#a kid forced to grab their own life in their hands and be accountable to it. zayvia survives because they say so

[isaacathom]

cause like, Zayvia's entire thing is that they are constantly, and largely consistently, choosing kindness. they choose to do nice things for other people. it is not an effortless process. their instinct is always to the self, always to look after themself alone. they choose to extend it outwards, against their 'nature', because no matter what they know that its good.

and because they regularly make these deliberate choices, where their hesitation and pause is easily read as shyness, it would be a real fuckin curveball for them to be possessed or otherwise manipulated and controlled into ignoring that drive to be better. to shut off the part of them that says that the self is good, but its nothing alone. to shut that off and be an absolute piece of work.

[hbdttg]

“Hold the elevator!”

The elevator doors are mere inches from closing, but Steve dutifully shoots a hand out to stop them. They slide back open, revealing a flustered-looking man about Steve’s age on the other side.

He’s dressed head to toe in black, decked out in a simple black pullover with a modest V-neck, snug black jeans, and all-black leather Chucks with a messenger bag slung across his chest. The messenger bag is, unsurprisingly, also black, but covered in a collection of tough-looking patches and pins in varying shades of—well, it’s mostly red, dark red, white, and some yellows, but the pops of color still stand out against his otherwise monochrome ensemble.

His dark, curly hair reaches a little past his shoulders and he’s got this frankly outdated fringe that, despite its very 80’s vibe, frames his face perfectly. His eyes are large and expressive, and he’s got this frantic energy about him that reminds Steve of a live wire. He’s nothing like the buttoned-up suits Steve usually shares his elevator rides with each morning, and it’s a refreshing change of pace.

The man gives Steve a thankful look before stepping into the elevator and leaning against the side wall. “Thanks,” he says, a little distractedly. He’s got a pair big of headphones on and Steve realizes he’s in the middle of a phone call when he adds, “No, not you, Gare, I was thanking the guy who held the elevator for me. Yeah, this building’s crazy. There’s a whole-ass sixtieth floor—guess I’m kind of a big deal now.” He lets out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, reaching for the panel beside him.

As the doors close and the elevator starts to slowly ascend, Steve notices the man pressed the button for the floor above his. Both the fifty-second and fifty-third floor buttons are lit in a halo of green.

“You know I didn’t want to leave you guys,” the man continues, a bit more quietly now that he and Steve are sharing the same small space, “but shit, I couldn’t turn down the pay.” He scoffs. “Ugh, listen to me, just another cog in the capitalist machine. Man, if high school me could see me now. High school Eddie used to talk big about forced conformity and rising up against the man, and now here I am—”

Steve tries not to listen to the one-sided conversation going on beside him, but it’s difficult when a moment later, he hears his own name.

“—clocking in for my first day at fuckin’ Harrington Hargrove Hagan. The pretentious bastards can’t even shorten it to an acronym or something. God forbid they have to miss out on the sound of their own names.”

Steve manages to hold in the obnoxious snort that threatens to escape him. He’s starting to think he might like this guy—Eddie, his mind supplies helpfully—but Eddie’s next words have him freezing in place.

“And it’s nepo baby central. Yeah, pretty sure all the H kiddies are hotshot brokers with the company. All the biggest accounts—gee, I wonder why.”

Steve can feel the back of his neck burning hot with a mixture of annoyance and shame as Eddie cracks a caustic joke about silver spoons and trust funds.

“You’re kidding, one of them works at this branch? Damn, I guess I’ll just keep an eye out for the guy who most looks like he’s got a giant stick up his ass.”

This is quickly becoming the longest elevator ride of Steve’s life. He grits his teeth and stares fixedly at the floor display panel above the elevator doors, watching the numbers climb higher and higher. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.

“Listen, I should go, but let’s grab a drink at the Hideout later. Cool, see you then. Bye.”

Forty-one. Forty-two.

Eddie removes his headphones and shoves them into his bag, angling slightly toward Steve. “Sorry about that, man.”

“You’re good,” Steve says shortly, not looking away from the changing numbers. They reach the forty-seventh floor, and all the while, he feels Eddie’s gaze on him.

It’s not like he’s openly staring, but there’s a certain weight to his furtive glances that completely counteracts his attempts at subtlety. It’s the type of gaze Steve’s familiar with, one that he’s been on the receiving end of since his sophomore year of high school when he hit a growth spurt and actually learned how to style his hair. Assessing. Appreciative. Interested.

And in any other situation, Steve would gladly engage. He’d turn on the charm, quirk the corner of his lip up in that way Robin always rolls her eyes at but reluctantly acknowledges as ‘passably effective’, and maybe even make up an excuse to sidle a bit closer.

But he’s not giving this guy his A-game.

Instead, Steve waits in stifling silence until the fifty-second floor is announced and the doors slide open. He steps forward to exit, but at the very last moment stops in the doorway.

He initially wasn’t going to say anything—though, a past version of himself would have definitely spat something biting and bitchy to Eddie about his snark, would have snootily told him to take his little assumptions and shove them where the sun don’t shine—but sooner or later Eddie’s going to realize he and Steve are colleagues, and he’s going to remember shit-talking him in an elevator on his first day of work, and it’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable.

Steve’s just speeding up the timeline, pushing for the sooner rather than the later, when he decides to spin around and fully face Eddie.

“I think you pressed the wrong button,” he says, all sweet and helpful like he’s talking to Dustin’s mom over a sink full of soapy dishes. “Couldn’t help but overhear that you work at Harrington Hargrove Hagan. It’s on the fifty-second floor, not the fifty-third.” Then he takes a small step backward, moving out into the carpeted hallway.

“Oh.” Eddie scrambles for his phone, unlocking it and scrolling quickly until he finds something that has him straightening up and smiling gratefully at Steve. “I guess I remembered it wrong. Thank you.” He pushes away from the wall, takes a step forward to follow Steve out, but then stops dead in his tracks.

Steve gleefully notes the line of Eddie’s gaze, how it lingers at the breast pocket of his shirt, where, clipped to a retractable badge reel, his building keycard hangs. Eddie evidently hadn’t noticed it during the elevator ride up, but he’s certainly fixated on it now.

Perhaps on the abstract yet easily recognizable Harrington Hargrove Hagan logo in the top right corner.

But more likely, based on the positively mortified look growing on Eddie’s face, on the name clearly printed underneath Steve’s photo in bold, black lettering: STEVE HARRINGTON.

Slowly, Eddie drags his eyes back up to Steve’s face. He stares in silence, eyes bugging nearly out of his head, face turning a concerning shade of pink, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and his reaction is extreme enough that a small part of Steve is almost inclined to take pity on the guy and laugh it all off.

Unfortunately for Eddie, a bigger part of Steve thinks Eddie looks kind of cute all red-faced and embarrassed like this. So he glances down at himself thoughtfully before turning his attention back on Eddie. “Wow,” he says with exaggerated astonishment, “now that you mention it, I guess I do look like I’ve got a giant stick up my ass.”

As if on cue, the elevator chimes in warning. The doors begin to close, but Eddie just remains rooted in place with that same wide-eyed, horrified expression.

When it becomes clear he has no intentions of actually exiting the elevator, Steve chuckles and wiggles his fingers in a cheeky little wave. “Welcome to the team,” he says airily, before Eddie’s still-blushing face disappears behind the elevator doors.

/ Now with a Part 2!

[satuguro]

*ೃ࿐TO FAULT A NET

[ ACT I: KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE ]

spiderman! ethan landry x black cat! reader

#SYNOPSIS— you stumble across a murder, ethan has daddy issues, you think spider-man's an easy fight, and spider-man makes a deal with you.

#CONTAINS— enemies to lovers, slowburn, antihero&vigilante reader, familial issues, gore, blood, murder, death, sexual/suggestive content (in this part & some other parts), reader is overly flirtatious

#AUTHORSNOTE— is anyone really surprised that i started a new series? no, but i will warn you rn that this series won't be incredibly accurate to marvel and scream (obviously), so if that bothers you, don't read!

your feet moved quickly as you ran from rooftop to rooftop, the sound of distant sirens moving father and farther away from you was like music to your ears. it would've calmed you down— maybe even slowed your running —if it weren't for the fact that you had a shadow. a comically dressed shadow in red and blue.

the continuous sounds of webs being shot at you was the only thing keeping you running towards nothing. running away from the metropolitan museum (which you didn't even steal from, by the way) with some insect man close to your feet.

"hey, wait! lady, stop!"

and he wouldn't shut up. constantly calling at you, trying to catch your attention like some fanatic. it would've almost been cute if you weren't avoiding capture.

you didn't even turn back to look at him, forcing your body to move faster and faster until your momentum was stopped by a web hitting your ankle. you growled in annoyance, reaching down with your unsheathed claws to cut yourself free from the webbing, until you were harshly pulled onto a roof by the masked hero himself.

you laid on the rooftop, staring up at new york's very own spider-man (who was never a problem until a couple months ago, when he seemingly appeared out of nowehere). covering your obvious discontent, you smiled a malicious smile. "hi, spider," you said, before kicking his knee back and forcing him to fall. his groan of pain met your ears as you threw a punch at his face, one he quickly dodged.

"are you another hero?" he asked between kicks and punches, completely ignoring the fact that you were both in a fight. it didn't seem like much of a problem for him, as he was far too focused at multitasking between asking you personal questions and dodging your attacks. "i take that questions back— if you were, you wouldn't be attacking me right now," another dodge, "but you brought that painting back to the museum! but you also stole it so it's a bit of a question of morality, so i think i have to turn you in—"

you grabbed his arm and pinned it behind his back, your other hand coming up to wrap around his neck. your sharp claws dug into his neck, making him hiss in pain as you leant in close to his ear. "do you really think you can turn me in?" your hand let go of his neck but remained close to his face, your pointer finger coming to play with the edge of his mask. you pulled it up, only making it halfway up his face, before he broke free from your grasp.

but once he turned around, you were already gone.

some say that when your father died, the rich people of new york were finally able to breathe. finally, their endless valuables were finally safe, their priceless collections of stolen art, their rows of cars enough to pay any college kid's tuition, and their bank accounts were now all free from his iron grasp. gone was the man who had taken what he wanted and got it, gone was any trace of his legacy or his family; walter hardy was dead.

he always claimed that of all the valuables in his hands had taken, you were his most prized possession. the one person he would lay down his life for, and to have him gone.. it was all too unfair. all too wrong for him to die trying to get back to his daughter.

so that was why you had taken his place. black cat no longer became something policemen and journalists used to reference your father. that title was something you chose to share with him, because as policemen talked over their little radios about the burglary on west 81st street, you were already miles away, listening to their pathetic voices over the radio.

it was halloween in new york, and while many homeowners chose to stay home and tend to their candy duty, others were off partying at their friends' houses, oblivious to the fact that you had already deactivated the alarm to their home. three houses in the span of one night; you were sure that your greed would be your downfall one day.

but as you raised your hand up to the moon, watching how the rays of light danced along your wrist, you knew in your heart that your greed ran deeper than simple wants. you had your reasons.

a blood curdling scream met your ears, making you hurriedly shove the jewels into a pack and unsheathe your claws, ready to attack. walked near the edge of the building, the squelching sound of blood reached your ears, making you all the more on edge as you peered off the side just in time to watch a man shove a mask (the same mask from that one movie, stab) into his bag and turn a corner.

your eyes focused on the woman in yellow, dead and seated against the wall with blood pouring from her chest like a fountain. not a sound was made as you climbed down the wall and landed on your feet, cautious as you stepped closer to the unresponsive body.

"fuckin' asshole," you murmured as you observed the body, eyebrows furrowing. the woman, blonde and pretty, looked familiar to you. leaning down to take a closer look at her face (and careful not to step in the growing pool of blood around her), your eyes widened when you fully took in your features.

that was a film professor at your college.

wordlessly, you pulled out your phone and called a number you've never typed in your life.

"manhattan police department," the policeman stated.

"laura crane was just murdered in front of a manhattan bar." and with a click, you hung up.

the sound of that familiar thwip and landing feet made detective bailey roll his eyes in annoyance. just when they had gotten the reporters and journalists in control— a certain masked individual just had to make an appearance. "you aren't supposed to be here," he said in annoyance, turning to look at the masked hero.

"don't you know my m.o by now? like, isn't that your job?" spider-man asked with a cock of his head, obviously enjoying his teasing. "but you can't really.. not allow me to be here. i'm here to help, after all."

"i'm not letting some kid help," detective bailey practically growled, but the hero was already pushing past him to look at the body.

from beneath the mask, ethan hid his shock at the sight of one of his college's professors, dead and staring blankly into empty space. as if constantly being around his estranged his father wasn't enough; now a professor from his college was dead.

"what? bug man finally ran out of things to say?" detective bailey asked snarkily, making ethan snap out of his stupor.

"no, da— detective," ethan said in a faux matter-of-fact voice, squatting down to look closer at the dead body. he almost cringed at the slip up he just made; if only his father knew. "can't a man observe in silence?"

it wasn't like ethan had planned his superhero life out. he had moved to new york right after his brother's death for college, and being desperate to leave his brother's horrible crimes behind, he changed his last name. calls to his dad and his sister became texts. visits became nonexistent. even after he was bitten and took on the superhero roll he was desperate to move on, and right when he believed he finally was, his dad and sister moved to new york.

ethan didn't tell any of his friends that he was related to richie, nor did he tell them that he was the detective's kid. all they knew was that quinn was his sister, and while it hurt to pretend as though richie never existed, it was for the best. he left that life behind him, and quinn seemed to respect that at least.

"how'd you find her?" ethan asked a nearby cop.

"anonymous tip around the time she was murdered."

his eyes took in the gruesome scene in front of him. his eyes drifted to professor crane's blank face, before following the splashes of blood on the brick behind her. his eyes squinted as he continued to look up the wall, the dots connecting when he saw familiar claw marks above the body. they were faint, so faint, that if ethan hadn't seen them before, then he was sure that the police wouldn't have.

he raised his hand, and with another thwip of his webs, he was gone.

ethan was searching for any sign of you. a part of him hoped that you weren't within the confines of your home hiding behind your civilian name. there was a possibility that you helped kill the professor. maybe you were an accomplice. regardless of your role in it all, ethan was sure that you had seen something and chose to keep it to yourself. you had your own reasons for doing so; you believed you were far more clever than anyone. maybe you were.

the scratches on the walls were something you left behind. ethan knew that; he had literally been choked by those claws of yours when he first took up his job as a hero. he didn't want to believe that you you were quicker than him, but the fact that you had gotten away.. to say that he wasn't annoyed by it would be a lie.

he later learned who you were because of his father during one of their awkward dinners. the black cat.

he hadn't invited quinn this time. it was as though he was trying to strictly have some father-son time with ethan; some pathetic attempt at reconnecting, he assumed. if reconnecting meant taking him out to a thai restaurant and only talking about his job or richie and never asking ethan anything beyond the, "how's college?" question.

but something within his father's ramble about work had caught ethan's attention. home burglaries were a huge problem, that much ethan knew, but this had been the first time he ever heard his father talk about it; much less talk about who he suspects had done it.

"they call her black cat. witnesses have only ever seen enough of her to know she's a lady—"

"who do you think she is?" ethan asked, unable to stop himself as he leaned forward in his chair. so that was who he caught running along the roofs of new york. the one person who had gotten away from him.

"some fan of the original black cat, walter hardy. either that," his father put a forkful of pad thai in his mouth, chewing and swallowing, "or his daughter. there's no record of them, though."

"do you think they're the ones who stole from all those houses?"

"that's all i'm saying about the subject, ethan," his father said sternly, looking him up and down suspiciously. "just eat your food."

it didn't take much for you to catch yourself up on the stab murders. you had only heard a little bit about it; not because you lived under a rock, but because you didn't care. not until now, at least.

tara and sam carpenter. tara was in your psych class at blackmore university; you had talked to her enough times that she was probably the closest person you had to a 'friend,' as off as it sounded. you had a similar humor and she wasn't the type to pry over your past (which made sense now, after you scrolled mindlessly through your phone to catch up on the continuous murders).

that was why you were watching their apartment building from the building right in front of it. you had only seen them through their window, but at least you knew they were alive. on any other day you would've called anyone in your position creepy, but you considered this to be lawful stalking.

truthfully, you weren't sure why you were doing this. maybe you had gotten soft ever since you started college. maybe you were bored.

you toyed with a golden locket you had stolen that night, eyes set on their forms moving in and out of sight. you were so focused on them, something akin to worry thrumming through your veins until a web hit your back and dragged you away from the edge of the building. your back scratched across the roof floor, and as you looked up, you saw the familiar red and blue suit you had only ever seen from afar.

“hi, kitty,” spider-man said, almost smiling.

you practically hissed at the sight of him, your hands making quick work of unsheathing your claws as you narrowly dodged another web. you moved quickly and kicked him in the face, letting him hit the ground for just a second before you were straddling, legs tight around him as you grabbed his hands and held it above him. your claws came close to his wrists, the shining metal threatening to break and hurt his web makers.

"oh, spider. i didn't know you liked me enough to stalk me." you smiled wickedly, pressing the metal closer to his wrists. you could feel something bulky underneath his suit, and your malicious grin only grew as you pressed harder against it.

"i don't like you," the super hero said annoyedly, making you scoff in amusement.

"are you sure?" you leaned closer to him, practically touching your nose against his mask. "then why aren't you fighting back right now?" you sent him one last grin before your hand left his wrists. you stood up, not even bothering to offer him a hand as you let your claws come out fully, one of your hands reaching for your gun. "what do you want?"

"i needed to ask you questions about the murder of laura crane," spider-man grumbled, standing up and crossing his arms at you. he looked at the apartment building before glancing back at you, the eyes of his mask narrowing. "why're you watching tara and sam's apartment?"

"why do you know that tara and sam live there?" you fired back, raising a brow. it was moments like these where you were happy you had a mask that at least covered half your face; the more you heard the spider-boy speak, the more you noticed how young his voice sounded. what if he went to your college? what if he was friends with them?

"because based on their history, they're vulnerable to attacks. i know that— being the friendly neighborhood spiderman ‘n all," he said, and you swore he rolled his eyes. "but it doesn't make sense for a criminal like you—"

"that's unnecessarily rude."

"to be watching them.” he looked you up and down, eyes seemingly lingering on your grappling hook and pack of god knows what that were strapped to your sides. the hero’s head then snapped up to look at you. “did you kill her? laura crane?” even he seemed unsure by his own question, the uncertainty in his tone making you shrug nonchalantly.

"do you think i did?" you asked, "you seem unsure yourself."

a pause. "no, i don't. but you know something, and you need to tell me what it is."

you glanced at the apartment building before looking down at your nails, absentmindedly observing them. "what's in it for me?" you asked, not even looking up at new york's favorite hero.

"i don't bring you to the police."

"as if you could do that before," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. you heard him exhale slowly, a smirk appearing on your face at the sound. you were getting to him; with every snarky comment, you pissed him off more and more. and the sadistic part of you loved it. "don't you remember? you couldn't even catch me the first time. sad, isn't it?"

"i'm not gonna make that same mistake again," he said firmly, walking closer to you. stiffly, he brought his gloved hand out. "you tell me what you know and you help me—"

"well, don't word it like that," you muttered. "i'm only telling you information, spider. i'm not being your stupid sidekick."

"you aren't," he said, "but since you're such a well known felon, you could help me figure out who's the murderer. see if they're a criminal, if they were hired by anyone, anything." he sighed. "you help me, and i let you go. deal?"

warily, you looked at him up and down. you weren't one to make deals with anyone, much less a masked hero who was loved by practically everyone. but you found yourself wrapping your black gloved hand around his and shaking it once. "fine."

ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, EPILOGUE

#AUTHOR'S NOTE— feel free to ask to be on the taglist! i'm also sorry for all the typos lol

[starcrossedxwriter]

Wicked Fantasies Part 9 (MBJxOC)

A/N: I hate how small the gif is... and this is wayyy later than I expected. Enjoy :)

Raven savored the brief moment of serenity when she woke up, a blessed respite from the knowledge that her world was about to come crashing down. It ended as soon as she remembered she had a shift at the library, meaning she could not burrow into the softness and comfort of her own bed when everything fell apart as she hoped to. But Raven had too much practice putting on a brave face when everything in her would rather break down. 

She could not help but feel thankful when she checked her social media accounts that all was quiet… for now. Aside from a few texts and missed calls from Michael, which were all just his worried musings and checking up on her. The heaviness that settled in her soul since last night lifted at his concern and care, his promises that they would chart a path through this.

But she knew in her heart that the path could not include her. She emotionally prepared herself, as she went through the mundane activities of her morning, that he would break up with her when she went to his house later. There seemed to be no other logical choice or option. How could a man of his stature, at the height of his career, be associated with the likes of her? She was nothing more than a washed up, blacklisted author turned prostitute. 

She even wondered if it would ease the hurt if she beat him to it. Would it break her heart less if she took control of her own life and ended things on his behalf? It would certainly preserve her memories of him. If their brief love story had to end, she would rather it end on a high note like they were last night. That was the last memory she wanted of them, carefree and happy. She needed that memory… she did not see many happy days ahead in her future at the moment. 

Rae: Sorry, fell asleep. I’m ok… forgot I had a shift this afternoon so gonna get ready to head to the library.

Bakari: You sure? Maybe you should call in sick? 

Rae: Too late for that. I’ll be fine. 

Bakari: Allen’ll be there at the end of your shift. 6 right? He’ll bring you to the house. 

Rae: ok. 

Raven’s morning was punctuated by her checking her phone every couple of minutes as if she was waiting for a bomb to go off. And in some ways, she was. She felt utterly useless at work, distracted by her phone and her own all-consuming self pity. She found the usual mask of happiness she used to force herself to wear to be difficult to maintain today. Even when several of her kids came in after school to do their homework, she could not bring herself to interact with them beyond a brief hello. Anything more made her want to break down in tears. She had not even considered that they would read all about her on social media at some point. She would never know most of the world to care what they thought about her but these kids saw her as a role model. It was another blow to her already abysmal confidence and self worth to wonder what they, their parents, and her colleagues would think of her. 

The mere thought caused her eyes to well up with tears.

“Ok Rae… can’t cry at work,” she muttered to herself as she hastily wiped away her tears. “Enough of this.” She grabbed her phone and put it on DND and stuffed it in her purse. Her obsession would not will the article to come out any faster so there was no sense in checking every second.

She forced herself to focus on her work, offering to do every menial but distracting task she could to occupy her brain. And it worked for a few hours… until it didn’t. 

“Hey Raven,” one of her colleagues, Melody, rushed over to her while she returned a cart of books to their respective shelves. 

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked as she stretched to put a book on a higher shelf. 

“Have you seen this??” Melody handed Raven her phone once she turned and directed her full attention to her.

Raven’s hand braced herself on one of the wooden shelves as she read the headline of the article. 

Exclusive: Source reveals Actor Michael B Jordan’s long history with prostitutes including his girlfriend

Raven did not even read the full article, merely skimming the first two paragraphs and one of the several featured pictures of them. As soon as she reached the first mention of herself, a line calling out that she was paid to have sex with Michael by his friends and that their entire relationship was a sham, she shoved it back into Melody’s hands. 

Her breathing felt erratic and short as she angled her face and body away from Melody. She was not sure if she wanted to deny it or just admit that it was true. Now part of her wished she had stayed and talked to Michael last night, just to understand what she should even say. She did not have many friends in her life but Melody was a good work friend she had gained. She was everything Raven had always wished she was: confident, whole, and happy. But she did not know Melody well enough for her to be the person she broke down in front of. 

However, thankfully, in her silence, Melody did not even give her a chance to answer. The woman just waved her head dismissively and stuffed her phone back in the pocket of her dress. 

“You know how these tabloids are. They don’t fact check, don’t confirm shit.” Melody responded with a half smile and a shrug. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Michael’s people will fix it, get them to post a retraction. No one who knows you is ever gonna believe this, Raven.” 

She offered her a supportive rub on the back before leaving Raven alone in the autobiographies section. She was gone for several minutes before Raven even realized she had not said a word in response. All of her limbs felt unresponsive. She did not understand how she had both been preparing for this all day and somehow still felt caught off guard. She supposed there was something to be said about preparing for something in theory and the reality of it. And even with hours to brace for it, the reality still felt like she had been hit by a train. 

She forced herself, with shaky hands, to continue her task. Her shift only had a few hours left and she refused to tuck in her tail and run. She could immediately tell who read the article and who had not just by stares and looks she received. She ignored most of them but the hardest ones were from her kids, who kept looking at her every time she passed before putting their heads back together. She forced herself to hold her head high and pretend as if nothing was wrong, despite how painful that was. She did not want to lie to anyone but she also did not care to admit that every word of the article was true. This was a lose-lose situation and she felt every ounce of it.

She was unsurprised to see missed calls and texts when she finally took her phone off DND. So many, she did not even realize that many people had her number. She did not read all of the texts but she could see that half of them were from Michael and his family checking on her. She did not have the heart to open any of them. 

The Jordans had opened their home and lives to her, treated her like family when no one else in this world had. And this was how she repaid that kindness? By ruining their son’s life and reputation. 

That’s all you know how to do, a voice rang out in her head. Ruin lives. 

The only one she opened was from Allen letting her know he was outside and waiting when she was ready. 

The last hour of her shift dragged by at a painstaking pace. No one else mentioned the article, at least not to her face. But that did not stop her from hearing the whispers or noticing the disgusted glares she received from some of the moms with their children. 

No one who knows me will believe it. Clearly that’s not true. 

She sighed as she packed up her stuff, realizing that the worst part of her day was still to come. She felt as if she was marching to the guillotine, certain death awaited her and there was no stopping it. 

She said a quiet goodnight to Melody before rushing outside. However, as soon as she stepped outside to walk around the building to the parking lot, she was accosted by paparazzi. 

She staggered backwards at the bright flashes in her face, blinding her as she tried to see through the crowd to get away from them. Every one of her senses were overwhelmed by the lights and their yelling at her, assaulting her with too many questions for her to reasonably answer even if she wanted to.

“Is the article true??” 

“How many men had paid for you before Michael?” 

“How much did he pay for you?” 

“Are you still having sex for money?” 

“Is your relationship real?” 

“Is it true you used to be a stripper??” 

“Are you and Michael done?” 

Raven put her tote bag in front of her face to hide it, now stained with tears that she could not hold in. It was as if they had stolen all the air with their presence, Raven could not even get enough breath into her lungs to beg them to let her through. Raven could feel herself being backed up toward the doors of the library again. However, she did not want to open the door and bring more spectators to this embarrassing swarm. She felt completely trapped. 

“Get back! All of you!” An authoritative woman’s voice demanded as she gripped Raven by the arm and forced her backward. Raven immediately recognized the voice as Melody’s and did not resist the tug of her hand as she pulled her back into the library’s entrance and locked the door behind them. 

Melody continued guiding Raven, as if she knew this was the only way to get her legs to move, until they reached the staff lounge in the back of the library. 

“Fucking vultures!” She immediately ranted as she forced Raven to sit down in one of the chairs, Raven’s head immediately fell into her hands as she tried to stave off a looming panic attack. She could feel it around the edges of her brain, slowly consuming all of her rational thoughts and feelings. She tried to take long slow breaths to fill her lungs again, each one as shaky as the last.  “Never seen anything like it. You ok, sis? Can’t believe they’re doing all this over a fake story.” 

“It’s not… it’s not fake. Every word is true,” she whispered. The admission was out of her mouth before Raven even had the conscious thought to stop herself. She lifted her head in shock at herself before looking at Melody whose facial expression had not changed. 

Melody let out a low whistle. “You’ve been holding out on me! You’re more interesting than I thought,” she mused as she handed Raven a bottle of water and sat down across from her. “Drink. It’s always the quiet ones though, I guess.”  

Raven’s hand paused as it brought the bottle to her lips. “That’s it?” 

“Not my place to judge you for doing what you needed to or wanted or whatever. Not to sound like a damn protest poster but sex work is work. I can tell you that whatever your reason, no one deserves all that out there or have their business plastered across the news.” 

Raven let out a soft sob at her words, not realizing just how badly she needed to hear that from someone who was not obligated to say it. She took the Kleenex Melody offered her. 

“Thanks… I needed that.” She let out a watery sigh. “Shit. I dunno what I’m g-gonna do… the things everyone is probably saying about me…” Raven muttered. “A-and when Kristen sees this, fuck… I’m gonna get fired.” 

Melody shook her head. “Hey, Kristen is annoying but she isn’t evil. People get through worse shit than having sex for money unscathed. And who cares what a bunch of incels and pick-mes say? You have your family and friends and your support system and you’ll get through this.” 

Raven let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Yea… a support system… I just have Michael. No family, few friends. And now I’m probably gonna lose him too.” A fresh wave of tears started to fall before Raven shook her head, realizing that she was bearing her soul to a woman she was only talked to at work. “S-Sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping all this on you. T-thanks for your help out there.” Raven stood and grabbed her purse and started to walk to the door when Melody stopped her. 

“Well you have Michael, a few friends… and you have me. Text, call, whatever, anytime you want to talk, ok? I mean it.” 

Raven raised an eyebrow at her in confusion. “Really? You know you don’t have to be nice to me. I’ll be ok.” 

“I know you’ll be ok. But I like you, Raven. Which means I’m in your corner. Whatever you need, call me.  Stay off social and let this shit pass. Now, call that driver of yours and tell him to meet you around the back so you can go home. I’ll take your shift tomorrow.” 

Raven stared at her for a few moments as if she was just seeing her for the first time. She  pulled out her phone and shot off a quick message to Allen before heading toward the back exit. However, before she left, she turned back to Melody. 

“Thanks. I did… do… need someone in my corner.”

“Now you’ve got one,” she grinned before waving and taking off toward the front entrance to finish closing down the library. 

Raven stared at her for a few moments before heading outside. She braced herself for an onslaught of flashing, her entire body deflating with relief as she only found Allen waiting to take her home. Well to Michael’s, which had started to feel like home to her. But for the first time, it did not feel like she was retreating to her safe space and sanctuary. It felt as if she was speeding toward the end. 

***

Michael could have worn a hole in his carpet with his incessant pacing around his living room as he waited for Raven to arrive. She had been uncommunicative with him since she went home last night and he hated it. Michael understood her need to process on her own but he could not change how out of control that made him feel. He wanted her there with him, not spinning out on her own. 

He did the right thing. Or at least that was what he continued to tell himself to assure him. He tossed and turned all night, reviewing the last month with a fine tooth comb and he had made the right decision. The only decision. The only thing that did not sit right in his review were his lies to Raven to get here. They sat like rocks in the pit of his stomach, heavy and nauseating. He had justified all of them by saying he was protecting Raven’s peace by hiding what happened with Tasha but he did not expect them to haunt him quite like this. He stomped the feeling down. He played the best hand he had with the shitty cards Tasha dealt him. 

He assured himself that it was all worth it when the coverage from reputable publications played out exactly as he and his team intended. Most focused on him, examining how this was yet another example of his terrible playboy image. However, social media and sites like the Shade Room focused their sexist attacks on Raven, which was maddening but not surprising. But Alex assured him, and he agreed, that this was the best they could have hoped for. 

A buzzing from his phone pulled him out of his thoughts. He hoped it was Raven, however, he narrowed his eyes when he realized it was Tasha. He needed to block her number, immediately. He answered, praying this would be the last time he ever had to hear her voice. 

“I’m at your gate. Let me in.” She immediately demanded, Michael could hear the rage vibrating off every syllable. 

“Fuck no. You lost, Tash. It’s over.” 

“Fine. Leave me out here and I’ll call Raven and tell her how you destroyed her life. Let. Me. In.” 

Michael ran his hand over his face, frustration coursing through him. He went to the alarm system on his phone and opened the gate for her, praying he had enough time to get rid of her before Raven arrived. He was playing with fire and he knew it. 

Before he let her in, he made her leave her phone and purse in her car. He refused to get caught on tape and give her more ammunition to use against him.

“How the fuck you know where I live?” 

“You think I fucked you for two years straight and didn’t learn a thing or two about you? Nigga please,” Tasha muttered as she breezed into his foyer. Michael watched as she walked deeper into the house to  his living room, anger wafting off of her being in waves. “What the fuck, Michael??” 

Michael sat down on the arm of one of his chairs and folded his arms with a smirk. “What? Sad to see your million dollar story on TMZ? Seems someone hates me more than you do and beat you to it. Blackmail ain’t shit without leverage. You lost, T. Played a good game though, had me backed into a corner.” 

She scoffed and shook her head. “‘Someone beat me to it??’ You did! You leaked this! And got me fuckin’ fired me because of it. I-I’ll tell Raven.”

“Tell her what? That we met twice in a hotel? Fine. Tell her you were extortin’ me for money? Be my fuckin’ guest. But promise you, she’ll never believe you without proof. Which I know you don’t have cause there is none. And no one in my camp would ever admit to leakin’ a story that could hurt me. And your job… well… can’t start a war and be mad when you get hit. You threatened my girl… all bets are off.” 

“How’d you even convince Helen? I’m the best girl she’s got.” 

“Because unlike you, the only thing Helen cares about is money. So when I threatened to tell every client I ever brought her that her girls were extortionists… well, she saw the business case for lettin’ you go. Good luck findin’ another gig once Helen’s through with you. She’ll make what you tried to do to Raven look like fuckin’ child’s play.” He closed the space between the two of them, standing tall before her. He dropped his voice low, every word laced with authority. “Fuck with me all you want, I’m built for it and I can take it. But don’t fuck with Raven ever again. Now get outta my fuckin’ house and outta my life.”

Tasha scoffed. “You think you’re a big nigga, huh? Congrats. But… pretty sure this ain’t gon’ go the way you think.” 

Michael folded his arms. “How you figure that?” 

“You don’t think the guilt of knowing you leaked this shit isn’t gonna eat you alive? When precious soft Raven is crying in your arms every night because the entire internet is calling her a whore and a slut and trash and every other terrible thing they can think of? When they dox her apartment and she doesn’t feel safe at home? Or her job and get her fired? You think you’ll be able to sit by and watch her lose everything knowing you’re the reason and you did it behind her back?” 

“I did it to protect her.” 

“Maybe… But you also did it to fuck with me. You burned me, true. But you also burned her and when she finds out, I don’t think she’ll be quick to forgive you. But hey, you know her better than I do. What do you think?” Her hand ran up his chest as she spoke, a smirk on her face. 

Michael felt his hand clench in a fist as her words struck a chord so deep in him that he wanted to scream. He gently removed her hand from his body. 

“I did what I had to to get you outta my life and protect Rae as best I could. Try to twist that all you want but I did what had to be done. But the reasons don’t matter. She’ll never find out.” 

Tasha took a step back, a smirk on her face as she leaned her head toward the door. “You sure about that?” 

Michael whipped around to find Raven frozen in the entryway between his kitchen and living room. 

“Well… I believe my work here is done. I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t worry, I know the way out.” 

Tasha offered them both a smug look of victory before she sauntered out the door. However, Raven did not even spare her a glance, she only had eyes for Michael. Before she knew it, she found herself standing in front of him. 

“Y-You leaked this?” Raven whispered, the shock and hurt spreading through her stripped her voice of anger or menace. Even if she had not overheard the end of their conversation, the look of guilt on his face gave her every answer she needed. 

“Raven…” 

She raised her hand to stop him. She did not want to hear anything other than the answer to her question.  “Did. You. Leak. This?” 

She took his perpetual silence for what it was: an admission of guilt. Raven felt everything inside her start to crumble. All she felt was anger, betrayal and a pain so severe she thought it could end her. And all of it was so overwhelming, she did not know if there was room in her body to feel anything else. 

“Baby! Baby, baby, baby… calm down and listen to me, please,” Michael stressed, grabbing her hand and pulling her into his chest as she tried to walk away. “I promise you, this ain’t what you think.” 

Raven wildly pushed against his hard chest, wrestling her way out of his embrace. His embrace which once felt like home and safety and care now felt tainted, painful and prickly as if his arms were covered by a million sharp needles. 

“I think my entire life is falling apart, literally. And my boyfriend, who claimed to love me, is here with another woman he used to sleep with. H-How could you?? Y-You knew I-I was coming over! D-did you want me to walk in and find you two?? Did you…” her eyes grew wide as the realization hit her and stole the very breath from her lungs. She took a tentative step back from him, which he tried to follow, but she raised her hand to stop him. “Did you… l-leak this so you could be with her?” 

Michael wished the accusation had been so absurd but he could 100% see how this situation looked and the picture was beyond ugly… it was heinous. However, the last part was so outlandish that he could not ignore it. “I didn’t do it to be with her! I did it so she couldn’t and to protect you.” 

“Protect me??”  She let out a soft gasp. “You told the entire fucking world I was a prostitute to PROTECT ME??” 

“Raven, let’s just go up to my room and talk and I can explain it.” 

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

She started to race back toward the front door, desperate to put as much space between her and Michael as possible, her mind reeling with how he betrayed her, how he destroyed her. She could not trust or believe a word he said because from her vantage point, everything he said since the night they met was a complete and utter lie. 

“Raven, I swear to you,” he called as he raced after her, ignoring the questioning looks of his parents as they emerged from upstairs to the spectacle in the foyer. “I swear on my life, I did this to protect you! Tasha was gonna leak it anyway so I beat her to it to get ahead of it. I swear!” 

“Protect me?? This is protection?? Fucking obliterating my name and life is protection?? And why should I even believe a single word that comes out of your fucking mouth?? You said you weren’t talking to Tasha anymore. You said no other woman had ever been to this house yet she seemed pretty fucking cozy! You said you didn’t care about my past and that you wanted me but that clearly isn’t true! W-what happened?” she demanded, cutting off his increasingly desperate attempts to get her to calm down enough to listen to him. “Someone on the team reminded you that a man like you can’t be associated with trash?” She asked bitterly. “That you’re too good and perfect to be sullied by someone like me? Can’t turn a whore into a housewife, right? So what? It was easier to destroy me than just break up with me? I didn’t believe I d-deserved you anyway. But you convinced me! You convinced me I was worthy of you, deserving of you. That you wanted more, that you loved me. W-was it all just a game?? Am I just a game to you? Another conquest to add to your list??” 

Michael rushed forward and grabbed her arms to pull her into his chest. She fought against his grasp but he was too strong for her. She refused to look at him, if she did, the tears she was holding back would rush forward. She would have to acknowledge the depths of the hurt she felt and right now, the only safe thing she could feel was anger. 

“You have to believe me, Rae. Baby girl. I love you. I’m in love with you. You have to know that, you have to believe that!” 

“I believed you when you said I was enough, I believed you when you said you loved me. T-those were clearly lies. B-Because this,” she shook her head as her voice broke slightly. “T-this isn’t love. Cheating on me… lying to me. Going behind my back, making decisions that affect my life without t-telling me… M-Maybe too many books have rotted my brain and I n-never knew what love o-or protection a-and care were. Because if this is it? Then I don’t want it. From you or anyone else ever again.” 

His grip slacked as her words felt like a sucker punch to his entire being, allowing her to break.

“Wanted me out of your life? Then congrats.” Her march toward his front door was far more measured than she felt. Inside, she was melting down but she refused to break the little composure she had. She paused for a moment as she opened his door, her weight bearing down on the heavy brass handle. “You know… I was coming over here to offer to end things. T-to walk away if that was what you needed, if that would h-help m-make this easier for you. I-If you had just told me…” She hated how her voice broke and a few tears escaped their barricades. She was broken but she refused to let him or any of them see her shatter. “I-It would’ve killed me but I would’ve done it. Because that’s how much I loved you. But you… you don’t love me. You’re like everyone else in my life, lying and using me to get what you want and then t-throwing me aside like garbage w-when you’re done. A-and maybe y’all are right? M-Maybe that’s all I d-deserve.” She sniffled a bit before wiping her cheeks. “Y-You convinced me to jump with you. A-and I did because I thought… I thought you were d-different. But I should’ve known. I’ll never make that mistake again. Bye Michael.” 

Raven slammed the door behind her, her body pausing to lean against the railing that framed his front steps. Her physical body felt on the verge of collapse. Is this what heartbreak felt like? Because she felt as if she could physically die from this hurt, this ache that was so deep it felt like it was siphoning away the strength of her very bones. So much pain that she just wanted to collapse to the ground and never get up again.

“Ms. Turner?” 

She glanced up through her blurry eyes to find Allen standing in front of her, the older man’s face painted in concern. 

“Let’s get you home.” He gestured toward the car that drove her there. 

“I j-just broke up with your boss. Don’t think he.. he’ll want you to drive me.” 

“I know Mr. Jordan, he will want to make sure you get home safely. And if he gets upset then he isn’t the type of man I’d want to work for. Come on, you shouldn’t Uber or wander around in this state.” 

She allowed the older man to lead her to the car. She refused to look back at Michael’s house or mourn anything she left behind there. None of it had been real anyway. He could keep all of it along with the pieces of her heart he took. She did not want that anymore either. 

Raven ignored the incessant buzzing of her phone the entire ride, she did not look at her texts or missed calls. She knew who all of them were from. She had the right mind to delete and block his number but she was not strong enough for that, not yet anyway. 

She spent the entire ride reviewing their relationship, the last few months on replay over and over again. How could she have let herself fall into this trap? Tasha had warned her… there was no warmth or kindness to be found with him. But she let him play her like a fucking fiddle, spinning some tale of a misunderstood, heartbroken good guy. And she had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. She was too gullible, too trusting, too willing to give people opportunities even when they had done nothing to deserve them. She had thought Michael was different, that he would be on her short list of people that showed up and cared for her. 

But no, instead he was like most of the people she had come across in her life. Only somehow it was worse because he had lulled her into a false sense of security before unveiling the worst he had to offer. Even to the bitter end, he claimed to love her and that he wanted to protect her. From her vantage point, the only thing she needed protection from was him and her own foolish, idiotic heart. 

By the time Allen reached her block, her body was vibrating as she tried her best to hold in her sobs. It did not help that a horde of paparazzi were camped outside her building, circling like vultures to inspect the wreckage that was her life since he turned her into a joke and spectacle. She did not even understand how they discovered where she lived. 

He probably told them, a voice in her head supplied. 

“Is there a back entrance or side entrance?” Allen glanced back at her, pulling off to the side before driving to her front door. 

“U-Um yea, t-there’s a back entrance….” 

“Ok, I’m gonna pull around there so you can avoid all this.” 

“T-Thank you.” Her voice shook as she tried to control her breathing. It would just be a few more minutes and then she could fall apart. 

She had not even realized the car stopped until Allen walked around and opened her car door for her. He helped her out, her entire body shaking so much her legs could barely hold up her weight. 

“Are you sure you’re going to be ok? I can walk you up?” 

She immediately shook her head. “N-No. Y-You’ve done enough. T-thank…” her voice died off in a whisper as a sob broke through. She turned her head away from him and wiped her tears, stuffing the emotions back down. “T-thank you,” she repeated in a stronger voice with a smile she and the driver knew was utterly fake. 

“Take care of yourself, Ms. Turner,” he offered solemnly. 

The avalanche was hurdling so fast toward her, she could not even open her mouth to speak. She merely turned and raced into her building, her eyes trained on the floor as she went up the elevator and to her front door. She knew her roommate was at work, thankfully, so she slipped inside and immediately went to her bedroom. 

She shed her clothes and slid on a baggy t-shirt, not even realizing that it was one of Michael’s she had stolen. She did not realize until she realized it smelled just like him as if he had just sprayed his cologne on it. Everything in her wanted to bury her face in it and be comforted by him, have him ease her soul like he always did. But then her brain reminded her that he was the cause of this agony, not the cure. 

She ripped the shirt off of her body and threw it angrily in the corner before forcing a random sweatshirt onto her nude body. She curled into bed and let out a shaky breath as her body realized she was finally alone. And then she felt the entire dam burst and every emotion came rushing out of her in sobs that were painful to feel. But she could not stop them, could not slow them down, and could not see a way out of the black hole of despair they pulled her into. 

Michael had broken her. No, he destroyed her. And there was no hope of putting her back together again. 

***

“So ‘I told you so’ would be totally outta line here, huh?” Alex asked as she laid back on the couch in Michael’s office, her heels thrown lazily on the floor.. 

“Fuck yea, Alex,” he growled, his anger getting the better of him. 

She raised her hands in surrender. “Understood. Will keep that to myself then. Listen, I know women… give her some time. She’ll come around.” 

Michael eyed her, part of him wanting desperately to believe her but he could hear the uncertainty in her voice. She was trying to placate and assure him but it would not work. Of all the fuck ups that marred his relationships and adult life, this was hands down the worst one. 

He did not need or want a lecture from Alex when he had just sat through a two-hour scolding from his entire family. His mother and sister ripped him a new one when he finally admitted to them the truth about he and Raven and what he had done. They all but told him that he would be lucky if Raven ever spoke to him again, let alone tried to forgive him after lying to her for over a month. 

He tried to explain his reasoning but they made it clear that the reasoning did not matter one bit. All Raven knew was that he lied and he broke her trust. His intentions were pointless when the impact was so severe. 

He tried calling Raven again. He was thankful Allen, at least, assured him she made it into her building safelt. But Allen did not have any other insights to offer him and Michael wondered if the older man would even share them if he had. Michael could hear the disappointment in every word as they spoke on the phone. 

It was almost midnight and he had to hear her voice. Her voicemail message was the best he could get but he would keep calling until she answered him.

“Ok well stop callin’ her like that. It’s giving stalker. No girl wants that.” 

“She left her thinkin’ I did all this to be with Tasha. I can’t let her believe that. I need her to talk to me.” 

Alex grabbed his phone and ripped it out of his hand as he went to call her again. “I can assure you… this ain’t the way. You aren’t gonna harass her enough into talking to you. She doesn’t… ok,” she sighed. “I know you aren’t gonna want to hear this but it’s time for some tough love. You fucked up, Michael. I tried to warn you and you didn’t listen because you’re an Alpha male who thinks he knows best when you really don’t. Being in one semi-successful relationship for a few months didn’t make you an expert. You fucked up and you hurt her. And now, for once, you have to wait for her. Maybe she’ll call you and want to talk tomorrow. Maybe in a month. Maybe… honestly, never. And that would be her right. You kept secrets, you lied, and you went behind her back and threw a grenade that blew up her life.” 

“But Tasha -” he started to defend himself when Alex cut him off. 

“What we did was the smart move, the only move. But you should have told her. Defend yourself all you want, blame Tasha all you want but I fuckin’ know you, Mike. This isn’t all on you but it isn’t all on Tasha either.You didn’t tell her to protect her but you also did it to protect how she sees you. ” 

Michael bowed his head and shame, hating how Alex always saw straight through him. 

“Exactly. That was selfish and your mom is right, you need to own your shit.” 

“How can I own my shit when she won’t speak to me??” Michael groaned. 

Alex picked up her glass of scotch and shrugged. “Well I don’t know. Honestly. If I did, I’d tell you. But calling her over and over again until she picks up won’t help. It’ll just get you blocked.” Alex downed her glass and grabbed her purse. “Send her one last text and get some sleep, Michael. You look like shit. Take some time, stay outta the public eye for a few days and reflect. Call me in a couple days and we’ll talk. But you’re useless to me, Raven, and yourself like this.” 

“I hear you.” 

“Put the phone down. I’m serious, Mike.” 

He nodded. Alex walked over to him and pulled him into a tight hug. It took a moment for Michael to reciprocate as the gesture was so far out of the norm of everything he knew from his manager. 

“Don’t get used to it, seemed like you just needed it.” 

Michael nodded before he took a step back. “Yea I did…” 

Alex started to walk toward the door of his office when she paused and turned back to him. “You’re a good guy, Michael. And I’m not just saying that. You’re a good person. You just made a bad decision. And usually, I can come behind you and we can fix them with an interview and that movie star smile. But… Raven… this one may not be fixable. And in addition to owning your shit, you need to find a way to accept that possibility too.”  

“I don’t know if I can ever be ok with that, Alex. I love her. I can’t live without h-her.” His voice broke slightly as he glanced down at his hands. 

Alex offered him a sad smile. “I know you do… and sometimes that isn’t gonna be enough. Night.”

***

When Raven woke up again, after crying herself to sleep, it was 3 am. She had cried and subsequently slept straight through the evening, had not eaten or drank anything. And it only took being awake for five minutes for everything to come rushing back. The ache in her chest had not lessened in that time, if anything it had just become more painful as her brain obsessed over every detail. 

She groped in the darkness for her cell phone, which she had put back on DND. Her notifications were in shambles but once again, she realized 90% of them were from the same man. She never thought there would be a day when she was angry to see his name on her phone. But it seemed he called or texted her every five minutes or so since she left his house.

A small voice in her head contemplated hearing him out. After all, if he truly wanted to be with Tasha, why was he blowing up her phone like a stalker to get her to speak with him. That had to mean something, right? 

Her thumb hovered over her message app, trying to decide if she wanted to open them and read them. However, as she opened the app, she got distracted by a notification from Instagram.

She had forced herself to stay off social media but she could not stop herself from clicking it. And she immediately wished she had not. Her DMs were certainly a complete deviation from when she and Michael first started dating. She only opened the first handful of messages from strangers before she put her account on private and turned off her comments. That was something she should have done yesterday, she realized, but she was not used to being the source of such public vitriol. 

The things people said to her caused a fresh wave of tears to flow. Women in her comments and DMs called her everything under the sun aside from a child of God and the men… well, their comments were disgusting enough to cause nausea to churn in her belly. Did they not realize they were saying all of this to a real person? Instead, they spoke of her as if she was nothing.. 

But what did she expect from perfect strangers when her own boyfriend treated her like that?  She started to delete every DM until she got to a set from last night that were from handles she knew. Her sister’s friends. 

She had not even thought to check to see if her sister or father reached out. She knew if they did, it certainly would not be to check on her and the comments of her sister’s cohort of idiotic friends made that clear. She did not quite understand why women deep in their 30s were spending their days harassing another woman but Kiara ran her friends like a master puppeteer. . 

She did not bother opening those either, she simply sent them straight to the trash. She tossed her phone to the side before pulling her knees into her chest to cry again. However, before she could spiral back into that sea of despair, she picked up her phone and opened Michael’s texts. She forced herself to not scroll up, though she did read the last couple. 

Bakari: Please talk to me. 

Rae. At least let me know you’re ok. 

Let me explain what happened.

Raven rolled her eyes. Every disgusting thing she just read was his fault. Hell would freeze over before she listened to a word had to say. . 

Rae; Stop texting and calling me and delete my number. I never want to hear from you again. 

Three typing bubbles immediately popped up before she could close the app and be done with him forever. 

Bakari: I know I hurt you and I shouldn’t have lied but let me explain, Rae. Please. 

Rae: I’m not interested in anything you have to say. I’m done. We’re done. 

She quickly went into her contacts and blocked his number before tossing her phone back down on her bed. She thought doing so would ease some of the hurt she felt, after all he was the source of it. But it didn’t. In fact, it just made her heart feel more hollow. He was truly gone and she was completely and utterly alone. She had spent most of her life alone, she was used to it. She did not know why it hurt so much this time around.

The only thing she knew for certain as she curled back into her bed was that she wished she had never met Michael B Jordan. The man who she believed was the personification of her wildest fantasies turned out to be the cause of her worst nightmare.

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r

***

A/N: *runs away* *whispers* Let me know what you thought & thanks for reading. Happy Valentine's Day!

[sockslikeautumn]

Please write more of yandere golden boy (Julian Peyton) and his transformation into a golden boy.

Julian Peyton

Yandere golden boy aftermath

Male original character x gender-neutral reader

SFW, 0.7k+ words, angst, addiction, trauma, reader, and OC are 18+!

Read the first chapter for more context!

Trigger warnings: Suicide, suicidal thoughts, mentions of self-harm, depression, implied turning yandere/obsessed, cigarettes addiction.

The reader has suicidal thoughts mentioned here!

You are entirely responsible for what you consume.

Thank you so much for requesting this! I literally cried when I read it because I had been struggling with writer's block for months. This isn't all that much of a chapter, but it is important so Julian's character doesn't feel rushed or out of place when becoming our yandere golden boy.

Reading the first chapter again, it does feel like I was creating one of those unique-esc OC's, like "Oh, he's also a lost child from the royal family and oh, he's also a half-dragon, half-demon mermaid!" But I rolled with it either way this time even though a part of his and YN's lore felt a bit too inspired by my own life than it should have.

If my one, and in fact, first ever fan and anon that I don't know personally wants another chapter added, I'll make it special just for you :)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Walking into his house didn't feel dreadful for the first time. Sure, the familiar scent of nicotine didn't fail to hit his nose, but he didn't feel like running away instantly. 

He took off his shoes, old and worn-out. His footsteps creaked on the floorboards and he missed the feel of not being barefoot. Vulnerable. Usually, his head would snap to the living room to see if Mason was still breathing, but now that was the least of his worries. The bedroom door shut behind him. 

Trash, musty clothes, and cigarette packs brushed under his feet. It hadn't come to him that he could possibly cut himself on any glass from the empty bottles, without his will this time.

His safe haven didn't feel the best anymore. Something else felt much more inviting and more… pleasant than the feel of his dirty sheets and the darkness around him. 

You. Little ol’ sweet you from class.

What was your name again? He knew the professors often praised your name but he couldn't remember it.

It was average, you were average. Always trying to act like a know-it-all kid, blending into the group of people he never cared to look in the eyes. Though, now you couldn't seem to leave his brain.

Why... Why did you stop him?

You didn't have to, who would've even forced you to help him out? You weren't lying to him, were you?

No. It was too sincere. Too real to be fabricated.

You described yourself as worthless. You had perfect grades, friends, and a family that cared. What would you be struggling with? You weren't poor, you weren't bullied all your life and you didn't have to worry about someday living on the streets. Yet, you were so similar. 

You were suicidal, you were cutting yourself, seen on your wrist, and you were clearly going through a lot of pain. Was that why you felt inclined to help him? 

He glanced at his bed stand where his phone was, sunlight was trying to creep through his window curtains uninvited. With a groan, he went to grab it, the thing feeling like a brick in his hands. His eyes burned under his glasses at the light.

A solid 46% percent was in the corner and after a couple of minutes, he found the Facebook of his school. It didn't take long to find your face posted on the account, his starting to burn.

You weren't average-looking like he previously thought. Dorky smile, pretty eyes, and a diploma stating second place in your hands. It had your name written. 

Y/n L/n...

Blood rushed to his cheeks like never before. An unfamiliar part of him stiffened, a type of stiffness that was itching only for you. Yearning for the first time.

You were so beautiful... You had these sparkling eyes, silky hair, pearly teeth that he wished were like his, and soft lips he'd one day run his tongue over.

“Fuck..” He groaned from the bottom of his throat. He imagined his thumb was running over your cheek and not the many cracks on his phone screen.

What were you doing to him? He's never felt the need to feel someone's embrace, touch them, maybe even kiss them…

Whatever it was, he didn't want it to ever end.

Will he ever see you again? He did have school tomorrow, would you feel excited to know he hadn't killed himself when you left? Would you feel excited to see him?

He knows he shouldn't feel this way, you were just like the rest of them. Making him feel wanted, loved. But maybe now, he'd find a way to keep that love for himself. Keep you for himself.

Maybe tonight he'd finally clean his room, brush his teeth, and clean his messy hair. You'd like that for him, right? You'd want for him to not fetch his favorite razor and watch the skin roll between the blades, right?

His dry lip rolled between his teeth, your voice playing in his head like a broken record.

"Please, Julian, let me help you."

So shaky, like how the touch of your hand felt.

"Please, Julian."

Just his name alone on your tongue would have prevented his death.

"Julian..."

Just his name would do wonders for him.

Masterlist for Julian

I'm open to all constructive criticism, not bullying!

[adaines-furious-feast]

Until we have canon, this is my truth...

I'm really proud of this - part three of Breaking Stars - so I'm putting it here as well as AO3. This is how I think it went down and until I get answers this is what I'm going for.

This time it was Porter knocking on Jace’s door after hours. Jace looked up from where he had been flicking through a magazine, a little surprised.

He had started giving Porter some space after the staff room conversation, but that hadn’t lasted long. It was as if he was physically incapable of not being rage inducing.

Porter would never admit it, but he didn’t really mind. It was like a steroid. He’d been having the most intense and powerful rages he’d ever had in his life. If he could bottle up Jace Stardiamond, he’d make a fortune selling it to barbarian bodybuilders and wrestlers.

He knew he was ready to take the next step. Ready to do what he had been preparing for for years.

“Aguefort says some kids have got in trouble in the Mountains of Chaos. Need us to go sort it out.”

Jace looked confused. “Who? What are they doing there?”

“I didn’t exactly ask for an account of their quest. You know how easily Aguefort gets distracted.”

“Yeah, but it’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” Jace said, standing. “I mean, they should all be getting ready for their spring break, not heading into the mountains-”

“Look, these kids could be dead right now, for all I know. Can you teleport us there or not?”

Porter could already feel his rage growing. He needed to get them out of here before that took over.

“Yeah, sure. Do you have the coordinates?”

Porter smiled, handing over a slip of paper. 

Jace and Porter appeared in the decaying temple, the teleportation creating a moment of noise and movement before the stillness swarmed back in like a vacuum. 

They were alone in the Temple of the Fallen Sun. 

“Where are the kids?” Jace asked, panic beginning to rise. He span around, looking for some clue as to what had happened. “Did someone take them somewhere?” He closed his eyes, sweeping the temple for magical signs. “There’s a faint celestial but it’s old, very old. Did Arthur say what they were doing here? Porter?”

He had opened his eyes again and they had landed on Porter. Porter was gently passing hiss hammer back and forth between his hand, a smirk on his face but his eyes filled with rage.

“W-what’s going on?” The panic had disappeared from Jace’s voice, replaced by a confusion.

He still didn’t get it. Of course he didn’t.

For a moment Jace could have sworn he heard whispered voices. Porter was certain of it, and he knew exactly what they were saying.

Do it. Do it now.

Jace seemed to have a microsecond warning, stepping back slightly, but there was no time to defend himself. Porter launched at him, landing on Jace with such force he felt bones break beneath him. The snap was audible in the silent temple, but all Porter could hear was the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears over and over and over.

One hand was almost enough to encompass Jace’s entire throat, but Porter used two, the hammer forgotten by his side. Jace coughed up blood but that promptly stopped as nothing could get in or out of his throat. He couldn’t speak, but his mouth still moved. Porter could see his own name on the other man’s lips, even if he couldn’t hear it. 

Jace clawed desperately at Porter’s hands. Even if there was some magic he had access too, any thoughts of that were knocked out of his mind by the instinctual urge to grab at his throat. His nails drew blood but it wasn’t nearly enough to make Porter let him go.

Seconds felt like hours. Jace’s movements got slower and Porter could feel the pulse that was pressing against his fingers get weaker and weaker until it stopped.

Only once he was certain he was dead did Porter stand up. 

Rage still burned within him and he could feel his entire body throbbing. 

He looked down at Jace, fear and panic still etched into his face. He was so… small. Porter had never noticed it before. Just how insignificant he really was.

There was still time to cast revivify. He had diamonds with him. It would be easy. He could still turn his back on this path. 

The seconds slipped away and Porter stayed still, just staring, until it was too late.

That door had closed.

There were very few things he could do now, but he still had options. He could make up some story. The mountains of chaos were full of monsters. One of them could have taken them by surprise, killed Jace, ate his body. Jace could have simply slipped and fallen into one of the seemingly bottomless crevices that trapped pilgrims from time to time. 

Or he could bring him back to Aguefort. Get someone to resurrect him. Would Aguefort even care? He seemed to like deranged lunatics.

Or…

Porter looked down at the red crystal in his hand. He had come this far. Why stop now?

The spirits of his ancestors swirled around him as Porter crouched back down and pressed the crystal into Jace’s chest. It wasn’t sharp, like a knife being plunged into a body. It felt more like a stone being pressed against skin. Even with Porter’s strength it took force to break the skin. A little blood leaked out, but there was nothing pumping it through Jace’s veins. 

For agonising seconds, Porter waited, not sure what to expect as his ancestors whispered encouragement into his mind.

Yes, yes, this is right. This is it.

More blood began to spill over Porter’s hand and he realised he could feel a heartbeat. It felt as if it was coming from the crystal itself, which now sank into Jace’s chest with ease. Porter took his hands away and sat back. Rage gave way to awe.

There was no sudden gasp for air but Jace’s breathing did come back suddenly. His hands went back to his throat, still trying to remove the hands that had already been taken away. He stood up slowly, his eyes searching for answers in the dust on the floor. 

“Wh-wh-what did you just do to me?” Jace whispered. He finally looked up at Porter, fixing a look so intense that Porter felt as if he was being looked through. Something had happened during those minutes he was dead. 

“I revived you. You’re welcome.”

Jace shook his head, but it was barely noticeable. “No no no no. I’ve been revived before. I’ve been revived before and that wasn’t- that wasn’t it. What did you just do to me?”

It was a tone Porter had never heard from Jace before. It sounded both as if he was about to laugh and burst into tears. His hands were shaking as he spoke.

“What did you see?” Porter whispered.

“What did you do to me,” Jace repeated again.

“Tell him what you saw, ” a wicked voice spat and Jace felt himself thrown forward into a bow.

Jace looked up at Porter and that- that look was one Porter was familiar with. Hatred.

“I- I saw nothing,” Jace stuttered. “Not blackness, just nothing. But there was a red- a red glow. Coming from inside me. And pain. So much pain. I- I- I- just saying I can’t describe it isn’t right. It was like- no I can’t. It- it- I could feel my mind melting. It was driving me insane. Then there was a- a- a voice. Something- something powerful saying to submit or stay there forever. I- I- it wasn’t a choice. I couldn’t. I agreed. I- what did you do to me? Who was that?”

“The god of war. Wrath. Rage.”

Porter felt every hair on his body stand on end as he spoke. It was perfect.

Jace had crawled back into a kneeling position now. He looked up at Porter, confused. “There isn’t a… who?”

“There used to be,” Porter said. “But we, the Sunstones of old, couldn’t make her into what we needed. So we’re taking that domain, and giving it to someone that will do the job properly. Me.”

“You? You’re insane. You’re actually insane. When Arthur finds out about this-”

“Arthur isn’t going to find out about anything,” Porter said. He took a step forward and Jace fell back. “Maybe I am insane. Maybe that’s what’s needed. But my family has been working on this for generations and I am going to be the one to succeed. And you’ve already submitted.”

“I-I-I had no choice and no idea what I was agreeing to,” Jace said. “That’s not right. That’s not just.”

“I’m not going to be the god of justice, mate,” Porter said with a smirk. He could see the anger growing behind Jace’s eyes, practically feel the rage seeping into every cell in his body. “You’ve agreed. Unless you want to go back to that void.”

Jace grit his teeth. His face flushed red, matching beautifully with the purple bruises now blossoming on his neck. Sweat and tears mingled on his cheeks. 

“I hate you.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Porter said, nonchalantly. “Now come on, we’ve got work to do.”

[monochromatictoad]

I have this mental image of Gabriel brushing and braiding Laura's hair while she works on her sewing, and I can't get it out of my mind. Enjoy this short!

The brush was soothing. Familiar. Mother used to brush Laura's hair, only to then put it up. She claimed it was to show Laura's status, but to also keep it from getting grabbed by any pesky intruders. Laura never let her mother cut her hair, so this was their compromise. At this point, Laura couldn't remember why she was so attached to her hair, but at least Mother had respected her choice to not cut it.

But Mother wasn't here anymore. One of those pesky intruders had managed to finally end Mother's reign of terror, only to start his own. But she couldn't hate him. No. Even if he had killed her mother, she loved him like a father. He had saved her. Had saved humanity. He wasn't given a hero's welcome. No. He took the curse and sacrificed his own humanity. He was her father, even if she was his dam.

His hands were soft, despite the blood coating them. They gently brushed her hair. He never complained about the length. Never told her she needed to cut it. Never forced her to compromise on it. Each stroke was the bond they shared. He had no kids. She had no parents.

Laura's hands stilled on the doll she was sewing. The brush paused. She leaned back, looking at the man who had taken her in. His once brunette hair, now as black as hers. His skin was as pale as hers. His eyes... His eyes were red, no longer those deep blue. Father looks down at Laura and pressed a small kiss to her forehead.

He was more affectionate than Mother had been. More careful with her. She was treated like a child, but he respected her more than Mother had. He took her thoughts into account. He played games with her. Deep in her mind, she recalled feeling this before. A long time ago. But that time had long since passed.

She smiled and said, "I love you, father."

He simply smiled back at her and replied, "I love you too, daughter."

She turned back to her project and started sewing. This time with a smile on her face. He went back to brushing her hair, braiding it in ways Mother would've hated.

Life was good for Laura and Dracul, and this little bond they created with each other.

[80s4life]

Denial and Anger"

Word Count: 1,518

Status: Requested!

Ask: Some anons were suggesting more Martin Riggs content, I happily obliged.

@: multiple anons!

A/N: This oneshot is based off of "Family Line" by Conan Gray (x)

A/N #2: This is gonna be a long a grueling one guys, I'm sorry. Probably going to be 2-3 parts tbh.

Relationship: Martin Riggs x GN!Reader (however I always default to female, but this can apply to everyone)

Fandom: Lethal Weapon Movie Series

Summary: When push comes to shove and your sister is taken out from under you, you find an unexpected solace in the one Martin Riggs. In a test to get your sister back in time, though, you start to consider whether she may be better off taken than placed back into that house of horrors you'd ran away from a long time ago.

Warnings: angst, mentions of past horrors/abuse, family issues, trust issues, domestic abuse, crime, kidnapping, blood, NO MARTIN YET

Masterlist Lethal Weapon Masterlist

{moodboard is not mine, credits go to @soulofevil found from pillowfort.com (don't know if tagged account actually owns this, I just got it from somewhere else)}

"My father never talked a lot

He just took a walk around the block

'Til his anger took a hold of him

And then he'd hit"

He was furious. About what, you couldn't tell; it didn't take much to anger him as you both grow older. You'd think, as the time goes and the years amount to decades, this man would learn to be more calm and wise. Quite frankly, you'd at least hoped that he would become more rational.

You stand tall despite his menacing frame and vicious tone. You weren't going to let her stand by another second of this. The screaming, yelling, punching, broken shards in your feet as your feet hit the pavement; begging to be anywhere but the place you'd call home.

Your sister was too young to know how to cope. You didn't want her to, though - to compromise. It wasn't a choice she had to make, it wasn't a sacrifice. It shouldn't be.

If she were to be forced to become tough and cold-hearted as the man that had stormed out of the house, the known chain of events to happen in a course of a few hours, she'd be just that: cold-hearted.

She doesn't have to grow up the way you did.

She doesn't have to watch her young, naive doe eyes turn to stone cold orbs that reflect no light; no happiness or love.

You watched as the man who gave you life smashed the front door open, storming through it and down the street. He hadn't said anything, or even gave you a slight hint in his expression. He just had to flip a switch.

In the same quick fashion as he'd left, he returned. You experienced this whiplash before like a slap in the face, though the sting faded the more you'd grown to become accustomed to it.

He was a drinker, a gambler, an abuser, a father.

He lost that sense a long time ago.

"My mother never cried a lot

She just took the punches, but she never fought"

His eyes were set on you, white-hot rage fueling his every move as his long strides carried behind you to the couch in the living room. The stand-off was anything but loving - not as a child would be chased around the couch by her father in a game of tag. It was all a matter of calculation and persistence; a predator unrelenting his devotion to the prey.

"No! Stop! They did nothing wrong!" you mother screams helplessly, trying to dissuade your father from you as you go to grab your sister's hand, standing before her on the opposite end of the couch.

Then there was the switch again, his eyes now set on her.

"'Til she said, 'I'm leaving, and I'll take the kids"

He didn't like that. He came for her, just as he had in the passed ten years. You lunge for him, grabbing the kitchen stool as he chased her into the kitchen. Now you stood before her, your eyes revealing nothing.

He laughs. A cold, sinister laugh - a familiar laugh.

"Go," you tell the girls.

"Y/N, no. Stop. Please," she pleaded, looking between you and your father, your knuckles white from the tension in your hands still wrapped around the stool held over your shoulder for defense. "Stop," she all but begged the man.

He didn't look at her, his eyes were glued to your E/C ones. The ones you shared.

"Mom," was all you said, not allowing your eyes to stray to her in this moment. You heard her whimper, but she had given up, taking a step back.

"So she did"

Driving over the endless roads and highways, you crossed two state lines, charging as far away as you could. It didn't take much time until she was convinced she'd made a mistake, wanting to go back to the man that lived in your nightmares.

It was only temporary, only a certain amount of time before she'd return to that monster. You couldn't make her decisions for her - you wouldn't.

She made her bed; a woman well over her thirties that chose to bring two bundles of life into the world she had created for you. This wasn't your decision or your obligation to go back to him.

Except for one thing: your sister.

///

She was only 12 then, and you 20. You were only there to comfort your sister, the awareness of the horrors in the house not allowing you to leave her behind in your early adulthood.

Your mother went back to that monster, but you never allowed your sister to. You couldn't let her fade away, too.

It had been 8 years since you left that house in Wyoming to Los Angeles, California. You joined the armed forces as a police officer there.

It was a 180 from the world you were accustomed to and hoped as the time went, all the good you've done would return the little girl you once were; the one who believed the world was a grand and spacious place that would provide dreams and comfort.

You had set a nice life for your sister, and for a while you had felt a sense of hope.

Until tonight.

"I say they're just the ones that gave me life

But I truly am my parents' child"

You were working late on a patrol. You were told that in the morning, due to your high resilience, strength, and education, you were going to be relocated to a higher position on the force in the center of the city.

What was supposed to be a normal patrol was soon lead to a tour around the city of where you'd be newly focused on by one of your peers. It wasn't supposed to be this long.

Cursing as you look down at your wristwatch, you find the time glaring back at you. 3 am. You can feel the exhaustion in your bones, the only thing you wanted right now was to be home with your sister and safely secured in your comfy bed.

Pulling into the driveway, you park your patrol car and lock it, leaving all remnants of today's activities in your car to be cleaned out later on in the morning.

Trekking to the door, your back stiffens and you stop dead in your tracks.

The door is slightly off on one of the hinges. The shattered glass panes that decorated the door gives way to the sight inside the house, finding both of the deadbolts you had set up broken and out of place.

You quickly reach for your gun, holding it up with your dominant hand as the other brings a flashlight over top of it. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and your blood rushes, enabling you to step into your house.

You call out to your sister in the eerily quiet, increasing your nerves. You call out once more to no answer. Quickly, you search the perimeter, glass shards decorating the floor and furniture tipped over, things misplaced and haphazard remnants of what was thrown.

You can feel your throat start to close up, finally taking the search upstairs. You call out for her one last time, praying there would be a response somewhere in the dark.

Your vision starts to adjust to the darkness, still blurry as the tears start to cloud the world you'd built around you. If only you could've lived life like this, unable to see and feel the destruction and ruin.

You check the bathroom, your room, the guest room, until finally, her room.

The first thing that catches your eyes are the blood stains of the floor. There is signs of struggle everywhere given the messiness of the room. You feel your blood go cold, taking a deep breath in to analyze the blood splatters by her windowsill.

There are no puddles, which instantly nixes the assumption of being killed or having laid in one spot for a long period of time. So they didn't kill her.

The droplets are almost spray-like, as if someone was either hit, slashed, or cut in an unorganized way. An indication of even more struggle. Your eyebrows furrow as hollowness fills your core. You search her windowsill for any other signs, but only find more sprayed droplets of blood.

Following your way around the house, you look closely now, examining for more blood, the trail leading down the stairs and through the backdoor of the house.

Whoever was here is gone now. The blood is dried in some places by the door, meaning it has been a good amount of time, but still fresh.

You drop to your knees as you let out a loud sob in the chilling darkness of your house - a carbon copy of the home that was. Shakily, your hands reach for the walkie talkie on your chest, unclasping it from the padding to call it in.

Just like your parents, you were unable to protect your sister - your little girl.

Next Part

[nico-di-genova]

Firm believer that Sam not only dropped out of CalTech, but that he also full on spiraled when he got there. According to Sam’s guidance counselor, Sam was managing school surprisingly well. Even while he was getting into fights, and causing general mayhem, his grades never suffered. This is a gifted kid who’s repressing everything. This is a kid who’s placing his entire worth on his grades, and hating every second of it.

“You’re your father’s son for sure,” his teachers would say as they put another A+ in the grade book for him. Sam would smile, tight lipped and forced, and then he’d go out and punch the next asshole he saw shoving a kid in the hallway.

He gets through high school only because a quarter of his trust fund is spent repairing damages he’s caused, and smoothing away threats of expulsion with a couple thousand dollars in the dean’s pocket. Alan almost thinks Sam’s trying to drain the account, what with the way he’s signing a check nearly every other week. But then Sam gets his diploma and Alan assumes that will be the end of it.

Until he gets the call late one night, half past midnight and in the dead of winter. He answers groggily as he paws at the nightstand beside him for his glasses.

“Is this Sam’s dad?” The voice on the other end of the line is unfamiliar, unmistakably young, and definitely not Sam.

“Sure,” Alan replies, because it’s late and he’s tired and figures he’s the closest thing Sam’s got to a father right now anyway.

There’s the muffled bass of music pouring from the other end of the line, distant chatter, and then above it all, Sam’s voice - slurred and overexcited for the late hour.

“‘S that Alan?” He asks, laughing loudly enough that even Alan can hear how unhinged he sounds, “Alan! You gotta get out here, man! It’s wild!”

Sam friend, or possibly a concerned stranger, Alan never does find out which, comes back onto the line.

“You should probably come get him.”

Alan does. Immediately. Grabs his car keys and throws on an old college sweater, running out the door before he can ever consider hesitating. He’s wearing slippers that soak up the snow as he rushes to the driveway, they’ll be ruined by the end of the night, but Alan doesn’t have it in him to care.

He drives the three hours it takes to get there without pause, hardly ever going less than 80. And by the time he gets to the address that the kid on the phone had given him - right before Sam stole the phone to tell Alan about how much molly he’d taken - the party has died down to little more than a few stragglers slumped on the porch. Sam is passed out on the steps.

He’s got a black eye, blood crusted under his nose and smeared along his chin. His lips are purple. Alan didn’t think to bring a spare jacket, mainly because he didn’t expect to find Sam lying in the snow in little more than jeans and a t-shirt.

“C’mon, son. Wake up,” Alan finds himself pleading, hands hovering over Sam’s still body like he’s not sure where to check for a pulse first. The last time Alan had tried to hug Sam, the kid had flinched away from him like it was an assault, Alan wasn’t sure if his aversion to contact extended into unconsciousness.

“Wake up, Sam. Please, kid.”

Sam’s groggy when he does finally shift and blink up at Alan bleary eyed. His pupils are blown wide, nearly black. The dopey smile that spreads across his face reveals the blood staining his teeth.

“Al,” he giggles, like they’re two pals meeting for lunch, “what’re you doing ‘ere?”

Alan considers what steps he’d taken in his life to end up here. One Flynn vanished, the other delirious and shivering in front of him. He helps Sam sit up, pulls his own sweatshirt off just to slide it over Sam’s head like he’s dressing a child. Sam is all floppy limbs and lulling head, still caught in the grasp of whatever drugs he’d taken. He isn’t even looking at Alan as the man grips his chin and tries to get a good look at his injuries.

“What happened, Sam?” He demands, hoping there’s enough weight in his voice to convey how serious he is.

Sam smiles again, blinks owlishly, “I’m socializing,” he says, like there’s an inside joke Alan is missing out on here.

“That what they’re calling it these days? Who hit you?”

Sam shrugs, tries to pull away from Alan’s grip, but his body isn’t quite his yet and there’s no real strength to the movement.

“Dunno. Doesn’t matter. Didn’t even feel it.”

The alarm bells are ringing in Alan’s head so loudly that he’s giving himself a headache. He’s gotta get the kid out of here, get both of them out of here, now that the cold is beginning to burrow it’s way into him as well. He helps Sam to his feet, filing away the way Sam winces when Alan’s hand comes to rest just under his ribs.

It’s not until he’s got Sam buckled into the passenger seat and a good twenty minutes between them and the frat house that the tension in his chest begins to lessen. Sam drifts in and out of sleep on the car ride home. They have to pull over more than once so he can vomit on the interstate, mainly liquid and heavy with the scent of alcohol. By the third time, Sam’s got tear tracks trailing down his cheeks, snot mixing with the blood under his nose, and vomit crusted with spit at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t even bother to wipe it away.

Alan takes pity on him an hour into the drive, pulls into a gas station to grab him a bottle of water. He hands him a handful of napkins from the glove compartment as well, though Sam barely tries to wipe the mess from his face. His movements are still sluggish and laced with exhaustion.

“‘M sorry,” Sam mumbles when they’re back within the city limits.

Alan doesn’t look away from the road and keeps both hands tight on the wheel.

“Just drink your water, Sam.”

They’ll be plenty to talk about come morning. After Sam’s had a shower and they’ve both gotten some sleep. Alan will have plenty of questions, and he has no intentions of letting Sam squirrel his way out of answers.

Sam sips from the water slowly, curls tighter into the warmth of Alan’s sweatshirt, and rests his head against the passenger window. The orange of the streetlights wash out his already pale form, make the bruises under his eyes seem deeper.

“I tried,” he says, small and broken and heavy with the honesty of it.

Alan sighs, “I know you did, kid. I know.”

Sam doesn’t go back for the spring semester. Alan doesn’t press it. He’s half afraid that if Sam had gone back, it would have killed him. It would have killed them both.

[bixiebeet]

Winston’s First Day: part 3

I will put this onto Ao3 once I reset my password and get into my account! I also like giving a first glimpse here on Tumblr. It feels like I can still edit if needed.

Earlier chapters: https://www.tumblr.com/bixiebeet/718131221788524544/she-waits-for-me

Chapter 3: The Firehouse Tour

Egon slid past Janine and entered the office. He introduced himself and shook Winston’s hand. “Has anyone done a brain scan on you yet?” Egon asked.

Winston panicked until he realized that this must have been a joke. “You guys are real pranksters,” Winston said.

“I’m serious. I’m curious why someone would willingly join a business like this,” Egon said flatly.

Janine raised her eyebrows from behind him. “Not for the pay. But don’t tell Dr. Venkman I said that,” she muttered.

Winston was trying to come up with a good answer when Ray burst into the office. He slammed his Tobin’s Spirit Guide on Peter’s desk. The cover and pages were very worn down. “Sorry it’s a bit rough. We can get you a new copy.”

Egon brushed some potato chip bags off the desk and revealed a pristine copy of the same book. “I’m sure that Peter won’t mind us borrowing this. He didn’t open it once in grad school,” Egon said with a smirk.

Janine dashed back to her desk to take an incoming phone call. Egon and Ray took Winston on a tour of the firehouse, starting with the upstairs. The snacks and refrigerator were open to everyone. Same with the arcade games—they were ready to play anytime, no coins required. Ray and Winston each played a game of pinball, while Egon grabbed a pack of Twinkies to eat later.

The shared bunk room was plain but functional. Ray explained that they’d all lived in furnished apartments at Columbia University before moving into the firehouse. That’s why they didn’t bring much decor with them. (“We were unceremoniously thrown out on our asses thanks to Venkman,” he said. “And it was the best thing that ever happened in my life. Despite being scary as hell.”) They offered to get a new bed for Winston or have him sleep on the firehouse’s pull out sofa. However, he insisted that he’d rather keep his apartment in the Bronx. Even though the subway commute would be long, Winston told himself that it would be nice to have his own space.

Although most of the areas were for common use, Egon’s lab and Ray’s book collection were off limits. These were some of the only spaces with a modicum of privacy—something that felt quite elusive while working and living all in one place. (“This is a 24/7 gig. Even Janine works late. Peter always tells me to escort her home, and he tries to insist that I spend the night. As if I want to sleep on her sofa when I have a perfectly good bed here,” Egon scoffed. Winston silently suspected that Peter wasn’t trying to force Egon to sleep on Janine’s sofa.)

Winston was extremely impressed by what he saw in the lab and makeshift library. Egon had stacks of drawings depicting the various Ghostbuster gadgets. Some items were adapted from existing tech, while others were totally new creations. Moreover, Egon obviously loved building things just as much as he loved drawing them. Winston had worked with a lot of military and construction equipment, but he’d never seen anything quite like Egon’s work.

After playing around with an early neutrona wand prototype, Ray led them over to his books. He had a very unique ordering system and preferred that no one meddle with it. (It was a mix of theme, author, and how many pictures were inside.) But otherwise, anyone could ask to borrow a book at any time. Unlike Egon’s gizmos, none of Ray’s collection had the potential to blast a hole through the ceiling.

Winston tried his best not to get overly excited, even though he felt like a kid in a candy shop. His childhood library paled in comparison to this. Ray had sourced books about spirits, hauntings, and the paranormal from all around the world. He had a whole section dedicated to major cities: Cairo, New York, Tokyo, and more. Ray’s section on London hauntings filled up a whole shelf; he explained that he had studied there and brought home a suitcase full of supernatural reference books. Winston couldn’t wait to start reading.

They continued the tour and passed through the lobby, stopping to ask Janine about ordering Winston’s jumpsuit. Then Ray remembered that he’d left another full ghost trap in the back of the Ecto-1. They grabbed the trap, and the three men went down to the basement.

[pudgecuddles]

In My Time of Need - TaeKookMin pt. 1

Part of the Skyrim WG AU. Inspired by @tae156. Here is Jungkook's first meeting with the 95'ers! This is basically their origin story and the beginning of Jungkook's fascination with weight gain. The next part will be called A Night To Remember if that gives you any clues 👀

“And here is Taehyung Kim, your gift from the Jarl unto you, Dragonborn Jungkook, for saving Whiterun from mortal danger. We could not have defeated that dragon without your help.”

Taehyung Kim stood before Jungkook, slightly shorter than him and probably a year or two older. He was a Bosmer, a Wood Elf, with tanned skin and ebony hair. Long, sharp ears poked out between the black curls, framing his handsome face. Intense dark brown eyes stared into his soul. He wore form fitting leather armor, and had a hunter’s bow strapped to his back. An archer it seemed.

Jungkook looked back and forth from Proventus Avenicci to this new Taehyung character rapidly. They were gifting him a person?! “Ah- Thank you Advisor Avenicci. I accept the Jarl’s, uhm… gift.”

Nodding, Proventus Avenicci stepped aside and walked back towards Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, the leader of the city Whiterun. Whiterun was the first big town that Jungkook arrived at after nearly being executed on false pretenses back in Helgun. Luckily a dragon came and accidentally saved his head from being chopped off. Unluckily, said dragon destroyed the town entirely.

Suddenly Taehyung spoke, shaking Jungkook out of his thoughts.

“The Jarl has appointed me to be your housecarl. It's an honor to serve you.”

“Ah, that’s okay really. I don’t need anyone serving me thank you very much.”

“But- But you’re my Thane. I'm sworn to your service. I'll guard you, and all you own, with my life.”

“Okay, that’s a little intense.” Jungkook couldn’t help but say out loud. This poor kid, he probably wasn’t even much older than himself and he was already practically a slave to some stranger. Said stranger being himself. “Let’s just… follow me, okay? Let’s grab a drink.”

Divines knew he needed one.

-

As soon as they stepped out of Dragonsreach, Jarl Balguuf’s palace, Taehyung turned to him, grabbed his shoulders and began to shake them. “Oh thank Y'ffre! I’m outta there!”

Taken aback, all Jungkook could utter was a startled “Huh?” before Taehyung grabed his hand and started power walking down the steps.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been stuck in Dragonsreach just waiting for some stuffy, insufferable noble to catch the Jarl’s attention and assign me to them on account of how many septims they have. But you! Oh, you! You saved us! Actually saved us! I heard we would have been charred skeever hide without your help! Oh, let me buy you a mug of mead, please!” Taehyung’s box-like grin was contagious, and Jungkook found himself smiling in spite of himself.

They were already in the Wind District, below Dragonsreach but above the markets, when Jungkook dug his heels in and forced Taehyung to stop with him. “Hang on, hang on! Before we do anything, I need to know. I’m a Thane? No one really explained to me what that means…”

Taehyung, yanked to a sudden stop, looked back at Jungkook exasperatedly. “The Jarl has recognized you as a person of great importance in the hold.” He seemed to be reciting the words from memory. “A hero. The title of Thane is an honor, a gift for your service.”

“Oh.” Jungkook was kind of shocked. Him? An important person, again?! Could he stop being special for five minutes already?!

Taehyung’s smirk was back as he leaned in closer to Jungkook’s ear. “Guards will know to look the other way, if you let them know who you are.” He giggled.

Jungkook couldn’t help but let out an amused laugh. This guy was growing on him, he’d admit.

“Now come on, let’s get to the Bannered Mare before stupid Mikael starts caterwauling again. Can’t wait for the day someone teaches that womanizer to keep his hands to himself.”

“Wait, I thought you said you’ve been stuck in Dragonsreach? How do you know so much about Whiterun?” Jungkook asked.

Taehyung side eyed him, “I wasn’t always a Housecarl, you know? Used to be a guard! Then I got promoted.” He said ‘promoted’ in a funny voice. “Whole lotta nothing that was. Until you came around that is!”

Jungkook blushed as Taehyung sent him a wink. The Bosmer was cute.

-

Entering the Bannered Mare at two in the afternoon on a Sundas was like entering a partially abandoned temple of Arkay, the god of birth and death. Unnervingly quiet.

Ignoring the unpleasant atmosphere, Taehyung led Jungkook to the bar where he plopped down a bag of coins and asked Hulda, the inn’s proprietor, for two bowls of stew and two mugs of Honningbrew mead.

The mead came quickly, and the stew not long afterwards.

As they ate and talked, they got to know each other. Jungkook told Taehyung about discovering he was Dragonborn, finding the dragonstone in Bleakfalls Barrow, an ancient Nordic crypt full of the undead, and eventually finding his way to Whiterun. Taehyung told Jungkook about growing up in Riften’s orphanage, running away with another kid and making their way to Whiterun only to end up as guards. He mentioned there being an incident that led to him becoming Housecarl, but another round of drinks entered the scene before he could finish his story.

Jungkook was sipping on his second mug of mead, enjoying the now silent company of his Housecarl when he noticed someone else in the room with them. Leaning behind the happily feasting Taehyung, Jungkook spotted a short man in amber colored mages robes sipping on a mug of something in the corner of the inn. He had hair the color of wheat straw and the complexion of a Breton.

As if he sensed Jungkook staring, the man looked over to Jungkook and raised an eyebrow.

In a trance, Jungkook muttered to Taehyung he’d be right back and got up to say hi. Taehyung was too busy digging into his seconds that he didn’t seem to care where Jungkook went. In hindsight, maybe an apparent glutton wasn’t the best choice for a Housecarl…

Either way, Jungkook sauntered on over to the Breton.

“H-Hi?” Jungkook’s voice cracked. Coughing he tried again, “Hi, I’m Jung-.”

“I know who you are.” The beautiful man drawled, apparently unimpressed. “You’re the Dragonborn, an Imperial lost in Skyrim, here to save us all from the dragon threat. Yadda yadda… I don’t care.”

Jungkook didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted by the man’s irreverence. “Well-”

“All I want to know, is if I can drink said great and mighty Dragonborn under the table or not, get it?” The man was all of intimidating, up until he hiccuped cutely.

Oh, he was a drunk.

Jungkook swallowed down a laugh and put on a serious face. “Of course, and who would I have the honor of drinking with this afternoon?” He waved down Saadia, the bar maid, to grab them a round of drinks.

“Jimin Park.” The Breton declared. “Battlemage ex-hic!-traordinaire.” He pointed somewhere to the left of Jungkook’s face, leaning forwards, almost off the table.

Quickly sitting down in front of him, so that hopefully Jimin didn’t fall off of the table, Jungkook struggled not to laugh at the circumstances.

“Here you lads go.” Saadia set down two large mugs of ale. Must have been what Jimin was drinking before. Jungkook preferred the sweeter taste of mead.

Jungkook handed her some coin as Jimin reached over to grab his mug. “Let’s see what you can do outside of battle, huh?”

Jungkook lifted his own much and clinked them together. “Let’s see, indeed…”

-

Perks of being Dragonborn:

Ability to Shout

Audience with the Grey Beards

Countrywide acclaim

Apparently can’t get drunk???

It’d been several rounds of ale in when Jungkook realized that the drunkest he was feeling was pleasantly buzzed.

On the opposite side of the table however, Jimin was leaned over his fifth mug of ale giggle-snorting at a joke he told himself.

“A-And when he woke up, his skeleton was missing! And the priest was never heard from again!” He slapped the wooden table several times, guffawing, causing their mugs to jump slightly with each slap. Jeez, for a mage, this man was strong…

“That’s… great?” Jungkook set down his mug, deciding to take pity on the other man. “Wow, is it late! You know what? You win. You’ve drunk me under the table. I can’t take another sip!”

“About -hic!- time!” Jimin blinked one eye after the other, like an Argonian. “Now pay up!”

Jungkook handed over a few gold pieces. “There we go, hey! Why don’t I introduce you to by friend over here and get you some bread to help soak up some of that ale?”

“I don’t need any soakin’, I already bathed today.” Jimin said pointedly, completely missing what Jungkook actually said.

“Of course you did.” Jungkook lead him towards an empty seat next to himself and Taehyung.

Taehyung briefly looked up from his meal, back down, and then did a double take. “Jiminie?!”

Jimin’s previously half-closed eyes shot wide open. “Taehyung!”

Jungkook looked wide eyed between the man and mer. These weird-arse people knew each other?! Why in Tamriel was he even surprised…

“What’ve you been up to, -hic!- skeever-butt?” Jimin pulled Taehyung into a sloppy arm hold.

“Only dying from boredom up in Dragonsreach, troll bait!” Taehyung easily loosened himself and pulled Jimin into a solid hug. “Missed ya, you tiny drunkard.”

“Anyone care to tell me how you two know each other or am I going to third wheel all night?” Jungkook chuckled as he watched the scene play out.

Taehyung pulled back from Jimin and coughed, pink faced. “Whoops! Sorry my Thane. This is Jimin, the guy I ran away with when I was young. We grew up in Honorhall Orphanage under the tender love and care of Grelod the Kind.” He rolled his eyes. “What a bitch. She would beat anyone that even looked at her too long. Especially the little ones.”

“We- hic!- tried to help as much as we could, but it eventually grew to be too much.” Jimin looked like he was about to cry, his emotions all over the place. First he was happy to see his friend then he was holding back sobs. Must be an emotional drunk.

“Yeah, at some point every Riften urchin has two choices. One, grow up and join the Thieves Guild or two, run away and try to find a life for yourself.” Taehyung explained. The Thieves Guild… now where did Jungkook hear about them again…?

Jimin sniffled. “We chose the second. Came here to Whiterun once we scrounged up enough coin to take the carriage. Had nothing but ourselves and the clothes on our backs.”

“Must’ve been no older than 16.” Taehyung continued. “Had to beg for them to let us into the guard. In hindsight they must’ve been desperate for soldiers, cause they said yes.”

“We stayed as grunts for years, up until we had a uhhhh… slight accident and I got myself kicked out? Luckily I was an adult by then and could set myself up as a mercenary.” Jimin seemed hesitant to bring up this particular story, which was a shame because Jungkook desperately wanted to hear more.

Taehyung growled. “It wasn’t an accident, dummy. I fucked up and you took the blame. I got promoted because of it and the rest is stupid history.” Taehyung definitely looked upset having this brought up again angrily biting into his third chunk of bread. Whoops, subject change?

“Regardless, here you two are now! Taehyung’s free from the Jarl, and Jimin, I would love it if you would join us when we need an extra hand?” Jungkook hoped his positive attitude was enough to lighten the darkened atmosphere.

Taehyung swallowed and Jimin wiped his eyes on his embroidered sleeve. They looked at each other and couldn’t help but smile. “Aww, fuck it. That was years ago. I’m just glad I have you again.” Taehyung muttered, pulling Jimin into a firm hug.

It was times like these, witnessing friends show each other affection that made Jungkook crave that closeness too. Some day, Jungkook. Some day.

The rest of the afternoon was spent eating (okay that was mostly just Taehyung) and people watching as the rest of the city filled into the inn slash tavern. A particularly awful bard started singing which was when Jungkook decided it was about time to find himself a room for the night. That or rush over to Belathor’s shop before it closed to purchase a fur tent for him and Taehyung. Jimin retired to his own room, requiring Saadia’s help getting up the stairs without accident.

“Spend at least a night at the Bannered Mare,” Taehyung recommended. “You’ve got to try her breakfast pie!”

Giving in, Jungkook purchased a night at the inn for both him and Taehyung, alongside access to Hulda’s private bath. It felt like forever ago he was traipsing down the catacombs of ancient zombies when really it wasn’t even twenty four hours. Time to scrub off the grime and dust.

Taehyung said he bathed just the day before and would meet him up in their shared bedroom.

-

The bath was nice, he had picked up some lavender soap at the Riverwood Trader’s a few days ago that he finally put to good use, scrubbing off layers of gunk from his smooth tan skin.

Feeling like he was glowing, he crept up the Bannered Mare’s stairs and to the bedrooms. To his right he noticed a door was a jar, looking in he spotted where Saadia dumped Jimin. He was half on, half off his cot. His robes were still on and he was drooling. Not wanting to push a borderline stranger’s boundaries, Jungkook left his robes on and just rearranged him into a more comfortable position.

Sneaking out of the room, he closed the door.

To his left was another door, this one closed. Remembering it to be the one that Hulda showed to him when he purchased it’s use, he opened it.

Now, he fully expected Taehyung to be under the furs and asleep by the time he had gotten back from his bath and helping Jimin, but he wasn’t.

Taehyung was currently undressing himself from his leather armor, bow and quiver leaned up against the side of the bed. Tossing his chest piece and gauntlets to the side, he proceeded to strip himself of his shirt. Jungkook was then given front row seats to witness the damage Taehyung had done to himself during dinner.

The poor Bosmer was bloated beyond belief. How in Tamriel he could still be thinking about pie with a belly that stuffed was beyond him. It stuck out and hung down slightly onto his lap. Even more surprisingly, there were signs that this definitely wasn’t the first time this kind of feasting had happened.

His chest was distended, filled with excess fat. His areola wide and dark, with swollen nipples at their crest. His sides were rounded out and his puffy thighs were stuffed into his leggings like venison sausages. The boy was chubby, and Jungkook swallowed thickly at the sight.

Looking up, Taehyung startled at Jungkook’s presence. His chub jiggled a bit as he jumped. “Oh shit, you’re back.” Taehyung made no move to cover himself up. “Sorry, we can turn out the lanterns now. I was just finishing undressing.”

“O-Okay… I just uh-” Jungkook was at a loss of words.

Taehyung tilted his head before noticing where Jungkook’s gaze landed. “Oh. Well, I would get bored up in Dragonsreach, and I guess there was always plenty of food to try out. So I just got used to overeating. Now I have a little tummy.” He gave it a couple slaps.

Yeah, well that little tummy is going to be a medium sized tummy if you aren’t more careful. Jungkook thought.

“Oh, well. That’s fine. We can always work it off while traveling.” Jungkook didn’t know what else to say. At least, nothing appropriate for near strangers.

“Yeah…” Taehyung muttered before blowing out the lantern. “Work it off.”

Jungkook had very anti-“work it off” dreams that night.

[artsyjesseblue]

Randomly reading tumblr articles, I stumbled upon a link to an old interview with Voltron’s EPs. This part of the interview stood out to me, as I’ve been supporting the same interpretation of why Zarkon and Honerva became corrupt.

Interviewer: Do you think that, had Zarkon not been infected by the poisoned Quintessence, he may have remained “good?” Or do you think his obsession with Quintessence was already too great and it would’ve only been a matter of time before he became truly evil?

Dos Santos: I personally think that he had very ideological differences with the way Alfor saw things, even without the Quintessence coming into play. I think they came from very opposite ends of societal places.

Montgomery: Different cultures.

Dos Santos: But, they found common ground, and they worked together, so I think there’s a good chance that they could’ve worked together. Maybe there would’ve been ups and downs.

Montgomery: They didn’t see eye to eye, but nothing quite on the level that this has taken had he not encountered that Quintessence. Had they never discovered Voltron, even if they had resorted to war, it would’ve been a much smaller fallout. Something bad would’ve happened in their galaxy, but he wouldn’t have this world denomination that he’s been going on because of his obsession.

Dos Santos: I think Quintessence, if anything, it sort of grabs on to the worst of us and accentuates those elements. Like anything, it corrupts.

Montgomery: Anything at all, even, whether it’s good or evil. Medicine in large doses can kill you. So that’s really what Quintessence is. It’s not innately good or innately bad. It’s a power source, and if you misuse it, it can be very disastrous.

Dos Santos: I think that was the point also that Alfor was trying to get across. He was saying, “Guys, look, you’ve got to covet this stuff extremely cautiously,” in mind that there’s a balance with all of it.

Their commentaries go hand in hand with something Shiro’s clone said in S6: “Zarkon fell prey to his own evil instincts. The quintessence field didn’t create them, it revealed them.”

I’ve written two metas about Zarkon and Honerva’s madness arcs in detail, starting exactly from this premise - the blame is not shifted solely on quintessence, but on their own initial flaws.

The way I like to see it is like this: imagine a slider on a scale from white to black. In between there are lots of grays, which we all have, to a darker or lighter degree. Quintessence will take that slider and radically shift it in one or the other direction, depending what gray zone you’re in. Allura would be the positive example: she tipped the scale towards the bright side - when saving all realities, she transformed the quintessence "from a destructive force to a life-giving force."

Neither Honerva nor Zarkon were devoid of their past selves, even after becoming so vile. Their old selves were still there, their consciousnesses buried deep inside, and my metas explore their gradual transitions towards loss/recovery of their own personas, also taking into account the role of the dark entity within their journeys.

Lance says this nicely at the end of the show: “And had Princess Allura not seen that there was still good left in Honerva, we most likely would not be sitting here today. She grew to understand that there is good in everyone.”

Kid: “Even Emperor Zarkon?”

Lance: “Yes, even Emperor Zarkon.”

[rodeoxqueen]

Breezeblocks

Dante remembers his last fight with his best friend Li Kai. And the last time he saw him.

Dante is begging his best friend not to leave.

This fight was his fault he knows. But it’s too much for Li Kai as he leaves.

Li had been looking for his Ruby after she disappeared.

Searching feverishly for his love, the mother to his child.

Terrified a demon would have taken her and flew off into the night.

The window was open when he had gotten back home, the pregnant woman nowhere to be found.

“Please, Dante. I’m asking you to be a fucking friend, man!”

“Li, it’s been a month.”

“Why, why the fuck does that matter, how long she’s been gone?!”

Li is getting frustrated, pacing the room, his hands running through his short buzzed black hair.

Dante and Li are both standing up, throwing their hands at each other, trying to understand but not listening.

“Li, calm down.”

“Fuck you! Why won’t you help me find my kid and the woman I want to marry?!”

Dante had grown jaded from the constant death and despair in his own life, that Li’s conundrum wasn’t the first time he heard of a woman running off.

He was tired of seeing Li lose days and weeks chasing down the stray leads he could find. Some taking him cities away.

So Dante swallowed his self control and said the worst thing he could have said,

“Women run off all the time man, I’m sorry.”

Something crossed Li’s face, an ugly expression of pent up grief and frustration.

Dante immediately regretted what he said in a moment of impulsiveness.

“No, Li-“

Li punched him in the face. Dante didn’t stop him.

Dante fell to the ground, grabbing the counter to stop his fall.

Li looked down at him, fury on his face.

“You made me a promise, you son of a bitch. I hope you drown in all the fake promises you’ve made everyone in your life.”

Li made his way to the door, grabbing his jacket with such a fervor that it took a lamp down with him,

His words dug into Dante’s chest, knocking the wind out of him before he could come up with the words begging Li to wait.

He let Li slam the door on the way out, the walls rattling against the force.

A memory flashes in Dante’s mind.

I’ve been seeing this girl. Her name is Ruby. I think she’s pregnant. My kid.”

“Didn’t think you’d settle down.”

“After this job, I’m going to take some time off bounty hunting. Take care of her.” Li had an unexpected look in his eyes, a proud one.

“I’ll be better than my old man. I just know it. She thinks they’ll be a son. Sons always look more like their mothers.”

Dante refused to let Li’s innocent comment become sour from his own experiences.

In a way, he felt joy from just being a spectator.

“As long as I’m their god-uncle.” Li patted his friend’s back.

“Always was the plan.”

A demon killed Li not too long after the fight, having lost Dante’s protection after he slammed the door.

Dante felt sick over his drink, hand clenching bone-white. He knew this better than anyone how gruesome it had been. Li was tough. Whatever tried to take him down would have tried so hard to kill him-

The glass shattered in his hand, fingers bleeding a deep red. He sat there, a storm in his eyes.

Red-clouded memories festered in his mind.

Dante stood by the foot of the white outline, splatters of red and ash surrounding the tarp. There were corpses everywhere, long taken away and accounted for. Humans who became so disillusioned with their mortal coil extended their curiosity to unspeakable evils.

They got what they deserved.

John Doe laid in the middle of the ruined circle. He knew death too well but what he saw made his heart drop to his stomach while his throat tightened.

He found what remained of Li lying on his chest, a limp hand reaching out for something in his last moments. Iron was in the air, heavy and putrid. His inner demon coiled at the smell.

A dark splatter of red formed a pool under him, Dante couldn’t, no, he wouldn’t pass that crimson barrier from his boots.

Dante is a broken heap on his kitchen floor, staring at the door Li left.

Something comes over him and he throws his bottle at it.

Glass shatters like his soul and he wrings his hands in his hair, crying deeply into the floor.

He’s alone again isn’t he?

[starlostjimin]

Title: spring for the first time Chapter 2/? WC: ~1800 Chapter Rating: T Fandom: Stray Kids Pairing: Han Jisung/Lee Minho Fic Summary: The day before Jisung's thirtieth birthday, Hyunjin tells him an old wives' tale about people who are virgins when they turn thirty. A shy accountant just trying to make it through life, Jisung brushes him off.

Until he wakes up the next day and hears things he definitely shouldn't be able to.

Or: Cherry Magic: Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard!....but make it minsung Tags/warnings: feelings of internal shame about virginity, societal pressure, gay awakening, assumed heterosexuality (joke's on them), magic, mind reading, innuendo, mythology (or is it?), best friend!hyunjin, workplace au, light urban fantasy au, i guess, fluff, mild alcohol consumption, possible smut later in the fic i haven't decided yet, currently SFW

prev chapter

Jisung was losing it. 

There was no other explanation. There was just no way he was hearing people’s thoughts, no matter what Hyunjin had joked about yesterday. But while there was a chance, however slim, that he might have mistaken Minho’s voice for someone else’s, the food truck guy was another story. Not only was there nobody else around at the time, but like the man pointed out, they saw each other every single morning and had for months. There was no way Jisung heard anyone else’s voice, and there was no way the kind old man would have said something like that aloud. But mind reading wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. 

“Jisung?” the voice behind him sounded mildly concerned as Jisung snapped out of the swirl of thoughts attempting to overtake him. He spun his chair around and forced a smile. 

“Hey, Seungmin. What’s up?” 

“Dude…you good? You’ve been using your desk as a drum kit all day. And uh, no offense or anything, but don’t quit your day job.” 

Jisung scratched at the back of his neck as he felt his cheeks heat up. “Sorry. No plans to quit, don’t worry. Just kinda fidgety today. I didn’t sleep all that well last night.” He let out a sigh of relief when Seungmin nodded, seeming to accept the lie. 

“My mom uses something to help her sleep. Some herb or something. Want me to ask her about it?” Seungmin said. 

“God, no. I’m not that old,” Jisung said with a laugh. “Aren’t we the same age?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s your birthday today, right?” 

Jisung shuddered. “Unfortunately.” 

“Then you’re older than me, because my birthday is later this month.” Seungmin beamed at him and Jisung fought the urge to kick his coworker in the kneecaps. 

“Aaaaand conversation over,” he opted to say instead, turning his chair back towards his computer. He stared at the account file he was supposed to be analyzing for discrepancies until he felt Seungmin’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Seungmin, I thought you wanted to focus on work,” he said irritably. 

I need to know if you have a freaking date yet. It’s about time. 

“Just wondering if you have any fun birthday plans,” Seungmin mused. 

Shit. He’d definitely heard both those sentences, with extremely different tones. Jisung scooted his chair closer to his desk and twisted his body towards his friend, hoping to shake his hand off. “Just the usual. Nothing special,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. “I really do have to get through this file, though.” He heard Seungmin sigh, but felt him move away as his chair rolled back to his own desk. He peeked over his shoulder and, seeing Seungmin facing his computer again, he grabbed his phone and tapped out a quick text to Hyunjin. 

> I’m taking lunch in 20. We’ve gotta talk.

“I’m sorry, what?” Hyunjin exclaimed. 

Jisung looked around in a panic. “Shut up! I literally didn’t even want to tell you this, I definitely don’t want to tell the whole company. Why are you so surprised? You were the one who told me about this, remember?” 

Hyunjin laughed. “Yeah, but like, your parents told you about Santa. It’s just a story.” He dropped his voice lower. “I didn’t actually expect you to get superpowers. And it’s not like I would have managed to get them.” He smirked, and Jisung rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. You get whoever you want. That isn’t the point here.” Jisung groaned. 

I can’t see this being real, but Sungie seems really freaked out. 

“Of course I’m freaked out! Why are you talking to me like I’m -” Jisung stopped when he saw Hyunjin’s jaw drop. “You…didn’t say that out loud, did you?” Hyunjin shook his head slowly, eyes growing to the size of dinner plates. Jisung looked under the table and realized Hyunjin had moved his foot, which was now sitting just close enough to Jisung’s to make contact. He jerked his foot away and dropped his face into his hands. 

“I’m never going to survive this, Hyunjin,” he said. “I’ve gotta be a bigger hermit than before. I can never leave my apartment again. I am a thousand percent sure I don’t want to know what people are thinking about me.” 

“Or…” Hyunjin said slowly, Jisung gestured at him to continue with one hand, leaving his face planted firmly into the other. “Or you could like, date.” 

“Ah yes, because the thirty year old sarcastic virgin in the world’s tiniest apartment is the catch of the year,” Jisung said dryly. 

“You literally just need confidence, Sungie,” Hyunjin said. “It’s just you, so you don’t need a bigger apartment. You’ve got a decent job, you’re funny - I guess - and you’re definitely cute. But you’re never going to meet anyone if you only go from home to work again.” He shrugged. “The virgin thing, that’s gonna affect your confidence more than anything. Sex is different with every single partner because everyone likes different things. So there’s a learning curve every time you sleep with someone new. It’s really not the huge deal you’re making it out to be.” 

“Says the non-virgin,” Jisung said. 

“You’re hopeless.” 

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” 

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “Look, I’ve got to get back. I'm super swamped with work right now. But seriously, you’re going to be fine, Sungie. Let’s go out this weekend. A club or something. Maybe you can meet someone.” 

Jisung grimaced, but tentatively agreed. He could always cancel later. Hyunjin was probably expecting it, anyway. 

“You promised. Try this one on,” Hyunjin said, narrowly missing Jisung’s face with a black top made of such flimsy material he could nearly see his friend through it. 

“I’m not wearing that,” Jisung said wearily from his place at the edge of the bed. 

Hyunjin scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Just try on the damn shirt, Jisung. You need to get out of this apartment and out of your head.” 

Apparently nobody is getting out of my head. If Jisung had been speaking aloud, he’d have been pouting. To be fair, he wasn’t sure he wasn’t pouting, even in his silence. He pulled his hoodie over his head and tugged on the gauzy short-sleeved shirt Hyunjin had tossed him. 

Hyunjin grinned and clapped his hands together. “Yes. With those black jeans you bought and then barely wore. Where are they…” the last few words were mostly to himself as he turned and went back to rifling through Jisung’s closet, a cry of victory erupting when he found the intended jeans tucked away at the back. “You know the drill,” he said, tossing them to his friend. 

Jisung sighed. So much for canceling. He was going to need a lot of liquor to survive this night. 

“You had to pick the busiest one in town, huh?” Jisung asked Hyunjin as he stared at the line waiting to get into the club. 

Hyunjin shrugged. “They’ve got the least sketchy bathrooms. Besides, the line is moving pretty fast.” 

“Sooner we get in, the sooner I can go home,” Jisung said cheerfully. Hyunjin shook his head. 

“You’re really and truly hopeless.” 

They joined the line and made their way into the club. A deep bass pulsed out of the building and vibrated straight into Jisung. He pulled out his ID as they approached the door and handed it to the bouncer. The short, broad man looked at the card and back at Jisung, pausing for a moment before nodding and handing it back to him. He stepped inside, Hyunjin close behind him, and let the music envelop him.

If there was one thing that always comforted Jisung, no matter what, it was music. He always had it playing at home and he had taken a few music composition courses as electives at university - not that he’d actually followed up on them. It was too late by then to change his major, he’d rationalized, refusing to acknowledge that what had truly held him back was fear. He and Hyunjin made their way to the bar and ordered their drinks, tipping the bartender well before heading out onto the dance floor. 

Bodies writhed around them as they found their groove in the music, Hyunjin laughing every time Jisung jumped away from someone brushing up against him. Jisung was torn between the relaxation of dancing and the tension of being surrounded by so many people he couldn’t get away from. He tipped his head back and drained his drink, hoping the alcohol would help to muffle the cacophony of voices in his mind. 

 Ultimately, it wasn’t the alcohol, but the cacophony itself that ended up relaxing Jisung. Being bounced around between bodies as one tended to be in a club this crowded, he found that the noise inside of his head was similar to that outside of it - a dull roar that all blended together. He had finally let himself fade into the music when he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder, too quick for any thoughts to carry through. He whirled around, unsure of when Hyunjin had ended up behind him. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.” 

Jisung stepped back quickly as he came face to face with Lee Minho, crashing into Hyunjin in his attempted retreat. 

“M…Minho-ssi. I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Jisung said, forcing a smile. Hyunjin stared between the two. 

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he said, stepping forward and reaching out to shake Minho’s hand after making sure Jisung wasn’t going to fall over immediately upon his moving away. 

“Lee Minho,” the older man introduced himself. “I’m a coworker of Jisung’s.” 

“Me too! He’s also my best friend,” Hyunjin said, his voice taking on an edge of protectiveness. “I’m in the advertising department, a graphic designer.” 

“Sales,” Minho said. “I’m glad you were able to coax Jisung out. Things have been a little stressful on our floor lately.” He turned his attention back to Jisung. “You’re a good dancer. Join me?” 

Jisung’s eyes widened and he looked down at his chest, convinced his heart was about to pound out of it. What in the hell is going on? he thought. His eyes moved from his chest to Minho’s hand, hovering somewhat awkwardly in between them, and the first thing that left his mouth was,

“Sorry, I gotta go.” 

He pushed past Minho and through the crowd, heading for the bathrooms on the far side of the dance floor. Hyunjin shot Minho an apologetic look and followed quickly. There were answers to be had and Hyunjin was going to have them. 

[littlespace-imagines]

Broken Dreams pt.6

Warning Pt.5

Pairing: Cg!Jason the Toymaker × little reader

Contains: very dark, abusive themes, forced

Littlespace, kidnapping, toxic cg/| dynamic, unhealthy relationships, humiliation as punishment, time confusion

*This is very different from my regular stories on this account, please exercise caution*

**Ageregression and Littlespace will never be sexualized on this blog**

You had finally gotten yourself on a consistent schedule you had been at your new job for a couple weeks and was doing pretty well. You were mostly in the children's unit which you loved, a lot of the kids in there were children dealing with mental health issues or who were learning to cope with trauma, Dr.Loomis was more than proud of your performance.

You had almost completely forgotten about the secret admirer but it did still linger in the back of your head but you were doing your best to push it out of your head. You were currently doing the dishes and cleaning up around your house a bit before you went out for the night with your friend.

It wasn't long before you were tugging on a tight black dress and some heels, your hair was put up into a cute bun and make up was glittery, just as you finished the final touches on your look you hear a knock on your door.

"Hey! Oh my god, you're actually early!" You say and pull your friend into a hug,

"Yeah I know it's a miracle, huh?" Your friend and you share a laugh as you grab a purse, tossing your phone and keys inside before you head out for the night.

You were so excited to finally get to see Maddie, you had been friends since college but unfortunately you didn't get often to catch up due to her job as a homicide detective, you lived in a big city so there was plenty of murders. Once at the bar your friend begins handing you drink after drink, you drink them happily and enjoy some breadsticks. You and your friend chatted about what was going on in life and how lucky you felt you were about getting this position.

After a comfortable silence your friend gasps,

"Oh yeah, I wanted to give you a heads up to be careful since you live alone." She said and you gave her a look,

"Uhhh you can't just drop that on me and not give me context." You say warily and your friends face goes serious,

"Listen, I'm technically not allowed to tell you about this so this has to stay between us or I could loose my job." Your friend says, you nod knowing how much your friend adored her job she takes a purse before continuing,

"There's someone who is kidnapping women who live on their own and we're finding their corpses inside dolls of themselves." She says in a whisper and you gasp,

"What the fuck?!" You whisper-yell and your friend nods,

"Yeah but it gets worse, these women aren't just dressed up as dolls but they're dressed in like adult baby clothes." She says and you shake your head,

"That's so random. Do you have any leads?" You ask

"I wish! We don't know how he's getting into the homes at all, there is no sign of forced entry or exit. These women are just disappearing. The only thing the victims have in common is that they all report debilitating nightmares, anxiety, and hallucinations." She says and you freeze

"Is there anything else?" You ask and she shakes her head 'no' you look at her in bewilderment,

"This is unlike any case I've ever seen, honestly." she said and you placed a hand on her shoulder,

"You'll crack it, they have to slip up eventually." You say and she nods

"Okay, enough talking about the work shit, let's go." She says pulling you towards the dance floor you laugh and follow her excitingly,

It wasn't long before you were tipsy and dancing at one point you get separated from Maddie, you looked around for your friend frantically,

"Hello there, Bunny." A deep, velvety voice whispered into your ear causing you to whip around to see no one behind you. You stare in confusion before someone grabs your shoulder, you let out a yelp and turn around to see Maddie standing there.

"Woah, it's just me, sorry I scared you." She said and you waved her off,

"It's fine, I'm just jumpy let's just focus on having fun."

After a few more rounds of drinks you and Maddie stumbled your way to an Uber and eventually to your apartment, you convinced Maddie to spend the night with you instead of going all the way home. You helped her settle down before you yourself got into bed.

[ase-trollplays]

Be the Online Blueblood

(Abridged bio)

Your name is Hyleem Merker, and you live in the city with your great dane lusus. Your lifestyle is pretty cushy since you’re a highblood. Your monthly stipends from the empire are all you really need to keep you afloat, but you like having a good stash of backup money, so you choose to work anyways.

At the ripe young age of fourteen and a half sweeps, you basically have it made doing what you enjoy. You’re a prolific snitch streamer and grubtuber going by the username Jupiter_Incoming. Snitch streaming is where a good chunk of your money comes from. You exclusively stream video games, though it’s a pretty even mix of popular games and indie games.

Your grubtube channel, on the other hand, is more for your own amusement than serious monetization. It’s a grab bag of “Try not to laugh” challenges, reaction videos, vlogs, and VODs of your snitch streams. You also have chitter and instagrub accounts as well as a discord server. It’s not too much of a stretch to say your entire livelihood exists online.

When you first started streaming, you were pretty mellow and shy, but over the sweeps your confidence has transformed your online persona into a loud and high energy version of yourself. There’s a lot of playing up how excited you are, but you’re also pretty excitable in real life when you’re around the right people. You want to become a veteran streamer some night and be a hivehold name and meet actual celebrities.

Outside of your streaming and grubtubing, you have a few interests. Although it seems pretty stereotypical for your caste, you have always enjoyed robotics. You mostly build small remote control cars and drones (both flying drons and models of empire drones). You thought about getting more serious with it and making fighting robots for competitive robot fights, but you would cry if you had to watch something you put a ton of work into get the shit beat out of it.

You’re also a sucker for animal rescue videos and foundations, especially dog rescues. You tried fostering once, but your lusus didn’t appreciate having more than one dog in the hive. Also, it majorly cut into your streaming and editing, and you found yourself lacking the sort of patience necessary to be a good foster custodian. However, you will occasionally host charity streams for rescue organizations and shelters.

One thing that is not an interest of yours is roughing it. You’ve never been much of a great outdoors kinda troll. After all, the woods are filled with dangerous shit, and the best way to survive it is by not being there. The noise and hustle and bustle of the highblood district is your only home. However, your forest-dwelling moirail makes it a point to force you to spend time in the forest with her each perigee to “sharpen your survival skills.” You still scream and leap into her arms when you see a snake or a particularly large bug. 

Speaking of your moirail, she occasionally lives with you, and you teach her how technology works. She’s lived off the grid her whole life and has no idea how anything outside of living off the land works. It’s definitely a process, but you don’t mind since you like her a lot.

For your strife weapon, you chose nunchucks because you were a stupid kid and thought they were cool. Tragically, you suck at using them, and you can’t figure out how to change your strife deck to something else, so you had to get a secondary one: Pistolkind. You hate confrontation, and a bullet to the head or chest is the fastest way to end an altercation.

Your trollian is not your username despite how easy that would be. Instead, you went with the handle blueExcellence, and “0|||0 You r=ally wish your onlin= car==r would tak= off a litt=e fast=r. 0|||0″

Important tags:

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About Hyleem