, by declaring love, and by binding — love simply could not arise. What kind of love is in a person's need for another person, you just didn't understand. What was the point? Unclear.

"I know that you have belonged to me since the day you comforted me..."

You didn't want to hear Thomas mutter about it. If you had been bolder, you would have screamed, trying to escape, but there was no way out now. It is better to obey him. Yes, the logic was wrong at the moment, since there was no need to think like that. It is better to resist than not to try to do anything.

"...I know you belong to me..."

No, you don't belong to anyone! Since when does he want you so badly? After all, as you remember, Thomas was quite a quiet, calm and peaceful boy. And what happened now? Why is he acting like this? What does he want? Love? So why would he fall in love with someone else?

"...And I know that you will belong to me..."

The only person you'll ever belong to is James, and that's only because he belongs to you. No more than that. Doesn't that include negotiated equality?

You felt someone's soft lips touch your lips, which were very thin, but pleasant. Spiced and slightly wounded, apparently bitten, Thomas's lips were not bad

"...Because we love each other, my flower..."

#tom hiddleston #obsessive #yandere #yandere loki #yandere tom hiddleston #obsessive tom hiddleston #obsession #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #yandere thomas sharpe #thomas sharpe x reader #thomas sharpe x you #thomas sharpe #crimson peak

[eddiesfaerie]

Long Sleeves (part 2)

Summary: Pushed to its absolute limits; a retelling of the past 4 months of you and Charlie’s complicated relationship (13.5k words, i dont know what to say other than im so sorry)

Warnings: NSFW, f!reader, major angst, annoying fluff, mentions of divorce, affairs, age gap (between Charlie and reader, previously implied), nudes, phone sex, PIV sex, daddy kink, some size kink, pain kink(?), rough (and angry and sad) sex, dom and sub themes, spanking, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), i also mention christmas a lot at the beginning which isn't really a warning but i know not everyone celebrates it!

Part 1

A/N: for those of you who are not a fan of d*ddy kink but who may still want to read this; i only use it between the time stamps of Christmas Eve to March, following the March timestamp there will be no mention or use of that word! just thought i’d mention cause the ending is cathartic!

LATE DECEMBER - APARTMENT

With Henry and Nicole staying in LA until after the holidays, Charlie would be alone with you until he left again.

And he didn’t leave your apartment once in the meantime.

Making up for lost time, is what you could call it.

The hours, days, spent in between sheets, on countertops, on couches, in the shower. Like he was trying to mark your apartment with his scent, make sure you never forgot him when he would leave again for LA in a few days.

You would remember him everywhere.

The way your knees bruised on the tile floor of your shower. The welts on your ass from his harsh hand. The bite marks on your shoulders, the bruises littering your neck, stomach, anywhere he could reach.

You would remember him everywhere.

The thousands of ‘good girls’ he praised you with and the thousand and one ‘fucking sluts’ he punished you with. Charlie was coming to know your insides and outs better than you could at this point, it was a certain level of familiarity you were happy with him reaching. He was becoming more and more comfortable around you.

You could tell not just because of the frequent sex, the hard fucking, but because of how he was opening up to you about the divorce. About what was really going on down in LA, what was happening with Henry, what had been happening (or more so, not happening) with Nicole for nearly the past year. 

He told you about how she ignored him, refused to have sex with him, even touch him. How he had found solace in a one time affair with their stage director, how he just missed feeling needed, feeling wanted by the only person who was supposed to fulfill that innate human desire.

He told you everything he could think of, every little detail. He was tired of hiding, holding it in.

He realized he would have to tell you when he would get a random call from his lawyer or from Nicole herself, when he would talk to Henry. When he yelled through the phone or hung up crying, slamming his device against the wall, nearly breaking it.

He knew he would have to explain it to you, he owed it to you.

You deserved to know, especially now that he was involving you in this to some degree. He didn’t want to, didn’t want to involve you but he needed you more than he needed anyone else right now. More than he was ready to admit perhaps, just how much he truly needed you.

And that’s why going back to LA would be the hardest thing he’s done all week.

He stood at the door, dressed, suitcase packed, heart lurching, thumping low in his chest with dread, resent, fear, and some feeling he couldn’t fucking name.

Lo-

“I wish you could come.” He says instead, the saddest smile you’ve seen adorning his perfect lips. You smile back, just as sadly. You know there was absolutely no reason for you to go to LA with him, to spend Christmas with Nicole and Henry and whatever extended family would be there as well. It would never happen, never work. At least, not right now. Not like this.

The divorce proceedings were on break till after the holidays, both in and against Charlie’s favour. It meant not giving Henry two Christmases, one last normal one. But it also meant pretending, indulging in that… façade that him and Nicole have been keeping up for too fucking long now.

The deed would be done sometime in February, maybe March, Charlie couldn’t remember. He tried not to think about it too much. Think about losing everything-

“I know. But you’ll enjoy yourself. Henry will be happy.” You remind him, letting him hold you so, so tightly. His vice grip, digging into you, trying to anchor himself to you.

“I can’t believe I’m leaving you alone during fucking Christmas.” You laugh.

“I’m going home to see my parents, I won’t be alone, Charlie.” He nods his head, hearing the words you’re saying but he still can’t stop the guilt from creeping up on him. He doesn’t want you to think he’s abandoning you. He won’t abandon you, like everyone’s abandoned him. He just hoped you wouldn’t abandon him either.

Charlie presses his forehead against yours, his hands gripping your waist and pressing your body against his. Your arms wrap around his neck.

“I’ll call you this time, I promise. Every night… I’ll call.”

“Okay.” You giggle, believing him.

His hand sneaks its way up your jaw, gripping your cheeks gently but angling your face for you to meet his dark, dark eyes. You know that look, so familiar now. You feel the pressure start to rise inside you, heat pooling in the very pit of your stomach.

“You’ll be good for me?” You nod immediately, fervently.

“Yes, Charlie.”

“If I ask you to send me pictures, what’ll you do?”

“S-send you pictures.” Breathless, your voice sounds so breathless. Your eyelids threatening to close but you keep them on him, always.

“That’s my good girl.” He growls, tilting your face all the way to his lips, a kiss, a seal of approval. You moan against his lips, letting your eyelids flutter shut, imagining yourself in all those new lingerie sets he’s bought you over the last week.

Your early Christmas presents, he had told you.

“The… the taxis waiting out front.” You say against his lips, not wanting him to leave just yet, but also not wanting him to leave you high and dry before getting on a plane set for across the country for at least another week, probably longer. Charlie ignores you, shoving his tongue down your throat, his grip on your jaw moving down to your neck, squeezing ever so slightly, fingers ghosting over bruised skin, enough to make you fall further into his chest, gripping his perfectly ironed shirt, ruining it.

He pulls away all too soon, no doubt doing this to you on purpose. It was 7am and you were already whimpering into his parted lips.

“I-I’ll miss you.” You admit, heart crashing into your ribs. 

You hadn’t meant to say it but he was making your brain foggy, your thoughts were jumbled together and you just let it slip past your lips. Charlie stares at you, red lips swollen like petals, cheeks matching, hair perfectly in place with your help nothing but fifteen minutes earlier. It feels like a lifetime has passed before he says anything back to you. The taxi honks outside on the curb.

“I’ll… I’ll miss you more.”

CHRISTMAS EVE - UPSTATE NEW YORK

It was relieving to be away from the city, surrounded by more wilderness, more foliage, more trees, more animals. A literal breath of fresh air that wasn’t tainted by sewage and the ever present scent of smoke coming from somewhere or someone.

You loved coming up here. Escaping. You hadn’t been back home since last Christmas. You moved away when you were quite young, the relationship you had with your parents was complicated, clashing personalities, it was difficult to understand each other when you were younger but there was clarity that came with age. They finally respected you, and you finally respected them as well, understanding them better.

You think spending so much time with Charlie and Henry gave you an insight into parenthood that you had never been privy too beforehand. You were thankful for that, not only did you appreciate your parents more, but now parenthood had many more benefits that you had never considered before. Magical, rewarding, fulfilling.

Charlie kind of made you feel that way too.

It was still awkward at times with your parents, that was unavoidable. No siblings around meant all eyes were on you. They were asking for too many details, prying too deep and you just never felt comfortable indulging in yourself this much. But you always came prepared, it was the holidays after all, things always got weird.

After Christmas Eve dinner, your parents invited you out on a walk with them around their little town. They did this every night apparently, just walking together, talking. It was cute, endearing. You declined their offer, however. Thankfully you weren’t sixteen anymore, and your parents didn’t press you any further to come along with them like they used to.

They’d be back in thirty minutes.

That gave you thirty minutes to call Charlie. Just as he instructed.

Earlier this evening, as your parents were beginning to prepare dinner, Charlie’s family was just finishing lunch out in California. A perfect time for a perfect distraction, or intrusion. 

You had packed a few sets of the new lingerie Charlie had bought you, not knowing what he would want to see on you or how often you should switch it up. You nearly brought all of them but didn’t want to take up too much space in your luggage and be suspicious.

You put one on that you thought Charlie was particularly fond of, a skimpy little number that revealed more skin than hid, it’s colour complimenting your skin like it was made for you, made to hug your figure in all the right places. You forgot that Charlie had such a visual mind sometimes, he knew exactly what you would look good in.

Nervous and a bit shaky, you tucked yourself away into your childhood bedroom to take your pictures for Charlie. You felt like a teenager again.

Charlie was not pleased with the timing of your pictures, seeing as he was surrounded by family and innocently looked at his phone only to get a glimpse of your beautiful fucking body, all the blood going from his head straight to his cock. He nearly fainted. His cheeks lit up like Nicole’s Christmas tree and he stumbled from his chair. Thankfully, everyone seemed to be more occupied with paying attention to Henry than to notice him sprint to the bathroom to scold you over text.

That was hours ago. Charlie had told you to call him exactly at 11pm eastern time. That was only 8pm where he was but he said it worked out perfectly so you didn’t argue. You just waited patiently on your bed, number dialed on your phone and ready to call, all the clock head to do was strike eleven.

Finally, the clocks ding around the house, your thumb flies across your screen and you hold the phone up to your ear, worrying the flesh of your lip between your teeth. It rings once, twice, three times before you can hear his breath on the other end. It already sounds heavy.

“H-hi Charlie.”

“What are you wearing.” His voice is strained, maybe he’s already holding himself in his hand.

“Merry Christmas Eve.” You twist your fingers together nervously. Charlie grunts on the other end, a frustrated sound.

“I f-fucking told you, no pleasantries. I-it’ll only make us miss each other more-” You stayed quiet. You knew he was right, but you already missed him so much and hearing his voice was making it worse. You felt your lip tremble, you missed his arms, his warmth, his-

“Are you fucking pouting right now?” His voice was firm, sturdy, and annoyed.

“No, Charlie.” A lie.

“Good, now tell me what you’re wearing.”

“I’m wearing your favourite, the one from earlier. I’m barely covered.”

“Oh I know baby, your tits looked so fhuuuucking good in those pictures you sent me.” The fluctuation in his voice was rising and falling randomly, you could picture his hand wrapped tightly around his angry cock, the head flushed red, precum dribbling out the top, just begging to be licked. He tasted so good…

“A-are you touching yourself?”

“No, you didn’t tell me to.”

“G-good girl, you’re so fucking good to me, you know that?” You pictured his chest, the way he flushes right in the center, between his pecs. The way the red splotches climb up, up, up his neck and onto his cheeks and up to the peaks of his ears. You thought about the heavy rise and fall of his chest as well, how fucking wide he is, how much bigger than you he is. You audibly moaned.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about?”

“Y-you.”

“Be specific- fuck.”

“Um, your- your cock. How big it is, how big you are. How it feels when you stretch me out, when you go so deep I feel you in my stomach-”

“Keep going baby, I’m… I’m so f-UHcking close.”

“I think about the first time, a-a lot. How it felt the first time you split me open- fuck Charlie you’re so big I never think you’re going to fit but I always take it, I-”

“Yeah, yeah you always take me like the good little girl you are, such a good fucking slut for me, taking my cock in that tight fucking pussy.” He sneers, you can tell he’s talking from behind clenched teeth and you moan again, loudly. Your brain short circuits, what comes out next, comes from the deepest part of you.

“Oh Daddy,-”

“What did you just call me?”

Fuck.

You hadn’t really meant to say it, you were just so caught up in the moment, the feeling, the sound of him that you completely lost your inhibitions and let it slip out. You expected him to just end the call now.

“Charlie I’m so sorry-” He cuts you off with a firm call of your name.

“I asked you a question. What… did you call me?” Your stomach flips and your insides threaten to spill past your lips and onto your floor.

“Daddy.” You say so quietly you’re not sure he even heard you.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“Daddy.” Frustration laces your voice as you project the word throughout the entire upper floor of the house. He definitely hears it that time. You think you hear Charlie moan on the other end but you don’t want to be too hopeful.

“You wanna call me Daddy? Hmm? You want me to be your fucking Daddy, is that it?”

“N-no…” You’re not sure what he’s getting at, but you feel like he’s just going to torment you.

“Don’t fucking lie to me you little slut.” His breathing picks up again, his voice booming, heavy breaths between every few words. You can hear the slick of his hand as it moves quickly over his length.

“Yes! Yes I- I want you to…”

“Say it.”

“I want you to be my Daddy.” Charlie moans loudly again, his hand somehow moving faster. You can tell he’s close. You can’t believe he likes this. You love it.

“Yeah, I’ll be your fucking Daddy. You better fucking call me that non stop when I get back to you, my sweet little girl.” You moan this time, squeezing your thighs together, feeling your arousal trail slightly down onto your thigh. You were so distracted you hadn’t realized you’d completely soaked through your underwear.

“I will, Daddy.”

“Fuck, I’m-”

Confidence surged you. You still couldn’t believe he liked this but you finally gave in, feeding his desires. When you spoke, your voice was filled with something wicked, sickeningly sweet and most of all, evil.

“Are you going to cum for me, Daddy? Make a mess for me?”

You felt like you hadn’t even finished your sentence before a loud moan punched through your phone and into your ear. You moaned as well just from his release, feeling it in your mind and in your chest, squeezing your thighs again for any sort of friction. Charlie continued to moan through his release, you pictured his silky cum painting his taut abdomen and his beautiful chest. You imagined it blending in with his moles and freckles, you pictured yourself rubbing your hands through it, massaging it into his skin before licking it all up. 

He wouldn’t even have to ask, you would just do it.

“Y-you’re fucking perfect… you fucking angel.” He’s so breathless, completely spent and wasted from your voice alone. You felt so hot. You needed to relieve yourself but you didn’t know if you should ask for permission or not. Before you could even debate it, Charlie spoke again.

“Go to bed, wouldn’t want Santa catching you up like this.” You laughed softly at his comment. Static on the other end. He said your name as if to check if you were still there.

“Yeah?”

“Merry Christmas.”

The line went dead.

JANUARY - BROOKLYN

You had sent Charlie pictures nearly every night after that. And you two called each other every other night as well.

He asked it of you and you couldn’t say no to your Charlie. It was a bit tricky while you were still staying with your parents, he would simply text you and you would have to scurry off to your room or the bathroom and snap as many flattering pictures of yourself as you could. You tried to make it seem less suspicious by drinking tons of water and just blaming it on your bladder.

But the new year had finally come, and you were now back home in your apartment. Charlie would be returning tonight and you were counting down the hours until you saw his taxi pull up on the curb side. You distracted yourself until then.

At around 7pm, you got an unexpected call from Charlie.

“Hi.” You felt like your smile was audible through the phone.

“Hey,” Charlie chuckled darkly, his voice always sounding deeper and richer through the receiver. “I just got in. I was wondering if you’d like to join us for dinner tonight?”

Us? He didn’t mean….

“It’s just me and Henry, Nicole’s uh, staying in LA until further notice. If you’re busy or if you can’t that’s-”

“I would love to,” The fact that Charlie would ask you to spend dinner with him and Henry warmed your heart beyond comprehension. Your weeks of loneliness suddenly dissolving into the background and becoming nothing more than a distant memory, a distant feeling. “but is Henry okay with it?”

“Of course he’s okay with it. He’s actually been talking about you quite a bit. I think he might have missed you more than I did,” Charlie choked a bit on his last words, “not that I didn’t miss you, I just meant that he, you know, Henry was-”

“It’s okay, Charlie I understood what you meant.” You giggle, finding his slight awkwardness endearing. How was it that you both were having incredible phone sex for the past two weeks and now you both sounded like teenagers calling their crush?

“So, you’ll come?”

“Yeah, I’ll come.” Charlie groans at your suggestive tone.

“Don’t start now.” His voice stern, unwavering. You laugh again, more mischievous this time. You test the waters, not stepping in enough to drown... just yet.

“I’ll be over in ten minutes, is that okay, Daddy?” You hear rustling on the other end of the phone and then Charlie cursing a low ‘fuck!’. You think you hear Henry’s voice too, followed by more of Charlie’s now muffled voice.

“Ten minutes is fine.”

//

Henry had bombarded you at the door, he wrapped his tiny arms around your legs and hugged himself tightly to you. It took everything in you not to cry, you knelt down so you could hug him back.

“I missed you.” He dug his cheek into your shoulder. This kid was the sweetest, he would melt your heart every time.

“I missed you too, Henry. How was LA? How was Christmas? Tell me everything!”

Henry grabbed your hand and dragged you into the living room where all his new toys were laid out, ready for him to play with. As he was pulling you there, Charlie emerged from around the doorway like an angel himself. Your eyes met and you felt as if you were moving in slow motion, and not being dragged at top speed by his child.

“Hi.” You greet, almost shyly. Unsure of how to act around him with Henry present.

“Hi.” Charlie repeats, grabbing your free hand for the briefest moment, giving it a tight squeeze until it's pulled out of his grasp by Henry.

You’re not sure how long you spent playing on the floor with Henry, him retelling you the events of the last two or three weeks while Charlie sat on the couch, glancing at the two of you every now and then. You tried not to think about the position you were in, kneeling on the floor, carpet digging into your knees, Charlie sitting tall above you on the couch, looking down at you from between his parted knees. It looked like such a natural position for him, almost like he was too comfortable like this, too familiar with it. You wanted to-

The doorbell rang, making both you and Henry jump from the sharp noise.

“Henry would you like to go pay the pizza guy?” Charlie asked, already pulling his wallet from the pocket in his pants.

“Yes!” Henry shouted, jumping up from the carpet, whisking the crisp bills from his dad’s hands and running to the door to answer it. Charlie figured he had a minute or less before Henry came back.

He lifted himself from the couch, taking your jaw into his hand and bringing you to stand with him. He crashed his lips into yours, violently shoving his tongue down your throat and you had to bite back the moan that threatened to spill through your lips and into his awaiting mouth. His hands had a deadly grip on your waist and on your jaw, you only wished he would ease up because you didn’t want Henry to wonder why you both looked so flustered.

“I can’t wait until tonight.” He said against your lips, his hand on your jaw moving to trail down your throat.

“W-what’s tonight?”

“I got it!” Henry came rushing back into the living room but not before Charlie pushed himself away from you and let go of your throat and waist. It looked like nothing had happened.

“Let’s go set it up in the dining room.” Henry stomped his foot in retaliation, whining slightly.

“Nooo, Dad, can we please watch a movie with pizza?”

“Henry, we have a guest-”

“Please!”

“What movie do you want to watch?” You asked, budding in, trying to stop a tantrum in its tracks. Henry’s eyes lit up and he glanced between you and his dad.

“Have you ever seen ‘Frozen’?” You actually had, but he didn’t need to know that. You gasped.

“I haven’t!” You glanced over at Charlie. His eyes were dark but an innocent smirk pulled at his lips.

He was thinking about how this just meant it would take longer before he could finally fuck you again, a two hour movie cockblock. It had been over two weeks since he had felt your body against his, nothing to satiate him but the sound of your voice and some mediocre photos. Charlie thinks he should show you how to take some really good ones sometime soon. Not that yours didn’t most definitely do the trick, he just thinks he likes the idea of directing you, positioning you...

But Charlie was also thinking about how he found it very sweet, very heartwarming to watch you bond with Henry. He loved watching you have such a good time with him and treat him like a person, not just a child. And he could tell that Henry really liked spending time with you too. Not just from how much he talked about you when you weren’t around, but the smile that lit up his face when you came over or when he went over to your place.

It was getting harder and harder to get Henry to smile like that.

You all sat down on the couch, little wooden fold up tables in front of your seat to hold your plate of pizza slices. Henry sitting between you and Charlie, of course.

Henry sang along passionately to almost every song, sometimes with bites of pizza in his mouth and Charlie would scold him for it, afraid he would choke but Henry ignored his dad’s requests, just continuing to belt out along with the characters on screen.

As the movie progressed and neared the end, you could feel Charlie getting more and more sleepy on his side of the couch. He would rearrange his sitting position every now and then and his eyes would close for minutes at a time. He looked so soft with his arms folded across his chest, his eyelashes fluttering against the tops of his cheeks, his lips coming to rest in the softest little pout. You nudge Henry gently and he turns to look up at you.

“Looks like your dad’s asleep.” You giggle, pointing to Charlie. Henry immediately jumps on him, startling Charlie awake.

“Dad I can’t believe you fell asleep again!” Henry pouts, grabbing Charlie’s face between his hands and shaking him from side to side. Charlie grabs his son’s little hands to stop his efforts, sitting himself up straighter on the couch and hugging Henry to his chest.

“Mmm’wasn’t sleeping.” Henry rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you go get your daddy a blanket so he can get comfy for the rest of the movie.” You wink at Henry, sending him searching upstairs for the perfect blanket for his dad.

Charlie groans and drops his head on the back of the couch, his hand draping across is as well, coming to rest on the very tip of your shoulder. He wraps his fingers along your muscles, squeezing the flesh into his palm, tightly.

“I heard that.”

“Heard what?” Daddy.

His head lifts from the couch to glare at you, his stare deadly, shooting right to the deepest parts of you. Why were you teasing him like this?

“Dad is the dinosaur one okay?” Henry calls from up the stairs, slowly making his way down and back to the couch.

“It’s perfect, Henry. Thank you.” Charlie takes the blanket from Henry and kisses the top of his forehead before he settles back on the couch, cuddling up next to his dad.

You unpause the movie, admiring the two of them every now and then, watching Henry becoming more and more sleepy as the film nears its end. As the credits roll, Charlie removes the blanket from around himself and moves it to wrap around Henry.

“I’m going to go tuck him in.” Charlie whispers to you. You nod sweetly at the two of them. Charlie carries Henry in his arms towards the stairs before Henry grumbles, calling out your name to you back on the couch.

“Will you come too?”

You look to Charlie for guidance, you don’t want to overstep any boundaries. You’ve never been in the upstairs part of their apartment, you’ve never seen the rest of their place, Henry’s room, Charlie’s room, their bathroom. You’d never seen any of it and it all felt incredibly intimate and incredibly wrong in some way. You didn’t want to accidentally see something you shouldn’t. But Charlie just smiles back at you and nods his head gently.

“Of course, Henry.” You follow them up the stairs, smiling at Henry who smiles that shiny little kid smile at you before laying his head back down on Charlie’s shoulder, resting his eyes again.

Henry’s bedroom is exactly like you imagined it would be. Colourful blue walls, vibrant comic book patterned bed sheets, toys absolutely everywhere yet Charlie avoids them like their place on the floor has meaning, like he’s ingrained it into his mind from stepping on them too many times, muscle memory. You stay in the doorway, leaning on the door frame watching them, not wanting to intrude.

Charlie carefully lowers Henry onto his bed, tucking him in the covers and kissing his forehead. He says sweet words to his son, lulling him further to sleep and Henry smiles dopily back at him, whispering a quiet ‘love you, dad.’

Charlie turns around to face you, he flicks his head in the direction of the stairway mouthing the word ‘go’ to you, you nod and head down the stairs, waiting for him in the living room. You decide to settle yourself at the foot of the couch, sitting on your knees, feeling the burn of the carpet again and waiting for your Charlie.

He descends the stairs slowly, achingly slowly. Making you wait for it, making you feel the weight in his steps, his foot pressing into the wood, applying his weight until he shifts down another step before finally, finally, making his way to you.

You look up at him from your place on the floor, you try not to let your mouth hang open as you gaze up at him, this beautiful man. Sometimes, when you look at him, you wonder if whatever god or gods were out there made him like this on purpose. Sent him here looking the way he does to taunt you, to test you. Test your strength, your will to defy him when you know there is no humanly way possible to deny this man of what he wants. And what he wants is you. Why would you say no? How could you?

After observing you on the floor below him, Charlie seats himself down on the couch like before, knees spread, looking down at you. You scoot closer to him, hoping he doesn’t tell you to stop. His hand comes to rest on his knee before he pats it.

“Lay your head down on me.” His voice rumbles in his chest. You think you feel it through the floorboards, through your knees, up your spine and in the pit of your stomach. You listen and scoot closer, resting your head on his bony knee, nuzzling it with your cheek and looking up at him through thick lashes. You continue looking at him as you press a tender kiss as well, just for fun.

The lights are dim in the living room, the time ticking closer to midnight, Henry asleep upstairs. You both had to be quiet, you both knew this. Charlie’s hand comes to brush against your cheekbone, he trails his index finger all along the valleys of your face and then moving into your hair, gripping the back of it into a fist before relaxing again, bringing his hand back to hold your cheek.

“I’ve missed this.” He says so quietly. You nod, biting your lip.

“Me too.” You say, eagerness beginning to fill your voice. You adjust your position, coming to lean further into him, closer to his crotch where you can tell he needs you. Charlie hums contentedly.

“Mhmmm. Tell me what exactly you missed. Who you missed.” You let your hand glide over his knee, over his muscular thigh and towards his crotch, feather light touches along the fabric of his pants. You could feel how hard he was, it seemed painful.

“You. I missed your cock too... Daddy.”

There it was. He found what he was looking for. His hand found its way into a fist again in your hair, tugging it tightly, his head falling back against the couch as you pressed your lips over his covered cock, straining in his pants.

“You can do better than that,” he groaned, voice almost as strained as his cock yet still so forceful, “show Daddy how much you really missed him.”

You whimper at his tone, your voices both so hushed, rasped and desperate, spurring each other on much quicker than usual. Your hands, shaky with desire, reached up for his belt, grasping the cold metal into your hands and unbuckling it as quickly as you could. Only when you got to his zipper, did Charlie stop you with a light tap to your cheek.

“Teeth.” He scolded. You nodded.

You brought the zipper in between your teeth, biting down on the tiny piece of metal and slowly dragging it down over the hill his cock was creating in his pants. The heat radiating from his body was palpable, you could feel it coming onto your face the lower you dragged the zipper and the more he was revealed to you. You could also smell him, that smell that was undeniably Charlie; musky, earthy, a hit of fabric detergent and just the natural smell of his skin, like almonds in the summer. It made you dizzy, drunk off of him already.

You hadn’t even gotten him in your mouth yet.

You nuzzled your face into his clothed crotch, feeling his hard member pressing into your cheek, you could feel it pulsing, you could feel him wanting, waiting for the moment your mouth would take his length as far back as you could. You whimpered at the thought.

“You like it? You like my cock?”

“Yeah, I love it.”

“Then show me with that pretty fucking mouth of yours.” He sneered, pulling harder on your hair. You hummed and smiled, you felt giddy, maybe you really were drunk. You nuzzled your face into his crotch one more time before bringing both of your hands up to his waist, letting your fingertips dance around his beautiful skin that lay revealed to you above the waistband, you lean up, up, up pressing the softest, delicatest kisses to his skin.

Charlie groaned, pressing on the back of your head, pushing your face further into his tummy. You left more and more kisses before you gave him a tentative bite, not letting your teeth sink in too much before you lave your tongue over the abused flesh.

“Fuck that feels- fucking good.” Charlie moaned, looking down at the new mark that would only darken itself by tomorrow as more blood rushes to the affected area. It was placed beautifully next to his hip bone. You think it looked pretty. So did he.

You finally let your fingertips dip into his waistband but not before latching your teeth onto the stretchy fabric as well, aiding your fingers in removing them. You dragged it down, down, down his skin, just until his cock sprang free and laid heavy on his lower stomach. Charlie hissed, his hips bucking slightly from the sudden freedom.

He has the prettiest cock you think you’d ever seen. You never get used to seeing it, taking it in your mouth or your cunt. The stretch is always so painfully good, you’ve come to crave it. And going without it for the past however many weeks has made you near delirious for it. You stick your tongue out and run it all along the underside right to the very tip, where a shiny, pearly bead of precum has just begun to spill over. You hum as you lick it up, eyes nearly rolling back into your head.

“Don’t be a fucking tease.” Charlie grits from behind clenched teeth. You look up at him innocently, you notice that he’s clenching and unclenching his jaw like clockwork, his eyes look glassy and his cheeks are a few shades darker. He already looks so disheveled, so perfect like this.

“I can’t help it… it’s so pretty.”

“You think Daddy has a pretty cock?” You nod your head, humming, which you can’t seem to stop doing tonight, he just has you feeling so content, so safe. You don't think you could be like this with anyone else. You trace your fingers along his length, watching it bob from the slightest of touches, even Charlie tries to bite back his groans.

“Can-can I kiss it?”

“Please.” You lower your head towards his length, pressing your lips so softly onto his red angry head, giving little kitten licks in between kisses which has Charlie gripping your hair like a vice, afraid you’ll float away. You like the way his stomach flexes in response to your touch, like his body is bracing himself for the tidal wave of pleasure that’s bound to hit at any moment.

You finally take the spongy pink head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before letting a few inches fall past your lips as well. Charlie’s tummy flexes even more, the v shaped muscle becoming more and more prominent and you moan onto his cock. His free hand that had been clenched into a fist comes to hold one side of your head and the other comes to meet it. He holds your head in his hands and forces you to take more of him, but not all of it just yet. You start bobbing your head up and down on his length, his hands helping you find his ideal speed.

“Fuck yes, oh my god, j-just like that-” Charlie moans your name, his fingernails digging into your scalp making you moan on his cock again, only making him dig deeper, pressing your head further down his length, forcing you to take him until he hits the back of your throat.

“Gonna let Daddy f-fuck that pretty little whore mouth of yours?” You let your jaw go slack more than it already has and do your best to nod with his cock half way down your throat, tears already beginning to brim in the corner of your eyes. Charlie starts lifting his hips off the couch slightly, all the while moving your head further up and down his cock, forcing it down your throat as far as it’ll go without you making obscenely loud gagging noises.

His son was asleep right upstairs, after all.

You let your eyes roll back into your head, letting Charlie take control and just fuck his cock into your mouth like you know he needs to, like he knows you need it too. It’s been too fucking long. Too fucking long since he’s had you like this. At his disposal, his little plaything to do whatever he pleases with. And you fucking love it.

The cool, sharp metal of his unzipped zipper digs into your jaw and occasionally your neck, biting into your skin and scratching your skin when Charlie lifts his hips up particularly high but you don’t care. In fact, you welcome the pain, embracing it as a mark of Charlie’s rough loving. You hope it draws blood.

“Fuck, your mouth i-is so fucking perfect, so warm... I don’t-” He doesn’t finish his sentence, his eyes screw shut and you can feel his cock growing impossibly harder. He looks down at you, his face twisted in absolute pleasure as he loses himself in your tight little mouth. He pulls you off his cock with all of his strength. A trail of saliva connecting your spit swollen lips to the head of his cock. You start pumping him quickly with your fist.

“No-no wait I don’t…”

“I want it Charlie, please,” Charlie throws his head back, moaning your name, “cum in my mouth... please.”

You nearly whine that last part. Charlie grabs your hair and tugs it, shaking your head a bit.

“I want to fuck you, I don’t wanna cum yet- FUCK!” You hadn’t stopped your hand movements, your fist moving faster over his cock while he fights his release.

“You can fuck me tomorrow.” You say quickly before attaching your lips around the head of his cock, sucking on it until you feel his thighs, abdomen, hands, mind and soul tense up before he bites back his guttural moans, letting them rumble through his chest like thunder passing, before spilling himself onto your tongue. You moan as it lands, letting it slide down your throat as you taste him, taste all of him until he’s completely drained.

You look up at him through heavy lashes, coated thick in tears that have streamed down your cheeks. Chest heaving, abdomen pulled taught, cheeks incredibly flushed, lips swollen, eyes heavy and tired. Completely spent. He looked so beautiful, your Charlie. So beautiful like this.

“S-show me.” His hand reaches for your jaw, pinching your cheeks to force your jaw and mouth open. You stick your tongue to show him. All gone, you swallowed all of his cum, for him.

“Good girl.” He whispered, patting your cheek affectionately. You smiled sweetly at him, coming up with your hands resting your weight on his thighs, pressing your swollen lips to his. As you extend your knees to stand, you feel the ache in the joints, the bruises already present, no doubt. You loved the pain. Your lips glide effortlessly across each other, so tired, so worn out but always wanting.

“Stay, please.” He says against your lips. You shake your head, no. It was a simple answer. A simple predicament.

“Henry.” 

You pull back to look into Charlie’s eyes, he pulls you into his lap and he winces as you apply just a bit too much weight onto the base of his cock. You look into his eyes, already so sad at the idea of you leaving. But Henry would ask too many questions in the morning.

Why is the nice lady from next door still here, Dad?

Did she stay the night, Dad?

Did she sleep in your bed, Dad?

You and Mom’s bed, Dad?

“I know, I know.” Charlie says, defeated. He presses you into his chest, hugging you to him tightly, tighter than you were expecting. It was a hopeful thought. He understood why it couldn’t happen, couldn’t work. Maybe he just wanted you to entertain the idea for a minute with him. Maybe it would happen one day.

“I really did miss you.” He whispers into your hair, cradling the back of your head with his large, warm hand, pressing you further into the nook of his neck.

“I did too. I really missed you too, Charlie.”

MARCH - BROOKLYN

Charlie was currently back from his third visit to Los Angeles, hunting burroughs for the perfect new home for himself and for Henry. Maybe for you as well, but Charlie didn’t like to dwell on that for too long, he couldn’t allow himself such hopeful thoughts, he would only be let down. 

Would you really want to move in with him? Was that moving too quickly? Would you think he was insane? Crazy? Obsessed? The truth was, he is all of those things; insane, crazy, obsessed with you. He couldn’t help it, no. Not when it came to you.

He would always be desperate for your affection, your attention.

Things were escalating with the divroce. Nicole and Charlie had turned bitter, viscous, backstabbing, conniving. Both fighting for a child who has no intention of hurting anyone, certainly not his mother or father.

Henry had no idea what weight his actions or words held, no idea what it meant when someone came over to observe him and his dad, or him and his mom. When they sent someone out to New York to watch him there, sometimes you would be over too. They asked you so many questions, he didn’t understand why. Why were strangers suddenly so involved in every little thing his parents did? Were they in trouble? Were they bad people? Was he a bad kid? Did they hate him?

Henry pouts as you hold his hand, walking up the driveway to the new apartment Charlie was almost one hundred percent decided on renting. It was in more of a family oriented neighbourhood, still close to his school. Somehow, it had a decent sized backyard (which you had never heard of in New York, even Brooklyn), three bedrooms, an office, a beautiful kitchen, it was basically perfect in Charlie’s eyes.

The first time he visited it back in February, he sent you dozens of pictures and little videos when he had gone alone. He quickly booked another appointment for you to go and look at him with it so he could get your opinion. He made it very clear how important your opinion was to him on this matter, he was always asking you questions about the apartment, even bringing it up randomly. He would scroll through the pictures he had taken, scrutinizing every detail and ask you about it.

Do you think the backyard is big enough?

What if I end up getting Henry a dog? Would there be enough space for that?

Do you really like the kitchen? Be honest.

What about the office room? Do I really need that? Is that too much?

What about the guest bedroom?

You wonder if he was so invested in your opinion because he trusted you, or because he wanted you to move in with them. Neither of you had ever spoken about it before, never had that conversation. And even if you did, Henry would always have the final say. If he didn’t want you living with them, well, that was that. You couldn’t argue with Henry, not when his childhood and upbringing was in question. Especially after this divorce. Charlie would do anything for him. Even if it meant risking you.

//

Charlie ended up getting the house he had been eyeing for nearly a month.

Him and Henry would restart here, no painful memories embedded in the walls, in the flooring, in the holes in the walls, the slammed door frames, the windows that threatened to shatter from all the screaming and crying. None of that was here, it would never be here. None of that would happen again.

Charlie hadn’t asked you to move in.

And you hadn’t necessarily been waiting on him asking either.

You were already coming over pretty frequently. And not just on account of Charlie, Henry still loved seeing you and hanging out with you. You still babysat him when things at the theatre ran late. 

When Nicole moved to LA, Charlie was thrown full force into his work. Forced to recast, rework, and rewrite so many things that she had just left hanging. You watched Henry those nights, stayed until Charlie got home and then took the subway back to your place, next to their now vacant apartment.

You were so lonely those nights you couldn’t sleepover at Charlie’s. You missed his warmth. You hadn’t realized just how much comfort you got knowing he was just next door, just beyond a thick wall. You could have touched it and felt his presence radiating through. But now, nothing. It was cold, dark, empty, meaningless.

And because Charlie had been so overworked for the past few months, the stress was starting to get to him. The constant obstacles and backtracking in the theatre production. The random calls from Nicole, his lawyer, the random flights down to LA, the weeks Henry spent away from him, the nights he lost himself in you, using you as an outlet. You let him, you liked it when he took it out on you, you liked how rough he would get, all that pent up anger being pounded out into your hot cunt. You loved it. Loved when he got mad, frustrated. You were always there for him. You would always be there for him, you hoped he knew that.

But what you didn’t love, was when he started neglecting you.

He would go days sometimes without calling you, so much as even texting you. You would get no word from him for a couple of days and sometimes you would just randomly piece together that he was in LA and he just forgot to tell you. You tried to not let it upset you, you couldn’t imagine what he was going through, the stress of the divorce, the potential of losing Henry, his whole life hanging by a thread. It really wasn’t his fault that he just forgot to mention it to you.

Sometimes he would lash out at you, a small comment or action rubbing him the wrong way and he would erupt, say something he didn’t mean or just walk out on you. Times when things go heated, you tried your best to keep you composure for his sake. He didn’t need you being upset at him too on top of everything else, so you kept it in, for Charlie.

Sometimes he would lash out before you two went out with his theatre friends. He would smile and hug everyone, but kept somewhat of a distance from you. Barely speaking to you, barely including you in the conversation unless someone else asked you a question or directly addressed you. What did you look like to them? Friends? Friends with benefits? Did you look like his whore? The babysitter that he was secretly fucking?

You kind of were.

You drank a lot that night. He fucked you when you got back to his new place. He fell asleep quickly after. You pulled on your long sleeve shirt and nice dress pants that you had been wearing that night after laying next to his warm, sleeping body for thirty minutes, debating, thinking, worrying, dying inside.

You stood up and walked to the door, you looked back to find him watching you. You nervously tugged at your sleeves, staring back at him until he turned around, pushing his face into the pillow, as if silently willing you to leave. You left. You called a taxi and left. You didn’t sleep that night.

//

You think it was because he told you he was going to Los Angeles again.

Maybe he mentioned Nicole? His lawyer? Something about Henry? The theatre? 

You couldn’t remember what started all of this yelling, smashing. You were over at the new place, helping Charlie organize some things for Henry before he came back with him the next time he went out to LA again, which was in a few days.

Charlie was pissed and this time, you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold your calm resolve for him.

“Charlie if you just need some space from me tell me, it won’t hurt my feelings, I understand.” You decide to try and change the subject, maybe just cutting to the chase. Offering him what you think he wants, alone time. Time away from you, from everything. There’s no way he doesn’t need a break.

You hated how quickly you would give everything up for him. You would do anything for him, anything he asked.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asked, eyes squinting in confusion. You sigh, running a hand down your face, your patience was running thin and you didn’t want to accidentally set him off.

“Everytime you see me you manage to get frustrated or mad about something. I just don’t want to give you more problems than you already have. I know you’ve been really stressed.”

“Elaborate, please.” His voice was clipped as he put his hands on his hips, stopping what he was doing and turning to you, seemingly giving you more attention than he had in weeks. You huff, not sure how to explain this to him.

“Charlie I-”

“No, what the fuck are you trying to say? That if I fucking ended things you would just leave? No questions asked?” His voice boomed, echoing off the newly painted walls, shaking the frames of yours and Henry’s dinosaur paintings from all those months ago. 

He takes a step closer to you, you take one back, then another just for good measure. Your back hits the wall and you take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as best as you can with him staring at you with those eyes. Those fucking eyes. They still managed to twinkle even when he was angry.

“I- I would… for Henry. You put Henry first, I put Henry first. If he wanted me gone-”

“He doesn’t fucking want you gone, you know that.” Charlie scoffed, walking closer to you, his face red in frustration, maybe anger. He says your name, it's never sounded so sad.

“Why are you lying to me?” He’s a step away from you now, chest heaving with laboured breaths. He’s trying to compose himself, you can tell. Trying to stay calm but his patience was wearing thin.

“I’m not, I w-wouldn’t lie to you, Charlie.”

“You would leave me?” You nod your head, lip trembling, tears burning, stinging in your eyes, your breathing becoming heavy too. Was this it?

“If that’s what you wanted, if you want me to leave I would.”

“Why? Why would you do something so fucking stupid?” His lip is also trembling, you feel like he’s about to spit in your face, yell at you for being such an idiotic little girl. The thought alone had you squeezing your thighs together, this was so fucked. You shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t like when he got frustrated, you resented the fact that you did.

You couldn’t think straight, the words leaving your mouth didn’t feel your own, like you were speaking some other language, possessed by a foreign being.

“Be-because…” Bile rising in your throat, you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“Fucking why? Tell me why!” He was yelling, his face in yours and his voice breaking.

“Because I… because I love-”

And then Charlie was kissing you.

Charlie was kissing you.

His tongue swiped into your mouth like he was trying to strangle you with it. His hands came to your cheeks and pressed your body flush against his and the wall, sandwiched between the two. He was hard, you could feel his cock pressing into your stomach as he rolled his hips into you, you moaned into his mouth, tears spilling down your cheeks. He didn’t wipe them away.

“Don’t say it… don’t- fucking say it.” He said against your lips, voice so hush, so quiet and scared.

“Why? Why are you afraid of me?”

“I’m not fucking afraid of you.” He says, confused, angry, lips rough on your own. He keeps trying to kiss you, you don’t want to push him away but you try, you push on his tough chest, his heart beating wildly in its cage.

“Yes you are. You keep pushing me away.” You cry, hiccupping on a ragged sob that leaves your chest, as you ironically try to push him away from you. Charlie tries to kiss you through it, trying to suffocate you.

“I’m not.” He fights.

“You are.”

“I’m not-” You push, harder this time. He stumbles back, lips already swollen, his eyes are wet, glossy too. Like yours.

“You are!” You yell, voice breaking, choking on your tears. “Don’t act like you haven’t been treating me differently for the past month.”

When Charlie says nothing, you continue.

“You don’t call me, you don’t text me, I only come over to babysit Henry when he’s here and when he’s in LA you just fuck me and then get mad about something and leave. When we go out you don’t look at me, you don’t touch me-” Your voice falters, you’re not sure you can go on with the way the sobs wrack through your chest and into the rest of your body. You feel weak, like you might collapse into the ground. You wish you would, you wish the floor would just swallow you up and you could disappear.

Charlie sees red. His fists shake, clenched into fists at his side after you’ve pushed him away. His palms burn to touch you. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows he should listen to what you’re saying, let you talk, remind him how much he’s been hurting you. He knows what he’s doing, he’s not stupid.

He wasn’t trying to push you away, he definitely wasn’t doing it on purpose. But he was sabotaging himself, sabotaging everything because he felt he didn’t deserve you. He was a bad father, a selfish person for wanting to take Henry away from his mother, for wanting Henry to himself, a bad person for hating Nicole, a woman he once loved.

Love.

It was all because of love wasn’t it? Charlie wants to laugh at the thought. Wants to laugh and scream and yell and hit something at the thought of stupid fucking love. Was he really becoming that nihilistic already?

Would he come to hate you like how he hates Nicole? Would you come to hate him the way he hates himself? The way Henry probably hates him? The way his parents hated him-

His knees hit a hard surface, blistering, blinding pain shooting up his legs. He’s collapsed onto the floor before he’s even aware of it. Unaware of the sobs that push and pull at his lungs, forcing his chest to heave in the oxygen before choking it back out along with spit and tears. 

He’s crying. You’re crying. Fuck, how did it come to this. This was all too familiar. He feels numb.

How could he love you when love was the scariest thing? When love was the most frightening emotion he had ever experienced. Everything that’s happened to him for the past two fucking years was because of love. Love would ruin everything. It always did. But he couldn’t…. he couldn’t lose-

“Y-you… you can’t- leave me.” He chokes, hands planted shakily on the floor, holding his upper body up, his arms weak.

You… you’ve never seen Charlie like this. And honestly? It scares you. Sure, you’ve heard him yell, scream, cry at Nicole, his lawyer over the phone. But this was different. This was visceral, burning desire, regret, shame, embarrassment… this was everything coming crashing down around him at once.

Fuck.

This is what you’ve been trying to avoid over the past month. That’s why you’ve tiptoed around him, letting him get angry, letting him yell, letting him ignore you, use you, fuck you and ask for nothing in return. You were avoiding this.

But maybe you had just prolonged the explosion? Let enough gas build up before it eventually burst into flames.

Eventually…

You had definitely made this worse, by ignoring it you’ve let it fester, let it rise and rise and rise, just pushing down the lid for your own sake. Maybe it was both of your own faults? You don’t know, you don’t care. This was bound to happen at some point. And it just so happened to be today. All you really care about is Charlie.

You kneel down on the floor in front of him, resting your palm on the floor like he has, letting your pinky finger graze against his. The slightest of touch as to not scare him off. He flinches, his head still hung low, eyes screwed shut.

You place your hand on top of his, feeling his burning skin, testing the waters. He doesn’t pull back so you continue your efforts. You intertwine your fingers with his, slowly, slowly lifting his hand up off the ground and closer to you. He still doesn’t look up. You keep moving his hand until it’s on your chest, covering your left breast. Only then does he look up, searching your eyes.

He feels it then. That same thing he felt the first time… the first time he had you. Your beating heart, pumping wildly in your chest just like his was. Did you know? Did you know what you did to him? Did you know how much he needed you, how much he thinks of you? Did you know that he… that he-

“I won’t.” You say, cutting him off mid thought. His hand clutches onto you through the fabric of your shirt, trying to reach through you and grab your heart into his hands. He wants to pull it from you, keep it for himself and lock it away, make sure you never fucking leave him. He was so selfish.

“I won’t leave you Charlie.” You say again when he says nothing, just watching his hand twist into the fabric of your shirt, tugging it strangely until he’s rid you of it. He places his hand back on your chest, feeling your heart better now through the barrier of only your flesh.

“I…. I’m sorry.” “You said you wouldn’t lie to me?” It feels like the first thing he’s said in hours, his voice rough around the edges, gooey in the middle. His post-yelling voice, you knew it too well.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Then why… why would you even say that? That you would leave me?”

“Because if that’s what you wanted, what you needed… I would do it. I would do anything you wanted, anything for you, Charlie.”

“Why?” He couldn’t understand. There was no fathamobale reason as to why he would deserve such devotion. Especially from you. 

You’re quiet, unsure of how to answer him. This was the same back and forth you both had before he exploded, when you almost told him you… that you lo-

“I-I don’t know how to answer… you told me not to say it.” You whimper, tears spilling from your eyes again. His hand comes to hold your cheek, thumb swiping away the tear. You nuzzle into his hand, kissing his palm. You stay there for a moment, resting your face in his palm, feeling his warmth radiating from his hands, letting a silence wash over the two of you. It was sort of peaceful. A chaotic peace.

“Charlie, I-”

“Don’t... don’t say it.” You cry some more, tears spilling. His hand moves to your throat, squeezing gently, you find it oddly comforting.

“But I want to, I want to say it, please.” You grab the wrist of the hand holding your throat, squeezing his flesh, asking.

“No.”

“Charlie-”

“I said no.” He grabs your jaw, shaking you from side to side a little. You whimper, eyes screwing shut, pushing more tears past the precipice. He pulls you into his lap, you’re putty in his hands, letting him move you however he needs to move you. He holds you in his arms, your legs wrap around his waist and his legs bring him to stand up somehow, his strength always shocking you.

“You can’t say it... you can’t leave.” He continues, you sniffle, hiding your face in his neck, grabbing onto his hair as he carries you somewhere through the apartment, up some stairs…

“I’m sorry, Charlie, I’m- sorry.” You hiccup and cry into his neck, wetting the skin. You press your lips over the newly wet skin, feeling his heartbeat flutter underneath, teeth grazing the thin flesh.

Suddenly he’s lowering you down, down, down until you come in contact with a soft surface, his mattress. Charlie crawls on top of you, you let him rest between your thighs, keeping your legs up high on his waist.

“Don’t ever fucking leave me.” You shake your head from side to side in agreement with him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. His hand trails down the length of your body roughly, burning your flesh in its unforgiving path. You’re left only in your jeans since he removed your shirt when you were still downstairs.

“I won’t, I-I didn’t mean-” You can barely form a proper sentence, choking on your own tears and sadness that wrack through your mind and body. Charlie’s hand in already palming your sex through the thick denim you wear, you whimper, trying to squeeze your thighs together but his body blocks them.

“Stop talking.” He barely gets out the words before he’s pressing his lips to yours again, letting his lips glide against your wobbly and swollen ones. You breathe each other in, letting your tongues dance across one anothers as you gasp and cry into his mouth. It’s all teeth and all tongue, it’s messy, clumsy, desperate, burning. You don’t care, he doesn’t either when your teeth clack against each other, nibbling on lips, biting sometimes.

Charlie flips you over underneath him so that you face the sheets, sliding down your body and roughly tugging down your jeans along with your underwear in one swift motion. You gasp as your wet cunt comes in contact with the cool air of the darkening day. Charlie stands on his knees behind you, pulling your ass up higher, higher, higher until he’s satisfied. His cheeks are warm, his ears pink at the peaks. Before either of you even have time to think, his hand comes down harshly onto your right ass cheek, you cry out, gripping the sheets by your head.

“Ch-Charlie!” You gasp, earning you another smack to your other cheek. You push your head down into the covers, trying to muffle your cries and moans as he keeps going.

His smacks you again, and again, and again and again until you’re a sobbing mess in the sheets. Words, languages lost to you in your muddled brain. A pool of spit near your mouth soaked into the white fabric, only a wet spot remaining to show for evidence of your euphoria. You can feel the imprint of his hand on your ass, you know it's burning red, you know the skin is raised and puffy. You fucking love it.

Charlie’s chest is heaving, breaths labored as he takes it all out on you like he knows you need it, knows you love it. He does too; love it and need it. The way your ass gets so much brighter, how big the imprint he’s left on you is. How fucking perfect you are for him... He’s pulling off his shirt before he knows it, shedding his pants too until he’s in nothing but his underwear. You’ve stayed exactly where you are, not daring to move a muscle since he hasn’t instructed you otherwise.

“So now you listen.” Charlie mutters to himself, it's barely audible to you since the blood is coursing so loudly through your veins, through your ears. You’re buzzing.

Charlie pushes you back down on the mattress so you lay completely flat. He pulls your jeans and underwear down the rest of your legs until you lay there bare before him. He inhales sharply at the sight of you. He could see the way you glisten for him, he could feel it on his hand when he had spanked you, your arousal having begun to trail down the tops of your thighs, he moaned at the sight.

His hand comes flying down, this time spanking you roughly on your pussy causing you to lurch forward into the sheets, crying out his name pathetically again. He leans over you, keeping his hand clutched tightly around your cunt, feeling your juices seep between his fingers, you moan and try to press back into his hand but he just slaps it again, your eyes screwing shut. He’s nearly got his entire weight on top of you, his hot breath fanning across your cheek as he comes close to your face.

“You’re so fucking wet for me… you want it that badly?” You nod your head vigorously.

“Yes! Yes, Charlie I want you, I-I need you so badly, please.”

“Hmmm, what do you need?”

“Anything, y-your fingers…”

“Where”

“... in me, in me please.” You’re completely desperate, your crying and sobbing from earlier making you especially weak to his ways, his voice, his body. God, he could do anything to you, and you would let him, you would beg him, you would thank him.

Slowly, Charlie sinks one thick finger into your soaking cunt. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he pumps it slowly, in and out, in and out of you. You try and push your hips back to meet the small thrust of his finger but he keeps you pinned down.

Charlie could feel you clenching around his single digit and he groaned next to your ear, nibbling on the soft lobe as he continued his ministrations. You whined, withered underneath the weight of his body, his hot chest pressing into your back, pressing you into the mattress. 

“Charlie, please I-”

“What? You need more? You need more from me?”

“Please.” Charlie draws his index finger out of you before joining it with his middle one, probing your entrance teasingly, swirling his fingers around it but never going in.

“Fuck-”

“Do you think you deserve it?” He didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve you, your pussy, none of it. He was only projecting his worthlessness onto you. He didn’t mean it, he couldn’t.

“N-no.” You say, tears welling in your eyes from a multitude of things. Overstimulation being one of them. You tried to get your hips to stop pressing into his hand but it was so hard when the temptation was right there.

“No… you don’t.” He kisses the tears that slip from your eye, pressing a finger to your mouth and you gladly take it in, laving your tongue around his salty, rough skin. His two fingers at your entrance finally push in deeper, causing you to cry out around his finger that was in your mouth, drool slipping past your lips.

Then he starts pumping, quickly, and you can’t stop the way your hips push into his hand, trying to meet him halfway through his thrusts, needing more so badly. You moan around his fingers, he echoes your moans back into your ear. You can feel his cock filling out, getting harder and harder against the back of your legs where it still lays confined in his underwear.

All too quickly he pulls his fingers from you and spanks your pussy again, you choke on a cry around the finger that’s still in your mouth. You’re already wrecked, and he’s nowhere near done with you.

“You only get to cum on my cock, understand?” You nod your head with vigour, eyes trying to meet his from where he’s positioned, behind you yet over top of you. You can feel him moving around, pulling his fingers from your mouth and his underwear off as best as he can without moving too far away from you.

“I understand, Charlie.” You cry, the tears unrelenting at this point, beyond your control.

Fuck, what weas he doing? Why was he doing this now?

What other way did he really have though, to show you what you mean to him? Definitely not words, no. No matter how much he writes for the theatre, words could never come close to describing what he feels for you, what he needs from you, wants from you, what he wants to give to you, tell you, provide you. None of it, no language would do.

Nothing would come closer to his body on you, in you, moving in tandem with you, hearts so close together that he loses sense of himself and just feels you wrapped so tightly around him in every sense. That’s the only way he could show you, the only way he could tell you.

He grabs his cock in his hand, pumping himself slowly and rests his head on your shoulder, groaning into your skin at the sensation. “Beg.” He spits, his lips moving against your flesh. He rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds and you yelp, pressing your hips back but he anticipated it, drawing his hips back, away from you.

“Charlie, please I-I need you so badly, I’ve never wanted… anything else but you, I just- please, I need you so bad, I-I, l...love-”

“I told you not to fucking say it.” He grits from behind clenched teeth, slapping your ass harshly and you let a sob leave your lips. The burn was so good.

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t help it-” You whine, fists bunching up the sheets with a grip so deadly your skin is turning white. He lets his head drop to your shoulder again, his own eyes screwing shut, trying to will his own tears away as he continues to run his cock along your pleading entrance, collecting whatever arousal has seeped out of you.

“Fuuuck, perfect little pussy... so desperate for my cock, isn’t it?” He mutters, almost to himself as he watches the way his cock moves between your glistening folds. Unashamed, you keep crying, moaning at the feeling of his big cock so close to where you need him most, nodding your head.

“Please, Charlie I need you inside m- fuck, just put it in, please-”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel him press in with the tip, letting the spongy head break through your folds and slightly dip into your entrance. Your fists clench and unclench against the sheets. With a sharp ‘fuck’ Charlie presses the rest of his long, thick cock into you, both of you moaning and breathing in one another.

He lets his cock sit in you, coming to interlock his fingers with yours, pinning your hands above your head, elongating both of your bodies but mostly yours, from how much longer his body is. Only then does he start snapping his hips into yours, letting his thrusts punch out your moans and cries from your chest.

At this angle, he’s hitting places inside of you so deep you never thought you could fathom, filling you up to the brim, you swear you can feel him in your stomach, punching your guts into your throat with every violent thrust.

You moan his name without relent, it’s the only thing you could possibly ever know. Charliecharliecharliecharliecharlie to infinity. You never wanted to know anything else, no other thought suddenly as interesting as him. He was the only thing that mattered. The way his cock filled you was dizzying, mind-numbing, and bone-shattering.

“You always need me so badly, you could never leave me, never leave this cock. Desperate little slut.” Charlie groans, head resting on your back as his powerful thrusts push you up the bed. He latches a hand around one of your hips, trying to keep you pinned down.

“You would never fucking leave me, you’d never fucking do it.” He continues, maybe to himself. You can feel him nuzzling his face into the skin on your shoulder, kissing and biting the skin, leaving a mark in his wake like he always does.

“I won’t, Charlie- I won’t, I promise.” You hiccup, his thrusts unrelenting in their assault. You could feel your release building, that bright white feeling rising inside of you. The only sounds in the room were your breathy moans, Charlie’s growls and the loud slap of skin on skin, his hips colliding with your ass every time.

“Dont ever say that s-shit again- dont ever fucking leave me. Don’t - ever. Fucking. Leave.” He growled, biting your shoulder and punctuating his words with harsher thrusts, fucking into you.

“I’m s-sorry Charlie-” You’re cut off by a sensation on your back. Hot, wet, slippery. Charlie sniffles. 

He’s crying, burning holes into your flesh as they land on your back. Your own eyes well up all over again. The pleasure of his cock deep, deep, deep inside you and the emotions flowing through both of you was overwhelming, overstimulating, your mind was going blank, you felt like you would black out.

You hear it then, his quiet cries, the way his chest shakes as he finally lets it go, lets it out. And then he’s suddenly pulling out of you, grabbing one of your ankles and one side of your hip, flipping you over quickly, hiking your legs back up around his waist and continuing his punishing, relentless pace. You moan embarrassingly loudly as you watch the way his stomach flexes into you, the way his chest tightens and constricts, the flush that spreads from in between his marvelous pecs to his cheeks, his dark wet eyes, the red that fills them, the way his eyelashes clump together, making them look longer, darker, the dark halo of hair that frames his face. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

It was beyond you at this point, you couldn’t stop what was already put into motion.

“Oh, Charlie…” You cry, chest arching into his, your nails scraping his biceps. He moans at the pain, dropping his forehead to yours. You’ve never heard him moan like this, never seen him cry like this, never seen him so lost and completely gone in you.

Even if it was a mistake.

Even if you would regret it tomorrow.

Or five minutes from now.

Or immediately afterwards.

It was the truth, your truth. His truth. It was the only thing you could ever possibly know.

“I love you.” You cry, burning tears streaming down your cheeks. Charlie’s eyes meet yours, lost, delirious, shocked.

“You… y-you can’t.” He doesn’t tell you to stop this time. Doesn’t tell you to shut up, doesn’t tell you how dumb and pathetic it is to love him. You love him.

“I do, Charlie I-I do. Fuck, I love you so fucking much.” You whine, nails biting the skin on his back. His hips never stop, he’s fucking common sense and all things rational out of your mind. All you know is him. All you ever want to know is him, Charlie.

His chin wobbles, moans escape past his lips as he refuses to stop fucking you, his cock so fucking hard it hurts him, almost more than this. Almost more than the chant that has started to leave your lips, the floodgates have been opened and you can’t stop your confession now.

“I love you, I love you- shit, Charlie I love you, I love you so much, I love your fucking cock, fuck!” You couldn't stop, you felt like you could never stop at this point. You never wanted to stop saying it, never wanted to stop telling him. You loved him, you loved him, you loved him.

“You’re… you’re not real… you’re- fuck, too fucking good for m-me.” Charlie gasps, his hips speeding up, his cock growing harder somehow. You feel him pulse inside of you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, mouth hanging agape, no sound being emitted from you. Charlie moves his lips down to your exposed throat, kissing and sucking on the delicate skin before wrapping a firm hand around it, not squeezing too tight.

“Yours.” You manage to choke out, gripping onto his wrist that's at your throat with all the strength you had with your body gone pleasure weak. Charlie moans your name, it makes you cry more.

“I’m yours, Charlie.” You manage to say more clearly, using all your willpower to look him in the eyes. His eyes are blown black, the dark circles underneath them so, so pigmented. You could feel the crescendo building, he was about to break. His lips were glossy, spit slicked and roughly bitten.

“You’re mine.” He confirms, more to himself than to you. He just… he felt like he could never be sure enough. Like he would never believe that you were his. That you were in love with him.

You nod your head, hands interlocking behind his head, gripping tightly into his hair.

“I’m yours, yours.” You keen, hips rolling into his as you both neared your release. His hand around your throat keeps you pinned in place as his fucks you into the mattress, moaning, groaning, crying your name. The slight added pressure makes you see stars, your pussy flutters around his cock and your back arches, pressing your chest into his but Charlie keeps you exactly where you are, your body convulsing as you cum, cum, cum around his cock, screaming his name.

“M’gonna cum, gonna f-fucking cum s-so deep inside, fill you up-”

“Please, Charlie.” You whine, dumb from the high that he continues to fuck you through, tears stained on the skin of your cheeks. You tug on his hair roughly, meeting his thrusts with a roll of your hips and that sends Charlie over the edge.

“Fhuuuck-” He lifts his head slightly, to look at you better as he splits you open one final time, his cock stilling in the deepest parts of you before he cums so fucking deep inside your pussy with the most guttural moan.

He fucks his cum back in to you until it’s seeping back out onto his cock. He groans so loudly you feel it in your bones. His hands wrap around your upper body, holding you tightly as he spins to lay on the mattress, holding your body to his chest, his cock still nestled deep inside of you.

Charlie gives you a small thrust, pushing and mixing his cum with yours one final time. You gasp and cling to him, your nails digging slightly into his muscular pec at the sensation, the delicious burn. You feel so incredibly full, so full of your Charlie. You love him.

“I lo-”

“I love you.”

Your heart must have stopped beating, your lungs, forgotten their functionality, your brain short circuited, your limbs incapacitated.

You looked up at him with those big, shiny wet eyes. You looked like a fawn, lost on the side of the road who just found someone who could help them. Someone kind, someone gentle, honest, safe, warm. Someone worth loving. He was worth loving. Charlie was worth loving.

But you already knew that.

He said it again, so low in the dark room, the dark night, eclipsed with spilled feelings and sweat, tears too. So many fucking tears. His voice so low it almost didn’t register, the deep vibrato rumbling your insides and warming you up all over again. 

He said it with you curled up on his chest, he said it again when you moved up his body to press your face into the crook of his neck, pressing your lips to his bruised skin, he said it as tears spilled from your eyes. He would say it as you fell asleep on him in the deadly hours of the night and again in the morning when you woke. He would remind you constantly, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold it in. Not anymore.

He would tell you he loves you a million and one times from then on, until you didn’t want to hear it from him anymore. 

tag list! @morby @shesakillerkween @gamingaquarius​ 

#charlie barber #charlie barber x reader #reader insert #charlie barber x you #charlie barber imagine #charlie barber smut #long sleeves #part 2 #tw: daddy kink #cw: daddy kink #my writing

[screeching-0wl]

Hey! So my deck is not much useful for past life readings, is it possible for you do a past life reading for me?

I wanted to know if I had a past life in Ancient Greece and about my parentage in that life to be specific. I've had some doubts and dreams and such but I wasn't able to confirm anything.

My initials are PS, my zodiac sign is Virgo, and my first name is Pratishtha.

I really wish I could give you a tip on Ko-fi but it's not even a thing in India so that wouldn't be possible but I can promise you a tarot reading. I'm pretty good at going really in-depth, esp when reading for others. Thank you! ❤

Alright, so I found no past lives where you were Ancient Greek specifically, however there was a life which was technically somewhat connected to Ancient Greece and Rome, but more so Ancient Rome, I suppose.

But damn, this past life reading was incredible. I got such strong visuals that it all gave me goosebumps! Aahh I'm still freaking out haha ❤

The cards:

The reading:

You were a powerful woman. You lived in Ancient Egypt (the Roman and Byzantine times, AD years; maybe somewhere around 400s).

You were incredibly wise, brave, caring and merciful but also secretive. You were a priestess of Isis, I think you participated or maybe even led The Mysteries of Isis. You were widely respected, famous even and people viewed you as an authority figure.

You were very beautiful too. The visuals I got for this reading were super clear; I could see you very well, and oh Gods, it looked incredible. Your hair was jet black, your eyes hazel and very mysterious, deep and piercing. Your face was adorned with makeup. You were also wearing some appropriate attire, as in this particular vision you appeared to be in the mids of some ritual. It was dark but the place was lit with the light of the fire, maybe some candles or torches. Your gaze was what I can remember the most and how focused, calm and passionate you looked.

Now, back to other aspects of this life; your childhood was very happy and fulfilled. You came from a wealthier family and had a good relationship with your parents and I think you also had 3 siblings. You were curious and independent from a very young age.

For a period of time you had to somewhat hide the fact that you were in fact a priestess these were times of religious tension. You didn't want to do that. You despised it but did it for safety. You performed rites and helped people in secret.

I think you also helped children a lot or they may have liked you. Maybe some of them viewed you as a teacher or a mother figure. It also seemed to me you could've worked with orphans, provided them with care or maybe kind of adopted them even.

Sadly, you were prosecuted for "heathenry". You were abducted at night when you were trying to go somewhere. Since you were a powerful figure among people it was done in secret. People thought you just dissappeared but some may have suspected it wasn't a coincidence.

You didn't resist. You had known it might happen eventually and you were aware of the consequences your actions and practice carried with them. I think you could've been taken away, then thrown into some body of water, maybe from a certain height and drowned.

Towards the end of the fourth century, Christian Emperors increasingly restricted the practice of non-Christian religions. Later, sometime near the start of the fifth century, the mystery cults died out, so it was very likely the one you were a part of did, too.

The lessons of this life are that sometimes it's better, less painful to let go, take a step back or allow yourself to fall even, so that you can rise much stronger, instead of still holding on and hurting the same. There are things we have either very little control over or none at all. They are not for us to take care of nor are they our responsibility.

Try not to blame yourself for them and know that change is not bad. Changing your mind is not bad nor it is a sign of weakness. The same applies to making mistakes. It takes a great deal of courage to accept and embrace change. Surrender yourself to it or even be it.

I hope you like it and that it resonates with you! 💜

#tarot #asks #past life reading

[highpriestess13]

Water Signs Reading!

For my fellow water signs! Some of you may be dealing with a Taurus or another Pisces or you may have these in your placement. Leo was another sign that came up for you so you could be dealing with a Leo or you may have this in your placement. Right now, you're needing to release having the need to have control over every aspect pf your life and this may also be releasing the need to have control over others as well. In order for things to come into your life, you're needing to be in your natural energy which is, ebb and flow. You're also needing to honor your feelings as well. There may be something or someone you need to cut ties with because I feel that these people, places, things and situations may have a very tight grip on you right now. You're needing to honor who you are as an individual, don't let people discredit and invalidate you all because you may not feel the same way as them! You may also need to work on your root and crown chakra at this time as well.

There may have been something that you been putting a lot of time and energy into, this could be a project or something that may have to do with self or others but it's definitely something that took roughly around 7 years or more. I also feel like you've planting many seeds over the years but there may have been times when you could've lost hope or faith in the process. This could've been plans that you were hoping would happen, but some things may have stopped you from fully achieving these goals or stopped you from heading towards the direction you were hoping to go. Remember that what was lost will be regained, know that all will be well just don't lose faith within yourself and the divine as they are doing their very best to assist and guide you the best way they can. I'm also seeing, after having some kind of financial lost or money problems, something good comes out of it. For others of you, you're needing to get out of your comfort zone. You're too comfortable being in lack, this may be a lack mindset, self-doubt, your ego getting the very best of you. You're being called to come out of this energy that's blocking and hindering you from moving forward and seeing that the world is your oyster, you're more than capable of creating your own reality but it's all up to you at the end of the day if you want to change what you no longer want.

I see that there may have been many conflicts, fights, arguments or conflicting energies around you for a while, possibly from your childhood. Some of you may have had to grow up fast or become mature at a very young age. You had responsibilities to fulfill even though they weren't yours to begin with, but you had to do them regardless. You could be seeing the numbers, 5,55,555 or 5555. You could have siblings, possibly younger than you as well, you may have had to compete with your siblings or maybe compete for the attention that you never received growing up, which could be the reason why you may have an issue with your temper. I also feel that in the past, you have been looked over or the opportunities that were being given to you weren't what you wanted or wished for so, you may have felt as though you needed to take control in order to get things done the way you wanted them to be done. For others of you, I feel a sense of settling for less than what you needed or asked for.

Right now, you're being asked to flow with the energies within you, this may be your intuition as well. Just like stated before, honor your feelings, don't be afraid to express yourself along with your wants and needs and be sure to do it in a loving and calming way. Transmute that anger that you have and turn it into love and compassion. I'm not saying to get rid of it, as it is a part of who you are, some things don't need a reaction. A lot of you are going towards happiness and healing, for some of you, you may be receiving an offer from another water sign or a Leo. If this is an opportunity for new love, I feel as though this person will help you with your healing journey, this person will help you to become the best version of yourself that's been in hiding for so long. This person is also very patient and humble as well. For others of you, this could be help and assistance from the divine to help you to heal any traumas and triggers that you may have. You're not going to heal within the next 24 hours, healing takes time, it's a journey worth enjoying because you get to realize parts of yourself you've either hidden from others or were forced to hide. A lot of you are going to be feeling very abundant very soon, I feel like things will start to work out in your favor as well.

* Advice* There's an entity around you that's been communicating with you possibly through intuition or through signs, synchronicities, and dreams. You could be seeing feathers a lot as well, this entity may be known as a Druid. Druids are priests, magicians or soothsayers in the ancient Celtic religion. So, you may have Celtic ancestors, or ancestors who were shamans, you may also have a close connection to nature, specifically trees, so you may connect with or deal with a lot of earth signs (Taurus, Virgo, and Capricorn). Some of you may be into holistic remedies, you may also be a green/ nature witch or just into herbs to help heal and cure certain ailments and diseases. You're needing to know that you're never alone, even when you may feel like you are, you're actually not. Many of you are very wise and a lot of the wisdom you know and hold within yourself has been planted into your DNA by your ancestors. They're wanting you to work and embrace the magick they've passed down to you. "Honor the physical vessel that enshrines your soul!"

#tarot #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #free readings #collective reading #water signs #hearth witch #ascension #witch #alignment #dailymessage #spiritual journey #spirit work #spiritualguidance

[alamwamal]

Thoughts on Zeke's death and how could it have gotten more depth. Some Zeke/Colt parallels got in there too

Spoilers for chapter 137. Please, don't read if you liked the chapter.

So yeah, I'm definitely not satisfied with the death of my favorite character in Snk, pretty much on every level. It's rushed to say the least. Snk's story is very complicated and Zeke's character arc is one of the most controversial yet sympathetic ones. I obviously can't explain why I'm not content with the way Isayama handled his death in a single post. More so since I'm not good at articulating my thoughts as well as the fact that English isn't my native language.

That said, this is my opinion based on how I read the manga. I might've misunderstood the manga all along though. It's Isayamas story, he can tell it however he wants.

Now that we got that out of the way, first things first:

Zeke lived a lonely and a tragic life. He deserved to die a fulfilling death next to someone dear to him. And definitely, not by Levi's hands, someone he's terrified of (he even said "I don't want to see you" 😒).

The sacrifice element is a perfect ending for Zeke. But not selflessly for the humanity or the future (something he couldn't see/believe). It should be selfish for personal reasons/gain, especially that he still believes that euthanasia is the solution. Zeke has been looking at the big picture of Eldia since his childhood - it's partially the reason he couldn't see hope for Eldians. I personally think it can only be alright for Eren's sake.

* * *

How could Zeke's death have more depth, the same way the chapter was written:

Back to the point, I think it could have been more heartwarming and meaningful with two simple additions:

1) Instead of just cherishing the moments with Ksaver only, something he's completely aware of, Zeke could have been shown to recall times he spent with his grandparents and the warriors/candidates. Moments he found it joyful but never cherished it before.

Zeke may look like a heartless person, he is for most part but he does seem to care about a selected few. Zeke is a man with a mission, he doesn't let even his own "feelings" distract him from the big picture and seeing his mission through. He did sell his parents with an encouragement from Ksaver but it was more survival thing. I think the clearest example is the scene when he turned Falco into a titan resulting in an almost certain death for both of them. The pained expressions on Zeke's face is quite interesting.

I can't imagine that it's just because Colt and Falco remind him of himself and Eren. I think it can be argued that he cares, even a little bit.

Besides, the fact that he and Colt - the one to inherit the beast titan next, seemed to play catch ball together and were shown to be hanging around together more than the others, kind of resembles his relationship with Ksaver, albeit superficially. But I think it could come into play. Also, I do think of Colt as a character that mirrors Zeke's in the big brother part, which probably was the reason I always thought Zeke would die for Eren. I'll elaborate on this later.

He was also saddened by Pieck's fake death. He just calls her Pieck-chan. The "my dear little Piecky" is an exaggeration from the translators. (He also referred to Annie as Annie-chan btw.) It got cut I'm sorry I had to group the images because of the image limit.

He also showed concern for his grandparents, as well as Falco and Gabi.

I also want to believe that the "not in this room" hint meant something but its arguable.

Zeke could have realized that even though he distanced himself emotionally and hid his true nature from others, he still had some relationships that eased his solitude during the last 13 years. And even if he didn't think much of them because they were superficial and far from deep but they still mattered because he was able to connect to them on some level.

The "what a beautiful weather, I wish I noticed earlier but it's too late now" metaphor would have been more meaningful, in my opinion.

* * * * * * *

2) Zeke's materialistic look on life and multiplying specifically could have been used to shake his opinion on the euthanasia plan. By making him see some hope and beauty in living in this cruel world, his sacrifice will actually have a meaning. Isayama kind of did this but it didn't resonate with me. It was off putting to have Zeke "sacrifice" himself for something he didn't believe in one bit. I think it's nonsense, I'm going to be honest.

I think we could've easily had Zeke who cherishes Eren realize that because his father "multiplyed??", both Eren and himself were born in this world and both grew up to be two completely different souls/people.

I didn't talk about Eren in the first point because I'll be talking about him here. I think that Zeke cares about Eren more than anyone. Some would say that it's because Zeke projectes his childhood onto Eren and combined with his desperate desire for someone to understand and share his pain. And that is true and confirmed by the manga. Maybe that's even how it started but that's not all there is to it.

I think the most endearing moment is his reaction when Eren called him brother, but since it's arguable whether he's tearing up because Eren called him brother niisan, or just because he was happy that Eren understood him, I'm going with the next most telling one. Zeke's smile when Eren asked him about Mikasa, there was absolutely no personal interest for Zeke in this. It was only about Eren for him (regardless of Eren's thoughts here).

A moment to enjoy Zeke's joy of being a big brother.

I also headcannon that Zeke's travel through Grishas memories is because he actually wanted to see more of Eren's childhood.

But yeah, you know what's the most telling moment? It's the moment Colt begs him to spare Falco (I can't believe that instead of sending him away he actually brings him to the battlefield). Yeah, I focused on it earlier but i left out these parts:

The highlight here is that after Colt expresses that he doesn't care what happens to the world as long as his brother is safe. And Zeke sympathizes with that saying that "He also feels the same way". Indicating how he feels about Eren.

I'd like to say that something similar happened before. Both in which Galliard reacted to it.

Also, their devotion to save their half dead brothers until the last moment.

Wow, Eren's such a talented actor.

It's ironic that both of them died while the little brothers lived. 🙃

...

Well, the point is that Zeke seems to be kind of attached to Eren. So after realizing Eren real feelings about living and witnessing Eren's childhood, it's possible to make him wonder: how'd he feel if Eren was never born?! Look I think it's ridiculous logically but it'll be emotional. That'd be an emotional reason to reconsider euathasia, in my opinion.

* * * * *

Anyways, that's it for the chapter but yeah, I definitely didn't want it to end like this. I'm a devoted Jaegerist so the only accepted death is next to Eren. kind of like Itachi/Sasuke headbutt. I hated Itachi but even I really liked it.

I'm quite upset they didn't get to talk one last time after Eren's pov gets revealed and I don't think I will be okay soon. 😭

#I've been in a low mood and then this happened 😭 #I'm still not as calm as I thought #i trusted you Isayama #thank you so much #Zeke Jaeger #Jaegerists #snk spoilers #snk #snk me #Colt Grice #sorry if some things are messy bc I'm exhausted #this took too long #Zeke Yeager

[queenangst]

A Collection of Fic Prompts

These are all genfic/non-romantic fic ideas that I (and some of my friends) came up with in a game where I write a summary for a fake fic title. Some titles have multiple summaries. You can view my tag ‘fake fic asks’ to view the original asks. 

My blanket permissions for prompts apply: Please credit and link me on Tumblr (@queenangst)/on AO3 (achievingelysium). If possible, link to this post/original post. Feel free to use these as prompts or inspiration for any creative work such as fic or art, and feel free to adjust or adapt them to your liking. I’d love to see them!

Please reblog if you like these!

I may end up using some of these in the future (marked with * if you’re interested), but all of the prompts are free for you to use if you’re interested. 

Below the cut is a categorized list of the summaries, by characters/themes, including: 

All Might, Izuku, OFA, and AFO

Midoriya Hisashi/Dad for One

Shimura Nana

Quirklessness

Aizawa, Present Mic, and Shirakumo

Teachers

Dekusquad

Izuku & Bakugou

Izuku

Bakugou

Todoroki Family/Dabi

Eri

Class 1-A

Misc.

All Might, Izuku, OFA, and AFO 

Once Upon a Time

Quirk reversal canon rewrite AU. All Might is a hero with a mysterious Quirk: one that can take and give away Quirks at will. With this Quirk and multiple Quirks given willingly, All Might defeats villains easily. When he meets the strong-willed Midoriya Izuku, he offers Izuku a Quirk and a chance to be a hero.

One for All has been searching for a successor—and his brother’s Quirk, All for One—and finds one in the volatile Shimura Tenko, now Shigaraki. Combined with the power of Decay, Shigaraki’s new Quirk can level mountains and destroy cities.

Izuku has always wanted to be a hero. With a new Quirk and a new enemy, he can be.

Shatter the Sun

All Might walks into a fight he doesn’t expect to come back from. Fueled by rage and grief, he ignores every warning Nighteye has given him and takes down the villain who killed his predecessor… All for One.

All Might limps out of a fight he hadn’t expected to come back from. He defeated his enemy, but it comes with a cost.

And then he wakes up again on the same day, All for One still waiting for him. Each time All Might defeats him. Each time the day restarts. Again and again. All Might had been prepared to fight All for One for the rest of his life, but this is something entirely different.

i’ve been found (but i’m still lost in the morning)

When Toshinori passes on the torch to his successor, he only wishes Nana were there to see it. When Izuku begins dreaming of the past wielders, he begins to feel the weight of the legacy he carries on.

All for One may be gone, but in the wake of his defeat, both Izuku and Toshinori struggle to find their place in heroism and at home.

Cross the Delta

All Might takes Izuku on a road trip in America, and their relationship deepens from mentor and student to father and son.

if only you'd listened

When Izuku complains of headaches and strange dreams, Toshinori doesn’t think much of it beyond offering what comfort he can and painkillers. After all, it’s exam season, and his students are stressed; the common room is loaded with energy drinks and textbooks alike. Izuku also confides he thinks there’s something wrong with his Quirk, but having unlocked two more, Toshinori is under the belief Izuku is simply adjusting.

Then Izuku starts sleepwalking, sometimes with One for All. And there’s the time he almost doesn’t wake up at all, and when he finally wakes up he doesn’t seem like he has control of himself.

Because the closer Izuku has been getting to One for All, a connection has been forming with its other half—with Toshinori’s greatest enemy, All for One.

kiss your fist and touch the sky

After his retirement, All Might is no longer the hero he used to be. But Class 1-A still seems to think so, and quietly All Might begins to learn how to save people in smaller ways.

lead me down the styx

OFA!AU. When Nana dies, a piece of her remains within One for All—just as the other holders have before her. Every time a holder comes close to death, they see their predecessors.

All Might sees his mentor again in dreams a few times, but he thinks they’re just that: dreams. The first time Izuku sees the ghosts of One for All, he’s just nearly broken himself beyond repair. The next time is when he takes a hit meant for someone else. After the next Izuku realizes there’s a pattern, that the ghosts he sees out of the corner of his eye are real and getting stronger, and there’s something they want to tell him.

I Have No Plans to Die Today

Alternating POV. Half is All Might desperately trying to hold on to the remains of OFA as he fights AFO because after all these years he finally has things to live for again. Half is Bakugou trying to escape his captors, not knowing if anyone’s going to rescue him, equally desperate to fulfill his dream of becoming a Hero (from @happi-tree​).

Your Heart In Your Hands

In a world where every year on the day you first meet you see a vision of you and your soulmate’s future together, Izuku and All Might meet under a bridge—and Izuku begins to see a future where he can be a hero.

Bonus notes from my tags: #pl bkdk soulmates bk was scared of the future #tho the future vision is limited i think so bkdk doesnt see anything after ua until after dk meets am #bc that future wasnt quite set in stone

The Aftermath

All Might wakes up in a hospital alone. He has lost his stomach, though perhaps more painfully, his most trusted advisor and sidekick. He has nothing, and no one. And his time with One for All dwindles.

But he keeps going—and meets one Midoriya Izuku.

A story told backwards in six parts, from loving Izuku to meeting him to those lonely years before.

Once Upon a Time

Fantasy AU. The Tale of Two Brothers is known throughout the kingdom, a myth passed down through the generations to explain why Magicks exist. No one expects the story itself to be true, least of all a young Magickless boy on the run from his tormentors. But now? Well, now, Midoriya Izuku knows differently (from @happi-tree​). 

Midoriya Hisashi/Dad for One

But That Was So Long Ago*

Time can’t erase an absence, a person who was never there. Ten years after Midoriya Hisashi goes overseas for business, he re-enters Izuku’s life—not just as a father, but as a vigilante, chasing a lead for a villain with connections to the League. Working with Hellhound, who can manipulate fire and smoke, Izuku begins to notice his new ally’s strange similarities to the father he’s constantly arguing with at home.

You know what family means to me, Hisashi? Resentment

Midoriya Hisashi drags his son Izuku on a short surprise trip to America, where Izuku is separated from his friends as Hisashi teaches him about his business. Izuku is left miserable and angry about the life Hisashi is trying to force him into. What’s meant to be family bonding and their already fragile relationship quickly falls apart, and all Izuku wants is to go home.

Eternal Slumber

In his second year, Izuku and All for One begin to share dreams. Izuku’s afraid All for One is both the person he thought and not, and they seem to share more similarities than Izuku expected.

A Dad For One fic.

In the Flesh*

Right after Izuku enters U.A., Midoriya Hisashi abruptly returns from business overseas, taking an interest in his son’s new Quirk and committing himself to his family again after years apart. Izuku feels uncomfortable with the stranger he calls “Dad,” but stays quiet seeing how happy his mom is when he’s home.

Yet as the school year progresses, Hisashi’s story seems to have different holes. Research into his dad’s business leaves Izuku with dead, outdated links; any questions Izuku asks about work go unanswered; and still Hisashi presses Izuku about his Quirk, driving a wedge between them.

Hisashi’s Quirk is fire breathing—but Izuku accidentally discovers he has a levitation Quirk, too, and more after that. A breakthrough in research connects Hisashi to the address of an old, run-down bar. And a story Izuku’s mentor All Might tells him, of a villain who can take other people’s Quirks, leads Izuku home again, to one Midoriya Hisashi.

Shimura Nana

Oddity Amidst Time

Shigaraki travels back in time and meets his grandmother, Shimura Nana.

Remembrance

Nana’s legacy is a line of death that becomes before her and goes on after her. But what if things were different?

When Nana fights All for One, she wins. Still, the danger of All for One’s lasting influence remains, so Nana makes the decision to leave her son alone as she continues to fight villains and train Toshinori into the Symbol of Peace he wants to be.

Kotaro is the only regret Nana’s ever had. She spends her days wondering what might have been until she meets two siblings who share her smile—and her last name.

if i die young

At the end of his life, Gran Torino gets a chance to travel back in time to when Nana still lived, and the two of them have a conversation about life and loss.

Quirklessness

Out of the Fire

Izuku reflects on how many micro aggressions he dealt with as a quirkless person that evaporated with OFA (from @wildinkling​).

You get used to things, even if sometimes you shouldn't

All Might has carried One for All for a lifetime, and he’s nearly forgotten what it was like to be Quirkless, much less understanding how different Quirklessness is treated in society today. After Izuku confides about what his childhood was like and now navigating life after being a pro hero, All Might begins to spend more time looking for ways to help Quirkless youth feel less alone, fighting a villain of a different kind.

Do Not Go Gentle*

When pro hero—and Eri’s big brother—Deku saves her and sustains life-threatening injuries, Eri does the only thing she can think of. In desperation, she pushes her power and rewinds him, leaving Deku not only young but Quirkless again.

For Years I Have

Midoriya Inko, and coming to terms with a not-Quirkless son, her love and fears for him, and the mistakes she’s made.

Battles are First Lost in the Mind

At fourteen, Midoriya Izuku gives up on his dream of being a hero. He puts away his notebooks and resigns himself to a quiet, Quirkless life.

Four years later and as a new graduate from U.A., Kacchan swallows his pride, apologizes, and asks Izuku for help taking down the villain Shigaraki, hoping Izuku’s analytical skills can turn the tide.

Izuku isn’t sure, but in the end agrees; and four years after giving up he’s presented with his dreams in reach and an entire former class telling him he can be a hero.

changing the subject again and bite your tongue (until it bleeds)*

Midoriya Izuku never talks about being Quirkless, or about Quirklessness. No one would understand it. No one wants to try. The topic rarely comes up, until a new semester begins and there’s talk of a new, Quirkless student in Gen Ed looking to transfer into the Hero Course.

Then Quirklessness is all anyone wants to talk about. Now something Izuku can’t avoid, he struggles to deal with his own past, the piece of his trust he hasn’t extended to his friends, and a look into a life that might have been his.

Aizawa, Present Mic, and Shirakumo

when there’s blood in my ears, i’ll hold you closer

Present Mic had always had a rough time controlling his quirk. The day he finds out about Oboro, he slips. Aizawa is always there to comfort him (from @tolerantbean​).

It’s getting hard to breathe under here with you, my dearest nemesis

The villain Present Mic has a Quirk that could level buildings and cause a lot of destruction. The hero Eraserhead is one of the few people, if not the only person, who can stop him.

At the end of the day, Hizashi and Shouta are best friends, carefully tending to each other’s wounds and never speaking of either heroes or villains. Until a bigger problem forces them to work together.

an empty mirror only shows what's left inside*

Time loop AU. A few days after Shirakumo’s death, Shouta wakes up to find his best friend is alive again. Time has reset—and now Shouta finds himself racing to save Shirakumo this time.

It doesn’t work. Days pass. And the loop starts again.

A mystery forms in the pieces of a strange doctor, a missing body, and discrepancies in the local newspaper. As Shouta fails again and again to save Shirakumo, he must try to figure out why he’s caught in a time loop… and what seems to be happening to Shirakumo after his death.

Come Around (Your Song is Calling)

Hizashi has always known that he and his best friend Shouta are soulmates. It’s why they work. It’s why Hizashi can see the glittering thread that ties them together when no one else can, and in the deep silence when he touches it he hears music.

Shouta goes missing. The bond goes silent. But Hizashi refuses to give up on his friend—not now, and not ever.

shades of blue*

After graduating, Aizawa Shouta isn’t where he wants to be. His decision to go underground is a lot different than most of his peers, and with everyone busy planning debuts and looking for agencies, Shouta feels isolated. The reminder that Oboro doesn’t get to be a hero follows him, yet at the same time the Hero Commission sends Shouta somewhere his Quirk and his youth will be useful—to help infiltrate and take down an illegal Quirk fighting ring.

Unable to confide in Hizashi about the mission or his struggles, Shouta continues to work alone, distance straining his relationships. Pitted against kids only a few years younger than him, each of whom begins to remind Shouta of Oboro, and fighting to keep his head above water, Shouta must keep his secrets close to him or lose it all.

they’ll think of me kindly

It’s easier to think of society in black in white, in heroes and villains. But Aizawa Shouta doesn’t do easy, and Kurogiri—Shirakumo Oboro—certainly isn’t making things any better. In a bid for information and to return Kurogiri to the person he once was, the investigation team brings in a specialist with a Quirk that allows for two people to be temporarily joined mind-to-mind. To experience each other’s thoughts, emotions, and memories with the danger of losing themselves.

Shouta’s scared if he goes in he won’t come back, but he’s also desperate to reconnect with the friend he’s convinced is still in there. Kurogiri consents to the connection. And after deliberation, Shouta does, too.

Together, they’re not just hero and villain, but somewhere in between as Shouta looks for the memories that have been hidden from Kurogiri and relives a few of his own.

Teachers

to die like a martyr (is no way to live)

All Might is beginning to learn to live again, redefining a path of self-destruction after retirement and meeting Midoriya, when he sees his co-worker and friend Aizawa heading down the same lonely path he was on. Reaching out, All Might and Aizawa form a friendship and struggle together so they may continue to teach their students, and to live as people and not just heroes.

Dekusquad

holding you up (while the world crashes down)

Five times Izuku comforted his friends, and one time they comforted him.

Izuku & Bakugou/Platonic BKDK

Do No Harm

Bakugou goes missing when he’s seven. Years later, Izuku still believes he’s alive and out there.

He is—as a Nomu that falters when Izuku recognizes him and calls him “Kacchan.”

for you know my demons, and i know yours*

Izuku and Katsuki parted ways after a mission gone south a long time ago and their relationship soured, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not still drift compatible. A Pacific Rim AU.

let’s start with the past in front

Pro heroes Ground Zero and Deku are sent back in time to when they weren’t the friends they are now, forced to deal with conversations they never had, their younger selves’ broken relationship, while looking for a way home.

Memories of the Dead

Midoriya Izuku’s funeral is held in the summer. They bury an empty casket and look around at all the faces who have outlived him.

Katsuki goes. There’s a lot of reasons he attends Deku’s funeral—for Auntie Inko, for All Might, for Deku himself. Katsuki was the last to see him alive. They’d shared breakfast the same day Deku disappeared.

But Katsuki doesn’t go to Deku’s funeral because he’s dead. Katsuki goes with the hope and gut feeling that he’s alive.

Izuku

Your Claws Rend Flesh

Midoriya Izuku has never been allowed to stay out past sundown. He always comes home early to his mother, the only person who he won’t hurt when he transforms into a monstrous beast.

His new Quirk and U.A. complicate things, to say the least.

Bonus notes: There’s a reason why Inko is so protective of her son, and resistant to him being a hero.

can you hear me?

Izuku, a few years after his pro hero debut, lands himself an injury that keeps from work for a while. Seeing Izuku unsure of what to do, the Wild, Wild Pussycats invite him to spend summer on their property in the woods to recover and recuperate; and, of course, as an excuse for Kouta to see his hero.

He’s happy to slow down, spending time learning to take care of himself, and to enjoy the woods. As he gets his strength back, he hikes often with Kouta, until one day they’re separated when a storm hits. With only a set of walkie talkies connecting them, the two struggle to find each other and shelter, before anything worse happens.

5% luck, 20% skill

Principal Nezu takes on Izuku as a student.

Bakugou

Out of the Fire 

Bakugou as Gordon Ramsey... (from @aizawa-wears-crocs​). 

Snap

Katsuki is hit with a Quirk that dulls physical and emotional feelings. At first it seems fairly harmless to his friends, until he gets hurt and his reaction is much different than anyone expects.  

lead me down the road less traveled

When he’s young, Bakugou Katsuki decides what he wants to be when he grows up: a villain.

And Katsuki always gets what he wants.

Todoroki Family

the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had

There’s a ghost haunting the Todoroki mansion. Rumors say it drove Todoroki Rei insane. Shouto has never seen it himself, has only heard footsteps in the hallway sometimes, but one day he discovers the stories are true—and the ghost is someone he knows, his own brother.

The Fire Within You

Scared of the Quirk he’s inherited from his father, Midoriya Izuku runs away from home after a terrible accident. And though the police and his mother search desperately for Izuku, someone else has found him first - an older, scrappy boy whose Quirk is similar to his own. Dabi takes Izuku under his wing, and their meeting lights a fire that may never have started otherwise.

violets are blue | blood is red

Todoroki Rei has been receiving flowers from her husband. At least, that’s what Shouto believes until she goes missing. The key he has to find her is the blue flowers on her windowsill and a tenuous connection to a villain: Dabi, whose motives remain unclear yet who seems to have a particular grudge against the number one hero.

Arsonist's Lullaby

Here is one secret few people know about the Todoroki family: Todoroki Natsuo is Quirkless. He had no power over fire nor ice, and his father never speaks of his Quirkless son—or his dead one.

Studying health and welfare, Natsuo keeps his head down and his anger simmering. He’s no hero like Shouto. Without a Quirk and with too much resentment, Natsuo has never considered the life of heroics or anything related to it—that is, until a strange encounter where bleeding, dangerous villain Dabi asks Natsuo for his help.

Natsuo doesn’t know why he helps Dabi, nor does he understand why Dabi doesn’t seem to want to hurt him. But one encounter with the villain turns into more, until Natsuo realizes one day he understands Dabi better than his own father Endeavor. He doesn’t get why Dabi cares so much or why he feels safe around him. When Dabi offers to help Natsuo leave his life behind, Natsuo is faced with a choice… and his own family.

When the Glitter Fades

When Todoroki Shouto is hit by a mysterious Quirk, he drops, unconscious. Though his friends worry, there seem to be no visible effects. No damage. Nothing wrong.

But as the days pass, Todoroki just… doesn’t wake up. He’s caught in a neverending dream that shows him his own deep desires—his family, whole again and happy. And he doesn’t want to leave.

Digging Dreams Out of the Fire

Moments of recovery between Todoroki Rei and her son Shouto.

Eri

when there’s blood in my ears, i’ll hold you closer*

Even after Overhaul’s defeat, there are still villains looking for more Quirk-erasing bullets, and for the girl they come from. When Eri is nearly kidnapped, Aizawa makes the difficult decision to take Eri temporarily into hiding with him. But their safe houses aren’t as safe as they’re supposed to be either, and Aizawa begins to suspect that the Hero Commission has reasons to want Eri, too.

take your medicine

Aizawa Eri did not like doctors. This was a fact. Eri had also never received proper vaccinations in her very short life. Luckily, her big brothers Mirio and Deku are there to hold her hand, even as she begins to spiral in the waiting room (from @happi-tree​).

Other Characters of Class 1-A

Now You Don’t

Traitor!Hagakure AU. Class 1-A deals with their friend Hagakure’s mysterious disappearance, sharing their favorite stories of her and hoping for her safety as the search parties continue to come back empty-handed. Meanwhile, Tooru contemplates if going to the League was the correct decision - or if her new Sensei only sees her as another tool (from @happi-tree​).  

My Grand Plan

Hagakure Toru is surprised in her second year when she’s approached by a support and hero management firm that promises they will make people pay attention to her, but soon she accepts the offer to work together. But soon Toru realizes the firm’s support gear, plans, and inviting environment seems to cover something suspicious. And when they ask Toru for more information about her classmates and school, she begins to wonder if the support is for heroes or for villains.

visual (invisible)

Toru’s internship is drawing to an end, and though she’s grateful for the experience, she’s glad to be heading back to normal with classes and lunch with her friends without looking over her shoulder all the time. Not that anyone sees her, anyway, if she doesn’t want them to.

On her last day, she takes a bullet to the shoulder, and that’s when things fall apart.

They can see her. Toru’s friends, her classmates, her teachers: they can see her. It’s Toru’s childhood dream come true, all her prayers to the distant stars in the dark of night, her birthday wishes. No more going unnoticed. No more being invisible. No more of people looking right through her.

But it comes at the cost of her Quirk. Lost, unsure of her next steps, Toru has to figure out what it means to finally be seen when she’s been invisible her entire life, and what it means when she can no longer hide anything to anyone—or to herself.

balloons can’t make you fly

Five times Uraraka solved her problems by making them float, and one time she didn’t need her Quirk for it.

Don't ever tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash

When the Hero Commission gets involved with concerns about Hitoshi entering U.A.’s hero course due to his “villainous” Quirk, Hitoshi suddenly drops out of U.A. entirely, leaving his friends and teachers concerned about where he’s gone.

If the Hero Commission is law, Hitoshi makes the decision to defy it, taking a more direct approach to chasing his dreams: vigilantism.

Do you trust yourself?

Yaoyorozu Momo is supposed to be perfect. She is a recommended student, has a powerful Quirk, and comes from a family with a history of heroics.

But for all of her expectations, Momo knows she has one weakness: a crippling lack of confidence. But Momo’s friends and mentors are happy to teach Momo to trust herself.

A Momo-centric fic that spans her years at U.A. and her first steps as a hero.

Ignorance is Bliss*

Maybe Kyoka shouldn’t have been listening to Midoriya and All Might’s conversation, but she was curious. She ends up hearing more than she should—but not quite enough to get the full story.

Struggling to come to terms with “All Might’s legacy” and a connection to the villain who destroyed Kamino, All for One, Kyoka asks her classmate Todoroki for help unraveling a secret. The two form an unlikely team and friendship as they begin looking for the truth: about All for One, All Might, Midoriya, and the ties that bind them together.

Fear the Anger of a Kind Soul

There’s a bit of an unspoken rule in the dorms. Don’t mess with Uraraka.

Mineta tries. The story starts with him trying to sneak into her room, and ends with an expulsion, a few holes in the ceiling, and a social media post gone viral.

Dissociation Potion

Todoroki, in a spur of bad-decision making, makes a drink he found browsing social media.

It’s not pretty.

A Siren's Call

AU—Jirou Kyoka is an up-and-coming singer, known better as JACK!, pursuing her dreams in music after graduating. Her fast track through school and constant work leaves her lonely. Though she won’t admit it, she’s on the path to burnout; even as her fanbase grows, Jirou feels like no one really listens to her.

After performing at a Hero Gala, there are suddenly more eyes on her than usual, including villains. When she’s attacked, pro hero Creati saves her, and they become friends. Creati, or Yaoyorozu Momo, introduces Kyoka to more pro heroes; suddenly Kyoka has friends her age who like her music but more importantly like her.

Not everyone approves of Kyoka’s new friends, especially not her manager. Rumors start on social media. And a dangerous accident almost threatens to tear Kyoka’s friendships apart, but she’s determined not to lose the people she’s come to care for.

dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight

One by one, students at U.A. disappear overnight. No one knows where they’ve gone, or what happened.

Tension grows as parents panic, investigation turns up nothing, and the teachers search desperately for their students. That is, until Aizawa discovers a calling card left behind, half-hidden, on which is carefully written: Let’s dance.

What’s revealed is a Quirk trafficking ring—targeting powerful Quirks, with no better to choose from than the most prestigious hero school in Japan.

Cross the Delta

Asui Tsuyu knows even at the young age of seven that her froglike features make her an oddity amongst her peers. She tries to let their jeers and taunts slough off her like water, but they seep under her skin instead. A Hero with a Mutant Quirk helps her to see differently. Asui Tsuyu will become a Hero, oddity or not (from @happi-tree​). 

Miscellaneous

Revenge of the Roses

A non-deadly Hanahaki fic in which characters try to get each other to fall in love without falling in love back.

They’ve got a deadline: exams, when Hanahaki will get them out of it. They’ve got dates planned.

And, well, it doesn’t seem to be working. (Either the characters stay as friends and end up doing really nice things for each other, or they’re both falling in love. Oops.)

Run If You Can

Tensei’s hero career is— well, it’s over. There’s no wheeling around the fact, but that’s okay; he knows Tenya will be a great hero following in his footsteps and carrying the legacy of Ingenium.

It’s just that some days Tensei wheels down the hospital halls and realizes he’s become of the people that needs the saving, not the hero anymore. It’s just that some days he gets a call from the office or a bouquet of flowers and feels worse for the well wishes, not better. It’s just that some days he remembers it’s all over, and he’s one of the tragedies.

He doesn’t regret Stain. He doesn’t regret standing up to him, or lying in the street bleeding out knowing he might have saved someone else. But he doesn’t know what to do now.

There’s no running when you can’t run anymore.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha prompt #fake fic asks #open prompts

[tvandenneagram]

Hi! I was wondering if you are planning on ever typing The 100 characters

Hi, Anon

We’ve been asked for The 100 a few times, so we’ve decided to a quick-typings of the characters. We’ve only seen some of the early seasons and  read a bit about their characters and personality, so we’ve tried to do the best we can with what we know.

NOTE: We will be doing some of the other characters in another post, this is Part 1.

Clarke Griffin: 1w2

Clarke is principled, responsible and self-sacrificing. Clarke has shown time and time again that she believes in saving everybody. She has a strong belief in the greater good and wants to do the ‘right thing.’ Clarke usually thinks before acting, but has been shown to act impulsively in certain situations. Sometimes her moral compass can make her make decisions based on absolutes that can lead to extreme consequences.

Clarke is very idealistic and tries to avoid hurting others if she can. For example, she stops the other Delinquents from killing Anya (their enemy) because it isn’t necessary. However, she does sometimes torture others, especially if she feels it is a necessary evil or if she is persuaded by Bellamy.

1s can become jaded and selfish when they are in the unhealthy levels, which we see with Clarke. After the aftermath of the Second Nuclear Apocalypse, Clarke becomes singularly interested in protecting Madi. Clarke begins to lose her own humanity and begins acting in self-interest, rather than for the greater good. Clarke shows her wing 2 as she is more people-oriented and emotional than a 1w9 would be.

Quotes

“This isn’t about saving my people. It’s about saving the human race.”

“I bear it, so they don't have too.”

"While we're on the subject, why is it that everyone thinks me wanting Jasper to not die is a bad thing? Like I'm such a downer. I can be fun."

“I tried... I tried to be the good guy.”

“Maybe life should be about more than just surviving. Don't we deserve better than that?”

Lexa: cp6w5

This may be a bit of a controversial take on Lexa’s type, as I’ve seen her typed as both an 8 and a 1. However, I think Lexa’s main motivations are to fulfil her duties as Heda and to keep her people safe. Lexa is a very strong and fierce leader, but I think she has to take on these traits to gain respect from her people. 6s and 8s both have a real emphasis on ‘survival’ which is really prominent in Lexa’s character.

Lexa is protective, dutiful, strong and loyal. She is a fierce leader that isn’t afraid to go against the traditions of her people for peace. Lexa doesn’t like hurting people and when she is forced to punish people, she tries to choose the most human punishment. She doesn’t use her power for her own interests or vengeance, as she only punishes people to gain justice for her people. Lexa also doesn’t like conflict and is seen as trying to bring peace to the factions, despite the wishes of those around her.

Lexa was not always closed-off to love and did not always believe love is a weakness. This is due to her relationship with Costia as she blames herself for her death because she couldn’t keep her safe. Hence, Lexa emotionally closes herself off from love under the guise of it being a weakness. This changes when she meets Clarke as she begins to let her guard down a little bit more and allows herself to be vulnerable with Clarke. In her relationship with Clarke, Lexa realises that she is worthy of love and that it is not a vulnerability. Lexa has a wing 5 as she is more emotionally reserved and introverted than a wing 7 would be.

Quotes

"My mistakes? Azgeda cut off Costia's head and delivered it to my bed, and still I let them into my alliance! I am more than capable of separating feelings from duty!"

“I know how hard that is for you. You think our ways are harsh, but that's how we survive.”

“Blood must have blood.”

“Victory stands on the back of sacrifice.”

“Some on my side say that's not enough. They wanted the murderer to suffer as our tradition demands. But they do not know that your suffering will be worse. What you did tonight will haunt you until the end of your days.”

Bellamy Blake: cp6w7

Bellamy is protective, assertive and responsible. Due to his childhood and his relationship with Octavia, Bellamy has always had a focus on seeking safety for himself and his family. Bellamy has a take-charge attitude and isn’t above bending the rules to survive. He is also very loyal to those he loves, and will go to great lengths to protect and help them.

As leader, Bellamy becomes controlling and begins acting in self-interest, rather than for the people. However, he realises his actions are wrong and does feel guilt over the consequences of his actions. Bellamy also did help the Delinquents survive and adapt to the conditions.

Bellamy seems to want to find meaning and something to believe in, which is common for 6s. For example, he accepts the simplistic view that the Sky People are the ‘good guys’ and the Grounder are the ‘bad guys.’ Likewise, after being trapped in Etheria, he becomes very loyal to the Disciple’s cause. This can happen to 6s when they are in the unhealthy levels, as they begin to develop an ‘us against them’ mentality and become obsessed with belief systems. Bellamy shows his wing 7 as he is more expressive than a wing 5.

Quotes

“Who we are, and who we need to be to survive are very different things.”

“I was so angry at you for leaving. I don’t want to feel that way anymore.”

"We all have things to answer for things that shouldn't be forgiven but are. because we did them for our people -- our family."

“I’m not leaving my friends! I can’t do that again.”

“Fears are fears. Slay your demons when you’re awake, they won’t be there to get you in your sleep.”

Raven Reyes: 5w6

Raven was a bit hard to type as she has traits of 1, 5, 6 and 8. I was mostly between 1w9 and 5w6 as she is very concerned with doing the right thing. However, I settled on 5w6 as I think she is more motivated by gaining knowledge so she can be a useful member of the Delinquents.

Raven is intelligent, resourceful and judgmental. Raven is a very useful member of the Delinquents due to her strong intellect. She is also very tough and will not hesitate to do what needs to be done. Sometimes, Raven can be a bit unemotional and seems to use her wit and sarcasm as a defence mechanism. However, as the series progresses we can see the emotional toll her actions has taken on her. 

5s are able to separate their emotions and fears from the task at hand, which we see with Raven. Raven is very mentally strong and is able to overcome many setbacks. She is also not afraid to speak her mind, especially if she thinks she knows more than the others. Raven shows her wing 6 as she is more practical and person-oriented than a 5w4.

Quotes

"It's not your blood that defines you. It's your heart."

"I can barely walk, and my shoulder's killing me. But, my brain is all kind of awesome."

"Well, my mom was AWOL most of my life. When she did show up, it was empty-handed. Pretty sure she had me just to trade in my rations for moonshine."

"Everywhere you go, death follows. You always want to save everyone. What you don't realize is you're the one we need saving from."

#the 100 #clexa #the 100 cw #tv #bellarke #the 100 clexa #clarke x lexa #clarke x bellamy #clarke x finn #clarke griffin #bob morley #bellamy blake #commander lexa #enneagram #eliza taylor #the 100 enneagram #type 6 #type 1 #type 5 #6w5 #6w7 #cp6w5 #cp6w7 #1w2 #5w6 #alycia debnam carey #personality types #character analysis #cw #raven reyes

[nothingunrealistic]

naturally was going "hmm what kind of fins (fish) would young taylor in the bathtub wish for. how would we know what they think would be the best fish tail to have" & then was just thinking of Younger Taylor Hcs just in general. got any you'd wanna share, or like, any faves from what's been provided either as unofficial ideas or via those glimpses of info in the show's text. Fave can be in a "truly enjoy this" way & or simply more of a "truly Thinking About This An Extra Lot" sense lol. They

Boy Do I… first, a listing of everything we Know from canon about their childhood / early life / family:

taylor grew up in “a place like” connerty’s small apartment where “the heat pipes bang practically all night” in the winter [2x11]

taylor’s mom would deem the apartment they rented for her & douglas too expensive, and if she & douglas were shopping for furniture, they’d argue about how much things cost [4x07]

taylor never thought they’d be thinking about living a life where they book private jets [2x09]

the masons’ home is hundreds of miles from any body of water (as shown here) and douglas had to fly to nyc to see taylor [4x03]

douglas figures taylor’s mom won’t miss him getting in her way back home [4x03]

taylor has a sister; when she gets married, in michigan, taylor is part of the wedding party [2x09]

at a young age, taylor was always measuring information around them, and sweet / affectionate, especially toward douglas [4x03]

taylor’s favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes [4x09]

taylor was never really douglas’s “little girl” like he claims [4x03]

the first time douglas brought taylor to his lab, it meant a lot to them, and the next day they gave him designs to remake it [4x06]

douglas taught taylor: “don’t just have an idea, build the model that proves it” [4x07]

according to douglas, taylor gets the “unyielding compulsion to get it right” from him, and their relationship was best when they “kept things mathematical” [4x03]

douglas wishes he could have built real wealth / success and given it all to taylor [4x03]

wendy mentions to taylor that douglas has “exploited your need for his approval,” and taylor agrees that douglas only cares about his own advancement rather than being a father first [4x07]

douglas dislikes the military / the government [4x06]

taylor is surprised by douglas quoting a pop song [4x07]

when taylor was younger, the bathtub was the only place they could go to be alone and think, and they’d press their legs against the sides hard enough to make them go numb [3x11]

taylor started playing online poker at age 12 under the screen name ZackCody892 and played up to 16 tables at a time (and for thousands of hours) [2x03]

douglas was fired from his job at an aerospace firm when taylor was in 7th grade. this firing damaged their relationship with him and “affected the home life.” for years, taylor thought douglas had been fired so that the firm could steal his invention, and only found out the truth from his personnel file [2x11, 4x05, 4x06]

taylor has had 927 hours of therapy prior to their session with dr. gus, and that number hasn’t changed at their first session with wendy [2x03, 2x08]

douglas, in bringing taylor food and coffee, claims they rarely take the time to look after themself [4x04]

taylor used to lie to themself and others but is now past that, and knows “how hard it is to have things inside you that you can’t communicate” and “what it’s like to face public scrutiny over who you are” [2x08, 3x02, 4x04]

when taylor reminds douglas about their pronouns, he says “this talk again?”, implying it’s a discussion they’ve had before [4x03]

taylor once got into a bar fight with a high school classmate (it’s unclear whether they were still in high school at the time) after seeing y tu mamá también in a theater [5x07]

taylor was active in occupy wall street in college [2x10]

taylor played poker in college against classmates, grad students, & professors, but their opponents kicked them out for winning too much; additionally, the competitive aspect made them sick (described as “malaise” or “vertigo-like symptoms”) [2x03, 4x12]

taylor planned to go to chicago for grad school and study with eugene fama [2x02]

mafee picked taylor as his intern because they were the only applicant who wasn’t boring / didn’t care about the same bullshit that everyone from wharton or harvard did [5x04]

douglas initiated the visit to taylor, claiming it was because he’d missed them, after not being ready to see them even though taylor’s mother wanted to visit countless times [4x03, 4x07]

taylor is trying to be “everything to their father” in funding his company, and neither of them will be able to come back from taylor being forced to betray him [4x06, 4x07]

wow that’s a long list. and now, my own thoughts and extrapolations:

taylor grew up somewhere in the west / midwest with their parents and sister, who’s a few years older than them, in a house small enough that they had to share a bedroom with her. hence, needing to hide out in the bathtub to get any space & time alone.

from very early on, taylor was douglas’s favorite child and he was their favorite parent — douglas saw taylor’s intelligence & insight (and saw himself in them) and chose to put time & effort into teaching / guiding / molding them, hoping they’d one day follow in his footsteps / support his ambitions, and taylor liked that attention & recognition. (douglas’s attitude toward taylor’s sister is essentially “well she’s here too i guess.”)

douglas taught taylor enough about aerospace engineering & mathematics for them to understand the value of his lattice fin concept, and to generally have a better grasp of engineering concepts than your average (even very well-read) business major / financier. (remember how rebecca knew a robot’s “proprietary” power source was a combustion engine because her father was a mechanic? same deal here. see also: the “smash electronics apart to find the microchips inside and figure out who makes them” strategy; taylor comparing losing grigor’s money to building a turbo engine and having the nitrous tank blow up in their face.) this manifested in both directly teaching them in his lab and in playing games like the silverware-stacking game we see in 4x03, or like douglas throwing out math problems for taylor to solve on the spot, or the two of them solving math problems together.

douglas also imparted his taste in music (which does not include anything new / popular) to taylor, though their taste as an adult (or even as, like, a teenager) isn’t identical to his. this is how they discovered rush in the first place and why they have such strong opinions about The Best Rush Albums. (if douglas had such a ranking, it’d be closer to axe’s than to taylor’s.)

listening to rush helped make taylor a libertarian 😔 that’s just life when you’re a neil peart stan, which of course they are. they admire his lyrics + his drumming talent + his absolute poker face in performances.

douglas also taught taylor to play blackjack, which inspired them to go and learn poker on their own and start playing online. they tried to keep it a secret, but it's hard to be secretive about spending hours a day playing online poker on the family computer. (this is 2006 or so, after all.)

taylor figured out that they were Not A Girl (or at least had thoughts of “hm i don’t enjoy being addressed / perceived as A Girl”) fairly young but didn’t acquire a concrete vocabulary for / specific understanding of that for some time. (if douglas is calling they/them pronouns “that woke stuff” in 2019, he sure wasn’t saying anything clear or favorable about trans people in 2009 or 1999. ditto for online poker sites.)

douglas’s firing exacerbated every negative aspect of the mason family dynamic. he doubled down on pushing taylor toward his field, urging them to succeed where he’d failed, and warning them against letting anyone Steal Their Value. money got tighter, taylor’s parents argued more, and any activities taylor was in (like, say, swimming at the ymca) that required payment got cut; they may have figured out how to make money (illegally!) from online poker at this point. the combined stress of financial instability, being torn between pursuing their own ambitions and fulfilling douglas’s expectations for them, and increasing Gendered Expectations in general — plus the whole “playing online poker for hours a day” thing — probably put taylor in therapy within a few months, if they weren’t in therapy already. (how did their parents pay for it? i don’t know either.)

stealing this from that interview asia & brian & david did in 2017: if taylor had not already taught themself to think and speak directly & incisively and look people in the eye when they talk, et cetera, it started here, whether in therapy or on their own time.

taylor went to college in new york city. douglas did not want them to do this, for a number of reasons, and would have preferred they stick closer to home (and study something other than finance), but doing so would have made them miserable.

by the time they finished high school (circa 2012), taylor had properly heard of trans people and figured that they were somehow One Of Them, but not until college did they hear of people being nonbinary and go “ohhhh yeah that’s me.” (they’d also gotten a Short Haircut in high school, but didn’t go full buzzcut until college. unsurprisingly, they got some shit in high school for being Visibly gnc.)

for some period of time while figuring out their gender situation, taylor went by the name neil as a nod to neil peart. (it’s fun to imagine that they still have a faceless twitter / tumblr account where they go by neil. doubles as a way to prevent anyone connecting it to their real life.)

taylor came out to their family while in college. their mom and sister had fairly similar reactions of “well i don’t Get this exactly, but i love you and want to support you and i’m sure you know what you're talking about better than i do and you did clearly hate it every time i urged you to conform to Standards Of Womanhood so sure i can call you Them and my [child / sibling] :)” given some time to think about it. douglas… well. if he’s starting from a place of “i don’t get this,” he’ll end up at “so it must be wrong and stupid, because i’m always right,” especially if This = his favorite child being different in some significant way from who / what he thought they were. obviously he doesn’t react well or supportively, and the strain in his relationship with taylor tips over into full-blown estrangement. bad times for everyone.

if taylor’s bar fight happened when they were old enough to legally enter a bar, it happened after coming out to their family (also after the live poker fiasco), and before making plans for grad school / internships. most likely it was on a summer break they were spending back in their hometown. (another fun thought: taylor seeing the video of axe punching a guy, just weeks after they punched a guy, and going “well maybe i should work for him.”)

if douglas was at taylor’s sister’s wedding (and maybe he wasn’t!), it was awkward for everyone when he and taylor crossed paths again. barest of pleasantries, passive-aggressive comments, et cetera. naturally, it took a few more years — and douglas realizing that taylor, now being fairly wealthy and successful, could probably fund his dream project if they didn’t hate him — for him to decide to visit them.

#inbox #unproduciblesmackdown #billions #taylor mason #douglas mason #this post brought to you by ''if i had you'' and ''for your entertainment'' by adam lambert. absolute bangers #also partway through writing this i went and searched ''neil peart stan'' (sans quotes) on twitter and i definitely didn't get there first