#and yet when one of them is hurt or sad suddenly they know what empathy is

[phoenix-of-jade]

12

In honor of SPOTIFY WRAPPED,  send me a number 1-100 and I’ll write you a starter based on the song.

Song number 12: Love the way it hurts by Cloudy June

Oh, your demons match my ghosts

Twin spirits... That was the conclusion the raven haired had came to after listening to Minjun's story about his past and the unfortunate love story he'd gone through. It was interesting how two seemingly completely different people, with completely different backgrounds, could share soo much in common, from a complicated family background characterized by messy games of power and the iron fist of parental authority, to the tragedy of losing their first loves in an unfortunate turn of events that would make said people haunt them to this day (even if the circumstances were different for each one of them, as well as the nature of the "haunting").

I'm sad as fuck you know

When Minjun told him that he couldn't let go of Joowan because he was his very first ever love, the information kind of struck a sensitive chord buried deep within Xuan's heart and soul. He could relate in a way with the lawyer's pain and struggles with moving on, because he too was haunted by a similar ghost: while he didn't lie about Cheng being some sort of 'ex', the man wasn't Xuan's only friend he'd ever gotten involved with in a seemingly romantical way.

The two had another friend with whom they both were very close, a boy named Xia, and while Xuan didn't love Cheng in a romantic manner, he did bear this kind of feelings for this boy; feelings he was too young back then to be able to fully understand what they were or what they meant, but which made Xia be the closest thing to an actual crush Xuan had ever experienced. Unfortunately, Xuan lost Xia when they were still kids, the young man dying at the ripe age of 13 and leaving the at the time 12 year old Xuan with a grueling sense of survivor's guilt. And to this day, the green eyed man blamed himself for Xia's death even if it wasn't his direct doing, living under the impression that anyone he'd grow to love ever again would end up suffering a similar fate, which made Xuan swear that he'll never love again.

You can always make it worse

Yet, cut to the present, and the time spent in the company of this stunning and clever lawyer made Xuan feel a kind of tingle he hadn't felt in literal years, something he never thought would be possible ever again. That strong feeling of compassion and empathy he felt for Minjun, paired with his respect for this handsome man's strong will and determination, had made Xuan develop a keen liking for his new business associate. In other words, he was starting to develop a new crush. But was he ready to accept this kind of feelings in his life? Was Xuan ready to allow himself to love again and welcome this still unknown feeling to nestle into his stone cold heart?

Baby I need you I need your claws on my neck I need your bitter red wine lips and dirty regrets I need your hunger Feels like you're tying me up I'm begging you for your love Begging you for your love

Before he realized it, Xuan had already started to slowly fantasize about him and his lawyer, and that did not include the business framework in the slightest! He couldn't take his mind off of Minjun's charming smile, his charismatic voice and the way his pretty lips looked soo kissable! It was strange feeling like this for someone so suddenly after he hadn't ever caught any semblance of such cravings for anyone else in literal years, not even for Cheng, with whom he had an intimate relationship after all...

Maybe it was the fact that Minjun kind of reminded him of Xia, in a way? It was true, he had black hair and brown eyes like his long departed friend, but so did many other people he'd interacted with in the past and he hadn't developed any displays of lust like this for them. Or maybe it was Minjun's charisma and very kind and selfless nature that reminded him of the young man? Xuan didn't know, but it frustrated him nevertheless. He wanted something from Minjun, that he could tell, but what exactly that something was, heck if even he knew!

Interesting enough was that the lawyer seemed to be interested in him too, or that's what Xuan thought from watching him closely during their conversations. It was bad! This only served to fuel those weird feelings and desires he was having even further! Should he even try to initiate something...?

Xuan shook his head in frustration, sighing and leant back into the chair, staring at the ceiling. Was it even worth it? What if he tries to initiate something romantic with him and Minjun rejects him? Not only would he end up hurt (especially his pride and ego), but that would also risk ruining their business relationship as well...

The raven haired heaved a deep sigh, wondering why things had to be soo complicated? And even if let's say, Minjun were to actually return these feelings of attraction, there was still the issue of his stalker ex boyfriend... Xuan furrowed his eyebrows remembering about what Minjun had told him: Joowan was a murderer and if he'd deem Xuan as competition, he might attempt 'eliminating' him the best way murderers know...

But how can I make me not want you now? Can I make me not go to your house?

But when was he ever afraid of death to begin with? Xuan let out a self-ironic snort. The idea sounded soo stupid in comparison to his lifestyle: he was dealing with the threat of death on a daily, such was the life of a powerful mob leader such as himself. So what was one more assassination threat on top of the already long list looming over his head? Xuan wasn't a scarredy cat. He'd never fret in the face of danger and that wasn't something that would change now. If he wanted Minjun, he could've as well gone for it! Xuan wasn't going to let anyone get in his way and if worse came to worse, he was sure that at least he could rid the lawyer of this annoying pain in the ass.

Baby I crave you I crave your taste in the night (...) And it's rushing from my feet to the back of my head

That thought in mind, Xuan smirked to himself a sinister smile. Yeah, he wasn't going to back down and give up that easily! When he wanted something, he was the type of man that wouldn't refrain from doing almost anything to get that something and if that bastard was even going to think to stand between him and Minjun, Xuan was going to show Joowan what it meant challenging the Green Eyed Death himself.

So yeah, he was going to actually go to Minjun house tonight and finally do what he's been craving to do for quite a while now. Once that decision set, there wasn't turning Xuan back from it and he was going to make sure that nothing, and really nothing, would stand between him and his goal! Those were the very thoughts traversing Xuan's mind as he stared at the shiny revolver glistening in the dim light of the study, before placing it in its holster, concealed nicely underneath his shirt and pants at his back.

Oh, your demons match my ghosts I'm sad as fuck you know You can always make it worse But I love the way it Hurts and maybe that's my curse Come and drag me through the dirt You can always make it worse But I love the way it hurts It hurts It hurts But I love the way it hurts It hurts Oh it hurts

Indeed, they were twin spirits attracting one another and for that reason they should have been together... Xuan wan't one to give up without a fight and even if this would've ended up hurting him in any shape or form, he was more than willing to take that pain. After all, wasn't he the type who liked a little bit of pain anyways?

Cheeky grin played at the corners of his lips and his emerald eyes shined with the glow of a hungry predator ready to go after its pray, as the raven haired exited the office. Let the hunt of the night begin!

[thepalmofyourfreezinghand]

hello. Idk why I'm sending you this message and I just found out about your blog yesterday when I finally decided to check how things were over here. I guess you seem like a level headed person that would appreciate a bit of a different perspective. I know what I'm going to say might sound rough, but just know I don't think all of you are like this.

For a bit of context, I have listened to Taylor's music since Fearless. I'm pretty much an OG swiftie (except I'm not. More on that in a bit). But I never was involved in the fandom in any way. I enjoyed her music alone, know quite a few more personal things and interviews and that was it. Overall a pretty healthy chill experience. I think I consider myself something between a casual listener and a fan.

Shortly before 1989 was released, I kinda moved away from her new music. Pop music was never a favorite of mine and I did not enjoy what I heard from the first singles. So just decided to change interests for a while, but kept listening to her old music. So I missed a lot of drama in between thank goodness cause I hate it tbh.

I actually only came back around 2021 with the re-recordings because of Twitter. I learned a whole bunch about it, stuff that had happened in between and decided to listen to the albuns I missed in the process. In the meanwhile ofc I learned she seemed to finally be in a stable relationship and people seemed to like them. I was never that into her relationships so not much of a different to me. If anything I was glad she was in a healthier place, cause I remember seeing people commenting about the whole CH breakup and suddenly jumping to another TH and thinking girllll you are all about trying to be fine but you are not fine at all mental health wise. I guess you spot these things easier when you study psychology.

So...moving on to the actual reason I'm writing and to the present, I want to say that while I do like Taylor I like her music more. That and the fact that for a few reasons I don't consider myself a swiftie nor I interact with the fandom still today, I think gives me a more unbiased view. I also don't have much to say about Joe cause I know very little about me. This said, I was on Twitter and have been reading all the reactions since the news came out and...it has absolutely been a highly toxic environment to be in.

One of the reasons why I don't interact with the fandom is because I think in general is very toxic. When other fandoms say that, they are right. It's toxic and the way a lot of people see Taylor is unhealthy. The scariest part for me is that some people are aware of this, but feel proud of it.

I think one of the biggest problems for me is how you choose to have selective empathy, selective respect, selective principles. In your head Taylor does no wrong (and if she does, we'll figure a way out to defend right), and you preach for respect for her either because of body-shaming, offensive jokes or whatever it is. Yet that goes all out of the window when it's not about Taylor but someone else, other singer, one of her exes...whatever.

Selective empathy at its finest: Taylor's feelings matter but none else's.

And sometimes even her own fans disrespect her and are misogynists. The same thing they don't admit coming for someone else.

It completely baffles me the way this fandom harasses other people and is proud of it.

If there's one thing I pride myself of is being empathetic towards others, I think sometimes I am even too sensitive. Like I said I did not know much about their relationship, was not attached at all and yet I'm human. I shed quite a few tears, simply because of seeing other people sad and the feelings she out in her songs. Because I know all too well how our mental health takes a toll on us, how hard it is not to constantly overthink things when you've been hurt before, how easy it is to just assume always the worst and how absolutely devastating it is to see your fears coming true.

Yet I'm also a human who understands there's a lot of sides to the same story so I choose not to attack, but to understand. And when that's not possible or my understanding leaves a sour taste in my mouth, I try my best to let go because the reality is I don't know these people, I can't help them and I can really only imagine what they are feeling.

Maybe we should all sometimes have more self awareness to figure out when it's not healthy anymore and we're fighting other people's battles instead of our own.

Thank you so much for your perspective anon, and for typing this all out. I especially agree with the second to last paragraph.

I recently discovered quite a few people in my life are Taylor’s fans, and I simply never knew because they don’t talk about her, they don’t use their socials to defend her from sunrise to sunset, they don’t post frantically about whatever she’s up to, they don’t fight with others over her, they don’t engage in immature content, and they don’t obsess over her. And thus, they don’t create a toxic environment.

On my part, I’ve always followed her: from 2008 to 2012 I followed her from a distance or posted on very old websites for teens hahah, then I had a twitter account where I mostly talked about her in 2012-2016, then during rep era I kept the same level of love for her and her music, but I consumed content passively instead of engaging with it and with other fans actively. I was on Reddit for Lover/folkmore/the re-recordings, and now I’m here writing on Tumblr (I’ve read stuff on here since 2014 but I never engaged with anyone).

And let me tell you, my happiest moments as a Taylor fans are the ones where she’s not in the top 10 of my interests. I still listen to her music, I still read her interviews and watch the videos and save the pictures and think about her and care for her, but being in the trenches as a Taylor fan means being tired, angry and frustrated 24/7, and taking part in a toxic environment. So I think you’re doing the right thing!

[leighlew3]

Leigh, I'm so sorry to burden you with this, but I've followed you for a few years and witnessed how supportive you've been with SuperCorp fans and the shared disappointment with how the show ended, so I feel safe writing to you.

All the WLW shows getting cancelled fucking sucks. And it hurts. Not because I've necessarily been a big fan of them all, but simply because my voice and story, as a consumer and queer woman, doesn't feel valued.

When I heard Netflix cancelled Warrior Nun, I got angry, and I've been so ever since. It somehow hit different this time, and the cancellation doesn't make sense to me. I've loved the show since its first day on Netflix in 2020. I fell in love with the characters and the actors who portrayed them. I fell in love with the story they were telling and how it was told. Something about Warrior Nun just felt different to me.

Now it's almost 7 in the morning where I live, and I haven't been able to sleep. I was reading a Warrior Nun fic - as one does - and then all the feelings suddenly hit me. Angry turned into sad, and I feel sort of silly for admitting this, but I actually cried. I read somewhere that the brain can't differentiate real people from fictional ones, and I think I'm kind of mourning the loss of the characters 🤷🏻‍♀️ I've never felt this way before and I honestly don't know what to do about it. The whole situation just sucks.

Do you have any advice on how the consumers can be heard by big companies like Netflix and how we can get them to actually value their WLW shows?

Again, I'm sorry to lay this on you, but I don't really have anyone to talk to about this, and I'm just sick and tired of the situation and needed to rant.

(I appreciate you and wish you and your loved ones a happy new year)

It's not a burden at all, I'm glad you feel this is a safe space. 💜

Everything you're saying is relatable and valid as heck. When a show means the world to you, especially if you're part of a marginalized group and taking hit after hit after hit no less... it can be exhausting, infuriating, demoralizing, and so many other complicated emotions when you lose that art that struck you so deeply, that you related to, and that you looked forward to more of to get you through life.

To be honest, I feel like for the most part, fans are doing as best they can as far as efforts to keep shows around. There really are no more tangible specific solutions for fans aside from what's being done, and that's what's frustrating. The endless rewatches, fans doing street team style spreading the word on their own (even spending a lot of money) to make up for lack of official marketing, getting influencers and press behind them, etc. It's actually a sad state of affairs that in recent years, LGBTQ fans have WORK, and FIGHT and PUSH and even PAY constantly to keep a wlw show on the air or to try to get someone to make a ship canon after queerbaiting, or to get more screen time or respectful exploration for a wlw pairing, or to make TPTB see how bad the bury your gays trope is (time and again and again), etc -- rather than just sit back and watch and enjoy.

Fans shouldn't have to work so hard for entertainment, and yet queer fans so often do. And even when people successfully give a show solid numbers, sometimes it's still not enough, and like WN, a well-reviewed, heavily watched series gets the axe anyway.

So it's not on the fans. It's on those at the top, at the end of the day.

Alas, if I had to make some kind of a suggestion... all I can think to say is on the macro, bigger picture level. And this will take some self reflection and increased empathy for some people (sadly a thing some may not be capable of). But... collectively, some people in fandom spaces (small portions, but loud ones) for wlw shows have got to try to stop the silly fanon vs canon wars, and gatekeeping, and jealousies, and creating unnecessary drama and toxicity. There really should be no rival fandoms in wlw spaces at all, unless a show has a fully wlw love triangle or something and people are Team Ship 1 vs Team Ship 2, lol, but even still -- it should be a 'fun' battle, not a toxic war that hurts real people, drives away viewership, etc.

If most people in queer fandoms stuck together, and respected each other's ships even if they don't ship it or watch the show, and generally were supportive of each other as fellow queer fans in their battles against cancellations, in demanding queerbait to be made canon, fighting the BYG trope, etc -- LGBTQ fandoms would have such a collective, expanded power behind these positive efforts. And either way, even if all efforts fail to save a show, etc, at the very least, it would help create a safer, healthier space for queer fans online.

And I know, asking toxic people to not be toxic seems futile, but some people simply need to be reminded that we're all in this together and working together is always going to be ideal when facing off against the real opposition: corporate bias / phobia in the media / industry space.

Ultimately, it's 100% on TPTB at the shows and networks/streamers/studios to do better -- at times creatively, and other times as far as marketing efforts. Sometimes both.

But in the meantime, as far as fandom spaces, some LGBTQ fans gotta try to learn to stick together as much as possible. While there will ALWAYS be toxicity in every fandom from all backgrounds, and fans cannot control each other, I am noticing that as time goes on, and as more wlw fandoms get hurt by networks and streamers, the more angry people are understandably getting, the more reactive and protective of their shows and ships people are getting, and the more then they lash out and try to gatekeep and attack their fellow queer fans and allies, which is... just not it. It's counter productive.

Point is... fans are doing all they can IMO as far as tangible efforts to save (or fix) certain shows. And the rest is on the creatives, the networks and streamers, etc. But in the meantime, at the very least, people shouldn't attack true allies who have proven their support, nor especially attack fellow queer fans who just want to see what a show or ship is about or make positive parallels to their other faves, etc as it could be extra viewers for the show that they're running off.

TLDR: Stay focused on the real problem: corporate media's bias / phobia. Fight them collectively, not each other.

[crisishauntline]

I’m sad at how tired I am, because I don’t want that to matter when I know she is trying with all her heart, and that it is working. I told her today that I see how hard she works to make space for my and her own emotions, to respond to them rather than react, to speak gently, ask questions and reflect my answers, offer recognition and empathy. I’m proud of the work she has done (& we have done) to get to this point. But that work has also exhausted me.

If we had gotten to this stage of healing 3 or 4 months ago, I think I would have been able to celebrate it like it deserves to be celebrated, and to feel renewed. Now though, I am just tired. I feel shame, or something like it, about that fact.

Because there is nothing more she could be doing to make things better between us. She just isn’t better yet—and what reasonable person could expect her to be, after a lifetime of trauma and neglect? She is one of the bravest people I know, and she gets stronger every day.

Still, the good moments, where our love flows easy and generous and sparkling, feel just as fragile as before. Maybe more so. No matter how safe and beautiful it may feel to be with her in a given moment, if my mouth lets loose some tactless remark, or ambiguous inflection, or slight hesitation, her hurt suddenly breaks like dawn and constricts the sky with its rigid prophecy, the hours of hurt talk and hurt quiet that must again pass through our fingers like sand. And the thing is, it doesn’t just happen when I misstep or pull away, but also when I am as present, generous, and loving as I have ever been. Like the goddamn soup comment last night. I wasn’t even talking about polyamory. I just wanted to express that she deserves as much love and pleasure as the world can offer, including and beyond the love and pleasure I provide her. But she heard it as me not caring if she dated other people, and therefore not caring about her/the intimacy we have. We talked it out today, pretty slowly and gently, even though I didn’t really want to open it up until therapy tomorrow. I explained that I felt rejected by her reaction in a way, because it felt like she wanted or valued my jealousy more than the love I was expressing. She explained it made her feel uncomfortable and unsafe that I only wanted monogamy with her because it’s what she wants. We understand each other, and we don’t. I want her to feel safe, but sometimes I feel like the only way to do that is to not be or express my authentic self.

It’s not a lie when I tell her she makes me happy. It’s just hard to stay that way for long.

[luveline]

in the morning, afternoon and night [Fred Weasley x Reader]

tags: reader-insert, hurt/comfort, self esteem issues, low self esteem, reader has acne, sad reader, insecure reader

pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

word count: 1.8k

You glared at your reflection.

You'd think with such amazing magical medicine available, some witch or wizard would've invented a cure for acne, or at least a spell that covered it up.

You'd struggled with it since your third year. The muggle doctor you'd seen with your mother had suggested it was hormonal, and would calm down as you got older.

That was years ago.

It shouldn't have been a big deal. It wasn't, really. It wasn't usually very painful, though it was itchy as a stinging nettle and twice as unsightly. A large part of you knew it wasn't your fault, that acne was something that simply affected people at different times in their lives. You'd tried topicals and changing your diet, you'd tried losing weight and exercising and dermaplaning and everything they suggested in your mams fashion magazines.

Nothing worked.

Tears welled in your eyes and you sniffed them back, blinking rapidly.

It might've been silly, but it honestly made you want to hide away. You'd skipped dinner without really thinking, finding your way into the girls bathroom you inhabited now. You straightened your tie and robes, dusting down the sides. You leaned forward again, dabbing under your eyes with your sleeve.

The last thing you wanted was for anyone to know you'd been crying, because then someone might ask why. You didn't want to talk about it, ever.

If Fred saw you like this...

You and Fred Weasley had been almost dating for a few weeks now. Almost, because you hadn't talked about the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing yet.

It had been years of thinking he was the fittest boy in Gryffindor (besides George) and months of meeting his gaze in the corridors and catching his eye over dinner. Gradually it had become something more; he started carrying your books between classes and opening doors, touching your arms and your hair and your face.

You cringed at the memory. He had been so caring, moving to wipe an eyelash from the skin under your eye. You'd violently flinched from his hand, afraid he might feel the bumpy texture of your skin, feel the acne beneath your makeup. He'd been apologetic and a little confused, filling you with guilt. You hadn't been able to find a way to tell him it wasn't him, it was you. Of course you wanted him to touch you, the thought of him cradling your face had been the subject of many dizzy daydreams, but you just couldn't tell him this one thing.

It was your deepest insecurity.

The stress had only made it worse. Redness was easy to cover with muggle make up and even some wizarding tricks you'd learned over the years, but there wasn't a way to smooth your skin, and the acne was textured.

It was depressing. You didn't want to use that word, it felt ungrateful to compare your skin issues to something so severe, but it made you miserable.

You but down on your quivering lip, pushing away from the mirror unhappily and opening the bathroom door, a frown on your face.

"Y/N!" a familiar voice said.

You jumped, startled but unsurprised. Fred had a talent of always knowing where you were. You'd find it creepy if he wasn't so endearing.

"Fred," you said, plastering a smile over your frown. "I was just coming to find you."

"What a coincidence, ma chérie, I was doing the same."

"Well," you began, easily sidling into his space, "you found me."

"Yes, I did," Fred hummed, wrapping his arms behind your neck, grinning.

He took a long look at your face, his forehead creased. "What's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong, Fred."

He moved his hands to your shoulders, looking down into your face searchingly. "Have you been crying?" he asked.

You shook your head, lying without thinking. "Something in my eye,"

"Both of them?"

You stepped backwards. He let go of your shoulders accordingly.

"Y/N?"

"It's really nothing," you said through a forced laugh.

He frowned at you for a few seconds more and his face cleared. "Alright," he said slowly, rolling the words in his mouth, "if you say so, doll."

You opened like a blooming flower at the pet name, your whole face softening. You smiled, hoping he understood that the smile meant, oh I just so adore you, Fred Weasley.

He threaded his fingers through yours, dragging you down the corridor beside him and waxing poetic about their newest lot of Peruvian darkness powder as you went.

-

It got so bad you couldn't go to class.

Okay, so you definitely could've gone to class, but the thought of leaving your curtained bed was enough to make you sick with anxiety, so worried that everyone would see you - see your face.

NEWTs were coming fast and hard. Everyone who wanted to be anyone was working hard studying their asses of, on top of Professor Umbridge's million new rules you had to abide by, including her newest life-ruining rule: Boys and girl are not to be within 5 inches of each other.

What a joke. You struggled through classes, wrote essays so long your hand burned at night and now you weren't allowed to sit next to your almost boyfriend at lunch? It was miserable. It was making you miserable, and now you may as well have sharpied on your forehead how equipped your body was to deal with it.

Fucking badly.

You groaned to yourself, rolling on your side to face the wall. You were at your wits end. It felt endlessly unfair that the thing that was stressing you out most was getting worse from stress.

Your stomach growled hungrily.

You threw your arm over your eyes in defeat, eyes finally filling with tears. You felt so hopeless. There was nothing to be done except keep up your routine until the flare up was over, or until your mothers next 'miracle cure' popped into existence.

The tears felt too hot against your sore skin. You couldn't help but sob quietly to yourself in self-pity.

A knock sounded at the door. You gasped, wiping the tears away in panic.

"Y/N?" It was Alicia. "Are you alright? Can I come in?"

"Yes," you managed. "Yes, of course. It's your room too, after all."

The door clicked open. Alicia appeared, tanned skin completely clear and glowing, though each perfect feature was marred with empathy. "Fred's been begging every girl in the common room to come fetch you, but I told him to leave you be."

"Thank you," you said.

You cleared your throat. Alicia moved her weight from foot to foot, twisting her hands.

"I- Y/N. I won't pretend to know how it feels, but I promise you, Fred won't care. He's beside himself worrying that you're bedridden and dying or-" she laughed to herself, "or that you're still mad at him for the itching powder. What I mean is... he's a good guy, and you're upset. Maybe you should tell him what's wrong. He won't care."

You sniffed. "I know," you admitted, feeling the weight of her shifting the bed. "I know he's a great guy. I just wouldn't blame him if he, if he didn't like me anymore. If he found it ugly. I would understand it, and I think that makes it worse," you choked on your words, heat building behind your eyes.

"Oh, Y/N," Alicia said, placing a tentative but comforting hand on your shoulder.

You lay in quiet, listening to your own ragged breathing.

"I'll go talk to him," Alicia said.

"No! I mean, no. Thank you, but no. I... I'll speak to him myself."

Alicia nodded, rubbing your arm kindly.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind her finally spurred you into sitting up. You dressed in a hurry, chucking a wool jumper over last nights pyjamas.

He wouldn't care, would he? You cringed. Yes, he definitely would. Whatever was between you would stop. He'd have the grace to let you down slowly, drawing away his affections. He was a polite guy, he'd probably even say the whole spiel of "it's not you, it's me". But he would, eventually.

Well, you figured. Let it be quick. Like ripping off a bandaid.

You tread lightly down the steps, hoping to see him before he saw you.

Of course, when the slightest groan on the bottom step sounded, his lovely face whipped to meet yours. He smiled in relief, but it was mixed with something else. Disgust, your brain supplied nastily. He was disgusted. He rose to his feet, smiling smiling smiling. But something in his eyes was different, now.

"Y/N," he said.

"Hi," you said.

"Hi yourself, beautiful. Where've you been all day?"

"I'm... sick. Bad cold," you settled on.

He raised an eyebrow. "You sound okay," he said, not unkindly.

"I..." you looked down at your hands.

A siren was sounding in your head. You didn't think Fred had seen you without make up for the last 3 years. Fight or flight was leaning heavily towards flight.

"Well, are you hungry?"

You shook your head.

"Are you sure? You haven't eaten all day. You need something in your system if you're gonna fight this cold."

"I'm not actually sick, Fred," you admitted under your breath.

"I know."

You looked up. He was still smiling kindly. It was infuriating.

"Look," you said finally, rushed and all at once, "if you don't want to- if you're grossed out. Then it's fine, I'll understand if you don't want to see me anymore."

Fred was stricken.

"I know it's - ugly."

"Ugly? Nothing about you is ugly."

"Fred, my face-"

"No, listen to me, Y/N. It's not ugly. It's not gross. You're not any of those things, are you kidding?" he said, grabbing your hands. "You're beautiful. All the time, in the morning, afternoon and night. You're beautiful in charms and transfiguration and care of magical creatures. You were beautiful yesterday and you're beautiful today and you'll be even more so tomorrow." He stopped suddenly, looking down at your joined hands. His cheeks had turned bright red.

"Smooth, Freddie," came George's voice, from the sofa behind them.

"Shove OFF," exclaimed Fred, growing more red by the second. Heat filled your own cheeks.

"It's skin, Y/N. That's all it is."

"Okay," you said tightly, trying not to cry.

Fred breathed out, his hair shifting in response. His corded arms pulled you tight to his chest. You breathed him in. He smelled sweet and rough, like burning caramel.

He thought you were beautiful.

You smiled into his shirt.

<3<3<3

tag list: @msmimimerton

if you’d like to be added to a tag list, please ask ! for in general or for specific characters, i don’t mind

[threepointseven]

Home(Dinner Part 2)

Im shortening the exchange students name to S/N AKA student name

Sorry i forgot to answer the person who actually requested this @kurooandkarmaswife thank you sm for requesting! I hope you enjoy 😩

Also lets pretend you cant have more than 1 pact with a human cause yeah. If you havent read Dinner yet go read it since you’ll really only understand this if u read the first part

Fandom: Obey me!

Pairing: not really with anyone but has subtle undertones of solomon & Simeon x reader

Length: sort of long

Genre: Angst with comfort

Gn! Reader and exchange student!

Part three!

Dinner last night, was, well...pretty terrible. I ended up waking up at 2 am to the brothers STILL not home. Apparently even Diavolo had taken a liking to the new exchange student.

A day goes by and finally i get to meet the new exchange student.

Whoah

Is all i can think. I walk into the living room unnoticed as everyone is talking to the new exchange student, i wouldnt blame them.

They look incredible.

I felt a hint of jealousy wash over me. Seeing Mammon, Asmo’s and Beel’s joyful laughs as they talk to them. Their voice was ever so gentle, it’s what i imagine spring to sound like.

I tried forgetting about my distasteful thoughts of jealousy and walked over to them.

“Goodmorning!”

I called out to try and grab their attention

“Oh, MC! I didnt see you there;;”

Asmo said to me as he was taking selfies with the new exchange student

“This is the new exchange student”

Beel smiled

“Hi! My name is MC”

I happily introduced myself

“My name is S/N”

They brought their hand out and i shook it in return. Their eyes were ever so sweet, i felt the sadness come over me as i wore a soft smile.

Something tells me this wont end well.

Weeks go by as i barely get to see the brothers anymore. They’re always around S/N. I find myself longing the brothers touch. The random emergency texts i get from mammon, calls from Asmo asking me if i wanted to go to a club, Belphie always dragging me to his room to take a nap, Beel’s adorable goodnight texts, Lucifer’s complaints about work, Satan’s library dates, And levi’s rants about a certain anime he just watched.. i missed it all.

I guess i missed the warmth and the constant attention i got from them. The attention thats now being directed at S/N.

The new feeling of emptiness leads me to the Purgatory hall, a place i’ve been to quite often after S/N had won over the brothers.

I enter the room praying that i dont see S/N hogging Luke, Solomon, and Simeon’s attention....

What?

Did i just think that?

Am i that jealous?

Have i gotten so used to being in the spotlight that suddenly i become like this when not in the center?

Its an unpleasant feeling and i try to snap myself out of it as i see Simeon, Luke, and Solomon all happily seated on the couch drinking tea and eating pastries Luke made.

“MC! Hey!!”

Luke happily greets me as well as Solomon and Simeon. Im pulled to the couch as im seated next to Luke. I take a bite of the pastry and embrace the comfort of the sugary sweets.

The conversation goes on for a long time as hours go by. Soon enough the entire tray of pastries and tea are long gone.

As the clock hits 8 PM i realize ive been at the Purgatory hall for too long now. Excusing myself i go back to the house of Lamentation to be once again greeted by smiling faces and S/N laying out plates filled with food for the brothers.

The brothers quarrels, Satan’s face of annoyance, Asmo’s whining... The smell of warm food on the dinner table being handed out....

As i hide from the view of the brothers and S/N i look back to when it would to be me that made everyone dinner and calmed them down.

My chair.

My chair had been occupied by S/N,

What?

Did they expect me to sit on the floor for dinner or something?

As i slowly walked to my room i heard the deep voice of Lucifer

“Oh MC,,, sorry S/N is sitting on your spot, we thought you were gonna go to the purgatory hall for dinner tonight. We do apologize”

As i feel my throat closing up i smile and say in a bubbly tone

“Oh it’s fine! I was actually gonna go out with my friends for dinner anyways! I was just getting something from my room, i’ll be out in a sec!”

Lucifer gave me a warm smile and continued conversing with S/N

As i went to my room i started to realize the situation here. I’ve been replaced. I mean who wouldn’t replace me when the actual definition of an angel was right in front of them with their welcoming arms open.

As soon as i got to my room salty tears trailed down my cheeks,

Jealousy?

Sadness?

Anger?

Whatever the emotion was i wasn’t having it. Unlocking my DDD to be greeted by the wallpaper of me and the brothers all dressed up for a ball we went to together once. i tried to hold back my few tears as i called Solomon, a dear friend of mine.

“Hey solomon!!”

“Oh, yes MC? Is there anything you need?”

“I know i just left the purgatory hall but could I possibly stay there for the night?”

“Oh, of course! I dont exactly know why but Luke’s already whining about how you stayed for too little.”

“I’ll be right over”

I hung up the phone, my tears stopping after i heard that comforting voice of his.

That night i stayed at the purgatory hall, happily sleeping next to Luke, lulling him to sleep.

The purgatory hall became my escape. Solomon always made me laugh, Simeon always made sure i felt welcome there and Luke was practically my adopted son after how long i could stay with him.

As i went about the kitchen helping Luke make a pastry i showed him from the human world a strange feeling washed over me. The feeling of something being erased from my my soul, something was fading away. That something felt like it was piercing my soul.

I look around my body to see what it is. As i look around i see it.

My pact marks are starting to fade

I panic as i excuse myself and go back to the house of lamentation.

As i silently enter the room i hear the faint sound of the brothers, they’re discussing something.

“Cmon Satan you’ve gotta be quick! What if they find out?!”

“Removing a pact isnt that easy Mammon.”

As i listen more i realize what it is.

They’re trying to break my pact with me.

And for what exactly?

Because they want one with someone else.

That someone being S/N

It hurt. Who wouldn’t be hurt? tears flowed from my eyes in record time as i tiredly walk outside.

Devildom was a place the brothers always told me to beware of, but right now i couldnt care less.

While i walked around the town with puffy eyes and the stinging feeling of my pact marks being removed, i hear a certain group of people call my name, i look back to see Luke, Solomon and Simeon’s smiles quickly turn into frowns as they see my tears

“What’s wrong MC?!”

Luke worriedly asks

Unable to hold it in i tell Them.

“The brothers are trying to break my pact with them, they want one with S/N apparently. Im afraid i’ve been replaced by that saint..”

Solomon and Simeon’s face turn into faces of empathy while Luke’s turned quite sour

As Simeon came closer to me and pulled me close into a hugged he mumbles out a comforting phrase

“Whatever happens MC, you’ll always be welcome at the purgatory hall.”

The sentence made my stomach overflow with butterflies. I happily hug back, quickly accepting the purgatory hall as my new and improved home.

[ragingbookdragon]

If All Of The Kings Had Their Queens On The Throne

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 4K Warnings: Explicit Language, Slight Angst, Mature Themes

Author's Note: This is a direct continuation of the previous fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

When the door to The Haunt didn’t immediately open, she frowned and clicked the button. “Hey! Lemme in!”

For a moment, there was nothing, then she heard, “Apologies Miss Wayne. Ghost-Maker is busy training. Shall I alert him?”

She sighed. “Nah, just let me in and I’ll get him.”

“Of course.”

The doors split open, and she walked into the base, immediately rolling her eyes at the colors, or better yet the lack of color at all. She had no idea what spurred him to pick white as one of the main colors in everything he wore and used, but God if it didn’t make him look like a psychopath. A snort passed her lips at her little joke, and she wandered around the desk setup and through one of the curtained areas until she heard boxing gloves meeting a punching bag.

Gently tugging the curtain aside, she paused, leaning against the doorway, and watched his back. He was shirtless and had headphones in, as he usually was and did when he trained alone, and his muscles rippled each time he threw a powerful strike. She couldn’t help but watch him; he’d always been so diligent when it came to his training, and if she hadn’t known him better than she did, she would’ve assumed all he did was train. She was very fond of it though. Very fond of him.

“You going to stand there or are you going to get a set of gloves and spar with me?”

She shook herself from her thoughts to see him rounding the bag, throwing a devastating kick; she snorted. “No thanks, Ghost. I just got over having a cracked skull.” Walking over, she neared the space, but stayed just far enough that she wouldn’t get struck.

“I’m actually here to invite you over to the manor tonight.” She said, watching as his eyes flitted to hers behind the mask. “I take it you know.”

“About the little pool party Bruce throws for everyone? Yes. I keep hearing about it over the Ghost-Net.”

She smiled. “It’s a lot of fun, Ghost. You’d have fun.”

He scoffed. “What? Being surrounded by every single hero this side of the galaxy? No thank you, (Y/N). I’d rather not.”

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the punching bag and held it, looking at him. “You’re not going to make any friends if you spend all your time cooped up in here.”

“I’m not looking to make friends,” he retorted, throwing another punch that sent shock-waves through her arms to her core. “I’m here to clean up Gotham.”

(Y/N) gazed at him. “Sure I can’t persuade you?”

“Positive.”

She shrugged. “Then you leave me no choice.” Leveling him with a strong expression, she warned, “As the newest member of the Batfamily, you have to attend the pool party. It’s tradition and anyone who doesn’t, has to take patrol routes for everyone for a month straight.”

Ghost-Maker stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her. “You’re lying.”

(Y/N) sucked in a breath dramatically, “Ghost, I never lie.” She looked to the ceiling. “Icon, run the conversations from my phone named, ‘Bat-Chat’ and tell him I’m not lying.”

After a moment, the AI’s voice came over, clear and positive. “Miss Wayne is correct, sir. Record texts have shown that those who do not attend the parties thrown by the family for the other superheroes are subject to various torture techniques.”

“What!” (Y/N) shouted. “No, we don’t!”

“You said on June eighth that your brother Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be swirlied for missing the party.”

She sputtered. “I was joking! We don’t swirly each other. We just force our patrol routes on each other.” (Y/N) glanced at Ghost-Maker. “If you don’t come, you’re going to take patrol from me, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Duke, and Damian. You really wanna patrol all month by yourself? All that territory? Think of the time and energy it’ll take, Ghost.”

Ghost-Maker stared her down for a minute, mulling over his choices, then he finally sighed, resigned to his fate. “Fine. I’ll come over tonight.”

(Y/N) grinned. “Nope, you gotta get ready now. We’re arriving together.”

“You annoy me.” He griped, bypassing her to the doorway, and she followed him towards the stairs and to his bedroom where he entered the bathroom and got in the shower. She waited on the bed, gazing around his room while he showered.

“Who all is attending this party? That you know for sure.”

(Y/N) blinked, taking a moment to think. “Uh, all of the Justice League, the Titans and Teen Titans, the Outlaws, a few Green Lanterns…and probably a few anti-heroes but we’ll see.” She shrugged. “So pretty much everyone we interact with on a normal basis.”

“I heard Harley is coming too.”

“Yeah, she’s technically part of the family at this point.” (Y/N) said. “She’d be upset if we didn’t invite her over.”

Ghost-Maker stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and she stood from the bed, wandering in behind him as he lathered his face in shaving cream.

“Trying to show out in front of everyone, Ghost?” she joked, leaving back against the door-frame of the small cabinet behind them.

“Bruce doesn’t keep himself kempt all the time. I do,” he remarked, flicking out the straight razor; he raised it to his jaw, and she hummed warningly, causing his brown eyes to meet hers in the mirror. “What?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “I’m just worried you’ll cut yourself.”

“I’ve been shaving my face since I was fifteen, (Y/N).”

“So that scar on your cheekbone isn’t from cutting yourself?”

He gazed at her. “You know why I have that scar.”

“I do.” She answered, then leaned away from the wall, shifting until she was sitting on the bathroom counter in front of him. Taking the razor, she tilted his chin up and carefully, scraped it down his cheek before rinsing it. “I gave it to you when you called me a coward.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to hit me that hard.” Ghost-Maker replied, coffee eyes focused on her face; she felt exposed under his knowing gaze.

She chuckled. “I think that was the first time I really surprised you that I wasn’t just my brother’s twin sister following him around to make sure he was safe.”

“You can’t blame me for thinking you were. You never joined in the training.”

“I learned better watching then doing.” (Y/N) rinsed the razor and tipped his head back as she drug the instrument down the exposed skin of his throat. “Most people are fearful when someone holds a razor to their neck,” she murmured, carefully shaving his Adam’s apple.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Her hands stilled ever so slightly as she gaped at him. Normally he would’ve said, “I don’t feel fear” but now he said he wasn’t afraid of her. She wanted to hope it was because of what had occurred the last month, her confessing her feelings, him replying that he couldn’t love her like she did him—he’d not totally ruled out caring for her, at least that’s what she saw his words being. They’d not talked about it more than that night, merely going back to work, but she could tell that Ghost-Maker’s demeanor towards her had changed a minute amount. He watched her more. Was…softer with her.

(Y/N) smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.” She rinsed the razor and looked over his face for a moment, then she grabbed the towel and wet it, gently brushing over the shaving cream still on his face. Patting his face dry, she nodded. “Looks good. No nicks.”

“Thank you,” he approved, but didn’t move, keeping his eyes on her and she couldn’t help but look down, suddenly nervous under his gaze.

Her eyes widened when she saw the expanse of his chest though and she reached up, fingers delicately tracing a jagged and raised scar in the middle of his chest. Even healed it looked angry and a bolt of sadness hit her in the heart.

“You’re sad.” He noted. For a psychopath who didn’t feel empathy, he was actually good at discerning when people felt sad—or maybe it was just because he’d known her so long.

(Y/N) nodded, whispering, “There aren’t many scars on mine and Bruce’s bodies that look like this one.” Her fingers moved to one on the right side of his ribs and she frowned. “We’ve always had someone to stitch us up, or we did it for one another. But I can’t help but wonder…” her eyes met his. “Who did it for you? Who stitched the ones you couldn’t reach and do yourself?”

Her chest hurt. “Who was there for you when I wasn’t?” she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the center of his chest. He was so warm, and she sighed, willing herself to not tear up. “I’m sorry, K.”

“For what?” he questioned, a hand coming up behind her, palm resting against the back of her neck.

“For leaving you behind,” (Y/N) answered, deciding then to wrap her arms around his waist, turning her face so her cheek rested to his chest. “I should’ve stayed with you.”

Ghost-Maker made a noise in his throat, and she wasn’t sure if it was agreement or bitterness. “And if you had, you wouldn’t have raised your family.”

She sighed. “Yeah…I know…but even during that time I couldn’t help but wonder how your journey was going. How you and your tech were evolving throughout the years.” (Y/N) pulled back slightly and looked at him. “I used to imagine what it’d be like to be there with you. To fight beside you. To live out your dream with you.”

His hand shifted from the back of her neck to cup her cheek and he tilted her head up, leaning down to kiss her. She closed her eyes, arms shifting from around his waist to wrap around his neck and his free hand gripped her waist, pulling her against him. Ghost-Maker shifted, pressing his lips to the underside of her jaw as his fingers dipped under her thigh, pulling it up until (Y/N) got the hint to cock it around his hip.

“K,” she breathed as he sunk his teeth into her neck, biting hard enough that it had her inhaling sharply, fingers twisting in the dark hair at the nape of his neck. She felt him smile against her skin.

“What do you want?” he asked, pressing surprisingly gentle kisses to where he’d bit as the hand that was on her cheek lowered to push up the blouse that stopped at her waist. His fingers dipped underneath, rubbing against her skin and he asked again, this time firmer, “(Y/N), what do you want?”

Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she could barely think, could barely form words. “I—”

A shrill beeping startled the two of them, well, her more than him, and she finally got herself to breathe. “That’s Bruce calling.” She uncurled one of her hands from his neck to reach for the phone in her pocket, but he caught it.

“Call him back.” Ghost-Maker said, grabbing a fistful of her blouse, starting to pull up.

(Y/N) shrugged his hand off. “If Bruce’s calling, it means he needs my help.” He pulled away and giving her a look, one she met firmly. “I need to take it.”

They gazed at each other for a moment and then he harrumphed, pulling away from her, and walked from the bathroom to his closest.

She sighed and pulled out her phone, answering it. “Hello?”

Are you on your way yet? The party’s already started and everyone’s asking where you both are.

Clearing her throat, she replied, “Yeah, he’s getting his swim trunks.” She glanced out the doorway. “You own trunks, don’t you, Ghost?”

“Do I somehow give you the impression that I’m incompetent?” he shot back, and she rolled her eyes.

“Ass.” She put the phone back to her ear. “We’ll be there in fifteen.”

Be careful. Love you.

“We will. And I love you too.” She ended the call and hopped off the bathroom counter, flicking off the lights as she walked out, seeing him throwing a bag over his shoulder.

“I’m ready to be bored out of my mind.” He grunted and she rolled her eyes again.

“Oh, shut up. You’re going to have a great time. I promise.”

Ghost-Maker glared at her as he pulled the white and black mask over his eyes and nose. “And how do you know?”

(Y/N) grinned, shoving him in the stomach as she walked past him. “Because I’m going to be there all night.”

***

“See!” she chirped as he sunk into the hot tub. “This isn’t so bad.” She handed him a drink. “Free drinks, laughter, and swimming. Fun, huh?”

He grunted, sipping the margarita she’d given him. “Your family and their friends are loud.”

(Y/N) looked over his head towards the other pool, grinning as her eldest nephew threw her youngest into the pool, then turned and threw his best friend. Laughter peeled from the entire group in the pool.

“Yeah…but that’s how you know they’re having a good time.” Her eyes drifted to Bruce who was fondly watching Jason and Roy grill, occasionally laughing as one of them told a joke. “Feelin’ good, Bruce?”

He took a sip of his brandy, sinking until his shoulders were covered by the running hot water. “Feeling great, (Y/N).” he held out his drink. “Put some ice in there? Please?”

She smiled and pulled her legs out of the hot tub, and really, it wasn’t exactly a hot tub because most were above ground, but Bruce being who he was, had redesigned it so that it and the pool were both in ground and connected.

Taking his glass, she rose and wandered over to the bar where a few of her friends were pouring drinks and chatting. “Hey Clark. Diana. How are you both tonight?”

Diana smiled and raised her wine glass. “I am well, (Y/N). How are you?”

“Can’t complain.” She said. “Clark, put an ice cube in here, would you?”

He did as she asked and dropped one in with the tongs. “I’m still surprised you got Ghost-Maker here. I assumed he wasn’t going to come.”

Her eyes flicked back over to the hot tub, and she watched Bruce tip his head back as he laughed, Ghost-Maker chuckling too; she smiled. “He’d never admit it, but he’s glad he came tonight. Anti-social as he usually is, he likes being included in things.” (Y/N) smiled at them and winked, walking back over.

She took her seat back on the side in the middle between Bruce and Ghost-Maker, handing her brother his brandy. “Clark licked all over the rim of your glass, Bruce. Just letting you know.” Feeling particularly childish, Bruce raised the glass to his lips and licked all around the glass. “You’re a child.” She remarked, then glanced to her side, seeing one of the Green Lanterns coming down the way.

“Kyle!” she greeted. “Join the fray!”

The artist smiled, then looked at the men in the hot tub. “I don’t want to intrude,” he said, and Bruce waved.

“Come on in.”

(Y/N) patted the wall between her legs and Kyle walked down the steps, shifting until his back pressed against the wall and she dropped her legs over his shoulders, fingers carding in his hair. “How’s it been going on Oa?”

He shrugged, sipping his beer. “It’s good. Can’t complain too much about saving the universe.”

She smirked. “Uh huh…and what’s this about you and Soranik?”

Kyle choked a bit on his beer, coughing slightly as she giggled. “It’s uh—complicated.” He tipped his head back, resting on her thighs so he could look up at her. “What about you? How’ve you been?”

(Y/N) sighed wistfully, combing back his hair. “Ain’t nothing changin’ but the weather…and the usual telling off the men in front of you for continually betting each other who can do the more stupid shit.”

At that, Kyle’s head tipped up and he first looked at Bruce, then to Ghost-Maker who merely drank from his margarita. “Uh…who’s that?” he asked quietly, and she snorted.

“Kyle, this is Ghost-Maker. Ghost, this is Kyle Rayner, the torch bearing Green Lantern.” She smushed his cheeks. “Isn’t he adorable?”

Ghost-Maker gave her an amused puff. “He is handsome, I’ll give you that.”

Kyle was glad the water had already flushed his skin because the way the man had flirted had made his cheeks warm. “Thank you.” He glanced back at her. “Is his name…?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he takes anonymity to a whole new level.” She tugged at a strand of his hair. “Did you know that only me, Bruce, and a few others know what he looks like and what his entire name is?”

He blinked in response. “That’s…hardcore secret identity, right there.”

“That’s because he doesn’t have any friends.” (Y/N) shot Ghost-Maker a grin. “But you can call him Ghost for short. It’s easier than the mouthful of Ghost-Maker.” The vigilante in return merely rolled his eyes and sipped his drink. “So, Kyle, have any new graphic novels in the works?”

“I do actually. Haven’t written them down but here’s an idea.” He brought up his hand out of the water and a green flash appeared in everyone’s vision. “See how you like it so far?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh in disbelief. “This is so cool.” She grabbed the construct comic book and flipped through it. “Who’s the main?”

“Haven’t named her yet. But she’s a transgender, pansexual Native American who solves crimes as a superhero.” His cheeks flushed. “I know it’s ironic because we’re superheroes, but I couldn’t help it, you know?”

She nodded, seemingly impressed. “Figured out which tribe yet?”

“I was thinking possibly Cherokee. Or Mohawk.”

“I’ve got a MTF Kanienʼkehá꞉ka friend who lives in Quebec.” She said. “I’ll give her a call about working with you on this.”

Kyle lit up like the morning sun. “Really, (Y/N)? You’d do that?”

She looked down at him and shifted her thighs a bit, bumping his head. “Of course. You’re one of my best friends.”

“I love you, (Y/N).” he grinned, and she chuckled.

“I love you too, loser.”

Suddenly the speakers thumped, and her head shot up, looking towards Tim and Bart who were giggling. She pointed at them. “HEY! THIS IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE SONG!”

They merely giggled more and suddenly everyone was singing along to the raunchy song, well, the teens and young adults were but not her and the older people.

(Y/N) shoved Kyle off as she got up and ran towards the speakers. “WAP IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE SONG TO PLAY AT A POOL PARTY! THERE ARE CHILDREN PRESENT! TIMOTHY JACKSON, YOU GET BACK HERE WITH THAT IPHONE! TURN IT OFF!”

***

She smiled sweetly at her family and friends passed out in the living room, pillows and blankets thrown everywhere, arms slung over bodies, heads on stomachs and backs. It was nice to see them all so comfortable with each other, so tightly knit; it reminded her of a better time.

Most of the adults had gone home though some had stayed in extra rooms. She was sure that her brother and him had gone down to the cave to have it out just for the hell of it, but she was rather tired and decided to call it a night—though it was actually one am.

Closing the door behind her, she didn’t bother to go shower, planning to do it in the morning as she started stripping. First went the swimsuit cover, then the top and bottoms. She kicked her flip-flops off into the corner of the room and stretched her arms above her head, a quiet groan passing her lips as her joints and bones popped.

As she lowered her hands, a hand clamped around her mouth and another wound around her waist, tugging her back and she gasped against their palm, starting to struggle when she heard them chuckle. The sound, combined with the familiar smell of sandalwood wafting up her nose told her who it was, and they smiled against her ear. “Worried?”

She reached up and yanked his hand from her mouth, hissing, “You’re lucky I didn’t turn around and punch the shit out of you, K.”

“Promises, promises,” he murmured, pressing a kiss behind her ear and she shivered against his chest.

“What are you doing in here? I thought you and Bruce went to go spar?”

Ghost-Maker hummed, the hand around her waist starting to squeeze the flesh of her side. “We did. He said he was tired and went to bed.”

“And you didn’t go home?” her voice kicked up a notch when his other hand slipped from her grip and slid down her front.

“I didn’t want to go home.” He pressed his front against her rear and she gasped, one of her hands coming back to grab at his thigh, digging her nails in to keep him there. He smirked as she ground back against him. “Seems like you don’t want me going home either.”

(Y/N) swallowed thickly. “Something’s up with you tonight. You’re being a lot more…passionate than usual.”

He nipped at her neck, fingers delicately dancing over her abdomen. “I don’t like that Green Lantern friend of yours.”

“Who? Kyle?” she questioned confusedly. “Why?”

“He’s very free with himself towards you.”

At that, it was crystal clear, and she spun in his arms, looking at him, though she had to strain to see his face. “Are you jealous?”

“No.” He griped, though the way his jaw set, told her the truth.

“You are!” she laughed. “You’re jealous that I’m close with other men. That’s adorable.”

Ghost-Maker stared at her for a split moment, then he bent down and grabbed her legs, throwing her over his shoulder. (Y/N)’s gasp turned into a laugh as he marched towards the bed and tossed her onto it, watching as she rolled onto her back and laughed some more at him.

“God, you’re green, K.” she giggled, watching with hooded eyes as he shucked the swim trunks down to his feet and crawled onto the bed.

“I’m not envious of a glow-stick who’s never gotten this far with you.” He countered, grabbing her ankles; he yanked her down the bed and underneath him and she gazed up at him.

“Do you wanna know how many men have gotten this far with me?” (Y/N) challenged and Ghost-Maker stared into her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter how many because once I’m done with you, you won’t remember anyone but me.” He lowered his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her stomach, trailing downwards and she panted in anticipation when,

CRASH!

They started, and this time, he did too, both turning to the door, then to each other.

“What the hell—”

“OH SHIT! SOMEONE PUT OUT THE FIRE!”

(Y/N) grunted. “Oh my God, what did they do?”

“DON’T JUST STAND THERE! OH MY GOD SOMEONE CALL NINE-ONE-ONE! OR THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!”

“AUNT (Y/N)! DAD!”

She rolled out from underneath Ghost-Maker, ignoring his grabbing for her and she hurried to her door, yanking the bathrobe from the hook on the back. Slinging it on, she turned and pointed at the man. “Once I’m done out here, I’m coming back and you’re not going anywhere for a few hours.”

He smirked as he collapsed onto his back, taking himself in his hand. She almost burst into flames at the sight, and he purred, “You might wish to hurry, (Y/N). Wouldn’t want to miss anything.” His words tipped into a groan as his hand shifted along himself, and she scowled at him as she pulled the door open, his erotic frame illuminating in the hall light.

“You’d better watch it, K. We both know how mean I can get when I miss out.”

[sweetery-ko]

Hello!! May i request hcs for the 3 characters with an s/o who's like "don't touch me" when they're mad, tho even if they don't touch them, the reader will likely to pinch them (in a cute way) because of frustation and it happens almost everyday? Uhh yea hope you get it and thx you!

Could you tell my motivation went 📈📈📈 at Nagito's part? Also I'm not sure why I suddenly went with a different style for Izuru????? Brain is weirddd

CW: Hajime Hinata, Nagito Komaeda, Izuru Kamukura, 1 mention of T/rut/ru H/nam/ra, self deprecation

Hajime, Nagito and Izuru with an S/O that won't let them touch them but pinches their cheeks if they don't touch either way

His temper isn't the best and most of his other peers are a handful to deal with so he definitely gets you losing your temper so quickly.

What he doesn't understand though, is that you get frustrated every single day, even without communicating with anyone you go out of your cottage with the most grumpiest (yet cutest) expression you could do.

He wanted to know if everything's alright. You always manage to cheer him up when he's upset so he should try it too right? He's not the greatest at comforting but he couldn't bear seeing you so moody anymore.

He was pretty shocked about you telling him off and want him gone, Even got pretty pissed when you say that you will not let him touch in an aggressive tone, like he's some sort of dog.

"Ugh, fine! I'll leave you alone then!" quoted Hajime as he was about to storm off.

But when you grabbed and pinch his checks softly, he went "(｀ー´)???" he was so confused on what's going on. Do you want him to touch you or not?

If you (manage to) explain it, he will be berfuddled. Even with the explanation, he hopes that you don't be too mean on him. His temper and patience is the worse out of all people in the list, after all.

Please, he begs you to tell reason why you're so frustrated as that's the real reason why he tried to confront you in the first place. Was it just your personality? Some sort of hassling work? Did Teruteru said something upsetting again? Just tell and he'll be more understanding.

It's gonna be a rather long time on getting for him to get used to your grumpy attitude but he's gonna try his best to not get caught off guard again and not embarrasses himself.

He would always wait outside your cottage so you both can walk together to the restaurant but this time it's not like the ordinary. Even if you're the type to be late, you're too late that it's suspicious and worrying.

He didn't want to bother you as he doesn't feel like he's worthy enough to ask you anything but he feels like that hearing grumbled noises of what is supposed to be from anger is... Hard to pass on as normal.

He would try to softly knock your door and ask if everything is ok. Depending on your answer, if you even said a word that is on an existing language no matter what it is, he couldn't help getting more worried each second passes. What if his luck is the reason you're like this?? No doubt about it. I am the trashiest--, he continues to deprecate himself.

He snapped out of his thoughts when you say open the door in a furious manner and glared at him. He felt very intimidated, would be shaking in his zipper shoes if you were taller than him.

"My hope, is everything alright?" he softly spoke as he touched your cheek but you slapped it away, causing him to flinch.

Nagito was very hurt by the action. He awkwardly rubbed the slapped hand to hide his sadness. "Of course you don't want to trash like me to touch you." he muttered as he was about to turn around until you stopped him.

When you pinched his cheeks to stop him from going away, he was shocked and confused but then smiled as he realized that it's not a painful pinch but a rather agressive yet still loving one.

"My hope..is there something wrong? It must be awful to touch scum like me." he asked as he unintentionally just, goes soft at your pinches no matter how hard you're pulling.

He would really want you to tell him your frustrations out as the last thing he wants is seeing you so upset all time, he would even let you pinch his reddening cheeks for stress relief too if it helps!

You were studying for an upcoming test and you were very left behind from your studies because there may or may not be an apocalypse that lasted for a year and now that everything is back to normal, so is the education so the sudden stressed university student life is really punching you in the gut for the past few weeks.

Izuru really loves spending time with you and without you around smiling and being yourself feels lonely and boring. He doesn’t want to experienced the feeling of what the scientists have done to him before so he's apparently now unintentionally has separation anxiety.

Fortunately, he's the ultimate hope and has enough intellect to educate you so he became your personal tutor but there is a problem however. Even if you're his partner, he's still not the best with taking care of other's feelings so...

When you're at your limit and yelled out your frustrations out of nowhere, he felt conflicted. He was right, you kept doing the same mistakes no matter how much he corrected but he felt really guilty for some odd reason, it's sickening and he wants it to stop.

"No, you're doing this wrong..", "I have thought you this already." You know, stuff like that. Of course, you being the normal human being with emotions, this will tick you off. You were so pissed and sad, you wanted him to comfort you but you get this instead? Ouch..

"s/o-" he was about to reach your shoulder until you almost slapped it away, he has quick reflexes and even if it was predictable, he was still hurt by your words and actions. Though, he will realise that he upsetted you so he will take the blame.

The silence was deafening and he picked up that he should leave but once in a life time, he was wrong. As soon as he turned around, you softly tugged a few of his strands and pinched his cheeks, making him gasp very, very quietly.

You...You actually suprised this God of a man! Your luck must have been very high as you can see a shocked expression rather than the usual neutral one he always does. The feeling was different and he wanted more yet he didn't quite understand it either.

When you explain it to him, he wouldn't really understand it that much but wouldn't mind it either. Izuru thought that pinching is something you do to someone you hate or are angered with but it seems that is always not the case.

There is no need to tell him your problems as he already knew and he's gonna do great use of practicing his empathy and comforting you the best way he can. It might be a little awkward but he's trying!

Also big bonus; go all out and rant your problems and be grumpy all you want with him as he can easily get used to it and not mind it one bit. He finds it rather cute, if he has to be honest.

[personasintro]

bloody hell | jjk drabble

⏤𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴; luckily, your boyfriend is there to get you through the pain

⏤𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: jungkook x reader

⏤𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff, smut, established relationship

⏤𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 4.7k

⏤𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: strong language, unexpected period sex (kind of), unprotected sex, dirty talk, anal play, creampie, kinda rough sex, jungkook calls reader 'baby' a lot, pregnancy talk

Curled on the bed, it takes him approximately two minutes to get into the room, until you hear his sports bag dropping onto the floor before he joins you. Instantly cuddling up to you, you’re met with the scent of his shower gel, which means he took a shower in the gym.

You shiver at the feeling of his lips at the back of your neck, where he pecks your skin. “I’ve missed you.”

The confession is enough to make you swoon all over him, but you know he could be doing anything or nothing, and your heart would beat the same way like it always does when it comes to him.

“You were gone for hour an half,” you chuckle, placing your arms on top of his as he brings you closer to him. “I’ve missed you too.”

You were never one of those snappy couples who whispered nothing else but sweet nothings into each other ears, ending it with slow and romantic sex. Jungkook is always explicit about what he wants to do to you, and you love it. As much as making love with your boyfriend is emotional and making your heart spill with love, you love when he pounds you into the mattress. There’s just something about sweaty Jungkook, growling explicit things into your ears as he makes sure you cum before he even allows himself to.

God, these hormones are killing you.

“Why are you curled in here like a small ball of sadness? Missed me that much?” he jokes, digging his nose into the crook of your neck as he inhales deeply, causing you to giggle at the ticklish feeling.

“I think my period is on the way.” you explain, sighing as the pressure in your lower stomach just won’t leave.

It’s nothing drastic, still manageable but uncomfortable at the same time. What surprises you the most is the fact, you should get it in two days.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? That means there’s no baby Jeon in the oven.” he teases, hand placed over your lower stomach as he caresses it.

Four years of being in a relationship with Jungkook, there’s not an ounce of shock or weirdness from his words. You’ve talked about future plans many times, including the baby talk as well. But you just started to live together and even though, your sweet boyfriend made sure to tell you that if it happened it’s okay and you’ll get through it together. As of now, you both are not ready to have a baby but if it happens, you’ll face it together.

You’re taking the birth control, there’s only a little chance of you to getting pregnant, but the both of you’re still cautious. Well, trying to be. Jungkook not being able to pull out in time just a few days ago is the living proof of it.

“It is, but better get me a ring first.” you giggle, smiling when he kisses your shoulder this time. He interweaves your legs together, brushing your ankles with his own. 

“I will.” he promises with a smile.

“I shouldn’t get it for the next two days.”

He stops caressing your stomach and legs for a moment while he processes your words, before he continues with it. “Is it like a bad sign?” he asks, voice filled with worry.

Smiling, you shake your head. “No, it can happen.” you tell him, feeling him nodding behind you.

“Should I bring you your heating pad?” He sounds concerned, suddenly growing displeased at the thought of you being in pain.

Things like this can conjure an automatic smile in a second, your heart filling with even more love. You interweave your fingers together, staring at his long and slim fingers and tattoos on his knuckles, disappearing underneath the hem of his black hoodie.

“No, it’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad yet,” you murmur, tracing the numbers on the back of his back. His mother’s birth date. “I love you, have I told you that?”

“Mhm, many times. But I could listen to you saying that on repeat all the time. And by that, I mean — All. The. Time.” he pecks your right cheek with each word, emphasizing it.

You giggle, face pressed into Jungkook’s pillow before you wince when another cramp comes.

Jungkook sits up, staring at you with those doe eyes full of worry and empathy, even though he has no idea how fucking awful it is to have a period every month. Not just having it, but experiencing all the pain and things that go with it.

“You know,” he murmurs, tracing your arm before you look at him with a confusion, slowly sitting up. “I’ve heard sex helps with cramps.”

Widening your eyes, you almost choke on your own spit as you open your mouth in shock.

Yeah, your and Jungkook’s sex life has always been a little bit adventurous. From trying different kinks to actually using sex toys, but you’ve never talked about that.

“I’m not having a period sex, Jungkook.” you tell him, shaking your head.

It’s not as if you were totally opposed to that. It’s more like a thing of insecurity. Not every man wants to have his dick coated in someone else’s blood. Especially when it comes out of vagina.

“But you said you still haven’t got it!” he exclaims, poking his inner cheek with his tongue before he sighs. “Listen up, baby. I think it could help you with your cramps and I’m down, if you are.”

Tilting your head, you stare at Jungkook and the familiar glint in his eyes. Your eyes avert down, right into his lap where you can spot a small hint of bulge, big enough to know that it’s not in his usual soft state.

“Oh my god, are you hard?” you exclaim, causing him to shift on his spot as he hisses at you.

“Not entirely,” he informs you, “I’ve been getting hard ever since I’ve felt your ass against my cock.” he adds, causing you to nudge his shoulder as you laugh.

He joins you, catching your hand as he slips his fingers through yours and clutches them. He stays silent, playing with your fingers leaving you to think. Biting your bottom lip, you cough causing him to look at you.

“Were you serious?” you ask, your voice raspy. You don’t need to hear his answer, you can see his eyes darkened with lust but he still responds to your question.

“Of course, I wouldn’t joke about that.”

And you see it. His honesty and his soft features, glancing at the little scar on his cheek to the little mole underneath his bottom lip.

“Listen, it was just an idea. You know I’d fuck you no matter what. I don’t care about this kind of stuff and to be honest, the thought of it drives me crazy. But I get that it might not be comfortable for you, so I’ll back off now. I just thought it could help.” he shrugs, your heart swooning over this man once again as you try to push the tears away.

Fucking hormones.

He’s always putting you first, no matter what the topic or the situation is — it’s always you.

“Let’s do it.” you speak, meeting his doe widened eyes like you expected them to look like.

“What? Are you sure? But you said--“

“Not gonna lie, the thought of it and seeing you like this,” you point at his crotch, “does things to me.”

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes out, “Don’t say stuff like that.” he shifts on his spot again, and you already know he’s getting hard.

“Hmm, why? Is it driving you crazy?” you ask, leaning towards him as he clenches his jaw.

“You know it does, you little minx.” he curses, grabbing your face as he kisses you roughly.

Your lips smacks together, moving against each other in a needy kiss as you finally feel them. Okay, you might’ve had make out session before Jungkook went to the gym for his workout, but fuck, you miss him. Sometimes you wish he was lazy like you are, but he loves working out and his muscles too much. It definitely pays off, the feeling of his abs underneath your fingers, especially the sight once his shirt goes off.

“Wait,” he stops, voice muffled as he tries to pull away. “So, are we really having sex?” he asks just to check in, causing you to laugh as you nod.

“Yeah, my cramps are uncomfortable. Let’s just test your theory.”

“Well, it’s not my theory. I’ve heard about it from Jimin and now that I think about it, I’ve read it somewhere as well.”

Rolling your eyes, you don’t even question how Jimin knows that or how it took a place in their conversation, you kiss him again. He softly places you back on the bed, making sure you’re comfortable before he kisses down your neck to your collarbones.

Jungkook knows your every little spot that makes you squirm in his hold, begging for more but as much as you love his kisses and hands caressing your whole body, you pull away and sit up. His lips are getting swollen and with those big eyes he looks adorable, causing you to grin at him. He watches you with a mere confusion, until he sees you taking off your baggy shirt and pajamas shorts.

“You know I love it when you take your time with me, but my pain isn’t getting any better.” you explain, causing his lips to let out an exclamation of realization.

“Sure,” he tells you, following your lead as he starts to take off his hoodie with sweatpants.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes already admiring his toned puffed out chest and abs. You can’t believe this man is yours. With his tiny waist and muscular thighs, he has the best body proportion you’ve ever seen. And you know he loves when you watch and admire, noticing the littlest smirk he sports on his puffy lips.

“How do you want it?” he asks, staying in his boxers as you pout at that.

“From the back.” you tell him, sliding off your panties before you throw it on the floor.

You’re already turning onto your stomach, hearing a soft whine from Jungkook who’s clearly disappointed of not having the chance to eye your breasts properly. It dies right away as you arch your back, wiggling your ass at him. He reacts immediately, grabbing the soft flesh into his palms as he squeezes it. Biting your lip, you prevent the moan escaping your mouth.

Jungkook loves when he can hear your moans, gasps or even screams in the form of his name. You guess it has something to do with his confidence and pride, knowing he’s the one making you react that way. On the other hand, you’re the one who always tries to tease him by being quiet, silencing your moans which leads to him being more rough and vocal.

You almost jump at the feeling of his finger rounding around your puckered hole, a soft gasp leaving your lips. He puts pressure with his finger, just not enough to actually enter you but enough to make you clench around nothing. He adds the rest of his fingers, trailing them down until he pushes apart your folds and starts to rubbing your heat.

“For not wanting to have a period sex, you’re certainly wet.” he comments, tone cocky and confident as you roll your eyes.

There’s no way he could see you, with your face pressed into his pillow, but he still slaps you as if he knew what your reaction would be.

“I’m not on my period yet.” you comment back, turning your head to the side just to see him from the corner of his eyes. Fuck, you want to feel him so much.

“Let me prep you.” he says, ready to push his fingers in as you flinch and shake your head.

“No,” you breathe out, “Fill me now, Jungkook. I need you.”

You don’t care how desperate you sound, all you can think about is his thick veiny cock inside of you. Knowing your boyfriend, he always makes sure he preps you just right for his cock, not wanting to hurt you. There’s always an extra bottle of lube in his nightstand.

“Are you sure?” He sounds skeptical and doesn’t move just yet. “I always prep you.”

Fuck, you know that. You just can’t wait. Maybe it’s the hormones or the uncomfortable feeling in your lower back, but you can’t waste another second.

“I’m sure, promise,” you murmur, glancing at him before you give him a tiny smile. “Just fuck me, baby.”

He curses underneath his breath, complementing for a few seconds before he breathes out a soft and almost inaudible ’okay’. The mattress shakes slightly underneath his weight as he takes off his boxers, and you take that opportunity to look at him. The sight of his thick length in his hands, pumping himself with tilted head back, you clench around nothing again. Fuck, you’re so wet.

He looks at you through his black lashes and hair falling into his eyes, darkened gaze meeting yours as he gives you the sexiest smirk of all times. He adjusts himself, the tip of his length poking your clit as you gasp.

“Don’t you wanna wear a condom?” you manage to choke out, feeling him poking your entrance this time. Oh fuck, this man will be the death of you.

“No,” he answers straight away. “Should I?” he asks, looking at your exposed back as he starts to caress it with his free hand.

You barely use condoms, but there is still at least one package in his nightstand just in case.

“Not if you don’t want to,” you tell him, smiling at the softness of his voice and thoughtfulness. “I just thought that-- you know, just in case...” you trail off awkwardly, knowing he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

You’re like an open book for him. He knows you like the back of his own hand.

“Baby,” he murmurs, hands grabbing your hips as he leans down to kiss the space between your shoulders blades. “I told you I’m fine with it.”

That’s all you needed to know to give him a nod. If he’s fine with it, then so are you. Not wanting to waste another second, he asks you if you’re ready and the wiggle of your ass is just enough of an answer for him, making him chuckle at your neediness.

As always, he’s careful and takes an extra caution since he hasn't prepped you this time. His movements are slow, even when he starts to push himself in, he gives you the time to adjust. It’s easier, your juices leaking out of you makes it easier for him to slide in, but he still takes his time. He doesn’t want to thrust into you in a harsh way, not when you’re not properly stretched out.

Fuck, he can feel how tight you are around him, swallowing him right in as you clench around him.

“Jesus baby, I need you to relax.” he groans, shutting his eyes at the tightness of walls.

“I’m trying,” you breathe out, “So good, you feel so good.”

“Fuck, I think I might cum.” he chuckles, causing you to the same.

There are times when Jungkook’s stamina is almost impossible, making it feel like a mission to make him cum. But there are times when he’s overwhelmed and needy, especially when you haven’t had sex for a few days. But you did, just two days ago and you don’t know what’s the reason behind his sudden choked up state.

You’re sensitive, knowing it’s not going to take long for you to cum. As soon as he starts thrusting in, you know it’s the end for you.

He bottoms out, letting the two of you adjust and embrace yourself for what’s about to come. He takes his time feeling up your body, hands rummaging your ass, back and slowly grabbing your tender breasts. He can tell your period is coming, not just by remembering you crying at some ridiculous scene yesterday or you scolding him for being messy this past week, but from the way your breasts feel. He pinches your nipples, caressing them right away, while he hears your soft gasps. You’re trying extremely hard not to clench from every touch he gives you, he can tell by the way you’re clutching the black sheets. Moving his hands down, he caresses your lower stomach again, like that time when he cuddled you from behind. But this time, he feels your skin and slightly bulged out stomach. Both from your period coming and his length nestled inside of you. He loves when that happens, when he can not just feel but see himself inside of you.

“Ready?” he asks, voice thick with softness and lust.

“Yes, please.” you whine, preparing yourself not to lose it all as soon as he starts to move.

He holds your hips for better support and grip, before he pulls out just to the point his head stays inside. Although, this time he thrusts in right away but still careful. You can't see him, but something tells you he's watching your reaction, making sure he's not doing anything uncomfortable to you. As soon as he's met with your gasps and moans of pleasure, he allows himself to go faster. 

“Holy shit.” he gasps, your brows pinching together but before you can voice out your confusion of his sudden reaction, he's picking up his pace.

It's no surprise that his length inside you feels fucking amazing, it always does. Your walls are slippery and tighter than usual, even you can tell the difference and judging by Jungkook's raged breathing and grunts, he thinks the same thing. The squelching sounds of your wetness and heat often make you embarrassed, but not this time. All you can focus is Jungkook and the way he controls your body, holding your ass up when you start to slide down.

“You're so fucking hot, baby,” he grunts, followed with the sound of his balls hitting your clit. “My woman.”

The bedroom is filled with so much filthy sounds, making the atmosphere even more erotic than ever and Jungkook's dirty words evoke another wave of pleasure inside you.

“Yours.” you moan, trying to perch your ass for him better but he's got you. His strong hands are holding you, making sure you won't run away from his throbbing length. 

“I'm gonna marry you one day,” he promises, your walls clenching straight away.

This is not a part of his usual dirty talk, since he's very vocal during sex saying all the right filthy words to bring you closer to your orgasm, but this time's different. And maybe because this is the first time he brought up marriage during sex, it clouds your mind with pleasure and lust even more. 

“You're gonna be my wife. You're gonna be Mrs. Jeon,” he grits through his clenched teeth, fingers digging into your skin but it doesn't hurt. You love it. 

“Yeah?” you ask, voice strained and hopeful. 

“Yeah,” he says straight away, slowing down his pace as he starts to roll his hips into you. “And then you're gonna have my kids.” he whispers into your ear, voice raspy and stern, sounding so erotic to your ears that your vision gets hazy for a moment. 

“Please.” you manage to choke out, not really sure whether you're begging for it to become true or him sending you over the edge. 

Anyways, Jungkook listens and starts to set up an animalistic pace, knowing you're enjoying this more than he ever thought you'd be. Again, maybe it's the hormones or the fact he's helping you with the pain you've quickly forgot about. He slides down his arm over your bulged stomach, holding you there while he can feel himself moving inside of you. 

“You're gonna bear my baby in here one day, and then you won't have to worry about cramps for a few months.”

In other situation, you might've laugh at his comment, knowing the actual birth is even more painful than period cramps. And the fact that woman can bleed for a couple of months after giving birth, is nothing compare to having a period for seven days. But still, he makes it sound so erotic, the way he talks about your future and is so sure of himself. It warms your heart at the same time, knowing you've chosen the right man. There's no one else who could make evoke such emotions inside of you like Jungkook can.

“Fuck, are you close?” he asks breathlessly, feeling the way you clench around him even tighter than before.

He notices your white knuckles gripping the black sheets you always complain about, telling him how dark it makes your bedroom look. Oh fuck, how much he loves you. Even when you complain about useless stuff, he loves you with his entire heart. 

Your knees are buckling, barely holding up your weight and if it weren't for Jungkook holding you, you'd be sprawled on the mattress like a dead animal. 

“Yes.” you answer, confirming his assumption.

“Where do you want it? Want me to fill you up?” he asks, his own voice getting raspier and strained at your walls barely allowing him to move inside of you. 

“Wherever you want.” Is all you say, not caring where he cums.

He loves cumming inside of you, even though it barely happens. It's just for a caution and you assume as soon as you've told him those words, he'll take this opportunity to cum inside of you.

It's not like you don't love it, oh shit, you do. The feeling of his warm cum inside you, filling you up to the brim is irresistible and mind-blowing. 

You jerk away when you hear him spitting, soon feeling his saliva sliding down your ass. He catches it with his thumb, tracing your puckered hole with it as he continues thrusting inside of you. It's too much, his finger circling around your hole while the other one is filled up with his thick throbbing length, and you feel yourself getting closer. 

With your remaining strength, you manage to reach your orgasm by meeting his thrusts. Your ass slaps against his abdomen with each thrust, the mixed sounds of your skin slapping against his and your moans with Jungkook's grunts, you feel yourself getting close.

“Cum for me, baby. Let me fill you up.” 

With a whiny moan, you're cumming around him, feeling your juices and wetness run down your thighs. It's nothing massive, but you can still feel the extra wetness of your arousal and cum. 

“Fuck. I'm cumming!” Jungkook groans, his hips halting before you feel him twitch inside of you. Moaning at the feeling, he fills you up like he promised, making sure you got every drop of him.

Your legs shake, but you don't dare to move or fall back onto the mattress that looks rather inviting. You know you've to take a shower, knowing you made a mess. Jungkook pulls out, apologizing softly when he hears you hiss, he allows his cum to leak out of you.

“Bloody hell.”

It's not the British accent that makes you turn around, it's his words and following chuckle that he makes. He sits down onto his ankles, his length already softening but you barely notice it as you stare at it.

“Oh my fucking god!” you exclaim, eyes widening and throat clenching at the sight that's in front of you. 

HIs entire length is covered in your blood and as you sit down onto your knees, you look between your legs to see the mess there. There's a line of blood and cum slowly trailing down your thigh, causing you to gasp in utter shock. 

“Baby, it's fine.” Jungkook chuckles, standing up from the bed as he reaches for his old shirt that's draped over the chair that's in the corner of the room, handing it to you. 

You snatch it from his hands, cheeks flaming with embarrassment as you clean yourself. 

“This is so fucking embarrassing.” you whine, voice quivering that makes Jungkook shoot straight to action. 

“Baby,” he calls out, already making his way to the bed before he takes the shirt from you. He cleans off the running blood with it as he smiles at you. “There's nothing embarrassing about this. We both wanted this. Look, I'm perfectly fine.” he says, stretching out his arms giving you a great opportunity to look at his length. 

You cringe, staring at him. “That's disgusting.”

“No, it's not.” he argues back, grinning at you. 

“I thought I won't get it, especially not during sex.” you murmur, watching him to clean off himself. The poor shirt does a terrible job, but still manages to clean at least something.

“It was hot as fuck.” 

“When did you notice it?” you ask him, already finding him giving you a sheepish look. 

“When I first thrusted in and pulled out.”

“Jungkook!” you exclaim, careful not to sit down onto your ass. “Why haven't you told me?”

“Because I knew you'd grow embarrassed and I wanted you to enjoy it. Baby,” you look at him with a huge scowl on your face, which makes him smile at you. “There's nothing to be embarrassed about. You loved it and so did I. Did it work? Does your tummy still hurts?” 

You realize that it doesn't hurt, there's still a throb between your legs, but it's not caused by your period. Looking down, you see your blood on the sheets and it makes you gasp.

“I ruined the sheets!” you exclaim. 

“It's fine, you hated them.” he waves his hand, before he helps you to stand up.

“But--”

“No buts, I'll take care of the sheets later. Let's take a shower, yeah?” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he kisses the tip of your nose. 

Knowing Jungkook and his love for doing the laundry, he'll probably test the new stain remover product he bought last week, to see if it gets rid of blood. Not wanting to complain or be embarrassed, you know Jungkook simply doesn't care. He's perfectly fine, kissing your lips as if to prove your thoughts, before you sigh.

“I love you.” You feel like you should tell him, and looking in those dark doe eyes full of love and affection, you know he feels the same. 

But he doesn't waste the opportunity to voice out his thoughts. 

“I love you, my love.” he says, kissing you for the last time as he leads you to the bathroom where he sets up the perfect water temperature before he allows you to step into the shower.

It's the time when you both shower, making sure you clean all the blood off your bodies, when you see the reddened water. Jungkook follows your vision, already grinning when he says; “Bloody hell.”

You slap his chest, scowling at the ridiculous joke.

“Can you stop saying that?” you scold him, seeing him still grinning at you.

“What, you don't like my British accent?” he teases, wiggling his brows as he keeps grinning. His nose scrunched and bunny teeth on display, you fight the urge to smile. 

“It's not about your British accent and you know it.” you murmur.

“I was just teasing,” he chuckles, pulling you closer to him as you let out a sequel when your legs slip. But as usual, Jungkook holds you and makes sure nothing happens to you. “I love you.” he kisses you before you can react, your lips stretching into a huge smile through the kiss. 

When he pulls away, he licks his lips as darkened lust fills his eyes. 

“Can we do this again next month? Or tomorrow? You know... since it worked.” he suggests, wiggling his brows at you as you slap his chest. This time, you find yourself laughing at your ridiculous boyfriend. 

“Jungkook!”

[linkspooky]

Dabi’s Self Suicide

I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but Dabi is someone who has a tendency to make things about himself. In the League of Villains which is identifiably a group dynamic, Dabi takes every available opportunity to insist that he is alone, he is just along for the ride. A single man, with a single conviction, should be enough to change the world. He has a tendency to act like he’s the most important one here, he’s the one whose going to bring an end to hero society all on his own and yet at the same time he has no sense of identity. He has no self. He doens’t even have a name. Hawks asks him his name and he literally responds with [redacted]. I think this paradox of Dabi’s is at the core of figuring out who he is, and who he is not. 

1. Father Feelings

There’s something important to understand about Dabi, and just like always it starts with the family. I don’t think a lot of people realize how truly unfeeling, callous, cold towards Dabi Endeavor really was. I know we all, even I have used the golden child / scapegoat dynamic to describe Dabi and Shoto, but one important detail is that Dabi wasn’t always the scapegoat, he was the golden child at first. 

More important than Endeavor’s own feelings, is Dabi’s in this flash back. From the start, Dabi thought he was a normal kid in a normal family. He thought he had a normal dad. He even liked his super cool hero dad. Dabi wanted to train with him, wanted his attention and time, but these are just things a normal kid wants. 

However, Dabi was conceived of for very abnormal reasons. From the start, going into the whole affair, Endeavor’s intentions were wrong. Dabi was expected to carry on Endeavor’s legacy for him, he was the center of his attention, the center of his world. Dabi tried his best to carry all of those expectations as much as he reasonably could. 

However, there is literally nothing Dabi could have done in that situation to satisfy Endeavor. It’s not even about being born with the wrong quirk. It’s Endeavor who was wrong. From the start, Endeavor wasn’t interested in having a child or loving a child, but rather having a miniature Endeavor, Touya was just a vessel, to carry all of Endeavor’s hopes and dreams and live vicariously through him. However, that’s impossible.E ven if Touya had been born with the right quirk, that was impossible. You can’t live through another person. Touya’s success never would have been Endeavor’s. Endeavor would hae resorted to the exact same abuse, manipulation, control. Touya was never meant to be his own person, and that’s why even now, even becoming Dabi who is the rejection of everything Endeavor is, he still forms his entire personhood around Endeavor. It’s not that kids choose to form their personhood around their parents, they have to form themselves around their parents, we literally learn how to be people by interacting with other people especially during the developmental years. The same ones that Touya died during. 

Endeavor’s actions towards Touya is that he not only made Touya carry all of his emotions for him, he made Touya bear the brunt of his hurt feelings, all of his expectations, but then when Touya couldn’t carry them He blamed Touya. He tossed him aside. He made Touya feel, that something was wrong with Touya, and that was why he was no longer getting his father’s attention. It’s not anything Touya did, or anything Touya could do about, Touya was literally born wrong. 

It’s literally what he crawled to Natsuo asking. Yet, still Touya tried to fix himself. He was the golden child, now he’s the scapegoat, and Touya feels he did something wrong, so he keeps trying to fix himself, keeps trying to train on his own, and it doesn’t work because it could never work until it results in his eventual suicide and then how does Endeavor refer to it. 

Touya was just another tragic accident. Just a little mistake, along the road to creating Shoto. I’m not trying to explain away any of Dabi’s actions, just explain the way that Dabi regards himself, rather, Dabi literally has no sense of self at all. It’s been completely smashed to pieces. It’s ash. it’s dust. It’s just gone. Dabi’s name may as well just be [redacted]. There was also once a time that Shoto worried that he was more like his father within himself, but he got help from the people around him to realize he’s his own person, help that Dabi never got. 

2. Sins of the Father

So it’s like a genetic trait in the Todoroki family to be completely self absorbed, and dense to the emotions of other people, to the point where you don’t really see other people’s feelings. Like father, like son, like other son. However, Endeavor’s just like that, whereas Dabi and Shoto were made that way. Imagine what it was like to be Shoto, to be constantly told, you’re different from them, you’re the special one, you’re the chosen one. To the point where you couldn’t even play with your siblings, or be a part of everyone’s normal lives, no you were forced to be special. Shoto is oblivious to other people’s emotions because he was literally forcibly separate from other people, and even his mother who was his strongest emotional tie during literally most of his developmental years. 

Empathy is literally formed by interacting with people. You can’t form it or even have it, if your interactions with people are cut off and severely limited. You learn about how other people feel by normal social interaction, something that both Touya and Shoto were eventually cut off from. Touya from dying, Shoto from his mother being hospitalized. After that their ability to form connections with others was severely hampered. 

One funny thing about Shoto is he kind of acts like he’s the protagonist of his own narrative. So does Bakugo. That’s why he goes “Get out of the way all you extras.” Shoto’s the one with the tragic backstory. Shoto’s the one with this motivation to defy his father’s wishes. However, Shoto’s not the main character, he’s not the hero of the story, and it’s actually important that he’s not because the literal setting of the story is a society where everyone has the potential to be a hero. Kind of like how the point of Miles Morales story is that everyone can be spiderman. Shoto, also doesn’t really want to be a main character, or special boy, all Shoto has ever wanted was to connect with his siblings, to have the normalcy that everyone else has. In a society where everyone, even his own father is so desperately trying to stand out, Shoto wants the safety and security of normalcy. 

So you kind of have this paradox in Shoto’s head. Shoto kind of thinks of himself as a main character, even though that’s not really what he wants to be, just because that’s what’s been forced into his head the entire life. The emotional isolation of an abusive parent still ahs an effect on you, even when you’re aware, like Shoto was, that what Endeavor was saying was wrong. No one can grow up properly in isolation, that’s why kids need to interact with other kids and grow up together. 

So, I think the utlimate explanation for Dabi’s attitude towards the rest of the league is this. I’m the main villain. I’m the biggest threat. I’m the one who is going to bring an end to hero society all on my own. 

Once again this ties back to Shoto’s trauma, and Dabi’s. Touya didn’t want to be the special one, he was forced to be. Touya thought he was a normal kid, with a normal dad until he suddenly wasn’t. Then, Touya tried his hardest to be the special one until he literally broke his body, and his dad went no nevermind, turns out you were an extra. 

Saying Dabi is just doing this for Endeavor’s attention is oversimplifying. There’s a need to give a narrative to pain. Shoto even does it. Shoto literally narrates his life, he dumps his life story on everyone who will listen. People who are traumatized, want to give some sort of special meaning to their trauma, they want to feel important, because that in some way might justify what happened to them. If they can’t feel loved, they can try feeling important, like someone who mattered. Otherwise, Dabi is literally just someone who died and got forgotten. Otherwise, he’s just a sad little mistake, the same way his father regards him. Dabi can’t let the league in, because he has to do this on his own to prove he’s special. 

Dabi has this very individualistic and self centered approach to changing the world. He has to do it all on his own. He has to play mastermind. He was to orchestrate Endeavor’s rise and fall, and once again these are coping behaviors. Touya couldn’t control his abandonment, he had no agency in that, so he tries to pretend he’s in control of everything now. Even Dabi burning himself, his self-harming,it’s pain he’s in control of because he’s doing it to himself, father isn’t forcing him to train until he breaks anymore. 

Shoto sees himself as a main character. Dabi sees himself as the main villain. 

However, at the same time. Dabi hates himself. He loathes himself. It comes out in his self loathing behaviors, but more than that every thing Dabi does is an act of self destruction. Dabi has no feelings, no friends, no family, because he’s trying to destroy all those things. 

Dabi has no sense of self, because Endeavor has ruined him to the point where he’s still Endeavor’s empty vessel after all these years of separation from him. Dabi has no self, and also he doesn’t want one. He doesn’t want to grow past this point. 

Dabi has entirely fictionalized his life. That’s why he makes a dramatic reveal. Hee wants to turn his life into a tragedy, where he is the main character, where he is the one that Shoto and Endeavor cannot save. Because at least this way, he will not be forgotten. Unable to grasp for love, he tries to grasp for some kind of improtance, to change the world instead. In that scenario, it makes sense Dabi would distance himself from the league. I don’t think Dabi knows what his true feelings towards theleague are. In fact, I don’t even think he thinks about them. Who cares about what his feelings are? They are entirely separate from what he must do. Any feelings he has, any regrets, are going to burn away when he explodes like a bomb to ruin his father’s life. 

Dabi’s wavering motivations, his constant flipping between different emotions, like he’s channel surfing, I dont’ believe we’re supposed to read into every single thing he says, but rather notice how constantly he’s changing what he’s saying, because Dabi has no stable sense of self. We’re also supposed to see why he has no stable sense of self, because he’s all alone. 

This is the climax of Dabi’s big revenge play, it was supposed to end here, with the tragic protagonist dying. However, I think it’s actually really important in this arc that Dabi gets upstaged. Dabi is not the main character, Dabi’s not even the main villain. He’s not even the only character whose the descendant of a hero. It’s also, really important that Compress is the one who upstages his reveal.

What’s that? You thought I was a background character! It turns out I had this important motivation all along. The pacing is weird but it does achieve the intended effect. Dabi thought this was his moment, but that was actually bad for him. Dabi’s main flaw is that he tries to do all of these things along, but he’s not the only one who dreams of a better world. Dabi, Toga, Shigaraki, Mr. Compress says that all of their dreams are important at the same time. They are all simultaneously main characters. 

Dabi doesn’t get to have his moment, but I think it’s narratively important that he didn’t get to have it, because Dabi does no favors for himself by cutting himself off from the league. It’s meant to be a character flaw, Dabi shouldn’t get his revenge play, because his revenge play ends up with him dying at the end to spite Endeavor one fainly time. Dabi can’t achieve his dreams, because he hasn’t figured out who he is, or even who he wants to be yet. He just knwos what he doesn’t want to be. He just knows what he’s not. He’s not Endeavor. However I don’t think there’s going to be some big twist reveal about his character where he’s like, I secretly cared about the league, or my family all along, I was secretly a soft guy at heart. Those feelings are there. It’s not a problem of being unfeeling with Dabi, rather that Dabi has no central sense of self to stabilize all those feelings around, thus we see him swinging wildly back and forth. I think while Dabi obviously has feelings towards both of those groups of people, a self is something he’ll have to develop over time when he finally introduces himself to the league. When he’s forced to live, past the tragic ending of his play. 

Who will Dabi be when he realizes he has to live past his imagined revenge, who can he become? I think his development from this point will be incredibly interesting to wait, watch and see. 

[nicoforlifetrue]

Phil couldn't remember how long he had been doing this.

Had it been eons or millennia? Lifetimes or generations?

In the end, it doesn't really matter he supposed.

When he first became a Watcher, he was young, he was naive, and worst of all he was kind.

There was no place for kindness or empathy as a Watcher.

He learned in those first few decades to carefully box up his kindness, his empathy, his chaos, and emotions - everything that made him him - and carefully tuck it away in the corners of his mind. At first, it was to survive, to live with these seemingly higher beings.

But that changed when he received his first pupil.

He had climbed the ranks. He was loyal too, but then he was given this child to groom. This naive, innocent child who he had to turn into one of them.

The child was the perfect watcher, the child was obedient and cruel; nothing like Phil had been.

So was the next child and the next and the next.

Child after child was happy to fall to the Watchers games, none needed the kindness and empathy that now sat unlocked in Phil’s mind.

Then it changed again.

His newest pupil’s name had been Grian, before his galactic name had been given to him at least.

Grian was bursting from the seams with chaos, empathy and kindness and mischief, and life.

Phil’s heart ached the first time he saw Grian, with his wild hair and shining eyes.

Grian refused to break.

As Phil led him through the motions he refused to cave, refused to blindly accept the morals of those who had kidnaped him.

Grian hated him.

It shone in his eyes. This child hated him because of what he was doing, because in this child’s eyes, he was the same as the rest of the Watchers.

And maybe he was, Phil realised, his heart aching as this kid, this teen, who had already gone through so much went through more.

His heart ached, empathy crawling out of that box and consuming his mind as for the first time in eons, he cried. He cried for this child that hated him.

Maybe that's why he started getting reckless, why he started speaking to this ball of chaos and hatred and life.

“You hate me.” This was the first thing he had ever said to a student.

Shock, fear, and worry all flashed across Grians' face.

He would not call this child by that galactic branding.

“I don't,” Grian insisted and Phil had smiled.

“You're lying,” he had said, and what an odd thing to be happy about. The fact that Grian could still lie to him was another sign of a cracked soul that refused to break.

“Why does it matter if I hate you or not?”

A question: what a good thing to hear in this wasteland of orders.

“Watchers don't hate,” he murmured with a smile, “Watchers shouldn't hate or care or enjoy.'' He had seen Grian’s face twist in fear, he was scared Phil would hurt him for hating him. What a sad thought.

“So keep hating me,” he whispered, “Enjoy flying, love to ruin my day, but whatever you do, never stop feeling.” It was a quiet plea, begging for this little light to not go out before he could get it out of this suffocating reality. “It might be the only thing keeping you mortal.”

He reviled in Grian’s confusion, a sign of life, and the entropy of emotion.

Something that now crawled from that no longer locked box, something that slid and slipped into his psyche.

Grian loved to fly as much as he hated Phil.

It was something he should squash, flying was a tool, not something to play with.

But Phil also loved to fly, wings as natural to him as if he had been born with the extra appendages.

So he took Grian flying hidden under the guise of training. His heart ached as he watched the child fly, a chaotic grin carved into his pupil’s face.

“It's freeing, isn't it? A flap of your wings and suddenly the world no longer holds you.” He had missed his voice. Every time he spoke he broke a rule, he was of too low status to speak. But here? With this raging inferno of hatred and anger and sadness, he spoke.

“Yeah, I mean kind of, the speed is the fun part for me at least.'' A different opinion, what a ridiculous thing to feel joy over. So simple and seemingly common yet something he hadn't heard in years.

And he smiled.

Grian didn't belong here, he wasn't meant to be a Watcher. Just like Phil hadn’t, but no one was there to save Phil.

But he was there to save Grian.

Grian no longer hated him, if he was being bold he may even say the younger liked his mentor.

...That might have changed when he got Grian out.

The look of hurt on the other's face made his heartbreak.

But it was worth it.

It was worth it when he was thrown down in front of the leader and was stripped away of all things that made him a Watcher.

He was happy they were all gone, even.

The only thing they couldn't rip away were his wings, they were meant to be his the second he came into the world and he was no natural-born, a lost limb would regrow.

He was meant to fly and they couldn’t take that from him.

That thought brought a spite filled laugh bubbling into his throat even as he was told his punishment he couldn’t help but laugh.

The Watcher wings wouldn't leave him so they must not be just for the Watchers.

They were his wings, they were his wings, not tools of the Watchers. He flew on his own, he didn't need them.

He was free.

So very very free.

Even as they trapped him in a world on hardcore mode he laughed.

They couldn't take away his wings so who's to say they could trap him?

They wouldn't find Grian and they couldn't keep either of them locked up and away.

He would never learn from them again.

He was alive and he was a player, not a Watcher. Not some natural-born they could corrupt and change.

He was a fucking player damn it and players survived.

Players never died.

You could kill them, beat them, and try to break them but players are chaotic by nature.

Players couldn’t be Watchers.

And he couldn't help but thank Grian for reminding him of that.

The robes never fit for a reason and he smiled as he gazed at the sky with his own eyes for the first time in forever, carefully holding his hand out to shield the delicate things from the light.

“Good luck, Grian.”

The world was awfully plentiful for a place of punishment.

He supposes it was meant to show him everything he would miss as a Watcher, the endless supplies, the lack of hunger, the lack of mobs hunting him.

But all of those simply made him feel all the more alive, connected. He feared for his life the rush of fear came with bubbling laughter. It wasn't a dull apathy it was a player's joy and fear and chaos.

He needed to collect to build. The endless toil of pleasant stinging at his aching limbs, pain was something Watchers didn't have. Pain was annoying and that's why he loved it. The satisfying ache after a job well done.

Hunger and food was something he missed. The soft ache in his gut and the pleasant taste of food. He had missed eating.

The Watchers had failed. They thought they could tame players and were so wrong, so very very wrong.

When he died he was happy.

But the players didn't die.

So as he opened his eyes, floating in an abyss, he smiled reaching out he pressed an option he had been waiting for.

{Return to Main Menu}

Players didn't die, they could be killed but they never truly died.

Players, unlike natural borns, could come back after they had been killed.

They could come back to a world only players could enter, the Main Menu. And they could choose a new world, make a new home they could continue and continue forever.

He had missed the noise of the Hub, of the Menu

He had missed the rush of players with places to be as they ran about, young spawns toddling behind their caretakers as everything moved, and kept moving.

With a small smile on his face and hope in his heart, Phil walked.

---

Wilbur reminded him of Grian.

Wilbur had the same fire in his eyes, that same drive.

They shared the same eyes.

Dark coal-black that shone with colors of mischief and trickery.

Maybe that's why Phil was attached to the other.

He knew why he was attached to Techno. The younger's voice was too flat, his eyes too dull, too good of a fighter for Phil not to worry about where he went when he vanished. He reminded him of those perfect children. But there were times where his humor was too dry, his eyes too manic, and his smile poorly hidden. Techno was too stubborn to break even as Phil worried.

He knew why he was attached to Tommy. With his chaotic voice and bouncy personality, his quickness to change, and his ingrained defiance; he was like Grian in that he was alive.

Wilbur was a mystery, at least as to why he was so attached. Maybe he simply liked him but something in the back of his mind said that was untrue and some part of him whispered familiarity.

Maybe he'll figure it out someday.

----

Grian never forgot. He couldn't.

Here he was now, surrounded by people he loved. Smiling and laughing with a family. Yet he couldn't forget: it struck him when he flew, it found him in his dreams, it trailed behind him as he built.

He missed his mentor.

He didn't know their real name but he knew their voice, soft and patient and so kind in that sea of apathy.

He didn't know their favorite color but he knew their smile. Hidden and cautious, like at any moment the reason they had been given to smile would be ripped away.

He didn't know their hobbies, but he knew they loved to fly.

He knew they cared about him enough to risk their own life.

And he missed them.

He missed their kindness, their empathy.

He missed someone who understood.

MCC wasn't where he thought he would find them.

The faded pale blond, soft gentle smile, the pale purple wings. Wings they shared.

Green looked better on them than purple ever had Grian thought as he shoved through the crowd.

A name in galactic was spilling from his lips before he could stop himself, his savior hero friend dad dad DAD old mentor glancing to see him eyes watered in a second as Grian finally reached them crashing together in a mess of tears and names, both wings spread wide.

"You’re alive, you’re alive, they didn't kill you." Was what he was saying.

"You made it. God look at you look at how you've grown." Was what the other was murmuring.

They stood there, reveling in the fact the other was alive for at least an hour though it was probably just seconds before another voice called out

"Phil? Uh, what's going on here?"

Grian didn't look up just sniffled as he murmured, "Phil's a good name."

"So is Grian."

His name was Phil, and Grian had missed him.

-----

:)

[heliads]

Curiosities

You feel that life can be divided up into a select set of curiosities- rules by which you live and breathe, that explain away everything in your life as a mutant. You’re doing fine until a certain boy named Peter Maximoff throws everything into disarray.

masterlist

If you try hard enough, everything that happens to you can be sorted out into a list of curiosities. You’re not sure how long you’d been thinking about it this way, but it made enough sense if you really thought about it. Your life was different, ever-changing, and if you kept it locked away within the list of curiosities, you could get a handle on it long enough to peek through the chest of memories that would otherwise fly open and swallow you whole.

Curiosity #1: You were a mutant.

This in itself was relatively easy to explain. When you were about ten, maybe twelve, you started to show the first signs of your power. A faint stirring in the shade in the corner of the room, the fact that you were never afraid of the dark. You waved to your shadow with your left hand, it responded by moving the ankle on its right. By the time you were about fourteen, your powers had fully come into being: you were able to control the shadows. You could bring them into existence, spooling black fog around your fingers and forcing it to your will. 

Curiosity #2: Even among mutants, you were an outcast.

You had come to Professor Xavier’s school when the building itself was fairly uninhabited. Xavier understood you; but then again, he was able to look past the dark furrow of your brow and into the sunny spaces of your head; he could tell that you didn’t wish to hurt anybody. None of the other students shared that same gift, except perhaps Jean, but she didn’t particularly wish to go probing into your skull.

When the school was still new and lacking in students, you were able to grow and flourish as a mutant. The Professor taught you how to use your powers himself, and you had full reign over the grounds. Then, more students started to appear, and they took up more and more of Xavier’s time. Before long, he barely saw you at all.

The other students didn’t know what to make of you. They could understand mutants with cool, interesting powers, like Storm with her weather manipulation or Mystique with her ability to change forms. Furry, blue teachers were acceptable; you were not. They were afraid of how you could control the shadows, how you seemed part darkness yourself. They drew away from you, huddling in the hallways and not making eye contact when you walked by. Slowly, a hated nickname surfaced: Suffocator. They were terrified that you would reach out a hand, call the darkness to you, make it cover their mouth and nose and choke out all air from their desperate lungs. You hated it, but it didn’t matter. Suffocator you were, and suffocator you would always be.

One night, a few of the mutants your age were bored and wanted to throw a party. Someone, maybe Jubilee, had heard of this thing called a masquerade party on one of her trips to the mall or somewhere outside of the school. She was desperate to try it out, and so Xavier’s School had posters everywhere across campus advertising the party.

When you first heard of it, you weren’t planning on going. Nobody wanted you there, not the girl who lurked in the shadows and didn’t speak to anyone. Then you realized that everyone would be wearing a mask and intentionally disguising their identity- nobody would know who you were. It almost seemed too good to be true.

A few days later, the day of the masquerade party arrived. You had donned a sapphire blue mask, one that shimmered like the lake just outside the school when the sun crossed its waves. The glittering, twinkling sea would hide your face from those who would otherwise distrust you. You had glanced at yourself in the mirror before you went; you did not look like yourself. You smiled in satisfaction, and headed out.

The party was being held in one of the empty halls of the school, and you blended in seamlessly with the other mutants. You talked and laughed with them, and they had no idea that they were speaking with the girl they’d avoided just a few hours earlier. You found yourself smiling and having more fun than you’d had in months.

Then, you became aware of one student heading towards you. Tall, overbearing Natalie: she had always hated you for some unknown reason. She glanced once at the group of friends you were speaking with, then folded her arms across her chest. “Do you know who you’re talking to?” She said, and the group looked from her to you and shook their heads. Natalie donned a gleeful smirk. “That’s Y/N. I’m not sure you really want to be spending that much time with her.”

The group of mutants cast you fearful looks once they realize it’s you, and start to walk away. Natalie is the only one who remains, and she crosses the final few feet to stand in front of you. Her voice comes in a loud hiss that seems to echo around the room. “Suffocator.”

A blur of silver flashes around you, and then a boy suddenly appears in front of you. “Those are strong words for someone who can’t even figure out empathy. I mean, come on- yesterday someone was crying in front of you and it took you half an hour to figure out they were sad.” Natalie draws back, angry. “Rude, Maximoff! Hasn’t Xavier told you not to make fun of people’s powers? Empathy is hard.” The silver-haired boy laughs. “Not making fun of people’s powers? I think you’re the one who needs to work on that, not me.”

Natalie rolls her eyes, trying to hide her annoyance at the fact that she’s losing this argument. “Whatever. I’m bored of this already.” She stomps away to hang out with her other friends, leaving you to stare at the boy who’d suddenly come to your defense. Of all the mutants, why would it be Peter?

Curiosity #3: Peter Maximoff.

Nobody at Xavier’s school trusted you. Nobody, it seemed, except for Peter. Ever since that day, he’d been relentless in his task to befriend you. You’re not sure why- everyone else had given up on you long ago. It’s not like you didn’t want friends, or that you were that strange a person. You were like everyone else: happy, laughing, friendly. It’s just the threat of your powers, so strange and unnatural, that forced everyone else away.

But not him. No, Peter refused to let your powers daunt him in the slightest. He’d be there after class, walking nonchalantly beside you. It didn’t seem like a friendship borne of pity- no, he teased you and made the same jokes as he would with everyone else. He even called you Suffocator once, that dreaded nickname, although it didn’t have that same barb as it did before. Maybe that’s because the other students used it as a knife to stab at you before running away. Instead, Peter tossed it like a paper plane, letting it float through the air as the two of you laughed from a joke. He didn’t want anything more than friendship, and so the two of you hung out after class, fighting mock battles with your powers and enjoying the time to be two simple teenagers in the otherwise strange world of mutants.

Curiosity #4: The quiet.

You’re not sure when you notice the silence at first. It’s just another day, ordinary in its dullness. You’re in the back of the grounds, away from the large groups of people in an attempt to study for a test you have later. You look up, once, fishing for a sticky note to mark the end of the chapter, but your eyes stay searching even after your hands close around the pad of paper.

You can’t hear anything. Well, that’s not entirely true. The birds still chirp, although with odd hesitation, as if afraid to sing too loudly. The wind still rustles the trees, but slowly, as if trying not to be noticed. The everlasting din of the students, though, that is gone. You push your books into your bag, standing up quietly. Even the zip of your backpack seems to echo in the silence.

This is strange. What happened to make the air so tense, the students shut their mouths for once to stand together in quiet? You sling your backpack over your shoulder, heading quickly to the front of the school to see what the fuss (or lack of, rather) is about.

There’s nothing at the front of the school, either. In fact, there aren’t that many people there. The only mutants out are Jean, Peter, Storm, Scott, and Nightcrawler. You watch as Jean presses her fingers to her temples, sending out a message that you only now pick up in your head. Go inside now. Don’t look out. Get the Professor. It echoes on a loop inside your brain, appearing only now that you’re close enough to the sender.

You glance around you, searching for some trouble that would cause Jean to send out such a message. Then, you see it- three large armored trucks headed your way, military logos emblazoned on the sides. This sort of thing happens every few years or so- some military higher-up decides that the mutants are too dangerous to be kept alive, and they attempt to round up everyone at the school. Xavier is usually there to put a stop to it, but today he’s out in some big city doing official business, so he’s not here to protect you. In fact, the only ones here to protect you are yourselves.

You watch as the trucks roll closer. Once they reach the gate, they stop, and soldiers start to stream out of it. Storm shouts over to Jean. “Are we doing anything about this?” Jean nods, her hair flicking out behind her like tongues of flame. “We’re stopping them. They want a fight, I can hear it. That’s just what they’ll get.” She says, and the mutants around her prepare themselves for a battle.

Curiosity #5: You stay to fight.

Why are you still here? Jean told everyone who wasn’t one of Xavier’s hand picked team to go inside, and yet you’re still cracking your knuckles out in front of the school just like everyone else. Maybe it’s because you want a taste for just how much damage your powers can deal out, or maybe it’s because you finally have a chance to prove yourself to be a hero, to fight like the others and make a name for yourself as someone who’s in it to protect the other students, even if they wouldn’t protect her. Regardless of the reason, the outcome stays the same. You’re here to fight.

When the men start running forward, you realize with sickening dread that they’ve brought guns, and dangerous ones at that. You’re not sure why they thought they’d need military grade rifles at a school, but they’re out and loaded nonetheless. They raise them towards you, launching a volley of bullets, but you throw up your arms and a wall of shadow appears in between the mutants and the guns, blocking the bullets and forcing them to the ground.

Jean turns to you, amazed. “Actually, I think it would be better if you stayed with us.” You grin slightly at that, turning your attention back to the soldiers. You and the other mutants fight in unison, powers working together as fluidly as a well oiled machine. You seem to compliment them, understanding their hurried motions as if you’d been working with them your entire life. 

Before you know it, the soldiers are hurrying back to the armored trucks, gesturing frantically at the drivers to get them out of here before they are killed by a bunch of kids with magic powers. The mutants look happily amongst yourselves, proud that you’d managed to defend the school against the soldiers. Together, you’d protected everyone here.

The night is starting to grow late, and everyone is out on the grounds in celebration. It’s not everyday that a bunch of teenagers fight back against the military and win, you know. You idle near a group of mutants, red plastic cup in hand just like them. Something feels odd, and it takes you a moment to notice what it is. Nobody’s scared of you. There aren’t any students huddled together, looking at you through nervous eyes that flick away when you catch sight of them. No pointed fingers, no hushed whispers. Maybe you’ve finally been accepted as one of them.

Jean approaches from across the field, stopping at a group of mutants only a few feet away from you. She leans towards Storm, tapping her on the shoulder. “Scott, Peter, Kurt, and I are hanging out in another corner of the woods. You know, victory party and all that? Come with us.” Her voice is a low whisper, but you can’t help smiling at it. You wait for her to nod at you, to ask you the same question, but strangely enough, she just slings an arm around Storm’s shoulder and the two of them walk away into the woods, leaving you behind.

She saw you. You know she saw you- her eyes glanced over you before they left. Her eyes weren’t glinting with hatred, some ill-concealed malice or anything. This wasn’t a plot to intentionally leave you out, she just didn’t see you as someone to invite, even though you’d been a key part of that victory group she seems so keen to celebrate. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks- no matter how hard you try, how many times you fight to protect them, they will never see you as a friend. All because they don’t understand your powers.

Dazedly, you leave the grounds where the rest of the mutants are celebrating. You find some quiet corner of the woods, a place that’s tucked away where nobody will notice you. The ‘victory party’ is on the opposite side of the grounds, so you know that you don’t have to fear anyone accidentally stumbling across you.

You slide to the ground, leaning back against the sturdy trunk of one of the many trees that stand tall and proud around the school’s forest. You cover your face in your hands, feeling all of your emotions finally catch up with you. You wish you could prove yourself in some way, that your powers may physically be dark but that you weren’t a monster, but it doesn’t matter how hard you try. You’ll never be anything more than a villain to them.

Silent tears course down your cheeks. You don’t think you’ve ever felt more alone than this night, even when things seemed impossible. No matter how bad things were before, this night manages to take the cake. There’s a cracking sound behind you, and you wipe your tears away hurriedly as you realize someone’s walking up to you.

“What are you doing all alone? Don’t you know we’re celebrating?” It’s Peter. Of course it is. You turn to face him, hoping the darkness will obscure the puffiness in your eyes. “Guess I was just tired.” You plaster on a smile, praying that he’ll get bored and go rejoin the others, but no such luck. He plops down in the grass next to you, arms stretched back behind him.

“Why aren’t you with Jean and the rest?” He says, and you frown at him. “What do you mean?” You ask. Peter furrows his brow. “You know, the victory party. You were there when the soldiers attacked, and you saved our skins like a dozen times over. Why aren’t you with them?” You look at him, willing him to be observant for just this once. “I just didn’t feel like going.” Peter rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. Stop being your dramatic little self and just come on. The rest will be happy to see you.” 

He extends an arm as if to drag you there himself. You sigh frustratedly. “Fine, Peter. I’m not being dramatic. I know there’s a party, and I also know that they very much do not want me there. I was there when Jean asked Storm to hang out with Scott, Kurt, and the rest. She knew I was there, she saw me, and she didn’t ask the same of me.” Your voice breaks off. “It’s pretty obvious that no one here wants me to be there. Hell, no one here wants me to be at this school at all, and the only one who can’t see that is you.”

Peter’s silent for a second, and you curse inwardly. Now you’ve gone and made Peter, the one person who’s been here for you, feel bad about himself. You wouldn’t be surprised if he just gets up and leaves now. But he doesn’t. In fact, a smile flashes across his face. “That’s because they’re idiots.” You look at him, confused. “What?” He laughs. “They’re idiots, and you’re an idiot for listening to them.” 

He gestures absentmindedly at you. “Y/N, you’ve got one of the coolest powers I’ve ever seen, and for what, so you can be sad about it? Are you really telling me you’d rather be an empath than control the shadows? That’s like, the neatest thing ever.” His words, spoken with such conviction, bring a laugh to your face as well. Peter’s eyes light up when he sees it. “See, there you go. Come on, let’s have some fun. We don’t need them if they’re being weird.”

Your laugh dies off quietly as you look back at him. “Why are you doing this? Why are you taking the time to make me feel better? You make fun of your own friends and rob convenience stores when you’re bored. Since when has Quicksilver gone this far out of his way to make somebody laugh?” Peter smiles at you, then leans forward. His lips are on yours, suddenly, his hand gently cupped against your cheek. Just as you’ve realized what’s happening, he’s back in his spot a few feet away again. He smirks at you. “That’s why.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. “That’s why. Well, I guess that’s an acceptable reason.” Peter smiles. “Only acceptable? That’s not the best thing I’ve heard, but I suppose it’ll be okay for now.” He stands up, offering a hand to you. You take it. “So, are you coming with me or not? I intend to cause all sorts of chaos.” You look over at him, laughter dancing in your eyes. “Of course I am.”

Curiosity #6: Peter Maximoff loves you. And you love him.

peter maximoff tag list @amourtentiaa​

[birdship]

(DISCO ELYSIUM SPOILERS)

Wrote this... thing? to sort of explore potentially writing an actual bit of fanfic for Disco Elysium. It's just a short scene set during the time Harry's drifting in and out of consciousness and Kim is taking care of him.

Anyway, here. Self-indulgent gay longing bullshit, but maybe someone else out there will enjoy it?

Very short teaser, since the whole thing is only like 1600 words:

PERCEPTION: The pressure intensifies slightly, and you recognize it is in the shape of a human hand. YOU: Her hand…? PERCEPTION: No. Not hers. VOLITION: Never hers. LOGIC: His, genius. ESPRIT DE CORPS: It’s Kim. Of course it is. You knew it from the moment you saw him, somehow, that this man would take a bullet for you. He almost did. But right now, he’s kneeling beside you, tending to your wound. Gently, so gently reaching into the war zone of your body to peel back the old bandages, soaked in blood and pus, and press clean ones down in their place.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: Well, well! Look what the cat dragged in. You keep slipping away, Harry-boy. Back into that beautiful, dark sea. Where you came from. Where you belong. Even now it presses around you, pale and cold. You’re struggling so hard to keep your head above the water for these precious few seconds of aching consciousness. It would be easier to just… relax.

YOU: Hold on, what was that about a cat?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: There is no cat, you stupid fuck. Pay attention when I’m waxing poetic about the sweet embrace of death.

It’s hard to pay attention. Then again, it’s hard to do anything. Your breathing is shallow and ragged and you’re so, so tired. God are you tired.

PERCEPTION: You become gradually aware that there is a light pressure on your hip. PAIN THRESHOLD: The first small jolt of pain ripples through you, branching like lightning. PERCEPTION: The pressure intensifies slightly, and you recognize it is in the shape of a human hand.

YOU: Her hand…?

PERCEPTION: No. Not hers. VOLITION: Never hers. LOGIC: His, genius. ESPRIT DE CORPS: It’s Kim. Of course it is. You knew it from the moment you saw him, somehow, that this man would take a bullet for you. He almost did. But right now, he’s kneeling beside you, tending to your wound. Gently, so gently reaching into the war zone of your body to peel back the old bandages, soaked in blood and pus, and press clean ones down in their place.

YOU: His hand…

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s warm, electric, somehow both familiar and new all at once. You ache to lean into it and ask for more, more. How long has it been since anyone touched you like this? INLAND EMPIRE: Has anyone ever touched you like this, really? Right down to the core of you? Feeling the wreckage of you, the sharp edges of your heart? Running their fingers so lightly along the cracks of your horrible little brain? ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I meant literally. His hand is on your thigh. PAIN THRESHOLD: Because there’s a fucking gunshot wound there. LOGIC: Come on, don’t make it weird. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I’m not making it weird. VOLITION: You’re definitely making it weird. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Look, all I’m saying is it feels pretty nice, doesn’t it? Being close to him like this. His hands on your body.

YOU: Yeah. It does.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: In the haze of painkillers and recent trauma, your sight becomes clear. Ironic. You’re finally allowing yourself to see something that’s been quietly blossoming inside you over the years. It’s been so hard to ignore, but the alternative is so much worse. You couldn’t look right at it. Didn’t want to. Didn’t think you deserved to. But now, in this moment, lying on a lumpy mattress in the dark, trying not to lose consciousness yet again, with him pressing his hands to your rotting body, desperately staunching the bleeding that never seems to completely stop… Now the world has finally wrung everything out of you. Whatever it was that you had left. And you can do nothing but take the path of least resistance. HALF-LIGHT: You’re keenly aware that you will soon make an absolute goddamn fool of yourself, but are powerless to stop it. The forces are already in motion. PAIN THRESHOLD: Another lightning bolt of pain, worse this time. Agony. You cannot help but gurgle a quiet “fuck.”

The lieutenant glances up at your face with calm concern, thoroughly unsurprised by your outburst. “I know it hurts,” he breathes. “You’ll get through it.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, only half-processing his words.

PERCEPTION: His hand lingers ever so slightly, then suddenly it’s gone. The warm, comforting pressure of his company, gone. SUGGESTION: No! You’re going to be alone again! He needs to stay. You need him to be here. Next to you. For as long as possible.

You concentrate every ounce of willpower you have left on sending your right hand out to fish desperately for his before it’s gone.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION: Your hand slaps awkwardly against the sleeve of his jacket. You can’t quite get a grip on it, but your pathetic flailing is hard to ignore, and he stops to give you a quizzical look. VISUAL CALCULUS: That’s the best we could do. I don’t know what you expected from us. Your eyes are still closed.

“Detective?” he says to you. “Just relax. You’re going to be fine, but you need to get some rest.”

“Wait,” you mumble, “please stay.”

DRAMA: This is quite the sad display you’re putting on here, sire. It’s a crowded field, but this new late entry is a strong contender for the gold in the hotly contested “most uncomfortable moment” event at the Sad Old Sack of Shit Olympics.

VOLITION: Come on, you’re stronger than this. HALF-LIGHT: Don’t drag him down with you, you irrepressible fuck-up. What are you even trying to do? INLAND EMPIRE: He’s drowning. Desperate. Reaching for something, anything, to stay afloat. COMPOSURE: It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not anymore. There’s nothing to hold onto. SUGGESTION: Wrong. You have exactly one thing to hold onto right now, and that thing is Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi’s fucking hand.

Kim looks at you with a sort of detached concern for a moment, then gives you a small smile and sits back down next to you without another word. There’s nothing to say, and that’s fine.

EMPATHY: He looks exhausted. His eyes are ringed by dark circles and his shoulders have begun to sag with the weight of the case. The weight of death. The weight of you. He’s carrying so much. ESPRIT DE CORPS: He doesn’t want recognition or pity for it. He knows you’re bearing the same load. Don’t you dare apologize for any of it - this weight is shared. You’re in it together. SUGGESTION: Then why do you feel so guilty, watching him stare silently out the window into the impenetrable night, looking at nothing? You have to say something. Acknowledge his efforts to keep your sorry flesh sack shambling forward another day. VOLITION: No, stop. This is a bad idea. You don’t have to be the sorry cop anymore. In fact, please actively try to stop being that.

“Kim,” you say weakly.

“Yes?” he says, his gaze snapping back to you immediately.

“Thanks.”

“No need for that,” he says quickly.

VOLITION: Grateful cop, huh. Well, I guess that’s a step up. Very slightly less pitiful.

“Yeah,” you mumble, “alright. Sorry.”

VOLITION: Goddammit.

Kim doesn’t say anything. Just watches you with tired, searching eyes.

PERCEPTION: He’s sitting on the very edge of the bed, far away from you, his limbs tucked close to his body except for one hand, which rests lightly on the blanket. VISUAL CALCULUS: It’s still close enough that you could reach out and touch it without too much effort. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Get that sweet dopamine hit, baby! Human contact, the most dangerous drug!

Your fingers brush his hand. He jerks it away immediately, but it seems like an unconscious, automatic reaction.

“Ah,” he says, scooting over a bit. “I’ll give you some space.”

VOLITION: If your goal was to feel like a complete idiot in front of the one person in this shithole that you respect, well, pat yourself on the back. DRAMA: Congratulations, sire, you’ve done it! And what hill might thou plan to die on next? VOLITION: A much steeper one, hopefully. SUGGESTION: Ignore them, try again! PERCEPTION: Finally, your fingers manage to close around his wrist. You can’t see his reaction. Your eyes are closed. You can’t stand to look at the situation you’ve created. VOLITION: Coward. PERCEPTION: His hand is moving, changing position, but not withdrawing. It simply contorts in such a way that your grip relaxes and now it’s his hand that’s resting on top of yours. He is silent, but he’s there. Not moving away. You smell stale cigarette smoke and dry blood lingering in the space between his body and yours. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s too much. This hit, it’s stronger than you expected. It’s fucking devastating, a cold knife twisting its way through your broken body. It hurts. Why does it hurt? EMPATHY: Your eyes are still closed, but you sense that he too is looking elsewhere, similarly unable to look directly at the source of the overwhelming awkward - and quite frankly rather homo-sexual - energy you have brought down upon the room. CONCEPTUALIZATION: Every other human interaction happening inside the Whirling-in-Rags must be going very smoothly right now, because you’ve created a fucking singularity of awkwardness. There’s no more awkwardness left within a 2km radius, you’ve gathered it all right here.

Then, as quickly as the moment began, it’s over. He moves his hand and clears his throat. Probably cleans his glasses. It’s a nervous habit of his that you’ve noticed this past week.

A few minutes pass in silence. Then: “Harry?” he whispers quietly.

You don’t answer. You have nothing to say.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Maybe you were wrong. Maybe this is the harder option. Maybe you’re not ready to look at it. Maybe you’re not ready to look at anything.

“Get some rest,” he says softly. “I need to get back to work.”

EMPATHY: He’s not going to mention this incident. Not now. Not later. Not ever. Not just out of concern for you, but himself. He has no idea how to begin to process it, so he won’t. He’ll tell himself it doesn’t matter, you were just lost in a cloud of drouamine and pain and grief. That you were so out of it that you thought you were reaching for someone else. That vulnerable moment of tenderness could not have been meant for him. But you know the truth. And maybe he does too, somewhere deep down. LOGIC: You are okay with this. You have to be. And so does he. CONCEPTUALIZATION: You’ve glimpsed it now, that radiant thing within you. That bright, unbearable light. It’s so beautiful, so heart-breaking that you can hardly stand it. Maybe a glimpse is enough.

[wolffe-simp]

Heart Of A Wolf

This is just a random thought I had and may make it into a series, not sure yet but I hope you enjoy. This is a 3am thing, so it may not be as good as it could be.

Translation :

Evaar'la wolf means young wolf

Buir means Father

Jedi Master Plo Koon must face the past when an unexpected arrival at the Jedi Temple causes certain events to unfold and Commander Wolffe is entrusted with his Generals most important possession.

The force works in mysterious ways, it lives in every creature, big and small, taking many shapes and forms among the vast populations of living organisms. But it was not the force that had brought you to the Jedi temple on Coruscant, it was fear of the darkness that had followed you halfway across the universe, nipping at your heels as you ran away. Everything that had been, everything you knew was gone, now ashes on a planet that many had overlooked and forgotten.

Ever since you had landed on Coruscant, you had made your way to the temple, your mind focused on one task, to find the one person who would be able to help you in your time of need. Now you stood, staring up at the towering structure of the Jedi Temple, the setting sun bathing its stone walls in a warm glow, like a beacon of light, like a beacon of hope. Taking a deep breath, you made your way over to some temple guards who were stationed at the entrance, they watched you as you approached, observing your every movement to ensure you weren't a threat.

"Sorry, but no civilians are allowed inside the temple without permission from the Jedi or other personnel." One stated when you stopped in front of them.

"I've heard, but I need to find someone. A Jedi who has this emblem,its important." You replied, pulling a small necklace from your pocket, a wolf head pendent dangling from the chain.

The guards seemed slightly taken aback by the sight of the necklace, they shared a look between each other, seeming to have a silent conversation before finally moving to let you pass. Two of them followed alongside you as you entered the temple, leading you down a few halls, already you had lost your way and you wondered how they remembered what hall led to where. You received many looks from passersby, temple workers, clones and even a few Jedi themselves. After a while, the guards stopped you outside a pair of double doors, asking you to stay put while they went inside to sort things out.

You watched as they disappeared, shuffling awkwardly in the empty corridor, alone once again. You turned to the open windows, deciding to sit on the ledge of one while you waited, the city of Coruscant spread out before your eyes. It was so different to what you had known, there were no open fields of green, no birdsongs to coax you from sleep, no rushing rivers to guide you home when you lost your path. It made you feel small, as if you were a child again but now you did feel lost, lost in the vastness of the galaxy.

It seemed like forever when the doors of the room finally slid open, you expected the guards to come out and tell you to leave but instead, you were greeted by the figure of a Kel Dor. You slowly got up from your seat, nervously playing with the necklace in your pocket , you opened and closed your mouth, trying to find something to say. Yet you couldn't find your voice, eyes downcast to stare at the floor as if were suddenly the most interesting thing in the galaxy. Did he remember you? Was he even aware of who you were? or of where you came from. Would he even believe you? You were so conflicted, your mind was too loud for you to even think clearly, every thought making your chest tighten with fear and anxiety.

"Evaar'la wolf"

The words made tears well in your eyes, the memory of the name spoken softly to you as a child suddenly swam in your mind, a younger version of yourself clinging to the side of the Kel Dor as you drifted to sleep.

"Buir." You whimpered, flinging yourself at him, arms winding around his waist in an embrace.

Despite being watched, Plo Koon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as you cried softly into his chest. It had been many years since he had seen you, many years since he had left you in the care of your mother to continue his life as a Jedi. He remembered the few times he had seen you, never truly having a stable presence in your life. You were two by the time he first held you and you were five when he had last held you in his arms and you had cried like you did now, clinging to him like he would suddenly vanish and he had. He always wished you would understand why he had done what he had once you had grown. Now you were here, a young woman, as beautiful as her mother. Your lack of resemblance to him had always put him at ease, making him hope you could have a peaceful life without being ridiculed by some for being the child of two species. You were Mandalorian, like your mother, but you had his heart and spirit.

"Come now, young one."

He kept his voice soft as he let you go, guiding you into the room he had been occupying only moments before. You huddled into his side, greeted by the eyes of a few clones and what looked like two other Jedi. Plo Koon took you over to a create for you to sit on, along with two clones wearing grey and white armour, they were two of three that wore it, the last standing not so far away. You sniffled softly, feeling your father wipe away a few of your tears before turning his attention to the others in the room.

"Obi-wan, Anakin. If I may ask, would you do me the favour of rescheduling the meeting until tomorrow morning?"

"Of course Master Plo, I believe more important matters need to be tended to." Obi-wan replied, bowing his head respectfully before leaving the room with the Anakin and their clones.

The other clones stayed, looking towards their general for orders to leave but none came, so they were left to watch as Master Plo Koon crouched in front of the girl that had called him father. The clones were use to the caring side of their general, he treated them equally and fairly, making them feel like they were more than just numbers from a cloning facility. Yet it felt different now, as if he was treading in uncertain territory.

"You are a long way from home, young one."

"Home is gone father." Your voice trembled as you spoken, filled with sadness. "Its all gone, home, mother, everything."

"What happened?" One of the clones asked, his hair cut into two rows, savage scars running down the right side of his face and his amber eyes watching you closely.

Silence feel over the room, the words dying in your throat. You didn't know how to explain it, maybe they would think it was all your fault and your father would hate you for getting your mother killed. You knew the laws of the Jedi about attachments but you knew he cared for your mother nonetheless. You didn't want your father to see you like this, weak and broken, you weren't a damsel in distress but you needed him now more than ever.

"It started with the nightmares, mother said it was just my imagination running wild. I saw the forests set ablaze, the animals trapped among the flames, mother calling for me and then everything fading into nothingness, it all felt so real. It was the same dream, every night until my name day. Instead of the normal dream, a wolf came to me, telling me it was time to embrace my destiny and to allow the force to guide me down the path presented to me. It was the same day the separatist invaded our home, searching for something."

They listened to every word you said, even though you didn't go into detail, they were able to understood what had happened, Plo Koon more than the clones.

"It is possible, that a spirit of the force was able to contact you and warn you of the coming danger." Plo Koon hummed.

He stood up, stroking his masked chin in thought as he paced for a moment. To attack your home, to attack you and your mother in a place so far from the war was a concerning matter, one be would have to bring to the council as he sensed something else was at play. Right now, he was just happy that you were alive and thanked the force that you had found him.

"Commander Wolffe, I require a audience with the council. I trust you to keep my daughter safe until further notice."

"Yes General." The clone in question nodded briskly, saluting your father.

You shared a look with your father, knowing the unvoiced question and nodding. You would be fine without him for a few more hours, you had commander Wolffe to look after you so hopefully no harm would befall you.

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

Within the long hours you spent with Wolffe after your fathers departure, you had managed to become quite close with the other two clones, Boost and Sinker. They had made it their mission to ensure you felt better, every small giggle of smile encouraging them to do better until your mind was rid of the thoughts that invaded your mind. Sometimes, they would get to far with their jokes and almost hurt themselves or potentially you, which meant Wolffe would have to intervene and tell them to reel it in.

Eventually, the two headed off to what they called 79's while Wolffe took you to his office to he could keep an eye on you while he finished some work. Sinker and Boost had invited you to go along with them but Wolffe declined their offer for you as he didn't want you to be overwhelmed with the likely bombardment of questions from other clones after his drunk Vod let loose that you are Master Plo Koon's daughter.

You sat in the chair opposite Wolffe, looking around at his plain, bland office with a look of empathy, you had heard of how badly clones were treated. He was a soldier and yet, he couldn't even get a decent office because of how people looked down on him. You sighed softly, crossing your legs and adjusting yourself in your chair, trying to keep yourself somewhat entertains now Sinker and Boost were no longer around.

"I like your scar."

Wolffe looked at you in shock, he was halfway through one of his datapads. He had suspected there would be some small talk, but he hadn't expected you to make a statement as bold as that, especially about the one thing he himself, felt very subconscious about.

"Thank you." He mumbled in return. "Though, it scares a few people."

"Of course it scares them." You scoffed. "The people who sit back and relax while you fight their war, are scared by your sacrifice to make their world a better place."

Wolffe stared, from the crying girl he had met only hours ago, you had suddenly become another version of his general. He hadn't expected you to be so caring towards him despite the reason you had ended up here. He could still seen the pain in your eyes but he could also see a small spark, hidden deep in the depths of your iris. He had been sceptical of you at first, merely out of wanting to protect his general and his brothers from a possible trap from the separatists, after all, you could be someone in disguise, the Jedi had done something similar themselves with Kenobi.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Wolffe reassured you, gracing you with a rare half smile. "Not many see us the way you and Master Plo do."

"Dad has always seen people for who they are, rather than what they are. Life is the right of all beings after all, we have no control over how we are created so we shouldn't be judged by our places of origin."

"Whats your place of origin?" Wolffe asked before he could stop himself.

"My origins are a planet far from here, where a Mandalorian went to hid from her people, outcasted and branded a witch for her shapeshifting ability. A woman who saved a Kel Dor from a crashed ship and nursed him back to heal and in return, he gifted her a child, so she would no longer be alone. A child with the heart of a wolf and the spirit of a Jedi."

You smiled at one another, continuing to chat into the late ours of the night, talking about anything that came to mind. Eventually, you fell asleep in your chair while Wolffe explained a story about how Boost had eaten a spicy fruit from of of the planets they had visited. Wolffe chuckled softly at your sleeping form, moving to scoop you up in his arms. He carried you bridal style to his general quarters and tucked you into bed, knowing Master Plo Koon will be a few hours more and would likely take the couch. Until Plo Koon arrived, Wolffe took a chair and sat it outside the door, his blaster in hand, ready for any threat that might come for you.

[forthehpfanboys]

Intact

Pair: George Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: Life goes to hell when your mother, who happens to be Bellatrix LeStrange AND a Death Eater, finds out you joined the Order of the Phoenix with your boyfriend. 

Warnings: Swearing, child abuse?, I guess it's more like assault? Dark, probably graphic?? 

Notes: 100/10 on this one. Honestly it was fun to write-

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

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You knew the moment you stepped into the house she knew and it wasn’t a good thing. The house was borderline destroyed from the glass shattered on the floor from the ‘family portrait’ on the floor to the burn marks across walls. Your shoes crunched as you walked across the remains of the crystal chandler that's been in the house for generations. You entered the living room and was immediately struck with a spell that had your black slamming into the wall. 

"You rat! You sniveling, useless, pathetic little rodent!” Her hoarse voice revealed how long she’d been screaming. She kicked the coffee table in the center of the room off to the side. “I should've known!" your mother screamed, her wand tightening in her hand. Her arm stayed stretched out, showing her lack of hesitance and empathy toward you. "You were always so ungrateful! So unbelievably selfish!" You held your head in your hands. A headache was throbbing beside your temples- you must've really hit your head on the wall- and her screaming was not helping it out at all. Her yells echoed in the house, almost shaking the shattered windows of the living room.

"What are you going on about?" you asked, finally raising your head to look at her. Her makeup was messy, her hair was an actual rats nest and her eyes were darker than you've ever seen. She looked insane, more so than usual.

"Don't act like you don't know! You betrayed the Dark Lord for that.. That boy!" Bellatrix screeched out, making long steps across the shard covered carpet to corner you. "Honestly! A Weasley, (Y/n)! A blimey, no good for nothing blood traitor! I raised you better than that!"

You stared at her with wide eyes. She knew. Oh, of course she knew who you were sneaking out almost every night to see! She probably found out herself or maybe Draco tattled, that coward. It didn’t matter how she knew, she knew you were with a Weasley, sneaking out almost every night to see him, the other Weasleys and the Order. 

"Raised me? I'm sorry, raised me?!" You genuinely had to laugh at that. "You can not take credit for how I came out! You didn't raise me!  No, no even close! You dropped me off at the Malfoys like a stray dog.” You didn’t even flinch when she jabbed her wand right under your chin, a sneer growing on her features. 

You tried to ignore how much it hurt to be ditched by your own mother, forced to swivel and basically praise the Malfoys for taking in someone like you. You were nothing compared to Draco. Everyone wanted a compliant son like Draco, but no, you had to be different, see your mother for how she really was. You could remember when she showed up one random day after graduating your 4th year, claiming she loved you, missed you, how times got too tough to have a baby boy around the house. The thought now made you sick. She didn’t care about you for fourteen years, but suddenly she does. Since then, life has been hell. Except around George. 

“I should’ve left you on the streets.” Her voice was barely a whisper as she grabbed your shoulder. Her unusually sharp nails seemed to phase right through your shirt. “I should’ve drowned you in a river, I should’ve given you to the Dark Lord himself.” Her nails dug deeper into your skin, puncturing it, leading to small droplets of red to seep into the cotton of your shirt. Your pain must’ve made itself known because she smirked and tossed her head back in loud laughter that made your temples throb again. “I should’ve killed you myself.” She pulled away from you, stepping back a few paces before turning swiftly to face you once again. She did a curtsy, not taking her eyes off you. 

“Clearly, there’s a lot we both should’ve done.” Your voice cracked as you pulled out your own wand from your pocket, holding it tightly. You stepped forward a few spaces and bowed, understanding what she wanted. She wanted you to suffer. She casted a spell before you could even blink, her laugh echoed in the house again.

“Crucio!” 

Your body slammed against the wall a second time, except this time, it felt like your heart was actually going to stop. It felt like every nerve was being ripped in half one by one, like you were being burned alive but drowning in an icy river at the same time. You physically couldn’t stop the scream of pure agony that ripped from your throat. 

You crashed to the floor as your muscles tensed up. The spell lifted before another scream could fly from your lips, giving your now aching muscles a break. You curled into a tight  ball, your knees to your chest, as your.. ‘Mother’ let out yet another cackling laugh. Honestly, you weren’t sure she ever stopped.

“What’s wrong, (Y/n)? Too much for you? Maybe I should just call you Weasley. You’re just as pathetic and dimwitted as they are.” She giggled, bouncing on her feet, before doing a spin. “Oh, I do love your scream though.” 

You were trying to blink through the tears and ignore the way your gut was twisting itself up. You officially envied anyone who said crap about Longbottom's parents- they didn’t deserve this. Through the tears, your eyes landed on your wand, just in arms reach. With a shaky, weak hand, you reached for it, an equally shaky breath leaving your lips when your fingertips grazed across the wood. It was so close. that was, until a heal came to rest into the back of your hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my insane rambling is too boring for you, is it?” Bellatrix spat out. She lowered herself onto one knee, putting testing her weight against the bones in your skin. You sucked in a breath, your eyes squinting shut. While she was down there, she decided to go on a tangent on how her life was so difficult, how she couldn’t have her love with her, whoever the fuck that was, and how she was a good mother. 

“You’re such a bitch.” You whispered out. While the witch was so worried about your hand and spitting all over your face with her sob story, you’d managed to grab your wand. You threw a punch, right to her crooked grin. The punch wasn’t your strongest, but it gave you enough leeway to wiggle your hand free and aim your wand at her, casting stupefy to throw her back. Before she could do anything else, you booked it out the door, running as fast as you could. You didn’t look behind you when she started screaming again.

“Ingrate! Go run off to those pathetic blood-traitors! You deserve to be with your own kind! A bunch of filthy low-lives!” 

You rounded the corner and apparated to where you knew they would be, where you’d be safe. With a crisp pop, you were in front of the door of none other than Sirius’ Black’s home. You didn’t bother knocking, you didn’t need too. You stumbled into the house, effectively cutting off everyone’s casual conversation in the living room. You ignored Molly’s gentle calls and Remus trying to see if you were ok. You just sprinted up the stairs, calling for your boyfriend. 

You didn’t even realize you were crying until your body collided with George’s, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist while the other went straight to your hair. He rocked your back and forth, his voice whispering everything was going to be ok in your ear. You didn’t even notice the crowd forming behind you.

“Cupcake, I’m going to need you to tell me what happened, ok?” He gently pulled you from his chest, his hands cupping your wet cheeks to wipe away your tears.

“She knows. Someone told her- or- or she followed us but she knows and-” You took in a shaky breath, being gently dragged back into a hug by the ginger. You couldn’t see it, but George, while never usually one to jump to violence, was close to throwing hands.

“LeStrange?” He asked, wanting clarification over who the ‘she’ actually was. When you nodded into his chest, his arms tightened around you. “Ok,’ he whispered, “ok, how about we go assess the damage, hmm?” He guided you down the hall, ignoring the questions about what happened, and taking you straight to the clean bathroom. 

George shut the door once you were sitting on the edge of the bathtub. He wasn’t quite sure if he was more heartbroken over the fact that you were shaking, struggling to breath and bouncing your leg rapidly or pissed that she dared to lay a hand on you. He knelt in front of you, a sad smile across his lips as he rubbed your knees. “What did she do, love?” 

You told him about the wrecked house, the yelling, the headache, the tiny scabs on your shoulder and how she fucking stood on your hand. You left out the curse, worried he’d actually go over there himself and hex the daylights out of her. No one would admit it but any Weasley could easily go from lovable dorks to murderous slayers in 3.4 seconds if provoked correctly. 

“Can I see your shoulder? I want to make sure it won’t get infected with whatever she carries.” His fingers gently pulled at the hem of your shirt, his eyes staring into yours as he waited for your approval. You suddenly found it hard to speak. He wasn’t gentle all the time, but when he was, it always stole your breath. 

When you finally nodded and raised your arms, he slipped your shirt over your head. The fabric slipped from his grasp as he stared at your bare chest, shoulders and arms. You could see every emotion flickering past his irises- worry, sadness, anger. 

“What?” You followed his gaze. Along your chest, stomach and shoulders, a bright red pattern of welts had formed. How you didn’t notice, you weren’t sure, but now that you were looking at them, they started throbbing. The marks seemed to mimic lightning bolts, but rounder, breaking apart and covering your body, but they all started at one spot. An angry lopsided organic shape stood out below your right peck, just on your rib cage- that was where the spell hit. The marks didn’t stop at your shoulders, or your neck. They traveled down to your very fingertips and a few made themselves known just along your jaw and across your cheek.

“(Y/n),” His use of your first name unnerved you, “what aren’t you telling me?” George’s hand reached out to gently touch where the bitch’s spell hit you while his eyes flicked up to yours. You stayed quiet, your chest shaking as you took in another nervous breath. You licked your lips, thinking over your next words carefully.

“She may have used the Cruciatus Curse on me.” You looked down at your hands, fiddling with your fingers. You heard him take a sharp breath. He whispered a quick ‘can you give me a moment?’ before walking out of the bathroom. You heard his heavy footsteps travel down the hall before a door slammed open, rattling the mirror hanging on the bathroom wall. 

“Freddie, I’m going to fucking lose it!” George’s voice carried easily through the hallway, causing you to jump. “No, I will not calm down! Shut up and listen!” The younger twin never spoke to his brother like that. “The crucio curse, Fred! The fucking, the, you know! For- I swear-” The door to the shared room slammed shut, the rattling mirror doing it’s thing again as you sat awkwardly in the bathroom alone. George kept going on and on about stuff you could no longer make out, but you could assume they were death threats sworn to come true.

After about 2 minutes, George came back, Fred trailing right behind him, a baggy Irish themed quidditch shirt and a pair of red sweatpants in his arms. George set the clothes down while Fred looked at the marks. 

“Bloody hell.” Fred sat down next to you. “Do they still hurt?” He let out a sigh of relief when you shook your head no. “Thank Merlin for that.” 

While Fred was chatting away, George had knelt in front of you again, his hand on the ball joint of your shoulder, his wand in his other hand. He whispered a quick healing curse on the five scabs before handing you the Irish t-shirt. 

“You ok?” George asked once the shirt was on. His hands had come back to your knees at some point and you weren’t quite sure when, but you appreciated the familiar warmth. 

“I don’t know. “ Your eyes were cast downward at the marks across your forearms and wrist, your eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “I… Don’t you think they’re.. Meeeh?” You raised your arms a little, referring to the scars. 

“Really?” The red-head trouble makers asked in unison, causing you to turn between them a few times. 

“What?” 

“Sunshine.” George spoke up from the floor, his hands twiddling together as he got your attention. He smiled a little when your eyes looked down into his. “Remember Umbridge?”

“Of course I do. I was there- I left with you guys-”

“Hush, I’m trying to be inspirational.” His words cause you to grin and snort. “Well, then you must remember the quill.” He brought his hand into your view, showing what he thought was oh so important he told you to hush. The scars from the quill were still there, only faded, but still extra pale against his normal tone. “You could hardly see ours anymore, love.”

You reached out for his hand hesitating, but in the end, you were running your fingers across the skin, noting the change in textures. You turned to Fred, who flashed you the same grin and held his hand up, revealing the same scars. 

“Right..” You smiled, turning back to the twin you called yours. “They fade but-”

“-let you tell stories that strengthen you.” The twins finished, a wider smile on both of their faces. Fred stood up, ruffling your hair before heading out of the bathroom. George stood up after handing you the sweats. 

“I’ll let you get dressed here, cupcake. Come on back to the room whenever you're ready.” George planted a kiss to your cheek before planting one swift one to your lips and heading out of the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him.

“What would Molly say?” You asked, changing your pants and confirming the scars did run down to your ankles.

“After what you went through? She wouldn’t have the heart to make you stay anywhere else.” George called through the door before walking down the hallway to his room. You splashed some cold water on your face, hoping to wash away some of the trauma today would leave behind. 

Once your face was dry, you walked from the bathroom, to the shared room with the twins. You didn’t bother knocking once again, knowing you were more welcomed here than anywhere else. You plopped yourself on the bed, besides your boyfriend and snuggled into his side. Sure today would leave scars, mental and physical, but as George’s arms wrapped around you, you realized he was all you would need to stay intact in the end. 

And yeah, George did keep his promise for revenge in the end.

[mediocreauthor]

Fuck it, relationships in Nana as Taylor Swift songs part 2.

You can read part 1 (Nana and Ren) here! Takumi and Reira - Hoax In a story full of dysfunctional relationships, this pair manages to be most destructive of them all. Takumi and Reira cannot exist with or without one another. Reira hates Takumi even though he is all she wants. Ren summarizes this perfectly: “Reira says she wants to be happy like a normal person. But to me, it seems she just wants to go to hell with you.” She despises Takumi, thinks he belongs to hell, and her home is wherever he is. Metaphorically, Takumi and Reira sailed away on a ship, with a goal in their mind. She misses the land, flowers, smell of freshly baked bread. Ever crashing waves makes her sick, sun burns her skin, she wants to get out or she will explode. She doesn’t have the courage to request this from Takumi, because this mutual goal, this journey is the foundation of their love. If she gets off, what will happen to them? Reira loves Takumi so desperately, she will stand by him as the waves rock their ship, and hate him for leading it (not me suddenly being an English teacher😭). Anyways, Reira wants to destroy anything Takumi treasures, and her beautiful voice that cursed their relationship is on top of her list.

“My only one My smoking gun My eclipsed sun This has broken me down My twisted knife My sleepless night My win-less fight This has frozen my ground” As for Takumi, he is cursed with consciousness. He is hyper-aware of his inability to form meaningful connections, to treasure and love someone properly. That’s why he tries to keep an arm distance with Reira (keyword being ‘try’). He has devoted her entire being to Reira, ensuring her happiness, her success is the primary goal in his life. He built a kingdom, just so Reira can sit on the throne. He almost considers her as an ethereal being. Since he holds her in such a  high regard, this false perception combined with his general lack of empathy inevitably drags Reira to ultimate misery. She is not sitting in the throne Takumi built for her; she is in the dungeons, held captive by this love.  “Stood on the cliffside Screaming, "Give me a reason" Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in Don't want no other shade of blue But you No other sadness in the world would do” If I had to describe Takumi’s love in one word it would be faithless. Second would be devoted. That’s how contradictory his actions and feelings are. “My best laid plan Your sleight of hand My barren land I am ash from your fire” Reira is Takumi’s  pièce de résistance. Trapnest is his masterpiece that he has sacrificed everything to maintain. “You know I left a part of me back in New York You knew the hero died, so what's the movie for? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart” I think Reira -just like Shin, has always felt like torn apart because she is mixed race. She loves New York, her mother is there and refuses to come to Japan she has many reasons to live there. But she stays. For Takumi. The media, paparazzis, general public literally pulled Reira apart. She has faced every repercussion of being a public figure, was under in constant pressure to maintain her facade, met everyone’s - her band mate’s, her agency’s, fan’s, journalist’s, Shin’s, Takumi’s expectations and she was always inadequate in one way or another.   “You knew the password, so I let you in the door You knew you won, so what's the point of keeping score? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart But what you did was just as dark Darling, this was just as hard As when they pulled me apart” What happens next? Reira crumbles under the pressure, afraid of dying alone as Takumi builds a pseudo-family with Hachi. She begs for his love and Takumi grants her the honesty that he never showed any other women.  “Do you really want to be one of my many lovers?” Even to her queen, Takumi his unable to offer his full loyalty. Desperate, Reira accepts.  But she feels even more used, exploited, taken advantage of. Even though Takumi obliged, Reira feels completely worthless in the eyes of the man she loves so helplessly. She is full of resentment and anger.  “My only one My kingdom come undone My broken drum You have beaten my heartDon't want no other shade of blue But you No other sadness in the world would do” Being a workaholic was a defining characteristics of Takumi throughout the series, but later on we find out that it’s only for Reira’s happiness. There is no point of Trapnest’s existence unless she is content. Takumi’s intentions are never to monopolize Reira’s voice, he just wanted to see Reira on top of the kingdom, where he thinks she belongs.  In the end, it’s his songbird who causes the kingdom’s fall. Reira deprives Takumi of her voice, refuses to sing for anyone but his son (who she should hate, but can’t).  In a way, I find their story more tragic than Nana and Ren’s. Their love is so solid that you can almost touch it with your hand, but they don’t know how to handle it. Reira’s voice that bewitched Takumi, and it becomes the downfall of their love. I don’t think they can ever be together or separate from each other. I don’t believe they will ever be really happy, it’s so hopeless.These lovers are truly the demise of one another and will never ever be freed. Hachi once said that “people need to connect. Otherwise they are just bound by hand and foot.” - or something along those lines and think that’s how Reira and Takumi will die. Unable to connect, to love each other yet unable to seperate, bound by hand and foot.