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youryanderedaddy · 3 years

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Best Friends Forever

Summary: Your best friend finally has you back after all these years, tied up on his bed and ready to learn your lesson.

Tw: nsfw, non-con, slight mention of blood, threats, choking, slight degradation, dirty talk, cursing, infantilization, possessive behavior, patronizing behavior, overuse of petnames, slight dom vibezz

You knew your boyfriend was a lost cause, an addict so gone he would have done anything for a fix, but you never expected him to stoop so fucking low.

You had woken up in a suspiciously familiar place, laying on sheets oh so soft, puffy and white you simply couldn’t mistake the bed you were on. The walls were painted in black and blue, a combination so deeply engraved in your mind you couldn’t shake off the feeling you weren’t trully conscious, but dreaming of a happy yet distant memory of the past. It took you less than a second to realize you were in his room - the one where you had spent so many joyfull sleepless nights back in your youth. The relief was short - lived, though, because the moment you tried to move around, you became aware of the tight rope keeping your sore limbs tied to the wooden bed frame. After a while of twisting and thrashing around while screaming at the top of your lungs for help you finally heard the door open. You hoped you would at last be able to go home now, still desperate to believe this was merely a prank, a way for your junkie of a boyfriend to scare you into giving him money.

“There is no use trying to escape the bonds, my little love.” His voice emited through the small room, low, smooth as butter and softer than ever. You tried to lift your head and catch a glipse of the person talking, just to make sure you weren’t imagining things or going insane. And there he was in all his glory, the boy, no, the man you knew well looking so different from how you remembered him, but still it felt impossible not to see the many similarities - from the unruly dark curls to the warm gray eyes that used to be your only guide during times of misery and pain. This was none other than your childhood best friend and you had absolutely no idea why you were tied to his bed. “Oliver, why on earth am I here?” You asked as soon as the initial shock had worn off, completely forgetting to address the weird petname the student had called you.

He smirked slightly before crossing the distance keeping him away from you, and carefully sat down by your left side. He reached out to stroke your cheek in an affectionate way, his fingers lingering for a moment too long for it to be considered a mere platonic gesture. You tried to turn your head away from the warm touch since it made you feel uncomfortable and left you with so many new questions. “I missed you so much, precious.” Oliver took a deep breath and smiled at you, gently moving your jawline so you had no choice but to face him once again. “I was so happy when that disgusting piece of shit you call a boyfriend offered you to me.” The man bent to your shoulder-level and whispered in your ear, his tone so full of sick satisfaction you could swear there was honey dripping from his mouth. “I paid a lot of money to have you back, sweetheart.” He licked his lips in an obscene, suggestive way and you had to supress the sudden urge to vomit as you finally remembered exaclty why you had stopped contacting your best friend once you had started college. The boy used to be clingy, obsessive even, but you could have never guessed it was that bad.

“Oliver, please untie me, you are scaring me.” You pleaded in a tiny voice, hoping to summon what was left of the goodness he had tucked away deep in his heart. In response the male only chuckled and shook his head as he placed a small kiss against your neck, causing you to shiver in discomfort and disgust while you were mentally debating whether you wanted to kill him or your ex boyfriend first. Soon your spiteful thoughts were replaced by panic when your captor brought his hand to your t-shirt and started unclasping the small buttons one by one. You couldn’t help but turn red from embarassment the moment you felt your nipples harden under his palm and you became painfully aware you weren’t wearing a bra underneath. Your former friend had your tender breasts exposed to the cold air in a matter of seconds, his terrible fingers already pinching and pulling at the erect tips. “You have such pretty tits, darling.” He said huskily while squeezing your boobs, licking and biting the stretched skin. You hissed in pain and squirmed in a desperate attempt to move away but the rope was holding you in place, tightening around your sore injured wrists even more.

“I have wanted you for so long, angel.” The student admitted quietly, his stormy eyes fixed on yours, his stare so intense it could burn a hole through you. “Tonight I will make you mine.” Oliver declared with a clear sense of confidence and claimed your lips in a quick rough manner, muffling your pitiful whimpers like a man starved and hungry for flesh. The forced kiss and his deranged words made your stomach turn but something in his longing gaze told you there was a lot more in store. The guess, much to your horror, was soon confirmed when the dark - haired male reached down between your parted legs and easily slipped your panties down to your ankles. With your last bit of protection gone you felt awfully vulnerable, literally naked in front of the beast too keen on the past to see how much he was hurting you right now, in the present. You wanted to scream the second his fat grabby fingers pried your folds open, but choking on your desperate sobs proved easier at that moment.

“Aww, don’t cry, angel.” Oliver growled playfully and slid his index into your tight entrance, quickly adding a second one before you had the time to adjust properly. “I have to prepare you, baby, otherwise my cock may just tear you apart.” He remarked in low sickening voice, the excuse too crude and vulgar to be an act of caring. You whined as your walls clenched down tight now that there were three fingers stretching your hole, and you berely managed to utter “too full” before your friend pulled you for a deep kiss again, his tongue devouring your mouth, leaving you breathless and queit while sucking in the sweet pained moans. “You can take it, babygirl.” The man groaned against your swollen red lips and grabbed your hips in a strong hold - you were sure there would be purple bruises there tomorrow.

Eventually, after half an hour of pushing his fingers in and out of your channel, lapping at your neck and leaving wet love marks all over your collarbone, the student was satisfied with his work. He had turned you into a whimpering mess and was ready to thoroughly enjoy the fruits of his labor, whether you liked it or not. “I am going to put it in now, precious.” Oliver pecked you on the cheek just to lick the salty trace of tears off your puffy skin. “I will force my whole length in your perfect little pussy.” Your captor bit your sensitive earlobe and you broke down in tears like a kid, the threat ringing in your ears like the gospel. “This might hurt a bit so I advise you to stay still and relax, baby.” The way the man continued casually, almost cheerfully, as if he wasn’t about to brutally rape you, made your skin crawl, but there was nothing you could do. You were all tied up, powerless to stop him. Suddenly, without any warning, his hard thick member entered you, piercing pain spreading through your whole body. The student panted in pleasure as soon as he thrust his manhood into your heat, the way it sucked him in leaving him high and blissful. You let a few miserable whimpers, the ache too much to bear, his moves too harsh, sudden and deep.

“Don’t give me such a-agh tormented expression, my love.” Oliver quickly shushed you by putting his hand over your mouth and pressing down to prevent any noise that might have escaped. His gaze was lustful, insane, but also loving in a twisted, perverse way. “Fuck, I love you so much.” He muttered, his voice gentle for a split second before going back to being taunting and mocking. “I used to be so angry each and every time you dated another guy, another asshole who was only after your body.” The man was rambling now, his face turning red at his own vicious thoughts, his growing anger reflecting in his cloudy pupils and his painful thrusts. “You always chose them over me like a stupid little bitch ...” He whispered dangerously and lifted your body towards his own so you could take his hits even deeper, so deep that you could feel the tip of his member kissing your cervix. “Well, now you don’t have a choice, angel. I have claimed you and I will keep you here forever.” You were crying out in agony, your pussy clamping down around the enormous length slapping again and again against your core. It burned so bad you wished you could dissapear somewhere far away just so you could have a moment of relief. “Oh, sweetheart, I know it hurts, but it’s almost over, you can take it for me, right?” The male cooed at you, switching back to that disgusting, infantilizing baby voice you had already grown to despise. When you failed to respond he gripped your throat, squeezing so tightly blood rushed to your cheeks and you inhaled sharply though your mouth only to feel the suffocation cut your breath short. “Answer me.” He barked through gritted teeth and you nodded frantically, desperate to gasp for air and cling onto dear life.

“Good girl.” Your former friend purred, pleased with your obedience, and let go of your neck, grabbing your hips instead. You coughed and drooled pathetically until you managed to resume your breathing, but the man, still buried deep inside you, seemed too caught up in chasing his own pleasure to notice how badly he had hurt you. Fortunately for you Oliver was really close, that much was obvious by his furious shoves at your abused cervix and his low growls each time he lowered his head to kiss you. Soon he came with a loud moan, painting your walls white, your ruined hole dripping with his seed and your blood.

Your captor seemed satisfied afterwards, peaceful in a way - there was a small smile adorining his cold lips as he wiped the tears off your face and squished your bruised body against his strong frame in a tight hug. You bit your tongue to stop the tears from overflowing once again, but to no avail. He let you sob in his arms until there wasn’t liquid left in your red, puffy eyes.

“You did very well, my love. I am really proud of you.” Oliver kissed your temple gently, resisting the temptation to graze you all over again with his lips, tongue and fingers. “I will help you clean up, then I will fix you some nice dinner.” He murmured in your ear, tickling the heirs on the back of your neck with his warm breath. “Doesn’t this sound good, baby?”

You closed your eyes and nodded slowly.

#yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere smut #male yandere #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #yandere male x reader #yandere oc x reader #yancore #male yandere x you

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malarki · 3 years

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Harry Potter FanFiction I greatly enjoy (it’s just tomarry and sevitus)

Fair warning, I’m not good at describing stuff, and most of these are not complete (yet) but if you have similar tastes as I do then you’ll definitely like these stories.

Meddling of a Mischief Maker - by Athy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380535/chapters/12427268

I enjoy this fic because it shows a more human Voldemort with him still being an asshole as per usual. They do a good job of having Voldemort believably change into a not crazy murderous bastard haha. It also has Sirius interacting with Voldemort and for some reason I find those scenes hilarious in any fic I read.

“Harry's being a horcrux is a bit reworked here in this AU Story set during the summer after 5th year. A Mischief Maker intervenes in the Ministry during Voldemort and Dumbledore's duel, changing the course history. MorallyGrey!Dumbledore, Sirius, Restored Souls, HP/TR”

Draw Me After You (Let Us Run) - by ToAStranger @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327684/chapters/53334382

This story is a delight, it’s tone is very good and they do a great job of writing in the characters ‘voices’ for their pov’s. I especially like the posh way Voldemort talks and acts. This story is also hilarious on top of just being a very good slowburn, AND it has Sirius, which as you might have guessed, I love dearly. They also don’t bash any of the characters, and instead make them well rounded but flawed individuals, which I really appreciate.

“Harry Potter,” comes the soft, sibilant hiss of a voice he has heard in his dreams, in his nightmares, in his waking hours for years.

Slowly, carefully, Harry twists over and pushes up onto his hands and knees. He stays there, short breath fogging in front of his face, and his pursuer lets him. Harry has no doubt of that; he’s being allowed this respite. This small moment to catch his bearings, heart pounding in his ears, blood singing.

“It seems I have finally caught you.”

Consuming Shadows - by Child_OTKW @childotkw

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7040089/chapters/16011331

I’ve read two of childOTKW’s fics and both of them are fantastically written and attention grabbing stories. This one was the first one I read, and it has a very interesting take on lily Potter (one which I really enjoy) and the plot can leave you on the edge of your seat at times. The characterization is great, and the process of Harry and Tom getting to know each other is done very well.

“His attention skipped passed the students and moved to the politicians’ pavilion. His gaze locked with crimson, and he nearly faltered under the sheer hunger in those eyes.

It unnerved him how fixated the man was on his dirtied, exhausted figure.

But what troubled him more was the slight smirk he could make out on the man’s lips. It was almost pleased.

On the night of the attack, Lily managed to escape with her infant son, but at the cost of her husband’s life. Distraught and distrusting of her friends, she fled to France with Harry, to raise him away from the corruption in Britain and the rising influence of the Dark Lord. She trains him to the best of her abilities, shaping him into a dangerous, intelligent and powerful wizard.

But when Britain re-establishes the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry is forced to return to his once-home, he finds himself questioning whether he really wants to kill the Dark Lord. Voldemort finds an unexpected challenge in the child, and as his intrigue and amusement grows, so too does the desire to possess the spark in those defiant green eyes.”

A story that is kind of similar but not really: The Train to Nowhere

You Belong To Me (I Belong To You) - by child_OTKW

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270490/chapters/25203408

This is a story inspired by the manwha ‘At The End Of The Road’ by Haribo. A comic I read before reading this, which is very good I recommend it. They do not take the exact plot from the comic though, obviously changing significant details for it to work properly as a Tomarry Fic, but one main thing stays the same, which is that this is a body swap. Honestly I really enjoy childOTKW’s works, and this is no exception. The characterization is wonderful as always, and Harry is Fantastic. Plus I’ve always been a fan of time travel fics. (Fair warning this is another slow burn and Harry centric)

“What I find absolutely fascinating,” Riddle said, stalking closer, “is you.” He marched forward, backing Harry up until he was pinned to the cool wall of the common room. “Do you know why?”

“No. And I’ll be honest here, Riddle, I don’t particularly care.”

The taller boy grinned at him, small yet infinitely pleased. “That. Right there.” One hand rose and brushed some of Harry’s fringe from his face. “Nathan Ciro was a spineless little boy too afraid of his own shadow to dare even glance in my direction. But you…”

He leaned closer, “You look at me like you want to stab me.”

“After an accident, Auror Harry Potter wakes up in the body of fourteen year old Nathan Ciro, a tormented Slytherin who recently tried to end his own life. Seeking answers to his strange predicament, Harry returns to Hogwarts, and causes quite the stir through staff and students - especially when they come to realise he is not the same boy as before.

He tries to avoid suspicion, but as his quest for the truth draws more and more attention to him, Harry begins to think that he might not like what he will discover.”

Some Bonus AU tomarry

A Thousand Paths Among The Stars - by Haplessshippo @haplesshippo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015060/chapters/27191238

This is a star trek au and it’s honestly my favorite tomarry au fic. Granted, I am a huge sci-fi fan. There’s also a bit of a twist at the end, or at least it surprised me, due to the way we usually expect tomarry plots to go.

“Harry Potter, newly appointed Captain of the Marauder and son of the famous Captain James Potter, was falling apart at the seams. His crew didn’t respect him, he was lost in the empty expanse of space, nightmares plagued his sleep, and his Commander deserved the Captain position more than he did. Good thing multiple attempts on his life and a vicious warlord after his head was all it took to turn it all around.

Alternatively, that space fic in which Harry Potter almost dies too many times, Tom Riddle slowly becomes the most smitten fool on the ship, and the rest of the crew are all just a bunch of assholes with popcorn watching the show. And exploding ships, don't forget the exploding ships.”

The Matchmaker - by TanninTele

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16507676/chapters/38664089

I am ALSO a huge true crime fan, and this story has a criminal that kinda reminds me of one that might appear in Hannibal (but with less murder). I enjoy the characterization, though tom is pretty tame in this compared to more cannon fics, considering he’s not the criminal and instead an investigator. Harry is also different from how people usually portray him, but I still like it.

“'The Matchmaker' is a serial abductor whose modus operandi consists of pairing two same-sex individuals together in a coffin, six feet underground - buried alive. He isn't a killer. He's a kidnapper with morals, and Detective Chief Inspector Tom Riddle finds himself obsessed with solving the case.

Unfortunately for Tom, the Matchmaker is just as intent on knowing him.”

And on to the Sevitus Stories

Far Beyond A Promise Kept - by oliversnape

https://archiveofourown.org/works/547431/chapters/974693

A classic, Harry stays with snape and unintentionally proves all his assumptions wrong and makes snape care about him. Both the stories have this aspect, but this one has snape a bit nicer from the get go. Probably because it takes place during the third book, so they’ve only known each other two years. It’s quite wholesome though, and I rather enjoy the progression of their relationship.

“Snape never wanted anyone to know of his promise to Dumbledore, but has realised that he can protect Potter much better by taking a less passive role in the boy's training. Actually liking Harry Potter has never been part of his plan. mentor/guardian.”

Crime And Punishment - by melolcatsi

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102232/chapters/58018174

Snape and Harry have way more of a rocky start in this one, and Snape having to pick Harry up from the police station Really Doesn’t Help Snape’s opinion of him. This story very realistically shows the progression of their relationship, going from enemies to family, and near the ‘end’ (it’s not finished) it becomes very wholesome with Snape trying to help Harry with his mental and physical health after years of abuse/ neglect.

“Harry is accused of burglary. The Dursleys leave him to rot. Dumbledore sends Snape to remedy the situation. Harry finds himself in the care of an irate Snape. Not slash, gen-fic w/ focus on Sevitus relationship. Angst galore. Warnings: coarse and suggestive language, mentions of abuse/neglect. Un-betaed and un-Britpicked.”

#tomarry #tom riddle #harry potter #sevitus #severus snape #fanfic #fanfic reccomendation #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #tom riddle x harry potter

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a-detraque-barista · 3 years

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Bread and Blood

Yandere Vampire Jimin x Reader

Genre: Yandere, Horror, Angst

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: blood, abuse, anxiety, insecurity, yandere themes, mentions of religion, reader getting ignored??

A/N: Hello hello everyone~ this took me s o long cause it’s the longest fic I’ve ever written but I hope you enjoy~ @strwbrry-lia

(I created the aesthetic myself 😊)

“Now now, Blood Bag. No need to get emotional over someone like him” whispered the blood-sucking monster that stood in front of you. Blood Bag. That was the ‘cute’ nickname he had come up with for you. The man in front of you wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The same hand that he put on your shoulder to make you look at him. “Why don’t you stop crying over that good-for-nothing for one second, and tell me what you were doing.”

Even though he used the word ‘why’, it was not a question. It was a command. Living with him for five months has taught you what different tones of voice he had. It was a wide range and some blurred with others making you tread lightly at those times. But right now, you knew you needed to respond correctly.

“I was just going to pack my things and bring them back home,” you choked through your tears as you tried your best to sound convincing.

“Tsk tsk, blood bag. We’ve talked about lying and that it’s bad. Haven’t we?” his grip on your shoulders became tighter as his red orbs stared into yours.

When you didn’t respond he repeated his question, “Haven’t we, blood bag?” His hand that was still covered in blood trailed the slope of your neck and wrapped his fingers to where you were struggling to breathe.

You quickly nodded. His fingers eased but did not leave the scarred and bruised skin. His eyes landed on the bite marks he’s left and couldn’t help the shiver slither up his spine. You were doing things to him that no one else could. Ever since he found you broken and beaten in this very building, his infatuation for you has only grown. How this happened, you have no clue. From the first time he bit you, you’ve been trying to leave his clutches. But you have no home, the only friend you had is now lying on the floor dead, and your family hates you. However, finding a place to stay wasn’t the only difficult part. The undead, blood-sucker wouldn’t let you leave.

“You always seem to be up in the clouds. Tell me, blood bag, what are you thinking about?” he spoke in his usual sickly sweet tone, masking the beast that was hiding.

“Thinking about how I got here,” you confessed and finally noticed you were back in the living room you’ve had to sit in for so many months.

“Well, that’s easy,” he stepped impossibly closer with his hands now cupping your face. “I saved you.”

⠽ ⡰⠑ ⠍⡠⠑

Tonight was no ordinary night. Tonight was Halloween. One of the most liked holidays. When kids go trick or treating and teenagers along with adults get drunk. Frights and screams are all around except for your little apartment at the edge of town. Your apartment was cold and dreary as you sat curled in your favorite corner. You were waiting impatiently for the inevitable beating that was coming for you. The knocks at your door went ignored as you cowered behind your bed.

An hour of waiting ended in a thunderous pounding at your door. Covering your ears did nothing to drown out the loud banging. Suddenly, in the middle of your panic-filled mind, you think of the fire escape outside of your bathroom window. You just had to get your legs to work before you could carry out your scattered plan.

Using the bed to help you up, you slowly and shakily make your way to your bathroom. You groaned internally as you realized this was the window your landlord had warned you about. It was the one that got stuck and needed force with special angling. You’ve never opened this window so you had no idea how to open it. Your fear overcame your pessimism making you try your best to get the window open.

After time and time again, you couldn’t open the damn thing. Stepping back and taking a deep breath, you tried to calm down. You heard the door bust open making your head snap to the bathroom door that was still ajar. Quickly closing and locking it, you tried prying open the window again.

Someone was looking out for you up there because the window had finally budged, allowing you to crawl out and onto the rusted fire escape. You shut the window closed just in time as you saw your father burst through that door. Flipping him off, you climbed down quickly and into the alleyway. You began to run as fast as you could, already knowing your father was only now exiting the front door of the building.

You ran and ran. Even as your lungs began to burn and your legs aching, you kept running. The bruises and cuts on your face and stomach hurt more than anything at that point. You knew you couldn’t stop until you found somewhere he wouldn’t find you. Where no one would find you.

Then, the old abandoned warehouse where thirteen people mysteriously died came into view. Practically skidding to a stop, you were panting while contemplating if you should go in. Convincing yourself it would only be for the night, you squeeze through the wood that blocked the main door.

The air was no colder than your apartment so the clothes you had on were more than enough. You sat down on the floor next to the door that read ‘office’. The letters were faded and there were small bits of them missing. If you remembered correctly, this factory was almost seventy-five years old. The broken windows and cracked foundation proved as support for your guess.

After catching your breath, you stood up to head into the office. Looking around to see if anything was interesting. As nothing popped out at you, making your way upstairs seemed to be a good idea. That was until you saw him.

The man wasn’t necessarily tall, but he was still taller than you. His back was turned towards you but you could see the terror on the girl’s face that noticed you. Tears were rushing down her features as she winced in pain. Her voice was lost when she tried calling to you for help. Her face paled and her eyes rolled back. The woman’s body dropped to the floor and the man inhaled deeply. You heard the hitch in his breath and you backed away as slowly as you could manage. Unfortunately, glass crunched beneath the heel of your shoe. Without thinking for too long, you turned around and sprinted back down the stairs.

“Fuck no, not doing that shit,” you mumbled to yourself as you tried to exit the factory as fast as you could.

You felt a hand grab the back of your hoodie causing you to fall onto your back with a grunt. Turning over to your side to ease some of the pain in your back, you see a pair of shiny black dress shoes stand in front of you. With the tip of his foot, he pushed onto your shoulder so he could see your face better. His head tilted to the side, causing his hair to show more of his eyes that were glowing. The crimson color almost distracted you from the rest of his face.

His jawline was sharp and tilted up slightly as if he was looking down at you in a more demeaning way. His full lips that were covered in drying blood tugged into a smirk. He hummed as if thinking about what to do next. He planted his foot back down on the concrete floor before crouching down. You had to admit, the murderous man was even more handsome up close but you sadly couldn’t focus on him right now.

Your head began to feel light and fuzzy the more you looked at the man. Closing your eyes maybe wasn’t the best idea, but your head was suddenly submerged in pain. You moved the hand that was gripping the opposite shoulder to your head. It did nothing to take away the pain but there’s not much you could do as a killer stood above you, planning to do who knows what.

“Don’t worry, blood bag. I’m not gonna do anything to you...yet,” you heard his honey-like voice before feeling him wrap his arms around you. “My name’s Jimin, and you’re going to love your new hell.”

⤐ ⤐ ⤐ ⤐

Five months later and you were in, just as he said, hell. You have scars from his fangs all over, fatigue from blood loss, and an appalling adoration for the man who has brought you to his home. What he called home, you called hell. Not only were you used as livestock, but you were tormented by the fact you had fallen for your shepherd.

You hated calling him by his name because you thought it fit him so well and rolled off your tongue like it was meant to. So you called him anything but his name.

He was still locked up in his room like always and you’ve already ventured the enormous house, there was practically nothing to do. You’ve been staring at the wall so often you can no longer sit on the couch, where you’re certain has an ass print from you. Nothing in this mansion intrigued you anymore. Should you maybe...leave the house? You’ve never attempted to leave since you figured he would punish you for it. But how would he know if he’s always in his room or workspace?

You got up from your bed to look into the closet of wonders you’ve never bothered looking through. You just see a comfy set of clothes and go with that since you don’t do anything. Luckily, you found an outfit that matched your style. You didn’t have any money so it would just be a walk around the town, and getting to know exactly which town you were in.

It was a lot easier leaving than you thought was possible with a vampire living there. The house was on an isolated street but you saw old and rusted signs pointing towards the town. It was maybe a twenty-minute walk with you humming and slightly tripping over nothing. It was nice to finally get out of that suffocating house and go for a walk. The air was brisk and made your lungs feel like they were fully inflating.

Once you got to the main road of the city, many people were seen walking. Either by themselves or with children. The day was nice but it seemed there was an event going on. Crowds weren’t your thing so you decided to keep exploring the quaint town.

Walking by bakeries, craft stores, and many other family-owned shops. It was all different to you, having lived in bigger cities your whole life. You were walking by the only bookstore you’ve seen so far and decided to go in. It smelled of old paper and incense. Tall aisles were filled with any genre you could think of and more. You couldn’t remember the last time you were in a bookstore.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” a deep voice broke you from your thoughts as you turned towards the man it came from.

“Oh, no, just looking. Thank you though,” you smile slightly before continuing your way to the back where the sign read ‘Folklore’.

“Well, it’s just that I’ve never seen you around town before. You just move here?” he followed you while asking his question.

“Yeah,” you didn’t feel like talking at this point.

“I figured. Well if you need someone to show you around I’d be more than happy to-”

“Yeong-Jun, go bother somebody else. She’s obviously not interested,” another voice interested the man that was pestering you.

The guy next to you huffed before leaving the store and you looked to see who had said that. He was behind the counter where a register and binders sat.

“I’m sorry about him, he does that all the time,” he smiled gently at you before going back to the small paperback in his hand.

You went back to scanning the spines of the books that sat in front of you, but your eyes kept glancing at the nice man who helped you out. You couldn’t help but think that maybe the two of you could be friends. He seemed nice and he obviously liked books, same as you. But what would you even say to him? Talking first was never your strong suit, or just making friends in general. You never knew what to say so maybe, it’d be best to just leave him alone.

At this point, you didn’t even know why you were taking so long in the store. It’s not like you could buy anything. Sighing, you headed towards the exit before the man at the counter’s voice stopped you.

“Didn’t find anything interesting?”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just that I don’t have the money for it.”

“Oh, well...How about you take one anyway?”

“I’m sorry?” you turned back to face him.

“You can take a book of your choosing. Think of it as me lending it to you. For free,” he said through a chuckle after seeing your expression.

“You sure?”

He nodded before motioning at all the rows of books. Swiftly, before he could change his mind, you made your way back to the Fantasy section and grabbed the one you had been eyeing almost the whole time.

You stopped at the counter, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, just bring it back when you’re done and you can borrow another one,” he smiled so wide it made his eyes turn into crescents.

You tried hiding your smile while nodding and exiting the store like a child who had just gotten candy. Books have been your only entertainment ever since he kidnapped you. There was no television to watch, no laptop, or a gaming system. The castle held no form of technology besides electricity for the lighting and sound systems. No matter where you were in the house, you could always hear music. It was beautiful yet sad performed by a group of woodwinds, brass, and many other instruments.

It’s good music to read to. You decided to head back to your hell. Wait...Why...Why would you go back if you were able to walk out the front door, be gone for almost an hour, and walked around town with no questions asked?

You turned around and headed to the church because that was the only place you could think of that would let you stay for free without worrying too much about a creep.

The last thing on your mind now was the thing that was holed up in his room, becoming hungry.

You slowly opened the door to the only church in town that was almost as big as the castle you came from. Not seeing anyone, you fully entered the building with the book in your hand. You tried to walk as quietly as you could but your shoes hitting the polished tiles caused echoing that bounced off the high ceiling walls.

“Hello? Is someone there?” a voice was heard coming from the side. You didn’t respond as you heard footsteps coming closer. “Oh, well hello there. What can I help you with?”

“I-I...I was wondering if I could, um, stay here for the night?” your social skills have suffered tremendously because of the anxiety your family has caused.

“Oh dear child, of course, you can. God’s house is always open to anyone,” he guides you to the other side of the building where he opened a door showing a long hallway.

As you walked down the large corridor, you noticed all the doors you passed by. Some were closed and some were opened. The opened ones revealed empty rooms with a bed and nightstand. You assumed the closed doors were occupied rooms.

“Many people stay here, all for their own reasons. We have a dining hall just around the corner, baths are just past that, and you are always welcome to join sermons,” he stopped in front of a room that was at the very end of the hall. “If you need anything, we have many sisters throughout the church that will be happy to help.”

“Thank you,” you slightly bowed before entering the room.

“Of course,” he closed the door and walked to a random spot in the corridor. He placed his hand on the wall while whispering a murmur in Latin. A door opened and he entered.

He descended the spiral case of marble stairs before coming to another door. This door had carvings of so many symbols, you couldn’t count. He touched a particular one causing the door to creak open.

“You all felt it as I did,” he spoke loudly before he sat down in his designated chair.

“You wouldn’t be able to,” another pastor said sarcastically.

“Will he come?” asked a nun.

“I do not know,” sighed the pastor who showed you to your room.

“Will you protect the girl, Claude?” asked a woman who sat in the middle of the table.

“Yes.”

✨

You had fallen asleep almost seven hours ago, according to the clock that hung on the wall opposite of the bed you laid in. That was the most sleep you have gotten in about two years. Insomnia was a bitch you knew all too well. Being able to sleep for so long made you full of this energy you haven’t experienced in so long. A knock was heard at your door before a nun poked her head in.

“It’s time for supper,” she said softly.

“Thank you,” she closed the door after slightly nodding to your response.

You sighed before looking out of the window that was close to the ceiling. You slept and found a place to stay but now what? You couldn’t live here so close to him. Yes, you loved him but it was unrequited and you knew it. It’s not like you could help it. In the little time you’ve spent with him, that didn’t involve your blood, he was kind and his smile gave you a serotonin boost. The way he was gentle with the plants he had and how he disagreed with the disgusting morals of characters from a different era. All of these things made you grow feelings for the undead immortal. Maybe it was because you’ve never encountered such a personality. But who knew?

You climbed out of the bed and headed to the dining hall with the book in your hand. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a meal that wasn’t frozen or from a restaurant. You never felt like cooking even though you knew how, you just never felt like it.

The volunteers were kind as they offered you everything they had. Sticking with only the bread and stew they made, you sat down at an empty table while beginning to read the book you picked out from the store. The front and spine read Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by April Genevieve Tucholke.

Someone had sat next to you making you look at them in the corner of your eye. It was the priest from yesterday. He had a plate of his own filled with stew, bread, and rice.

“I hope I am not disturbing you,” he motioned towards the open book in front of you.

“Oh, uh, no. It’s fine,” you nodded making him smile softly.

“What brings you here?” he asked while respectfully eating his bread.

You had to think carefully about what you wanted to say. You couldn’t just tell him that a vampire had kidnapped you, but didn’t care enough to keep an eye on you.

“I ran away from home.”

“Why is that my child?”

“My father- he uh…he would hit me...a lot, so one day I ran away,” it wasn’t a complete lie. That is what had happened at the beginning of all of this. However, your town was most likely miles and miles away.

“I am sorry, my child. Do you still, um, have bruises or anything?” he was hesitant in the way he spoke hoping he wouldn’t upset you.

You nodded causing him to sigh. Some people were truly out of God’s reach and your father needed to be punished for abusing as he had.

“Where are you from?” he asked looking back at you.

“Seoul.”

“Seoul? My, that’s ways away from here. How did you get to Busan?” he was shocked by how far you have traveled and was curious how you managed to get down here. Of course, he knew how you got there but he wanted to know if you trust him or not. By how long it took you to answer, it was obvious you didn’t trust easily.

“Many many buses,” you lied through your teeth, to a priest no less. Good thing you lost faith a long long time ago.

“I see,” bells rang in the distance signifying everyone that supper time was over and it was time to either go to your room or do chores. “We’ll get you started on chores tomorrow, okay?”

You nodded once again before standing up and taking care of your tray before heading back to your temporary room. Started on chores?? How long does he think you’re staying here? Now that you know what city you’re in, it will be much easier to get back to Seoul. You just had to find a way to get back and then figure out where you were going to stay. Your mind went to the book in your hand

You laid down so the growing headache could maybe stop from spreading from your frontal lobe to the cortex. Setting your book on the table beside you, sleep was your best choice at the moment.

Candy apple eyes stared down at the pathetic looking ‘House of God’. The eyes held hatred and disgust for the building and the oh so holy salvation that occupied it. The man’s features turned sour thinking about all the bothersome puppets that have tried to kill him, more often than not.

He wasn’t here for them, no-no. He was here for you of course. At first, he didn’t even realize you had escaped. Your scent was covering every inch of his mansion so it took maybe a whole day before he realized you were gone. The vampire was in his office so he wouldn’t bite you so much. Whenever he drank your delicious blood, he felt it course through his veins, he felt the warmth he once did when he was alive, he felt. And that terrified him. He was scared of the feeling, but he didn’t want to lose it. So he spent hours and hours researching from the very scripts his ancestors and others wrote, trying to find a way to keep you forever.

Now he’s sitting there thinking, how fucking stupid could he have been to let you leave like that. All the doors had normal locks so it wouldn’t take much brainpower to figure them out. If he didn’t get you back before another creature claimed you, it would be over. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. Because you were different. He knew that. Your smell, your taste, and your personality. All of it was so entrancing and he let it slip away just like that. Maybe he was just being dramatic, but what vampire isn’t? Maybe it was a good thing you escaped. How else could he hunt for such scrumptious prey? He loved to hunt before he fed but that usually ended with his prey dying. This time, he was going to keep you. Not only for your blood but also for you. The sarcastic remarks you made had made him laugh, your smile made his unmoving heart skip, your eyes told a story that only you knew. Yeah, he wasn’t going to let you go.

The priest who had welcomed you had once again descended the marble stairs into the secret hideaway. Once the nun saw him approach she spoke loudly, “He’s already here and you’re playing tea party with the girl.”

“No need for malice, sister,” the priest sat down in his usual chair and placed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. He knew he was here. Years of training his perception had been fruitful.

“I wouldn’t need to be malicious if you would just do your job!” her voice reverberated against the walls and back to them.

The woman sitting at the head of the table cleared her throat before addressing the nun who had gotten out of line, “Do not point fingers, let alone yell in the House of God, sister.”

The nun sat back in her seat while crossing her arms. She had never encountered a vampire before and she wasn’t trying to now. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaling, she stiffened. She felt powerful energy that she wasn’t able to identify.

“Hello~” Jimin stood not too far away from the table but far enough to where no one could touch him before he could move. “Let’s negotiate.”

↬ ↬ ↬

It’s been a week since you’ve arrived at the church. You haven’t seen the pastor since that awkward dinner in the hall. Maybe he realized you couldn’t be helped and decided to move onto the next person. Who would help you right? You’re just a nobody who has parents that hate you. That’s normal...it’s all you’ve ever known. You sighed as you hung up the last piece of clothing on one of the lines. Not wanting to spend all day at the church again, you decided to take the book you finished back to the store. Hopefully, the nice employee was working today.

You went back to your temporary room to grab the book before you made your way to the exit of the building. On your way to the exit, it seemed like all the nuns and pastors you’ve passed we’re trying to distract you. First, a nun had asked for help with cleaning the rooftops, which sounded like a pointless job that would take all day. So you politely declined but when she insisted you told her you can help after you take the book back to the store. Then, a pastor had asked how you’ve been feeling and if you’re comfortable in your room. Saying yes to both and walking at the same time, you were able to get out of that conversation fairly quickly. And as you placed your hand on the door, two more nuns were asking you questions about you and where were going. Thankfully, another nun held their attention while you slipped through the crack in the doors.

You let out a sigh of relief and made your way to the bookstore. It felt nice to get out of there, at least for a little while. The weather seemed windy today and the clouds were slowly becoming a dark grey. Hopefully, a storm will come by. That’s always when you slept the best no matter where you slept. You were never able to sleep well, but on nights where you could hear thunder and see flashes of lightning, it lulled you to sleep, unlike any stories or songs.

Your mind suddenly went to him. Does he like storms? You stopped walking for a second, realizing your mistake. How could you think of him like that? Your cheeks get warm before you start walking again to try and forget about him and focus on getting another book.

Who cares if he likes storms? Certainly not you, he means nothing to you...do you mean nothing to him? You sighed as you weren't able to stop wondering about the handsome man that captured you months ago. It kind of made you sad that he hasn't come to find you yet. Your thoughts had you passing the bookstore before the employee from before calls out to you, “Hey!”

You snapped your head up and looked around before your eyes landed on the person who called out to you. Looking around again, you realized you had walked by the store without noticing. Your cheeks turned red before you made your back to the store where the worker waited for you with a smile.

“I think I have one you might like,” he motioned for you to follow him to the desk. He told you to set the book in your hands on the cart to the right and slid a different one on the desk.

It read Between the Spark and the Burn, the sequel to the book you had just returned. “I didn't see this the last time I was here,” you carefully picked up the book and held it in your hand by your side.

“I noticed the book you chose so I requested it from the next town over for when you finished the first one,” he sat down on the wooden stool that was rickety and old.

“Thank you,” you said quietly while keeping your gaze anywhere but him.

It’s been a while since someone did something nice for you. You're usually the one doing things for other people. You could see him smiling in the corner of your, making you realize that you were also smiling. Your cheeks were beginning to hurt so you decided to introduce yourself, “My name’s Y/n.” Hopefully, that was the right way to begin this conversation.

“Taehyung, a pleasure,” his smile grew before he covered it with his hand.

You nodded before reluctantly walking towards the door. Just as it closed behind you Taehyung was met with somebody standing next to him. He casually looked to see who it was only to find his best friend.

“Jimin~ it's been so long since you visited!” he stood up to give Jimin a hug and Jimin reciprocated. “What brings you here?”

“Turns out, you were just flirting with the girl I was talking about,” Jimin sighed as he straightened his posture to not look as short compared to his friend.

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot and pointed his thumb towards the door where you just exited. Jimin nodded before pinning him to the wall, “And you're gonna help me get her back.”

⤐ ⤐ ⤐

“Y/n!” your name echoed throughout the spacious corridor. You turned around to see the priest waving to you while jogging to catch up to you.

...you don't remember ever telling him your name. You began to panic so you quickly made your way outside and into the garden to hide behind the large rose bushes.

You heard him calling for you but stayed behind the bushes and went deeper into the rows and rows of red and white roses. You let out a sigh before sitting on the ground more comfortably.

“Blood bag, how come you haven't come home yet?”

Your whole body stiffened, but surprisingly relaxed. But now wasn't the time to question your muscles. You looked up to see the man who you thought you wouldn't have to see again.

“I've missed you, ya know,” he crouched down so his piercing eyes could be level with yours. It reminded you of the first time you met, back in the warehouse.

You remained quiet and averted your gaze to a wilting rose at the bush behind him. What were you supposed to say to him anyway? Did you miss him too? Of course, you did, he has given you more attention than anyone in your life. Up until you had spoken to Taehyung a couple of days ago.

“Blood Bag, it’s rude to ignore me,” he cupped your face with his hands decorated with silver rings.

“You ignored me for days at a time but that doesn’t matter, does it?” your anger got the best of you, making you regret even opening your mouth. You watched as his eyes widened slightly before he smirked.

“It does matter because I was doing something very important in that office.”

“Of course, what would be more important than using me as food whenever you felt like it.”

You saw his eyebrow twitch at your smartass comment. You didn’t know what had gotten over you at that time. You were usually the pushover but it seems that something about this vampire made you want to talk back. Maybe it was the smirk on his ethereal features or maybe it was just you trying to deny your feelings for him.

“I’m gonna let that slide since there’s something else I need to talk to you about,” you stood up before you had to hear any more of this unnecessary conversation. Before you were able to take a step, you were brought back to the ground. Your back hit the hard dirt making you wince. Jimin sat on your waist with each knee on either side of you. “You have recently met a very good friend of mine without even noticing what he was. I’m afraid he wants to take you as his. So I was nice enough to come here and warn you about him. But it seems you don’t want my protection…”

He trailed off waiting for you to start begging for him to help you but it never came. His smile fell and his eyebrows furrowed. Why were you not groveling? Were you not afraid? That’s not it, he can smell the delicious fear coming off of you.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m leaving by the end of next week,” you lied hoping he wouldn’t catch it.

Jimin stared at you for a second before getting off of you. But not before giving you a quick peck to the lips. Your face burned as you looked up at the grinning blood-sucker of a man. It most definitely gave Jimin an ego boost to see you so affected by his action.

“See you later, Blood Bag,” he waved before disappearing around the corner. What you didn’t see is that Jimin had to stop after turning the corner. He held his hand over the left side of his chest. It hurt. His chest was in pain. Like his heart was beating once again. The cold skin of his cheeks flushed while he felt like his lungs were actually working. If this was what it felt like just to kiss you, imagine what it would feel like to...Jimin had to stop himself. No need to let his mind go too far until you’ve fallen for him. And he was confident you would.

You finally willed your legs to get up and move to hurry to your room. You stopped when you passed an opening leading to the street in front of the church. You didn’t want to give Jimin or the priest time to find you again, so you made your way back to the bookstore.

When you got there you opened the door and your eyes instantly landed on Taehyung...and his bruised cheek above a busted lip. You stopped in your tracks making Taehyung look at you.

“Done with the book already?” a smile stretched across his face making him mumble ‘ow’.

“What happened to you?”

“Just a little friendly brawl.”

“In fifteen minutes?”

“Lots can happen in fifteen minutes.”

You shook your read to get your thoughts focused, “I came here to ask you if there was a bus or a train that left the town today.”

“Hmmm, I’m pretty sure the next train outta here isn’t for another two days,” Taehyung lied without hesitation. The next train left today in thirty minutes and wouldn’t be back until next week. He didn’t want another beating from Jimin.

“Oh, well thanks. I’ll have the book back by then,” you nodded before heading back to the church. What were you supposed to do for the next two days?

Once you made it back to the church you headed straight to your room to find the priest sitting in the wooden chair. He told you to have a seat on your bed after you closed the door.

He cleared his throat, “So you obviously seem uncomfortable around me and I apologize for whatever I have done to make you feel that way.”

Your eyes were on the book in your hand before you quietly replied, “I just never remembered telling you my name so I panicked. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I should’ve been more careful,” he saw your confused expression before continuing. “I am no ordinary priest. I am a...protector of sorts. I protect people from supernatural creatures of all kinds.”

Your eyes looked into his, and his were telling you he knew about the vampire that had kept in his home. Of course, he knew, this made you breathe out a laugh, “So you know about him.”

“I do.”

“You know, I was able to walk out the front door of his house like it was nothing,” Claude’s eyebrows raised in shock. You nodded, “He was so deeply in his work while in his office, I was able to walk out of there. But now he knows I’m here and I need to find a way out of here.”

“I can help with that. The train that transports out of town leaves in twenty minutes. I can get you there along with a ticket straight back home. If that is what you wish.”

It only took you a few seconds to register his offer and you quickly nodded and followed him out the door. All while leaving the book from Taehyung on the bed.

“What’s your name?” you asked while trying to keep up with the man that has been trying to help you for the past week and a half.

“Claude.”

He looked around the corridor before muttering the Latin mantra for the hidden door to open. Claude had to come back up a few stairs to grab your wrist to lead you down the stairs. You had unknowingly frozen in place after seeing the wall slide open to a set of stairs.

“Do all churches have a basement like this?”

“Not all, we’re one of the few that do.”

“So cool,” you whispered as you skimmed all the symbols and words that were engraved into the walls.

“There’s a tunnel that leads straight to the station. We don’t want you to miss the train, the next one won’t be here for another week,” Claude explained all while hurriedly walking down the tunnel.

You didn’t want to think about how Taehyung lied to you and how you didn’t realize that he was the friend Jimin was referring to. Just then, passed the room where you could see people sitting around a large dark wood table.

“Are we not going to talk about how you guys have a literal l a i r down here?”

“Nope.”

“Alrighty.”

Claude had led you up a flight of stairs that lead to the back of a building. You couldn’t tell what kind it was until the two of you walked up the side to the front. The large sign read Train Station. There were many benches set out but only two other people were waiting to get on the train. Claude had just realized he still had a grip on your hand but luckily you didn’t seem to mind as you read all the signs telling you the train’s schedule.

Claude paid for your ticket to Seoul before having you sit down on a bench close to the entrance gate. He looked around to make sure Jimin was nowhere in sight. Then he would glance back at you to make sure you were still there. The loud whistle of the train made it to your ears before you stood up and watched as it slowed to a stop.

“I have nowhere to stay up there,” you paused in front of the bench and started at the open door showing a few metal stairs.

“You do,” he brought a piece of paper from his pants pocket and gently set it in your hand. He nodded towards the train, motioning for you to get on before it leaves.

You thank him before boarding the locomotive and taking a seat in the designated section. Your seat was on the side of the station. Looking out to see Claude waving and smiling at you through the window. No one else was around him, nobody had gotten off and the few people that were waiting were already boarded. You waved back before your blood ran cold.

Claude’s neck was snapped right before your very eyes. His now lifeless body fell to the ground, in what felt like slow motion. The one person that had been helping you from the kindness of his heart, lied on the floor, dead.

Through your teary eyes, you saw it was Taehyung. His face showed no emotion, not even as he stared into your sorrowful eyes. As you went to stand, the train began to move and when you looked back to where Taehyung was standing, he was gone.

🩸🩸🩸

You rushed off of the train and hurriedly went to find whatever stood at the address Claude had given to you. Your head constantly went from side to side, causing a headache to form. But you didn't want the pounding of your brain against your skull to be the reason you were caught.

Finally, you ended up at the place where you met Jimin. The warehouse still appeared worn down and abandoned. Nothing had changed since you last saw it, except for the door. The door used to be blocked by wooden planks but now, it was a sleek and elegant carved piece of wood. There laid a door knocker that looked to be recently polished, in the shape of a cross.

You hesitated in reaching for the knocker and just as your fingers touched the cool metal, Taehyung interrupted. You spun around to see him even more beaten than the time before. When you went to knock again the door was gone, and the old wooden beams replaced them. You froze, that was going to be where Claude promised safety. Now you met with the thing that killed him. The thing you had considered your friend for only a short period of time.

“I didn't wanna hurt you like this, ya know. I really did want to be friends with you, and maybe even one day be more than that. Because you seem like a great person and-” he stopped talking once he noticed you had slipped through the wood and into the building. He sighed before following you in.

You wondered if there was even a point in trying to hide from him. He obviously wasn't human so he could track you down in seconds. Yet, you still went to hide in the room where you saw Jimin feeding on that stranger. And after months, her body was still there. Rotting and decaying. You gagged before exiting the room quickly.

Taehyung was right there, causing you to run into him. He held you close as you tried to pull away. He rolled his eyes as you struggled, irritated you wouldn't listen to his practiced speech all while running away. It was clear Jimin had no issue throwing punches towards his friend. Even though they were the same age physically, Jimin had been alive for much longer than he had.

You attempted to pull all your weight back as Taehyung dragged you down the stairs and to the entrance. Suddenly, you went flying back onto your ass as Taehyung’s grip left your arm. Your gaze landed on Jimin wrestling with Taehyung on the concrete floor. You looked around to find another door but there wasn't one that you could see. You didn't want to wander the building and get lost, but you also didn't want to wait for the two supernatural beings to be done with their fight.

You let out a shaky breath after realizing you're going to have to sneak past and get to the entrance. Your legs trembled as you slowly made your way around the two that were yelling at each other. Threats and fists, along with knees, we're thrown back and forth. When you got to the entrance you heard a sickening thud. It wasn't someone falling on the ground or one being thrown. No, the thud had an underlying crack to it. Turning around, you saw dark crimson ooze from Taehyung’s skull.

He was face down, making the sight easier for you to stomach. If you were able to see the look on his face and the emptiness of his eyes, you wouldn't be able to sleep again.

Jimin picked you up by your biceps, making sure you were as close to him as possible. He rested his forehead against yours. He bit his and leaned in for a kiss. Jimin kissed you over and over again until every inch of your face had met the touch of his pillowy lips. lip

“So tell me, Blood Bag, are you ready to spend an eternity with me?”

#park jimin #bts x reader #bts yandere #yandere bts x reader #yandere bts #kim taehyung #vampire #vampire jimin #jimin x reader #yandere male #yandere jimin x reader #yandere vampire #vampire jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #bts jimin #bts park jimin

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ariainstars · 4 years

Text

Thank You, Disney Lucasfilm… For Destroying My Dreams

Warning: longer post.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So… I watched The Rise of Skywalker on Disney+ a few weeks ago. Again.

Sigh.

I guess it has its good sides. But professional critics tend to dislike it and even the general audience doesn’t go crazy for it. I wonder why?

The Fantasy

When his saga became a groundbreaking pop phenomenon in the 1970es, George Lucas reportedly said that he wanted to tell fairy tales again in world that no longer seemed to offer young people a chance to grow up with them. The fact that his saga was met with such unabashed, international enthusiasm proves that he was right: people long for fairy tales no matter how old they are and what culture they belong to.

“Young people today don’t have a fantasy life anymore, not the way we did… All they’ve got is Kojak and Dirty Harry. All the films they see are movies of disasters and insecurity and realistic violence.” (George Lucas)

I’ve been a Star Wars fan for more than thirty years. I love the Original Trilogy but honestly it did not make me dream much, perhaps because when I saw it the trilogy was already complete. The Prequel Trilogy also did not inspire my fantasy.

The Last Jedi accomplished something that no TV show, book or film had managed in years: it made me dream. The richness of colorful characters, multifaceted themes, unexpected developments, intriguing relationships was something I had not come across in a long time: it fascinated me. I felt like a giddy teenager reading up meta’s, writing my own and imagining all sorts of beautiful endings for the saga for almost two years.

So if there’s something The Rise of Skywalker can pride itself on for me, it’s that it crushed almost every dream I had about it. The few things I had figured out – Rey’s fall to the Dark, Ben Solo’s redemption, the connection between them - did not even make me happy because they were tainted by the flatness of the storytelling reducing the Force to a superpower again (like the general audience seems to believe it is), and its deliberate ignoring of almost all messages of The Last Jedi.

Many fans of the Original Trilogy also were disillusioned by the saga over the decades and ranted at the studios for “destroying their childhood”. Now we, the fans of the sequels and in particular of The Last Jedi, are in the same situation… but the thought doesn’t make the pill much easier to swallow. What grates on my nerves is the feeling that someone trampled on my just newly found dreams like a naughty child kicking a doll’s house apart. Why give us something to dream of in the first place, then? To a certain extent I can understand that many fans would angrily assume that Disney Lucasfilm made the Sequel Trilogy for the purpose of destroying their idea of the saga. The point is that they had their happy ending, while every dream the fans of the Sequel Trilogy may have had was shattered with this unexpectedly flat and hollow final note.

I know many fans who dislike the Prequel Trilogy heartily. I also prefer the Original Trilogy, but I find the prequels all right in their own way, also since I gave them some thought. However, it can’t be denied that they lack the magic spark which made the Original Trilogy so special. Which makes sense since they are not a fairy tale but ultimately a tragedy, but in my opinion it’s the one of the main reasons why the Prequel Trilogy never was quite so successful, or so beloved.

Same goes for Rogue One, Solo, or Clone Wars. They’re ok in their way, but not magical.

The sequel trilogy started quite satisfyingly with The Force Awakens, but for me, the actual bomb dropped with The Last Jedi. Reason? It was a magical story. It had the spark again that I had missed in the new Star Wars stories for decades! And it was packed full of beautiful messages and promises.

The Force is not a superpower belonging solely to the Jedi Anyone can be a hero. Even the greatest heroes can fail, but they will still be heroes. Hope is like the sun: if you only believe in it when you see it you’ll never make it through the night. Failure is the greatest teacher. It’s more important to save the light than to seem a hero. No one is never truly gone. War is only a machine. Dark Side and Light Side can be unbeatable if they are allies. Save what you love instead of destroying what you hate.

Naively, I assumed the trilogy would continue and end in that same magical way. And then came The Rise of Skywalker… which looks and feels like a Marvel superhero story at best and an over-long videogame at worst.

Chekov’s Gun

“Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it’s not going to be fired, it shouldn’t be hanging there.”

(Anton Chekov, 1860 - 1904)

If you show an important looking prop and don’t put it to use, it leaves the audience feeling baffled. There is a huge difference between a story’s setup, and the audience’s feeling of entitlement. E.g. many viewers expected Luke to jump right back into the fray in Episode VIII, because that’s what a hero does, isn’t it? The cavalry comes and saves the day. And instead, we met a disillusioned elderly hermit who is tired of the ways of the Jedi. But there was no actual reason for disappointment: in Episode VII it was very clearly said (through Han, his best friend) that Luke had gone into exile on purpose, feeling responsible for his failure in teaching a new generation of Jedi. It would have been more than stupid to show him as an all-powerful and all-knowing man who kills the bad guys. Sorry but who expected that was a victim to his own prejudice.

A promise left unfulfilled is a different story. The Last Jedi set up a lot of promises that didn’t come true in The Rise of Skywalker: Balance as announced by the Jedi temple mosaic, a new Jedi Order hinted at by Luke on Crait, a good ending for Ben and Rey set up by the hand-touching scene which was opposite to Anakin’s and Padmés wedding scene. Many fans were annoyed about the Canto Bight sequence. I liked it because it felt like the set-up for a lot of important stuff: partnership between Finn and Rose whom we see working together excellently, freedom for the enslaved children (one of whom is Force-sensitive), DJ and Rose expressing what makes wars in general foolish and beside the point. So if we, the fans of Episode VIII, now feel angry and let down, I daresay it’s not due to entitlement. We were announced magical outcomes and not just pew-pew.

The Star Wars saga never repeated itself but always developed and enlarged its themes, so it was to be expected that delving deeper, uncomfortable truths would come out: wars don’t start out of nowhere, and they don’t flare up and continue for decades for the same reason. In order to find Balance, the Jedi’s and the Skywalker family’s myths needed to be dismantled. Which is not necessarily bad as long it is explained how things came to this, and a better alternative is offered. The prequels explained the old political order and the beginnings of the Skywalker family, and announced that the next generation would do better. The sequels hardly explained anything about the 30 years that passed since our heroes won the battle against the Empire, and while The Last Jedi hinted at the future a lot, The Rise of Skywalker seemed to make a point of ignoring all of it.

The Skywalker Family Is Obliterated. Why?

Luke was proven right that his nephew would mean the end of everything he loved. The lineage of the Chosen One is gone. His grandson had begun where Vader had ended - tormented, pale and with sad eyes - and he met the same fate. Luke, Han, Leia, all sacrificed themselves to bring Ben Solo back for nothing. Him being the reincarnation of the Chosen One and getting a new chance should have been meaningful for all of them; instead, he literally left the scepter to Rey who did nothing to deserve it: merely because she killed the Bad Guy does not mean she will do a better job than the family whose name and legacy she proudly takes over.

I do hope there was a good reason if the sequels did not tell “The New Adventures of Luke, Leia and Han” and instead showed us a broken family on the eve of its wipeout. It would have been much easier, and more fun for the audience, to bring the trio back again after a few years and pick up where they had left. Instead we had to watch their son, nephew and heir go his grandfather’s way - born with huge power, branded as Meant to Be Dangerous from the start, tried his best to be a Jedi although he wanted to be a pilot, never felt accepted, abandoned in the moment of his greatest need, went to his abuser because he was the only one to turn to, became a criminal, his own family (in Anakin’s case: Obi-Wan and Yoda) trained the person who was closest to him to kill him, sacrificed himself for this person and died. And in his case, it’s particularly frustrating because Kylo Ren wasn’t half as impressive a villain as Vader, and Ben Solo had a very limited time of heroism and personal fulfilment, contrarily to Anakin when he was young.

The impact of The Rise of Skywalker was traumatic for some viewers. I know of adolescents and adults, victims of family abandonment and abuse, who identified with Ben: they were told that you can never be more than the sum of your abuse and abandonment, and that they’re replaceable if they’re not “good”. Children identifying with Rey were told that their parents might sell them away for “protection”. Rey was not conflicted, she had a few doubts but overall, she was cool about everything she did, so she got everything on a silver platter; that’s why as a viewer, after a while you stopped caring for her. Her antagonist was doomed from birth because he dared to question the choices other people made for him. It seems that in the Star Wars universe, you can only “rise” if you’re either a criminal but cool because you’ve always got a bucket over your head (Vader / the Mandalorian) or are a saint-like figure (Luke / Rey).

One of Obi-Wan’s first actions in A New Hope is cutting off someone’s arm who was only annoying him; Han Solo, ditto. These were no acts of self-defense. The Mandalorian is an outlaw. Yet they are highly popular. Why? Because they always keep their cool, so anything they do seems justified. Young Anakin was hated, Jake Lloyd and Hayden Christensen attacked for his portrayal. For the same reason many fans feel that Luke is the least important of the original trio although basically the Original Trilogy is his story: it seems the general audience hates nothing more than emotionality in a guy. They want James Bond, Batman or Indiana Jones as the lead. Padmé loved Anakin because she always saw the good little boy he once was in him; his attempts at impressing her with his flirting or his masculinity failed. Kylo tried to impress Rey with his knowledge and power, but she fled from him - she wanted the gentle, emphatic young man who had listened to her when she felt alone. Good message. But both died miserably, and Ben didn’t even get anything but a kiss. Realizing that his “not being as strong as Darth Vader” might actually be a strength of its own would have meant much more.

The heroes of the Original Trilogy had their adventures together and their happy ending; the heroes of the Prequel Trilogy also had good times and accomplishments in their youth, before everything went awry. Rey, Finn and Poe feel like their friendship hardly got started; Rose was almost obliterated from the narrative; and Ben Solo seems to have had only one happy moment in his entire life. Of course it’s terrible that he committed patricide (even if it was under coercion), but Anakin / Vader himself had two happy endings in the Prequel Trilogy before he became the monster we know so well. Not to mention Clone Wars, where he has heroic moments unnumbered.

The Skywalker family is obliterated without Balance in the Force, and the young woman who inherited all doesn’t seem to have learned any lesson from all this. The Original Trilogy became a part of pop culture among other things because its ending was satisfying. We can hardly be expected to be satisfied with an ending where our heroes are all dead and the heir of their worst enemy takes over. What good was the happy ending of the Original Trilogy for if they didn’t learn enough from their misadventures to learn how to protect one single person - their son and nephew, their future?

For a long time, I also thought that the saga was about Good vs. Evil. Watching the prequels again, I came to the conclusion that it is rather about Love vs. War. And now, considering as a whole, I believe it to be essentially Jedi against Skywalker. The ending, as it is now, says that both fractions lost: they annihilated one another, leaving a third party in charge, who believes to be both but actually knows very little about them.

Star Wars and Morality

After 9 films and 42 years, it still is not possible to make the general audience accept that it is wrong to divide people between Good and Evil in the first place. The massive rejection of both prequels and sequels, which have moral grey zones galore, shows it.

It is also not possible without being accused of actual blasphemy in the same fandom, to say the plain truth that no Skywalker ever was a Jedi at heart. As their name says, they’re pilots. Luke was the last and strongest of all Jedi because he always was first and foremost himself. Anakin was crushed by the Jedi’s attempts to stifle his feelings. His grandson, too. A Force-sensitive person ought to have the choice whether they want to be a Jedi or not; they ought not to be taught to suppress their emotions and live only on duty, without really caring for other people; and they ought to grow up feeling in a safe and loving environment, not torn away from their families in infancy, indoctrinated and provided with a light sabre (a deadly weapon) while they’re still small. A Jedi order composed of child soldiers or know-it-all’s does not really help anybody.

The original Star Wars saga was about love and friendship; although many viewers did not want to understand that message. The prequels portrayed the Jedi as detached and arrogant and Anakin Skywalker sympathetically, a huge disappointment for who only accepts stories of the “lonesome cowboy” kind. The Last Jedi was so hated that The Rise of Skywalker backpedaled: sorry, of course you’re right, here you have your “hero who knows everything better and fixes everything for you on a silver platter”. The embarrassing antihero, who saves the girl who was the only person showing him some human compassion, can die miserably in the process and is not even mourned.

Honestly: I was doubtful whether it would be adequate to give Ben Solo a happy ending after the patricide. I guess letting him die was the easiest way out for the authors to escape censorship. (I even wrote this in a review on amazon about The Last Jedi, before I delved deeper into the saga’s themes.) The messages we got now are even worse.

Kylo Ren / Ben Solo

A parent can replace a child if they’re not the way they expect them to be. A victim of lifelong psychical and physical abuse can only find escape in death, whether he damns or redeems himself. An introspective, sensitive young man is a loser no matter how hard he tries either way. A whole family can sacrifice itself to save their heir, he dies anyway.

Rey

Self-righteousness is acceptable as long as you find a scapegoat for your own failings. Overconfidence justifies anything you do. You can’t carve your way as a female child of “nobodies”, you have to descend from someone male and powerful even if that someone is the devil incarnate. You are a “strong female” if you choose to be lonely; you need neither a partner nor friends.

In General

Star Wars is not about individual choices, loyalty, friendship and love, it is a classic Western story with a lonesome cowboy (in this case: cowgirl) at its centre. Satisfied?

The father-son-relationship between Vader and Luke mirrors the Biblical story of Cain and Abel, saying that whoever we may want to kill is, in truth, our kin, which makes a clear separation in Good and Evil impossible. The “I am your father” scene is so infamous by now that even non-fans are aware of it; but this relationship between evil guy and good guy, as well as the plot turns where the villain saves the hero and that the hero discards his weapon are looked upon rather as weird narrative quirks instead of a moral.

In an action movie fan, things are simple: good guy vs. bad guy, the good guy (e.g. James Bond may be a murderer and a misogynist, but that’s ok because he’s cool about it) kills the bad guy, ka-boom, end of story. But Star Wars is a parable, an ambitious project told over decades of cinema, and a multilayered story with recurring themes.

A fairy tale ought to have a moral. The moral of both Original Trilogy and Prequel Trilogy was compassionate love - choose it and you can end a raging conflict, reject it and you will cause it. What was the moral of the Sequel Trilogy? You can be the offspring of the galaxy’s worst terror and display a similar attitude, but pose as a Jedi and kill unnecessarily, and it’s all right; descend from Darth Vader (who himself was a victim long before he became a culprit) and whether you try to become a Jedi trained by Luke Skywalker or a Sith trained by his worst enemy, you will end badly?

Both original and prequel trilogy often showed “good” people making bad choices and the “bad ones” making the right choices. To ensure lasting peace, no Force user ought to be believe that he must choose one side and then stick to it for the rest of his life: both sides need one another. The prequels took 3 films to convey this message, though not saying so openly. The Last Jedi said it out clearly - and the authors almost had their heads ripped off by affronted fans, resulting in The Rise of Skywalker’s fan service. It’s not like Luke, Han and Leia were less heroic in the Sequel Trilogy, on the contrary, they gave everything they had to their respective cause. They were not united, and they were more human than they had once been. Apparently, that’s an affront.

The Jedi are no perfect heroes and know-it-all’s and they never were, the facts are there for everyone to see. Padmé went alone and pregnant to get her husband out of Mustafar - and she almost succeeded - although she knew what he had done and that he was perfectly capable of it (he had told her of the Tusken village massacre himself) because she still saw the good little boy he had been in him; Obi-Wan left him amputated and burning in the lava, although he had raised Anakin like a small brother and the latter had repeatedly saved his life. But Padmé was not a Jedi, so I guess she still had some human decency. Neither Obi-Wan nor Yoda lifted a finger for the oppressed populations of the galaxy during the Empire, waiting instead for Anakin’s son to grow up so they could trick him into committing patricide. Neither Luke nor Leia did anything for their own son and nephew while he became the scourge of the galaxy, damning his soul by committing crime after crime. On Exegol, Rey heard the voices of all Jedi encouraging her to fight Palpatine to death. After that, they left her to die alone, and the alleged “bad guy”, who had already saved her soul from giving in to Palpatine’s lures, had to save her life by giving her his own. The Jedi merely know that “their side” has to win, no matter the cost for anyone’s life, sanity, integrity or happiness.

Excuse me, these are simple facts. How anyone can still believe that the Jedi were super-powerful heroes who always win or all-knowing wizards who are always right is beyond me. Luke, the last and strongest of them, like a bright flickering of light before the ultimate end, showed us that the best of men can fail. There is nothing wrong with that in itself. But it is wrong and utterly frustrating when all of the failure never leads to anything better. If Rey means to rebuild the Jedi order to something better than it was, there was no hint at that whatsoever.

And What Now?

The Last Jedi hit theatres only 2 years before The Rise of Skywalker, and I can’t imagine that the responsible authors all have forgotten how to make competent work in the meantime; more so considering that Solo or The Mandalorian are solid work. Episode IX is thematically so painfully flat it seems like they wanted us to give up on the saga on purpose. The last instalment of a 42-year-old saga ought to have been the best and most meaningful. I had heard already decades ago that the saga was supposed to have 9 chapters, so I was not among who protested against the sequels thinking that they had been thought up to make what had come before invalid. I naively assumed a larger purpose. But Episode IX only seems to prove these critics perfectly right.

The last of the flesh and blood of the Chosen One is dead without having “finished what his grandfather started”?

Still no Balance in the Force?

And worst of all, Palpatine’s granddaughter taking over, having proven repeatedly that she is not suited for the task?

Sorry, this “ending” is absurd. I have read fanfiction that was better written and more interesting. And, most of all, less depressing. I was counting on a conclusion that showed that the Force has all colours and nuances, and that it’s not limited to the black-and-white view “we against them”. That’s the ending all of us fans would have deserved, instead of catering the daddy issues of the part of the audience who doesn’t want stories other than those of the “lonesome cowboy” kind. I myself grew up on Japanese anime, maybe that’s one of the reasons why I can’t stand guys like James Bond or Batman and why I think you don’t need “a great hero who fixes the situation” but that group spirit and communication are way more important.

It was absolutely unexpected that Disney, the production company whose trademark are happy endings and family stories, would end this beloved and successful saga after almost half a century on such a hollow note. Why tell first a beautiful fairy tale and then leave the audience on a hook for 35 years to continue first with a tragedy (which at least was expected) and then with another (unexpected one)? And this story is supposed to be for children? Like children would understand all of the subtext, and love sad, cautionary tales. Children, as well as the general audience, first of all want to be entertained! No one wants to watch the legendary Skywalker family be obliterated and a Palpatine take over. The sequels were no fun anymore; we’ve been left with another open ending and hardly an explanation about what happened in the 30 years in between. If you want to tell a cautionary tale, you should better warn the general audience beforehand.

The Original Trilogy is so good because it’s entertaining and offers room for thought for who wants to think about its deeper themes, and also leaves enough space for dreams. Same goes for the first two films of the Sequel Trilogy; but precisely the last, which should have wrapped up the saga, leaves us with a bitter aftertaste and dozens of questions marks.

We as the audience believe that a story, despite the tragic things that happen, must go somewhere; we get invested into the characters, we root for them, we want to see them happy in the end. (The authors of series like Girls, How I Met Your Mother or Game of Thrones ought to be reminded of that, too.) I was in contact with children and teenagers saying that the Sequel Trilogy are “boring”; and many, children or adults, who were devastated by its concluson. There is a difference between wanting to tell a cautionary tale and playing the audience for fools. This trilogy could have become legendary like the Original Trilogy, had it fulfilled its promises instead of “keeping it low” with its last chapter. Who watches a family or fantasy story or a romantic / comedic sitcom wants to escape into another world, not to be hit over his head with a mirror to his own failings, and the ones of the society he’s living in. Messages are all right, but they ought not to go at the cost of the audience’s satisfaction about the about the people and narrative threads they have invested in for years.

This isn’t a family story: but children probably didn’t pester the studios with angry e-mails and twitter messages etc. They simply counted on a redemption arc and happy ending, and they were right, because they’re not as stupid as adults are. I have read and watched many a comment from fans who hate The Last Jedi. Many of these fans couldn’t even pinpoint what their rage was all about, they only proved to be stuck with the original trilogy and unwilling to widen their horizon. But at least their heroes had had their happy ending: The Rise of Skywalker obliterated the successes of all three generations of Skywalkers.

If the film studios wanted to tease us, they’ve excelled. If they expect the general audience to break their heads over the sequels’ metaphysics, they have not learned from the reactions to the prequels that most viewers take these films at face value. Not everybody is elbows-deep in the saga, or willing to research about it for months, and / or insightful enough to see the story’s connections. Which is why many viewers frown at the narrative and believe the Sequel Trilogy was just badly written. This trilogy could have become legendary like the Original Trilogy, had it fulfilled its promises instead of “keeping it low” with its last chapter. As it is now, the whole trilogy is hanging somewhere in the air, with neither a past nor a future to be tied in with.

The prequels already had the flaw of remaining too obscure: most fans are not aware that Anakin had unwillingly killed his wife during the terrible operation that turned him into Darth Vader, sucking her life out of her through the Force: most go by “she died of a broken heart”. So although one scene mirrors the other, it is not likely that most viewers will understand what Rey’s resurrection meant. And: Why did Darth Maul kill Qui-Gon Jinn? What did the Sith want revenge for? Who was behind Shmi’s abduction and torture? Who had placed the order for the production of the clones, and to what purpose? We can imagine or try to reconstruct the answers, but nothing is confirmed by the story itself.

The sequels remained even more in the dark, obfuscating what little explanation we got in The Rise of Skywalker with quick pacing and mind-numbing effects.

Kylo Ren had promised his grandfather that “he would finish what he started”: he did not. Whatever one can say of this last film, it did not bring Balance in the Force. What’s worse, the subject was not even breached. It was hinted at by the mosaic on the floor of the Prime Jedi Temple on Ahch-To, but although Luke and Rey were sitting on its border, they never seemed to see what was right under their noses. It remains inexplicable why it was there for everyone to see in the first place.

We might argue that Ben finished what his grandfather started by killing (or better, causing the death of) the last Jedi, who this one couldn’t kill because he was his own son; but leaving Rey in charge, he helped her finish what her grandfather had started. The irony could hardly be worse.

Episode IX looks like J.J. Abrams simply completed what they started with Episode VII, largely ignoring the next film as if it was always planned to do so. We, the angry and disappointed fans of The Last Jedi, may believe it was due to some of the general audience’s angry backlash, but honestly: the studios aren’t that dumb. They had to know that Episode VIII would be controversial and that many fans would hate it. The furious reactions were largely a disgrace, but no one can make me believe that they were totally unexpected. Nor can anyone convince me that The Rise of Skywalker was merely an answer to the small but very loud part of the audience who hated The Last Jedi: a company with the power and the returns of Disney Lucasfilm does not need to buckle down before some fan’s entitlement and narrowmindedness out of fear of losing money. And if they do, it was foolish to make Rey so perfect that she becomes almost odious, and to let the last of the Skywalker blood die a meaningless death. (Had he saved the Canto Bight children and left them with Rey, at least he would have died with honor; and she, the child left behind by her parents, would have had a task to dedicate herself to.)

The only reason I can find for this odd ending is that it’s meant to prepare the way for Rian Johnson’s new trilogy, which - hopefully - will finally be about Balance. We as the audience don’t know what’s going on behind the doors. Filmmaking is a business like any other, i.e. based on contracts; and I first heard that Rian Johnson had negotiated a trilogy of his own since before Episode VIII hit theatres. Maybe he kept all the rights of intellectual property to his own film, including that he would finish the threads he picked up and close the narrative circles he opened, and only he; and that his alleged working on “something completely different” is deliberately misleading.

Some viewers love the original trilogy, some love the prequels, some like both; but I hardly expect anyone to love the sequel trilogy as a whole. What with the first instalment “letting the past die, killing it if they had to”, the second hinting at a promising future and the third patched on at the very last like some sort of band-aid, it was not coherent. I heard the responsible team for Game of Thrones even dropped their work, producing a dissatisfying, quickly sewn together last season, for this new Star Wars project and thereby disappointing millions of GoT fans; I hope they are aware of the expectations they have loaded upon them. George Lucas’ original trilogy had its faults, but but though there was no social media yet in his time, at least he was still close enough to the audience to give them what they needed, if not necessarily wanted. (Some fans can’t accept that Luke and Leia are siblings to this day, even if honestly, it was the very best plot twist to finish their story in a satisfying way.)

I’m hoping for now that The Last Jedi was not some love bombing directed at the more sentimental viewers but a promise that will be fulfilled. “Wrapping up” a saga by keeping the flattest, least convincing chapter for last is bad form. Star Wars did not become a pop phenomenon by accident, but because the original story was convincing and satisfying. Endings like these will hardly make anyone remember a story fondly, on the contrary, the audience will move to another fandom to forget their disappointment.

On a side note, I like The Mandalorian, exactly for the reason that that is a magical story; not as much as the original trilogy, but at least a little. Of course, I’m glad it was produced. But it’s a small consolation prize after the mess that supposedly wrapped up the original saga after 9 films.

We’re Not Blind, You Know…

- Though Kylo Ren (Ben Solo) has Darth Vader’s stature, his facial features are practically opposite to Vader’s creepy mask. This should have foreshadowed that his life should have gone the other way, instead of more or less repeating itself. - As a villain Kylo was often unconvincing; by all logic he should have been a good father figure. (Besides, Star Wars films or series never work unless there is a strong father or father figure at their center.)

- Like Vader, Kylo Ren was redeemed, but not rehabilitated. Who knows who may find his broken mask somewhere now and, not knowing the truth, promise “I will finish what you started”. - The hand-touching scene on Ahch-To which was visually opposite to Anakin’s and Padmé’s should not have predicted another tragedy but a happy ending for them. - The Canto Bight sequence was announcing reckoning for the weapon industry and freedom for the enslaved children. It also showed how well Finn and Rose fit together. - Rey was a good girl before she started on her adventures. Like Anakin or Luke, she did not need to become a Jedi to be strong or generous or heroic. - Rey summons Palpatine after one year of training. Kylo practically begged for his grandfather’s assistance for years, to no avail. Her potential for darkness is obviously much stronger. - Dark Rey’s light sabre looked like a fork, Kylo’s like a cross. - The last time all Jedi and Sith were obliterated leaving only Luke in charge, things went awry. Now we have a Palpatine masquerading as a Skywalker and believing she’s a Jedi. Rey is a usurper and universally cheered after years of war, like her grandfather. - The broom boy of Canto Bight looked like he was sweeping a stage and announcing “Free the stage, it’s time for us, the children.”

Rey failed in all instances where Luke had proved himself (so much for feminism and her being a Mary Sue): - Luke had forgiven his father despite all the pain he had inflicted on him. She stabbed the „bad guy”, who had repeatedly protected and comforted her, to death. - Luke never asked Vader to help the Rebellion or to turn to the Light Side, he only wanted him back as his father. She assumed that you could make Ben Solo turn, give up the First Order and join the Resistance for her. She thought of her friends and of her own validation, not of him. - Luke had made peace by choosing peace. Rey fought until the bitter end. - Luke had thrown his weapon away before Palpatine. Rey picked up a second weapon. (And both of them weren’t even her own.) - Luke had mourned his dead father. Rey didn’t shed a tear for the man she is bonded to by the Force. - Luke went back to his friends to celebrate the new peace with them. Rey went back letting everyone celebrate her like the one who saved the galaxy on her own, she who were tempted to become the new evil ruler of the galaxy and had to rely on the alleged Bad Guy to save both her soul and her body. - Luke had embodied compassion when Palpatine was all about hatred. Where he chose love and faith in his father, she chose violence and fear. - Luke had briefly fallen prey to the Dark Side but it made him realize that he had no right to judge his father. Rey’s fall to the Dark Side did not make her wiser. - Rey has no change of mind on finding out that she’s Palpatine’s flesh and blood, nor after she has stabbed Kylo. Luke had to face himself on learning that he had almost become a patricide. Rey does not have to face herself: the revelation of her ancestry is cushioned by Luke’s and Leia’s support. Rey is and remains an uncompromising person who hardly learns from her faults.

This is cheating on the audience. And it's not due to feminism or Rey being some sort of “Mary Sue” the way many affronted fans claim. Kylo never was truly a villain, Rey is not a heroine, and this is not a happy ending. The Jedi, with their stuck-up conviction “only we must win”, have failed all over again. The Skywalker family was obliterated leaving their worst enemy in charge. Rey is supposed to be a “modern” heroine which young girls can take as an example? No, thank you. Not after this last film has made of her. Padmé was a much better role model, combining intelligence with strength and goodness and also female grace. The world does not need entitled female brats.

Bonus: What Made The Rise of Skywalker a Farce

- The Force Awakens was an ok film and The Last Jedi (almost) a masterpiece. The Rise of Skywalker was a cartoon. No wonder a lot of the acting felt and looked wooden. - “I will earn your brother’s light sabre.” She’s holding his father’s sabre. - Kylo in The Last Jedi: “Let the past die. Kill it if, you have to.” Beginning with me? - Rey ends up on Tatooine. - The planet both Anakin and Luke ardently wanted to leave. - Luke had promised his nephew that he would be around for him. - Nope. - Rey had told Ben that she had seen his future. What future was that - “you will be a hero for ten minutes, get a kiss and then die? (And they didn’t even get a love theme.) - “The belonging you seek is not behind you, it is ahead.” On a desert planet with a few ghosts. What of the ocean she used to dream about? - Ben and Rey were both introduced as two intensely lonely people searching for belonging. We learn they are a Force dyad, and then they are torn apart again. - Why was Ben named for Obi-Wan Kenobi in the first place, if they have absolutely nothing in common? - The Throne Room battle scene in The Last Jedi was clearly showing that when they are in balance, Light Side and Dark Side are unbeatable. Why did the so-called “Light Side” have to win again, in The Rise of Skywalker, instead of finding balance? - Luke’s scene on Ahch-To was so ridiculously opposite to his attitude in The Last Jedi that by now I believe he was a fantasy conjectured by her. (Like Ben’s vision of his father.) - Anakin’s voice among the other Jedi’s. - He was a renegade, for Force’s sake. - The kiss between two females. - More fan service, to appease those who pretended that not making Poe and Finn a couple was a sign of homophobia. - We see the Knights of Ren, but we learn absolutely nothing about them or Kylo’s connection with them. - Rose Tico’s invalidation. - A shame after what the actress had gone through because for the fans she was “not Star-Wars-y” (chubby and lively instead of wiry and spitfire). - Finn’s and Rose’s relationship. - Ignored without any explanation. - Finn may or may not be Force-sensitive. - If he is: did he abandon the First Order not due to his own free will but because of some higher willpower? Great. - General Hux was simply obliterated. - In The Force Awakens he was an excellent foil to Kylo Ren; no background story, no humanization for him. - Chewie’s and 3PO’s faked deaths. - Useless additional drama. - The Force Awakens was a bow before the classic trilogy. The Rise of Skywalker kicked its remainders to pieces. - The Prequel Trilogy ended with hope, the Original Trilogy with love. The Sequel Trilogy ends on a blank slate. - “We are what they grow beyond.” The characters of the Sequel Trilogy did not grow beyond the heroes of the Original Trilogy. - The Jedi did not learn from their mistakes and were obliterated. The Skywalker family understood the mistakes they had made too late. Now they’re gone, too.

P.S. While I was watching The Rise of Skywalker my husband came in asked me since when I like Marvel movies. I said “That’s not a Marvel movie, it’s Star Wars.” I guess that says enough.

P.P.S. For the next trilogy, please at least let the movies hit theatres in May again instead of December. a) It’s tradition for Star Wars films, b) Whatever happens, at least you won’t ruin anyone’s Christmases. Thank you.

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charmspoint · 3 years

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I think it's super neat how Talentless Nana starts as this cat and mouse game of chess between two smart ppl tm, but it's themes end up revolving a lot more about overcoming emotional abuse and grooming, repenting and working hard to become a better person.

Like I've said before how much I love Nana’s arc, how she starts blindly obeying the orders given to her, completely dehumanizing other kids in her eyes so she could kill them and ever so slowly realizing the truth of the thing. That they are innocent and she’s being manipulated. And it’s really great because it’s so gradual, there is no snap realization of ‘oh wait they are good.’ She notices their niceness early on but she keeps dismissing and turning it in her head. ‘They might be nice, but they are still the enemy, even the kindest must have a bad side, look at them throw around their powers, they are obviously dangerous.’ Every time she has a doubt she turns it on its head and uses the times she was proven right to solidify her claim ‘Yuuka seemed like a nice person but was actually a bad one deep inside, they are all like that.’ The denial is that first thing that hits her and she twists the truth in any way she can find because if it really is the truth the implications are too heavy to bare.

And then there was Michiru, kind, selfless and full of love, becoming Nana’s first (girl)friend, giving Nana that sense of love and care she never truly had. Michiru who was always by her side, who never once doubted her, who stood up to Kyouya for Nana despite being generally super non-confrontational. Even when Nana doubted her, even when she assumed the worst, Michiru had time and again proven that she trusts Nana, that she loves her, that she would never turn against her. Michiru sacrificed her own life for Nana without hesitation out of pure, selfless love.

And if one monster could be so kind, couldn’t they all be so?

If Michiru was human couldn’t the rest of the talented be human as well?

And it’s not a fact that is easy to face, Nana still fights it, still struggles with it. She practically begs her Tsuruoka to tell her the reason, to ease her worries and to tell her that what she did wasn’t just a senseless act of cruelty, that it had meaning, that it made the world better. I really like how she doesn’t immediately move from ‘Michiru was good’ to ‘Government is evil and must die’. Nana was brainwashed and gaslit into a child soldier her whole life, it is not a truth that is easy to swallow. It is very realistic for her that in her time of doubt she turns to the person she sees as her moral and life guide, to Tsuruoka and he continues manipulating her, refusing to give her a proper answer, admonishing and threatening her for even asking it, putting conditions on it that include killing another classmate which she really doesn’t want to do when she’s so unsure about the meaning of her actions. He pairs her up with Moe to increase the pressure and to keep an eye on her and when he finally tells her the truth he takes pleasure in tearing up her whole world.

Even as she looks for truth out of his mouth, Nana is slowly changing, slowly turning, becoming a better person even as she still clings to his word, which in the end will help her tear away from his control completely. She forgives Hikaru, despite Hikaru proving himself legitimately dangerous. She forgives Koharu, despite Koharu targeting and tormenting her personally. She protects Kiyomi, knowing how it’s like to be brainwashed into doing something you didn’t really want to do. These things don’t come naturally to her, she has to put conscious effort into them, but she still does them. This girl who once doubted Michiru for just looking a bit in thought has now learned to forgive others, trust into them and give them second chances. I think it’s really telling how kind Nana is becoming, how deliberately kind after her tough life. She had faked kindness all through the manga but now she’s doing it for real, going so far as to kill again so Moe wouldn’t have to. Because Moe hasn’t killed anyone yet, her hands are still clean and as badly as they got on at first, after spending time with Moe and Moe’s grandmother, Nana simply can’t stomach letting Tsuruoka turn another young girl into a killer.

She has so far attempted to tell the whole truth to both her whole class and just Kyouya, despite knowing what she did was terrible, despite hating herself for it and finding she can’t forgive herself. She has been interrupted both times but she is willing and ready to do it despite knowing full well it will probably end very badly for her. She knows what she did and she feels terribly for it and that’s why she’s trying to confess and I know once she finally manages to do so she will take any punishment the class decides on as fair. She knows she had done evil and she wants to make amends no matter how much they may hurt. She is becoming a better person and she is willing to work hard to prove herself as so, even as she repents for her sins.

Talentless Nana really is about overcoming abuse and repenting for your own mistakes while at the same time growing from them and becoming a better person. And I really like that it takes such a realistic road towards that message, with no sudden realizations or heel face turns. It displays every painful step, it shows Nana going in circles, refusing the truth, denying and twisting things to fit with the view of the world she has, trusting and refusing to trust, taking one step forward and two steps back and all of those are perfectly natural steps in overcoming abuse and the mental damage it caused. It’s just really good in that regard what can I say.

#talentless nana #munou na nana #hiiragi nana #lucy rants #talentless nana manga spoilers

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titularkilljoy · 4 years

Text

nameless, faceless.

Summary: These days, he starts to think he might not be Tobias, but he’s not much of a Spencer either. Gen-fic following a newly exonerated Spencer Reid.

Content Warnings: Drug use, angst, slight references to gun violence and physical abuse.

Thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins who listened to me rant about this messy fic for weeks on end, and for being the first to read it.

Spencer Reid is an excellent shot. A perfect shot. He can take apart and put together his service weapon with his eyes closed. He’s tried, and succeeded. Thrice, because once might be a fluke, twice might be a freak coincidence, but the third success counts as scientific proof.

Years ago, Aaron Hotchner tried, unsuccessfully, to help him pass his firearms qualification. Adrenaline was his friend that day. He could have succumbed to the agony of the cobweb-covered boxes in his head creaking open, bit by bit, every time Hotch’s foot knocked the air out of his lungs; or, he could have used his brain and his training and finally done something that would prove people wrong about him. He chose the latter.

One shot, right through Philip Dowd’s skull. In the solemn aftermath of his first kill, Hotch was proud of him. He was proud of himself. That night he went home and allowed the pain in his ribs take control. It felt good. It felt like a victory.

Of course, he knew he didn’t really deserve to wield the weapon. Once was a fluke. Which is why he kept going back to the shooting range every chance he got, until he finally felt a little less like a child, however prodigious, playing dress-up in an FBI vest.

Hotch would be proud of him if he saw the perfect score. But he hasn’t spoken to Hotch in years. The number in his phone has long since gone inactive, and no matter how bad he is at reading social cues, he can hear Hotch’s unspoken request for a clean break loud and clear. He deletes the number.

JJ is careful around him, these days. She’s always been protective of him, but these days she knows he can take care of himself. It’s more like she’s circling him slowly, trying to put her finger on what exactly has made him so different, so maybe she can zoom in on that and fix it and then everything will be back to normal again. He’ll be her nerdy best friend Spencer who once had a desperate crush on her and is still half in love with her but never a real prospect. Spencer. Predictable, quirky Spencer.

He doesn’t quite know how to tell her she’s not going to get her wish, though, so he just ignores her heavy stares pricking his neck when he isn’t looking her way. He ignores the urge to tell her to stop looking so tormented when he’s the one who’s been to hell and back. He knows it isn’t fair, and no matter how off-kilter he feels, he knows he doesn’t want to hurt her.

At the moment he is ignoring her hushed conversation with Will in the kitchen while he sits cross-legged on the floor and helps Henry with his science project. It’s very clear she’s talking about him because he can hear her whisper his name every now and then, and her husband seems to be trying to comfort her. Will has been pleasant to be around since he got out; he will usually just engage him in mundane conversation that surprises him with how calming it is. At the very most, he will offer him a word of support that never feels condescending, and he’s immensely grateful in a way he suspects will always remain unspoken between them.

“Uncle Spencer, look!”

The little primitive robot is moving around successfully, and Henry looks jubilant. He also looks at Spencer with unbridled adoration, and absolutely no one but his godson has ever looked at him like that. It makes something swell inside him and he has to clear his throat.

“Whoa! You did it, Henry. You’re a genius!” he praises with a grin that stretches from ear to ear, picking him and resting him on his shoulders. JJ and Will are watching fondly, and as he meets their eyes, he is relieved that JJ, for once, doesn’t seem to be worried. Why would she be? Right now, he doesn’t feel broken. He just feels happy and loved, and he wishes he can make this moment last forever.

He’s in a cement box and the walls are slate grey and his mind is trapped. There is silence all around him and he feels like he can choke on it. He’s on his back and trying to sleep but his eyes won’t close. His hairs stand permanently on end and there’s a rapid thumping that he decides must be his racing heart. The thumping grows louder and louder; there’s a clang and suddenly he isn’t alone in the grey box anymore. Suddenly there is a flash of too-bright light and several nondescript faces in there with him and the only thing he knows for sure is that they want to hurt him.

There are hands around his chest and hands around his legs and hands twisting his arms behind him and they’re all tightening like a vice and the air is running out but then his eyes adjust to the light and it’s Calvin Shaw in front of him and he looks powerful, and he knows he has to get away, or he’s going to die in here, he’s going to die a murderer, and he fights with all his might and his lungs are spilling out hoarse helpless screams, but then there’s cool metal in his hands and something splashes onto his face.

He cannot afford to stop for a second or he will be done for, so he keeps going, he swings wildly without knowing what he’s doing, over and over and over until the only noises in the box are his own. Shaw is on the ground and so is everyone else and he’s sweating but when he wipes it away and licks it lips it tastes like copper. He jolts, there’s another clang, and he looks down to see a bloody knife has seemingly fallen from his hand. No, no, no, he thinks, he was only fighting to be able to breathe, he didn’t mean to-

But you did, the walls seem to chant and then the walls aren’t walls at all, they’re glimpses of Emily’s deep brown eyes and JJ’s sunshine smile and Rossi’s paternal gaze and Morgan’s brotherly smack on his back, except now they’re all betrayed and afraid and their guns are trained on him, on him, on Spencer, and he keeps telling them he didn’t do it, he swears he didn’t but Nadie Ramos is on the ground and she’s so dead and cold and bloody and the guns are taking aim and-

And then he’s sitting ramrod straight in his bed, sweating profusely, panting and throwing the blankets to the floor. The clock on his nightstand innocuously tells him it is two forty-three a.m. He’s in his apartment. The walls are moss green, there are books everywhere; he tries to calm the pounding in his chest.

He waits for the relief to fill him and lull him back to a restless sleep. It never comes. Instead, all that fills him is shame.

Shame makes him feel small—young, younger than he is, and strips him of the precious shreds of confidence he’s managed to drape over a scared little boy tied to a flag post. There’s bile crawling up his throat and he needs to escape.

What happens next is an out-of-body experience. One moment, he’s sitting on the bed and feeling fourteen. The next, he’s watching himself walk over to the nightstand with purpose and open the locked drawer. Then, there’s a needle sticking out of his arm and he’s on the floor and there’s sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

The reality of what he’s just done hits him all at once. The shame follows immediately after. Then comes the one he can never quite seem to shake.

Self-loathing has been his dogged pursuer all these years, always carefully kept at the peripheries by Gideon’s watchful eye or Hotch’s uncharacteristic words of affection or Morgan’s warm arm slung over his shoulders; this time, he’s all alone. And right now, it is consuming him.

Garcia is more astute than people give her credit for. This much, he’s always known. But he isn’t particularly fond of having her turn that perceptive gaze onto him with laser focus.

Emily and Rossi have decided to give him space, and his further retreat into himself after the night where he slipped doesn’t seem to clue them in to anything he’d rather they never knew. Matt, as a rule, doesn’t pry and doesn’t meddle, and if Spencer is being honest, he really wishes the rest of his team would follow his example. Tara is quiet and observant and besides all that, she has seen him drug-addled and half-confessing to murder before—she might sense that he’s hiding something but he doubts she will go as far as confronting him, since they don’t really talk about things. Luke, on the other hand, is definitely the type to meddle, but he also seems to look up to Spencer a bit, seeming impressed not just with his intellect but also with his track record at the FBI; it’s a nice change.

What he doesn’t expect is for Garcia to keep her keen eye trained on him behind all the emotional speeches and hugs. He definitely doesn’t expect her to show up at his door the day after they’ve returned from a case in Colorado, looking like she means business. He can feel a headache coming on just at the sight of the defiant tilt of her chin.

“Garcia, what are you doing here?” He lets a bit of his annoyance seep into his tone. It’s eleven at night and they’ve been swamped with cases and he could really use this time alone. There’s a small voice in his head taunting for what, but he ruthlessly squashes it down.

“Oh, don’t start that with me, boy wonder,” she warns, ignoring his protests as she pushes past him into the apartment. Sighing internally, he shuts the door and rests his forehead against it for a second. Please let this be over quickly.

Garcia whirls on her heel to face him again, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“You have been hiding something, mister,” she begins dramatically, and his heart stops.

“You’re not sleeping, Reid! And you’ve avoided coming out with us every single time we’ve asked. You know how many times we’ve asked since you’ve been back, Reid? Twenty-three!”

She’s pacing now, seeming troubled, and yet he’s the one who feels like a cornered animal.

“You won’t talk to JJ, you won’t talk to Emily, and you won’t talk to me!” Now her eyes are wide and pleading and he startles himself with how little he cares about what she’s feeling right now. He just wants her to leave so he can be alone again.

“You’re not even seeing your therapist!”

“I saw my therapist and I got cleared for duty,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, duh. I know that. I meant the therapist JJ suggested for you after that? The one outside the bureau so you wouldn’t get all concerned about the FBI stealing your emotional secrets?” Her accompanying eyeroll says aren’t you supposed to be a genius? His hackles raise.

“How do you know I’m not seeing that therapist?” His tone is clipped, and of course he knows how she knows. He just wants to see if she’ll admit it.

She falters, but only for a second. “How do I know everything? Do you want me to explain the internet to you?”

“I’m asking why you know.”

“Because we’re all worried about you!”

“So you decided to pry into my personal life?”

“Well what else are we supposed to do if you won’t tell us anything?!”

He wants to lash out at her. He wants to yell about boundaries and that this is his business, not hers or JJ’s or Emily’s, and they should just mind their own. He wants to demand to know why he has to constantly keep proving himself, after all these years. But he sees how that will play out.

Garcia will try to protest for a while, but as his words pierce through her defences, her eyes will shine with hurt and betrayal, and he’ll be too proud to try to fix it. He won’t hear from her for a few days, and then he will hear from them all at once. They’ll confront him and they’ll be so painfully earnest about it, and Emily will likely “suggest” that he take some time off, and he’ll be forced to remember that she’s not just his friend, but also his boss, and her hands will be tied. He foresees spinning off the rails in the absence of something to occupy him. He imagines falling even further from grace; from the FBI’s golden boy to a barely exonerated murder accused, to an unreliable drug addict who’s more of a liability than an asset.

So he tames the impulse and forces himself to look contrite. His head is throbbing now, and he needs to get her out of here as soon as possible.

“You’re right. I’m just going through a lot. I’m not used to feeling so…adrift,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair and gazing at the floor to the left of where Garcia’s bright green shoes are planted. It works; he can feel her resolve crumble. The tension between them eases, and she approaches him like he’s a wounded animal.

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, pulling him into a tight hug, “we’re all here for you. We know how hard you must be struggling, and we want to help you, but you have to let us, okay?” She pulls back, looking him straight in the eyes. “No more trying to handle all of this crap on your own, mister.”

He nods like he knows he’s supposed to.

“Oh, and, and! You have to go to the therapist. No arguments,” she tells him, “You know I’ll know if you don’t end up going.”

He does know. Garcia stays a little while longer, fussing over the mess that is his apartment and his nearly empty refrigerator. She makes him promise to replenish his supplies, before finally leaving with one last hug.

He shuts the door behind her and leans against it. He supposes he should feel bad about so coldly manipulating one of his closest friends, but these days he’s so full of shame anyway that he thinks he’s maxed himself out. Fulfilled his self-hatred quota for a lifetime. Or maybe he just can’t really tell what it is he feels bad for anymore.

He used to wonder if he wasn’t really himself anymore. If Tobias had killed him and brought him back except now there was more Tobias in him than there was Spencer. Then the marks on his arms weren’t visible and he could walk without much of a limp again and the white-hot brand in his mind screaming ‘sinner’ dulled to an orange glow, and he realised he couldn’t possibly be Tobias. Tobias only cared about dilaudid and a twisted sense of morality and judgement and avenging. Spencer wasn’t like that.

These days, though, he starts to think maybe that’s changed. Sure, maybe he isn’t Tobias. But he doubts he’s much of a Spencer either.

He thinks he’s doing pretty well. Handling the drug addiction, he means. He isn’t just getting high every chance he can get and walking into work with telltale sunglasses and trembling hands. He plans it out. He rations out his supply. He also fully intends for it to be a temporary thing.

In retrospect, that was remarkably stupid of him.

It all comes to a head during a case in Denver. It involves, as it usually does, dead women, a frustratingly broad profile, and largely unhelpful local law enforcement.

Spencer is standing in front of a corkboard, peering at a map of the town and meticulously tying a strand of red yarn between the crime scenes and the locations frequented by each of the victims, indicated by slightly rusty dull-green thumbtacks. JJ and Rossi are off in one of the interrogation rooms, speaking to the latest victim’s boyfriend. Luke and Tara are in the field, interviewing a bereaved mother. Across the table, Emily is on the phone with Garcia, poring over a case file.

The door slams open and an officer walks in, carrying two Starbucks cups and wearing a wide, hopeful grin. Emily smiles kindly at him even though there’s a furrow between her eyebrows; this man hardly deserves to have their irritation directed at him.

He quickly realises Officer Cole is either flirting with Emily or flirting with the BAU, and Emily is patiently indulging him. Spencer ignores him for the most part, his mind drawn to a solitary green pin on the periphery that remains hitherto untethered to any other. He glares at it balefully, willing it to fit perfectly into the intricate pattern he’s identified. He pinches the bridge of his nose, mentally scanning the details of the crime scenes and case files. Still staring directly at the pin, he reaches blindly towards the table to grab the red yarn, and then promptly yelps in shock. His eyes jerk over to his dripping left forearm and then up at Officer Cole’s mouth hanging open in horror, trying to stutter out an apology but nothing comes out; he looks like he’s about to cry.

Spencer mumbles something along the lines of “it’s alright” while inspecting his arm. He unbuttons the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt, and after a cursory inspection, concludes that it’s nothing a little running water won’t fix. He gingerly pries the fabric away from his skin, confirming his theory that the skin is unblemished, if a little pink, and makes his way to the restroom. He’s distracted with reassuring Cole to think anything of the way Emily takes one look at his arm and then inspects his face with a strange intensity.

It isn’t until he’s in the room again, ten minutes later, with both his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that it hits him. The air is distinctly chillier now, or maybe it’s Emily’s stare that sends a shiver down his spine. She looks disappointed and furious all at once, and this time he doesn’t have to fake the urge to avoid her eyes. Of course she’d be the one to find out, he thinks. But he supposes, if he’s sloppy enough to slip up so badly, he deserves whatever is coming.

When she makes him book the first flight home and decides he needs to take another two weeks off, he scarcely puts up a fight. When she tells him about her conditions, he nods in resignation. If she listens to what she has to say, she will see how pathetic he really is, and maybe that will be worse. As of now, she only knows the bare bones of what happened to him over a decade ago: she knows of a kidnapping and a resurrection and PTSD, but she doesn’t know of the vials and the meetings and Gideon’s guilt; hopefully, she never will. As he walks out of her makeshift office, he feels the rift between them grow impossibly wider.

The woman smiling cheerfully up at him and offering her assistance from behind the reception desk is unfamiliar. He’s been called a robot so many times he’s stopped counting, but right now he feels exactly like a machine that has come screeching to a halt when confronted with data beyond its knowledge. He stares at her, unable to move, as his mind torments him with all the things that could possibly have gone wrong. He’s faced one too many formidable adversaries to be able to shut off his profiler’s eye, and he scans her head to toe, looking for the slightest hint of deception. She doesn’t seem to be hiding anything but he could be wrong, he’s been wrong, and it nearly cost him everything; what if she can’t be trusted and this time his luck has well and truly run out, what if-

“Doctor Reid?”

The greeting jolts him away from his spiralling thoughts. It still takes him a second to come back to himself, and when he does, he notices his hands are clenched into fists. He’s standing stock still in the lobby of Bennington Sanitarium. The receptionist is staring back at him with a look somewhere between fear and concern, her hand twitching towards the landline on the desk. He realises he must look somewhat threatening; he isn’t used to having that effect on people. But, he supposes, that is the least of the changes the last fifteen years have wrought on him.

“Doctor Reid, are you alright?”

He forces his body to relax, joint by joint, giving the woman as genuine of a smile as he can muster, hoping it will set her at ease. It doesn’t seem to; he can’t quite bring himself to care. The concerned voice is a familiar one, and he turns around to greet his mother’s new caretaker.

“Hi, Ruth. Sorry, I, uh—I had a rough flight,” he manages to say, running a hand through his hair, “how is she?”

Ruth always has a maternal air about her, and right now, she looks like she can see right through his flimsy excuse. She’s about to pry, he knows, and he suddenly feels claustrophobic. He needs to get away.

“Actually, I’m going to get some coffee, I’m a little tired. I’ll come back in a little while.”

Ruth frowns. “Doctor Reid, have you been sleeping?”

“Just fine, thanks. We just had a big case.” The longer this conversation stretches on, the less air there is in his lungs. His own voice sounds far away, like he’s shouting to be heard over the sounds of waves crashing against unmoving rocks.

“I see.”

“I’ll see you later,” he says, sidestepping her to get to the exit.

“Diana is having a bad day.”

The words make him stop short, if only for a moment.

“Ah.” A bad day means his mother doesn’t even know who he is. Trying to job her memory would only confuse and agitate her. He would know. He’s tried.

Ruth isn’t a woman who likes silence. “I’m sure she would still be happy to-“

He forces the muscles of his face to conjure up something resembling a smile in her direction. “No, that’s alright. I’ll just come back another time.”

With that, he pushes past her, taking long strides forward and not stopping until he’s hunched over and sucking in desperate lungsful of the warm night air. He can taste the saturation somewhere in the back of his throat and it almost feels like a home he’s long since left behind. It was stupid to have thought that seeing his mom would give him answers to questions he doesn’t even know how to voice. It’s stupid to think there’s any comfort to be had anywhere, in this new life.

Eventually, he catches his breath and straightens up, beginning to walk aimlessly. There are no stars to be seen above him, but this city could never be quite pitch dark. Vegas is all flashing lights and seductive mystery, and perhaps that’s why so many lost souls end up here. For him, it’s simply familiar; and so little of his life is recognisable these days that he clings to it like a drowning man. That’s probably why this is where he’s chosen to come the day before his mandatory leave is over.

He doesn’t put much thought into where his feet are taking him, until he hears the familiar sounds of whirring machinery and celebratory shouts and sultry jazz music being crooned into a microphone. The air reeks of artifice, but he couldn’t care less. In a few minutes he’ll be raking in victory after victory until someone grows suspicious and he ends up getting kicked out of the casino. He’ll never admit it, but even the inevitable outcome gives him a thrill. This, at least, is a sure gamble. Here, he may be nameless and faceless, but here, he’s also a winner.

Spencer hesitates at the door. He knows he has no choice but to enter, but the thought of being back there is overwhelming. It fills him with a shame he knows he ought not to feel. He reaches into his jacket pocket and his fingers grip the bronze token he almost never leaves at home. The cool metal grounds him somewhat.

Three times this fortnight, he has gotten as far as ten minutes into a meeting before being called away for work. Like the coward he is, he took the easy out and rushed to play Superman, when he’s really not even a half-decent Clark Kent. He is fraying at the edges. He knows himself well enough to be sure that wherever his current path is leading him, it isn’t anywhere good. So he takes a deep breath, and crosses the threshold.

As he takes a seat among the quietly welcoming group of fractured souls, he turns off his phone. Whatever horrors the world outside might need his help to rectify, he knows that leaving this safe haven for them is not an option; not when it would mean allowing the tendril of ice in his chest to spread and consume him and render him permanently useless.

A shadow falls over his hunched form, and he looks up to catch the eye of an old friend.

“John,” he remembers to say.

“Spencer,” the man greets back warmly. He takes the seat next to him. “It’s been a while.”

He hears the real questions: Why did you stop coming to meetings? What happened that led you back here now?

“I- I just figured I needed a reminder.”

The wan smile he directs at the older agent supplies the real answers: I was too proud to believe I needed to be here anymore. Now I’m here because I have no pride left.

That seems to be enough, and John offers a nod and an encouraging smile before he settles back into his seat, turning his attention to the front of the room. There’s a man talking about a messy relapse after a divorce. A woman follows with a pleased announcement that she is two years sober, to which the room responds with enthusiastic applause. As more and more people offer up their stories, Spencer feels his nerves grow increasingly calmer, until he finally musters up the confidence to stand up and walk the short distance himself.

“Hi,” he begins with a small wave, “My name is Spencer, and I’m an addict.”

When he says the word, his entire being sighs in realisation. His mind stretches to accommodate this new piece of previously unacknowledged information, hugging the jagged edges of sharp defensiveness and tired denial that adorn it. There’s an odd sense of calm that comes along with it. He knows now, really knows, and if Spencer Reid knows something, half the battle has been won.

Last time, he never even really slipped. He just held on to the vials like some kind of a sick lifeline. When the nightmares became too intense, he would grip them so hard he actually feared they would break. That was back when he still had a lot of things left to live for, though; a mother, a team, a life that he loved. Now, his mother doesn’t remember him. His team is fractured and each of them is scarred in myriad ways. And his life is more a tragic comedy than the heroic sagas his mother adores. Still, he tries.

Time passes and things are more or less normal.

Emily no longer looks at him with suspicion. He wouldn’t go as far as to say she trusts him again, but she doesn’t distrust him. That’s more than he expected to get, at least.

Garcia is still much nicer to him than he deserves; when she greets him in the morning with a batch of homemade cookies, he wonders, not for the first time, whether she truly doesn’t know what he’s been up to in his spare time. Garcia isn’t the best at keeping secrets, and he’s sure she would have let something slip by now. Rossi still invites him to extravagant dinner parties and he still goes to a few of them and the whole team is there, and it’s still fun and lighthearted and easy. It shouldn’t be this easy.

The more he thinks about it, the more likely it seems that Emily has done him the enormous favour of keeping his secret. No one treats him differently—except JJ, the lengths of whose understanding and patience are tested a little more every time he says no to babysitting Henry; he can’t tell her he needs to be as far away from Henry as possible for the time being, so he makes up flimsy excuses that make the smile on her face look forced and painful. But otherwise, no one asks any pointed questions, and none of the higher-ups are watching him any more closely than usual.

The thought chokes him up. The worst part is that there isn’t much he can do to show his gratitude besides say the words. Which he does, in the quiet of her office after everyone has gone home for the weekend, and tentatively reaches for a hug. She lets him embrace her, and the familiar scent of her shampoo makes some chunk of a wall inside him crumble.

Apart from that, though, all he can do is just—live. There’s no way to make amends as soon as he wants to. The only way to thank Emily is to try not to be such a colossal disaster in the future. Some days, it seems like that’s a feat that is beyond him. Those days, he stays hunched over his desk in the bullpen into the wee hours of the morning, trying to hit that sweet-spot of mindless exhaustion that will have him dead asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

It’s on one such night, a little past midnight, that he’s startled by the sounds of approaching footsteps behind him. He swivels around in his chair and comes face to face with an impassive JJ. He didn’t know she was here. She’s carrying a pile of paperwork and her hair is just slightly disheveled, so he assumes she has been in the records section.

In the dim yellow light, she still looks angelic, and it feels like she holds the weight of his existence in her hands. He just stays perfectly still while she studies him. Neither of them says anything, until she finally seems to make a decision, pulling up a chair, sitting next to him, and silently getting to work.

He stares at her for a few more seconds before returning to the file, and soon the only sounds are the scratching of pens on paper. It’s peaceful, this silence, and he takes it to mean he’s been given a little more time to figure things out.

She still ends up leaving before he does. As she packs up her things, she shoots a few concerned glances his way. She spins on her heel and takes a step before pausing. Then there’s a small pressure on his shoulder as she whispers, “You’re allowed to be happy, Spencer. You know that, right?”

He keeps his eyes trained on the paperwork, but he raises his hand to squeeze hers.

“I’m getting there, I think.”

The cement box is closing in on him. There’s cement in his mouth and Calvin Show is smirking at him and his hand is bleeding, dripping red rivulets of blood onto Nadie’s prone body. Someone is laughing in the distance, and Shaw and his goons join in until the sounds are drowned out by a scream, a desperate, long, agonising scream.

He sits erect with the scream still in his mouth. The immediate sight of his lamplit room makes it fizzle out into shallow, shaky breaths.

Despite himself, his gaze is drawn to his nightstand. He knows he threw the vials away. He knows there’s no temporary solace to be found. But he stares at it anyway.

In a concerted effort to distract himself, he grabs his phone. There’s an overwhelming urge to talk to someone, and he tries to squash it down. The leaky faucet in his bathroom is especially loud.

Plop. Plop. The familiar tension in his temples starts building, and he releases a frustrated groan. The phone in his hand is taunting him.

Plop. Plop. Plop. He gives in and dials a number on reflex, pressing the phone up to his ear as he stands and paces wildly.

“Reid?” The voice is rough with sleep but it’s also alert and so achingly familiar that all he can give in response is a slightly incredulous laugh.

“You picked up,” he says.

“Of course I picked up.” Silence. “Are you alright?”

Another laugh, though this one borders on hysterical. “Yeah. Yeah, Morgan. I’m alright.”

He knows it won’t work, even as he’s saying the words. The man on the other end is still sharp, and still knows him too well.

“I might be wrong, kid, but I don’t call up my best friend at two a.m. when I’m alright,” Morgan tells him gently, with a teasing smile in his voice. It sets him at ease.

He chuckles. “I guess you’re right.”

The silence that follows is expectant, but patient. It makes him want to talk about everything and he knows this is why he has been avoiding Morgan so much; he knows how to get his guard down. Spencer hasn’t really talked to Morgan since he showed up at his front door his first night home after getting out of prison, with an overnight bag slung over his shoulder and a face that said no nonsense would be tolerated. Spencer isn’t ashamed to admit he broke down that night, but he is a bit reluctant to repeat the exercise. He knows it’s about to happen.

“I don’t think I’ve really been alright since—since prison,” he finally offers, with an audible swallow.

“That’s to be expected, Reid.”

“I know.” He picks up the three-month token from his nightstand, and squeezes as tightly as he can. “I know, but lately…lately I’ve just been letting everyone down. I’m not…useful anymore.”

“Now that’s just not true, kid,” Morgan chides, uncharacteristically serious, “Listen to me. You went to prison, kid. Let that sink in. That’s not something that just goes away. It takes time, and patience, and no one is going to fault you for that.”

“Morgan, it’s-”

“I’m not done yet, genius,” he retorts, “and you need to understand that your worth isn’t determined by how useful you are in any given situation.”

Spencer snorts. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what ‘worth’ means, Morgan.”

“No, it isn’t.” There isn’t an ounce of levity in the response, and it makes Spencer hold his breath in anticipation. “In this job, it’s easy to think that way. I get it. I’ve felt it too. More times than I can count. But you need to know and believe that you’re not just the job. You’re more than the job. You’re a person. And I think you forget that way too much, kid.”

The breath leaves him in one loud whoosh. He fumbles for words, but he doesn’t have any.

“You mean something, Reid. And a lot of people love you for more than what you have to offer in a case. Get it?”

“Okay,” he whispers, because he knows Morgan will not let him get away with a non-answer or an evasion. The words have thrown him slightly off-balance, in a good way, so he files them away in his mind to retrieve and study and turn over later. He fiddles with the token as he clears his throat.

��I’m sorry I called so late.”

“You know you can call at any time. I’ve been getting too much sleep these days now that Hank isn’t a baby anymore.” His voice is always warm when he talks about his son, and he feels a sudden pang. He misses his best friend.

“It’s hard not having you around.”

“You know you can come over any time. Hank and Savannah miss you too. And I need someone to annoy Savannah more than I do so she’ll cut me some slack.”

The banter is familiar and fond, and after so many years, he knows there’s never any malice in it. He’s always loved the straightforwardness and simplicity that Morgan wears like a badge of honour.

“Yeah. I’d like that,” he replies, smiling.

“Okay, good. Now go to sleep, Einstein.”

“Alright,” he laughs. “And hey, Morgan?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

The call ends with a beep, and this final silence is tranquil. Armed with the knowledge that he truly is not alone, that he might actually survive this and be okay, it’s easier to sleep now. He may never be the same again. He most probably won’t. He may be more Tobias than Spencer some days and some days he may be neither, but it’s still not the terrible fate it once seemed. Maybe, he thinks just before he loses his train of thought, maybe he doesn’t have to be the most useful person in the room. Just for a while, that should be okay.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #fanfiction #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #penelope #angst #prison spencer #drug use #trauma #character study #gen fic #no pairing

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ffangirlingsince2001 · 4 years

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Fighting Terrors

theichabbieclub asked:

Could u do Geralt x Reader They are exhausted but don't sleep often because they have nightmares. They fall asleep standing up but then jerk awake and drink coffee or something to keep them awake. Geralt slips something in their drink so they can get some rest. They fall asleep on him and he comforts them when they have a nightmare? The one that I sent you a think yesterday w/ reader becoming shy Can you do that one too? THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU ARE V UNDERRATED. I'm rambling imma stop 🥺🥺!!!!!

A/N: I know this isn’t how a lot of people act when they’re sleep deprived, but as someone who does exactly what the reader does at the beginning that’s how I act. Thank you and I hope you enjoy.

Geralt x reader

Warnings: druggings, nightmares, fluff, angst

You had lost track of the days when you last slept. Your old record had been 72 hours, but you were sure you had long since passed that, or at least it seemed like it. Geralt knew of course but he was too polite to say anything. He knew about the nightmares but that didn’t stop him from sending you worrying glances when you stumbled into a chair that hadn’t moved the entire night.

“It came out of nowhere,” you giggled, laying your head against warm table.

“When was that last time you slept?” Ah, maybe he didn’t know.

“Last night,” you smiled, hoping he hadn’t noticed the delirium quite yet.

“Y/N,” he warned and you smiled again, wrapping your arms around him and pulling yourself close. “No, don’t try this again.”

“Try what?”

“Try distracting me from the fact that you haven’t slept. How long has it been?”

“I don’t keep track silly.”

“Guess.”

“When was Tuesday?” He groaned and tried to pull away but you grabbed his hand, pulling it close to your heart. “You have really nice hands,” you sighed dreamily. He had definitely noticed the delirium.

“Y/N I’m serious you need sleep.”

“Geralt, I’m serious I don’t. Wait… does that make sense?”

“C’mon you’re going to bed,” he said trying to pull you towards the stairs.

“No,” you whined, “I want another drink.”

“Fine, I’ll get it.”

“No way, you’ll drug it or something,” you teased, sticking your tongue out as your pranced away, narrowly avoiding that pesky chair who would not stop trying to make you a fool.

Drinks were no problem, you were a pretty girl after all, but getting them back to Geralt proved to be a bit more difficult. By the time you had reached your table, half of the drink had spilled from the mugs and your stew was cold.

“Geralt, why didn’t you get them? Now my dinner’s cold.” He rolled his eyes and you handed him the mug with less ale, knowing he wouldn’t complain. You dug your spoon into your dinner, trying to savor the last bits of warmth, scrunching your nose when a bitter taste filled your mouth, one you recognized well, since you had tried taking it before.

Valerian.

“You drugged me,” you cried, slapping him across the arm as hard as you could manage. You were already panicking.

Geralt didn’t hesitate in pulling you into his arms and taking you to the room you shared. It didn’t normally work this fast, but you were so tired.

“I hate you,” you muttered as you struggled against the effects, doing whatever it took to stay awake for as long as possible, but pinching didn’t seem to be working today. “No, I’m not going to sleep. I won’t do it.” You were crying now, though whether it was fear or the lack of sleep that brought them on you didn’t know.

You fought it the whole way through, and he felt awful but it was for the best. You couldn’t function that way forever, so he did his best to hold you while the last of the fight left your body and you were snoozing peacefully. He laid you on the bed and climbed in beside you, pulling you close to chest. He knew the peace wouldn’t last long, it never did, but it was a relief while it did.

You were so soft sleeping. The little scowl you always seemed to be wearing dissolved into something you could call a smile. And you were always sighing, even when you weren’t dreaming. It was like your version of snoring. You denied when he mentioned it, but he had laid beside you enough times to know it wasn’t his imagination. He prayed the nightmares wouldn’t come tonight, that your tormented mind would leave you alone for just this one night, and maybe the next if it could afford it. He ran his fingers through the soft tendrils of your hair and hummed that dastardly song. While it pained him, you had once drunkenly confessed that when Jaskier hummed his song it made you sleepy. He would do anything if it made it easier, but all was for naught.

The twitching began halfway through the night and you were crying. He tried to not listen to what you said while you dreamt, you had once suggested getting separate rooms so he wouldn’t have to listen, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He pulled you closer and dared to softly sing, cursing that this was the song that had been destined to pull you back to sleep.

You didn’t stop with twitching, that was merely a warning of what was to come. Thrashing came next, hands flying, trying to fight off whatever invisible force was plaguing you that night. He caught them and secured them tightly against his chest, but that didn’t stop the struggle. A hand slipped free and a jagged nail made contact with his cheek before he was able to secure it again.

“It’s alright, I’ll protect you,” he whispered running his hand along your spine. You were crying now, pleading for it to stop. “I’ve got you, there’s nothing to worry about.” It was dreams like him that made him want to get into your head and find out whatever terrified you so fiercely, so he could kill whatever it was, but you would never tell him, so he did what he could.

“Please,” you cried, screaming into his chest, trying your best to shove him away, but he never let you go, coaxing you through the worst of the night terrors. He didn’t know if you could actually hear him, but it always settled down if you stayed asleep throughout the worst of it. It felt like torture, to let you suffer through such tragedy, but if it meant you slept, he would take all the abuse you sent his way.

And eventually, it did fade. The screams slowed to soft murmurings and then the soft little sighs he had fallen in love with. You didn’t kick and flail but snuggled up to his chest and that’s how he fell asleep, holding you tightly and vowing that one day you would sleep without nightmares.

#the witcher #the witcher smut #the witcher x reader #the witcher angst #the witcher fluff #the witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt of rivia angst #geralt x you

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Never Alone

Connor Walsh & Michaela Pratt (How To Get Away With Murder) ft. The Keating 5

Warnings: Abuse, Abusive Relationship, Swearing, Trauma, Description of Injury

Genre: ANGST, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationship

Summary: While working on a particularly tough case in the ungodly hours of the night, whether it’s due to the lack of sleep or the sudden need to confide in another human being, Michaela admits some truths to the person no one would think she’d ever do so to - her rival Connor Walsh.

Requested by Anon and requested as a birthday present by another Anon. Happy birthday darling Anon! Thank you so much for giving me the honor of writing you a birthday present though I hope the short notice doesn’t affect the fic’s quality. I accept the most brutal of feedback, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy it! Enjoy your special day! Lots of love, Vy ❤

“You know, just because you’re still awake and staring at a document doesn’t mean you have an upper hand here. Whether you’re actually reading that file is what will determine who gets the trophy, Miss Shooting Star.“ Connor Walsh waltzes into the living room turned office of the Keating home, looking and sounding a little too refreshed for someone who has had the same amount of sleep as everyone else of the K5 - minimal. Yet, unlike his teammates, he’s still perfectly functioning, talkative and looking forward to being productive without accidentally falling off a chair after being consumed by the slumber his body is probably dying for. It probably has something to do with that cup of coffee in his hand - his tenth one today, if Michaela’s counted correctly.

“Call me that again and I’ll shoot the damn trophy at your forehead.“ Michaela hisses back at him, tired, stinging and bloodshot eyes never leaving the piece of paper she’s been holding, reading and re-reading for the past twenty minutes, never really managing to grasp the words written on it.

“Good luck taking it from Asher. The Douche has fallen asleep with it in his arms.“ Connor sinks down in one of the armchairs, leisurely picking up one of the files laid out on the coffee table, looking at it with little interest.

This time Michaela’s gaze does indeed leave the paper so it can land on her rival, as she raises an eyebrow that somewhere between shocked and offended, “That asshole’s asleep?”

“He’s not the only one.“ It’s Connor’s turn to not spare her a look while answering, “Him and Wes are as good as dead on the kitchen island. Laurel and Frank are most likely awake, but also most likely not working on the case. Well, not this case, that’s for sure.“ He chuckles at his own joke, seeing as how his correspondent found no humor in it, “So, it’s down to you and me and Bonnie if she throws us a bone, which I doubt she will.“

Annalise was very clear with what she had said. Speaking the whole truth here, the five college students weren’t really paying attention until they heard that very strictly spoken phrase: “No one leaves here until someone finds something. Anything” aka the last phrase their professor had graced them with before walking out to go meet someone important for the night. She had every right to be strict and maybe even a bit cruel to them after they all had been exhibiting typical brat behavior throughout the day. To make matters worse and the job even tougher, Annalise had instructed Frank and Bonnie to go home so the kids would really be left to their own devices. Bonnie had had enough so no amount of begging her was gonna get her to stay - it’s also been proven that no amount of voicemails are gonna get her to come back either - but Frank, solely because of Laurel, stuck around and has so far not proved to be any kind of extra help - the polar opposite, in fact, he’s been distracting them all with jokes and snide comments at how incompetent they all are. Now if that wasn’t the most hypocritical thing.

“If the pressure wasn’t on already, I’d like to remind you we have...“ Connor turns his hand over, checking his wristwatch, “less than four hours until we have to show our not-showered, sleep deprived asses in court.“

Michaela groans, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Not that she’d ever admit it, but she was actually glad to have an overnight task, something that wouldn’t allow her to go home, but this is beginning to be too much. What others would call ‘home’ Michaela refers to as or ‘hell’. It was place she called ‘home’ at one point too, but it wasn’t long before things started going south. And by ‘south’ I mean horribly wrong and toxic. The man she thought she’d one day call fiancée and then husband has now become a monster from her worst nightmares. Having grown up in an abusive household, Michaela had always dreamed of finding a place for herself, a place she’d feel safe in. With a person who’d love her unconditionally and provide her the security she lacked growing up. And that’s what she thought she saw in Miles. She wasn’t wrong for the first few months, the fucker was good at putting up a front, putting on a show for everyone to build a positive opinion of such a disgusting human being.

The mask started falling apart shortly after Michaela moved in with him. She didn’t accept his offer without any thought, quite the contrary actually - she pondered it for a week and a half, her heart taking the win in the end. Well, her heart may have won that time but it is now in pieces. Her eyes have never cried so many tears and her skin has never bled nor been bruised so badly before. She feels broken, alone, betrayed, hurt. She feels all she felt every time she got hit as a kid. She feels like the whole world has equipped knives and guns, each with her name on them, ready to put her through torture.

And she’s got no one to tell, because no one will know what to say back. For some reason, when people are speechless they tend to say the dumbest, most hurtful crap without realizing. Hearing that on numerous occasions before, she knows what effect it’ll have on her, so she strays away from speaking up about it. She’d rather be alone and battle her demons than present those demons to someone else who will introduce new ones into her head and life.

She prefers solitude and isolation over additional torment. It’s always been an easy pick for her.

“If you don’t wanna fight this battle on your own, go fetch me a cup of coffee.“ She instructs, half-expecting the turn-down she receives immediately afterwards.

“You really think I’m gonna help you when you are the closest thing to competition I have in this group of dimwits? Go get it yourself.“

Michaela rolls her eyes, wondering why she even asked such an abomination of a question in the first place. Finding her legs too dead to take her anywhere, she remains in her spot with a heavy sigh, returning to her attempt at reading the file she and the rest of the Keating 5 five have read through a dozen times today just to find nothing off about it.

“Hey, this one’s marked twenty-three, that one on the table’s twenty-five, where’s the twenty-fourth one?“ Connor suddenly perks up suddenly, cutting the short silence that had fallen upon them. With the least amount of energy she’s managed to save up, Michaela waves the file she’s holding, blinking away the blurriness of that clouds her eyes. “Give it to me, I need to make some comparisons.”

“Come get it yourself.“ She barks back with the same amount of spite he used barely a minute ago.

Unlike her though, Connor complies, finding that file necessary for some reason despite knowing it’s useless. It’s all pointless and they’re all gonna hear it from Annalise tomorrow morning regardless. But the most they can do is keep trying - trying to prove themselves worthy of that trophy.

Getting up with the most exaggerated distaste in his movements, Connor crosses the distance between the armchair he’s been sitting in and the couch Michaela has not moved from for hours, surrounded by piles of paperwork, folders and files. Much to his surprise, she doesn’t even put up a fight, clearly having been fed up with staring at the same words and not grasping anything for half an hour at this point.

“Thank y-“ Connor is a syllable away from finishing his sarcastic statement of gratitude when his eyes land on something peculiar, he’d even call is quite worrisome - a large scar going from Michaela’s elbow to about midway down her forearm. It looks to be recent, given that there are still some dried specs of blood around it, “Holy shit....“ He mutters, carefully taking hold Michaela’s wrist as to gently turn her arm a bit more to the side in order to examine the cut, “What the hell happened to you?“

Not having realized what he was examining before, Michaela’s eyes widen when they follow his gaze and land on the very cut she spent an hour taking care of last night. That cut is the aftermath of a drunk boyfriend who wanted nothing more than a reason to start an argument with her when she got home. A reason to hurt her. Coming into work this morning, despite the high temperatures, she was stubbornly keeping a long sleeved jacket atop her shirt to keep the ugly remainder of yet another failure hidden. The relationship in and of itself is a toxic failure, but it’s built of other failures Mihaela blames herself for - she believes she fails every time he hurts her. She thinks she’s the one to blame for the failure because she couldn’t protect herself. So she feels ashamed, disgusted and is attacked by that sense of betrayal all over again.

Feeling these three emotions flooding in at the sound of Connor’s concern, she snatches her arm out of his grip, keeping the scar out of his viewpoint while her eyes scan the room, looking for the jacket she doesn’t remember discarding. “Piss off, Connor. It’s non of your business.”

If she had said something along the lines of it being an accidental injury, Connor might’ve even believed her and let the whole thing go. However, seeing hw distressed his question has made her become, he feels there’s a lot more to it than she’s letting on. So, fully aware it’s non of his business, he keeps prodding on for a reason even he himself doesn’t understand, “Maybe not, but that’s a concerning scar, you might wanna get it checked. In fact, it already looks like it’s infected with something.”

Michaela’s brows furrow, her distress growing into genuine fear as she removes the hand that’s partially covering the scar to check on it and try and see what Connor saw to lead him to make such an observation. Connor takes this opportunity to also get a better look at the cut and it doesn’t take him a while to realize what tool was used in causing it - a shard of glass.

“Michaela, it may not be my business...“

She cuts him off with hostility, “It’s not”, but her words are choked up and wavering. Her voice is shaking like she’s seconds away from bursting into tears. And Lord knows crying in front of Connor Walsh is the last thing she wants to do.

“Right, but you can’t tell me that’s an accidental cut. That looks very intentional, very straight, and very much like someone inflicted it on you.“ Seeing her barriers slowly starting to sink despite her best attempts at keeping them up, he keeps his pursuit of his secret, for the first time genuinely curious to get to the bottom of what’s troubling Michaela and not a single ulterior motive in his mind. “You can’t tell me that I’m wrong. I’ve had my fair share of glass shard injuries in my life too.“ The girl’s gaze remains glued to the floor but Connor doesn’t miss the tear that escapes her left eye, sliding down her cheek. This only strengthens his will to getting the truth out of Michaela. “I know I’m not among your favorite people, but I’m not a piece of scum, damn it. You can tell me, Michaela. Believe it or not, you can tell me.“

Silence takes over, loud silence, the one on her end filled with the inaudible sound of her walls coming down quickly. She’s left bare and exposed. surrounded by their rubble and unable to look her rival in the eye. Though, is he much of a rival at this moment? He appears dangerously close to a friend. Hell, Michaela would even make a snide remark about it if her insides weren’t so broken - her heart, her soul, her mind, they’ve all been shattered, bruised and bloodied way worse than her skin.

“Turn around.“ She says out of the blue, the order sounding more like a plea especially when accompanied by another tear freeing itself from the confinement of her pride. When Connor doesn’t move, she finally looks up at him to meet his baffled gaze, “Turn around so I don’t have to see the pity in your eyes when I tell you I’m a pathetic victim of an abusive relationship. The punching bag of an asshole with a short fuse and a drinking problem. A failure to myself and my family. Is that what you wanted to hear? Do you think you have the upper hand now?“ Behind the tears that are spilling freely now is the mix of rage, devastation, dread and sorrow. It’s a dangerous combination that could cause her to pounce at him any second, push him away, take her anger out on him.

But that’s what he wants her to do.

He wants her to let it all out, free herself from all that’s been sitting on her chest. He wants to free her from whoever’s responsible for that scar on her arm and those thousands of little cuts on her soul, all still openly bleeding and unable to heal. He wants to save her. And it’s scaring him. He wants to write it off as basic human decency but deep down he know there’s something more. As much as the both of them would like to deny it, if one of them left the Keating 5 tomorrow, the other would miss them greatly. Threats, accusations, arguments and bickering aside, they are aware how great of a team they are. What a good pair of friends they could be if they just let their pride slip aside. But they don’t, and maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe that’s why they work so well.

However, even with that theory in mind, they’ve both let their pride go in this very moment. Walls and barriers have come down, lines have been crossed and they see each other differently now - More as fellow hurting humans rather than rivaling lawyers-to-be. Closer than ever, that’s for sure.

“Listen, Michaela...“

She once again cuts him off, “I don’t want your pity, sympathy or your advice. I don’t need you telling me to leave him! You think I haven’t thought of that?! You know nothing about it, you don’t get to judge me on my actions and choices!” She’s sobbing at this point with no hopes or ways of stopping the strangled noises from leaving her throat or the tears from escaping her red eyes.

Connor quickly crouches down in front of the couch so he’s at eye-level with her, his hands taking gentle but firm hold of her shoulders, “Michaela, no! That’s not what I wanna say! Listen to me, damn it.“ To his surprise, this actually gets her to calm down and stop thrashing to get his hands off. Slightly relieved, he pursues what he started, “I know, I know exactly how it is. Every time he does something nice it outweighs the bad. It’s those good moments that make you stay, I know. But those moments are the rare rainbow after a ton of rain. They are not worth this pain and suffering you’re enduring. He’s not worth it. You deserve so much more, so much better and you are aware of that!“

“But no one else is!“ She snaps, her hands coming up to hide her face, “No one else sees my worth beyond the job I do or the person that’s willing to put a ring on my finger. No one sees me for me, Connor! My value is determined by what kind of men find me decent enough for their beds or family contracts! What kind of response do you think I’ll have if I leave yet another relationship?“

Her words break his heart but he doesn’t let it show in his eyes, he’d rather close them than let her see that pity she fears and despises. He doesn’t pity her, far from it, but a simple misunderstanding on her end could break this already fragile bond they’ve built so he keeps his feelings at bay.

“Fuck them! Michaela, you are an adult woman, they can’t control your life anymore! No one can! That’s why you need to cut ties with those whose opinions you fear most. I don’t know what kind of stick they have up their asses, but without them you won’t be alone. You’ll be free!“

“And you’ll still have us.“ The sudden and new female voice comes from behind them, right by the doorway.

Both of them turn to look in that direction to find the four missing members of this late case-digging session: the sleepy Asher and Wes with Frank and Laurel beside them.

“I have no idea what you guys are talking about, but Michaela, you will not be alone, no matter what the context is. We might not be the best friends one can ever have, but we sure as hell aren’t monsters.“ Laurel continues, being the only one to actually take a step in the room while the three men stay put, uncertain of how to approach the situation. “I think we all care about each other to some degree. So, I want you to know, we care about you and we’re here for you. No matter how many times you leave us in the dust with your eyes on the prize.“

That remark manages to get a smile out Michaela even with the tears that are still not done rolling down her cheeks. Asher is also quick to pipe in, “I second that! Anything you need, we’ll be here. Need us to bust someone’s skulls - we’re your people.”

Scoffing, Connor shoots Michaela a look, “Now that’s an idea. Give us the address of that shithead and consider it done.”

She rolls her eyes, “Let me get my stuff out of there first. I don’t want you getting blood on any of it.”

Connor stands up from his crouched position and turns to the rest of the team with a determined look and a hint of a smile on his face, “You heard her folks! The lady wants to collect her stuff, and I’ll be damned if I let her do it alone.” He turns back to his temporarily-not-rival, “Come on, you can crash at my place until this friendly phase of ours fades. Then I’m dumping you at Laurel’s.”

She narrows his eyes at him, “Hilarious.” Suddenly her eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up, “Wait, what about the case?”

“Laurel and I found something, already turned it in. We were coming here to send you guys home.“ Frank replies in his usual reassuring manner.

“Ooooh, so you were working on the case after all!“ Asher comments, wiggling his eyebrows at them.

“Yeah, we were. Unlike some who were asleep in the kitchen cuddling a trophy.“ Laurel retorts, sending him the most sarcastic of smiles.

This whole interaction between her...well, her friends has lifted Michela’s spirits enough to get her up on her feet, “In that case, better get prepared to help me pack three large suitcases.”

And with that the Keating 5 (plus Frank) disembark, heading to their new mission. Walking out of the Keating household with four people, all unconditionally supporting her without even knowing what’s going on and one person with his arm tightly wrapped around her in a protective manner, Michaela has never felt more safe and secure. She might not love these people and they might not love her either, but they are all fond of each other. And if their fondness has reached the degree where they’re willing to accompany her and aid her escape from the hell she’s been trapped in this past month and a half, she’s willing to call them friends.

Some closer than others, but she cannot admit that knowing that in a week’s time her and Connor will probably be at each other’s throats again. And she’s fine with that. Rivalry’s a type of friendship too, ain’t it?

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

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Illicit Affairs: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 2

Previous: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 1

Pairings: Namjoon & Reader

Genre: Angst, Slice of Life

Ratings: PG15

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Therapy and Swearing, Mentions of Past Abuse

Summary: Namjoon and Jungkook sit down with Dr. Aarons.

Listen: illicit affairs by Taylor Swift

“What did she say?” You ask, Namjoon’s head resting gently in your lap, shoes tossed to the side, spread across the queen-sized mattress of Namjoon’s rental.

“That there’s a difference between Kookie hating me because I lied to him, and JK hating me because I destroyed his life,”

“Interesting, what else?” Your fingers move gently through his locks, recently cut and easy to comb through, the gesture is calming, even if that sensation is only fleeting.

“She said I’m the messenger, and he’s shooting me when he means to be shooting Big Hit,”

“Oo, I like that,” You agree.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, because, it doesn’t absolve you, right? But it explains the torture and torment they put you through too,” Your eyes maneuver over his features, the slope of his nose, the blossom of his cheeks, all honeyed and delicate under the weight of vulnerability.

“I delivered all the messages though,” Namjoon shifts, head digging deeper into the pillow on your thighs.

“Yeah, but can you blame someone when they’ve got a gun to their head?”

He pauses at your words, “I guess not.”

“Right, so maybe, just maybe, you’re not fully culpable.”

“But what I did,” He starts, his mind moving to relegate his actions instead of voicing his contemplations.

“Only Jungkook can forgive you for that,” You remind him.

“I don’t know if he will,”

“Has he ever held a grudge?” You counter, the self-pity beginning to wear on you.

“No,”

“He loves you, and you love him. This is going to be hard, but we knew that, didn’t we?”

He closes his eyes, “Yeah, we did.”

“You’re going to work for your relationship with him. You always have,” You remind him.

“I betrayed him,”

“Yes, you did, but didn’t Bang betray you?”

“How can you, why do you,” Namjoon stutters.

“What?” You ask.

“Why do you love me, when you know all the horrible things I’ve done?”

You pause your ministrations on his scalp, fingers stopping mid rake. He’s never asked, never inquired. Honestly, you wondered if he didn’t ask out of fear. Fear he’d hate your answer. Fear you’d leave him if he pushed too hard. Fear that the only reason you’d stayed together was because you hadn’t asked yourself that very question.

“You don’t have to answer,” He says, sitting up. He tucks his legs underneath himself and glances at you. “You don’t,”

“Joon bug,” You start. “I do have to answer it,”

“Not if you don’t want to, not if you don’t, if you haven’t thought about it,” He shakes his head.

“I have,”

“You have?”

“Of course, I have. I just,” You sigh. “I love you.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. You’ve always given me the best of you, no matter how insolent I’ve been. No matter how far gone you feel like you are, standing on that ledge, you’ve never hesitated to give me everything. I just feel like, you owe it to yourself to give you the best of you,”

“Did you just quote-

“Yes, okay? Yes, I did, but it’s true, Joon. I love you, I guess, in spite of everything you’ve done because I can tell that it wasn’t your intentions, your decisions, you are not what Bang and Sejin have made you out to be. You aren’t, you aren’t that man at all,” You shift on the bed, kneeling in front of him, hands cradling his moisten cheeks in yours. “I’ve always loved you, every part of you, every secret and lie, every scar, every missed note, every attempt to redeem yourself, every failed apology… they’re all a part of you, Kim Namjoon. I love them all.”

“I’m having a hard time focusing when you just quoted my lyrics to me.”

“Fuck you then,” You laugh before placing your lips on his.

“I love you,” He says, eyes still closed, lips hovering above yours.

“You got me,” You sing softly, lips gently caressing his cheeks, his forehead, his nose.

“Nan neoreul bomyeo sumeul shwieo,” He answers.

“I got you,”

“Chireuk gatdeon bamdeul soge,” He finishes, lips hungrily finding yours again.

~~~~~

“Let’s begin by discussing your first impressions of one another,” Dr. Aarons suggests. She sips quietly on her coffee, freshly brewed to her specifications. The sun is blocked by a tan window covering, an attempt at creating a cohesive design throughout the treatment center but in this lighting, looks more like a hospital than a posh therapists office.

“Namjoon, you can start,” Jungkook says.

“I remember his talent, the fear in his eyes, the joy he had performing. He was so little. I was concerned that he was too young, I thought I was too young. He was just, malleable, willing to please, unsure where his next footing was,” Namjoon says. He’s thought about it a lot, what about Jungkook struck him? Why did he need him on the team?

“When he sang, you could hear the emotion, the raw talent. It was stunning. I took him under my wing early on because he didn’t know if he wanted to stick with it.”

“Jungkook, why did you doubt?” Dr. Aarons inquires.

“They wanted to make me the center, I was just a kid from Busan, and they just, picked me,” Jungkook balls his fists under the weight of his long sleeved shirt, an attempt at making himself as small as possible.

Dr. Aarons surveys Jungkook, noting his change in body language. “Namjoon, do you remember that discussion?”

“Yes, we wanted-

“We?” Dr. Aarons interjects.

“Management and I,”

“Okay, thank you,” She scribbles in her notebook. She’s procured a new notebook for the two men, no longer the purple for Jungkook, but a marbled hard cover book with lined pages and little quotes on the bottom near the page numbers. She’s on the second or third page, scribbling away as the men talk.

“We wanted someone to be the center, not just in the lineup, but someone to guide the music or build our sound from.”

“There are seven of you total, why Jungkook?”

“He’s versatile, his voice hadn’t stopped changing, but it had range, he already could dance any style, he just, he has something special, you know?”

“Not Jimin or Taehyung?”

“Taehyung’s natural tone is so low, Jimin’s voice has this crisp once in a generation reverberation in each note he sings. It’s angelic, but Jungkook can do it all,” Namjoon answers.

“Ah, so out of the seven, he can easily meld into any position,” Dr. Aarons writes furiously, the sound of her pen scraping the page the only sound echoing in the room.

“Yes, even at 14, he could,”

“He became the center, literally and figuratively,”

Namjoon sips his water before answering. “Mm, we could train him to be a leader, train him to be dance captain or vocal leader,”

“Jimin’s the vocal leader,” Jungkook says. “He guides us all, he’s the one, not me.”

“If we’re really being honest, Hoseok holds us together,”

“You, Hobi and Jimin for sure,” Jungkook nods.

“Jungkook, will you share your first impressions of Namjoon?”

“I looked up to him, from the beginning. He’s always been honest, honorable, and just, his talent is greater than anything I’ve seen. All I ever wanted was for him to be proud of me.”

“What’s that Kendrick lyric? Loves gonna get you killed / but pride’s gonna be the death of you and me,” Namjoon says.

“I wanted you to think something of me, to see me, to recognize me as a person worthy of your attention. You made BTS what it is, your leadership. I wanted to prove myself to you, always have,” Jungkook tells him.

“Prove yourself to Namjoon, to Big Hit or to yourself?”

“All three,”

“That must’ve been difficult,”

“It was,”

“Let’s fast forward,” Dr. Aarons says, “Over the next handful of years, you two become quite intertwined, BTS undergoes a lot of challenges, but also triumphs.”

The two men nod.

“Namjoon, when did your conditioning of Jungkook begin?”

He shifts in his chair. He’d spent a lot of time with Dr. Cho working through the timeline. It was messy and complicated, hard to pinpoint exactly when things spiraled, but always easy to note when it started. “When he was sixteen, a little before then.”

“Do you remember the first act management asked you to carry out?”

“It had to do with sending him to training for dance,”

“Jungkook, do you remember?”

“I remember being sent to the states, I didn’t know it was part of conditioning me,”

“That’s something we’ve worked a lot on, right Jungkook?”

“Yes,”

“Namjoon, anything else you want to add?”

“Jungkook’s always been dedicated, he’s grown so much, but it was hard, for a while, to tell where the six of us ended, and he began.”

“Mm, the crisis of identity. What then propelled the drinking?”

“I busted my heel, and turned 21 and just started spinning out of control,”

“It wasn’t one event then; it was a collection?”

“Yes,”

“Namjoon, what were you doing at that time?”

“What was management having me do?”

“Yes,”

“I was pushing him to go to the gym, to bulk up, eating healthier,”

“I was already putting in so much time at the studio,” Jungkook feels the anger building, the heat in his belly, the strain on his throat, anger brewing like a lightning storm, opposing wind temperatures and pressures mounting.

“It wasn’t enough. Bang wanted you in the gym for at least twice as long as everyone else, in the dance studio with Hoseok or Jimin, longer than either of them,”

“They were beating themselves up too. Jimin wasn’t eating!” The first glimmer of lightning.

“I know,” Namjoon hangs his head. Jimin’s demise, wasn’t Namjoon’s fault. He played no role in the maknae’s eating woes, but he couldn’t say he didn’t play into it with his own insecurities.

“But you pushed?”

“I had to,”

“Why?” Dr. Aarons asks. “What did they have over you?”

Jungkook had spent the past few months working through what Big Hit had over Namjoon to push him to this deception. He had made guesses, but truly was curious how dire the situation was for Namjoon to commit such criminal offenses.

“They, they gave out stipends if you went to the gym or stayed at the gym longer than everyone else.”

“They gave you money?” Jungkook questions.

“Incentives… they gave them to you too, slipped into your paycheck or added to your stock options, mine were doubled.” Namjoon keeps his head low, unwilling to look either Dr. Aarons or Jungkook in the eye. He doesn’t deserve their compassion or pity.

“What else?” Dr. Aarons asks.

“It was written in my contract, I wasn’t allowed to talk about it, and I had to do what they told me. I was given the concession a few years ago that I could date, as a means to keep the peace.”

“That’s why you didn’t say anything?” The first clap of thunder, radiating.

Pulling his eyes from his palms, Namjoon squares off with Jungkook. “Yes, I legally couldn’t,”

“What would they take?” Dr. Aarons voice is the only calm in the oncoming storm.

“At first it didn’t matter, but they upped the stakes, saying I couldn’t produce, or they’d put off my mixtape months, put parameters around what percentage I could claim in writing and producing. Eventually, as the years passed, they threatened my relationship. To them it became the queen on the board, the key to making me comply,”

“It was the threat of loss,” Dr. Aarons articulates, “The fear that whatever you were holding onto would disappear if you didn’t follow through.”

“Yes,”

“The whole time they were playing you, too?” Jungkook wonders. “They were holding you hostage?”

“Yes,”

“This entire time, you’ve been hurting, and you didn’t say, anything?”

“I couldn’t,”

“Your stoicism nearly broke you,” Dr. Aarons observes.

Namjoon nods. This isn’t the first time his work has gotten the better of him, manipulating him, pushing him to new extremes. It’s not the first time his own self-preservation has clouded his judgement. His inability to not seek the best in all he does often burns him out, his need to help everyone, especially OT7, at all costs, no matter what, is the reason for so much of his heartache.

“Why did you do it?” Jungkook’s question is simple, as simple as yours had been. Why?

“I wanted everyone to be successful and feel successful. If I could help, in any way, then I was going to. I wanted you to be everything you dreamed of being,”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Dr. Aarons quips. “You wanted Jungkook to be all these things, did you stop to consider if the ways you were going about it were worth it?”

“Every day, every time he broke down, cried, was insecure, wanted to quit… we all had those moments, but Jungkook is, he’s the best of us,” Namjoon’s honesty has always been one of his strengths, which makes his therapy work that much more potent.

“I am not,” Jungkook counters, blushing amidst the tide.

“You are, even without guidance, you’ve always been the brightest star, I never want you to burn out,”

“You’ve pushed me to,” Jungkook’s tears cascade down his cheeks.

“In trying to give you longevity, yeah, I did,” It’s the break in Namjoon’s voice that pushes each man to new heights.

“You did such unforgivable things,” Jungkook spits.

Steering the ship towards calmer seas, Dr. Aarons speaks. “Of all the things that were done to you, Jungkook, in your mind, what is the one that hurts the most?”

“You created this false sense of security, making me think you were looking out for me but you were tricking me. I have all these insecurities, all these bad habits, for what?” Another lightning strike.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon sobs.

“I know you are, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. You measured my food, forced me to work out more, dosed my drinks… you just, ne juwireul maemdolge / ne gyeote isseo julge / ne bichi doeeo julge,” Jungkook rattles off the lyrics. “All I’ve ever wanted was your support, your guidance, your love. You have been everything to me, and to find out you –

“I had no choice,” Namjoon’s voice rises. “They gave me no options!”

“You drugged me!” Boom. Louder and closer than before, the thunder rattles through Namjoon’s bones.

“I never said I did the right thing!” Namjoon counters.

“You put smaller pants in my closet, so I thought I was gaining weight!”

“It wasn’t my idea!”

Scoffing, Jungkook snipes, “You counted my calories and made me feel so guilty when I didn’t work out!”

“You’re the one who wanted to maintain your six pack!” Namjoon yells in return. This feels like a RUN episode gone wrong.

“What about Jimin?” Jungkook watches the flash of anger in his hyung’s eyes, wasn’t it enough that he was in here with Jungkook? Why bring Jimin in too?

“Don’t bring him into this,” Namjoon warns.

“How do your actions affect him? What about the other members?”

“They’re, fine,” He clenches his jaw.

“Yeah, because you didn’t drug them!” Jungkook strikes again.

“It wasn’t anything serious!”

“Every action has an equal, opposite reaction. This is what you did!”

Namjoon is trying not to be proud that Jungkook’s quoting Newton, but he’s a little proud.

“Management Jungkook! Management made me! Stop shooting me, I didn’t load the gun!” Namjoon yells.

“Fuck you Joon!” Jungkook stands. Hands through his hair, snot wiped against his sleeve.

“Take five,” Dr. Aarons voice is swift, coming down harsh in their ears as the two stare at opposite corners of the room. As her voice ebbs, the only sound that can be heard in the trepid waters are the sounds of this tears.

Next: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 3

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sociopath-analysis · 4 years

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Sociopath Profile: Baek Yeonhwa

From the manhwa series White Angels Have No Wings (2016-2018) and the sequel series White Angels Get No Rest (2019-2020) Recommended by @rickyriddle

In this Girl’s Love series, Yeonhwa is the closest thing to an antagonist that you could find. Her sociopathic behavior has a direct effect on the other characters either directly or indirectly.

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of domestic abuse and sexual assault throughout.

[SPOILERS BELOW]

Yeonhwa has a habit of taking pretty girls and using them as her own personal playthings. While she claims that she loves these girls, she is easily able to go on to others when she gains more interest in others. This is what happens to Yoonseo when Ayeon comes along. And she isn’t above outright stating to Yoonseo that she is her property. She also enjoys toying with Dahye by keeping her wrapped under her thumb.

[to Yoonseo] “Of course I’m having fun. I’ve got so many toys to play with!”

In Have No Wings, she only cared about her own pleasure and happiness. The only time she decides to help anyone is when she sees someone she likes and wants to get on their good side. Yeonhwa only displays a desire to control others, especially shown when she physically abuses Yoonseo by choking her whenever she gets jealous of Yeonhwa hanging out with other girls. She showed an extreme version of this control over her sister, Sohwa. When their parents were out for two weeks, she took the opportunity to treat her like her own personal doll and this ended up with Yeonhwa raping her.

Her idea of love is heavily distorted. In Have No Wings, she only loves people in the way that she can fully possess them and have them for herself. She did this with Sohwa and was adamant to get her back after she escaped. When she saved Yoonseo from bullies, she only ever acknowledged her as a toy and wouldn’t see her as anything else. This proves her lack of empathy since she sees people as potential possessions. The only exception is in Get No Rest when she meets Yeon-Young in juvie and she seems to care about her a lot. However, once she is in Dahye’s possession and away from Yeon-Young, she doesn’t take long to fall into her old habits of manipulation and general mind-fuckery. And it seems that she was willing to extend that to Yeon-Young as well. She admits to loving both her and Dahye, but it’s clear that it comes back arount to her idea of having them as her posessions. She can’t choose one, so she decides to have both. Her empathy is limited at best.

[to Yoonseo] “That’s right... We’re not friends, and this isn’t friendship. You’re my property. You, Ayeon, and Dahye... all of you.”

Speaking of manipulation, she has several tactics that she uses to break people. She uses blackmail to get away with tormenting Dahye through forcing her to do what she wants and sexually harassing her. She also does favors for people she likes to get them on her good side, such as saving Ayeon and Yonnseo from bullying. She also manages to spin situations in ways that benefit her. When she saves Yoonseo from Songyi and her crew, she injures herself to make it look like they assaulted her to get them in bigger trouble. She also plays Dahye’s sister, Minhye, by both manipulating the circumstances about the situation with Dahye and trying to trick her into a date. Not to mention how she uses the fact that each of them are hiding things from the other to tear them apart. Despite her care for Yeon-Young, she also talks about how anxious she gets when she sees the BDSM toys that Dahye uses on her as if it’s funny.

The reason Yeonhwa does all of this is for her own amusement. She admits that she enjoys playing with people and breaking their innocence. The way she sexually harasses and blackmails Dahye shows a level of sadism in both physical and emotional pain. Once she lets herself loose in the sequel series, she shows just how much she enjoys turning Dahye’s revenge fantasy on its head and rapes her once again. Realizing that Dahye had a woman wear a white wig to sexually dominate her as she pretended it was Yeonhwa is something she won’t let go. She even tries to mess with Dahye’s anxiety about being cheated on by pretending to put a mark in makeup. She knows that Dahye is emotionally fragile (due quite significantly to her actions), and sees no issue in toying with her even then.

“You’re the cutest... when you’re angry.”

Through out the original, she showed very little remorse for how she treated people. She only hesitates with Ayeon rather than forcing her into it because the forceful approach is exactly what drove Sohwa away. The shamelessness with which she tormented Dahye does not suggest much concern. And while it looks like she is turning over a new leaf in the sequel series with her genuine relationship with Yeon-Young, she easily throws it away once she realizes the sadism she was missing out on. Had Yeon-Young not sought her out, she would have completely moved on without much issue (even though she admits that she still likes her). Yet, even then, she starts to behave in a more controlling manner, similar to how she treated her sister. With her distorted idea of love, she probably doesn’t see any of her behavior as a problem.

By the end of the second series, even though it seems that she grows attachments to Dahye, she shrugs them off and says “Oh well,” before deciding to fall back into her old ways.

Female Sociopath List

#Baek Yeonhwa #Baek Yeon Hwa #White Angels Have No Wings #White Angels Get No Rest #rickyriddle #request #character analysis #profile

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medranochav · 3 years

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my moms been living with us for 4 months now. her stay was initially tolerable but is now triggering and I find myself regressing in a lot of ways. Her grief has evolved into torment and per her m.o. she'd like for her issues to take first priority. Except, my sis and I are grown now, and as a therapised household (literally we've all been in counseling, babies included) though we still lean on each other for support, we ultimately don't function codependently.

And beeecause that's not how we grew up, I think my mother is now having to contend with the reality that she has to do the emotional work of surviving her many traumas (and currently her many dramas) on her own. We support her but we can't fix it for her.

Currently, it's a crisis a day and she's spiraling into mini catastrophic states everytime. Which was sufferable at first because despite my labored support, I still maintained my boundaries and didn't adopt her distress as my own. The problem now is the increasing frequency with which these crying spells are taking place. Not to mention the fact that she's been doing so in front of the kids; something that would normally be acceptable because my sis and I make space for feelings (even our own) in our home. The difference being, we do so responsibly. We listen, we talk, give affection and/or space but always with the fundamental knowledge that our emotions belong to us individually and only we can be accountable for them. A gentle reminder that though part of a unit, they still have agency and accountability.

This interdependency makes way for a more compassionate exchange. Whenever they see us cry or be vunerable, the kids have the wherewithal to approach us without attaching themselves to our emotional circumstance. It's an empathy that perceives our emotional reactions as relatable but still not their responsibility. I've seen our work proven time and time again.

One example is when my sister's [redacted] died and the boys spotted her crying on the couch. Without being prompted, they approached her independently, commiserated, hugged and kissed her and shortly after went back to playing on their electronics. It was such a graceful display of emotional validation that demonstrated their love for her without sacrificing their own desires in doing so. Truly remarkable, that at ages 5-8 they maintained boundaries while still being there for their mom.

They're also there for one another but it's seldom a sinking ship. And when emotional support is rejected they respect that as well, without taking it personally [tbh that has more to do with concepts of mandatory consent that we impart on them, but as is evident, it applies. #intersectionality] It's an ongoing practice that I'm proud to be a part of, considering the kids have codependent figureheads in both their maternal and paternal families. WE'RE TRYING TO BREAK CYCLES HERE.

Yes, our home is a safe space for emotional processing but always leveraged with the emotional balance of self reliance, awareness and resiliency. The kids have proven to have the capacity for this and through teaching them, so do we.

It's human to have outbursts, but my mother's pattern is proving to be less intrinsic and more deliberate. She needs an audience in order to experience catharsis. A potentially reasonable behavior except for it's her only one. So it's imbalanced and seeks refuge in the reliance of our total empathy.

Furthermore she's disingenuous in her emotional performances. When approached out of concern, she responds with the proverbial, "I'm ok." Like, its subtle but super manipulative to say that, when we can CLEARLY see she's not. The kids see and hear her, the least she could do is not gaslight them. And I'm not saying her tactics are successful but it exposes the bby's to unnecessary dysfunction and covertly teaches them to assume the responsibility of communicating her emotion for her. She's also non verbal and unpredictable and tho not at her best rn [like, literally who is? this year has wrecked us all] she and we deserve proper communication.

The mind games are soul sucking and triggering for me in a way that is not for my sister. Though we share a mother, the repective versions of her that we experienced as children differ greatly.

My sister's the eldest and spent the first couple years of her life as the only child to a very young mother living alone in America after being displaced by the civil unrest in her native El Salvador. By age 3, with the addition of a new baby sister (my moms 2nd) she was sent to a country fully at war. My sisters would spend the next half decade of their lives in sunny wartorn tropics, watched over and raised by our family of four women. A blissful antithesis to their future with our mom. Upon the return to their forgotten country of origin (USA) and severed from the only family and community they've ever known, the girls were whisked away by a mother they barely remembered and a baby brother they had never met... marking the beginning of my mom's descent into single motherhood.

My mom resented having a brood of kids, namely her 2nd and 3rd, who's father was abusive and absent. Don't know much of the facts outside of what she would ritualistically berate my siblings about during her brutal tantrums -as if it were their fault they simply existed. The second born, my other sister, left home at 12 and has been estranged ever since and the third, my brother, has recently severed bonds abruptly claiming a new life with a woman he's known barely a year yet now calls wife. Proving that despite being raised by the same woman we all had different mothers.

Since my siblings endured a childhood with a volatile, violent woman who managed her emotions thru physical abuse... when she wasn't, she was neglectful of them, turning her attention onto me... the youngest (four years removed from the rest of the pack). I bore witness to said abuse until I was 5, when it was litigiously exposed, forcing her to abandon corporal punishment and rely solely on mental/emotional abuse. That's the version of my mom I got.

I was 10 when my sister left for college. Just my brother and I remained. Similarly to each other we both lived in service to our mother. Whereas his duties were more physically laborious, mine consisted of full on emotional labor. I spent most of my childhood navigating a homelife that was so saturated and occupied by my mother's opera of a life, that there was no room for my feelings, thoughts, desires or identity. I was her plaything, a person sans agency. My age and vulnerability proved advantagous when grooming me. I learned to behave in ways satisfactory to her needs. I was made to react to (and collect) her emotional distress, endorse her judgements of others, perform well in school as a testament to her rearing, and accept her violations of me as normal. I was a shackled spectator, whose own emotions were mere reflections of her dramatizations. I was tailored to be the MOST convenient. So I kept secrets and coped alone. I knew just enough abt myself to remain human but lacked the vision to actualize it. And because emotional abuse is so insidious in its indoctrination, I was really none the wiser until I too moved away years later.

I'm almost 30 now and I'm a mess. I can't establish enduring relationships, I'm fat, I'm broke, I'm debilitatingly avoidant, socially inept, codependent, confused and lack significant self worth. I spent the past decade delving deep into undoing all the work done to me to keep me a reliable supply for my mother and coming to terms with all the time lost in doing so. I've had glimpses and proof of another life but this year sent me back to old coping mechanisms and devastatingly familiar relationships. I read that by its very nature, all pandemics have to end and I thought I was strong enough to share a definite time&space with my abuser for the foreseeable future.... but with no end in sight, I kind of really wish I had established a clearer version of myself and where I stand in this family, to her.

Similar predicaments flung us both to the south and having her here is like a screen forging images of the same dysfunction I exhibited upon my arrival 7 years ago. There's so much I wish I could tell my former self, namely, "it's not your fault. you're not alone. you don't have to try so hard and tomorrow is another day" And perhapz it's this layered vision of myself as seen thru her that compels me to want to save her, but doing so requires me to get too close to a flame I've yet to extinguish. Im not foundationally sound enough to go up in flames and rebuild afterwards, I need a few more rounds of therapy for all that. I'm a stitch away from coming apart at the seams. Weak construction, but I'm still standing. I have more life to live and can't risk the breeze of my mother's chaotic whims to topple what's taken years to forge. I love her, because she's the only mom I got and because she's the kids' only access to our motherland. How can I reconcile this version of me with this version of her?

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lastluvbug · 4 years

Note

Dude your little fool me once and twice series just stabbed me I'm the feels like, dude I am legit crying. XD WE NEED SOME FLUFF IN THIS PIECE SO ITS UP TO ME TO REQUEST SOMETHING! (if you are willing to do it you don't have to just saying.) So can you do a request where the MC (Yuu) has had a stressful day after dealing with some bullies that she has been trying not to tell anyone about but Kalim and Jamil end up finding out. What will they do?

Ahh!! Thank you thank you for the ask! Of course I’m willing to do it!

Warnings: Bullying

Desert Flower

“Fgnaaaaaaa!!!”

Yuu was roughly torn from her ever enigmatic dreaming by a scratchy scream and a distinct flush of heat to her side.

Yelping through her disorientation, she pushed herself away from the source of the burning, rubbing her eyes to clear away the sleep induced fuzziness. “G-Grim! Hey, what’s wrong?!” She cried, hands hovering just above the cat-like creature who was writhing on the bed, blue flame encircling him.

“Grim! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare!” She took the monster into her arms, biting back a wince as her hands were scorched by the heat, fading after a second as Grim’s eyes snapped open.

“Yuu...! Yuu, he was going to eat me!” He sobbed, cuddling into her embrace.

“Who? What was happening in your dream?”

“It was Jamil’s shadow! He looked so hungry, like he was going to...”

Yuu wanted to laugh, but she smiled softly instead, smoothing out Grim’s fur and petting lightly over his ears, quelling his hysteria. “It wasn’t real. I thought you were a great hero! A hero’s not afraid of anything, right?” She tempted, playing with his small paws.

“Absolutely! I-I’m not afraid of some silly monster!” Grim agreed, taking Yuu’s bait. She was going to reply, when a loud rumbling promptly shut her down, making her laugh briskly. “...But I am scared of this appetite! I’m starving, let’s eat!” He cheered, throwing a curled paw up.

“Hmph, so brave...” She sighed, setting Grim down, “go on down. I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay~!”

Grim leapt off the bed, mumbling something Yuu couldn’t quite catch as he left, kicking the door shut behind him.

Giggling at her friend’s antics, the smile was quickly forgotten as her hands began to sting, sharp as first but easing as she relaxed the muscles. Peering down at the soft skin, she groaned at the cherry red sight, slightly swollen and puffy from the burns they suffered. “Guess I have to be even more careful than before... just until this heals up, that is.”

Yuu was cautious as she stood from the bed and fixed her uniform, brushing out her hair and changing her sleepwear. She hesitated briefly as she glanced herself over in the mirror above the forever unlit fireplace, cringing at her face.

It was apparent she hadn’t gotten enough sleep, as usual, even without Grim’s little interruption. Further still, perhaps unnoticeable by anyone besides her, a dark, defeated darkness twisted her lips in a frown, her bright eyes dimmed with an unnamed melancholy.

She knew the reason why. She knew the reason why she hesitated in every class, why she started eating less and less, why it was becoming difficult to look anyone in the eye.

Pushing the room door open silently, Yuu headed down the hall, flexing her hands slowly in front of her as she sucked in a sharp breath. “That sure looks painful, did the kitty do that to you?” Yuu screamed at the sudden intrusion, jumping back a few feet as she glared at the ghost.

“Do you absolutely need to do that?” She scolded, growling.

“What do you want me to do? Wear a bell and jingle everywhere I go?” The chubby ghost joked, laughing heartily at Yuu’s unimpressed expression. “My concern is real, y’know. I’m not sure you should leave today, especially if you’re going to be hounded by those bullies again.”

Yuu flinched, clenching her fist despite the screaming pain that followed. That one had been her accident.

Ever since arriving at NRC, Yuu was accutely aware of her misplacement, both because of her gender and because of her lack of magical abilities. As if the self doubt wasn’t enough, it wasn’t long before some of the students made the same realization, and used it against her in the worst ways. Tormenting her, they called her names, ridiculed her, broke her down inch by inch.

It wasn’t until she happened to stumble upon a certain pair of classmates that she found a way to cope. She couldn’t remember exactly how she met Kalim Al-Asim and Jamil Viper, but could vaguely recall bumping into the shorter during lunch, earning a snide remark from the vice and a carefree laugh from the head. From there, she found herself spending more and more time with the duo, eventually earning the trust and friendship from them, though it took a while to break down Jamil’s guard.

That was how she managed to hide her secret for so long. She’d met so many people, made so many friends, but none like Kalim and Jamil. She knew that they had a full plate as it was, but adding her problems to it? No way, she wanted to prove that she could handle herself, that she could stand up and face the problem head on.

So one night after a particularly cruel session of verbal abuse, she tucked Grim into bed, rushed to the rundown lounge, and cried. She was sure to be quiet, covering her mouth with her hands and suppressing her whimpers, but cried nonetheless, completely unaware of the ghosts that watched.

When they emerged from the shadows to comfort her, that was when Yuu spilled her troubles, pleading with them to keep it a secret.

“I’ll be fine! After all, I’ll just do what I always do; works like a charm!” Yuu waved him off, shrugging the memory away.

“...Yuu. It’s not healthy to hide these things. Maybe you should tell someone.�� He suggested, brows creased.

“No! I can handle this on my own. Now, thank you for your time, but I should be getting to Grim and class. Bye!”

“Just be safe!” The ghost warned, fading back into the walls as Yuu hopped down the steps.

She didn’t respond as she caught Grim in the kitchen, shoveling tuna into his mouth as she laughed. The almost unbearable heat of hunger flooded her gut, but pressing a hand to her stomach and swallowing thickly, she pushed it away. Not now.

“Come on, Grim! I want to go meet Kalim and Jamil!” Yuu smiled, bending over as she placed her hands delicately on her knees.

“Fgna... go yourself, I’m busy.” Grim refused, licking out the rest of the can.

“U-Uh, alright! See you later!” Yuu stammered, feigning bliss as she headed out, crossing her arms defensively across her torso.

As she trudged down Main Street, she glanced around anxiously, heart skipping a beat as sweat beaded on her temples. It wasn’t often she was this nervous, only the times when she was utterly alone in the open. Her bullies never targetted her when she was with someone else, aware that she had a way of guarding herself with another person.

Yuu was climbing the steps to the school building when she noticed them; the four boys leaning against the doors. “Well, looky looky! Up bright and early for the day, birdie?” One of them crowed, making her cringe at the use of the distasteful nickname.

She could recognize them by the colors of their arm bands. Two were from Savanaclaw, one from Heartslabyul, and one from Pomefiore, each with their own way of ripping her self esteem to shreds. “Please leave me alone.” She clipped, keeping her gaze to the concrete.

“Bowing your head? Please, even Riddle could pull off a better act.” Heartslabyul sneered, kicking off the wall.

“No no, I think it suits her,” one of the Savanaclaw lackeys croned, “prey should know their place.”

“You’ll never be like us. You’re just a little girl, meant to serve and nothing more.” The other added.

“And with that face? She’d be lucky to find a man at all!” Pomefiore finished, drowning the staircase in wicked laughter. “Lose a few pounds and we’ll talk, sweetie!”

Yuu grabbed at the hem of her shirts, absorbing every comment, eyes unfocused and blurry. Bearing through the abuse yet again, she pushed through the boys now crowded around her, entering the building and shutting them out.

“It’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true,” Yuu whispered to herself, covering her ears with her burnt hands as she followed the scent of breakfast to the cafeteria, pleasantly illuminated with the lantern light.

She hadn’t even taken a step inside when she heard the call, beckoning. “Yuu~! Over here!”

Yuu looked up, dropping her hands as she met the eternally smiling face of Kalim, arm above his head as he waved her over, Jamil pinching the bridge of his nose in embarrassment at the scene. Wiping her upset look off, she redrew a cheeky grin onto her glower, refilling her eyes with joy.

“Hey Kalim, Jamil! What’re you up to this morning?” She prompted, feeling a warmth build in her stomach.

“Eh, the usual. Breakfast.” Kalim responded, gesturing to his plate. “Jamil made it all, so it’s super healthy and delicious!”

“Ha, I’m sure it is!” Yuu nodded, revealing her pearly whites in a grin. It faltered as her gut grumbled, quietly enough to only be felt by her.

“Would you like some, Yuu? There’s plenty to go around.” Jamil offered, setting his silverware aside. “I’ll get a plate if you’d—“

“No thanks! I’m alright!” Yuu all too quickly deflected, digging her nails into her thighs.

“Hm? Are you certain? It wouldn’t be a bother.” Jamil pursued, Yuu feeling yet another hunger-caused groan arising in her torso.

“Yep—you know me! I’ll eat later, I’m not very hungry right now.” She lied.

“...If you insist.” Jamil conceded, resuming his meal.

The only thing ringing within Yuu’s ears was the hurtful smear on her body; she’d always believed she was beautiful, inside and out. It didn’t matter that she had her flaws, everyone did, she loved herself. Until someone took those flaws and paraded around like her feelings didn’t matter.

“So Yuu, what are you doing after school today?” Kalim asked, surfacing Yuu from her abyssal mind.

“Hm? Oh... nothing, I think. Why?” She played with her hands, and the feeling of aching soreness that occurred whenever she wiggled her fingers.

“Kalim and I have a freed schedule. I was curious as to know if you’d like to join us later, maybe for a board game or two?” Jamil smiled mischievously.

“Uh—yes! I’d love an excuse to see you two show off your rivalry!” Yuu joked, repressing her urge to eat.

“It’s settled then. We’ll come get you after class.”

“Yeah, and don’t be late! I’m so ready to kick Jamil’s ass in Mancala!”

“How many times must I defeat you in that game to drill it into your thick skull that I’m better than you?”

Kalim merely broke out into a fit of giggles, the joy rather infectious as Yuu joined in, even earning a small grin from Jamil at the absurd banter.

It was a blink before the bell rung, and as she parted from the oppositional duo, Yuu strongly regretted turning down the meal. Her stomach was knotted, groaning as it ate away at itself, sickeningly warm and unpleasant.

“Yuu! Wait for me! I’m not big enough to walk that fast!” Grim ushered behind her, panting as he ran on his short legs to catch up.

“Ah, Grim! Did you enjoy the rest of your food?”

“Obviously! There’s something just so enticing about fish, don’t you think?”

Yuu gave an awkward smile. “Uh, sure...” She lifted him into her arms, carrying him gingerly as to not disturb her burns, which were still hidden away from her animal-esque companion.

Taking a seat in her normal spot, Yuu felt the unmistakable sense of eyes trained on her, and spun around, looking for the source. When she found it, she recoiled, tilting her head downwards as if to hide her presence behind the curtain of hair that fell around her daintily beautiful face.

Two of her harassers sat a little ways behind her, glaring as they snickered, attentive to Yuu’s semi-vulnerable position. Still, with that fire breathing raccoon, they couldn’t do anything to her directly.

Yuu could barely focus on the class, with the combined forces of physical pain and mental distress working to keep her very preoccupied. Even reminders from Mr. Trein didn’t snap her from her internal stupor, though she knew her bullies were cruelly ridiculing her every time she received a clip from the teacher.

The worst part was, there was no escaping it. In every period, it seemed like the problem was chasing her. She couldn’t avoid those judgemental glowers, or the hushed lampooning that always managed to hit so close to home.

Like most other days, Yuu skipped lunch, her stomach now having gone quiet thanks to the use of her continued starvation. She sat with Grim, joking lightly as she watched him eat, wishing she could do the same without the guilty thought of ruining her body.

And, through hour after hour, the school day ended with a piercing ring, all students being dismissed with an armful of homework and an array of deadlines, Yuu included. “I’m beat! I just want to go home!” Grim cried, stretching. He started to walk away, but stopped when Yuu didn’t follow. “Coming?”

“Uh, n-not today! Kalim and Jamil are going to walk me over to their dorm.” Yuu explained, leaning against the doorframe. “You could come with us, if you wanted.”

“And sit around, watching you do God-knows-what? No thanks. I’m heading back to the safety of my kitchen.” He refused, uninterested.

“Oh wait! Then... could you take these with you?” She held out her homework, significantly less than the average student thanks to her lack of magical prowess, but still enough to take up a good chunk of her free time.

“Eh? Why can’t you do it yourself?”

“Because I want to be here when Kalim and Jamil show up! And besides, the Great Grim can handle such a little job, right?”

“Man, I hate when you use that as you excuse...” Grim sighed, taking the papers, “but of course I can! Now I’ll be off. See ya later, Yuu!” He hopped off, leaving Yuu in the dead silence.

The feeling from earlier that day returned, hands becoming clammy, heart rate accelerating, and limbs becoming stiff as Yuu stood. She despised being alone, especially because she knew the situation she was in, but her stubbornness turned away any thought of asking for help. She couldn’t do that, and let her friends believe she was too weak to face her own problems!

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing outside that classroom, but as soon as those brawny figures emerged from thr shadows, she wished for nothing more than to dart into it. Fear kept her paralyzed, even as they trapped her in a circle, back preser to the wall. “All alone? Do you never learn from your mistakes? How dense can you be?”

“Please, stop. Haven’t you done enough?!” Yuu fought, never once making eye contact.

“Done enough? You’re lucky we’ve been this kind to you!” One of them laughed, earning grunts from the rest.

“Kind? You think calling me names and criticizing me is kind?” She didn’t know where this confidence came from, but she felt her adrenaline spike because of it.

She was finally going to stand up for herself.

<————>

“Ahh! I hope Yuu’s okay! I sure got an earful from Mr. Crewel...” Kalim worried, rubbing the back of his head.

“Only because your such a dunce,” Jamil rolled his eyes, “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s been a little... off as of late, but we’ll sort that out when we’re back at the dorms.”

“I know, I know... ugh, I’m going to go on ahead! I need to apologize!” Kalim decided, jogging to meet up with Yuu.

He’d screwed up a potion in class, earning a huge mess to clean and a lecture from Mr. Crewel as a reward, Jamil staying behind to help despite Kalim’s protests against it.

Rounding the corner, Kalim froze midstep, darting behind the wall once again to listen in on the event he stumbled upon.

Yuu stood with her back to the wall, face hidden in her hands as a group of four surrounded her, laughing. “No more spunk? I thought you wanted to fight back, birdie!”

Yuu didn’t respond as she sobbed, a pitiful sound that cracked the dorm leader’s heart into pieces.

Kalim quickly assessed the situation, identifying the four boys. He was more than aware of the fact that if he charged straight in, a fight would occur, and he was outmatched. The best thing he could do was get help.

Spinning on his heel with guilt encumbering his steps, he silently darted away, racing back to Jamil. “J-Jamil! Yuu needs help!” Kalim panted, pointing to down the hall.

The usually stoic vice flinched, eyes widening as he stumbled back a step. “What do you mean?” He asked hurriedly.

“Yuu, she’s—just get down there and keep them busy! I’m going to get Headmaster Crowley!”

“Got it! Be quick!” Jamil nodded, rushing down the corridor, silently forming a plan. He didn’t know who “they” were, or how many he was facing, but he knew he had a not so secret weapon he could use if worse comes to worse.

Darting out from the end of the hall, Jamil was almost half convinced that he was going to see nothing, but was proven sorely wrong when he realized the position Yuu was in.

“Just leave me alone!” She screamed, trying to swat away the enclosing boys around her.

“Oh, the gusto! Think you can hit back now?” A Savanaclaw flunkey grabbed Yuu’s hand roughly, making her cry out.

Like a lightning bolt, Jamil lurched forward, moving with an unmatched agility as he grabbed the unsuspecting student’s shirt, yanking him away as he protectively held Yuu, her face buried in his chest as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” He growled lowly, eyes clouded with a dark rage.

<————>

Yuu wasn’t sure where it went wrong.

One minute she had the confidence to face her foes, the next, tears were streaming down her rosy cheeks as she hid behind her hands.

Just after the bully roughly seized her hand, her burns sending stabbing agony down her arms, she was suddenly pressed close to someone’s chest, their grip tight enough to show their anger.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” She recognized that voice, and the animosity it was thick with.

“So the birdie really did get help! Took long enough.”

“You’ll do well to refrain from speaking like that,” Jamil warned, a hand snaking into Yuu’s hair, “lest you wish for your own defeat.”

“Big talk. What’s someone so scrawny like you going to do anyways? Hiss at me, Viper?”

“Yuu, get behind me and cover your eyes,” Jamil whispered, releasing his grip on her. She did as she was told, though trembling slightly.

“You four worms will fall to your knees and bow to me, your master. Snake Whisper.” Yuu listened to the sultry tone of Jamil’s voice, cognizant of the sheer power his unique magic carried.

The sound of grunts and bodies hitting the floor echoed in the tall corridors, and Jamil turned around, practically crushing Yuu in a warm embrace. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

“J-Jamil... I—“ Yuu silenced herself with a hiccup, wrapping her arms around Jamil’s bigger frame, who responded by running a hand through her hair gently, shushing her cries.

“Yuu, Jamil!” She looked over Jamil’s shoulder, seeing Kalim rushing towards her, Crowley following close behind. “Hey, are you okay?!” He demanded, placing a hand on her shoulder as she broke away from Jamil.

“N-Not really...” She was finally truthful, wiping away a new wave of tears.

“Excuse me. What happened here?” Crowley snapped, arms crossed as he glared through his mask.

“I believe I may know. Kalim, please take Yuu back to Scarabia, I’ll meet you there when I’m finished taking care of this.” Yuu cringed at the end, imgination running wild at the implications.

“Roger that. See you.” Kalim too seriously answered. He extended his hand to Yuu, who hesitantly shook her hear. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Kalim asked, red eyes brimmed with unnatural worry as they walked farther and farther from the four boys.

“My hands...” Yuu trailed off, revealing her burns for the first time that day. Kalim stopped, taking her wrists as opposed to her hands to avoid agitating the sensitive area. His skin felt smooth and cool, somewhat calming her heartbeat.

“Did they do this to you?”

“No, I did. It was an accident this morning.” Yuu explained quietly, keeping her head low.

“Hey,” Kalim said softly. He let go of her wrists, hooking a finger under her chin to tilt her head up. “You’re safe now. Come on, let’s get those burns healed.”

“Alright...”

<————>

Snuggling into the plush pillows at her back, Yuu sipped from her tea in the Scarabia lounge, lit by a few unscented candles, courtesy of Kalim.

It was a sweet, minty flavor that warmed her core, tears dried for the time being as she drank, wincing every so often at the enhanced sting in her palms.

“Can I see your hands, Yuu?” Kalim asked, sitting on his knees before her, a small container of something placed gingerly on the floor.

“Sure,” she nodded, setting her cup down as she exposed them to him. She sucked in a breath, they looked so much worse than that morning. Candy red and splotchy, it was inevitable that they’d crack and blister eventually.

Twisting open the cap, Yuu eyed the cloudy cream within, watching intently as Kalim dipped his fingers in, scooping out a little and smearing it on her palms, to which she smiled as the pain was relieved to some of extent. “Aloe vera. Jamil would always put it on my skin whenever I got burned.” Kalim revealed, grinning as he capped the container.

Yuu hummed, flexing her hands as Kalim watched, silently debating. “Yuu... how long have they been hurting you?” He said at last, fisting the floor.

“T-They... since before I met you.”

Kalim gasped. “What? Why didn’t you talk to me—or Jamil?! We would’ve helped you! We could’ve—“

“I didn’t want to seem weak!” Yuu shouted, silencing Kalim. “I wanted to show you I could handle myself... that I can be strong, like you guys! That I... that I...” She sniffled, using the back of her hands to block the tears that now threatened to fall.

“Oh, Yuu...” Kalim softened, scooting so close that their knees touched. He pried her arms away all too easily, threading his larger hands in the softness of her hair as his palms laid over her cheeks, wet with water. “I promise, I promise, I’d never see you like that. Never. It doesn’t matter if it’s daytime, noon, or night, always rely on me. I’m here, Jamil is here, and we care about you so, so much.”

At that, Yuu openly cried, grabbing onto his sleeves despite the fresh cream painted over her flesh. Kalim pressed his forehead to hers, using his thumbs to wipe away the glistening beads, hushing her sobs tenderly.

Kalim’s ears perked up as he heard approaching footsteps, looking over his shoulders to see Jamil, knuckles reddened as his glare morphed into a look of pity. Extending an arm, Kalim invited him over silently, to which he accepted.

Yuu’s eyes opened as she sensed someone kneel beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders like before. “They told me everything. I gave them what they deserved, and rest assured, each of thise imbeciles will be facing due punishment.” Jamil said, bruised knuckles a testimony.

“What if... What if they were right?” Yuu asked, voice cracking terribly.

“What?” The two asked in unison.

“All those things they called me... what if they were right? I really am just an incompetent waste, I should just go back to where I came from!” She wailed, Kalim and Jamil sharing beyond surprised gapes.

Kalim hesitated, opening and closing his mouth, unable to form coherent words. So Jamil did it for him. “Yuu, Yuu no. No, I can’t explain how wrong you are. Do you know how much you are loved in this school?” He asked, barely whispering.

“I... am?”

“Yes, of course you are! I’d miss you so much, everyone would!” Kalim admitted, looking to Jamil.

“But why? What do you see in... me?” Yuu continued doubtfully.

“Hm, well how about this for starters,” Jamil looked to Kalim, both of them sharing the same idea, “maybe because you’re funny, and can make me smile even when I’m frustrated.”

“Or because you’re kind, and always willing to lend a hand to someone that needs help,” Kalim followed, sliding a hand into Yuu’s.

“You’re gorgeous, like the sun, radiant and breathtaking.” Jamil ran a hand through a stray lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear.

“And you’re happy, just a bundle of laughter and smiles! You go along with all my crazy ideas, and I have so much fun with you!” Kalim finished, booping Yuu’s nose and making her giggle.

“You’re perfect, Yuu. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says.” Jamil smiled so genuinely, eyes squeezing shut.

“You’re a perfect desert flower, impeccable and extraordinary.”

Yuu covered her mouth as a new kind of tear streamed down her face, ones that spoke her gratitude rather than her sorrow. She laughed, twinkly and unfiltered, throwing her arms around Jamil and Kalim, pulling them into a bone crushing hug.

She didn’t say anything, just locked them in her embrace as she laughed and laughed, mixing with the sounds of Kalim and Jamil’s.

Swathed in the mingling warmth of her two best friends, Yuu’s chest was feather light for the first time in a long while, every insult and wound forgotten thanks to the sincerity poured into the boys’ speech.

She believed things could get better. She had faith, and now had her friends to anchor that faith.

Yuu beamed, as beautiful as a desert flower.

Oh boy, I may have gone a little overboard with this.

This was a wonderful prompt, I had so much fun with it! Thanks to @sanata101 for my first request! I hope you enjoyed!!

Stay lovely!

#twisted wonderland #jamil viper #kalim al asim #twst #mc/yuu #thanks for the ask!#dire crowley

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watchingtheroad · 4 years

Text

Be Your Run-To

Damen struggles in the aftermath of his injury and the reality of losing his remaining family. Laurent helps him cope.

Post-Canon | Hurt/Comfort | Mourning | First Time Bottoming |

POV Switches: Damen >> Laurent >> Nikandros >> Damen

Damen watched as Laurent dissected another letter from Arles over his makeshift desk at Ios, a table and chair he had dragged into what was now Damen’s office space. Laurent loved it for the massive library attached. He had already brought in an entire new shelf on which he would display the books he planned to read separately from the ones he did not. It was very charmingly involved.

Damen loved it for the memories of his childhood—sitting on the King’s lap and reading as a boy, growing and studying alongside him as he worked at his desk—and hated it for the exact same reason.

Reality was strange to think about, stranger for it to be so. That was his father’s desk. His father’s books. His father’s rooms. His father’s throne. His father’s crown. His father’s city. His father’s kingdom.

His father was dead. His brother was dead, buried in the royal crypt with family rather than treated as the gullible traitor he proved himself to be.

Damen had thought he could save them both, will them to life and reason.

He had been wrong.

Grief crashed over him in inconvenient waves in the weeks immediately after his own injury and Kastor’s bitter end. It was different without the constant drama of plotting against the Regent and running around the continent with Laurent. Forced to endlessly sit and heal, Damen had time to dwell in his misery—entirely too much, arguably, that drained him to exhaustion in moments meant for rest—all while continuing plans to stabilize his own government and attempting to solidify an official unity with Vere.

It was quite a lot of work, investigation and tedious conversation: drafting documents, arguing more treason and laws, deciding which policies would be adopted kingdom-wide or remain independent to either Akielos or Vere. The matter of slavery was the most pressing to attend to, and one on which Damen and Laurent vehemently agreed. Total abolishment was the goal. It was a matter of implementation, and not every kyros in Akielos was as amenable to change as Nikandros.

They spent the majority of their days in grueling meetings once Damen was lucid, which began at his bedside, then expanded to common rooms as Damen grew stronger. Laurent had done an invaluable job at handling things when he was not, but there was still substantial progress to be made. He had named Nikadros Kyros in Ios, summoned the few, trustworthy members of the Veretian Council, new appointments included.

It added another layer of difficulty on both sides, given Vere’s chaotic political climate and Kastor’s treason. It was hard to know exactly all the places evil had touched their kingdom, and Laurent’s extended stay in Ios was a disadvantage in finding out and achieving true peace for Vere. None of the Veretians in Ios liked it there, and none of the Veretians in Vere liked that their future King was still away. Laurent’s focus should have been that, not shouldering Damen’s burdens beyond necessity.

As it was, Laurent refused to be parted from him until he was well again. Damen had been adamant for some time that he was well again, despite some moderate discomfort during his deep breathing exercises and soreness that lingered with certain movements. He seemed to be singularly convinced of that. Even Nikandros was on Laurent’s side, a rarity of astronomical proportion.

Under different circumstances, Damen would’ve already progressed his training to more rigorous levels, used physical exertion and pain as a distraction for everything else, then pushed through until it became tolerable. The lack thereof was making him incredibly irritable, but Laurent insisted he take it torturously easy, fretting about him every step.

From the look on Laurent’s face, it appeared whoever wrote the latest letter from Vere was returning the favor in making one irritable.

“What’s the matter?” Damen asked.

With reluctance, Laurent said, “I have to leave for Vere. The people have started congregating outside Arles, which I suspect is diplomatic phrasing for rioting. Resistance from the Regent’s leftover filth. Fucking brilliant.”

Innocently enough, Damen noted, “Going back sooner would have eliminated that.”

“Just what I wanted to hear, Damianos,” Laurent said, voice like the edge of a knife. “Thank you for your helpful counsel.”

“Laurent, I didn’t mean—” Damen started, then stopped, closing his mouth with an internally audible clack of teeth. He took a deep breath, blew it out. “I only meant that Vere needs to see its King. They’ll settle as soon as you enter the city.”

“Do you want me to go so badly?” Laurent asked. “If it will help, you can say it. Let us not pretend I haven’t been worrying you mad.”

“You haven’t,” Damen fibbed.

He had, at times, but only regarding certain things. Being fussed over had never been something Damen was particularly keen on.

Damen said, “You’re the best part of every day I live.”

The former did not make the latter untrue. Their stolen moments were the only thing that kept Damen holding himself together. The source of his foul mood wasn’t Laurent; his concern came from a place of love, Damen knew well enough. It was the circumstances, a result of sadness and lethargy and days and days of complete uselessness that Damen was unaccustomed to and despised to his core. It wasn’t fair to lay his frustrations on Laurent simply because he had nowhere else to aim them, but it’s what he had done.

“Am I?” Laurent asked, the prick self-deprecation clear and sharp. “You haven’t even pretended you want me to stay to spare my feelings.”

Laurent was talking nonsense. Damen ached to erase the doubt in his voice. He went to him, yielding before crossing completely into Laurent’s space where he sat at his table. It was clear when Damen needed to tread more carefully, when Laurent’s defenses were momentarily raised. Damen fancied himself safely inside them, not out in the cold. Still, he waited, until a nearly-imperceptible nod and a softening of eyes gave him the permission he sought.

He slid Laurent’s chair away from the table to better get at him, kneeling in front of him on the floor. Laurent looked at him as though he might break during the mere act of kneeling, but thankfully, held his tongue.

“Laurent, I don’t want you to go,” Damen explained. “These cuffs on our wrists?” He held Laurent’s hand in one of his, and with the other, let his fingers trail across gold. “Everything they stand for, I want. You, I want. But I don’t want you to stay here to the detriment of Vere because you think I need to be watched like an invalid. I am fi—”

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re fine,” Laurent stopped him. “You’ve said that since the moment you very nearly bled to death under my hand, through every complication. Are you so stubborn you cannot see you’re the least reliable regarding your own condition? Your physical state is not my only concern—” Laurent took his face in both hands, his touch gentle as he leaned forward to press his lips to Damen’s forehead, murmuring, “You’ve not been yourself, Damianos. I’m worried about your mind, your spirit.”

Damen clutched Laurent’s wrists, letting out a ragged breath. The whole truth spoken aloud unsettled him to the bone, made everything he fought to bury swell up inside, threatening to burst through his skin. His voice was strained, on the verge of disproportionate emotion, “It’s not you, Laurent. I swear it. It’s me. I’m—”

Broken.

He thought he had been managing, that the moments of shared happiness between them would disguise the torment in his heart.

Laurent cradled Damen’s head to his chest, and Damen’s arms found their way around him.

“You’re grieving, Damen. Your opportunity was stolen from you after your father was killed. It’s perfectly normal to need that time now, after everything. When Auguste died, I—” Damen sensed Laurent hit a wall and bear through it in the next breath. “It took months for the agony to subside enough that I felt I could breathe again.”

It only added to Damen’s guilt.

“Your brother was good, Laurent—” And I took him from you, Damen thought. “Mine tried to kill me more times than I’m likely aware of to accurately count. And my father— You hated my father. He was a ruthless conqueror, and I worshipped him in blissful ignorance.”

“My opinions about Theomedes are irrelevant. He was your father, your only living parent, your King,” Laurent listed, pressing a kiss to his hair, then another. “What you feel is acceptable, no matter how conflicting…There’s no proper strategy in mourning, my love, but you do not have to do it alone in silence. I am here.”

Damen felt his cheeks wet with tears he hadn’t known were trickling free. He buried his face in Laurent’s chest, a choked sob escaping with his words. “It’s impossible to be here, Laurent. Everywhere I look, I see them. I feel like—”

An imposter.

Laurent was the last person who needed to hear that from him. Damen had been groomed for kingship his entire life and felt fraudulent when faced with it now amidst his sadness, particularly having evolved so drastically from who he last was in Ios. Even so, he couldn’t fathom having it thrust upon him as a boy as Laurent did, his grief unimaginable and obstacles unnumbered, the unspeakable abuse he endured.

“Tell me,” Laurent coaxed, his fingers moving in soothing strokes against his scalp. “Let me inside this head of yours.”

A deep, steadying breath.

“There are times I feel Ios doesn’t belong to me. It’s as though my father’s still here, alive in every hall and chamber. I’m so far from the Prince Akielos once knew,” Damen confessed.

Laurent lifted Damen’s head to meet his eyes, delicately wiping beneath them with his thumbs. His smile was soft, compassionate. His eyes shone with love Damen felt unworthy of receiving.

“Damianos, my King,” Laurent said, with a reverence in his voice that throbbed in Damen’s chest and ached through his ribs. “You are twice the leader and ten times the man your father and brother were. Not all change is unwelcome. If you stepped onto the balcony now, Ios would chant your name in the streets. Not your father’s. Not Kastor’s. They adore you. I adore you. Your effortless confidence, the power you hold in your body and words… I aspire to it. Your brother played at ruling. You were born to it. Akielos is yours. These ghosts won’t haunt you forever.”

His words were fleeting warmth wrapped around Damen’s body. He longed to feel it deeper, for them to speak to something solid inside him and hold.

“You’re kinder than I deserve,” Damen said. Then, eager to shift the conversation away from himself, split open as he was, he returned, “It was born in you, too. You’re brilliant, Laurent. I’ve never known a mind like yours. Arles will receive you with open arms, whenever you choose to return. I’ve seen how your people look at you.”

They had lined the streets of every town in Vere, ecstatic to catch a mere glimpse of Laurent as he rode through on their journey to Akielos. If there was residual unrest in the capital due to the Regent, Damen imagined the faction was small.

“If it hasn’t been ripped apart brick by brick before I arrive,” Laurent mused, with an exaggerated sigh. He caressed Damen’s face from brow to jaw. “You look exhausted. Let’s have a hot bath, shall we? Wait for me in your chambers, and I’ll attend you? I have one thing left to do here.”

Damen nodded. That did sound nice.

He shifted to stand, pausing to kiss Laurent on his way. His breath caught, lips trembling as the kiss deepened. His emotions were all out of sorts. Nothing meant more to him than making Laurent happy, merging their lives into one as Damen felt bound to him. He wished to feel better, and he wished to do it beside Laurent.

“Thank you, Laurent… Hurry to me,” Damen said, and because it was all he could muster while keeping his composure, he hoped it conveyed everything he meant.

[THE REST IS HERE]

#captive prince #Capri #damen x laurent #cp fic #damianos of akielos #laurent of vere #first time bottoming #hurt/comfort #post kings rising

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twin-brother-at-the-wall · 4 years

Text

Creator, Headcanons, Story & Rules

Creator:

the-blackholeus

Rules:

- You can send as many asks as you want, but don’t spam the same questions.

- Don’t be rude

- Please be patient

- Don’t insult anybody, everyone is welcomed here.

Story:

Kenzo is the twin brother of the infamous Right Hand Man.

They both grew up in an orphanage where they were abused and hit at every little mistake they made. As teenagers, they had enough and decided to run away, forming a plan.

But somehow, the orphanage found out about it, and tried to prevent it. Right Hand Man was able to escape, but he had abandoned his brother, how had dripped and fallen, unable to escape the caretakers. He cried and yelled out for him to come back, but he never did, and Kenzo lost his voice.

After bringing him back to the orphanage, he was sent to the mines to die, but against all odds, Kenzo survives every sickness and the horrible treatment of the caretakers and their leaders, and began to grow at size and strength. At a very young age, Kenzo was already the tallest and the strongest in the entire mines, and had taken it upon himself to protect the other children, taking their punishments and helping them wherever he could.

But that protection resulted in the death of a caretaker, which made the others and the leader furious. He was taken away, punished horribly, and completely driven from his sanity, becoming the perfect weapon and tool. But he regained his sanity, and began to protect the children again, now working against the caretakers.

After years of torture, abuse, starvation and emotional torment, the orphanage had gotten problems, and had to get rid of the evidence, which meant blowing the mines up, killing the children down there. Only three of them survived, and one of them was Kenzo, who became the only survivor as the other ones died of the horrible injuries they had to suffer from the explosion.

One entire year, he spent his days alone down there in the mines between boulders and corpses before he was found by a bunch of soldiers. After he was contained, he was brought into a hospital where he was locked away to heal.

After a few days, two certain men named Dmitri Johannes Petrov and Grigori Olyat heard of this man, and soon came to get him, wanting him to work as some kind of special guard. After realizing that he had nowhere else to go than the closed asylum, he accepted. Since then, he lived at “The Wall”.

It, however, has taken very long for him to even let himself be seen, and reacted very violently to everyone, but eventually, he began to warm up to Dmitri and Grigori.

Headcanons:

Kenzo:

- Kenzo likes to be alone, but he is found around Grigori and/or Dmitri sometimes.

- Kenzo is obviously blind on his right eye, but his left one has an excellent vision, and nothing gets past him.

- His age, nationality and surname are unknown, but they do know his first name. How? I don’t know.

- He’s the tallest. He and his brother are incredibly tall and muscular, but he would often stand in a hunched position to make himself smaller when he's scared.

- He’s often found hiding in the dark area of “The Wall”. If you see a shadow-like person standing in the dimly lit halls staring at you, that’s him.

- His special stare creeps many people out, even Dmitri and Grigori. No matter how many times they see it, it sends shivers down their spines every time. It’s especially creepy when he’s standing in the darkness.

- He only does it when he feels threatened or when he’s aggressive, though.

- He’s very muscular, but also very skinny. If he takes his shirt off, you can count his rips with ease.

- He doesn’t eat often, and when he does, it’s only a small amount of food. His stomach is messed up after years of starving.

- Kenzo has earned himself the name “Creepy Redhead” or “Quiet Redhead”. He doesn’t mind. Anything is better than the names the caretakers at the orphanage called him.

- Kenzo actually has breathing problems. It’s a consequence of the explosion damaging his lungs. He hasn’t told anyone about it yet and the doctors didn’t see it because he awoke before they could treat him fully. Dmitri and Grigori know something is wrong though.

- He also is heavily Claustrophobic. Try to lock him up and you will regret it. It’s questionable how he manages to hide in the vents though…

- He has many social disorders that he will probably never get healed from.

- He’s incredibly aggressive towards new people. It’s likely for them to get killed when they try to escape or interact with him in any way.

- His hair is long, like…really long. It reaches down to his knees. He doesn’t see the necessity to cut it.

- He doesn’t have a home on his own. He lives at “The Wall” because he feels most comfortable there. Dmitri tried to take him home once, but that didn’t go very well.

- He is a very light sleeper. The smallest noise will wake him up.

- He is a master in climbing, hiding, and sneaking. He had to do those things in the mine or in the orphanage and he had enough time to practice them. Dmitri often finds him in places where he is not supposed to be.

- He actually loves music and does have a great talent to sing, but he has lost the will to put it to use, and so he prefers to just listen.

- He likes to draw. It’s some sort of therapy to him to deal with everything that happened in his life and not to go completely insane. They are really detailed and beautiful, but he doesn’t like showing them. Only Grigori, Dmitri, and the head of the medical staff, Dr. Virginia(OC) are allowed to see them. It’s a way of communicating without forcing him to talk.

- He doesn’t know about his brother being a part of the Toppat Clan yet.

- He does have the same accent as his brother.

Grigori Olyat:

- Grigori’s a very talented fighter and is able to kick ass with ease. Mess with him and you’re either dead or in the hospital.

- He’s very proud to be “The Wall”’s second in command, even though he doesn’t show it, and does everything so it would stay that way.

- He is actually a very calm person, and no one can anger him very easily

- He has quite a sweet tooth. He loves cake and any kind of sweets, but he keeps those urges under control because he has to stay in shape to work at “The Wall” (He does eat cake or some other dessert in his lunch break, though. XD)

- He’s very skilled with a gun, and only rarely misses his target. You shouldn’t try and provoke him too much or you may have a bullet wound.

- He wasn’t born in Canada, he lived in Russia when he was a child, but he moved there when he got a job at “The Wall”.

- Grigori is fifty-one years old and has been working at “The Wall” for thirty, soon thirty-one years, so he got there when he was quite young. Not much was expected from him, but he proved them all wrong by becoming the warden’s right hand man in five years.

- He actually has curly hair, but he brushes it back.

- He actually has a tragic past. He was beaten by his parents once in a while, so he knows a part of the pain Kenzo goes through, a reason why he felt so sorry when he first saw this bundle of misery.

- Next to Dmitri, he’s the first person Kenzo ever spoke to after he was abandoned. He was so shocked that he didn't even respond.

- He has something hidden under his shirt that he treassures greatly.

Dmitri Johannes Petrov:

- Dmitri’s a very serious man and doesn’t take pranks well, but he doesn’t mind a joke if it comes from Grigori or Kenzo once in a while. Sometimes, he’ll even chuckle.

- He’s quite tall, not as tall as Kenzo, but taller than Grigori.

- He works a lot, and I mean a lot. He has made himself an office at home where he could do the leftover paperwork. He doesn’t like it when his work is unfinished, like at all. Sometimes, he even stays up the whole night. His temper is more than awful the next day.

- He might be one of the oldest people in “The Wall”, but don’t underestimate him. He can easily kick your ass and bend himself in ways many young people can’t. He might be old, but he’s in perfect shape.

- Dmitri is a full-blooded Russian, but he moved to Canada when he was a little child. He never stopped speaking Russian though and didn’t even bother to get rid of his accent. He thinks it’s a part of him.

- His family was very cold, affection was unknown for him for a very long time, so he might not be the best to come to when someone needs comfort. He does try his best though when someone does.

- He smokes sometimes to calm his nerves.

- He isn’t that much of a drinker, but he doesn’t decline one after a busy day. He also has a very high tolerance for alcohol, which means it takes a while for him to get drunk.

- He has been the warden of “The Wall” for fifty years and has ruled the complex with an iron discipline since the day he has taken over. After the outbreak, the hot-headed old man did even more to secure “The Wall”. Say hello to an electric fence.

- He’s a hothead and gets furious very easily. Don’t take it too far, he is very skilled with weapons.

- He carries a dagger around all the time. It’s hidden under his shirt, and he has easy access to it. It’s very well taken care of.

- He’s one of the first people Kenzo ever talked to and honestly prides himself for getting the trust of such a broken soul.

- Just like Grigori, he has something hidden under his shirt that he treassures greatly.

(That’s all I’ve got for now. More might be added over time)

#dmitri johannes petrov #dmitri petrov #henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin series #grigori olyat #oc #kenzo #Twin Brother At The Wall AU #Headcannons #rules

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