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acid-ixx · 8 months ago

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ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

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writting-stuff-sometimes · 8 months ago

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Treat You Better - Lando x Fem reader

Summary: Y/n broke up with Lando a while ago. One night she overhears a conversation that makes her want to protect him.

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, bad words, alcohol consumption.

Word Count: 16K

Notes: Nosey me really wants to know what happened at that nightclub. I hope you like it, and as always, feedback and requests are very welcome.

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You hated this situation, you felt so bad for Lando. You couldn't shake away the memory of the model walking in that bathroom with her friend talking about how Lando was going to be the best way to help her career, and that she just had to deal with all the F1 bullshit, his and his friends' childish behavior for a couple of months to get enough contracts, and then she'll try to find true love. Honestly, you couldn't believe someone like her could love anyone but herself.

“I think you should warn him”

“I don’t know. If he still hates me as much as he did when I left, he’s going to think I’m doing it out of spite, or that I want him back”

“And you don’t?” Your bff looked at you with a knowing look.

“Off topic” You took a sip from your wine glass.

“Fine. But don't you think it is super weird? What were the odds of you and her being in London, at the same restaurant, inside the same bathroom as she decided to spill her stupid plan?"

"I must be paying some freaking karma" You sighted drifting into your own thoughts,

"Ok, enough about this, are you ready for tomorrow?"

"Are you seriously making me go?"

"Of course! Y/N, you need something to keep your mind off things and I don't want to go on my own, I barely know the guy"

Ellie had met a DJ through Tinder and he had invited her to a private party he was playing at, in one of the Monaco nightclubs.

As much as you wanted to stay back and melt into the anxiety the situation had put you in for the last month, you agreed because that was the best friend thing to do.

_________________________

You got to the nightclub, it was a launch party for a cosmetic brand. As you were led to the DJ booth, memories rushed back. You had joined Lando for a couple of nights during his DJ era. Fuck, you had missed this, and you missed him. You needed to keep those thoughts away and an open bar seemed like a good solution... or so you thought.

It had been a few hours and a considerable number of drinks when Ellie grabbed your hand and pulled you to talk to your ear, a strange choice since the music wasn't even that loud, it was one of those parties where influencers and models try to get contracts and to get known by PRs.

"Please, promise me we're not leaving"

"What?"

"Please, promise me. I'm having a good time" She pulled the puppy eyes trick, but what was she talking about?

"Ellie, how drunk are you?"

"Look over there" she discretely signaled to a table towards the exit.

What was she doing there? Was Lando there too? You almost panicked, but he couldn't be. He had raced in Baku that same day. Yes, you still knew his calendar by heart. Usually, he would fly back home the next day. This explained why she was throwing herself at some guy on her table.

"Fuck"

"You promised"

"I didn't"

"Please"

You knew this was a bad idea, you already dreaded the girl, and seeing her hump all over some guy, as Lando was away, made your blood boil. You tried to stay and keep her off your mind but it was impossible, there was no amount of alcohol in this world that could make this situation bearable.

"I'm going home"

"Y/n, please"

"If I have to see her dry-hump another guy for two more seconds I might actually punch her"

"Don't go! C'mon"

"Elle..."

"Fine, let me know when you're home"

You hugged your friend goodbye and rushed towards the exit. On your way out her voice caught your ear, that voice you couldn't keep out of your head. Clearly, you had offended the gods.

"Oh no! I'm single at the moment. I'm sooo tired of dating man-childs, like, they're fun but it's so exhausting trying to have a conversation when all they can talk about is themselves and how cool their little toys are"

Before your brain could catch up with your body, you were already making a beeline toward her.

"Hi, sorry, can I steal her for a second?" You faked a smile to the PR as you grabbed Mila by the arm and pulled her toward a dark corner of the club.

"What the fuck? Let me go!" She tried to shake your hand away when she recognized you. You finally let go of her and stood cornering her against the dark wall.

"Listen to me, you're going to stop this nonsense about Lando"

"Why? Does your career need a boost and you want him back?"

"At least I have a career people can talk about, and not just who's going between my legs"

"Fuck you" She tried walking away but you blocked her path.

"No, you're going to listen to me, you little shit. You and your stupid friends can think whatever you want about Lando, but I won't let you damage his image just so you can have your five minutes"

"I don't know what you're talking about" Her shit-eating grin seemed even worse to your alcohol intoxicated eyes.

"Really? So it wasn't you who told one of your friends that you just had to deal with this F1 bullshit for a little while to get enough contracts?" Her breath hitched for a second but then the smug face returned.

"Please" she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. You wanted to punch her stupid grin away.

"Last warning, either you stop this nonsense, or everybody will know what a shitty person you are"

"Honey, no one's going to believe you, they will just think you're a jealous, bitter, ex-girlfriend"

"Are you sure? Have you seen the comments?" You pulled your phone from your bag waving it in her face " You don't seem to have the crowd on your side. So, listen, "honey", you want to date him, be my guest, but stop talking shit about him, he doesn't deserve it"

"Fuck you" She pushed you to the side and walked back to her table. You turned around and people were staring at you, also a few phones were pointing your way. Fuck, this was going to be all over the place.

_____________________________

You were still shaking when you got home. You hadn't been this angry at someone in a long time.

You took a cold shower to ease the heat inside you, took a sweatshirt from your closet, and went to bed.

_____________________________

"I'm surprised you didn't punch her in the face, you're such a grown-up" Ellie sat by your side on the couch.

"I wanted to, bad. But I'm not jail material. What about you? I was expecting Mr. Dj to be here this morning"

"We went to his house"

"And?"

"It was nice and all but you know I don't sleep out-"

A hard knock on the door caused a stinging pain in your head. Stupid open bar.

"I'll get that" Ellie walked to the door as you laid your head back on the couch and closed your eyes trying to ease the hangover pain.

"Please tell me Mr. Dj sent coffee"

"I guess you're in for disappointment" His voice made your heart stop.

You took a deep breath before opening your eyes and leaning back up to look at him.

"Can you give us a minute, Ellie?" He spoke before you could say a word. Your best friend who looked as shocked as you, turned your way. You nodded yes.

"I'll be over there. Nice to see you Lan" She walked to her bedroom and mouthed "Tell him" as she passed you.

"Care to explain?" You could hear a slight hint of anger in his voice, and like the psycho you were, it was making your heart rush. You were always playfully pushing his buttons to anger him enough that it would lead to rough sex, but sex was not the final outcome this time. So you had to take another deep breath to ease the heat inside.

"Y/n?" His saying your name did not make things easier. The space around you started to feel smaller by the second. You stood up and walked towards the kitchen.

"Coffee?" Your voice hoarse, as if you had been screaming for hours.

For a second his mind drifted off topic, your outfit being nothing but an oversized sweatshirt caught him off balance, even more when he realized it was one of his. A buzzing on his phone brought him back to reality and the name on the screen back to the topic.

Mila Where are you, baby?

"No thanks, I'm not here for coffee, I'm here to find out what the heck happened last night?" He followed you but kept a safe distance.

You started working the coffee machine, a cheap way to escape his presence, as a fight took place in your mind, should you tell him? Was he going to believe you?

"Y/N, I don't have all day, why did you attack Mila?"

"I didn't attack her" You finally spoke.

"That's not what the media says, and what the video shows"

"There's a video? You can't be safe anywhere" You joked.

"I'm being serious" He finally walked up to you taking the empty mug from your hand. "What the fuck was that? just because you don't have anyone in your life, it doesn't mean you have to ruin my relationship with Mila"

Low blow, Norris.

"Relationship?! Please, Lando" You spat before you could process the words.

"What? Just because you didn't want a relationship with me it doesn't mean other people won't want it either"

"What made you think I didn't want a relationship with you?"

"Umm, the fact that you ran away in the middle of the fucking night after ONE fight, ghosted me for two weeks, and just sent an "I can't do this anymore" text before blocking me from every single place? I'm not stupid"

"It wasn't just one fight. We had been fighting so much for the last month, and that last time the only difference was the volume"

"But that happens, just because we love each other it doesn't mean everything is going to be sweets and roses"

The word love sent lighting throughout your body.

"Lan, I didn't leave because of those fights. I left because you weren't happy with me, with us" Your eyes started watering, leaving him had been one of the toughest decisions.

"What?"

"You were lying to me, you were hiding. Does that seem like a happy relationship?" He stared at you confused "I knew about your nightclub and dinner escapades when I wasn't going to the GP's. I never minded you going to those things without me, I don't know why you started lying about them?" You could see it on his face he knew he had screwed up.

"But I never cheated or anything, I promise"

"I know, but it felt as if I was keeping you from doing stuff you wanted and that you felt the need to hide from me" You felt like he was being forced to be with you, like you were keeping him from things he liked.

"Y/n, I was so fucking happy with you, I just...I wasn't thinking. I saw how others got in trouble for going out alone and thought, I... I fucked up" He walked closer toward you and shily played with the hem of your sweatshirt.

"Lan -" His phone rang in his hand, Mila's name on the screen shattering the moment completely. You sighed and stepped back "Just be careful, ok?"

"Careful?"

"She might not be what you think she is"

"What are you talking about?"

You bit your lip still unsure about spilling it all out.

"Y/N"

"I heard her at Scully's a month ago. She was with some friends, I was in the restroom when she got in and I heard her tell her friend that she just needed to deal with F1 for a while to get enough contracts" You kept the details to yourself, they felt unnecessary.

He looked hurt but not surprised.

"I'm sorry" You whispered.

"Is that why you were fighting yesterday?"

"Yeah, basically" You weren't sure if telling him the "attack" had also been fueled by seeing her dry-hump two different guys was good, it seemed he had received the message.

"Why would you care?" He softly asked, his green eyes fixed on yours.

"Lan" You turned back to the coffee machine, the noise grounding you and keeping your mind from drifting into the romantic scenarios it was dying to go to.

"Tell me" He took a step closer. You could feel his body heat radiate towards you.

"Just" You knew where this was leading, what he wanted to hear, but you weren't sure you wanted to say those words.

"Bull" His hand landed on your hip. The electricity from his touch made you jump.

"Lando, stop it please" You stepped to the side escaping his touch.

"No" He took you firmly by the waist and turned you around, trapping you against the counter. "Why would you do that?"

"What do you want to hear?"

"Just tell me why did you do that?"

"Please just leave it" You closed your eyes and threw your head back, this situation and the awful hangover were killing you physically and mentally. But all Lando could see was your neck, it was almost begging him to kiss it, but he fought the urge, he needed you to accept you wanted him too.

"No, I don't want to" His voice was almost childlike.

"God Lando, damn it! I did it because I couldn't stand her talking shit about you. Yes, you can be stubborn, annoying, and sometimes such a child that I want to kill you, but you're also a loving, caring, responsible, smart and such a wonderful human being you don't deserve someone treating you like that. Happy?!"

"Yes" He pulled you from your waist and joined your lips.

His flesh touching yours felt like a breath of fresh air. You couldn't fight it anymore, and as much as you wanted to deny it, you loved him, you loved him deeply.

Your hands found their place behind his neck, softly playing with his curls.

His hands traveled down from your waist to your thighs, caressing them and indulging in the warmth of your skin. He then squeezed your ass and pulled you to carry you to the sofa.

He sat on it as you straddle him. He gave one last peck to your lips and started kissing down your chin, reaching that sensitive spot on your neck right below your ear as his arms pressed you harder against his body. Making you moan at the feeling of the bulging sweats under you.

"I've missed you, don't leave me, please" He whispered softly against your skin.

His phone buzzed again inside his pocket.

"Lan, wait" You pushed his head away from your body.

"What?"

"You're with Mila"

A breathy laugh made his chest bounce.

"C'mon, we were just fooling around"

"Does she know that?"

"Now you care about her?"

"It's not her. But I can't be a hypocrite. I don't want the bad karma"

"Fine" He took the phone from his pocket and dialed. After a couple of rings, you heard that damn voice coming from the speaker.

"Baby, I've been calling you for hours, where are you? Lucia and I are waiting for you to go to the marina, I promised her we would tan on the yacht today"

"Mila, we're done"

The line went silent for a few seconds. You could almost picture the shocked face on the other side of the phone.

"What?" Her voice was a thousand octaves higher.

"What you heard. Go find someone else to leach from. See ya" He hung up with the biggest grin.

"Happy?" He said as he turned off his phone and placed it to the side.

"She's going to kill you"

"Good thing I have my own personal bodyguard" He buried his face on your chest, inhaling your scent, he had missed so much.

"Oh, now I'm your bodyguard?"

"Yup, fuck Jlo's bodyguard, now I have the hottest one"

"You're such an idiot"

"As long as I'm your idiot I don't care about anything else"

You pulled him to kiss again. His hands sneaked under the sweatshirt, caressing the soft skin inside it.

"Nice outfit by the way" Hi said against your lips.

You turned to look down at it and then realized you were wearing one of the sweatshirts you had stolen from him. You had worn it nonstop for weeks after the breakup until his scent had faded.

"I'm sorry I stole it"

"It looks way better on you"

He pulled you back to resume your makeout, as your hands played with the curls at the back of his head.

"You've been awfully quiet over here..." Ellie said out loud walking the hallway. "I just want to make sure you've not killed each oth-" She stared at the scene with a terrified look on her face.

"Please tell me you weren't having sex on the sofa"

"You're about a year too late"

"Ew, please tell me that's a lie. I really, really like that sofa and I don't want to have to burn it" She stared at you, disgust all over her face.

"He's joking" You punched his side playfully.

"Promise?" she asked

"Promise"

"Ok. And, as much as I'm happy you two are back together, please take it to the bedroom and give me five so I can be far far away before you start your unholy activities"

"Three is the most we can give you" Lando stood from the sofa carrying you.

"Two" he said kissing your neck and walking toward your bedroom.

"Nooo, c'mon, stop it" Ellie rushed to her room "Just let me get dressed and I'll be out of here, please!"

"You're mean" You smiled against his lips.

"And you're mine" Hi bit your lower lip closing your door with his foot.

"Send me a message when you're done and I can return"

"See you next week!" Lando yelled back. He returned his lips to your neck, removing the only piece of clothing covering you.

"Very funny!" Was the last thing you heard before the front door slammed.

As much as it sounded like a joke, Lando was determined to make up for lost time.

Tag List: @wtrmlnsgr94, @ricsaigaslec, @ironmaiden1313, @formulas-bitch,

#f1 fiction #f1 imagine #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #f1 x reader #lando x y/n #f1 x y/n #lando norris fluff #f1 smut #lando norris smut

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coalballbaby · 2 months ago

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One thing I've noticed when people talk about Prowl is that they tend to have a very black-and-white attitude towards liking him. The most common two things I've seen are either a) people feel too guilty about actually enjoying the character that they shy away from going beyond summaries of his actions + a vague feeling of treating him as just a morally-corrupt-character-they-enjoy, or b) they really, publicly like him, but tend to make extremely individualistic takes that reduce his character from a nuanced part of a larger narrative to a guy misunderstood by the cast around him. Of course, I'm not saying individualistic takes are inherently bad-- it can be fun and thought-provoking to think about the more personal elements of character, what they believe, why they might do it-- but it's easy to come up with excuses for a character this way.

I think it's important to consider that Prowl's just... not written as a likeable, glup-shitto-ifiable way. He's not meant to be taken that way, and he does genuinely shitty things to innocent people while wrangling his own sense of responsibility for the future of all things Cybertron. Of all depictions of Prowl, IDW's version is the clearest criticism of the police force and how easily power can be misused under beliefs of serving a "greater good"-- I'm not saying that you can't like him because of this, (for one it be massively hypocritical, as I am. a notorious and huge Prowl enjoyer), but I am saying that this is something important to keep in mind when engaging with the character critically, especially if you're going to talk about him publicly. Prowl isn’t just morally gray or "misunderstood", he’s a deliberate allegory for institutional rot, for what happens when someone fully buys into the idea that the ends justify the means, that it may be necessary to endanger innocent people if it preserves a controlled future. His actions aren’t accidents or unfortunate side effects of good intentions; they're the result of a belief system that values control, hierarchy, and long-term strategy over individual lives. When people detach Prowl from that context-- when they talk about him purely as a burdened tactician doing his best-- they risk replicating the same logic that real-world systems use to excuse harm. I know saying this kind of sounds insane from a Transformers IDW standpoint, but IDW itself is a very political story, and sometimes, well. I like to think about it. (I also realize that I'm taking a lot from specifically Roberts, Roche's, and Barber's interps, which are a lot more focused on this morally complicated Prowl-- but those just happen to be my favorite takes on him, and I tend to focus on those a lot more. Personal bias, I know, but I do have thoughts on the many other Prowl portrayals in the IDW run.)

Okay er. I'm getting distracted. Liking a character like Prowl doesn’t mean you have to soften his worst actions or reframe his motivations into something more sympathetic. He isn’t compelling in spite of being deeply flawed, he’s compelling because the narrative doesn’t let that shit slide lmao. Things/people bite him in the ass for it and that's awesome. He's boiling in his own sweat and fear and anger after putting the onus on himself to make a thousand contingency plans with him in control, because he's a deeply paranoid man who tends to use others' inaction as an excuse. We can all hold hands and think about it... promise?

#prowl #the talker #transformers #maccadam #sure... i'll main tag it... who gaf. my word slop.#if you have thoughts share them with me please. ive lived in my prowl hole long enough.#I'm a Thinker about stardrive and sixshot and shockwave and teletraan too. btw

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driaswrld · 2 years ago

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it's raining outside, and yuuji is sharing his earphones with you.

there's an occasional rumble of thunder that has him subconsciously tucking you tighter into his side, you want to tell him it's fine, we're on a bus, on our way home, nothing is going to swoop down from the sky and take me from you.

his playlist is on shuffle, hood pulled over his head and bubblegum hair resting against the window, watching the dark clouds shift above.

yuuji thinks, if he tells you he loves you right now, in such a dark and gloomy setting, if you'll even believe it.

but it's always when skies are dark and rain pours and his vision is cloudy and his knuckles are bruised does he feel the urge burning in him to say, i love you, i love you, i love you.

“i think it's gonna be a storm.” you murmur into his shoulder and he hums, careful not to shift too much — you glared at him the first three times he kept fidgeting and made the earphone fall out of your ear — “you still afraid of lightning?” he asks, big brown eyes full.

he could just say it right now.

“i'm not— i wasn't ever afraid of lightning...” you argue and yuuji laughs, raising a palm in defeat. if you told him the sun was blue, well, he trusts you enough to know you know better than him. plus, he wouldn't mind living under a blue sun with you.

there's a sudden crackle, and a strike of lightning. an echoing boom of thunder follows.

his arms are already wide open before the chill runs down your spine and you dive into him, face buried in his chest — i'll protect you, i'm here.

( i love you. )

“not afraid of lightning?” yuuji dips his head to whisper, you groan into the fabric of his hoodie, and out of pure spite you pull hard on the drawstring and he chokes out a giggle. “look at my brave girl... so pretty.” his voice is muffled, and you release your grip on the twin strings.

“don't make fun of me—”

“m’not making fun of you, i swear!”

the soft rumble of thunder is near ominous, but you don't hear it, not over yuuji's sickeningly sweet songs that remind me of us playlist and his cackling in your ears.

he likes this, being the one you turn to.

he wonders what you might've looked like back when you were scared by yourself. and just as he wonders it he promises himself, that you'll never be scared without having him to run to.

“why're you afraid of lightning?” he asks, soft yet unsure. would you tell him everything that scares you if he asked? “told you, m'not afraid—”

“okay! why do you... not like lightning then?”

yuuji watches the way your brows furrow, the twist on your lips. i love when you think, he wants to say, but that would sound weird out loud wouldn't it?

“it can kill you, for one. plus, it comes with thunder and it makes this stupidly scary crackling noise—”

“i thought you said you weren't sca— okay, m'stopping, for real this time!”

there's another crackle and pop! of lightning, a drumroll of thunder, it's so sudden that your eyes squeeze shut immediately, but the rest of the noise comes muffled— the hum of bass in one of your ears louder now.

better? yuuji mouths to you, both of his palms cupped over your ears, blocking out most of the sound from reaching you.

you nod, and his heart flutters when you mouth back thankyou, i love you.

it takes yuuji a minute, just as the rain pours a little harder, his gaze fixed on yours before he lowers his head, tip of his nose tickling your own and mouths,

you're safe with me, i love you.

#📰 — archive #im. sighhhhhhh #and if i say he's literally my boyfriend????!#jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #itadori x reader #yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji #yuji itadori #itadori yuji #yuuji x reader #yuji x reader

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bluerthanvelvet444 · 1 year ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝙿𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Frat boy Kyle Spencer x fem!reader

tags: slight angst, fluffy smut!

warnings: swearing, public sex, mentions of Kyle's abuse (poor baby), handjob, p in v.

summary: frat boy kyle being a sweetheart. that's all i have to say.

character count: 11k.

full fic under the cut ↓

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

“I'm not going.” You replied, your voice firm and your eyes fixated on the math book that sat on the library's desk, trying to avoid the gaze-that you knew you couldn't resist-of the boy sitting in front of you. You heard him sigh as his doe eyes desperately tried to meet yours.

“But everyone is going…you can't miss it.” Kyle replied with his soft voice.

“I've never gone to any of those parties…why do you want me to go to this one so badly?” You spoke, with a noticeable hint of frustration in your voice.

“Because it's the end of the semester…something to celebrate. Plus, it's gonna be epic.” He said with a toothy smile plastered on his face.

“No, thanks. You know I don't roll with those frat boys.” You rolled your eyes, your words coming out harsh and spiteful.

“I'm a frat boy.” He said, raising an eyebrow, clearly confused by your statement.

“Yea- but you're…different.” You sighed.

It was true. He was indeed different from the frat boys he was friends with. You and Kyle met in Junior year of high school. You were paired up by your physics teacher, who suggested you could tutor Kyle, that at the time had terrible grades. You two clicked instantly, he was fun and outgoing, and you enjoyed spending time with him. Kyle had grown to be incredibly thankful for your help, in fact, he insisted that you were the one who made him passionate about physics, the subject that he used to despise and that now was his main department in college. Although he could seem like the usual asshole frat boy, Kyle was sweet and caring. You knew it, and no one could’ve made you change your mind on that. He was simply a sweetheart.

“Listen, I know my mates may seem rude or not well-behaved…but trust me, as a leader, I established some rules for them. They won’t act crazy, I promise.” His kind voice brought you back from your thoughts. You sighed, thinking about it.

“Brennan’s hosting the party in his summer mansion…it’s next to the beach- it’s so cool, I swear. I-I’ll take you there! I can pick you up and take you home…” He added, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Please?” He said in an adorable voice, his puppy eyes looking hopeful into yours.

You sighed, you didn’t wanna go, but it was utterly impossible to say no to him.

“Fine.”

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

You were touching up your makeup. You were ready for the “big night” Kyle was so excited about. You decided to wear something a bit more revealing, a black minidress, because-okay, you didn’t wanna go- but you couldn’t be annoyed and unfashionable all at once.

While taking a final look in the mirror, you heard a knock on your door. You grabbed your bag and opened the door to see Kyle-in his usual frat sweater-smiling at you. He looked at you up and down, scaring you slightly. What if he didn’t like the dress or how it looked on you?

Fortunately, all your concerns faded once you saw his smile widening.

“Woah…you look beautiful. Seriously…you’re stunning.” He said, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, he wasn’t used to seeing you like this.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliments.

“Thank you…” You gave him an awkward smile and bit your lip.

“Shall we get going?” You suggested, to which he nodded. He took your hand and helped you step down the porch. Kyle led you to his car, and opened the door for you with a cute grin.

The ride was calm, you chit-chatted here and there about random stuff, and you swore you saw him staring at your body a few times. After 15 minutes or so, you eventually arrived at the party. Kyle was right, the mansion was beautiful and it faced the sea. You could see lights and music blasting out of the house. He gave you an excited grin and helped you out of the car, walking with you inside the house. It was overflowing with people laughing, playing games and having fun. As much as it seems hard to believe, you didn’t know anyone of those many people. They had familiar faces, sure, but you couldn’t consider them your actual friends. You sighed and nervously looked at Kyle who, on the other side, was flashing smiles to all his fellow frat brothers and friends. You noticed how comfortable he was in his habitat, and how you envied him for that. He introduced you to many people-whom you couldn’t even remember the names of-that obviously didn’t care much about getting to know you, since they even could’ve sworn you did not go to that college. You were invisible even when the attention was on you, and Kyle clearly didn’t catch that. So when he was dragged by his mates to some kind of game, he told you with a chuckle and a rushed tone

“I-I’ll be right back! Chat with the girls, they’re fun!”

Fun. Right. You didn't mean to sound like an antisocial bitch, but they were everything but fun. You saw them from afar just taking pictures of each other-to show on Instagram how much fun they were pretending to have having-or teasing each other about their crushes. You felt bored, so you sat on a chair, sipping a cup of-what you hoped was-punch and waited for Kyle. Time passed, and he didn’t show up, so you got up and started searching for him. It didn’t take you much to find him. Kyle was on the karaoke stage, singing “Rosanna” by Toto.

“Meetcha all the way! Nananaaaaah…” He “singed” while laughing with his mates.

You were conflicted on what to do now. You didn’t want to be a bummer by clinging to him all night, but you were truly bored and felt lonely. So, you did what you believed was best for everyone, you grabbed your stuff and left. The moment you stepped outside, you were met by an unfamiliar feeling of peace, the view surprising you for its beauty and for being so…empty. It was quiet, the only sound that could be heard were the waves splashing against the sand, no people around. You smiled and made your way to the pier nearby. You sat on it and took your shoes off, allowing your feet to sink in the water.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but you were brought back to reality when you felt Kyle's voice behind you.

“Here you are! I searched for you everywhere!” He was breathing fast, you believed he had been running while seeking for you.

“I thought I left you a message?” You tilted your head.

“Oh… Sorry. I can’t find my phone. Why are you all alone here? The whole fun is inside!” He replied with a giant boyish smile.

“I like it better here. It’s boring inside.” You turned your face to look at the sea again.

“What? How can you call it boring? There are plenty of games! And people inside-” you cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

“Kyle, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not popular like you. The people inside couldn’t care less about me. I feel less lonely here than in that crowded house.”

He looked at you confused.

“Aw, c’mon…don’t be like this. They’re nice people, you just have to make an effort to try to meet them, and I’m sure you’ll have fun.” You didn’t know why those words started a fire in you.

“They’re not my friends, Kyle. I can’t stand those people, I don’t get along with them. And trust me, I’ve tried to be social and friendly, but you may have to consider the idea that not everyone is like you. You’re easygoing and social, you're a freaking frat boy for fuck’s sake. It’s easy for you to say those things.”

He looked at you, mouth agape at your sudden outburst.

“…why didn’t you just tell me?” He looked at you like a sad puppy for bringing you somewhere that made you uncomfortable.

“And be more of a bummer? No, thanks. They already hate me, I don't wanna be a party pooper as well.” You crossed your arms.

He sat next to you on the pier and his fingers gently grazed your jaw to make you look at him.

“You’re not a bummer to me…a-and I’m sorry about that… I shouldn’t have left you alone. Sorry.”

You wanted to be mad at him, truly, but those cute brown eyes melted your heart in every way possible. You bit your lip as you admired him lovingly. He was so caring and sweet, how did you manage to get this lucky?

“I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable, I- that’s the last thing I’d ever want. You know I care about you… I can’t stand you being mad at me. Please, forgive me?”

You felt your heart tighten at those words. You gave him a slight nod as your eyes travelled down his lips. You wanted to kiss him so badly, and he probably caught onto that, since he slowly leaned in to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. He pulled away slightly, mumbling against your lips.

“Was that okay?” You nodded, and he leaned in again, kissing you once more. This time he deepened the kiss, letting his tongue slip in your mouth and softly swirling it around yours. You let out a breath at how right that felt and how sweet he was being. You pulled him slightly closer and moved your hand to rest on his neck and caress the skin of it. After a bit, you moved your lips to peck his jaw a few times before trailing them down on his neck. Your lips worked sweetly on his skin at first, earning a few sighs from him. As the tension grew, you started sucking his neck, leaving red marks. He groaned and grabbed your waist, you subtly moved your hand down to massage the bulge from his pants. He let out a tiny gasp, and you felt him stiffen, not in a good way. You looked up at him with a confused expression.

“I-I’m sorry…please keep going…” He said with a nervous smile.

“What’s wrong? Did you not like that? It’s okay if you don’t want to…” You gave him a comprehensive look.

“No! I like that… I swear. Just…bad memories.”

“Do you wanna talk about it…?”

“No, I just wanna feel good now.”

You nodded and gave him a gentle peck on his lips before gently undoing his zipper. You ran your fingers over the visible shape of his dick through his underwear, earning a groan from him. You looked at him for consent before gently pulling his boxers down. You blushed as you saw him so vulnerable for the first time. Your fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking him slowly. He let out a breathy moan.

“G-god…don’t stop…”

You smiled and started progressively speeding up. After a few minutes, you heard his moans grow louder, and you felt his strong hand gripping your wrist.

“I…wanna do it. Is that okay?”

You nodded, and he sat up to gently remove your dress and everything underneath. He was stunned by your body, staring at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He helped you lay down, with a massive gentleness, as if you were capable of breaking if handled too roughly. He hovered on top of you, caressing your face as he lined up your entrance with his dick.

“This okay?” He muttered under his breath, to which you answered with a nod. He gently pushed into you, allowing you to adjust to the new feeling. He groaned when he pushed himself all the way in. He held your hand sweetly.

“Can I start moving?”

“Mhm…”

He slowly started thrusting in you, earning moans from you both. He gripped your hand tighter as he felt how your walls clenched around him. When he felt like you were ready, he started going faster, gripping your hand tightly and kissing you repeatedly through the whole thing. You could've sworn you were seeing stars when he started hitting your G-spot with his tip. Soon enough, your moans got louder and you felt yourself coming on his dick. He tried his best to contain his moans and as soon as you finished he pulled out to come on your tummy. He collapsed onto you, pecking your face repeatedly.

“I love you…” He mumbled.

After some time had passed, he got up and cleaned you with the salty water, giggling like a teen boy receiving his first kiss. When he helped you gain your-and his-decency again, he got up, throwing an arm around you and walking happily towards his car.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

a/n: I love Kyle he's so babygirllll. also look at the cute picture i found on pinterest (the one under the title) that boy looks so much like kyle. got me screaming when I saw it. Anywaysssssss. I might post a part 2 of this with frankenkyle, but I gotta finish Peter fics first (spoiler). Let me know if you like it💕💕

join my taglist!!

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ghost-recs · 1 year ago

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can we get some bakugou recs 😊😊 (written and smaus pleaseee)

hello hellooo! oh man do i ever have some! you have no idea the can of worms you are opening my friend.

but first i am so sorry for how late this rec is! i wanted to get this done days ago, but the semester has been crazy packed. i'm going to get through all my asks one by one. thank you for your patience! anyways let's get into this !!

Bakugou Recs

Garden of Lungs (Hanahaki) by oweCrew [ao3]

synopsis: you have your whole life ahead of you, a promising future and jobs lined up after UA...but these stupid flowers are going to be the death of you, literally.

i flew through this fic so fast. it was the first time i had every heard of hanahaki disease and oof to my heart. i loved it!

Late Night Calls by fictionpls [ao3]

synopsis: much to bakugou's disdain, you skipped your meals again. tch, he's basically taking care of you at this point.

cute lil fluff oneshot with bakugou as your best friend...maybe more.

Nothing More, Nothing Less by @dekustowel

synopsis: bakugou made a big whoopsies. the only way to get out of it? fake date you, the internet's sweatheart, duh!

this smau idea has a hold on me. i'm a sucker for the fake dating trope. and i mean seriously, it's bakugou! [ongoing...]

Nerd (Affectionately) by @oniku-niku

synopsis: you're in love with bakugou, have been since you were kids. there was no use in hiding the truth. but did he have to be so rude about it??

most of this smau is a big ouch to the heart. but the drama gets heavier as the story goes on and i'm here for it! happy soft ending! :)

Speak by Kikyo851 [ao3]

synopsis: you could not believe that your soulmate was such a crude and violent person...just to spite the universe and him you decide not to say a word to your "soulmate."

soulmate au in which the first words that your soulmate says to you is written on your wrist. this fulfilled my needs of a bakugou soulmate au! so cute and it is complete!

Of Snowscapes & Explosions by sugarbun [ao3]

synopsis: you've been categorized as second to shoto todoroki ever since grade school. after a frustrated vent to bakugou and a few of his cracks revealing some of his own frustrations you realize that maybe you and him aren't so different after all.

guys....when i tell you this fic is the slowest slow burn. i feel like it's so accurate to how bakugou would actually fall for someone. sadly, this fic is unfished tho and hasn't been updated in a couple years😭 but you should read it anyways.

cover shot (through the heart) by @andypantsx3

cross posted on ao3 here! cover shot (through the heart) by andypantsx3

synopsis: you're the only one who can deal with bakugou's attitude in the industry. he hasn't found something that bothers you...until he starts flirting with you, hello??

model/celebrity au. super cute fic. i'm warning you this is much spicier than some of my other recs. mdni. (also check out this author's other works. they have a lot of top tier content!!)

Motherly Love by @kweenkatsuki-fics

synopsis: bakugou gives his mom a late night call to thank her. the reason why softens her heart greatly.

super soft lil drabble that just about brings me to tears everytime i read it. in love with bakugou fr.

déjà vu by @cashmoneyyysstuff

synopsis: bakugou thinks back to some oddly familiar memories with you. and one thing always stays the same, you both are together.

oneshot the made my jaw drop. hit me hard in the feels.

untitled oneshot by @honeypirate

synopsis: being paired with your number 1 enemy for a group project proved that the universe hated you. well might as well have some fun with this and make bakugou's life just as miserable.

college au oneshot. i am always down for a good enemies to lovers trope!

risky by @kusaka6e

synopsis: moving from another country to work as a pro hero in japan was not the easiest. and a certain hot headed hero only adds to your frustrations.

oneshot about the obvious grown tension between you and pro hero dynamite.

i hope you find something you like! sorry for the late rec, have a lovely day/night!

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starrynightarchive · 7 months ago

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luffy saved sanji, nami and the entire crew in a way. everyone knows this. everyone talks about this. but what people don't talk about enough is this: luffy saved zoro too.

now here's the thing right. zoro might not have had any ongoing struggles that were keeping him up at night. no one might've harmed him physically or mentally for a long time. the last wound of his that never closed up right is kuina and that happened a decade ago. in many ways, he's fine. he is. is he?

the thing about zoro is that before luffy, he has been running on spite. on anger and determination and sheer fucking will. and i must say, spite is an excellent motivator. but it's also really fucking tiring. it's hard to make it stay because ultimately, you run out of fuel. your body was never made to house that much anger. fire burns bright, but it burns. and zoro has been burning for a long time.

this is how he keeps the fire going. this is how he stays spiteful, angry, hurt. he digs into the wound kuina left at nights he finds himself sagging under the weight of the responsibility he carries. he pushes his fingers into the flesh (you promised kuina) and twists (you told her you'll become the world's greatest swordsman) and he bleeds.

(you promised.)

enter: luffy.

I'm going to be the king of pirates, he had announced and zoro had felt a pang of longing because that was his dream. luffy wasn't carrying a life someone else couldn't live with him. he was not running on all things red and furious. he beams, bright and sunny and so incredibly real that zoro wants to avert his eyes and says, do you want to fight them with me or do you want to die here?

of course he joins his damn crew.

here's the thing right. luffy saved him not from his enemies, not from his own mind. he saves him like this: rubber arm wrapped around his waist and flinging him around. sheepish laughter that follows a shamelessly unapologetic sorry, zoro. he saves him like this: he lets him walk into the jaws of death when he challenges mihawk. he doesn't stop him. because he will never stand between him and his dream. because he is so certain he will get back up. because he is so certain of his strength, of his tenacity, of him.

the first thing zoro says after kuina defeats him for the last time is, kill me. because he has tried so hard and it still wasn't enough. it would be a honourable way to go- to die trying to achieve your dream. but after mihawk cuts him up, he doesn't say, kill me. he cries. he cries and he says, i will never lose again. is that okay with you, king of the pirates?

he makes an other vow, this time it's to a boy he barely knows. and he knows he will keep it, because he is waiting for him. he thought zoro would come back. and so he would.

luffy saved zoro by straightening the fingers that have been clenched into fists for a long time. he tells him he will achieve his dream. he tells him he's the best and he says it like it's just another fact, another truth of the universe. luffy saves zoro by showing him that it's so much more fun to chase something because you love it, see?

now, wado doesn't feel like chains weighing him down. it just feels like the comfort of an old friend. now, he burns brighter than ever but not with spite. his fire is warm, now, just like his captain. he has his nakama to protect. he has a love that waits for him outside of this dream that seems larger than life.

luffy saves zoro by holding his hand and dragging him out to the sea with that wild laugh of his, saying, look! isn't this so much better?

and it is. it is.

#zolu.... save me zolu save me #romantic platonic whatever it doesn't matter they're best friends and soulmates #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #luffy one piece #one piece #zolu #vi talks #vi does meta

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azriels-shadowsinger · 1 year ago

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“All you do is push me away. I'm done. Whatever this is, it's done.”

Azriel x Reader

wc: 2.3k

a/n: responding to this request. sorry this took forever, i started my new job this week! also, thank you for 400 followers!!

prompt list

“It will be fine, y/n!” Feyre reassures, rubbing a gentle hand down your back. You bite your lip anxiously.

“I don't know, Fey. It's already awkward enough trying to introduce my boyfriend to the high lord and lady, the general, and scariest of all, Amren.” You chuckle. “But seriously, I’m even more worried about Azriel. He’s been so weird and distant since we ended our... situationship?” You sigh heavily. “Whatever it was, he got all weird when it ended. I’m worried he’s gonna make tonight weird.” You whine.

“Rhys already talked to him. Azriel promised to be welcoming.” Feyre reassures

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” You grumble. Truthfully, you knew very little about your new boyfriend, Wesley, and you had no idea how he would behave around your friends, but when Cassian caught you on a second date and blabbed about your new boyfriend to everyone, you had no choice but to introduce him to the group. Hopefully, Feyre was right that everything would be fine.

———

Everyone at the table was visibly uncomfortable, thanks to Azriel. He had spent the first half of dinner in a very tense silence, ignoring everyone’s attempts to interact with him. He only responded with mocking laughs under his breath at every other thing Wesley said. Rhys had tried to speak to Azriel in his mind, Feyre told you, but his walls were up and he refused to drop them.

You thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, but once the final course came out, Azriel switched from chilling silence to obnoxiously challenging everything you or Wesley said. You were going to kill him.

“So what do you do for fun, Wesley?” Feyre asks, attempting to alleviate tension.

“Uh, I like studying history.” He answers quietly. Azriel chokes down a laugh, and you internally groan at the most boring answer he could’ve chosen.

“Hm, that's weird y/n. I thought your usual type was...” Azriel eyes Wesley with distaste “much different.” You scowl at Azriel.

“I don’t have a type, Azriel.” You say defensively. “And if I did, it would be Wesley.”

“Sure it would.” He says smugly. “I seem to recall you have a preference for tougher guys, specifically Illyrians-“

“That is enough, Az.” Rhys commands, cutting Azriel off and using his high lord voice. Everyone sits quietly, not sure what to say next.

“I think I should leave.” Wesley says uncomfortably, breaking the silence and moving to stand. “Goodnight everyone, it was wonderful to meet you all.” He says with a forced smile before heading towards the door. You hurry after him, heels clicking loudly on the floor.

“Wes, please stay! There’s dessert, and I promise it won't be as awkward. I’ll make him leave.” You beg once you two are out of earshot.

“Don’t bother. You didn’t tell me you used to date him. That would’ve been great information to have going into tonight.”

“We never-“ he cuts you off.

“Save it. I have no interest in competing with the fucking spymaster. You are not worth the effort.” You visibly flinch at the harsh words and tears begin to form in your eyes, as he turns away. “I’ll see you around.” He mutters and leaves.

———

When you return to the dining room, Azriel is sitting there with a victorious smirk on his face, eating his dessert. One look at the rage in your eyes, and everyone else had the bright idea to leave you two alone.

“Are you happy now?” You holler.

“Kinda, yeah.” He says smugly. You let out a frustrated groan.

“You spiteful, ignorant, selfish male!” He laughs slightly at your outburst.

“What’s wrong sweetheart? Could Wesley not take a little joke?” He grins.

“He broke up with me because of your gods damn immaturity!”

“Good. You can do better, he doesn’t deserve you.” Azriel replies nonchalantly.

“What the hell is your problem? Is this because I ended things between us?” That causes him to freeze, dropping any amusement from his face.

“No.”

“It is, isnt it? Well guess who’s fault that was! You don’t date, you told me so yourself. And any time I tried to get closer to you, you put up walls and shut me out.“ you let out an exasperated sigh. “Even now, all you do is push me away. So you know what Azriel? I'm done. Whatever this is, it's done.”

“There’s nothing to end, we aren’t dating. We aren't even fucking anymore.” He spits coldly, but you see the hurt lacing his features, matching your own.

“Yeah, I got that. Loud and clear.” You murmur. “Stay the hell away from me from now on.” You growl before exiting the room, leaving Azriel alone.

———

You had not so much as looked at him in three weeks, and it was driving Azriel crazy. He had assumed that with your now ex-boyfriend out of the way, you would eventually turn to him to resume your previous friends-with-benefits situation. He couldn’t help but miss your company.

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys sat around the table at Rita’s drinking whiskey. As soon as Azriel began complaining about you again, Cassian rolled his eyes, finished his glass of whiskey, and stood up.

“I’m tired of hearing about this every damn day. I’m getting another drink.” He grumbles.

Azriel wasn’t sure why he was bothered so damn much that you were avoiding him. Sure, he had plenty of females offering him pleasure every time he went out in Velaris, there were two eyeing him from across the bar right now, but he didn’t want them.

“Honestly, what I miss most about her isn’t even the sex.” Azriel admits, slurring his words slightly as the alcohol takes effect in his system. Rhysand’s ears perk up at this admission. Previously, Azriel had only ever admitted to missing the consistent sex or complained that you were overreacting, but this was new. Rhys wondered if Azriel even realized what he was saying.

“What do you mean, brother?” Rhys probes.

“I miss the nights we spent talking. And how somehow she managed to know exactly what I needed, without me having to say it.” Azriel downs the rest of his drink. “I just want things to go back to the way they were. Like when she would fall asleep next to me and I would actually be able to quiet my mind enough for once to fall asleep too. Or when she smiled and I felt all warm inside. I don’t even know why I shut her out when she asked about becoming more. Maybe because it scares me.” Azriel prattles on, talking to himself more than Rhys.

“You love her, you idiot.” Rhys states, which immediately pulls Azriel’s focus.

“That’s not… don’t do that Rhys. Don’t put shit into my head.” Azriel says defensively. Cassian returns with another round of whiskey for everyone.

“What did Rhys do?” Cassian asks casually as he passes a glass to each of his brothers.

“I informed Az that he’s in love with y/n.” Rhys smirks and sips his whiskey.

“I’m not-“ Cassian cuts Azriel off.

“You totally are!” Cassian laughs. Azriel huffs out a breath and downs his whiskey in one big swallow. There was no use arguing with his brothers once their minds were made up.

“I gotta go.” Azriel mumbles and storms out the door. Rhys and Cass just exchange knowing glances.

———

You hear someone banging on your door late that evening. You want to say you’re surprised to see Azriel when you open the door, but no one else would bother you this time of night. You just look at him expectantly, waiting to hear what he has to say.

“I was wrong before. I should've never pushed you away when you said you wanted more. I was just scared of how I felt and scared of getting hurt by you. I’m sorry for being a dick and I’m sorry for ruining that dinner with your ex-boyfriend, I just couldn’t stand to see you with someone else. Please, give me another shot.” Azriel has such a hopeful look in his eyes, waiting for your answer.

“I told you I was done.” You say, trying your hardest to stay calm and collected.

“But I-“ he takes a deep breath. “But I love you. Please, give me a chance to make things right.” You pause, mind reeling at the admission. As much as you want to admit the same thing, you can’t afford to get hurt by him again, so you do your best to calm your racing heart and force the words out.

“It’s too late, Azriel. I’m sorry.” You shut the door quickly before you can give in, immediately letting your tears fall once it's closed.

———

More weeks passed, and you eventually decided that you had to stop wallowing in self-pity and try to move on again. Wesley might have not been the one for you, but surely someone out there is.

You had decided to go out to Rita’s with Mor and eventually found a decently nice male to talk to. You two chatted for a while, and as the end of the night drew closer, you decided to shoot your shot.

“So, I don’t really do this, but do you wanna come home with me?” You ask the male nervously.” The lights of the bar turn on, indicating that it’s closing time.

“Yeah I-“ he pauses, looking you over. His eyes go wide and he backs away. “No. I can’t go home with you. I should’ve never talked to you.” He hurries off quickly, almost seeming frightened.

You turn towards Mor with a confused look, trying to ignore the hurt you feel from the harsh rejection. Did you really look that different with the lights on, you wonder.

The next day, you were in your room telling Feyre about the night before, trying to understand what went wrong.

“I don’t get it, Fey. We were having such a nice conversation. I was sure that he would agree to come home with me. But as soon as the lights came on and he saw me, he ran off. I didn’t think I looked that bad in the light.” You complain, flopping back onto your bed. Feyre choked on her drink for a moment, seeming startled.

“He didn’t…” she mutters to herself, shaking her head.

“What?” You sit up, confused. Feyre gets a far-off expression, likely speaking to Rhys in her mind about something. “What is it Feyre?” You ask curiously. She groans.

“The other day I overheard Az and Rhys talking, and Azriel made a joke about how he could just threaten all the males in Velaris that they can’t go anywhere near you. I assumed he was kidding, but I just asked Rhys about it, and apparently he wasn’t.” Feyre explains awkwardly.

“Are you kidding me?” You yell as you shoot up off the bed and storm out your door, muttering some apology to Feyre about having to leave.

———

You put a city-wide ban on dating me?” You scream angrily as you storm into Azriel’s room, not bothering to knock.

“Yeah, I did.” Azriel smirks at you.

“What the fuck Azriel? You don't have some claim over me! Call it off.” You shout.

“No.” His firm, unyielding voice gives you goosebumps.

“Stop it with the territorial male bullshit. It won’t change anything, so call it off!” You try to keep up the anger in your voice, but as Azriel stalks closer, you lose your boldness.

“I’m not calling it off.” His voice is dangerously low.

“Why not?” You mutter. Azriel leans closer.

“Because eventually you will realize that you still want to be with me, and when you do I don’t want anyone getting in the way of that.” He whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver slightly.

“I told you before. I’m done.” You try to sound confident, but it doesn’t come out quite right.

“Sure you are. Whenever you decide you wanna change that answer, I’ll be here.” He says with a wink. As you leave you feel conflicted. This may be the most territorial male bullshit you have ever witnessed, but you can’t help but smile slightly, realizing that Azriel basically just publicly announced his feelings toward you.

———

You lasted two days without returning to visit Azriel. You had told yourself it was to yell at him some more, but deep down you knew it wasn’t. Azriel opens his door after hearing you knock and looks genuinely surprised to see you.

“You win. You managed to scare off any decent male in Velaris. So congrats, I’m all yours.” You concede reluctantly.

“It was never about winning, sweetheart.” He shuts the door behind you, caging you between him and the door. You look up at him earnestly.

“Then what was it about?” You ask.

“It’s about getting a second chance to prove to you that I was an idiot. It’s about the fact that I will spend every single day for the rest of my existence trying to prove to you that I love you, and praying to the Mother that you decide to let me show you.” He whispers, leaning closer. You look up at him, seeing that hopeful look in his eyes again.

“Just one more chance?” Your voice comes out so soft he almost doesn’t hear you.

“One more chance, I promise that’s all I’ll need. I don’t plan on ever doing anything to mess it up again.” He answers sincerely.

“Okay then.” He doesn’t get a moment to process that you agreed before you pull his face towards yours, closing the gap between your lips. He immediately pulls your body into his and runs his hands through your hair.

“Thank the gods.” He murmurs into the kiss. You pull away for a moment.

“By the way, I love you too, Az.”

yes that last little bit about the dating ban was inspired by the deal by elle kennedy, but i just thought that was so funny and i believe without a doubt that Az could threaten all of Velaris to stay away from you

prompt list

taglist: @fxckmiup

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #my writing

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therainscene · 1 year ago

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I've described myself in the past as "overly-queerbaited" as a way of explaining why it took me so long to come around to Byler endgame as a legitimate possibility... but that's kind of a misleading way of putting it.

Truth is, I've always been too much of a cynical fuck to fall for queerbait... or any other story that promises positive queer rep.

[Sherlock couldn't touch me; I saw this cringe homophobia coming from a mile away. Fans mistaking straight anxiety jokes for meaningful gay subtext was clearly doomed to end in mockery. Nobody deserved to be treated like that... but god, it was easy to predict.]

I think it's a symptom of having grown up under Section 28 -- feeling like I'm being unreasonable for wanting to see queerness normalized is such an ingrained habit that even today I instinctively recoil like a vampire touching sunlight whenever an optimistic queer story falls unrequested into my lap.

But I'm hardly alone in feeling this way -- many queer Millennial and Gen-X fans of Stranger Things are against the idea of Byler because it would ruin the catharsis of watching the gay boy growing up in the same era as we did slowly succumb to the same despair that we did.

[For those who haven't played the VR game: Vecna is speaking in this screenshot.]

There's genuine comfort to be found in painful stories -- this type of catharsis is practically the cornerstone of horror as a genre -- so I can't really fault myself or anyone else for wanting it, despite the obnoxious oversaturation of disappointing queer endings in media.

This is the nostalgia show, after all -- and like it or not, for many middle-aged queers in the target audience, nostalgia is shot through with the pain of homophobia and loneliness.

But do you know who else is a hurt queer(-coded) adult who resents happy endings? This cynical fuck:

Henry personifies despair and loneliness and the dark urge to take our pain out on others -- and when Will is in the picture, I would argue that he also represents internalized homophobia.

Will might represent who we were -- but Henry represents who we've let ourselves turn into.

And I don't think many of us want to admit to that, because that would involve questioning why we have so much in common with the literal villain of the show; why we're still so consumed with self-pity after 20+ years that we're obsessing over the fate of some kid.

I'm not suggesting that wanting a less-than-fairytale ending for a fictional gay boy is equivalent to being a child killer lol. It's perfectly valid to want to see your pain acknowledged, and stories which appeal to that desire deserve to exist.

But between Henry's connection to Will and the cycle of abuse themes of the show, it's clear that this particular story simply isn't about wallowing in the bleakness of growing up gay in the 80s, but about self-actualizing in spite of it all.

So I just can't bring myself to want a "relatable" ending for Will.

As much as I struggle to enjoy positive queer rep, I don't want to be so cynical. I'd thrown up so many walls to protect myself as a teenager that I forgot how desperately I wanted to see just one of those painful queer stories end on the same uplifting note that straight stories were always entitled to: with true love overcoming the odds, saving the day, and living happily ever after.

[But I'm A Cheerleader, a surprisingly fun movie about conversion therapy, is proof that stories like this did exist when I was a teen... but finding them in the pre- and early-internet days amidst so much censorship was a tall order.]

What makes Stranger Things different from most queer stories -- and what allowed it to pierce through my defenses and stab me in the gut -- is that it perfectly mimics those bleak, acceptable-to-the-censors stories from my youth -- only this time, the secret uplifting gay plot twist is real.

Not for the sake of shock value or of grabbing some empty woke points at the last second, but because the plan all along was to slap the audience in the face for believing homophobic lies about the existence of queer happiness.

That's some gourmet catharsis, if you ask me.

Just the possibility that my inner child might finally be vindicated has allowed me to truly let myself want the things I want for the first time in 20 years -- and that's the first step towards finally crawling back out into the sunlight.

Happy Pride Month, everyone. 🌈

#stranger things #byler #will byers #henry creel #my analysis

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maxwell-grant · 9 months ago

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The Penguin: Episode 1 Breakdown

(Episode 2) (Episode 3) (Episode 4) (Episode 5) (Episode 6) (Episode 7) (Episode 8)

Thank you Lauren LeFranc, Mike Marino, Colin Farrell and Matt Reeves, we owe you the world for this, good God. It's finally here everyone and I've decided I'm gonna give each episode it's own post/breakdown of thoughts, because hahaha holy shit you guys this is beyond what I even dreamed of, and we're gonna be covering this for a while I think. I've worked out enough madness about this out of my system by talking with friends and I can't seem to be able to work on anything else till I get this done, so let's do it.

Bottom line: This isn't even just a must-watch if you like the Penguin or if you like The Batman, this is something I'd recommend to just about anyone in a heartbeat, something I can point to when people ask "why do you like The Penguin so much" and, instead of the elaborate nerd ramble that usually turns them off, I can just tell them to watch this. A friend of mine (who already loves Batman and digs the Penguin quite a bit) even told me as much, that he's starting to get why I love the character so much, and truly, is there a better feeling than this? Well, there is, and it's watching the show. Let's dig into this first episode:

Right upfront I'm gonna say that this doesn't really seem to be the Sopranos rip-off that people have been calling it before release, although there are definitely Sopranos comparisons to make here. I've spent the past months finally watching The Sopranos in order to get the comparison and definitely want to talk about those comparisons after I finish it (and this show ends). This thing aims to stand on it's own legs as a crime show and it's smashing out of the gate with an extremely promising first episode.

So this just casually opens with the reveal that all along, there was a second rich Gotham the whole time that was completely unaffected by everything we saw in the movie, already throwing a great twist on the events of that movie, and further reinforcing how fucking full of shit The Riddler was. All we saw Batman and the others deal with in the movie was just affecting the poorer parts of the city. All Eddie did was drown rats, and make life worse for the people already in the bottom, while never even getting close to targeting the systemic rot that ruined his life. He retains ideological worshippers in subways obsessed with the corruption of the city without doing anything to actually improve it, and because of him, the streets of Gotham are waterlogged shitholes while the rich Falcone suburbs are doing just fine, peachy even.

I said a while back that, in spite of having about 6 scenes/10 minutes of Penguin runtime, The Batman managed to squeeze impeccably controlled Penguin Trademark Scenes, and this show opens with the last one they didn't get to then: Penguin killing someone for making fun of him. In the movie, he tries doing that with Falcone and is beaten to the punch, so here he gets to actually do it to disastrous consequences.

Fucking adore that the inciting incident of the show is based on the fallout of Oswald killing someone for making fun of him. He pours his heart about the dream he lives his life for, his new boss makes fun of him for being an embarassment to their profession and then he does the most typical Penguin thing by killing him for it and laughing afterwards. And then he realizes how badly he fucked up, and then we get a fucking perfect titledrop with his musical theme, the exact moment we finish The Batman and enter The Penguin.

God it is so fucking cool how the make-up/lighting, the scar across his face, makes it look like he's got a genuine beak from certain angles, how they're able to achieve that effect without giving him a more literal beak for a nose. Everytime they talk about the character, Reeves and Farrell always emphasize how integral the make-up was to them figuring out what to do with Oz, how little they knew what to make of his six scenes until Marino created their monster and suddenly everything fell into place. Mike Marino fully deserves co-credit for the creation of Oz.

Pretty amusing that Victor, as designed to be Penguin's Robin, has exactly the same origin as Jason Todd, a poor street kid trying to steal the hubcaps off the Penguinmobile (I'm sure this bodes very well for his odds at survival), as is the way in which Oz goes on about his recruitment. He press-gangs this kid at gunpoint to help him bury a body arguing with himself and eventually the kid why shouldn't he just kill him to be safe, while trying to impress the kid with his car and air freshener and later that bullshit about "What, you think I hire any schmuck off the street?". From the tile drop onwards, he's doing everything on the fly while also spinning long-term plans set in motion as soon as he's on screen, he's taking this kid in out of sympathy and because he enjoys a power dynamic over someone weaker than him and because he very much needs someone to help him get stuff done. I'm extremely interested in exploring Penguin having a mentorship dynamic and I'm beyond curious as to what happens with Victor from this point onwards, but that poor kid is in for a terrible fucking time.

Found it very funny how much he half-asses the murder threat to Victor. Like it's his first time actually doing it and he's trying to be serious, but not too scary because he's already seeing himself in the poor kid with a stutter and wants the kid to think he's also a cool guy like he wants everyone to think he's a cool guy. I also think having Victor as the POV helps to sell moments like these, because it's still terrifying to him. Even as we follow their stories, these power players of Gotham are still big scary monsters to people caught in the dregs and Victor helps to reinforce that.

I enjoy Oz being friends with sex workers and drag queens off the street as much as I enjoy Oz being depicted as the kind of guy who deludes himself into thinking the prostitute he's with actually likes him, Lauren and Farrell launched into a bit about in on the podcast and I'm curious to see what's going on with him and Eve here.

Lots of perfect funny little character moments across the whole thing. Oz insulted by the idea of taking extra pickles off a poor kid's dirty mouth, but with zero hesitation whatsoever for picking jewelry off his boss' corpse. Dude is governed by principles even as he actively has to break them to survive.

"Technically it's plum." "He is the - or was the - new kingpin", "He's got nurse-like qualities." The show is not overtly trying to get you to find Penguin likeable as much as it wants you to find him engaging - making you think he's likeable is Colin Farrell's job and he's masterful at it, definitely a lot more matured within the character compared to the movie.

If there's anything in particular I'm thankful for regarding Gotham (well okay Gotham led directly to Telltale Penguin which was the basis for this one, so really I do have a lot more to be thankful with Gotham), it's the decision to give him a legit waddle via the broken foot, but the way they incorporate it here with the club foot does so much for him, so much as a modern day reinvention of The Penguin. Adds so much to why he's never been a serious candidate for mob leadership, why he kinda had to spend all his time in the Lounge, why he actually needs someone to help him run affairs, why he has such a gaping ego wound and is so murderously angry at people making fun of him / calling him a goddamn penguin, adds so much validation and so much darkness and nuance to Oswald's overwhelming anger and bitterness over how the world treats him (and so much power should he opt to reclaim it, in turn). It's the kind of thing that frankly feels like it should have always been part of the character, like what all the previous versions were itching closer to or trying to get at. Of course this is a guy gets called a penguin and he hates it badly enough to murder people over it, of course.

This gets to really highlight how differently Oz acts depending on who he's with. Traditionally, one of my favorite things about The Penguin, and one of the things that puts him above the other villains, is that, due to his position, he has to interact with a lot more people than the other Bat-villains. He has to manage a lot more relationships and dynamics, he has to play peacekeeper and puppetmaster. he's the only one in the United Underworld who's regularly interacting with and recruiting other villains to do business with. He's the guy who you pin stuff on like the Gangland Guardians, Team Penguin, doing betting pools with the Rogues taking cover in his Lounge while Joker War is happening, having to rig games to keep good standing with Maxie Zeus and Frenchy Blake in Batman Audio Adventures, and so on. So I greatly enjoy this beat here of him talking about how makes himself smaller before the Falcones, and that moment of him adjusting his outfit and practicing expressions in the mirror before meeting with them. How he contorts himself is present in all of his relationships, and retroactively adds to the way he carries himself in The Batman.

It seems that Oz is functionally regarded as the Paulie Walnuts of the Falcones: useful muscle, loyal for the most part and amusing to keep around, but largely an unstable self-serving dumb asskisser kept where he belongs, a liability if not kept on a short leash. I think the show does a good job of highlighting all the reasons why Oz has never been seriously regarded as a viable option for a boss, even putting aside his disability. He is a fundamentally embarassing person for these serious respectable criminals to be around and of course, the joke is ultimately on them..

Of course, there is only two people in the show who actually know what he's capable of, Francis Cobb and Sofia Falcone, said to be the central relationships defining the show moving forward. Both of them also a defining commonality with Oswald, being people who are looked down on and dehumanized, and characters who are underestimated until it's time to bear their fangs.

Extremely invested in where they're going with Sofia Falcone, Cristine Milioti's been killing it, and will in fact not stop killing it. What a perfect villain for Penguin they've set up with her, someone who has his Kryptonite: she does not underestimate him. Although we know in advance that Oz is going to live and be in the next movie, the question here isn't even so much who's going to win the gang war, and rather how much damage these two freaks will do to the city until Batman gets back. In many ways, Sofia represents the shape of things to come just as much as he does.

She is this embodiment of both the pristine unfathomable wealth and privilege and power that he both detests and strives for, as well as this brutal new breed of madness and violence attacking the streets that he has to survive against and make deals with (and is himself very much a part of, however he denies it). She is Falcone's legacy in every way that matters, both a Kingpin of Gotham whose existence creates the oppressive conditions under which a Batman or a Riddler are created, as well as the Arkham Rogue, the larger-than-life sadist with a tragic origin and a signature torture-murder method and an embarassing name for the papers.

Even the fact that she is The Hangman, and Carmine was defined around his penchant for brutally strangling women - regardless of whether or not she did the crimes that got her in Arkham, she's become this larger-than-life themed expression of a violent obsession in a way that sets her up as every bit the Batman villain that The Penguin is. The two champions of the two Gothams, duking it out in this new world The Batman and The Riddler made, The Penguin vs The Hangman.

I am so glad Lauren LeFranc made the call for binning Alberto in the first five minutes so the rest of the show can focus on Sofia and make a real character out of her in a way nobody's ever really done before, every step of the way so far LeFranc has been perfectly on the ball about where to take these characters and their conflict. And speaking of those,

I feel very confident in saying that this is the first time anyone's ever really had something worth doing with Oswald's mother as a character in her own right and not just a source of anguish for Penguin (Gotham was almost onto something with Gertrude, but not nearly enough). When it comes to Penguin origin stories, my favorite's always been the Pre-Crisis one, where he's poor and bullied but happy with his mom and birds until she dies and the government seizes everything he has, which doesn't necessarily involve her much. But here? Francine Cobb is a real character in what little time we get to know her, and what a character she is. We quickly understand the role she's playing in Oz's life, not just as his mom and person he loves and strives to protect, but the person who's sculpting him into the man he's going to become.

She is vulnerable and she does need meds and she's not quite all there, and Penguin's need to care for her is visible in other actions of his. But then they turn it around by showing how strong and demanding she is, how she is fiercely ambitious and pushing him to be something he would otherwise not be, how much she loves him and sees greatness in him. She knows he's a people pleaser, she knows how to push his buttons, and she wants him to be more, so of course he's going to be more, because he lives to please his mom.

Related to this is this absolute bullseye of a summation of The Penguin, that Lauren LeFranc delivered in the podcast: "Perhaps his greatest fear is that love is transactional. And that yet, everything he does, every decision he makes, is as if that's true. As if "love is transactional" is a truth he abides by". Oswald's conception of power is being loved and revered like Rex Calabrese, and the love he wants most in all the world is the one from his mother. So in turn this, and all extensions of it, drive him to greater and darker lengths.

He doesn't have that ambition quite down yet, it's his mom that does. She who's pushing him to take over the city and not just be a guy scraping by for survival. He's smart and ambitious and extremely good at slipping out of trouble, but she's pushing him to be the guy who will be taking the city by the horns because that's what he has to be for their sake. Her legacy to her son is nurturing him having that dog in him that will make him the supervillain who picks fights with Vengeance. She is the force that's turning Oswald into The Goddamn Penguin and I can't wait to see how she's developed.

Of course he reprimands Victor in that scene for lacking ambition, who do you think he gets it from?

Really love what they've done with Sal Maroni in here so far. I like adaptations that take these throwaway Batman backstory gangsters and make something out of them, in this case, with Clancy Brown lending his power and voice and reputation as The Grand Boss of Villainy to play the last Respectable Gangster of Gotham, this intimidating principled old tiger who's inversely proportional to how much of a petty and scummy piece of shit Carmine Falcone was. Extremely a guy I'd want to see playing a hand in the creation of Two-Face. Just as crucial is the fact that he is the one who gets the most effortlessly outplayed by Oz here, because this is The Penguin Show: no room for traditional or respectable gangsters anymore, their purpose is to be crapped all over by our wacko birdman.

There's a lot about this that re-contextualizes his behavior in The Batman and the one I'm gonna point out is: even though he can't be sure his plan didn't completely go to shit, he is still keeping his wits and not being terribly scared about being beaten up and tortured and staring down the scariest Falcone with a gun shoved in his throat. But he craps his pants at the sight of the Batmobile. He gets pain, he gets indignity, but he doesn't get Vengeance, what kind of sick freak would come up with the stuff that guy does. A gun in his mouth and Falcone torture is just Tuesday, but a car that wants to eat his soul is some psycho shit he's just not ready to deal with.

It is the delicious tasty fucking irony that Oswald thinks Vengeance is this weird freak who doesn't play or bend to any rules and is here to fuck up everything, just like the madman who flooded the city, and thinks of himself in turn as a justifiable guy standing for the respectable old-fashioned empathetic way of doing things, instead of the exact same thing that Riddler and Batman are. Only Sofia gets what he really is, the same thing as her, and that's why she is the arch-enemy / the biggest thing he's gotta defeat in life for now.

God, how fucking PERFECT it is that he gets caught and tortured because he, after stabbing out a man's eye and causing him to get run over by a schoolbus, stops to wave at the kids in that schoolbus while covered in blood. Just the Rex Calabrese of it all, the self-image, this guy who's both a mean nasty son of a bitch and also a real bleeding heart softie and in ways that ruin his life and allow him to slip and wriggle his way out of shit he has no right to, as demonstrated by the finale.

Thinking about Sofia chastizing Oz saying he thinks she is a toy to play with, while rattling off the ways in which she owns him and everything he has, all the ridiculous little accessories her daddy let him play him, and he in turn is a ridiculous little accessory for the family she is twisting until it breaks. Perfect fucking villain for him. Can't wait to see how badly these two are gonna burn Gotham.

I knew deep in my heart that all I wanted out of a Penguin show, the thing that I simply needed to have in it, was Penguin pulling a heist set-up in advance, and it fucking delivered. He doesn't even complain at Victor for being late, because if anything, getting captured and tortured while the car crashed was even better for him. No, he complains at Victor for not being sufficiently gruesome with the body. See, unlike other cowardly anti-hero reinventions of Bat-villains, the show never wants you to forget that Oz is a weird freak and a disgusting piece of shit, even if he is a very likeable and even aspirational one. Only by the most random stroke of fate it wasn't Victor that he fed to the wolves at that moment, that he sees himself in the kid isn't exactly ensuring that he's gonna make out of this in one piece.

Mr. Vengeance gets Nirvana, and Mr. Boniface gets Dolly Parton, perfect credits.

In conclusion: Out of everything they could have done following the thunderous success of The Batman and it's ensuing influence over the DCU, out of all the offers Reeves must have gotten to helm their new universe after delivering a megahit reinvention of their breadwinner blockbuster character, Matt Reeves went "Nah, I listened to my crew, and what we really want to do is 8 hours of television about the waddling freak who's in my movie for 10 minutes", and he and his crew deserve the world for that. I dreamed as a kid of getting to make a big Penguin story or show, a wild impossible idea that would never actually happen, and now it's here and it's better than anything I'd ever imagined.

I'm fit to burst with joy and riding a high of no longer having to hunt for scraps and washing away decades of put-downs for the character and enjoying a Penguin renaissance like one I never imagined happening. I am extremely not an unbiased reviewer here, this show rules and I've waited for it since I was a kid and it's here, drink it the fuck in cause it's only the beginning.

#dc comics #dc #the penguin #penguin #oswald cobblepot #oswald cobb #hbo #max #the penguin hbo #matt reeves #lauren lefranc #mike marino #colin farrell

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writeroutoftime · 11 months ago

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Rita!! Congrats on 3k/yay for 5 years!! I wish you many more in both respects!!! 🥳

I just had to come in and join the fun!!

Would you be willing to write something for Tommy Shelby using the prompt "it's okay, I couldn't sleep anyway" ??

Thanks so much if you do!! 🧡

a/n: K, thank you for this request - sorry it took a couple days to get this for you! it's been a hot second since I've written for tommy - I forgot how much I love this man!

oOoOo

The bed felt cold and empty as you tossed and turned for the nth time that evening. An hour now and slept still evaded you. Curled up on your side, you looked at Tommy's empty spot and sighed. Yet again, another late night for your husband.

There had been many nights apart from Tommy as he expanded the business. An expansion which included your move into the newly renovated Arrow House. A move which still left you unsettled each and every day. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine a house with so many extra rooms.

"Fuck!" a sharp voice rang out following a loud thud, effectively pulling you from your thoughts.

Speak of the devil. Suddenly determined, you threw the covers back and let your feet hit the cold, hard floor. Before you made your way down the winding halls, you grabbed your dressing gown and wrapped it around your shivering figure.

The stairs didn't creak as you crept down them - the silence was unnerving. So much of this house was unnerving compared to the coziness that existed at Watery Lane. And you could never find the warmth you so desperately craved. While Watery Lane might have been drafty and leaky, it still exuded a warmth you'd yet to find in your new house.

Somehow, in the midst of all your pondering, you finally found yourself in front of Tommy's study. You carefully pushed open the door and leant against the frame. Inside, your husband sat behind his desk, looking rather angrily at a pile of paperwork. A stack of innocent books laid on the ground beside him.

A small cough caught his attention, his blue eyes softening ever so slightly as he took in your presence. "Sorry, love. Did I wake ya?"

"It's okay, I couldn't sleep anyway." you shrugged.

Tommy pushed the paperwork away and held out his arm in your direction. As if your feet had a mind of their own, you were by his side, squeezing his rough hand in yours before you knew it. A second later and you laughed in spite of yourself. Tommy had pulled you into his lap and tightly wrapped his arms around you, like he had so many evenings when you first were dating.

In that moment, it felt like coming home after years away. His familiar scent flooded your senses, causing your body to melt even further into his. This. This is what you had missed. Quiet moments with your husband, when nothing else in the world existed.

"I miss you, Tommy."

"I'm right here, love."

"But you're not. This house makes it feel like we're miles apart from each other." you countered, pulling back ever so slightly to really look Tommy in the face. "Not that I'm not proud of you, but it's just been really lonely."

Tommy sighed, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of your eye before his head fell to rest against your chest. "I know, I know." his voice barely a whisper. "I promise you, this is all gonna change - you'll see."

Running your hand through his hair, you hummed softly. Maybe his words would be true, maybe they wouldn't be. All you knew was that for this moment, Tommy was in your arms. And that was enough to lull you to sleep.

#rita's 3k/5 year celebration #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #rita writes

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windienine · 1 year ago

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the best game of 2024 was an hour-long visual novel demo, and i can't tell you how it ends

attack and dethrone god.

okay. oh my god. soul of sovereignty by ggdg (of lady of the shard & deltarune fame) is discounted for only a few more days, so i need to get this one out while the iron's hot.

so: i'm inviting you along on another journey. we're following a polite gentleman of the wizardly inclination (loïc) who is approached by a sickly woman in dire need (ysmé). all she requests, in her plea, is an escort to guide her to the nearby temple. his decision to support her may turn out to be the most important choice he ever makes.

... have you ever enjoyed the kind of narrative that traps two people with heavily contrasting motives and personalities together in an unbreakable contract? do you like stories of absolute devotion?

i could look at this shot forever ngl

... are you compelled by immersive speculative fantasy worlds where the use and study of magic heavily influences the rhythm of people's day-to-day lives?

(really intriguing magical linguistics system going on here)

... do you ever promise too much of yourself to others, sometimes, even when it's a bad idea?

... if it was possible -- if you could -- would you abandon your humanity for the power to change your world forever?

and, whatever you may feel in your heart about the above...

do you want to see behind the eyes of a hot trans girl as she bullshits her way into a truly volatile level of power and influence and gets everything she wants?

(+ her pet dilf lovely assistant)

if even one of these elicited a "yes," i think you'll love this story.

i'll go out of a limb:

i think, if you open up your heart, you'll find yourself falling for both of the leads. It's a game that really wants you to look at it from every angle, take it apart, and ask questions about loïc, ysmé, their stories, and what they believe to be true about the world and one another. subtext -- especially the charged subtext this story throws at you and hopes you'll piece together -- is a beautiful thing.

the number of talksprites in this demo is kind of staggering

the jrpg-inspired world of the mosaic and its surroundings is as vibrant as it is profoundly lonely, color folded into every facet of its character as you move through it. appropriately, it's really invested in a lot of questions that arise not just from high fantasy as a genre, but from the modern fantasy sensibilities of jrpgs and the interrogation of what divinity even means in a world where the gods are forces you can interact with and draw power from, however indirectly.

what can i even say? that gg and toby fox's collab score for the prelude is downright heavenly and made it onto my work playlist right alongside the deltarune ost the day it came out on bandcamp? that gg's art, especially their use of light, conveys every scene with vivid beauty?

i wouldn't be posting so much of it if i didn't want to eat every CG. oh my god. he's so pretty. it's not even fair

beyond all of that, i think the game's main resonance point with people is that gg's writing is genuinely thoughtful. they use art detail and deft character writing to convey everything about the leads, using the limited time you get with it to paint layers and layers of information on who these people are and why they make the decisions they do. soulsov's roughly an-hour-and-change of text, expressive talksprites, and lush CGs is infused with so much heart and so much horror and so much intrigue that it leaves you feeling like you're a part of this world, carried along for the ride right alongside the two leads. gg clearly really adores these two, and that level of passion makes everything loïc and ysmé do shine even brighter. in spite of (or perhaps because of) all their friction and flaws, they're easy to love.

(it's really fun to read aloud as a script, too! ysmé's a hoot.)

i hope you experience it with high expectations and an open heart. i don't think it will disappoint. it is, perhaps, just a little bit magical.

i hope you see it through to the end!

#soulsov #soul of sovereignty #indie games #deltarune #long post #i'm not saying everything i want to say here but #i need you to discover the rest and leave a nice review #ok??#i love it

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anonymityisfunwriter · 11 months ago

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There Is No Coming Back From This - Chapter 3

Characters: Stark!Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes Summary: "It's her time, Tony. And I hate that as much as you do, but there's some things you can't fix. There is no coming back from this."

Bucky can't help but be really glad Steve refused to tell him anything about why he was going back to see Tony Stark and his kid.

Not that he really wanted to hear about anything about the Stark family anyway.

He didn't have to watch the news for more than a minute to realize the breaking news was everywhere.

Tony Stark's daughter, a wanted fugitive, considered armed and dangerous, dosed with an untested serum of some kind, mysteriously disappeared from SWORD custody last night.

And no matter how hard he tries not to, Bucky can't help but judge Tony for the actions that brought all this about. All he can think, who would willing test some serum on their own child? No one except Tony Stark.

And now he's implicated everyone around them. Including Steve. Who shouldn't have gone back in the first place.

And now, all Bucky can do is hope that Steve made it out of there without getting caught up in another one of Tony Stark's messes.

An urgent knock cuts through his watching session. He grumbles under his breath and flicks off the TV, listening for any signs of an unfriendly visitor. He quietly walks to the door, careful not to make a single sound.

"Buck, it's me." Steve taps at the door in the intricate knocking patter only they knew.

"Thank God, Steve." Bucky sighs in relief as he reaches the door. He swings the door open. "Honestly, I was worried you got mixed up with all that Stark nonsense. I mean, seriously, what is wrong with him? Testing a serum-"

"Bucky," Steve stops him, stepping a foot over the threshold. Bucky's smile drops as he finally notices the other person standing behind Steve. "I need your help."

Bucky shakes his head over and over and over. "Steve, tell me that is not who I think that is."

"Bucky, just hear me out."

"Steve, please, tell me that is not who I think it is!" Bucky begs, his eyes comically wide. He's not angry. In fact, he finds himself mostly concerned for Steve, who clearly seems to have lost his mind.

"Please, we - I need your help. It's just for a little while."

"No!' Bucky hisses. "She can't stay here! Are you crazy?"

"Come on," Steve begs. "She's just a kid."

"She's a Stark! A Stark! She'll probably try to kill me in my sleep!"

"She can hear you," you sarcastically mutter, a little louder than intended. Both Steve and Bucky's eyes dart over to you, you immediately look away and feign innocence.

"She's not going to kill you in your sleep," Steve promises. "She just got put in the middle of one of her father's messes. Something you, of all people, should be sympathetic to."

"I should be sympathetic? You want me to help the man that's very literally the reason we're both fugitives," Bucky scoffs. "No, this isn't my problem. I don't care."

"I'm not asking you to help him, I'm asking you to help me. I promised I'd keep her safe."

Bucky's hands fly up in frustration, "Well, why the hell would you promise that?"

"She's a good kid," Steve emphasizes, taking another step towards Bucky, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's just for a little while. Please?"

"Fine," Bucky acquiesces with a groan. He lets go of the door, allowing you both to enter. "Don't make me regret this, Steve." As you walk past the threshold, you can feel the ire radiating off of him, he sneers down at you, "Hope you're okay with sleeping on the floor, Princess."

"Well... this is gonna be fun," you sarcastically remark.

"It won't be boring." Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should get some rest. It's been a long night."

"It's 6 at night."

"And you've been on the run since 4 in the morning. Trust me, the adrenaline runs out."

And in spite of Bucky's promise, you didn't actually sleep on the floor. You take the small couch in the living room, curled up in the thin throw blanket with Steve rummaging through his bag.

As it turns out, he was right about the adrenaline crash. The second you feel even remotely comfortable, you drift off into a restless sleep. As he sorts through his bag and plans out your next move, his eyes flicker back and forth to your sleeping figure. There was no hiding his concern. It was a lot to process, and he dreaded the moment the events of the last week hit you. In one week, you were dosed with a serum. Woke up from the brink of death with unfamiliar strength. You'd been forced out of your home and become a fugitive.

It's no surprise to him that you toss and turn all night. Even bogged down by exhaustion, there's a part of him that wants to keep a close eye on you. He eventually dozes off, sleeping until the early morning light of the next morning.

You're also woken up by the morning light streaming through the blinds of Bucky's hideout. You jolt up with a gasp at the unfamiliar scene.

"Easy, kid," Steve mutters. "We're at Bucky's, remember?"

You shake your head, trying to clear the mental fog, "Right. Bucky. On the run."

"You alright?" Steve hedges.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You rub your bleary eyes. You don't actually feel that rested. Still, you feel better than you did just last week.

"Here," Steve offers, handing you a mug as you join him in the kitchenette. "Drink something."

"Thanks." You absentmindedly reach out and grab the mug. The second your hand closes around the mug, your grip shatters the mug. And as your luck would have it, it's at that moment that Bucky enters the room.

He grimaces at you, then at shattered ceramic at your feet. "You broke my favorite mug."

"I-" you stammer in shock.

"That was your only mug, Bucky," Steve reminds him.

"This is exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about," Bucky glowers. "She can't be here. We'll all get caught."

Steve's eyes flicker between you and Bucky. Even as you try to pull on a brave face, you look scared out of your mind. Steve turns to you with an apologetic look, "Why don't you go get cleaned up?"

You nod, walking out of the room with another word. With the utmost concentration, you lightly touch the doorknob. You sigh in relief that you don't accidentally break it. You lightly grasp the doorknob, and without incident, you make it into the bathroom. You mostly take a moment to compose yourself. You take a mental inventory of yourself. Your face. Your eyes. Your cheekbones. You looked so much healthier than a week ago. A lot less... close to death. Healthy even. Healthy and a fugitive. Healthy and in exile. Healthy and unwanted.

You shake away all those thoughts and force them back down.

But you can't help but hear the loud argument happening right outside the paper thin walls.

"This is what I'm talking about, Steve. That girl is a high profile, ticking time bomb. It doesn't matter what you do or where you take her, she's gonna stick out like a sore thumb."

"No, she's not," Steve insists. "Tony put a lot of time and effort into keeping her out of the public eye. And we'll get the breaking things under control. This is all so new, but Tony was working with her to get it under control."

"You seem to be putting a lot of stock into what Tony Stark did or didn't do."

"He messed up," Steve agrees. "I know that he messed up, but that's not the point. The kid is innocent in all of this. She was just ripped from everything that she's ever known because of her father's mistakes. Cut her a little slack."

"Slack?" Bucky incredulously repeats. "There is no slack out here! You were almost caught. I've almost been caught before. It's too much, Steve... Look, I'm not telling you to turn her in. All I'm saying is that maybe this isn't your problem."

"I made a promise."

"Forget about your promise!" Bucky protests. "Worry about yourself for once."

"I can't do that," Steve refuses with a firm shake of his head. "I won't turn my back on her again."

"Why? Why the hell not?"

"Because I can't!" Steve shouts. "I just can't. I've known that kid her entire life. I care about her. She's scared and she needs our help right now. She didn't have any say in anything that happened to her, but she's doing her best. She just needs a little help. Help we can give her."

Bucky groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You're killing me, Steve."

"She's a good kid. She's smart. A hell of a lot smarter than you or I were at 17. Just give her a chance, I promise she can hold her own."

"You're responsible for whatever happens," Bucky warns. "You hear me? Figure out how you're gonna make her blend in. And get the breaking things under control."

"I'll take care of it. Don't worry."

Bucky dubiously scoffs, snatching up his jacket and turning to walk out the door, "Sure, you will."

With the front door slammed shut, you figure it's probably safe to come out of hiding. You creak the door open, poking your head out into the hall.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"Sorry." You walk back to the couch, taking a seat. "I tried not to, but the walls are paper thing. And you know, the weird serum flowing through my veins."

"Are you okay?"

You shrug, not quite sure how to answer his question. Physically, you were fine. Mentally and emotionally, you couldn't deny you were in a bit of weird spot, but who wouldn't be? "Serum flowing through my veins. On the lam. Pretty good considering."

Steve hangs his head apologetically, "I tried to tell him, but Tony would hear it."

"What?" you sarcastically gasp. "My father was being stubborn? I can't believe it."

"He wasn't ready to say goodbye. None of us were."

"I know." The smile on your face drops. You shake your head, thankful for the innate Stark ability to compartmentalize any negative emotion. You couldn't decide how you felt about what your father had done to you. He saved your life while also damning it all in one go. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done. We just roll with the punches."

Steve nods, watching you to gauge your feelings on the situation, "Right."

You hug your knees to your chest, "Bucky really doesn't want me here, does he?"

"He's a little rough around the edges, but he only acts like that when he's worried."

"About me. That I'll get you caught."

"Which you won't. We just have to be careful, maybe take a few more precautions. That's all."

"I have a feeling I'm not gonna like this, but I'll do anything if it keeps us safe."

"Well, right about now, they're probably plastering our faces all over the news. You might want to change up," He gestures to you. "You know, your look, as the kids call it."

You halfheartedly laugh, rolling your eyes, "That's not what the kids call it, Steve."

"You know what I mean," he snorts. "The harder you are to identify, the easier it is to lay low. I grew a beard. Natasha went blonde. That kind of thing."

"Anything else?"

"We're gonna have to move soon. The longer we stay in one place, the more likely it is that someone will spot us."

It's only a few hours later when you find yourself standing in the bathroom staring at the mirror before you, clutching a pair of scissors. You take a deep breath, desperately trying to find the nerve to do it.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"I really don't care."

"It seems like you do. And that's okay, kid. Maybe you could dye it or something."

"It just grew back. This is the longest it's ever been since I was kid and I lost it all," you whisper.

"Kid..." Steve begins to apologize.

You shake your head again, forcing yourself to make the first cut. The scissors open and close with a resounding snip, taking off more than half of your hair in one go. Steve sucks in a sharp breath as your hair falls to the ground. "It's fine, Steve. I just didn't think I'd be cutting it again, but I also thought I'd be six feet under by now."

"That's not funny."

"Sure it is." You take the scissors and cut off another large chunk. "2 super soldiers and a Stark. All on the run together. It sounds like the start of a really, really bad joke."

He doesn't have any idea what to say as you continue hacking at your hair. He's not even sure if you want to be consoled, so he decides to give you a moment to gather yourself. "I'l give you a minute."

"Okay."

You pretend like every snip of the scissors doesn't bother you at all as you cut chunk after chunk of hair until you're sure it's mostly even. You look down at the bathroom floor to the clumps of hair on the floor. It takes you back to the time Pepper shaved your hair during your first rounds of chemo all those years ago.

You throw all the hair away and leave the bathroom. The moment you enter the room, you hear Bucky's snarky remark waiting for you, "Guess the Princess finally finished."

"Leave her alone, Bucky," Steve scolds. "She's had it hard."

Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, okay, 'hard'. What choosing between the steak or the lobster?"

You jokingly twist your mouth, "Actually, I'm allergic to shellfish."

"Not helping," Steve hisses.

You shrug, turning your attention to the sound of your father's familiar voice coming from the TV. You pad over to the living room, watching as he gives a press conference.

Bucky scoffs, "He's giving press conferences when his daughter allegedly disappeared into thin air."

"He's playing his part, Bucky. Ease up."

You pay no mind to Bucky or his insults about your father. Tony points to a reporter in the first row. "You. Go."

"Is it true you experimented on your daughter with a serum of some sort?"

Tony grimaces, rolling his eyes, "Next question."

"How did your daughter escape custody?"

"I think the better question is how they had her in custody and lost her," he expertly retorts.

"Does it concern you that your daughter is now a fugitive?"

"It concerns me that my daughter is missing and no one seems to be doing anything about it."

"Reports say that Captain Steve Rogers was at the Avengers Compound when your daughter disappeared."

"I think you missed the part where you're supposed to ask a question," Tony remarks.

"What's your daughter's relationship to Captain Rogers?"

Tony shakes his head in disbelief, his face contorting with disgust, "I'm sorry, what exactly are you implying?"

"Did your daughter run away with Captain Rogers because she was in a romantic relationship with him?" the reporter plainly asks.

"Ew..." you cringe dramatically, your face contorting with repulsion. "No offense, Steve, but you're old enough to be my grandfather."

Steve's head vehemently shakes, pinching the bridge of his nose so tightly that you worry he might break it. "Considering I actually was friends with your grandfather, none taken."

All the while, Bucky is maniacally laughing harder than you've ever seen. It isn't until Steve slaps Bucky upside the head that he finally stops laughing while you turn your head back to the screen just in time to see your father speak with a resounding firmness. "I'm only going to say this one. My 17 year old daughter did not run away. While in the custody of the U.S. Government, she disappeared. I don't know where she is, and I want nothing more than for her to be found safe and sound."

"So you don't think it's too coincidental that they both disappeared last night? What was a known fugitive even doing at the Avengers Compound?"

Tony holds a hand up, halting all further questions. "All I will say is that I have the utmost faith in Steve Rogers. I won't be taking anymore questions today."

The moment those words leave Tony's mouth, the screen goes dark. You turn around to see Steve with the remote in hand and a apologetic expression, "Sorry, kid, I just - I don't think you should be watching that. It's gonna get ugly."

You think about every person in your life. Your old life. Every person that will be raked over the coals because they were trying to save your life. Tony. Pepper. Peter. Bruce. Everyone. "You're right, it's going to get ugly."

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist 'There Is No Coming Back From This' Chapter List

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