#some of it is justified. some of it is just me

[makingshortstorieslong]

A little zine about how I (still) have trouble saying the word aromantic.

I've never made a zine before! I was inspired to try it because @queerliblib mentioned a zine making night in an email. That hasn't happened yet - its on June 26th - but once I had the idea, I couldn't wait, lol. It was nice to put something down on paper and have the finished product to hold onto.

Image descriptions under the cut:

Page 1: Three tiny speech bubbles say: "Do you have a bf? Do you like anyone? What's your type?" A big speech bubble says, "Oh, I don't date." The big speech bubble comes from a heart colored like the aromantic flag. 

Page 2 says: I could say: "Actually, I'm... ...aromantic." ...aro." ...aromantic asexual." ...aroace."

Page 3 says: But there are a few problems:

aromantic: Has been misheard as "A Romantic".

aro: Opaque if you don't already know the term.

aromantic asexual: A mouthful! And sounds...scientific?

aroace: shares The Big Problem: it may require a vocabulary lesson!

Page 4 says: It doesn't actually come up too often! Which is fine. My coworkers, my neighbors, and strangers don't need to know I'm aroace. I just wish I could say it sincerely when I do want someone to know. 

Page 5 says: I always have to smile - laugh - hedge. "Oh, well, actually, I'm kind of like, aromantic? Basically just not interested."

It's been more than 8 years since the first time I said it out loud!  I'm certain of it, but I still can't say it like I mean it!

Page 6 says: The most memorable time I said "I don't date" the guy I was talking to asked "Oh are you asexual?" and I said "Yeah, actually. And aromantic." And we moved on.

That was nice. 

Page 7 says:

The times I've lead with "I'm aromantic" -- well, there's only one I really remember:

"I didn't use to think that was a real thing." 

Other than that time -- even if I use the word, I always explain what it means first! 

Page 8 says: I just hope that one day I'll feel like I can say, simply, confidently: "I'm aromantic" and "I'm aroace."

The words "I'm aromantic" are big and dark green, the color of the top stripe of the aromantic flag. The words "I'm aroace" are big and bright orange, the color of the top stripe of the aroace flag. Three hearts below the words are colored to look like the aromantic, aroace, and asexual flags. 

[urmum-lovesme]

Bunny (P14)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: Whelp- after 2 months of waiting here's what everyone's been longing for.... Jeez Louise, I did re-write and re-read this a few times cause it's pretty intense so I hope you all feel the same heart shattering feeling I did when I re-read this for the last time.

warnings: angst angst angst, extremely violent behaviour, abuse, broken bottles, bleeding, implication of drug abuse, alcohol, injuries, abusive father, domestic abuse, mentions of past trauma, sad!rafe, sad!bunny, soft!rafe.

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10) (P11) (P12) (P13) (P14)

The silence clung to the walls like thick and choking smoke and the heels sat perfectly placed on the coffee table like some cruel centre piece. Her eyes couldn’t leave them. Her chest was so tight she felt like her throat was constricted as she stood frozen. It was quiet except for the low buzz of the lamp beside Luke, shadows flickering on the walls and across his face. She could hear the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen but every mundane noise around her felt too loud- like the whole house was holding its breath just like she was. Luke shifted, just slightly, a lazy movement of him casually leaning back into the couch, his eyes flicked up to her with a sick kind of amusement,

“Didn’t think I’d find out, huh?”

His voice was gravelly, thick with liquor and something else that she'd become much too familiar with- something clearly much stronger and it clung to every word. She didn’t answer right away, her mouth was too dry and her fingers were twitching at her sides, but she forced herself not to flinch. Her heart thudded against her ribs like it wanted to escape.

Run.

Hide.

She felt… small.

Small in the way she hadn’t felt in years, small like a little girl caught with something behind her back waiting for the consequence. But she vowed to herself years ago that she wasn’t a little girl anymore, so she straightened. Her spine stiff, shoulders squaring as much as she could manage under the weight pressing down on her. She made her voice as steady as she could, dragging the words up from somewhere deep inside her chest as she took a few steps away from the front the door into the house.

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

She hated how it sounded, too light, too rehearsed and much too defensive. Luke didn’t move- he didn’t need to. His presence was already a vice around her lungs. Instead he just gave a low, bitter laugh, shaking his head like she was the one being ridiculous.

“No?” he rasped, “Then maybe these just walked in all on their own...?”

He nodded toward the shoes with a mocking jerk of his chin and she swallowed thickly, jaw tightening,

“You went through my stuff-”

“-I live here, don’t I?”

He slurred, as if that made his actions justified. As if being under this roof gave him permission to dig into pieces of her that didn’t belong to him- that she'd worked so incredibly hard to keep a secret.

“You have no right—”

“-I have every right to know what my daughter’s doing for money.” He leaned forward now moving his elbows on his knees and even in the dim light she could see the bloodshot gleam in his eyes.

“So tell me sweetheart, how much do they pay you to walk around like a whore?”

The word hit like a slap and her whole body went stiff. There it was. No more dancing around the subject. No more fake passive tone- he’d said it out loud, and it sounded ugly. Her nails dug into her palms and the heat behind her eyes built fast, but she blinked it back.

“Don’t call me that.”

She said, voice low and he smirked like it was funny. Like she was amusing him, then he took a sip from his glass the melting ice clinking lazily around the small amount of liquid left.

“Why not? That's what you do, right? You dance for men- let ‘em stuff their dirty little bills wherever they want. Bet you like that, huh?”

She wanted to scream, to throw something at him and run. But she didn’t, she stood her ground, even though every part of her felt like it was going to collapse in on itself. She whispered out bitterly,

“You don’t know anything about me”

“Oh- I know enough.”

His words slurred at the edges a cold silence fell between them again. She looked at him- really looked at him. The man sitting on the couch wasn’t a father. Not the kind she’d spent her childhood wishing would show up to school plays or bandage her scraped knees. This was just a shell, hollowed out and rotting from the inside out, drenched and drowning in whiskey and maybe it had always been this way. She took a breath, the weight of it cutting sharp through her lungs.

“No you don't”

"Someone’s feeling brave tonight.”

Luke’s mouth twitched into something mean but she didn’t flinch- she refused to give him the satisfaction her cowering. Even when he stood up, her eyes didn’t leave the shoes on the coffee table. He stumbled slightly as he rose, and the half-empty glass he’d abandoned wobbled on the edge of the table where he'd placed it down. She took a breath, deep and slow and the floorboard beneath her creaked quietly in the otherwise suffocating silence around them.

“Where did you get those?”

She asked, voice low but clear whilst her eyes flicked up from the heels to his face, searching for confirmation of what she already knew. Luke was already pushing himself further away from the couch, movements sluggish, as he uncoordinatedly dragged his shoes against the floor. He swayed toward her, close enough now that she could smell it, cheap whiskey that clung to him.

“None of your damn business.”

Her jaw tightened, “They were under my bed,” she said slower this time, “why were you in my room....” He didn’t answer right away, just sneered. The lamp’s light hit the sharp planes of his face, deepening the shadows under his eyes, casting an eerie glow along his jaw.

"Were you looking for mone-"

“-I said,” he repeated, his voice dropping into a slurred mockery, “none of your goddamn business.”

She didn’t flinch, but she felt her pulse hammer in her throat. Her skin prickled with cold, even as heat burned in her chest. She said stiffly, crossing her arms, though her fingers trembled, “They aren’t mine” He laughed then, an ugly sound that rattled in his chest and echoed around the living room. Not amused but spiteful. “Oh, right,” he said, teeth bared in something that was definitely not a smile.

“Right. Some other girl’s little hooker heels live under your bed.”

Before she could say anything back, before the breath could even reach her lungs- he picked the heels up with one unsteady hand and hurled them. The sound was sharper than she expected, a hard clatter of plastic striking the floorboards, the left heel bouncing once before skidding to a stop at her feet. She didn’t move- stood completely still- arms at her sides, fingers trembling faintly like static was moving beneath her skin. The heels lay crooked at her feet, their rhinestones catching the warm light and glinting like they were mocking her. The other rested just beside it, half-twisted, the clear strap folded in on itself like it was ashamed. Luke’s breathing was ragged now, heavy in the quiet room. She could feel him watching her, could feel the pressure of his gaze, like it was trying to crawl under her skin, tear into whatever defences she had left. “Go on,” he muttered,

“Pick ’em up, you need ‘em for your shift tonight.”

Y/N's vision sharpened, then blurred around the edges as she kept her eyes on the shoes. She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, but instead she swallowed hard and she said nothing because if she opened her mouth now, she wasn’t sure what would come out. Not even as her father narrowed his bloodshot eyes at her, studying her with the kind of loathing that seeps deeper than a blade. Her spine stayed stiff and she slowly meets his stare. She refuses to drop her gaze. Luke lets out a rough exhale, then turns, staggering back toward the couch. She watches every movement like a hawk, the weight of her heartbeat thunderous in her ears. He reaches for a bottle on the table, half-balanced between ashtrays and pill bottles. His fingers curl around the neck of it and he tips it back. Nothing. The bottle’s empty. He stares at it, eyes vacant and lips curling in disgust and then—

He turns and throws the glass bottle across the room.

The sound is sudden. It hits the wall just behind her and shatters, exploding into glittering shards like fireworks. She gasps- a small, strangled sound- and her hands instinctively fly up to shield herself as fragments rain down and clink against the floor. One shard bounces and skims across her arm, leaving a stinging trail of red. She’s still frozen, chest rising and falling too fast, breath catching in her throat. Luke’s voice cuts through the moment, “You’re just like your mother,” he spits, tone low and cruel.

“Whoring yourself out to the whole damn island.”

Her stomach drops, “Stop,” she breathes,“Stop it.” She tries to keep her voice even, but it quivers as she glances toward the hallway- toward the small, cracked door at the end... JJ’s room. She can’t- he can’t hear this. Her voice sharpens, panicked.

“Please. Just— keep your voice down or you'll wake him up.”

Luke ignores her- he smirks, “What?” he taunts. “You’re embarrassed now?” He throws his head back and laughs amused,

“You’re embarrassed aren't you-”

“-stop raising your voice!”

She snaps, quieter than before but more desperate, her words shaking, “Please stop.” He steps toward her again. Too fast. She doesn’t even have time to move as he grabs her chin- fingers digging in hard, rough- yanking her face up to meet his. The pressure sends a bolt of pain through her jaw and she lets out a quiet gasp.

“Shut the fuck up”

He growls, his breath is hot and too close flooding her senses smothering her. Her eyes sting, and her heart is thudding against her ribs so loud it might claw its way through her skin. Her breath is barely there now, shallow and trembling. She doesn’t dare look toward JJ’s door again. For a moment- just a breath- there���s stillness and Luke’s hand drops from her chin, fingers uncurling like a slow release of pressure. She exhales shakily, chest tight with dread. Her face throbs where his grip had been but he let go and maybe that means he’s don—

His arm swings.

The slap comes without warning- a violent CRACK echoing through the small living room like a gunshot. Her head whips to the side from the impact and a choked sound leaves her throat, barely a cry. Her vision goes white for a second as the sting blooms across her cheekbone. She stumbles backward- legs buckling- and she crashes down hard onto the floor. Her hip hits the edge of a chair, knocking it sideways. Wood scrapes across the floor, loud and jarring and she lands on her ass with a thud, palms hitting the ground to catch herself. She’s dazed her ears ringing and the room sways slightly.

From down the hall, there’s the creak of a door opening.

“...What the hell?”

JJ’s voice, groggy, still thick with sleep as he mumbles more to himself than anyone else. His figure rounds the corner, rubbing his eyes with the bottom of his t-shirt which is rumpled from sleep. But then he stops- freezes mid-step. His eyes drop to the scene, Y/N on the floor dazed one hand holding the side of her face, a toppled chair beside her. They hadn’t spoken since their argument and even though it cut them deep and left them both angry and raw, it didn’t matter now. Whatever was said, whatever tension hung between them, he wasn’t about to stand there and watch their father raise a hand to her. Not after all the times she’d stood up for him- shielded him, defended him when no one else would. Luke staggered forward again with his hand raised like he’s about to strike again and JJ’s whole body snaps into motion.

“Hey-!”

He grabs Luke’s wrist mid-air just before it can strike and shoves him back hard. Luke stumbles, nearly tripping over the coffee table but steadies himself with a growl, face flushed with rage and drunkenness. His eyes burn with fury as he shoves JJ right back, sending him a step back toward the wall, feet barely avoiding the broken glass on the floor by his feet. JJ doesn’t stumble far- he’s too steady for that and the second he finds his footing again, he attempts to put himself between Y/N and their father. His arm automatically moves in front of her like a shield but Luke’s chest is heaving his voice slurring with venom as he spits over JJ's shoulder to the girl on the floor,

“Get out of this house.”

The words cut through the space harshly. Y/N’s ears are still ringing, but she hears it and it's like a slap all over again. Her head lifts slowly, lips parted. “...What?” Her voice is weak, barely a whisper whilst JJ’s eyes flash with confusion,

“What?”

He echoes incredulous but Luke isn’t listening. He pushes past JJ, snarling like a wild dog. And before either of them can react, he grabs Y/N by the hair- fist twisted tight as he yanks her up from the floor like a rag doll. She lets out a sharp cry, her hands flying up to grab at his arm, fingers scrabbling and nails digging into his skin. JJ’s shout in protest breaks like thunder, hands already reaching to wrench her free, but Luke holds steadily, dragging her upward until she’s on her knees, her neck straining under the pull. The pain is blinding and her scalp screams at the pressure- vision going spotty and through it all her heart pounds. “Stop.” JJ’s voice comes low and firm, no longer confused, no longer groggy and his hands are on Luke again, trying to pry him off her.

“Dad get off of her”

He’s practically wrestling Luke now, arms locked around his to break his grip. Y/N’s face is tight with pain quiet whimpers escaping her lips involuntarily, her knees barely finding balance on the hardwood, her scalp still burning from the pull.

“JJ stop-”

She gasps out, voice cracking, because although she doesn't want to admit it she knows this can get worse. Luke snarls and shoves JJ back, catching him off balance. The blonde boy stumbles, trying to recover, but Luke follows fast and grabs him by the collar of his T-shirt, jerking him forward like he weighs nothing. Then he shoves JJ back so violently, he knocks his shin on the coffee table and flies into the couch. The cushions buckle under his weight, and he hits the backrest hard, a grunt punched out of him as the wind is knocked from his lungs. He curls forward slightly, hand on his ribs, trying to catch his breath.

“Jay—”

Y/N calls out as she pushes herself up and takes a step toward him, reaching out instinctively- but Luke catches her by the back of her top. He wrenches her to a stop like he owns her and her breath catches in her throat as she feels the fabric of her shirt pull tight around her collarbones, choking her slightly. Voice like acid Luke speaks out;

“I won’t have a prostitute in my house.”

It’s not shouted, it’s spat, full of filth and shame.

Her entire body goes still, not just frozen- but paralysed, like her soul stepped out of her skin. JJ looks up at them, finally catching enough air to sit upright again and for the first time since he appeared, he hears what this argument is even about. Every nerve in the room goes electric and the silence that follows is louder than the violence. Y/N’s face pales and her jaw tightens- but her eyes… they’re glassy. Because in that moment, her worst fear is real- JJ's looking at her eyes wide and unmoving

He's still sitting on the couch his chest rising and falling, watching. Watching frozen as Luke picks up the heels from the floor and hurls them across the room. They bounce off Y/N’s thigh with a sharp thud, then clatter uselessly to the floor by her feet again. She flinches, her lip trembling, tears gathering like stormwater.

“Dad... please”

She whispers, her voice wrecked, her hands up now palms half-raised like she’s pleading, not sure whether to defend herself or beg. Luke turns, sneering like a madman, he points at her but addresses JJ,

“Your sister here’s been slutting herself out to the whole island” His head tips mockingly, his tone acidic.

“Haven’t you sweetheart?”

She breaks- just completely breaks. “Please,” she cries, her voice ragged, barely recognizable.

"Working as a fucking stripper thinking we wouldn't find out?

“Please stop—”

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

He bellows and Y/N snaps back, trembling from head to toe. Her face is wet with tears, her eyes red and wide with disbelief.

“I pay for this house,” she chokes out, “I pay for everything-”

Luke’s arm lashes out toward the table. His hand grabs a beer bottle, half-full, sticky, and hurls it at her CRASH. It explodes on the wall next to her and JJ flinches from his spot on the couch as the glass rains down scattering near her feet the warm alcohol landing in warm splatters over her skin.

“GET OUT!”

Luke roars out again, the veins in his neck pulsing. She’s sobbing now- deep, guttural, humiliating sobs she’s never let out before, not in public, not even alone- never like this. Her gaze flicks to JJ, still slumped slightly forward on the couch. His face is blank and she can tell he's still stunned, still trying to process. Not just the violence but the truth behind his fathers words because surely this cant be true... He’s never seen his father like this. Not this bad. “JJ,” she gasps out through her sobs.

“Please I can explain…”

But he doesn’t move- he can’t. His father is standing right in front of him, tall and wild and swaying like a storm with legs, casting a shadow over JJ like he’s eight years old again hiding defensively in his bedroom whilst he listens to his sister taking the blows of his fathers anger through the cracked wooden door.

“We don’t want your dirty fucking money”

Luke snarls, he spits the words out each syllable laced with years of resentment and JJ finally starts to rise, hands bracing against the cushions but Luke is already on her. He storms over to her like a force of nature, grabbing her by the arm, yanking her toward the front door.

“Get off me”

She sobs through her tears, but it’s useless. “Y/N!?” JJ calls out, but he’s caught between the couch and Luke as the older man throws open the door like it’s nothing, pushing her onto the porch. Her feet stumble, scraping over the wood as she tries to gain footing but Luke is relentless.

JJ pushes through the doorway now protests falling from his mouth, but Luke has momentum. He manhandles her through the porch, down the steps, and shoves her hard- her knees hit the grass outside the house. She lands with a choked sob, both palms and knees scraping against the dirt, her breath punched from her lungs as she crumples in the dark yard. The porch light flickers above her like it’s ashamed and JJ follows after her, heart pounding, reaching out but Luke twists back and-

Slams a palm into JJ’s face.

“NO!”

Y/N cries out from the ground as JJ stumbles back hand flying to his cheek, eyes narrowed in pain as the sting sets in. Blood flushes to the surface, his tanned skin blooming with the red shape of a palm. Luke turns his head back towards her slowly, locking eyes with her again. His lip curling with disgust,

“Don’t fucking come back,” he growls, low and final. “You hear me?”

He turns to JJ grunting out, “Get in”

Luke mutters his voice sour, then he shoves the blonde boy one firm hand in the centre of JJ’s chest pushing him hard enough that he stumbles backward into the house, nearly tripping over the edge of the carpet. JJ barely catches himself, breath hitching in his throat. Luke doesn’t look at him again, instead, he turns back to the porch, to the night, to her. Y/N is still on her knees in the grass, chest heaving with desperate sobs, her arms limp now at her sides. The tears streak her cheeks like messy rivers and Luke sneers at the sight of her like she’s filth he stepped in and then he lifts his arm again.

Whip

The heels sail through the air- those stupid plastic heels. They hit the ground a few feet away from her with a soft thud, not nearly dramatic enough for how much they meant meerly a few moments ago. One lands upside down, the other on its side.

Pitiful.

Y/N stares at them.

Settled awkwardly in the grass like discarded trash, like they’re a symbol of everything she tried to hide, everything she gave up to survive. Luke stands there in the doorway just second longer, long enough to let the insult settle into the silence between them.

SLAM

The door crashes shut behind him, the frame trembling and Y/N is left outside alone in the dark. On her knees surrounded by the pieces of her life now scattered in the grass. She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there, could’ve been five minutes, could’ve been twenty. Time stopped making sense the moment the door slammed behind her, the moment the grass kissed her knees and refused to let go. Her legs are numb now, tingling from the way she's been sat in this kneeling position. Stiff from how she’s been folded on them like a prayer left unanswered. Her breath still hitches every so often broken, shivering sobs leaving her in empty exhales.

Eventually, with a soft whimper of effort, she drags herself forward. The grass is dry beneath her palms, dust rough against her skin as she reaches for the shoes- the stupid fucking heels. She picks them up, fingers curling around the plastic, the weight of them suddenly so heavy it makes her stomach twist and then she stands on shaky legs.

She doesn't even look back at the house.

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

Y/N sits in her car the engine off, the world around her still. She’s in the parking lot tucked-away in their spot. Hidden from the rest of the world. Her arms rest heavy in her lap and the heels sit beside her on the passenger seat, one of the straps dangling limply. Her fingers twitch, the pads of them an angry red. Her hands sting with every shift- scraped and bruised from the way she'd hit the ground. Her knees burn too, and her cheek is swollen and hot, the imprint of Luke’s hand still burning on her skin like a brand. Her head feels like it might split open from the ache thumping behind her eyes.

It all hurts.

Inside and out

Her hands weakly fumble into her back pocket, digging through the fabric until she finds it- her phone. When she pulls it out, the screen is cracked, not enough to kill it but spiderwebbed across the top corner. It must’ve been crushed when she fell- when Luke slapped her and her whole body crumpled like it wasn’t hers. The screen lights up:

1:37 AM.

The numbers blur as her vision wavers, her thumb hovers for a second and then moves before she can stop herself. Before she can think and before she can remember all the reasons she shouldn’t. She dials the number at the top of her call-list, it rings once then twice and her breath snags in her throat.

“Y/N?”

Rafe’s voice rings out rough and confused, it can be heard the way his tone changes over the phone, like he feels her discomforting silence crawling through the line.

“What’s wrong?”

Her lips part but nothing comes out just air and pain and then- she breaks. The sob rips out of her so fast, so hard, it nearly chokes her up in the process. She curls over herself in the driver’s seat, her forehead pressing to the steering wheel, phone clutched so tight to her ear it might snap “Y/N- hey, hey,” Rafe says, instantly alert now, voice taut,

“Are you okay? What's wrong? Talk to me- speak to me please...”

She can’t get words out, just more sobs start to wrack her body, more gasps for breath as fat tears start to drip down onto her thighs as she sits hunched over.

“Where are you, baby?” he asks, voice cracking with worry. “Where are you—”

“-our spot...”

She whispers, it’s the only thing she can manage, a broken little breath between sobs. He doesn’t hesitate after her voice slips through his phone speaker.

“Okay. Okay- stay there, yeah? Stay right there”

He says already moving. You can hear it in the background through the scraping of a chair against hard wood floor followed by the shuffle of keys and a door opening and closing.

“I’m coming- I’m coming right now just hold on for me okay?”

She nods even though he can’t see it, phone still pressed against her cheek, tears spilling faster now. He doesn't put the phone down - instead keeps their call going- his hearing straining for her every little breath to have some kind of sign she's still there- she's still okay. As Rafe slid into his car, his mind flickered back to just hours before, to the words that had rooted themselves in his skull, echoing on a brutal loop no matter how hard he tried to shut them out.

“I can’t do this with you, Rafe.”

She’d said it with tears in her eyes, voice breaking as she backed away like he was something that disgusted her- something dangerous. And maybe he was. But he hadn’t expected the rejection to feel like this, like something ripping open inside him. His grip tightened around the wheel as he remembered how he’d just stood there in the lot of the country club after she drove off, his eyes fixed on the empty space her car had occupied like she might somehow reappear if he stared long enough. He didn’t even remember the drive back to Tannyhill, just the heaviness pressing in on him.

He’d gone straight into his father’s office and sat in the leather chair like a ghost. Motionless and numb. The desk drawer had remained closed, but his thoughts had locked on it all the same, on the small plastic baggie inside that he hadn’t touched in months. The urge was there gnawing at him from the inside, whispering to him.

But he never reached for it.

Because then the call came.

And now, as he pulled out of Tannyhill’s tall gates, headlights cutting through the dark, her voice still echoed in his ear, this time not distant and cold but raw and trembling. Even after everything she’d said to him, after he’d laid his heart bare and she’d begged him not to make her feel something she wasn’t ready for- he didn’t hesitate.

Not for a single second.

She’d shut him down, left him standing there with his love hanging heavy between them but this? Her voice breaking on the other end of the line- scared, small and needing him?

There’s no version of the world where he won't run to her.

Time doesn’t move the way it used to, instead it feels like it stretches, she can't even tell how much time has passed since she first dialled his number. Her phone’s still pressed against her cheek the sound of the cars's repetitive turn signal filling the phone speaker.

She’s shifted now, her feet hanging out the open door of her car, her side pressed into the back of the seat. Her knees are drawn up a little, arm which isn't holding the phone is wrapped around herself, fingers gripping onto the material of her once white work polo. Her body aches in every direction, sharp stings in her hands and knees, the throb in her cheek- it's almost unbearable, and her head?

It aches so badly.

From all the crying.

She didn’t know it was possible to cry this much, didn’t know there could still be more left to spill. She sniffles softly, wiping at her eyes, but it does nothing. The tears keep coming. Slow and silent. Her throat is raw, her breathing shallow and she’s so tired it feels like her bones are humming. She's broken out of her trance when headlights sweep across the lot and her eyes flicker up. The familiar sleek black Range Rover rolls in slow, pulling up a few yards away from her car. It cuts its engine, and for the smallest second, the world is quiet until the driver’s door flings open. Rafe is out of the car before it fully settles, rounding it quickly, shoes hitting against the cement and he doesn’t hesitate as he jogs over to her. He doesn’t say anything at first just sees her- really sees her- and his whole face drops.

Her smeared makeup.

The swelling on her cheek.

The trembling in her hands.

The way her eyes, red and puffy, meet his with so much hurt it nearly floors him.

“It’s okay.”

He exhales softly, stepping up to her and that’s all it takes because she's breaking again, crumpling forward with a soft wrecked sob, her body tipping forward her head falling against him right into his stomach as he stands in front of her. He stiffens for the briefest second, startled by the sudden contact, her body curling so small against him. But then, without a word, one of his hands comes up to her head- fingers gently running over her hair, stroking carefully, tenderly. The other hand rubs slow circles into her back. He doesn’t flinch at the sound of her sobs soaking into his t-shirt. He doesn’t push her away- doesn't dare- he just holds her, anchors her the best he can. It’s quiet, just the sound of waves in the distance and her breathing uneven against him. Eventually, he gently guides her back to lean against the car seat, crouching down to her level. One hand lifts to her face. His thumb traces over the edge of her cheekbone, featherlight over the angry red skin, his touch is heartbreakingly soft. "Talk to me hmm?” he murmurs, voice low, eyes searching hers.

“What happened?”

Her lips part and her throat works but no sound comes out- not at first. Her eyes blink slow and heavy, glassy with exhaustion and then her voice finally breaks.

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

The words come out small and fuck- he feels it in his chest like a punch, something fierce and ugly rising in his throat. His jaw clenches, heart physically aching at the way she says it- like she’s apologising for even existing. He kneels properly now, closer, palms on either side of her arms, grounding her.

"I don't know what to do I- I- dont know-"

“It’s okay- just breathe Y/N. You look like you're about to pass out just breathe baby.”

He says it again, quieter this time. As he kneels fully in front of her, his eyes flicker over her, taking in the brunt of her injuries, and for a second, everything slows. Her hands are both scraped raw, skin irritated and dirt-smeared, little pieces of gravel stuck to her palms. Her knees are red and scuffed, theres a cut on her arm, a thin slash still weeping slightly with red. Her cheek- god her cheek? It’s red and swollen, blooming with a bruised hue, the shape of a handprint faint but unmistakable. Her eyes are watery, lashes stuck together and mascara smudged from the crying. Her hair’s a mess looking like it's been tugged viciously out of place, and her whole body looks like it’s fighting just to stay upright. “C’mon,” he says, his voice quiet but urgent now, thumb brushing lightly against her arm to get her to look at him.

“We need to get you to a doctor-”

“-no.”

It comes out before he even finishes. She shakes her head hard, panicked, her body tensing.

“No Rafe. No doctors... please.”

He exhales sharply, biting down on the inside of his cheek as he runs a hand over his buzzed hair. He’s not mad at her- not at her. He’s mad at this. At everything that got her to this point. At the fact that she’s more scared of being helped than staying hurt. “Y/N,” he says, voice lower now, gentler in fear of scaring her.

“You’re hurt—”

“Please.” Her voice cracks. “No doctors Rafe- please don’t make me, they'll ask questions and I can't-.”

Her voice cracks at the end of the sentence and it makes his jaw tick, chest rising and falling in a sigh, but finally he just nods, forcing the tension out of his shoulders as he drops his hand to her knee. “Okay,” he says softly. “Okay. No doctors.” He stares at her for another moment, quiet, then says,

“...but you’re coming back with me to Tannyhill. You’re not staying out here by yourself.” She doesn’t answer right away, she looks unsure- frightened, even. “I know it’s not ideal,” he says quickly noticing her shift in expression, “but you’ll be safe- I’ll take care of you. I won’t let anything happen to you, alright?”

She bites her lip, staring down at the floor by the car, her hands clenching and unclenching slowly which makes her skin burn. She’s weighing it all, but she’s so drained—mentally, physically. She’s got nothing left in her so she nods, just once, barely there.

“Okay”

She whispers out and relief floods him. It doesn’t show on his face much, but he breathes it out, slow and quiet. He pushes himself up and gently helps her out of the car. She leans on him more than she realises, and he doesn't mind- he holds her steady, supporting her like she’s made of glass. She asks weakly as they near his Range Rover.

“What about my car?”

“I’ll come back and get it later don't worry 'bout that”

He says softly and she starts to open her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out- she just lets her eyes drop. There’s no fight left in her, certainly no energy to insist. He opens the passenger door for her and helps her in, mindful of every flinch, every wince she lets out subconsiously. Once she’s seated, her head drops slightly against the headrest, eyes glazed.

“Just one second...”

He murmurs reaching across her. Rafe's fingers find the seatbelt and he buckles her in, she doesn’t move really just stares at him silently. Rafe closes the door and rounds the front of the car, jaw clenched, hand in a tight fist as he moves because if he ever sees Luke Maybank—

He doesn’t even let himself finish the thought as he gets behind the wheel, and looks over at her again noting her eyes closed peacefully as she rests against her head against the seat.

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

The house is quiet for a place so big, just the faint creak of the old leather couch as Y/N shifts a little, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, her knees drawn up to her chest. A glass of whiskey sits in her hands which had been sipped at with shaky breaths like it was the only thing tethering her to the room. Rafe is sitting on the couch across from her, leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, a drink in his hand too- but the liquid in his glass hasn’t moved since he poured it. It’s more for her sake really, just so she wouldn’t feel alone in whatever comfort she was trying to pull from it.

He’d cleaned her up the moment they got in, didn’t even give her the space to protest against him. He'd brought out the first aid kit he roughly knew how to use from times when his words did nothing but cause harm, and he wiped at the scrapes on her hands and knees with disinfectant, quiet apologies falling from his mouth every time she flinched. He wrapped her knees in a thin gauze, not too tight but enough to provide some pressure. An old bag of frozen vegetables came out of the freezer next, and he pressed it gently to her cheek before he handed it off to her to hold for herself. If she’d asked, he would’ve stayed right there beside her, holding it to her cheek himself all night until his arm ached and went numb from how long he’d been doing it.

But she didn't ask.

So instead they'd just… sat.

An hour passed, then another, and another and neither of them said a word. She hadn’t looked at him- but he never took his eyes off her.

Not once.

Now, the bag of vegetables was melted and her thumb was brushing slowly along the rim of her glass her eyes distant, stuck somewhere far away from the safety of his home. There’s still dirt under her nails and a small piece of bandaid is peeling at the edge from where she's been picking at it unconsciously. Her voice is so soft he almost doesn’t catch it.

“You should’ve seen the way he looked at me...”

Her eyes don’t lift as she speaks out, she just keeps staring down at the floor like it might open up and swallow her whole. Rafe’s whole body stills at her voice, his fingers tightening slightly around his untouched drink.

"Who...?"

Her voice is more breath than sound as she adds but doesn't answer his question,

“He was disgusted by me.”

He wants to ask, but something in his chest already knows.

There’s only one person she’d care enough about for it to hurt this much. Only one person whose opinion could shatter her like this and it makes his jaw tense as he looks up to her, her shoulders are hunched in on themselves like she’s trying to disappear. He swallows hard and purses his lips together.

He hates that he's right.

Rafe sets his drink down on the side table with a quiet clink of glass, the only sound in the room besides the crackling of the fire. She downs the rest of the whiskey in one breath- tilts the glass back and lets it burn its way down her throat, but it's still somehow not enough to dull the sharp edges of what’s pressing down on her chest. When she places the empty glass on the table, it clinks gently the sound little in the big room.

“I should go to sleep”

She mumbles, barely above a whisper. Rafe nods from where he’s been watching her, wordless, careful not to crowd her. He stands slowly, smooth and steady, then waits for her to move. She rises on stiff legs, blanket still clutched around her shoulders, and she follows him without a word. The hallways of Tannyhill are dim, lit only by the warm lights spaced along the walls and her footsteps are quiet behind his as he ascends the stairs.

He pushes open a bedroom door, stepping aside for her. The room is something out of a magazine, the walls are soft coloured, a large four-poster bed dressed in white sheets and a comforter that looks as soft as clouds. There’s a matching dresser and wardrobe, polished and antique. A wide window is curtained off with thick drapes which pool slightly on the floor preventing any light from coming in, and to the right a door sits cracked open, leading into a private en-suite bathroom. On the foot of the bed, a neatly folded pile of clothes waits for her- his clothes. A black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants accompanied by a soft-looking towel. Rafe lingers by the door not wanting to push her boundaries as he speaks out,

“I’m a few doors down...”

He says, voice soft, hand gripping the edge of the door frame like he doesn’t want to leave her alone but knows he needs to give her space,“If you need anything just tell me. I’m not gonna close my door so you can find me”

“Okay”

She nods slowly, barely moving and he holds her gaze for a second longer, his expression unreadable, then closes her door with a quiet click. She’s left alone with the silence, her eyes flick down to the clothes. Her fingers curl around the fabric of the t-shirt first, soft from too many washes. It smells like him. Like fresh detergent and musk, it makes her chest twist. She slips out of her clothes and into the t-shirt, then pulls the sweatpants on. She looks toward the en-suite for a second and she knows she should go in to wash her face and brush her teeth. But she also knows there’s a mirror in there, and she can’t look at herself.

So, she leaves the towel on the end of the bed and climbs underneath the comforter, and exhales slowly as her aching body sinks into the mattress. The pillows are insanely soft, moulding perfectly around her head and shoulders. The sheets are crisp and cool, freshly laundered, and they feel soothing against her sore, bruised skin. Every inch of the bed smells like luxury, like money and warmth, like a place she doesn’t belong in but can finally let herself collapse inside of.

She doesn’t cry this time.

Instead she simply lies there, curled on her side and buried in the bed, inhaling the scent of his t-shirt and the linen sheets whilst trying to remember how to breathe right.

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

The dirt bike skids to a stop outside the Chateau, its roar cutting through the dead hush of 2AM. JJ doesn't bother to park it properly- just lets it tip over and crash onto the ground as he hops off, boots hitting the dirt hard. He’s at the door in seconds, flinging it open with a bang that echoes through the thin walls. Inside, it’s dark and still- until John B stumbles out of his room half-asleep, hair a mess, baseball bat gripped in his hands like he's ready to swing. “JJ ?” he blurts out, blinking in confusion.

“What the fuck, man? It’s-” he checks the clock behind him, “-two in the goddamn morning.”

"Where is she?"

JJ doesn’t even acknowledge the bat, his chest is heaving as his eyes dart around the dark house. John B lowers the bat a little, frowning,

“Sarah’s sleeping, man. What’re you—”

“No. Y/N."

JJ’s voice cracks around the name as he asks again, "Where is she?”

John B pauses confused, “She’s not here... ?”

JJ lets out a harsh exhale, running both hands through his hair before suddenly slamming his fist into the nearest thing sitting on the corner of the old table, an open cereal box. It hits the floor, scattering flakes across the dusty floorboards of the house. John B raises his brow,

“Dude- can you not trash my house please?”

“Sorry”

JJ mutters, instantly like muscle memory and his hands drop, shoulders sagging. He stumbles backward and drops into the couch, his head falling into his hands. John B hesitates, then sets the bat down by the door and walks over, sinking down onto the old raggedy cushions beside him. He glances sideways.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on or do I have to guess?”

JJ doesn’t answer just lets out a small groan at first, frustration deeply embedded in the sound. He sits there chest rising and falling a little too fast, like he’s still trying to calm down. Then, finally, he speaks his voice rough,

“My dad… he lost it. Like really lost it tonight with her.”

“With Y/N?”

JJ nods, jaw tightening. “I didn’t know it’d be that bad. I’ve seen him go off before but he…” He swallows hard, “I didn’t even do anything- I froze. I just sat there and watched while he shoved her out the door.”

There’s a beat of silence and then John B says, softer now,

“Where’d she go?”

JJ’s fingers rake down his face, “I don’t know. I thought maybe here. But- she’s not picking up. She just kept repeating my name and…” He shakes his head, “-and she was crying, man." John B exhales, sits back into the couch with a furrowed brow and JJ repeats himself,

"Like really crying.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah”

"Why did he kick her out?"

John B leans forward, elbows to his knees, hair falling into his eyes as he rubs his hands over his face. JJ doesn't answer at first. He’s biting at the skin of his thumb, anxious and raw, his leg bouncing like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Then like something inside of him just snaps, he lets out a sharp breath and tells him everything. John B’s brows pull together as he listens to his best friend, sympathy coursing through his veins.

From the dark of the bedroom, the thin crack of light from the hallway spills across Sarah’s face as she shifts in bed. Her hand reaches out groggily for John B’s side of the mattress but it’s cold, the blanket already slipped down. She frowns, eyes cracking open. The room is empty. She sits up slowly, bare feet brushing against the wooden floor as she hears something, voices, muffled and low. She moves toward the door, careful and quiet, pressing her fingers against the edge to ease it open a little more. JJ’s voice filters through, tense and tight.

"She was pregnant… and she went to him?"

Sarah freezes as JJ's voice drifts through the house once more,

"My sister went to Rafe fucking Cameron...?"

The words hit her like a gut punch- Pregnant? Y/N? And...- Rafe? Her blood runs cold as the pieces start to click together, her brain scrambling to make sense of what she’s just heard. Her cheek stays pressed firmly into the door frame in attempt to hear the rest of the story spilling past the blonde boy's lips.

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

The sheets are soft, the pillows even softer, but sleep still won’t come. It’s been two and a half hours and Y/N's been tossing and turning, her body sore in all the wrong places her chest heavy with that familiar awful ache that won’t go away no matter how tightly she pulls the sheets around her.

Eventually, she gives up and sits up slowly, pushing the comforter off her legs, the cotton whispering against the mattress smoothly. Her feet touch the floor which is cold against her skin and she stands- wobbly for a second- then steadier. The guest room door looms quietly ahead and she pauses fingers brushing over the handle. Then, with a shallow breath, she opens it. The hallway outside is dark, but not completely. There’s a bluish tint filtering in from the tall windows at the end of the hall, early morning light just beginning to rise casting long shadows across the wooden floors.

She pads down the hallway barefoot, arms wrapped tightly around her own middle. Her steps falter when she sees a photo on the wall- framed in gold and hung just opposite the railing of the stairs. It’s of Rafe, much younger, standing with Sarah and Wheezie, arms slung around them, all three of them caught in time. She stares at it for a long second her lips parting just slightly. There’s something in her chest that clenches and she swallows it down before continuing on.

Rafe’s door is slightly cracked- just like he said it’d be. She stands in front of it for a moment and peers in, watching the rise and fall of his breath from across the room. He’s asleep, facing away from the door, lying on his side with one arm tucked under the pillow. Her hand brushes the door open a little wider and she slips inside moving quietly like a ghost. She stops at the edge of the bed and for a moment she doesn’t move.

Just stares at the empty space beside him.

Then- almost without thinking- she climbs under the covers. The sheets are warm where his body had heated them prior and she tucks herself into the bed, it feels so- natural. She hesitates again one breath, two... and then-

she shifts closer

Her body curls gently around his back, and her arm shakily slides over his waist, face tucking into the space between his shoulder blades. She closes her eyes and exhales against the fabric of his t-shirt clinging to the feeling of the rise and fall of his chest, like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered. His breathing is steady- peaceful.

He doesn’t stir.

And for the first time all night, she feels something close to calm. Not happy but… safe. Like maybe the pieces of her won’t completely shatter if she stays like this just a little longer. Her fingers clutch gently at the hem of the bottom of his t-shirt, her eyes fluttering closed. And then so soft it’s almost not there at all, her lips brush against the fabric at his back as she whispers- like a confession, like a secret only the night should hear.

“I love you too."

taglist: @xoxosblogsblog @moonywhisp3rs @i-love-gvf @my-name-is-baby@ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @mariamadison6-blog@rafesgurl@rafecameronswhoore @lovelytoomusic @mysticbby2009 @vanessa-rafesgirl@silkenthusiasts @partygirl14 @amterasuu @xoxo-ada @icaqttt@ivysprophecy @mauvesmax @larema121 @ggraycelynn @emeloyy @pluviophilis@slut-4-gojo @willowpains @wtfisastiles @rafecqmeronslove @pleasstory@lolasangelz @beau-dabomb @psychocitylights @constantsadness @rhianthebest@emmiesummers @sfotiegiuls @ggraycelynn @larema121 @emeloyy @pluviophilis@urgoldens @insominagirlss @urfavoritebrunette007 @mauvesmax @miniiminie@kythefangirl25 @niyalovests @scream4mami @aizawawify @prettybabyyyy@barbiefan14 @keennerdslover @rafeysslut @rafeysworldim19@jennieonline@hannieskzzz@sugak00kie03@gabrielaperez11@simonejacpbsen @bambigirl10 @prettycoochieee

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[alienssstufff]

INTRODUCING SIDE A OF THE GENESIS SERIES A list of fanganronpa original characters while fated to meet in person, are doomed to play the same game.

Included are introductions, full reference sheets, and some of my designer's commentary when designing each oc from the writing to the looks.

You can find them also on artfight!

[ NOTES UNDERCUT ]

Meta-wise these are ocs I RP as, and for possibly the first ever set of ocs I've got the pleasure in developing in such detail I find them all very dear to me as an artist and writer... It just felt right to introduce them in the most formal way possible.

This project was an attempt at making a proper reference sheet, complete with general information, turnarounds, and a focus on detail and patterns that would be difficult to see on the person alone (whether it's because of the angle or clothing folds etc). It's more of a streamlined (?) approach than my usual design sheets with a set format to better communicate to the viewer. It's also more whwhwwh denser than normal to talk about the journey, and intentionality that led to my final design choices.

In reflection... TBH I could have yapped for even more pages going into greater depth into the early design process. Inclusions of the rejected designs and colour tests, explanations to what was changed and justify on a more objective level what makes the final design successful to me... But whatever dude - maybe in a post of it's own.

Would you expect this to be the new format for all my reference sheets going forward? lmaooo probably not. Maybe occasionally.

[suzukiblu]

istg youve awakened something in me w your jaykon agenda and im so here for it

Jaykon is an interesting pairing to me because if Jason had lived, he absolutely WOULD have been Kon's Robin, which, you know, could've gone either real bad or real WELL or real "oh god I regret ever even BREATHING near Metropolis" for Brucie Wayne, lbr. For one thing, Jason would've been . . . what, seventeen-ish when Kon dropped? Give or take. Which means he would likely NOT have been as "obedient" to his DAD as Tim was to his BOSS at FIFteen-ish, because from Jason's point of view that's his fucking DAD and his dad is just being goddamn paranoid and controlling and a total antisocial ASSHOLE again and ANYWAY he's like six months max from going to college and getting himself his own hero identity a la Dick getting Nightwing so fuck it, what's he care!!

( "I NEVER EVEN GOT TO BE A TITAN, B, YOU DON'T GET TO FUCK UP THIS YOUNG JUSTICE THING FOR ME, FUCK OFF. THEY'RE MINE NOW." )

And also, like, that's a very different Bruce, is the Bruce who didn't ever LOSE Jason. So hell, that version of Bruce literally might not've even TRIED to make Jason keep his name to himself in the same exclusively-just-on-HIS-terms "literally I will fucking NEVER let you tell them your name no matter WHAT" way he was acting with Tim, who he also would not let tell his LITERAL FUCKING GIRLFRIEND his name, but HE was totally fine telling her HIMSELF once it was convenient for him. Not even giving Tim PERMISSION to, just doing it HIMSELF without even telling Tim he was GOING to, Bruce Wayne you are the literal worrrrrst jfc--

ANYWAY OFF-TOPIC. Whatever that Bruce's opinion was, I can't help feeling that if JASON-Robin wasn't telling YJ his name or showing them his face at least after the first suicide pact or two, it'd be because HE didn't want to, and that is what he'd SAY to them. And I kinda think Kon would've taken that better than being told "we've been through all this shit together now and Batman is STILL more important than you" over and over and OVER every single time Tim found another excuse to hide his face or showed up in a new mask/disguise/set of glasses/goggles/whatever. Because like, that would be Jason choosing what he wants for himself, not Tim choosing Batman over literally every single member of Young Justice time and again and AGAIN and actually NEVER willingly telling them, they only found out in the end because of some dumb reality-getting-fucked shit selling his ID out accidentally.

I actually think Jason and Kon would have gotten along STUPID-well if they had met under those circumstances and it is SO rich an AU concept that I have literally never seen a single person even touch before. Though also in more canon-accurate land frankly the only understandable reason that I think Jason has Bizarro for his Super-buddy system is because Young Justice is just too insane about each other for Kon to have ever gotten put on a book like Outlaws, hah. Also, like, Kon is obviously not very murder-happy and Superboy has very different moral standards than Red Hood does, also that. But you absolutely COULD do some real interesting shit with Kon's character on a team like that, that's all imma say.

Like Kon is a dude who HAS and KNOWS that he has been convinced to be murder-happy a couple times/timelines before, is all--knows he's psychologically SUSPECTIBLE to being convinced of that--and THAT I think would be a much more interesting moral/ethical dilemma for his character development than "oh god I have Westfield/Luthor DNA so am I genetically DOOMED to be a bad guy??" No, you're not, and you are a grown-ass clone who KNOWS that!! But you are also a grown-ass clone who knows you have the CAPACITY to be a bad guy, and to actively CHOOSE to be a bad guy, to actively JUSTIFY being a bad guy to yourself, and who does NOT necessarily think Jason is wrong about dudes like the Joker never changing and the balance of that and the concept of fucking HARM reduction, if it comes down to it! Black Zero and future!Superman BOTH started out as good guys; that Superman in fact started out as HIS VERSION OF HIM EXACTLY, even! And then the two of them saw enough shit out in the world doing their superhero thing that they changed their minds ABOUT what being "good" even meant or entailed or if it was even possible at all, so if he's here and doing this, and doing this with someone like JASON who keeps KILLING people every time he takes his eyes off him, whether those people are unforgiveable bastards or not, is he gonna change his mind too? Is he gonna start thinking he's figured out what they "figured out"? Is this how "figuring out" that STARTS??

And Knockout saw SOMETHING in him, he knows, and he knows she wasn't wrong because he almost killed her. Because he WOULD'VE killed her, if she'd kept fighting when he'd held her under.

God I could do so, so much with Kon on the Outlaws and with JAYKON on the Outlaws. So, SO much.

But like, Tim Drake exists and I just cannot divorce Kon from his ride-or-die loyalty for his ride-or-die bestie so basically any time I wanna JayKon it up I gotta somehow make it Weird, hahaha.

. . . anyway, someone had something awakened in them or something??

[idle-vapourings]

This is so real.

for myself, I've just had to realize when I'm talking to someone who has no desire to understand me.

because yeah, ableist people be ableist, bigots be bigots, selfish people be selfish, and it will be a losing game every time trying to make them come around.

i had this happen with a friend who had hurt my feelings. I kept it very short and polite because I didn't want to be angry with her or make her feel bad. and then she interpreted that negatively and had a lot of questions for me about my feelings. so i tried to take that in good faith, and explained myself in more detail. I tried to be both empathetic but clear, but really explain and answer her questions. she kept asking me to explain my feelings and at some point I felt that I was being asked to justify having an emotion, which I explained why that hurt. She wasn't getting it, so I explained with more words in an attempt to be clear while being honest how what was happening was frustrating and hurtful to me. she took that as aggression and an unwillingness to work things out with her (the precise thing I was attempting to do). and then she blocked me.

that stung and for a while i thought, hm did i fuck up. but the thing is, no i didn't. really, what it was about is that she refused to accept that she had done something hurtful. so the issue wasn't how i was communicating. it was that she refused to accept a world where she hurt my feelings - even if I had told her it was okay and that I know she didn't mean harm and that I had moved on. Instead, she needed to dissect why I was hurt to begin with and challenge it, rather than accepting that she was a human being who made a mistake. that person wasn't interested in my feelings or my take on the situation. they were interested in being right. and when they couldn't find a path to that with me, they just bounced.

I've also had this happen when requesting disability accommodations after getting a job offer. I requested clarity. I got obtuse replies. I gave more clarity. I got more obtuse replies. That was interpreted as me not wanting to participate in a good faith process. The reality was, the process was not good faith, and it never would have been, no matter what I said.

This feeling of no matter what you say it being wrong can be crushing and frustrating. because at least for me, I feel my autistic brain is really set on there being a solution, a right way to say something to get through to someone or to bridge a connection. and a sincere desire and deep need to be understood and heard. what I've had to come around to is that... sometimes people do not want to hear me. and if they don't, yeah, no matter what I choose, it results in misunderstanding.

I give it a genuine good go once or twice but if they're still interpreting me in the worst faith way possible or choosing to not really hear me then, yanno, time to not bother talking to someone who isn't listening and go talk to someone else worthwhile. I just try to remember that the failure is not mine, here. Someone who doesn't want to listen will never hear me. And people who don't actually want to hear me are never, ever worth my energy in the long run.

The people who really want to listen are out there. I say my thing, I be myself, and I see what the other person does with it.

I LOVE being autistic and trying to communicate because every time it’s

[st4rymoon]

. ݁˖ . Red Handed

𝘋𝘉𝘍 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘹 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳

• Continuation/request for our secret

Warnings: suggestive, kissing, pet names, age gap (reader mid-twenties x Simon late 40s), angst, arguing, touchy Simon cause you both to get caught :(

Laundry day was in full effect and like always, you had to ask your dad for a shirt. But just like his daughter, price had his last pieces of clean clothes on. Procrastination ran in the family.

“All in the washer now, I’ll go check if I have one in a bag somewhere” price sighed as he lazily walked up to his bedroom.

You groaned in anger at yourself, you should’ve packed some extra shirts knowing you got rid of clothes for some spare cash for college.

“Ha!” You heard your dad yell from his room, you could hear his footsteps making their way to your door “found one of Riley’s old shirts he left here, I’m sure he won’t mind” he smiled as he threw you the shirt.

You thanked him with a convincing smile, nothing is going on with Simon. Don’t react to the mention of his name. Nothing is going on!

You sighed with relief as he made his way down the stairs and off to tinker with his car. You put on the shirt and smiled to yourself as you turned around to see Simon Riley plastered on your back in big bold letters.

He sure took his claim before but you’d sure keep this shirt for safe keeping.

-

Simon stopped in his tracks, a case of beer in one hand and some tools your father forgot at his place a few weeks ago.

He was faced with you, back faced to him as you cooked yourself something to eat. You were blissfully unaware, headphones on and focused on your food.

You couldn’t feel of the eyes that stalked you, Simon stared in amusement as he admired you. Claimed with his name on your back, he didn’t know he needed this as much as he did.

You jumped as you felt a hand pull at your headphones “Branded you in your family home, now your walking around with my name on your back? Jus’ begging me to make you a Riley huh?” Simon cooed.

“Simon!” You hissed as you looked around for your dad. You don’t know how he’d react to Simon this close to you, but you could guess it wouldn’t end well.

“I know bunny I know.” He chuckled as he took a step back “looks good tho huh?” You teased with your eyes gawking up at him from behind your shoulder.

Simon wishes you were both alone. God how he wishes this little scene was playing out in his house. So he could bend you over the counter and fuck you in his shirt.

He groaned at your words, a gasp leaving your lips as he presses up against you “sure does” he hums as you hold onto his arms, giggling as he presses a kiss onto your neck.

“NOW WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!” You hear your father’s voice booming from behind you both. You could feel your heart drop as Simon went still.

Both of you scrambled back from each other, faced with your father’s disappointment and betrayal. “Dad I- I’m sorry we should’ve told yo-“ there was no use to lie, so the only thing you could think of doing is coming clean.

You were cut off by your father’s voice “Simon”. The sound of his name was full of betrayal, malice, and anger.

“I never meant for this to happen price. After all you’ve done for me, after all you’ve helped me throug-“ Simon muttered.

“EXACLTY! After all I’ve done for you, you had to have thi- this, whatever type of relationship this is with MY DAUGHTER!” Price hissed.

Price was furious, disappointed, and heartbroken. He trusts Simon with his life, neither had secrets the other didn’t know. Until now. You. His little girl. The reason price never gave up.

He walked up to Simon, eyes furrowed with an emotion price himself could not understand. But simon stood still knowing whatever price did, it was justified for what he’s done. “I- how? When did this start?” Your father’s eyes glared at the both of you.

“Almost a year” Simon sternly replied “And I know you’re pissed price, probably want to bash my head in and i understand that. But I don’t regret a single thing.”

Your eyes glared up at Simon in disbelief and affection, he doesn’t regret it. He doesn’t regret you, even with your father’s eyes burning into both of you.

But most of all, you’re surprised that your dad hasn’t bashed Simon’s head in. He was always a overly protective father, always scaring your boyfriends to death, and always making sure you were safe.

But this is unlike anything price had to deal with, his best mate kissing on his daughter. He was furious, yet he knew Simon. He is a man of very few words, lacked experience when it came to emotions. He told Simon he knew he’d find someone soon. He just never expected it would be you.

His precious daughter, the light of his life.

“Get out” Price couldn’t look Simon in the eyes, his eyes glued onto his boots as the words came out. “Simon, get out” it was stern and full of anger. Simon didn’t say a word, all he did was nod and gave you a look that told you he’d be back.

-

The house was silent. You and your father sat in the living room, your hands on your thighs as you fidgeted with your hands. “Dad, I know your mad. I know you proably hate me and hate Simon but I’m not a little girl anymor-“

“Yes you are! You are my little girl forever. You always will be. I know you’re grown darlin’ I know it. It’s jus- with Simon? I know I was gone for a while, my job was time consuming and isolating. But why go for someone so much older than you honey?” You knew what your father was hinting at.

Simon was nearly the same age as him, only a few years younger than your own father. Price felt like he had failed in a way. What made you want a man like Simon? Older, brooding, and his best friend.

“My liking for Simon has nothing to do with you dad. You’re an amazing father, and I know you’re thinking about asking me what you did wrong. Sure he’s older, but he treats me the way I know you’d want me to be treated.“ you continued on, trying to ease your father’s anxiety and anger over the situation.

It was only until you heard that familiar sigh. The sigh he does when he knows you’re right but he has his doubts.

“I don’t know honey” your father sighed. “I know Simon, he will give his life for the ones he loves. Bu- but you’re just too young, this is too close to home. Simon will want a family soon, settle down. You, you’re in college and I won’t allow you to just throw away your life for this.” Price sternly spoke.

“I understand dad. But I never said I’d throw away my college or my life for this, you know how much I’ve put into it, Simon knows it too.”

Silence washed over you both once you spoke. Price didn’t know how to feel, what to think. All he knew is he was disappointed. He always hoped you’d find someone to love you, protect you, and keep you safe.

He knew Simon could do all of it and more. He knew Simon would never let you throw away all your hard work for him. He trusted him with his life, but does he trust him with you?

Yes.

But is he really ready to say it out loud?

[lovetrouble123]

What Is Taking Over Me? Jealousy.

Synopsis: In which Dick is jealous that his girlfriend is in love with Nightwing

TW: y/n has an unhealthy obsession with Nightwing

A/N: guys i promise pt2 of Kindergarten Crush is coming but I have no idea how to do the imbedded link thing😭 can yall tell i never use tumblr despite having my acc for almost 10(?) years🫡

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

A whole two years and Dick Grayson still hadn’t told his girlfriend, Y/N, about his night time routine. One year of them sharing an apartment in Blüdhaven, and he still kept his mouth shut. Of course, ever since he rented the apartment across the hall under a different name, it’s begun to be easier separating his vigilante life with his personal life.

But just because all his things were stored in the apartment across from him, it didn’t mean he hadn’t left small clues around. One night he had left his domino mask lying around, and another night he left his gloves, and soon after one of his escrima sticks.

And while most people would grow suspicious about random objects appearing and disappearing out of thin air, it only made Y/N happy. You see, Y/N was fascinated and deeply in love with the masked vigilante in Blüdhaven, Nightwing. She had no clue her boyfriend was Nightwing, but that didn’t stop her from having a shrine dedicated to him on her side of the bedroom—from posters, to figurines…she had it all.

The first time Dick found out that she was in love with his vigilante persona, he immediately felt an ego boost. But now, hearing Y/N talk on and on about how much she loved Nightwing, how hot he was…it was all growing annoying.

He felt stupid, being jealous of himself.

Dick sat on the couch, Hayley curled up beside him asleep. He was looking through some files that Oracle had sent him, and since he was home alone, he didn’t see the reason to leave and go to the room across the hall.

But then the front door busted open with Y/N, wearing a large and excited smile. Hayley woke up, started barking and jumped down before hobbling her way to the front door to greet her second owner. Meanwhile, Dick fumbled with the case file in his hand and quickly shut it and looked over at Y/N.

“B-Babe, you’re home early.”

“Dick, you won’t ever guess what I found for my collection!” Y/N exclaimed as she reached into her bag and pulled out box labeled ‘Nightwing Figurine,’ with a picture of the figure on the front. “I found it at the store, isn’t it cute?!”

“Don’t you think you have too many?” Dick asked, straightening up on the couch some as Hayley circled Y/N who was currently taking her shoes off.

Dick was annoyed, angry…he was Nightwing! He should be the one making them happy, not some plastic figurine!

“Ever heard of impulse buy?” Y/N sassed, petting Hayley on the head as she made her way toward their shared bedroom.

“It seems like that’s the only thing you’ve been doing,” Dick said with a sigh as he stood up and followed behind Y/N and Hayley. Y/N had abandoned her bag on the bed, and had already begun to open up the figurine box. She discarded the box, and gently took out the figure and set it on the shelf that held her Nightwing collection.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. But last I checked, I’m the one making any real money for us,” Y/N sassed as she took a step back, her hands on her hips as she admired her vast collection.

“Sure, but that doesn’t give you the right to spend your whole paycheck on Nightwing stuff,” Dick huffed in annoyance.

Y/N glanced back at Dick with a raised brow, “why’re you so against Nightwing?”

“I don’t have anything against him. I just think it’s stupid that 90% of the time you’re giving your attention to him, and the other 10% is me,” Dick explains.

“Oh please,” Y/N turned her whole body to face her boyfriend. “He doesn’t even know I exist. My obsession is justifiable.”

“I don’t really understand your obsession toward him,” Dick retorted, his eyes glancing away from Y/N and over to her Nightwing collection. “He’s just some guy…and it’s a little creepy.”

Maybe Dick was past the stage of ‘oh wow, my girlfriend has a crush on my vigilante persona,’ and now he was on the ‘oh wow, my girlfriend is obsessed with my vigilante persona, and if I see one more piece of Nightwing merch, I’m going to end it all.’

“What’s there not to like?!” Y/N exclaimed, “he’s pretty, and he has a good personality,” she listed. “He looks really good in that suit…honestly, I could go on for days.”

“Keep it up and you’re sleeping on the couch,” Dick threatens.

“Again, for someone who claims that they don’t have an issue with Nightwing…you sure do act like you do,” Y/N said.

“Fine. You know why I have an issue with him?” Dick finally snaps, “it’s because he’s all you ever talk about! I’m your boyfriend, and yet you act like you’d rather date some masked vigilante than me! He’s not even that special!”

Y/N stared at Dick in silence, taking in his words. But now that he had started, it seemed like he couldn’t stop.

“All you do is talk about him, day in and day out. I know everyone has their own obsessions, but Y/N, sometimes you don’t have to buy Nightwing merch! You have too much, and it’s starting to get creepy. Don’t even get me started on how annoying it is too.”

“It just,” he trailed off, running his fingers through his hair. “It just feels like I’m competing for your attention. I can’t compete with a hero, and I’m sick and tired of constantly being reminded that I’m not Nightwing…I’m just…Richard Grayson.”

Dick knew it was stupid. His ranting that was. He was seriously standing here and complaining that he was constantly being measured up to Nightwing, being measured up to himself. But what would Y/N do if she knew the truth? If she knew he was both Nightwing and Dick Grayson? Two sides of the same coin.

Dick held his personal life dear and close to his heart, and it’s the reason why he had a separate place to keep all his vigilante things. When he was in the privacy of their apartment, he could drop the vigilante persona and just be Dick Grayson. But now, it was like he couldn’t separate the two…all because Y/N wouldn’t allow him too (even if she wasn’t really aware).

“Dick, I didn’t—,” Y/N trailed off. “—I didn’t know that you felt that way.

“Forget I said anything,” Dick said as he turned on his heel. “I’ve gotta meet up with someone from work.” Dick walked out of the bedroom and back into the living room. He grabbed the folder from off the couch, and disappeared into the apartment across the hall.

•••

Dick returned the following morning at around 2am. Patrol had been slow in Blüdhaven, and the case he and Barbara had been following had concluded.

Dick slipped through the window, his boots silently landing on the wooden floor of his spare apartment. The first thing he did was pull his mask off and set it aside on his messy computer table where there was a singular laptop that hooked up to Oracles computer, as well as files, pens, papers…and a framed picture of Y/N.

He knew it was dangerous to keep a picture of her at the spare apartment. What if a villain found out this was his base of operations and kidnapped Y/N? He had debated with getting rid of the picture, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

The picture was a few months old, and one of his favorites. It was a simple picture of her holding Hayley…her first time holding her. The two had just adopted her and brought her home when it was taken, and Y/N looked so incredibly happy.

Dick sighed and pressed the comm in his ear, “Babs, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Let me guess, Y/N again?”

“Y-Yeah,” Dick hesitated. “We got into a fight before patrol, and I’m just…should I tell her that I’m Nightwing?”

“You know that I’m gonna say yes.” Barbara stated, “Bruce might not like it, but she’s gonna find out eventually. Plus, keeping it from her seems a bit unfair.”

“Unfair?” Dick repeated.

“I know how much it bothers you that she’s…strangely obsessed with Nightwing. And I wouldn’t doubt that that was what your fight was about…again.”

“This time I let her have it though.” Dick admitted, finally settling down in the office chair that sat at his desk.

“And you said what to her?”

“That I was tired of being compared to Nightwing, which is, ya know, ironic.” Dick sighed out, running a gloved hand through his hair.

“And you know that when she finds out, she’ll be more obsessed, right?” Barbara slowly asks. “I know you can handle yourself, but do you think she’ll completely lose her mind? Like put you in danger?”

“I don’t think she would. I think she’d just be highly pissed at me, and awkward.” Dick says, “pissed because I kept this secret from her for so long, and awkward because she’s practically talking about me when she praises Nightwing.”

“Let me ask you this, does she ever wonder where you go at night?”

“She’s always asleep by the time I leave. I don’t even think she even knows I leave,” Dick admits.

“Dick, she can’t be that oblivious.” Barbara laughs, “the girl has a whole shrine dedicated to you, at least from what you’ve told me.”

“But she never acts like she knows, never even questions me.”

“Yeah, I’m going to choose to believe that she knows that you leave in the middle of the night.” Barbara states, “but since you’re choosing to take the stupid route instead of telling her who you are up front, I’ve got some suggestions.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you could always talk about yourself in the third person.” Barbara suggests, “next time she goes on about Nightwing, you could always act as if you know him personally or something.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Then leave some of your equipment over there—.”

“—Already did that a few times. She just got excited and thought that I bought replicas for her collection,” Dick said as he shook his head.

“Dick,” Barbara firmly called. “Do you plan on staying with her your whole life?”

“What?”

“If you don’t tell her now, you’re going to be living a lie for the rest of your life.” Barbara states, “you have to tell her if you plan on staying with her.”

Dick knew Barbara was right. He knew that he had to tell her the truth. But there was a fear in telling Y/N everything, a fear that Bruce undoubtedly instilled in Dick since his Robin days.

“What if she leaves me?” Dick quietly asked.

“If she leaves you for telling the truth, is she even the one to begin with?”

•••

Dick opened the door to the bedroom to find Hayley and Y/N curled up beside each other on the bed. The left side of the bed was noticeably empty, the spot where Dick slept (whenever he actually was able to sleep).

Hayley raised her head and began to bark at Dick’s presence. He put a finger over his mouth, trying to indicate to Hayley to be quiet so that Y/N wouldn’t wake up. But it was no use because Y/N let out a soft groan and sat up rubbing her eyes, “Hayley…what are you barking at?”

The moonlight that came in through the half pulled curtains illuminated the bedroom, casting everything in a soft white hue. And for Y/N, it only made her all the more beautiful, especially with her tired and half asleep state.

“Babe, can we talk?” Dick softly asked as he walked toward the bed.

“Huh?” Y/N hummed, “Dick, why are you still up?”

Dick shuffled over to the bed, taking a seat on his side of the bed as Hayley pressed her head against his arm, desperate for his attention. “I couldn’t, uh, sleep. Can we talk?”

Y/N hummed out an ‘mhm’ before shifting to face her boyfriend, “what’s up?”

Dick began to pet Hayley’s head in an attempt to calm his nerves about telling Y/N the truth—that he was Nightwing. How would she react? How would she take the information? Would she think he was joking? Would she—god forbid—leave him?

“I need to tell you something important, and I need you to promise that you won’t freak out on me,” Dick slowly said.

“Alright, I promise,” Y/N yawned.

“I love you, Y/N…and I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Dick calmly said. “But for that to happen, I need to tell you something…and you can be mad at me, but I need to tell you this.” He took a deep breath, “I’m Nightwing.”

Y/N only stared at Dick before sleepily smiling, “yeah, okay. And I’m Batman.” She yawned again, “you’re so sleepy Dick…you’re beginning to be delusional.”

“Y/N, I’m being serious.”

“So you’re telling me that you’re Nightwing,” Y/N repeated. She then glanced over at her Nightwing collection, more specifically the picture on her wall that someone had taken of him when he wasn’t looking. She slipped out of bed and walked over to the collection. She grabbed the picture and walked over to Dick, holding the picture beside his head, her eyes darting back and forth.

She then let out a small audible gasp, “you really are, huh?”

“Yeah, I am.” Dick agreed, “and I’m…sorry for how I acted earlier—.”

“—You’re sorry?!” Y/N exclaims, “I’ve been saying weird things about Nightwing and it’s been you this whole time?!” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “I am so sorry for the things I’ve said to you!”

Dick couldn’t help but laugh at her behavior. “Some of the things were weird, but I couldn’t exactly get mad. I mean, it was just my girlfriend talking about me, even if she didn’t know it.”

“You can’t get mad, but you can get jealous of yourself?” Y/N asked, crossing her arms with a raised brow. “Does that even make any sense?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Wait, why tell me now?” Y/N suddenly asked.

“I had a talk with Barbara about it, and she said if I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, it was best if I told you now,” Dick admitted. “I’m sorry for being stupid and not telling you.”

“Dick it’s…fine.” Y/N says, “we both messed up…especially me for obsessing over you like I do. I now realize how weird it was and how uncomfortable I must have made you. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you if you forgive me?”

“Deal.”

[dfroggofarson]

Your room is dark and still. It is well past midnight, the slow muffles of the city coming inside through your half-opened window only lulls you more into your dreams.

But not the man sitting in your chair.

You jolt awake, eyes runnig around your room, and your uneasiness becomes justified as soon as you meet with the hazel eyes fixed on your form.

"What the...?!" You panic even more when you realize who's eyes you're looking into.

Kento Nanami sits in your chair in the corner of your bedroom, all leaned back, legs crossed, fingers intertwined in his lap. Your breathing is ragged, you're feeling transparent, see-though and bare - you are just in your pajamas.

So many questions flood through your head, but you don't start yelling.

No, not when it's him.

"Nanami, why... why are you here?"

You instinctively tighten the blanket around you when he moves. He stands up slowly, straightens his suit, and makes his way to your bed. You want to run, scream for help, but his gaze mortifies you.

Nanami sits on the edge of your bed, just inches away from you, and slowly reaches out. You want to pull away, but before you could do that, he grabs your face in a flash. He is not violent, doesn't squeeze your cheeks at all, just holds it.

If you weren't terrified to your core, you would have said that in his eyes, you saw love.

But you aren't going to mistake it for obsession.

He tilts his head, still not letting go of your face. He, instead, starts carressing your skin with his thumb. "You have no idea how beautiful you are. The things I would do for you..." He trails off, getting lost in thoughts you knew no way in hell were healthy.

"Nanami..." you begin, but stop again when his eyes meet yours.

You only realize there is something splattered across his face when you look closer.

Your blood runs cold.

"Nanami, what happened?" You ask, and hope to God it was just some syrup or anything else than what you know suspect is on him.

He humms in question, then reaches for his face. He smudges the liquid and looks at his hands. "Ah, sorry, sweetheart. Had some business to tend to before I came to see you."

You watch in horror as he licks the blood off his thumb, then frowns. "Yours is so much more tasty."

He tries to reach for your face again, expression still firm and cold, but you grab his palm mid-air. He watches as you set it back on his thigh. "Nanami. Why don't we talk about this in the morning? I'm really tired now."

You want nothing more than to have him out of your room, your whole life, but you are alone in your apartment in the middle of the night, with your phone out of reach. And you know well how he gets when something upsets him. So instead, you yawn, pretending to be sleepy - in truth, your heart is racing, nerves just a move away from snapping. But you give him a small smile you know he'll notice despite the dark.

Nanami blinks, then snickers (which sounds more like a scoff). "Sorry, I got ahead of myself. I know you like your sleeping hours undisturbed," you almost sigh in relief when he stands up from your bed. "Then I'll meet you in a few hours. I'll get you some coffe and a croissant."

"Okay," you just reply, and fake a yawn again.

"Good night then, sweetheart," he waves you goodbye, but before exiting your room, hand already on the handle, he stops. "I can see right through you, love. You don't have to go around lying to me all the time."

You freeze again, and he turns to face you this time.

His stare is gravely sharp.

"Don't lie to me."

A second later, the door closes, and you don't dare to collapse onto the bed and start sobbing until you're sure he's out of your apartment.

You have no idea he's still standing outside your bedroom door.

I realized I only post CB and random shitposts, which is not cool. evil!Nanami has been bugging me for exactly three days, so inspired by Erika Lundmoen's song Yad, I wrote this little thing. Do you like it?

Read chapter one of I want it All here >>

dividers by @strangergraphics and @cursed-carmine

[plaidos]

istg people on here refuse to see trans women as like. normal people. every time i look at your blog or another transfem's blog there's so many asks from people who somehow manage to both put trans women on a pedestal of authority on queer experiences and simultaneously fail to recognize that what they're asking for about very much so constitutes as emotional labor, or people who somehow think its a good thing that they're completely ignoring transfems' lived experiences. the way people will fail to recognize their own actions as harmful and harassing, and then try to twist your completely justified reactions of "hey that's fucked up and dont say that to me" to be some horrible unleashing of ""violence"" or ""social murder"" as that one anon said, when in reality they just cant handle the fact that they could possibly have done or agreed with something wrong.

anyways you're a delight to have on my dashboard and i wish you a very people being normal and/or nice in your inbox foreveeeeerrrrrr ❤️ 🫂👍

it is literally a never-ending cycle of putting trans women on this insanely high pedestal and then punishing us when we inevitably cannot live up to that. like this time i'm being accused of "Social Murder" for.... [checks notes] describing how a stranger approached me in private and told me i was living my life wrong. i don't see how this is any different to people going into Gerard Way's inbox like, "how come you aren't a vegan? i used to eat meat like you and now i don't hate myself because i dont any more and i think that is probably true for you too so you should become a vegan". actually, here's a way it's different: Gerard Way is actually a public figure, not some other nobody trans woman that you've decided to cosplay The Ghost of Christmas Future to as part of your moral superiority complex. jesus fucking christ

[hapalopus]

I do believe we are meant to sympathize with the Creature, even if Shelley may have said otherwise.

The creature says to Victor:

“I am thy creature, and I will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which thou owest me. Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every other and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and affection, is most due. Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.”

He likens his creator to God, but he also knows (after reading Paradise Lost) that God's first creation was not Adam. Adam was God's first *perfect* creation, and the Creature is well aware that he is not perfect. At this point in the story, he has already killed and framed an innocent person for his murder. He expressed remorse, because he knows it was morally wrong, but still feels justified in his actions, seeing it as a rebellion against his God.

The Creature likens himself to Lucifer, the fallen angel, scorned and cast out by his creator for being imperfect. And he resents his creator for driving him to violence. The Creature was not cruel by nature, but was turned cruel by others, much like Lucifer in Paradise Lost.

Except... the Creature doesn't realize that Lucifer is meant to be sympathized with, not emulated. Lucifer's actions were understandable, not justifiable. The Creature sees his own and Lucifer's actions as justifiable vengeance. The whole point of Paradise Lost is that Lucifer, Satan, the Devil, is relatable - we are meant to see our own dark urges reflected in him and realize that there's a bit of the Devil within us all, and that's bad.

That's why we relate so much to the Creature. We understand his ambition, resentment, and his thirst for vengeance - and, through the Creature's downfall, we are meant to understand that those are bad urges to act on.

The Creature isn't a villain, like pop culture has made him out to be, but he also isn't a hero, like some readers want to think. At best he's an antihero, but he's more like a villainous protagonist with an unreliably sympathetic narrative - remember, he's a parallel to the Devil, and no one can sweet-talk and twist a narrative like the Devil.

The Creature is not alone in this, though. He was made in his creator's image. His self-absorbed, over-ambitious creator who consistently compares himself to God and Prometheus. His creator who, upon learning that his baby brother was murdered and his adopted sister has been framed, feels more sorry for himself than for the victims. The Creature wallows in his own misery and guilt - the Creature believes he is suffering more than his victims because he has to live with his guilt - exactly like his creator does.

As my friend once said:

The Creature is traumatized again and again, and we understand his vengefulness. He is also just as self-obsessed, ambitious, and merciless as his creator. And I love him for it. I love him dearly, for shining a light on my shadowself and making me sympathetic towards my own darkest impulses. My Creature. My Lucifer. My light-bringer, to my shadows.

ultimately the truth about frankenstein is that we are all grotesque amalgamations of the best and worst parts of everyone who came before us. and sometimes the people who are supposed to love us because of and in spite of this will not. and we can kill them with hammers for that. and i think that’s beautiful

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

The first book of arc 3 has some of the best writing in the entire series, to me. I always thought it did such a fantastic job portraying the divide between the HiveWings and SilkWings, and the writing of HOW the SilkWings were treated as second-class citizens felt realistic and grounded. The introduction to this deeply flawed and unjust society was just so good with some amazing world-building and exposition. Not to mention the LeafWings, with how the HiveWings rewrote history to justify their attempted genocide, which I also think was handled mostly well (coming from someone who's Native).

Arc 3 is deeply flawed as the books progress but I will always hold the first half (Book 1, 2, and parts of 3) in very high regards. The strong themes got a lot more luke-warm in the later half of 3 and then through to book 5. With some tweaking and story cuts it could've been such a great story about revolution, the set-up was all there the ending was just...... it is what it is, I guess. But the first two books will always be some of my faves idc, Lost Continent and Hive Queen are peak. To Me

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[sw33t-transv3stit3]

Thoughts About ‘Never Give Annabelle a Gun’

- Sometimes Butch was so awkward I got second-hand embarrassment, but I managed to power through it. I typically struggle with awkward characters/scenes, but the only one that really got me was the interrogation scene.

- Either way, she was adorable and shy and I loved her. I also love the idea of a character literally named ‘Butch’ not realizing she’s a lesbian. I really thought Annabelle was going to be the one struggling with her identity (She did, but not as much as Butch)

- We love a butch lesbian in six inch heeled cowboy boots w/ spurs. Truly a fashion icon.

- Tom was really determined to make happy lesbians. (Maybe Jeremy Jambalaya is Butch’s brother or something? I kind of wish he’d been included in the story.)

- For some reason I’ve always loved it when Luke plays women with cartoonish American accent, like Clarissa and Annabelle. He just nails the accents and mannerisms

- Henry is an amazing villain; he might be one of my new favorites. I’ve always said that AJ has a real talent for playing genuinely creepy and threatening characters; Henry’s obsession with Annabelle and treating her like his property, along the predatory nature of his affections for her (she’s an 18 year old. he’s an officer of the law with authority over her in more ways than one, implying he’s much older than she is). The musical motif was great as well. (AJ has a great singing voice)

- The bar scenes were hilarious- I loved Luke, who was obviously Not trying to play a woman, getting turned into the bartender’s daughter by Sam. (My theory is that Sam misheard Luke saying ‘Danny’ as ‘Daddy’ and ran with it)

- Tom’s Lurch-esque piano player is my new favorite side character. His melancholy aura captivated me. I also loved Tom subtly ribbing Sam for forgetting his name was Tim and calling him Arthur

- The pantomime bank robbery combined with AJ’s glorious singing felt like something I would see in a musical. It truly highlights their skills; it awesome to see how they all understood each other and what AJ wanted to do and shifted the scene accordingly. (Sam and Tom shenanigans were also funny to watch. Thank you to the subtitlers otherwise I would’ve been lost.)

- The helium voices were a great callback all throughout the show, and I loved how AJ incorporated it into the interrogation scene. (The continuity with the stolen helium and the stolen pig was great as well)

- Tom trying to justify coming up with the helium pig was hilarious, and also how Luke just broke as soon as he said it, then proceeded to double down on it. (To me, that’s the true spirit of improve: saying something you instantly regret, and watching in horror as everyone else runs with it)

- Speaking on continuity, the stolen shoe was a great plot point that tied things up real nice

- Sam as Mr. Parker reminded me of Mr. Wilson and also the American Tourist from No! I Always Loved That Caravan. Also, I thought at the beginning that Sam was implying Annabelle killed her mother the last time she got a gun, so the lesbian mother arc came out of left field for me.

- We love to see a she/he/they lesbian. The ‘give it time’ line made me lose it, respectfully. (Speaking as someone who rode the ‘she/her lesbian’ to ‘he/him trans man’ to ‘they/them whatever’ pipeline)

- I’m always a sucker for ‘prophecies coming true but not in the way that the character imagined’ trope, so the fact that Butch kind of ended up being the ‘girl with a gun’ was very fun.

- Loved the magic bullet that went into Henry’s hip, bounced around his rib cage, went into his jaw, and came out of his head. (JFK reference? In my SFTH play?? More likely than you think!)

- ‘That goddamn motherfucker took my tie!’ also broke me

- Butch finally coming to terms with her sexuality and realizing there’s a word for people like her made me very happy.

- Another parallel to Clarissa’s DIY Wedding: Mr. Parker just kinda…standing there…reminded me of Father Petrova interrupting the wedding, insulting Peter, and then squatting down to watch.

- Foot-J, a new addition to the AJCU: Alexander Jeremy Cinematic Universe

- Two Kisses? ¿En está económica? ¡Es imposible!

- When I first watched it live, because I had paused the premiere briefly to talk to a friend, the premiere ended before I was done watching, so I missed the kisses at the end. I ALSO happened to miss Sam’s joke about quick fingers at the end, so when I rewatched it I was, for lack of a better word, flabbergasted.

Sorry this was so long, I had a lot of thoughts. This was such a good long form, even beyond the obvious win of a happy lesbian couple. It is 100% going in my comfort list along with The Unrelenting Aubergine and Clarissa’s DIY Wedding.

[jordiemeow]

omg would love your thoughts on stepbrother!patrick. def a lot more of a freak

absolutely agreed. where art is a freak in private, patrick could not care LESS.

he's ogling you shamelessly, watching the way your shorts ride up or your tits spill out of your tank. wolf whistling, patting you on the ass when he passes and muttering fake apologies despite the way you catch a glimpse of the corner of his lip quirks as soon as he turns away. accidentally barges in on you in the shower when he needs his toothbrush but he takes his time to admire the curve of your body through the fogged-up glass and rubs one out afterwards.

he convinces himself it's you who wants it. the way you look at him and goad him when your parents aren't home. you're just as pervy as he is. or, at least, that's how he justifies it. actively makes comments like "you don't even try to be quiet, do you? it's like you want me to hear" when he hears you touching yourself in the next room over. on one occasion, he pushes his luck enough to 'accidentally' walk in on you, legs spread and toy nestled between them. you see him, of course. maybe you keep going anyways, just to mess with him.

"you like putting on a show that much, huh?"

and then the front door opens before things can escalate, leaving you both to come down from whatever the fuck that was alone in your separate bedrooms.

it all comes to a head a while after that. you get blasted out of your mind at a party and he offers to take you home. not that he's in any state to drive, mind you, but he sees an opportunity. he somehow manages to get the pair of you home safely but neither of you make any effort to get out of the car. he leans over to undo your seatbelt for you, hand lingering on your thigh while the pair of you stare at each other. he's not sure who moves first—probably him—but five minutes later he has you bent over in the back seat right outside your house, ploughing into you, groaning about how he's wanted to do this for so long. about how he's sick of seeing you in bikinis and not being able to do anything, sucking on lolly pops to taunt him, leaving your door open just a crack when you're getting changed.

absolutely brags to art about it afterwards because he knows his best friend has a thing for you. "no condom, by the way. she liked it messy." art tells him he's sick, but he just shrugs it off. "maybe. but i still fucked her first."

maybe one night you bring a date home, cosied up on the couch to watch a movie. patrick's passive aggressive all night, deciding now he's a living room kind of guy to avoid leaving the pair of you alone. he justifies it by claiming he's just a 'good brother' and 'keeping an eye on you.' but when your date goes home, he's quick to corner you.

"you think he can fuck you better than me? bet he doesn't even know what you sound like when you cum."

"of course he does," you lie straight through your teeth.

"wanna compare? let me bend you over right now and prove it."

refuses to touch you until you're begging. his dirty talk is always absolutely filthy, always highlighting the reality of your relationship. "say it. say you want your stepbrother to fuck you. c'mon, use your words." he gets off on the thrill of being caught. sneaking into your room at night, hand over your mouth to silence your sweet mewls. every thrust a risk, each moan a gamble, but it's worth it in the end. "ah ah ah. shhh. you're being loud again, baby. you want them to hear? want them to know you're getting filled by their golden boy?"

he's big into hickeys. thinks it's fucking hilarious to point them out in front of your parents, acting like it wasn't him that left him there just to watch how embarrassed you get while your mother frowns in disapproval and his dad pretends not to notice.

he acts like he's proud of you. like you're just some innocent little thing. you get good grades—as far as your parents are concerned, you never do anything wrong. patrick would do anything to break that image. "you're such a good girl for everyone else.... but in this room, with my cock in your mouth? not daddy's sweet girl anymore, are you?"

or he makes you watch yourself in the mirror. hand curled around your throat to keep your head up so you can see the blissed out, cock-drunk look on your face. "look at yourself. look how fucked out you are. look what your stepbrother does to you."

he sends you filthy texts at the dinner table with your family asking whether you're thinking about it too. about him taking you right there. bet your pussy's already dripping through those little shorts. and when you reply with wanna check? he ducks his head under the table to 'pick up his fork,' met with the sight of you opposite him, pushing your shorts to the side, pussy glistening and no panties in sight. what a tease.

loves when you talk back. he's big into testing your limits: edging, choking, orgasm control, anal, calling you dirty names just to see how far he can take it. and you're always willing to go further. "look at you. from my bratty little stepsister to my perfect little slut."

also probably has a breeding kink. finds it especially hot because he's your 'brother.' send tweet

[nebra-sky-disk]

we agree on more than we disagree, really my issue is not with the scientific method just in the fact that by being too credulous in experts you actually deny yourself a lot of empirical evidence. i have ideas for how to rectify this, as most of them come from issues relating to capitalism as you point out, but rather than throw out my half baked ideas i dont think it really matters if i have an effective alternative system or not- my point is to maintain healthy scepticism towards the current System of Science and to recognise its (numerous, deep) flaws, not that i have all the answers. i agree that all human made systems are flawed but some systems are more flawed than others. perhaps more human than others.

i dispute that the current scientific system is effective or at least that entire fields are pretty dysfunctional, especially in areas relating to health and medicine. for example i do not think there is good evidence that almost any pharmacological treatment for mental health disorders is effective or helpful. plenty evidence about how its profitable though. the opoid crisis in the usa is another great example. (btw i dont think i had to cherry pick lobotomies. i think there are many more examples of medical harms.) enormous social harms have come from being too credulous in fields that are not deserving of such credulousness. the advances you point out are by no small means miraculous and certainly were fruits of the system you defend. but i do not believe that your system is the only system that could produce such fruits.

i dont think the scientific system exists in a vacuum; i didnt assert this or suggest it imo; i think that the precise issue of science is that it is often misused to mean "truth" to justify a great deal of harm. agreed with you on mental health research, and i agree with you that its good that we left behind lobotomies, but my point is that the same system that gave us lobotomies gave us anti psychotics and SSRIs and all the other BS we have rn and again i reiterate, we should be deeply sceptical of it. im not proposing no system, im just trying to point out the ways in which the current system may be more wrong than right.

as for calling that person illiterate- they consistently showed poor reading comprehension and a really annoying tone lmfao, yes i could have been more respectful but lets me honest 99% of ppl on this website dont bother to even TRY to understand what you say, reading comprehension is so bad here that its a meme. its probably not a disability that leads to them being this way. its a different dynamic, replying to someone who actually read your post and made more than a token effort to discuss and reach understanding with you. which i appreciate a lot btw.

"these researchers published a paper on something that literally any of us could have told you 🙄" ok well my supervisors wont let me write something in my thesis unless I can back it up with a citation so maybe it's a good thing that they're amplifying your voice to the scientific community in a way that prevents people from writing off your experiences as annecdotal evidence

[zaynessbeloved]

Oh pls not this shit again. It’s literally stated on their CN official page — “heterosexual plus respect the characters, their sexuality, design etc”. And no, mc will always be a woman it’s been proven and said numerous times in the game and especially by the developers themselves in their interviews. Listen to what Raf said in CN, it’s about her appearance as a whole, not about genders overall not even close to that. So stop twisting canon material just to fit your delusional fujoshit narrative.

And yes, my point still stands. Instead of writing about existing canon queer characters where an actual woman fancies another woman you’d rather write about a man in a twisted way. This is one of the reasons you don’t get some good fem queer rep bc it’s unnecessary when men and your delulu exist. Pathetic ash 🫩

First of all, drop the anonymous bitch, because this is the last time I will respond to your stupid ass anyway, coming on my page throwing around hate for literally no reason whatsoever. Get a life or a job cause you're clearly missing both.

What is canon to the game is canon to the game and I never implied what I wrote on that fic is canon? Are you lacking comprehension skills? Point to me where I ever said or even implied MC is not a woman. Oh wait, you can't💗 because I never said as such. And Rafayel's character clearly states he will love her in ANY form, whether is gender, sexuality, appearance etc. You're just not smart enough or just a bit too homophobic to take it as it is clearly stated in the game.

Whether is the EN or the CN or the other languages, Infold is the one controlling whatever makes it in the game. So if they didn't want to imply that, they would have outwardly make Rafayel—or the other Lis—express their conditional love toward MC.

Being any kind of artist gives you freedom of speech, experimentation and all the likes, and guess what, you should focus your energy on consuming the content you actually like instead of yapping in my inbox while anonymous, mind you. Who is the pathetic one again? Yeah, thought so💋

As if your little yap session is going to stop me from writing whatever the fuck I want to write on my OWN page. You're fucking delusional if you think so. I don't have to justify myself in front of a random anonymous, so leave my page and block me. It's like the third time I'm telling you, do you not comprehend?

Anyway, I will keep enjoying my art and my life because I have one. Can't say the same about you. ;)

Kisses💋