#physical abuse leaves emotional scars too in case its not clear

[knifefightscene]

People who hasn’t experienced abuse will think its just injuries that will heal in a feel days instead of emotional scars that will take lifetime to get over and some people don’t even survive it

[korra-northeast-germany]

Age regression: a coping mechanism where someone will revert to a child like mindset. Often used to deal with stress, depression, anxiety, truama, or just for fun. Age regression IS NOT A kink

TW: abuse emotional + physical , involuntary regression. Mean demon bros! Do not read if you cannot handle this topics. You have been warned.

Mammon's regression

Trauma was something mammon often dealt with. It ruled his mind like a song which lyrics are stuck on repeat you can't seem to remember the rest of it. He hated it. He tried to talk to his older brother about it, "maybe lighten up on the punishments yeah I don't think I can handle the harshness of them." Only to be sneered at by the elder who only said "if you want me to lighten up your punishments then you shouldn't steal so much." Mammon's feelings didn't seem to matter.

The bullying never helped either, whenever he got in trouble for coming home a little too late and Lucifer was not there to scold him? The younger brothers often ganged up "look who came home late." Asmo often spoke in his little sing song voice. "Its Mammon the scummy 2nd born. What were you doing this time? Stealing? Gambling our funds away at the casino?" Glared Satan. "NO what- I was-" "I'm telling Lucifer!" The snitch Leviathan would run off to tell the eldest. It seems Mammon could never catch a break.

Tonight was another case of this, locked in his room body reddiled with whip marks, bloody cuts, opened scars, and even a few bruises here are there. "Ugh..." He whimpers attempting to clean the scars and cuts before wrapping bandages on what he could despite how much his hands trembled. He can't handle it, he couldn't handle anything. He felt too small!

Mammon would fall to the ground tears now covering every part of his face because everything just felt much to big much to serious for a child like him too handle. Levi soon barged into his room "OI! Mammon! Did you steal my limited addition ruri-chan battle of the 7 planets movie DVD?!" He growls before noticing the crying. "Ppfft why are you crying? What are you? 5?" his laugh echoed throughout their home prompting everyone to invade Mammon's safe space and ridicule the avatar who would not handle it. "Go away! Leave me alone!" No one seemed to listen. They just continued their bullying until they got bored leaving Mammon who forced himself to shut and lock his door before falling into the fetal position where he cried some more.

"Papa.." He whimpered. Managing to help himself onto his knees crawling to his D.D.D to dial the one person he felt safe with during times like this.

*back at the castle*

Barbatos had just finished with cleaning when he had received a sudden call. "Callers at this time?" Not he nor Diavolo had been expecting a call. He sighs answering his D.D.D for he had not the heart to leave a call like this unanswered. " Hello?" His tone read off as confusion, only to turn into worry when he heard the distressed voice on the other end. "Papaaaa!! I-i hate if he's e-everyone's so m-mean to me an they're calling me a-a child and everything is *hic* scary and everything hurts and and!!" More crying could be heard. To Barbatos it was clear Mammon was in a distressed state and NEEDED him. " you stay right where you are little prince, papas coming alright?" "O-okay.." the butler then hangs up.

not wasting anytime Barbatos quickly writes a letter for Diavolo reading 'will be back soon' then heading his way to HOL, worry and anger boiling in every fiber of his being. It's not long before he reaches the home bsnbimg on the door in a very pissed off rage for he was ready to kill these incompetent brothers. The door opens "oi no need to bang on the doo- oh Barbatoseellcthis is a sudden visit" says Asmodeous who had not been expecting any visitors, especially not from Barbatos himself!! "Is something the matter? did Mammon cause any trouble at-" "Mammon did nothing of the sort. Now I need you to move your despicable ass out of my way right the fuck now before I make you." The butler's harsh tone scared the 5th born avatar whom promptly moved away.

The butler does not bother to answer the looks of an of the confused avatars who watch him pass, mind and body focused on the only person that had mattered at the moment. A gentle knock was all thst was needed from him for the door to open. There he was faced with a greedy avatar riddled in tears that had 0 place on such a face. His gaze softens as he brings him into a tight yet gentle hug. "My dear prince, do you wanna tell papa what happened?" He gently questions, rubbing the younger males back. No response. This makes the butler frown. "Did your brothers hurt you?" A nod. The caretaker frowns. "Don't worry kiddo they won't be able to hurt you while papas here" he whispers kissing the younger males head.

Now with a slightly calmer Mammon, Barbatos takes in the shape of his lovers body and boy does it make him mad. How could Lucifer treat his 'favorite' brother in such a disgusting way. He sighs. "Now mammon I am going to be cleaning your cuts and scars alright? Can you try to stay still for Me?" A nod. "Good boy."

It took some time before everything was properly cleaned and bandaged. The squirming of the person infront of him had not helped yet there was no need to get mad. "You did so well, I'm so proud of you my little prince" Barbz smiled at Mammon who only happily giggled a response. Barbatos would then bring Mammon into his arms "How about you spend a few days with me at the castle? Your brothers won't be able to bully you" this made Mammon excited. A few days sway from home with 2 of the people whom made him feel safest? Yes please. "Uh huh.." Barbatos could only smile. First packing a bag full of things the Mams would need ie: clothes his toothbrush his D.D.D + charger and his pillow. Then carrying the little one, heading his way downstairs only to be stopped by the eldest of the 7 brothers. "Barbatos where are you going with Mammon?" The prideful demon questions, genuinly confused. Only to receive a glare from the butler. " Mammon will be staying at the castle with Diavolo and I for a few days. Do not try to contact him unless he contacts you first, understand? Or should I knock it into your ignorant undeserving wanna be golden boy mind?" Barbatos hadn't cared for a response as he carried his love away.

"Gee..harsh" mumbles Belphie who watched the interaction.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The pair were quick to arrive at the castle where Barbatos would take Mammon to his room. There it had been decorated with all of the little Prince's drawings he had made during their therapy sessions or other times Mammon had come to visit, to Mammon the room was a room of comfort especially when regressed or under distress. The younger male was placed on the bed. "Papas going to inform buba of your stay alright prince?" "Mhm!" oh how cute was his boyfriend. Barbatos gently kisses is head then leaves to inform Diavolo. Leaving his little prince alone.

The 'young' demon would go through his caretakers stuff until he found why he and been looking for. A crow plushie and a colouring book + crayons the same ones he always used when regressed like this. He quickly turns to a page which held birds that must be coloured, which he quickly colours to the best of his ability although uncaring of wether or not he should be following the lines. He was much calmer than when he had been before Barbatos his papa had taken him away from his mean brothers. When the little Prince had finished with the page he would find his colouring book out of pages for him to colour which brings joy. "Its done it's done!" He squeal putting the book on the desk then pacing around the room flapping his arms with excitement. "Papas gonna be so proud!" Mammon can't help but feel so proud of himself.

Then his papa returns whhch brings him more joy. "Papa! Papa look my colouring book Its done it's done!" He giggles bouncing up and down as he watched his caretaker look st the book. "It is, aw it's beautiful I'm so proud of you prince" another squeal escaped the younger males mouth. "Yippie! Papas proud of me!"

A/n: this was originally supposed to be pure fluff but uh my hands slipped and added angst. Also Sorry for writing the brothers in such a mean way that was not the original plan but y'know I was already halfway done when I realised and couldn't just rewrite it all.

[fandom-imagines]

Thank you

Fandom: Death Note

Pairing: L X Reader

Warnings: Emotional and physical abuse.

Words: 3k

A/N: I’m in a death note phase again. I wrote this instead of doing my essay oops.

Being the girlfriend of a worldwide, secret detective was hard.

Relationships were hard enough as it is but having to make sure both the partners names were kept hidden made it even harder. Then there’s the constant travelling that takes place along with many other things.

Basically, the relationship between L Lawliet and Y/N Y/S/N was a complicated one. Don’t get me wrong, they were both madly in love with the other, but that didn’t make it any less hard.

“Y/N!” A high-pitched voice sounded from behind the aforementioned couple.

That’s Misa, Y/N’s best friend and often co-worker. The two met at a photoshoot where they became fast friends, the pair being able to work together due to their celebrity status.

“Hi, Misa.” A soft smile crawled onto the Y/H/C-haired girls’ lips.

She usually loved seeing Misa, but today all she wanted was to go back to her house and chill, maybe with Lawliet, maybe not. Who knows? Not her.

“Hi, Ryuzaki.” Misa greeted her best friends’ boyfriend, albeit unknowingly, before grasping her small hand around Y/N’s arm. “Bye, Ryuzaki!” Were her final words as she dragged Y/N away, unaware that she was desperately mouthing “sorry” towards her boyfriend.

~

“Light won’t even take me on a date, Y/N/N!” Misa whined, still talking about her ‘boyfriend’, “Isn’t that so unfair?”

“Very.” Y/N mumbled, turning the page on her magazine which lay in front of her.

She was currently lying across Misa’s bed, the pink sheets creasing beneath her. The girl’s legs were crossed in the air, the entire weight of her body being placed solely on her stomach. The magazine she was reading was something she had bought on the way back to Misa’s, hoping to share opinions on outfits or gossip about latest celebrities, something that the pair had done since they met.

“Are you even listening, Y/N/N?” The blonde continued to whine upon realizing that her friend was no longer listening to her boy drama.

“Sorry, just deep in thought.” Y/N’s words weren’t necessarily a lie, she was deep in thought just not about something she wished to share.

Misa didn’t know about Lawliet and Y/N’s relationship, nobody did. That was how they liked it. No one could intervene, no drama or anything of the sort.  Just the two of them, happy, together.

Oh how she longed to be with him right now. The two of them together, even if they were just sitting in HQ together whilst working on the Kira case that they had been working on for months now. That was how they had met: the Kira case.

Y/N knew of his involvement, her father worked as a detective, similar to Lights. That was how she joined the investigation despite being a student. Both her father and close friend, Light, recommended her.

However, that friendship was slowly fading as she found out more and more evidence that made her suspect Light of being Kira. She’s smart, very smart, that’s why she got along with both geniuses. She fit in well with the two. But the more she investigated the case, the more she realized that Light could possibly be behind the mass murders that were causing terror across the world, especially Japan.

“Ooh! What about? Is it a boy?” Misa was now sat up on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around the yellow pillow that she was previously sitting on. Her loose blonde locks fell down her back as well as over the pillow. She looked absolutely beautiful.

How did Light not love her back?

“Shut up.” The other girl huffed, tossing a pillow from Misa’s bed into the face of the owner, giggling as Misa fell backwards onto the soft carpet before bursting into a fit of giggles herself.

“You have to tell me!” The words left Misa’s lips between giggles as she recomposed herself.

“No!”

“Yes~”

The two argued back and forth for around five minutes before giving up, and bursting into a giggle fit once again, something that was common between the pair.

“So, you like someone?” Misa wiggled her eyebrows in amusement at the fact that her best friend was finally interested in someone other than fictional characters. “Tell me everything.”

Without revealing who it was, Y/N began to tell her about her ‘crush’, despite said crush actually being her boyfriend of a few months now. Ensuring that no significant details were released which could identify the man, she told her everything. Blushing was something new to her, but neither Misa nor Y/N complained. It was a refreshing change for them both.

“Wow,” The model let out a breath she wasn’t aware that she was holding once Y/N had poured her heart out, slightly at least. “I never knew you were capable of such feelings, Y/N/N!”

“Stop teasing me~” Y/N’s hands covered her blushing face, words becoming muffled behind the skin. “This is embarrassing enough as it is,” a groan left her lips as she continued her sentence. “Besides, I doubt he even likes me back.” The final words were mumbled, self-doubt settling in as she realized that her boyfriend might not actually love her.

Logically, Y/N knew that L wouldn’t use her, or at least she hopes, and that he genuinely did value her and her opinion. He enjoyed her company and didn’t find her annoying. He really did love her, despite not having admitted it.

“Sure he does! You’re great, Y/N/N.” Misa grinned at her best friend, unknowingly providing her with a source of comfort.

“Thanks, Misa.” A sigh left the other girls lips, a sinking feeling of doubt looming over her. “I should probably get home, it’s getting late. Goodnight, Misa.”

“Goodnight, Y/N!”

~

Instead of heading home Y/N decided to take a late-night stroll.

The dark sky was littered with bright stars, a nice change from the usual plain nights sky in Japan. It gave an almost comforting feel to the stroller, reminding her of her childhood when she would stay up late to stare up at the midnight sky with a genuine belief that it was the world watching over her, much like the moon which was ‘following’ her everywhere she went to make sure she was safe.

It was childish, yes, but she was a child so what do you expect?

The Y/H/C-haired girl observed her breath as she exhaled. It was cold which wasn’t a huge surprise considering that it was nearing December now; winter time. Despite being extremely cold, she decided that it wasn’t time to head home just yet. Her mind wasn’t entirely clear and it wasn’t exactly in her best interest to go home with an overthinking mind, so he continued her walk.

The sound of her shoes hitting the ground was one of the only things she could hear other than the occasional passing car or truck. The streetlights lit up her view, being the only thing that did so and Y/N internally thanked whoever put them up considering she wouldn’t be able to use the torch on her phone as it had died long ago. The odd passing-by car provided her with some light also, although it wasn’t much.

It wasn’t until around 1am when she finally decided she should head home.

~

The house was deadly silent as she entered, but the lights were still alight, leaving the daughter of the local baker and detective confused.

“Mum?” The girls voice was slightly quiet in case she was asleep whilst still being loud enough for anyone seated downstairs to hear.

“Where have you been?!” Her mothers voice was incredibly loud, making Y/N cringe and wince. “I’ve been worried sick! How could you make your mom worry like this?”

Ah, there comes the guilt tripping. Y/N’s thoughts were awfully loud, and she cursed herself internally.

“Sorry, mom.” A frown had made its way onto her lips as she apologized.

Sure, she probably should have warned her that she was going for a walk, but there was no need to guilt trip her.

“You should be. Now go to your room!”

She simply ran upstairs.

~

The bags under Y/Ns’ eyes almost matched Ryuzaki’s the following day.

She hadn’t gotten any sleep that night as she replayed every bad moment with her mother sine childhood and believe me, there was a lot of them.

Her mother hadn’t been the best parent to say the least. She was never physically abusive, but the mental scars from her words and actions had taken a toll on her daughter throughout the years.

“Are you okay?” Lights words were full of concern upon noticing the girls tired composure. The way she stood further proved that she was exhausted considering how she was slumped over. Hands shaking also, Light was genuinely concerned, despite his status as Kira, something he knew that she suspected. “You look terrible, no offence.”

“I’m fine.” Her words were quiet, almost silent, too wrapped up in her own thoughts to give a completely response but she figured those words would suffice and he would hopefully leave her alone.

Whilst concerned, Light knew not to push things when someone didn’t want to talk, so he didn’t push it further, favouring to ask if she was going to the HQ later which she was.

“Ryuzaki isn’t in today,” Lights words caught her attention, finally pulling her from her trance, “he’s working on the investigation.”

“Oh,” while her response was short, the criminal still cheered internally, glad that he had stopped her worrying, even if it was for a split second.

~

For the entire day she was completely ‘out of it’, unable to concentrate or even form a coherent sentence and she mentally kicked herself at her so-called failure. However she was slightly grateful that there was no exam today, knowing she would have most definitely failed. She probably wouldn’t have been able to write more than three words.

Y/N’s walk to HQ was lonely as she desperately craved some human contact.

She really needed a hug.

As though in a trance, the girl scanned herself into HQ and headed towards the main room where she knew everyone would be.

“Hi, Y/N,” Matsuda’s cheerful greeting caught Ryuzaki’s attention. Well, more like the name of the person he was greeting.

Nobody could have known however, unaware of the short-lived glance he had spared towards her. This short glance told him a lot: she hadn’t slept, she was deep in thought and she felt… crap.

This worried the detective immensely. He really did care for the girl; a lot more than he would admit. Not that he didn’t want to, he just didn’t know how she would react and didn’t want to risk facing rejection.

It would hurt.

“Hi.” The response she gave Matsuda was blunt, emotionless which L wasn’t happy to hear.

She never used that tone. She was usually cheerful. It must be bad.

“You guys can go for a break. You’ve been here most of today and it’s not nearing 5pm.” L’s words matched his girlfriends tone as usual, uncaring about the relief his words had just provided the others on the case. “Except you.” His gaze was now fixated on his love, making her internally curse at herself for being so obvious about her low mood.

The raven-haired detective waited for everyone to leave, stare unmoving as he observed Y/N’s every move and she walked towards the chair opposite him.

“What is it?” Y/N’s gaze was cast towards the ground, not wanting L to see her like this. “I’m sorry.” Her words were quick, worried that he was going to say something that would simply upset her more. “I-I didn’t mean too.”

L’s cold hand gently grasped her chin, lifting her face so that they could look at each other and he cringed slightly as he saw the tear threatening to fall from her eyes.

Okay, he is now really worried.

“What’s wrong?” His words were quiet but still laced with genuine concern, along with his eyes. “You can tell me.”

“It’s nothing, really.” The words stumbled from her lips, only worrying him more. “C-can I just go today? Please.”

L simply nodded, watching as she dashed from the HQ and out of his sight.

~

“Why do you keep disappearing?” Y/N’s mothers voice was the first thing she heard as she walked through the door.

“Please, leave me alone.” Y/N begged, simply wishing to be alone.

She made an attempt to dash upstairs, only to be stopped by her mothers tight grip around her wrist as she spun her around to face her. A hash slap hit the younger girls face with such a force that they both knew would leave a mark the following day.

“Y-Y/N…” Upon realisation of what she had just done, her tight grip around her daughters wrist loosened, hand dropping to her side.

“Never talk to me again.” YN’s words were quiet yet laced with venom before she finally dashed up to her room, one goal in mind:

Leave.

Her movements were quick as she packed her bag, tears leaking from her eyes in both pain and sadness,

Within minutes her bag was packed, tossed over her shoulder before she ran downstairs.

“Please don’t leave.” Her mother’s plead fell on deaf ears, the only response coming from the closing of the door as she watched her daughter leave, neither of them knowing if she would ever return.

~

It was cold. Very cold and Y/N cursed herself for not bringing a jacket, being in a skirt and t-shirt which was the same outfit she had worn to school today.

Shivering, she began her long walk towards HQ, something she knew would take a long time.

~

“What happened to you?” Detective Yagami’s voice was filled with panic upon seeing the tear stains on her cheeks as well as the bright red bruising hand-mark.

Lawliet payed no attention  to his remark, simply assuming that Matsuda had had a clumsy accident yet again.

“Please, can I just sit down?” Was what captured his attention, the soft and exhausted voice being one he recognised immediately.

“O-of course.” Soichiro’s words were rushed as he signalled towards the seat he had previously occupied which Y/N gratefully took.

L spun on his chair to look at the girl, breath hitching as he took in her appearance.

He caught her gaze and she had looked up after hearing the spinning of the chair and she thanked whatever gods there were that it was simply the three of them.

“Detective Yagami would you mind if we have a moment?” L’s stare was unmoving as Yagami nodded, leaving the room.

“R-Ryu…” Her voice sounded broken, eyes filled with pain and he soon noticed the bag on the ground, quickly coming to the conclusion that something had happened at home, presumably with her mother, and she had ran away.

L quickly climbed onto his feet, opening his arms which Y/N gladly ran into, breaking down into sobs. His hand placed itself on her hair, burying itself into her hair as her face buried into his chest. L was uncaring as her tears soaked through his white tee; he only cared that she was okay. They stood like that for a long time, L providing comfort she didn’t know she needed.

“Come on,” L broke the silence as his girlfriend calmed down, her breath evening out, “lets get you to a room.” He offered her a hand as she pulled away, one she took with extreme gratitude, appreciating that it must have been hard for him to give her any affection.

Their hands never parted as they climbed the stairs of the HQ, heading towards Y/N’s new room. Ryuzaki had thrown her bag over his shoulder, the heavy weight of the bag not affecting him one bit.

The room was empty, and it was clear nobody was staying there.

The noise of the bag dropping to the ground was loud, startling Y/N whilst Lawliet remained unaffected, having been the one that had caused the noise; not that it would have scared him anyway.

Y/N was led towards the made bed by the detective, sitting herself down as he wordlessly instructed before taking a seat beside her.

“I’m sorry for being such a bother.” She apologised, making L shake his head in disagreement.

“You could never be a bother, Y/N. Not to me.” His words were less monotone than usual, less devoid of feeling. There was a genuine tone coming from him. “Matsuda’s a bother, not you.” He spoke which made the shorter girl chuckle, something she felt she hadn’t done in ages, despite it having only been a day, #

“Thanks, Ryu. For everything.”

“It’s my pleasure.” His arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her closely towards him until her warmth was felt by him. “I-“ He paused as he began to speak, extremely aware of what he was about to say.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked, confused at his sudden silence.

“I love you.” His words were quiet, almost unheard had it not been for the fact that the room was deadly silent.

The pair fell into an awkward silence for a moment before L got up to leave, apologising as he did so.

“Wait,” Y/N’s hand wrapped around his own, “I love you too.”

A small smile made its way onto both of their lips, L walking back over to the girl until he was stood directly in front of her. She watched closely as he bent down, unsure of what he was about to do. The second his lips touched her forehead a huge blush flowed across her cheeks.

“R-Ryu…?” Her embarrassed voice sounded, the only response she earned from him being a small smile before he gave her a pat on the head, turning to leave.

“Thank you.” She called, making him stop in the doorway.

“Anytime, Y/N/N.” The use of the nickname only made her blush harder.

[ghoulciifer]

Heey😊 Could you do a headcanon about shinsou and hawks with a partner who has ptsd, please?

hc: Shinsou and Hawks with an s/o who has ptsd.

tw: ptsd, abuse (emotional and physical), blood

tags: hurt/comfort, mental health, recovery

notes: hi anon, ty for sending in this request ❥ i sincerely hope that you are okay and doing well. please know i am by no means a therapist but i do hope these hc’s bring you comfort. be safe and don’t hesitate to reach out if you need to ❥

» i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, shinsou is a very caring and understanding human and will not hesitate to express that to someone he cares deeply for

» so when he learns his s/o has ptsd? of course he’s going to comfort you and make it very clear he’ll support you through anything.

» you two were out getting coffee one day, enjoying the cloudy weather bc you knew that meant the amount of people out and about would be scarce (cute lil’ emos)

» and while you were in line waiting to order you engaged in some idle chatter, his hand resting on your lower back, debating whose drink of choice was the best boy thinks he knows shit bc he lives off caffeine PFFF

» it was finally your turn to order but the second you made it to the counter your entire body froze

» the barista must’ve been new because you’ve never seen his face here before, and you would’ve easily avoided the place had you known because he looked identical to your abusive ex

» shinsou’s never seen that asshole before, so he gets a bit confused when he feels your body tense up and wonders why you’re not responding to the barista asking for your order

» you’re sweating bullets and all of the sudden it feels like your chest is turning in on itself, the anxiety and stress on your body making bile threaten to rise in your throat but all you can do is stand there with wide eyes fixated on anything but him

» shinsou’s quick to take the intitiative and order for the both of you before gently ushering you to the corner of the shop, sitting you down at an isolated booth and sitting in front of you to sheild you from any passerby while you try to calm down

» “Hey it’s okay, kitten, shhh... take your time, I’m right here. It’s just me and you.”

» he knows you get like this when experiencing one of your triggers, being the attentive boyfriend he is, so instead of pestering you and potentially making things worse he’s trying to deduce what the cause of your panic attack was

» all while holding your hand or rubbing your back in soothing strokes; unless physical contact isn’t the way to go for you, in which case he’ll shush your tears away and whisper words of affirmation your way at a respectful distance

» does not leave your side until you’ve recovered (even though the barista called his name 20 mins ago but you’re WAY more important)

» once he sees you’ve calmed down significantly, he’ll remind you he’s here for you and tells you you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to

» but you decide to explain to him why you just shut down all of the sudden and how you actually feel bad bc you know it’s not the barista’s fault he looks like your shitwad ex who inflicted so much trauma on you

» shinsou will definitely have to swallow the anger that follows when he hears how that asshole is still making you feel less than what you deserve BUT doesn’t let that show at all

» instead he’ll soak up every word that falls from your lips and nod intently, holding your hand and rubbing the knuckles w his thumb, putting a lil kiss there every now and then he’s so fuckin sweet

» he’ll tell you that you shouldn’t feel bad, that no one can ever really control their triggers, and that he’s so grateful you’re out of that situation and he’ll never let you experience something like that ever again

» eventually (once your breathing has regulated) you ask him about your coffees and he’s like “oh yea”

» your drinks are cold by the time he goes to get them but neither of you really care, he’s just glad you’re okay and you’re happy to be there with him

» shinsou never fails to make you feel safe when you’re around him and you’ve never felt so loved <3

» bird brain is also a very kind and considerate boyfriend, i refuse to believe he’s this suave womanizer like i’ve seen some people portray (which is ok !! just not what i see tbh)

» i also believe that he knows a thing or two about ptsd so he’ll 100% understand what you’re dealing with and how to handle it

» in that case you two would help each other through your triggers when they occur (just supportive couple tings, uwu)

» so it’s no surprise he’s dropping everything to run to you when you call him, completely panicked at home while he’s at work

» you were cutting up some fruits and veggies for yours and hawks’ bento boxes for the week, you liked doing so on your day off so you wouldn’t have to worry about it when you got busy

» unfortunately your winged boyfriend couldn’t be there to annoy you help like he usually does because he ended up needing to finish some extra paperwork at the agency

» so you were in the kitchen by yourself, jammin’ out to your favorite songs, hips swaying as you carefully cut up your produce

» however after a particularly good song blasted through the speakers, you started loosening up and weren’t being as careful anymore

» the blade of the knife nicked the tip of your finger and you immediately dropped its handle, clutching your hand with a hiss

» initially you were just focused on finding something to stop the bleeding and found a stray kitchen towel to do the job, but something about the scene before you seemed much too familiar...

» memories of fights with your abusive ex flooded your mind as you watched the towel stain crimson, taking you back to the numerous times you had to do this very action when he took his anger out on you by flinging whatever object he had on his person at your shaking frame

» suddenly the room began to spin and it felt as if your chest was caving in on itself as you held onto your wrist, fingernails leaving indents at the skin

» your body moved for the phone on instinct texting hawks with only one word, it was all you could muster with your hands shaking and tears clouding your vision

» the minute he saw the word “panic” flash across his screen? best believe he was reaching for the first exit to fly home at mach fuckin’ 20

» luckily the agency was fairly close to the apt. so it took him less than 5 minutes to be by your side, opting to land on the balcony instead of going through the main building

» “Y/N? Everything okay??”

» he frantically searched the house before finding you curled up on the kitchen floor and clutching to a bloody towel against the cabinetry

» he caught a glimpse of the fruit on the cutting board and quickly determined what happened before kneeling beside you to pull you into his lap, stroking your hair for a moment before prying your wrist away from your chest to inspect the damage

» “Shhh, dove, it’s okay, I’m here... I’m just gonna take a look, okay? We gotta stop the bleeding, I’ve got you, sweet (girl/boy).”

» your tear stained, puffy, red face makes his heart ache but he waits for you to nod before removing the towel

» gives you a kiss to the temple after determining you do in fact need to be bandaged up and scoops you off of the floor, holding you close to his chest

» he’ll take you to the bathroom and get you fixed up before pulling your head to his chest, arms wrapped around you and hands rubbing your back as you come down from your panicked state

» you don’t even have to explain anything to him bc he just knows, he’s well aware of the stories you told him of past relationships and how you got those scars on your body.

» also becomes furious every time but will not let it show, all he cares about is keeping you grounded as you listen to his heartbeat against your cheek

» you murmur a soft “thank you” to him once the tears cease and he simply hums in response, reminding you no thanks is necessary because he does this out of his deep love for you.

» “You’ll never have to feel unsafe again, dove, I’ll always come to you... I’ll always be right here.”

[valkyrieelysia18]

RWBY Rewrite: The Relics

Hello there everyone! I’m back with another post on my Rewrite series that hopefully will delight you.

Admittedly, this might be an odd topic after my last post. Well, that one was pretty big and I wanted something a bit smaller to tackle. I had thought about getting into the White Fang next, but that post is going to be a dozy and then I thought of the Relics. And I thought “Sure, that’ll work.”

The Relics, in my opinion, were handled poorly in the show. Items that can grant great power and when collected something amazing/terrible have been done before and done well (which is honestly true a lot of stuff in RWBY). In RWBY, we didn’t know the Relics existed until over halfway through Volume 4, reduced the Maidens to essentially gate keys in Volume 5, and even at the end of Volume 6 we only know what the lamp can do on its own. I mean come on, Dragon Ball took one episode to explain its titular item (granted they were a lot more simple, but still)! So we’re going to tackle these things.

Now before we get into the individual items, let’s address some things that about the Items as a whole.

The first thing to note about the Relics in this Rewrite is that gathering the four together won’t summon the Gods back to Remnant. The Brothers in this Rewrite are much more distant figures, preferring to observe their creations rather than directly interfering. 

So then, why does Salem want to collect them? The full reason will be in her and Ozpin’s backstory post, but to put it simply Salem has a more personal history with the Relics here and wishes to get them back. She views that leaving them in the hands of mortals will just lead to them abusing the items, causing more pain and suffering for the world. Not an entirely baseless viewpoint as we’ll get into soon enough.

The next thing to note is that before the Relics were under the care of the Academies and Ozpin’s group, each was possessed by a former Royal Family. Vale had Choice, Mistral had Knowledge, Vacuo had Destruction, and Mantle had Creation. Granted as time passed and certain things were failed to be passed on, by the time of the Great War only the Crown of Choice’s abilities were known and even then only to a select few.

Each Relic will have a have a spirit that will be involved with the item’s power. I’m not sure whether it was said in RWBY after I left that each Relic had a spirit or whether Jinn was an exception, but I’m going to roll with the first one. Also, each Spirit technically doesn’t have a biological sex, they choose how they want to look.

Also, only the Lamp will have the blue glow. The other Relics will associated with the color of their kingdom: the Staff having a White crystal, the Sword having an Orange gleaming blade, and a Green jewel in the center of the Crown. They can still have the gold, but this will make them more distinct from each other.

Finally, they are NOT the major Grimm magnets as presented in the original show. While they do give off a sort of a signature that Grimm can recognize, it’s a faint one. It would attract Grimm attention if it stayed out for too long in the wild or Grimm would be looking for it in an area if Salem directed them personally to it.

All right, now let’s get down to business!

Knowledge: Jinn

The Lamp of Knowledge is the only Relic we’ve gotten to know it’s full abilities as well as meet its spirit. Even then, I think that three questions every a hundred years is maybe a little too limited for something that is a power of the gods. So, I’m changing it.

Instead of granting three questions within a certain time frame, I like the idea of giving anyone who uses the lamp the ability to ask Jinn one question of the past and present. Everyone is entitled to knowledge after all and they should determine how they want to use it. I know, I kind of stole the idea from the scepter from the direct to video Aladdin King of Thieves, but I think it’s a good setup. It’s powerful, but it still has limitations. This will contrast with its opposite the Crown, which will be more exclusive and deal with the future.

Then there’s Jinn and am I the only who thought her design was lazy? I mean we get it, she’s a genie, but there’s nothing interesting or unique in her design. Pretty sure comparisons to Aladdin’s Genie and Magi’s Paimon have been made. I’d leave her redesign to someone who is fully capable of putting a new spin on it, but I would like the idea of her not having a consistent wardrobe. Maybe have her wear a top that was similar to something found in Central Mistral while wearing a hairpiece you would identify being at home in Eastern Mistral. Not only would this symbolize how multicultural Mistral is, but also how history is made of many different parts.

Now Jinn herself wouldn’t be that different of a character from canon. She would still be a rather pleasant, teasing spirit who is quite thrilled to finally be out of the Vault again. Amongst the Relic spirits, she’s probably the one who has the least regard for mortals, but that’s partly because of what people usually use her for. Most people would ask about power, riches, dark secrets; it got kind of boring and predictable for Jinn and it was less pleasant when they would get mad at her for telling them truths they didn’t want to hear. Let’s just say a few rulers of Mistral that used her Relic didn’t use it very wisely.

Jinn’s favorite type of petitioner would be someone like Oobleck: someone who would ask her about some part of history that doesn’t have much known about it and she doesn’t get to talk about nearly as much as she’d like to so she actually goes into more detail than necessary. She’d also respect someone who probably knows the answer she’s going to give them is not one they want to hear, but is resolved to face the truth whatever it is.

Creation: Eve/Ev

The Staff of Creation is a bit interesting in that works better for some than others. It uses what a person pictures in their mind to bring what they want to reality, within reason. So it really works best with someone very creative and has a clear vision of what they want to do. It can’t create something that’s alive (like a dog) or that had been living (like someone who has passed on). Also, the more detailed and involved an item is, the longer it will take for the Staff to recharge. For example, the little crystals (which are basically a crystallized form of the staff’s power) Ironwood has been creating as an alternative energy source would take a couple of hours to a day depending on how many were created at a time. Whereas a huge detailed palace would take decades to over a century, longer than it would have taken them to build in real time.

Eve is the Spirit of Creation and would have a rather androgynous appearance. I was also thinking that the Spirit could be called Eve or Ev depending on who’s addressing them. Their main color would be white, but their appearance would resemble that of artist. Perhaps having smudges of charcoal on their face or a splattering of color on an apron. I think it would be really ironic that the kingdom that banned the arts at one point would have a Spirit that is quintessentially an artist, heck Eve might have locked up during that time and forgotten about until after the war was over. Again, I’d leave the design to someone who is much better suited for it.

Now in this Rewrite, the Staff is no longer in the Vault because Ironwood took it out. He reasoned that having a powerful tool that could be used to in the fight against of Salem would be wasted simply being left in the Vault. Needless to say, Eve doesn’t like the way Ironwood is using them. It’s clear the power is just a means to an end to him, something he can use to make Atlas more secure. There is no love or passion for what he’s creating and he treats them with no courtesy or respect, not listening at all when they try to talk to him. When Watts eventually comes to retrieve the Staff, Eve is basically “Oh thank the Brothers! I could care less about your plans, just get me out of here!” It’s sort of a summary of what partly causes Ironwood’s fall: the inability to get that people aren’t purely logical beings that will do what they are told for the greater good, but emotional irrational people who will snap when pushed too far.

The best person Eve could work with is someone who specializes in the visual arts: painting, sculpture, architecture, etc. Someone who has a very clear vision and obviously very passionate about the things they want to create. Eve would also enjoy someone who is perfectly okay if they don’t get their creation exactly right on the first try  and is more than willing to take Eve’s advice/criticism. 

Destruction: Adamou

The Sword of Destruction is perhaps the easiest Relic to understand and use. Using the sword will increase your physical abilities and the sword can send out waves of power that can devastate a group of foes or alter the environment. However, using it takes quite a bit of energy. Best case scenario will involve a week of recovery. Worst case scenario you expend years of your life. Even the King of Vale with all his power, lost two or three years he should have had to live on that Final Battle of the Great War. This cost was so great to the old Vacuo Monarchs (and given that most of their past was peaceful) that it was hidden away and forgotten about until the Great War happened and the last King of Vale rediscovered it.

I’m still little unsure of how I would like Adamou, the Spirit of Destruction, to look like. The closest example that comes to mind is something like Nemesis from Fire Emblem Three Houses: a large older battle scarred man with light armor. Once again, I’m a writer and not a character designer so if anyone has ideas I’d be willing to see them. That being said, his name is actually a West Africa variation of the name Adam, putting him in contrast to Eve. Anyone who has a passing understanding of the Old Testament should probably understand what I’m doing here.

Adamou, despite his outward and intimidating appearance, is actually a pretty easy going spirit. He’s also somewhat disappointed in how he doesn’t get used as much compared to his brethren, but he does understand why and has great respect for the old rulers of Vacuo for doing what they did. He enjoys a good fight, but he also enjoys competitions of all kinds whether physical or mental. You could talk him into a little kiddie board game and he’d go at with as much glee as slaying a hoard of Grimm. As the Spirit of Destruction, he knows better than anyone that life is finite and it’s best to live and fight to the fullest until your time comes.

Adamou would gravitate to people like Yang or Pyrrha: those who enjoy combat and wish to live their life to the fullest. Those who’s spirits burn bright even if it means they burn out quicker. That said, he also respects those who fight to protect those they love and things they believe in (to an extent, he’s not fond of fanatics who would give their lives away without a second thought for something obviously sketchy).

Choice: Caesar

Whereas the Lamp reveals the past and present, the Crown of Choice is focused on the future. Those who wear it have the ability to see the possible outcomes of any choice they face. As such you can see what the cost and consequences of your options. That being said, it’s not a hundred percent as the future is always in motion and there’s no telling how other people’s actions and choices may affect what you decide. Still, the predictions do tend to be very accurate. There’s also the possibility that wielder may obsess over said choices or may become dependent on the Crown, but that has happened very rarely since Caesar usually stops their wielders before they go too far in this.  

The thing about the Crown is that unlike the Lamp, it can only be used by one person. When its user dies, the Crown is free to be taken up by another and once it has bonded to someone they are bound for life. Now the Crown can be lent to another person, but every wielder can only do so once in their lifetime and those who borrow it can only use it for three days. On the fourth day, the crown will tighten around the person’s head, giving great pain and hallucinations, and will only stop if that person takes it off at which they can no longer use it. 

Seeing the obvious issues of such a powerful item potentially falling into the wrong hands, the first King of Vale came to an agreement with the Spirit Caesar to set up a trap/test to anyone who would try to claim the Crown. The Crown would be placed in a special chamber when not in use with a multitude of different crowns and circlets in the room. It’s up to the person to choose the right crown with no outside input. Get it wrong and the crown will turn to ash and that person is forever barred from taking the Crown. The twist? The true crown’s appearance in the trial is in fact not a crown, but a wreath of laurels (which can be seen on Beacon’s symbol). And if you’re thinking this sounds quite a bit like the scenario from Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade, that’s cause it is as its kind of the sort of trial you’d find in a fable or fairy tale. It would take either a very thoughtful and self aware person to pass the trial as well as one not greedy. It’s also made a little more complicated as the Crown looks slightly different for each of it’s wielders, which will be noticed in an earlier scene with our group of heroes in a hall of portraits of the past monarchs of the Vale. Because that is what determined who would succeed to the throne of Vale.

And yes, we will learn a lot more on this when I do the King of Vale Rewrite Post.

As a result of the nature of Crown, Caesar is the spirit that is the most close to mortals as they build a strong personal relationship with their users. As part of this, when a new wielder is chosen, Caesar will take upon the appearance of their predecessor to guide the new one. I’m still a little torn over whether Caesar should appear as the old wielder when they first took up the Crown, in the peak of that person’s life, or how they looked when they died. 

Caesar, for the most part, acts as a sort of advisor to their wielder. That can come off as them acting very parental which given how often the Crown would pass from parent to child is quite fitting. They will give advice when asked for, but in general will advise against using the Crown’s power if its a situation their user can more than handle on their own. They are very much the type of person who would advocate that “It’s the journey, not the destination” and is more than willing to let their wielder fail if it meant they could learn something from it. That said, they do get very attached and is probably the only Spirit that would openly speak positively about Salem due to her history with them and also has issues with Ozpin. They and Jinn will be the ones to eventually give the more specific details to group about Ozpin and Salem’s history after they got the general outline elsewhere.

Caesar has worked with many different types of people, but the main thing they each had in common is that they were the type of people who were always concerned with the consequences of their actions for those around them and the kingdom of Vale as a whole. They generally work best with someone who is humble and empathetic. However, they generally don’t like someone if they put a singular goal above everything else without consideration of all the consequences (again, issues with Ozpin).

Well, that turned out longer than I was expecting it too. I guess I just got into the creative juices. Anyway, I think I’ll do a different post before coming back to do Cinder. And just as a reminder people, I dropped this show at the end of Volume 6 so don’t bring up anything after that to me in a comment.

See you soon!

[sxfterhearts]

scarred

29. [11:04 am]

➳ pairing: yugyeom x reader

➳ genre/warnings: slow burn, fluff + slight angst, slight bad boy!yugyeom, triggers; mentions of violence, injuries, physical abuse, bullying

➳ word count: 3,027 words

➳ summary: 29. “Well, what do you want to do?”

➳ author's note: once again, thank you to @jinyoungot7​ for this beautiful gif :”) and guys!! i’m so sorry for the delay, but here’s part 2 of wounded/24/7:25pm!! 🤗 i’ve decided it’ll be a 3 part story hehe i hope this is a good continuation of the 1st part!!! thank you for showering me with love and as always, any feedback is welcome + appreciated! feel free to drop me a msg or an ask if you’d like 🥰

wounded // scarred // healed

“Wait up!” You yelled, your thighs burning as you tried to jog up the steep, narrow alley. Just twenty minutes into your walk and you were huffing and puffing as though you ran a full marathon.

“Come on, Y/N!” Came Yugyeom’s voice from far ahead, growing more and more distant as the black puppy tugged and pulled on its leash, leading him further and further into the winding maze of streets and back alleys. “You can do better than this!”

“I’m trying,” You muttered to yourself, taking a deep breath before going full steam ahead in an attempt to catch up with the boys.

It was a miracle that you three got this far, really. It took you nearly three weeks to convince Yugyeom to volunteer at the dog shelter run by your best friend’s mum. Every time you brought up the topic, he would either ask you about homework or fake a wince, prompting you to inspect his latest injury. He finally agreed last week. Your birthday was coming up soon, and he asked you what you wanted as your birthday present and how you were celebrating, in the bluntest way possible. “Well, what do you want to do?”, were his exact words.

One thing you learned in the past month since you sat with him in your family’s restaurant was that Kim Yugyeom was not one to beat around the bush. If he wanted to know something, he would ask about it without batting an eyelash. If he had an opinion, he would state it in the most straightforward, yet nonchalant way possible. You supposed it came with years of being labelled the quiet kid. It made sense that he was awfully efficient with his words.

Naturally, you had asked him to fulfill your birthday wish of visiting the shelter together. “Don’t you want something more substantial? Like a present that could either be useful or memorable?” He wondered curiously.

“This is memorable, Yugyeom.” You told him, looking him square in the eyes. “You won’t just be doing me, or the dog shelter, a favour. You’ll be helping me create a happy memory. Nothing is more valuable than that.”

Sweat trickled down your back as you jogged the final stretch towards Yugyeom who was taking a rest on a bench in the neighbourhood’s park. Charcoal, the black Pomeranian puppy you two were responsible for this morning rested comfortably on his lap, thoroughly enjoying all the attention Yugyeom was giving him. You watched as you slowly approached the pair, trying to commit the peaceful scene into your memory. The morning sun casted its brilliant glow upon them, and you could just make out the beginnings of a fond smile gracing Yugyeom’s features as he smoothed his hand, the one with just a lone plaster on the thumb, repeatedly over the puppy’s soft fur.

It was nearly picture perfect, if not for the sudden yelp the boy emitted when the puppy licked across his wrist. There was a shallow graze from when a piece of glass sliced through the skin from two days ago, which had just started to heal. If not for that Friday nearly a month ago, you wouldn’t have insisted on staying at the restaurant until closing time and would’ve left around dinner time like you always did. Ever since then, you always waited until Yugyeom came in with his order just in case he needed someone to patch him up. You distinctly remembered how relieved you were that night because the glass missed a vein or an artery. Yet, the thought left you disgusted. You shouldn’t be feeling any form of relief at all. Regardless of how shallow his injuries were, his uncle was still being abusive. You shook your head to clear your spiralling thoughts.

“I think he tired himself out.” Yugyeom said in a slightly strained voice when you arrived by his side. The boy was flapping his injured wrist repeatedly in the hopes of alleviating the stinging pain.

Without a word, you kneeled and took his wrist in yours, blowing on it with earnest. While it was true that a dog’s saliva had potential healing capabilities, you didn’t want to risk an infection. Especially judging from Yugyeom’s earlier reaction and the way his skin was just starting to clot, you figured it was best to leave it alone. The newly formed scab looked pink and tender, but it was on its way to healing properly.

Unbeknownst to you, Yugyeom started to squirm in his seat. He was getting flustered by the way your dainty fingers danced across his skin, and the cool air that soothed and blew his pain away. From this vantage point, he could look down and watch the glistening beads of sweat as it rolled down the side of your face, your soft lips pursed tightly in concentration. It was distracting. “I… It’s fine, Y/N.”

You released his hand and handed him a packet of tissues from your pocket, already missing the smooth feel of his arm under your fingertips. “Maybe I should take over?” You cocked your head towards the dark little ball of fluff lying on his lap, its tongue stuck out in an adorably goofy way. “Scooch over, Kim.” Scooping up little Charcoal in your arms, you moved to sit beside Yugyeom. You marvelled at the tiny creature lying curled up atop your legs. He was barely five months old and took up nearly three quarters of your lap. Just as your hand moved to pat his head, the puppy looked up and playfully gnawed on your fingers.

“Treats?” Yugyeom suggested, producing a brown paper bag from his pocket. “He could be hungry.”

“Here, I’ll do it-”

“Charcoal, do you want some treats?” Yugyeom spoke in a high-pitched tone, as though he was playing with a baby.

Before you could stop him, the boy had already reached out his palm full of treats for the puppy. You breathed an audible sigh of relief when you realised it was his relatively uninjured hand. “Look at you, Kim Yugyeom. You’re a natural when it comes to puppies. Who would’ve thought that you were so reluctant to visit the dog shelter just a week ago?”

He quickly shushed you, his fingers enveloping the puppy’s flappy ears to prevent him from hearing you. “Charcoal doesn’t need to know that, okay? Besides, this little guy changed my mind.” Yugyeom let out a fit of giggles when the puppy gobbled up all the treats and ended up licking his palm instead. “It tickles,” The boy squealed.

You watched, amused at the softer side of Yugyeom that was surfacing in the presence of the black puppy. “You know, the Imo at the shelter always talks about having way too many puppies. You could always adopt one. I think it’ll be good for you, you know? Having a furry companion can be a huge source of comfort and emotional support.” You suggested, your tone as gentle as possible due to the sensitive nature of the topic.

Yugyeom peeled his eyes away from Charcoal and connected his gaze with yours instead. You couldn’t really articulate it or fully understand it, but there was something in the way he looked at you that struck you as inherently sad. “Listen, Y/N, there’s something I need-”

“Yugyeom hyung!” A boy exclaimed from the general direction of the playground. The two of you whipped your heads around and followed the voice until finally you saw a boy, probably a middle school student, with a long fringe identical to Yugyeom’s, waving enthusiastically.

“Bambam!” Yugyeom waved back, beckoning the younger boy over to where you sat.

He sprinted across the field in a matter of seconds, giving Yugyeom a typical bro hug as a way of greeting. “What are you doing here, hyung? And who is this? Is she…?”

Yugyeom hurriedly clasped his palm against the younger boy’s mouth, muffling his words. He pinched Bambam’s cheeks teasingly instead. “Behave, kid. This is Y/N, and this is Charcoal.” With the younger boy distracted by the little puppy, Yugyeom took this chance to give you a brief explanation. “Bambam is our neighbour. We play soccer together with Mark hyung.”

“Hello, Bambam!” You greeted with a wide smile as you watched the younger boy coo at the puppy. You never met any of Yugyeom’s friends before, so this was a first for you. It seemed that beyond his tough exterior and bad boy façade, he was just a normal boy who loved puppies and playing soccer with his friends.

Just as Bambam reached for Charcoal’s tiny paws, to your dismay, you noticed that his knuckles were a familiar shade of black and blue. “Bambam, your knuckles…” No way, you thought, was he like Yugyeom?

“Bammie,” Yugyeom started in a scolding tone, sounding far more mature than he usually did. “Are those rascals still bothering you? I thought you told me that they stopped.”

“Yeah, well,” Bambam looked like a deer caught in headlights. “It was just, you know, a small fight, nothing too serious. I swear! I’m completely fine. It doesn’t even hurt, really!” The younger boy scrambled to explain himself.

“Where are they? Are they here?” Yugyeom seethed, his tone dripping with dangerous venom and his eyebrows forced together in a frown.

Bambam peered over his shoulders briefly at the playground before shaking his head profusely. “No, just forget it, hyung. It’s fine.”

“Take me to them, kid. Right now, and I’m not going to ask twice.” Yugyeom moved to stand before directing his words at you. “I have to go take care of something for a bit, I’ll be back.”

You nodded, speechless. Sure, you’ve seen Yugyeom mad before, but hardly to this extent. The only incident that came close was when he stopped that classmate of yours from striking you across the face. As the two of them walked away, your mind began to race with irrational thoughts. You pondered the list of possible scenarios as your hands absently stroked Charcoal to calm yourself down. Was Bambam getting into fights? But why? Could he be the target of bullying? The young boy seemed so innocent and harmless though, why would anyone do that? It just didn’t make sense. Those long agonising minutes seemed to stretch out as you waited and waited for them to return, praying that they would still be in one piece.

After what seemed like a lifetime, you felt Yugyeom’s presence once again as he collapsed onto the seat beside you. “Oh, hey.” You muttered, voice small and uncertain.

“Hey yourself.” He replied with a small laugh, intrigued by your worried expression. A few moments passed, and then, “Are you going to ask what happened?”

You turned your head to face him, quick enough that you felt a slight strain in your neck. “Are you injured?” You started prodding at his body, mainly inspecting his fingers, his palms, his arms and his face.

The evident worry written across your features amused Yugyeom to no end. He wanted nothing more than to iron out the creases on your forehead and turn your frown upside down. “Of course not. The little rascals who bullied Bammie are nearly half my size. I could’ve taken them out like a light.”

You flinched slightly at the unwanted imagery that filled your head. “Please don’t say that, Yugyeom. Please don’t tell me you got into a fight. I don’t want you to get hurt any more than you already do.” You confessed.

“Not to worry, I just gave them a stern talking-to and sent them on their way, unharmed. They scattered like little mice, honestly.” He was met with your confused stare. “Basically, Bambam is Thai. His classmates picked on him because of that. The kid’s parents don’t know about it but I’ve seen what they did to him. I had to stand up for him and protect him. I couldn’t just watch from the sidelines as my friend got hurt over and over again.”

His words left you stunned once more. You had heard rumours of him getting involved in fights with bullies in lower grades before, but this was the first time you got confirmation from the boy himself. You never thought that the cuts and bruises he showed up with in class were actually battle scars he suffered when defending someone else. He stood up for the kids who had no one, just like how he wished someone would stand up for him. So much for that bad boy façade of his.

There was a sudden urge within you to give Yugyeom a big hug for what he’s gone through and what he’s done for others, and so you did. It was more of a side hug, due to the puppy now napping cosily on your lap, with one arm coming around his middle and holding him close to your side.

Yugyeom didn’t know what to do at first. Should he stay still? Should he say something? He decided on reciprocating in the end, his other arm resting securely on your petite shoulders. In those few moments, the two of you were enveloped in a calming silence, filled only by Charcoal’s soft snores and the rustling of luscious leaves above your heads. Yugyeom could only hear his own heart beating thunderously in his ears.

“I’m sorry for all the pain you’ve experienced, Yugyeom.” You started, causing Yugyeom to shake his head in response. None of this was your fault, yet you felt the inexplicable need to apologise. “Thank you for being so brave and so kind to your friends and to those other students who got bullied.” You paused to sniffle, hot tears already pooling in your eyes, blurring your vision. “I’m… I’m sorry that, all this time, all these months, I could only watch from the sidelines as you got hurt, over and over.”

"No." He replied resolutely. "You didn't just watch from the sidelines, Y/N, you need to… Wait, no, are you crying? Why…? Don't… don't cry." Yugyeom panicked, trying his best to quiet you down. He didn't have a clue on how to comfort a crying girl. He tried to rub his palm soothingly over your back, but you didn't stop.

It wasn't until Charcoal, who had been woken up by all of the fuss, moved around in your lap and began pawing on your stomach. He even tried to lick your face, but he could only reach the bottom of your chin. You broke out into a giggle, and Yugyeom finally let out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.

“Don't cry anymore, you're an ugly crier.” Yugyeom said just as you were beginning to calm down. Before you could retort, he continued, “In my case, there was no way for you to shield me from my Uncle's punches or tell him to bugger off. You did the best you could for me, I don't even know why you're doubting that. You didn't have to patch me up when I was injured. You didn't have to be kind to me when I've never even spoken a single word to you. And yet week after week for the past semester you would sit there beside me, silently cleaning my wounds and covering them with those cute yellow plasters. You didn't have to, but…” He reached into his backpack and produced a yellow handmade card. “You didn't have to, but you became my friend.”

“What’s this?” You accepted the card gingerly while wiping stray tears off your wet cheeks.

“Your birthday card. Happy early Birthday, friend. Don’t read it until you get home, yeah?”

You inspected the yellow card, with Yugyeom’s signature chicken scrawl and random stickers of smiley faces littered all over the surface. There was even a Rilakkuma plaster, identical to the ones you would stick on him, at the top right corner. It was one of the most heart-warming cards you had received.

“Yugyeom, I…” You turned to face him. The scar right in the middle of his face, the one you first saw when you met him at the restaurant, caught your attention briefly before you finally met his eyes. You held his gaze, trying to convey a whirlwind of emotions through eye contact alone. Gratitude, happiness, fondness, touched, awe-struck. “Thank you,” You uttered sincerely, as it seemed to be the most appropriate response.

//

You read his card the minute you got home, sitting cross-legged on top of your bed.

Dear Y/N,

Happy Birthday! I wish that you will celebrate your birthday well with your family and friends. May each year be happier than the last.

I’m not good with words, as you always remind me, so I will just cut to the chase. First of all, thank you for being the light amongst the darkness of my life. There are not enough words in my vocabulary (or the dictionary) to express what you and your family has done for me. I will never forget it and I hope to repay this huge debt in the future.

Secondly, there is something I need to tell you that I cannot bring myself to say out loud. I am not brave, which is why I have to say this through a letter. Mark hyung got a job two months ago at our local football club as an assistant. Perhaps your mother has told you this, but his increased independence has resulted in the greater severity of my Uncle’s violence. Last week, after watching hyung play, the coach offered to get him transferred to Incheon United FC. Incheon is a distance away from Namyangju, which means we won’t be able to come back for frequent visits, but it is a good chance (and perhaps our only chance) to get away from Uncle.

This is what I keep telling myself whenever I think about leaving this town; about leaving you. As much as I would like to stay beside you, I have to break free from him.

I leave the second week of school holidays. If you find it in your heart to forgive me, let’s have one last bowl of naengmyeon together, okay?

Your friend, always,

Kim Yugyeom

For the nth time that day, the boy had left you speechless.

[scionofchaos]

Gaslighting and Verbal Abuse

This post will feature an in-depth look at gaslighting and verbal abuse, especially with regards to a Christian religious background. Proceed at your own discretion.

I am among the many who, upon leaving home and having a few years to develop my own opinions, took on a starkly different perspective from my parents. Not out of open rebellion, nor out of spite, though both played into it. Different because I was able to distance myself from the dogma and hypocrisy they continually stood by, and reshape my point of view from interviews, clinical facts, and cooler heads. This was facilitated by my parents not being in the same country. If they had been, or worse had been in the same town, I doubt I would have had the same liberation. Three major things that this change influenced were the religion, homophobia, and sense of morality that they forced upon me. Brainwashed me into calling my own, on fear of reprisal, until I no longer realized there was a lie. As soon as I had the opportunity to meet and speak with people who were openly gay/bi, I asked them all I could about their perspective on life, and carefully analyzed whether they or their sexuality were as objectionable as I had been told. I met people of very different sects of Christianity, and those apathetic toward religion, and those who staunchly denied it. I was educated on the origin of modern English "profanity," and learned not to see specific words as "profane," but rather as "impolite," and developed my own sense of when to use them.

These and many other changes should have happened much sooner, but as I found, were being actively repressed by my parents for nearly two decades. Anyone who has not been in that position, and thinks, "Surely you could just say 'screw the man,' and do what you want?"

...

You don't understand at all. You don't know what kind of formative pressures a person is put under when, at a point they can barely understand biological death, they are told that physical death leads to billions upon billions of years of unfathomable torment. Forever. That the only way out of that is to pledge your soul to an infinite being of perfection. Try to explain the concepts of a soul, infinity, and perfection to a toddler. See if they can properly tell you, without rote recitation, what any of those mean. Do they understand? I was made to accept what I was told and profess understanding. If I didn't? If I so much as questioned the veracity of what my parents were saying? Shame. Ridicule. Being repeatedly instructed how the very act of such questioning makes G*d "sad," makes him "angry," how it is "sinful." If I, an autistic child undiagnosed at the time, refused to back down to such abuse, then more concrete methods of punishment followed. Going without dinner. Having my possessions taken away on a semi-permanent or fully permanent basis. Not being allowed to continue seeing a friend, watching a show, or playing a game because it likely had corruptive influence. My father told me he would burn my favorite stuffed animal, when I was only 5, because I was "idolizing" it.

Rejecting their views and forming my own argument was not psychologically possible. They made it abundantly clear that even thinking about doing so was abhorrent, would be met with harsh retribution. In the immediate and in the eternal.

Why am I talking about any of this, aside from my usual life story intros? Rather than discussing the merits of spellcraft in its various forms, or describing spirits I have encountered. Well, I want to give you a look at the formation of Self, and how mine was maligned for the better part of my life so far. In about ten years, I will have reached the point where that subjugation was HALF of my human life. My rational process was crammed down, my skepticism was reined in, my better judgment buried under emotional scarring. All things that took long years of painful tearing to undo. New lessons. Spiritual discipline. It is this very level of programming and abuse that can control a person. Until they are brought out of that environment and into one conducive to healing, they may never break away. When you venture into casting spells for love, prosperity, or revenge, or seek to learn what lies in your future, or create a circle of protection, remember this.

Think about what has shaped you, maligned you. It may be that this introspection is too painful, or that a trauma disorder has blocked out those memories; if so, I feel deeply for you in this predicament. But if that is not the case, and you are free to take a critical eye to your history, please do. Break apart that which created you, that which destroyed or suppressed parts of you which you used to have. Begin the journey away from the harmful pieces of your past.

Not because they are unpleasant, but because they are holding you back.

[thisiswhereibloom]

Today Is My Liberation

As our first year wedding anniversary creeps its head around the night, I can’t help it but wonder why? - Why did things have to take such a turn? Why couldn't we work out the differences? When did you start seeing me with that black lens that turned every single one of my actions into something you hate? - Why did I become this “miserable piece of shit ball of depression” to you? - When did I become disposable to you? 

It has taken countless of psychologist hours, self-analysis, mentoring support, reading and learning about the subject to accept that regardless of what I did, would have or could have ever done, the outcome was always going to be the same. It would’ve always been ME. - Today, 12 July 2020, a day before what was supposed to be our first year wedding anniversary, I sit in front of my new home-office desk and start to accept that it wasn’t me, it was NOT me. I am not broken! Despite your and your family’s attempt to convince me that there was something wrong with me because I missed home, the home I left behind to come to the other side of world and build a family with you; or because I cried when you showered me in insults, as your sister said: “you shouldn't be affected the way you are by the words he calls you. They are jokes”; or because a car didn't provide me with the emotional and human affection I was in such a deep need of and in an attempt to ask for help I made a public comment instead of “brushing things under the carpet” as your dad said I should do. Despite the countless times I was called selfish, psychotic, miserable, a disgrace, ball of depression, monster, cunt. Despite your attempt to convince me to go on meds, as in your eyes it was the only way I could be “normal”. Despite the threats to leave me alone in this country I had yet to know and the times you packed up a bag and walked out disappearing for hours only to come back home and force me to apologize for your version of reality. Despite the way you painted me out to be God knows what to everyone in this country because as you told me multiple times, I am the new one here and everyone who knows you so whatever I say, no one would ever believe me. Despite my 4 unsuccessful attempts to reach out and ask for help from 4 of your friend’s partners as they all ignored me. Today, I stand up strong with my head held high as fuck and am proud to say that I am Domestic Violence Survivor. I escaped the cycle of violence from a narcissistic abuser with an incredible group of flying monkeys who not only enabled his behavior but were experts in the game. 

If you care to know, I am not mad at you. I feel sorry for the person I got to know these past year and the person that will continue to evolve and possibly only improve the manipulation tactics I was blinded to. I feel sorry for the possible future victims and pray that life has provided them such a strong foundation like mine, to help them get out of the cycle sooner than later. Although, you did not get a criminal conviction as you played it safe as expected, working out for both of our advantages. I am satisfied knowing that you won't be able to lure another girl overseas and bring her to an unknown country to dispatch her as she no longer serves your needs.

However, I am upset at the flying monkeys that not only enabled your destructive behavior towards me, but played your game by joining into the shaming of my emotions and shutting down my cries of help by diminishing and disregarding the pain I was living in. I was once again, by the other 3 people who were supposed to be the closest to me in my new home, told I was broken. 

When I asked for space to clear my head, to swim to the surface and catch my breath, I was told I could not be left alone as I was “too emotional”. But how could I not be when I found myself sitting at a round table with you and your 3 flying monkeys telling me I was broken. Telling me to brush off your insults under the carpet, that it was not OK for me to be sad because you never kissed or hug me, or because you called me a disgrace, a monster, a selfish bitch, you told me I ruined your life and that you wished you could ship me back.  It was then, I knew I had to join your game while I got ready to leave. So I did. 

You know, the last 2 months I saw you is when you were the calmer and “best” version of yourself. It was not because I wasn't emotional or psychotic. Instead, it was because outside our little love nest of hell, I was building my support system, I was being prepared by a professional, I was building escape routes, all while smiling and keeping the tears away from you. I was accepting your commands while staying within my new boundaries. I know you saw me slipping away though. Your second last attempt was the same as always, to buy me with a trip. You tried rushing into a vacation within weeks when we were not even living together. Then, you put on your show by coming back just for my birthday and making me pay for the brunch you took me to because “it’s all our money” but it never was, you asked me to leave my job. Yeah, for the second time in 10 months you asked me to leave my job as you would take care of us. But the truth is, you never gave a single cent. In fact, I had to become strict to obtain financial help from you as the fancy place you decided to live in was being all paid by me with the excuse that you were paying off “our properties”. Little do your people know that, right? - They all thought I was a gold digger. When you bought “me” the car you couldn't afford, just to show off and fought with me to post the beautiful video your sister recorded as I saw the car. Then you complained about me not being surprised enough for it and how I was selfish because of the same. Well, I was not surprised because I already knew you bought it. And I was not ecstatic about it because you did it in a desperate attempt to buy me and keep me by your side after I said you’re losing with all the insults and abuse. You became desperate as I became wiser. I started to predict your next move and by the time you exploded, I was ready to fly and never look back. 

You know, all the weakness you saw and fed me is slowly turning into this unstoppable stream of self-empowerment. I am not going to lie, it has been tough, more than anyone who has not lived through it could imagine. In a way, I guess you would say you won because I started taking medication. I did it about 2-3 weeks before our final separation because getting ready for it in silence was eating me alive and causing unstoppable anxiety attacks. Remember how I can’t ever throw up? - Well I was throwing up every day multiple times at work. So by the time it was time to fly, the pills had started kicking in giving a little boost to get the fuck out. So I did! 

Today, 4 months since our separation I am starting to see all the pieces of the girl I was, coming back together. I am letting the anger go little by little, I am loving myself again, I am loving life and smiling at strangers down the street again. Who knows, I may be healing enough to open up to love again. Yeah, you heard it right. While you ditched your broken trophy wife aside, there was a line of real men wanting to jump in and hold my hand. Even though one of your last words were, “you’re dying alone” because you tried convincing me that no one would ever want to be with me. Well no, as soon as you let me go my eyes started to shine again, my smile became real and it felt like I was floating in this magical world. I was free. This is your opportunity to judge, so go ahead. Tell people I cheated, since I probably am. You know, since we’re still legally married, although we never really were. But as he says, you were never ready to have a strong woman like me by your side. You needed a follower and submissive person that is OK with you feeding your ego with her soul. 

Today is not our wedding anniversary, today is my liberation. 

Today I acknowledge I am in deep pain, I have open wounds that will take years to heal and that I will carry with me beautiful scars from the battle you and I fought. Today I proudly acknowledge that I am an Emotional, Mental, Physical and Narcissistic Abuse Survivor. I acknowledge that abuse does not discriminate against race, social or economical boundaries. 

Today I can say I accept that you weren’t ready for marriage. I accept that you, just as most people, have underlying issues that need to be worked out before you are ready to give yourself as a supporting husband or even partner to someone else. I also accept that maybe you will never accept that is the case as under your eyes, it would destroy your ego. Today I accept that blood is in fact thicker than water, and that your family had a duty to provide you their unconditional support. Although I accept all these, I am also aware that the damage was not only caused by you, but also by your flying monkeys as they supported and joined in your game.

Today I understand I was brought through this path in my life for a reason bigger than me. That although I don't fully understand what my duty will be, I know there is something waiting ahead that requires me to have experienced what I did with you. I understand that life and God have their ways of testing us, and that even though this past year may seem like hell, I will at some point look back proudly and see how much I have grown and overcome.

Today I decide to let myself free from you. 

To be continued… 

[geebird-writes]

Savior

Spiderman x Male!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Violence, Abuse, Male Pronouns

Word Count: 1,761 (oops)

Requested by @raziverse

hey gee, i hope you’re doing great :^) is it okay if you did a male reader x peter parker fic where the reader has abusive parents and he runs away? then spider man, being the friendly neighbourhood guy he is, finds a Very Sad Reader walking across the streets and then confronts him to why he’s feeling down? thank you!!

Hey love! Sorry this took ages, I’m going out of town soon so things have been quite hectic haha. But nonetheless, here you go! I hope you enjoy it! 

- gee

“You’re a fucking failure of a son. Are you aware of that?” Your father spat these words at you as if you were a piece of scum.

You stood silent.

Ever since you were young, your parents seemed to care extremely little for you. They called you names, they would belittle and dehumanize you, and, sadly, they would hit you. Your mother worked nights in the diner down the street, and your father worked in city construction. Your parent’s could be considered a “match made in Heaven” (well, Hell, in your case), they were both alcoholics, your father struggled with drug addiction, and your mother could care less about the harm your father caused you. He would do the physical harm, while She would leave you emotional scars.

“Hey, Prick. Are you fucking deaf? I asked if you know you’re a failure.” Your father stood up from his chair, towering over you, the stench of alcohol in his breath.

Your father was a tall, heavy man. His eyes were a (E/C) shade, but they had no life within them. He was decently aged, wrinkles beginning to settle around his eyes and mouth, but in spite of all of that, he had an almost full head of hair.

When you continued to be unresponsive, he took a few more chugs of the whiskey bottle you just now noticed he was holding, and hooked you with his opposite fist. You fell to the ground, still confused from the whiplash of events. Your father stood over your trembling body, pulling you body into a sitting position by your hair.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,”

He dropped the now empty bottle, smacking you with his free hand.

“Do you know you’re a failure?”

You looked up at your father, seeing nothing but pure hatred in his cold eyes.

“Yes..” You choked out.

“‘Yes’ what?” He countered, pulling you by your hair harder. You winced in pain, hissing at the feeling of your hair follicles leaving your scalp.

“Y-Yes.. I know I’m a failure,” you cried out, eyes clenched shut.

“‘Bout fucking time you realized, you bastard.” He let go of you, throwing you onto the floor. He stumbled away, out of the living room and into his bedroom, slamming the door shut.

And that was that.

You stood up, stumbling quite a bit from the blows your father gave you. Once you were able to regain your composure, you walked to your room, shutting the door quietly. You leaned back against it, sliding to the ground allowing tears to release from your eyes. You had put up with this for nearly your entire life, and you were sick of it. You were tired of feeling like you weren’t good enough. Tired of feeling like there was no hope.

So, within that second, you decided you wouldn’t stick around any longer.

Sure, you had nowhere to go, and nobody to turn to, but anything was better than being in your house for a second longer. You raced to find an old duffle bag, as well as a backpack, and begun to pack your things. You packed small, bringing your favorite clothing items and a few jackets. Within the duffle bag, you packed a few sentimental items; posters, pictures of you with old friends, and a couple of your vinyl figurines. You grabbed your toothbrush and toothpaste last, stuffing it into your backpack.

You opened your window, climbing onto the fire escape of your apartment. You looked over the edge, admiring the cool summer weather to match the calming scenery.

“Here goes nothing,” you said to yourself, and began to climb down the ladder to the streets of Queens below.

You reached the bottom of the fire escape, setting your small duffle bag down to adjust your backpack straps. Taking a deep breath, you picked up your bag and begun walking the streets. You zipped up your hoodie halfway and put your hood on to hide the bruising beginning to form on your face. You continued to walk the streets, until you reached a main crossroad.

The sun was starting to go down, letting some families know that it’s time to start heading home. From your position waiting for the wall signal, you saw a family on the other side of the crosswalk, that consisted of a mother, a father, and a young boy, no older than 5. The mother had a wide, beautiful smile on her face, while the father had the boy sitting on his shoulders. The boy was laughing uncontrollably, smiling brightly as his father took him off his shoulders and lightly tossed him into the air, no more than an inch or two from his hands.

You looked at the family adoringly, smiling lightly at their contagious happiness.

And then you remembered your reality. How you were (age), and currently bruised and homeless. You remembered the reality of your parents, and how they mistreat you. Tears filled your eyes as the memories flooded your brain, walking across the now accessible crosswalk. You ran into an alleyway once you crossed the street, threw your bags down, and cried. You placed your head in your hands as you sobbed quietly, being careful not to touch the intensifying bruising on your face.

You continued to cry, until you heard a soft thwip that caught your attention.

You look up, and are met with Spiderman, hanging upside-down in front of you.

You jump slightly, pushing yourself up against the wall a little more. You used your sleeve to wipe your tears, sniffling as you tried to regain your composure. Spiderman flipped himself around, landing on the ground in a crouching position.

“Hey man, sorry to spook you,” The hero chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Is everything alright? I saw you run into the alley and I thought something could be wrong, and I feel like that theory might be correct.

”

“Everything’s fine, thank you.” You replied as you stood up, dusting yourself off. Spiderman stood up with you,  watching as you begin to pick up your bags. His eye lenses widened as he saw the shades of bruising on your face from under your hood.

“Woah, what happened? Did someone hurt you?” Spiderman questioned, coming closer to you to inspect the bruising.

You backed away.

“No, this is nothing. I told you, everything’s fine.” You adjusted your hood so he couldn’t see them as well, averting your eyes to the ground.

Spiderman sighed, obviously sensing your apprehensiveness. He stood where he was, his hands crossed against his chest.

“Look, I understand that whatever happened might be really hard to handle right now, but it’s gonna be harder if you don’t let me at least try to help,” The arachnid said softly.

You can feel his eyes non-intimidatingly staring you down from underneath his mask, the white lenses fixating on you. What should you do? You knew that confiding in him would be the right (and logical) thing to do, but you felt like you could take this on your own. After all, nothing has really worked out in your favor in a while. Ultimately, you decided to take the risk. You sighed, taking a step and a half towards Spiderman and sitting down. He mirrors your actions, sitting down adjacent to you.

You both sat there for about ten seconds of silence, both of you waiting for the other to speak up. Eventually, You cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry I’m kind of acting like an asshole, Spidey,” You start, but he cut you off.

“Please don’t apologize. From what I can see, something really bad has happened to you, and from what I can tell, it probably has something to do with your home life.” Spiderman’s lenses fixated on the bags next to you.

You hesitated before taking your hood into your hands and pulling it off of your head, exposing the dark purple bruising near your left cheekbone. You looked down, extraordinarily self conscious of the scars you were given, both physical and emotional.

Spiderman’s eye lenses widened until there was nearly no black outline left.

“Did… Did your parents do that?” The arachnid choked out, clearly at a loss for words.

You nodded.

“My dad. He asked me if I knew I was a failure, and pulled my hair and punched me until I did.” You explained to him.

“Holy shit….”

“Yeah. So, I decided to pack up my shit and get out of there the second I had the chance. And now, I’m here.”

Spiderman stuttered for a second, clearly surprised. You could also tell he was quite angry too, because the outline to his eye lenses were nearly covering up the entirety of the lense.

“What did you say your name was again?” Spiderman managed to get out.

“I didn’t, but its Y/N. Y/N L/N.” you chuckled, a small, closed smile painting your face.

“Hey, I got a smile outta you! That’s a win in my book,” Spiderman laughed.

“But nonetheless, are you okay for the night?”

You paused for a second. Were you okay for the night? You didn’t really have anyone to turn to; you didn’t have any friend you trusted enough and no family that would even begin to consider taking you in.

You shook your head, “Sadly, I don’t. I’m all on my own.”

Spiderman looked as if he was thinking; his arms now crossed against his chest, head cocked to the side in thought.

“I think I know a place where you can go. You got a pen?”

You felt around in your pockets, pulling out a ballpoint.

“Awesome,” Spidey stated, grabbing the pen you handed to him and writing an address and name down on your arm.

The name read “Peter Parker”.

Spiderman handed the pen back to you.

“This guy’ll take you in. I’ll tell him I’m sending you his way.”

You nodded. “Thank you, Spiderman. Sincerely.” You said, and you genuinely meant it.

He nodded back.

“You’re welcome, Y/N. Be safe out here.” A soft thwip came from his wrists, and off he went.

And thus, your journey to Peter Parker began.

~

Let me know what you guys think! I left it on a slight cliffhanger, so If anyone would want a Part 2, I’d be more than willing to write for it!

[silentauroriamthereal]

This seems like fun! Thanks for the tag, @swissmissing! 

1. AO3 handle: SilentAuror

2. Ships I write: Johnlock. Oh, and maybe a touch of Freebatch. In the past I wrote a crapton of Harry/Draco and a few other scattered ships hither and thither, but these days it’s pretty much pure Johnlock over here. 

3. Ships I read: I don’t read much fanfic, but if I do, it’s definitely Johnlock! 

4. When I started writing: I don’t remember my first piece of fiction ever, but it was definitely sometime in childhood! My first fanfic was posted in 2002, I believe! 

5. First fic I wrote: In this fandom? Resurrection. 

6. Favorite fic I wrote: I really can’t say! 

7. Hardest fic I wrote: Again, I really can’t say. Different stories have been hard for different reasons. Against the Rest of the World comes to mind, just for sheer length and complexity & detail of plot, but Scars was very different to write for the emotional and physical abuse it contains. Some of the angst-heavy stories I’ve written have practically given me ulcers. Sometimes I make the cases so complicated that I have to keep a whole separate file just on case notes (witness The Bells of King’s College, which features not just six cold cases, but they all had to be related to: a) the murderer (obviously), b) each other, and c) a potential seventh victim, and d) Mary!). Bridging the Ravine features something like 21 named OCs, about 8 of whom have fairly major parts. And The Final Proof was hard as hell to write because it made me cry throughout, lol. Along with basically 98% of the people who have read it, which was sort of the point, but there you go. :P (See warnings!!!!!) 

8. Most research-intensive fic I wrote: That has to be a toss-up between Against the Rest of the World for the location research specifically, and Scars, for which I did extensive research (including interviewing three separate therapists who specialize in female->male abuse and gaslighting). 

9. Fic that is most dear to me: This is like asking me to pick a favourite among my children! Of which I now have 84 in this fandom alone! Really can’t say! 

10. Favourite trope to write: I mostly avoid actively writing tropes, though I’ve unapologetically used fake-couple-for-a-case twice now (once where it goes quite well for them (Bridging the Ravine) and once where it goes quite badly for them (The Bells of King’s College)), and smaller tropes like sexual coaching (Isosceles), bed-sharing (numerous), and then apparently I’ve used some accidentally, such as amnesia (The Wisteria Tree). Lol. 

11. Something I wouldn’t write: An unhappy or non-Johnlock ending, a version of Mary that doesn’t line up with her actual canon behaviour, fluffy familial sitcom that’s wholly out of character (which isn’t to say that parentlock can’t be IC, but it’s a stretch to make it fit with these two particular men, IMO). 

12. Favourite scene I ever wrote: I’ve just written too many to choose only one. :/ Sorry, I keep saying this! 

13. Where I get my inspiration: From Moftiss’ resolute determination to prevent these two from having an honest, direct, and complete conversation about their relationship, their history, and their feelings. I WILL make them talk, damn it! And then kiss. Like a lot. :) 

14. Hardest scene I ever wrote: There’s a rape scene in chapter 3 of Scars. I avoided writing it for days. Then, once I finished it, I remember literally just closing my laptop, standing up, putting on my shoes, and walking out of my apartment to clear my head. 

15. Favourite characterisation I wrote: Oooh. Okay, I’m giving this one to Sherlock in Against the Rest of the World, specifically because it’s told in first person, which means that I spent four solid months living inside this version of his head, and I found it very difficult to not be in it once the story came to its eventual finish!

In this fandom, I’ve now written in the POVs of 12 different characters (not counting the “characters” of Ben and Martin in my four Freebatch fics), and I’ve loved writing every single one of them, even if I don’t necessarily love the character themselves! The breakdown goes like this, though for the last two, it’s only single chapters/parts of stories, never a full stand-alone story: Sherlock (36 times, including both novels), John (37 times), Mycroft (3 times), Lestrade (3 times), Mary (3 times), Molly (twice), Rose (Rosie at age 19, once), Janine (once), Ella (once), Vee (Mummy) Holmes (once), Mrs Hudson (once), and Sally Donovan (once). 

My current project is one of my rare mixed-POV stories, heavily John-POV, but with contribution scenes from Sherlock, Ella, and Molly. 

16. Sequel I would write, if I had the chance: I’m actually somewhat planning, pending my muses’ inspiration and general whims, a sequel to Isosceles, where Sherlock and John visit Corey Graham in LA. :)

17. Story I want to write, but I don’t think people would enjoy reading: It’s so masochistic, but I never let that stop me! :P I did suppress my urge to write my first Freebatch fic (The A.G.R.A Complex) for about eight months before finally giving in. I fully expected to be shot for writing Scars, and I’m somewhat expecting people to hate my current project, but if the muses demand it, then I write it. What can you do. :P

18. A line from a WIP: I never do lines. It’ll have to be a snippet, lol. Not to channel Culverton Smith or anything... 

Ella thinks of the long story Sherlock told her one stormy afternoon only a few weeks ago, during one of the appointments she cannot, by dint of professional vow, acknowledge to John that are happening, and of the fact that Sherlock admitted that he’s never yet found a way to casually bring up the snipers in conversation with John, his hesitancy to rock the boat, the surface stability they’ve seemingly found in the wake of the events with Sherlock’s unbalanced sister. She sighs inwardly, but keeps her expression neutral. “You’re still angry about that,” she says. It isn’t a question; after all, she knows John rather well by this point.

John frowns, but nods, still looking down.

“And how has that anger come out?” Ella asks, conscious to keep her tone even. 

John’s mouth opens, his breath drawing in sharply and stopping in his chest.

19. A recent comment on a story that made me smile: That someone commented at all makes me smile! Unless it’s overt hate, I guess. :P 

20. A discontinued work I would love to finish: I have never, in my 2.1+ million words of Sherlock fiction, or 1.5 words of HP fiction, not finished a story that I started. 

21. Fic writers I admire: Honestly, for these last two, I just don’t read enough to be able to comment well on this! I also know that if I list anyone, I’ll leave out someone who really, really should be mentioned. I’ll just say this: anyone who is actively working at the craft of writing and putting themselves out there deserves all the praise and admiration in the world. Same goes for artists! You’re putting a naked little piece of your soul out there for the world to see, criticize, hopefully (but not necessarily) love, and that is SO brave! So the truest answer here is: all of you! 

22. A story I recommend: Same answer as above! I would recommend @swissmissficrecs for recs! 

Tagging: anyone who reads this post and writes. You’re tagged. :)

[diego-hargreeve2]

light in the dark

Part Four 

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (Netflix)

Ship: Diego Hargreeves x Original Character

Warnings: Language, abuse (emotional and physical), mental illness, violence and, in later chapters, smut.

“How long have you lived here?”

It was Eve’s third visit to the basement boiler room Diego called a home, and she was helping – or attempting to help – him sharpen and clean the knives he wore. The conversation starter was primarily a way to distract herself from the fact that she was cleaning the steel of crusted blood that had once belonged to people and somehow, even knowing that they were criminals who had been out to cause pain, that felt weird. The only blood she had experience with was her own, which didn’t bother her in the slightest, and so she had assumed she was sufficiently strong stomached to cope – but whilst she certainly hadn’t fainted, Eve wasn’t exactly loving the blood aspect of the job.

“Three years now” he answered, inspecting the knives she had finished, his movements almost reverent as he studied the steel and put them away. Contrary to what some people might have thought he was not so attached to the harness or his blades that he slept with them. At least, not with all of them – keeping a weapon close to your bed just in case is just good sense.

“Before that?”

“Before that I rented a place. You gonna ask before that too?”

“Sure” Eve said with a shrug. She knew Diego left home at seventeen, ten years ago. And she knew what he was doing now. The decade in between was a mystery. With a roll of his eyes he picked up the whetstone, the edge in his voice when he spoke again as sharp as the one on the knife.

“I left home to join the police academy – I’d apply for their programme before I moved out. Enrolled with them, had to do a few years of study first. Realised it was bullshit so dropped out when I was twenty. Found a job in security and rented a place for a few years but it still wasn’t doing enough to help.  I was already training here sometimes. Got talking to Al. I wanted to quit the job but needed the pay. We figured out a deal, I stay here and do maintenance and cleaning around the place. Gave me my nights back so I could help deal with shitheads. That’s the whole story – happy?”.

Leaning forward she held out the knife in her hand, handle first toward him, waiting till he lifted his gaze first to it and then to her face. She sat in the chair cross legged, whilst he was on the floor, and it was an odd feeling to be looking down at him for once.

“I figured it might give me some tips” Eve told him gently, watching the tension around his shoulders ease at the explanation. Handing over the knife so he could critique her work she sat back up straight and reached for another, but her gaze stayed on him for a moment longer, using the time that he was focused elsewhere to study him before he looked up to speak and she acted busy.

“You want to rent somewhere” he said, his tone calm again.

“You think I live in homeless shelters as a fun lifestyle choice?” she asked. The more comfortable she grew with Diego, the more she was learning the banter, the way he used humour and the way she could match it – and he chuckled, appreciating this developing wit. When he first met Eve, she seemed so shy, and he had figured out that she was ignorant in some ways of the world and prone to slipping back into feeling socially awkward but seeing there was more to her then that was a development he enjoyed. He no longer checked in on her as a begrudging act as pity, as it had been when he returned initially.

“Hey, say it like its crazy, but you’re the first volunteering to leave that place and be back outside” he pointed out, balancing the dagger she had given him on the palm of his hand before nodding, satisfied with the edge Eve had given it. “So c’mon – I shared. Your turn”. Reaching up he took the dagger she was working on to steal her distraction tool. With a sign, she looked down at her now empty hands before beginning – the bitter tone of her voice betraying the influence he was having on her already in their friendship.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore. Because of being born out of nowhere – my whole life they treated me…like they expected I would turn into Satan if anyone turned their back for a moment. I thought…I thought I could try and show them it wasn’t true. For years. I tried – so hard”. Her voice cracked on those words. She had truly tried. Eve had spent as much time as anyone praying, had done all she could to be a model child within the guidelines laid down within – and the Sanctified Brethren of the Special Emissary, as they were named by their ‘leader,’ kept strict rules – and it had never ever been enough.

“They call everyone other than themselves unclean. That’s why they avoid the outside world so much. But sometimes family members came to try and get members to leave. Sarah’s grandparents – she agreed to go with them.  I begged them to take me out of that place too and they agreed. Found me a place in a shelter for victims of domestic violence”. Eve was quiet, staring down at the bitten mess that was her fingernails, remembering that first place. The strangeness of being treated with kindness and patience.

“That was…seven years ago. I’ve been moving along the States. Boise. Salt Lake City. Boulder. So on and so on. I found out about the Umbrella Academy when I was in Omaha and then I deliberately started heading East. You’ve already made it clear that was a terrible plan – no need to rehash it”.

“Why didn’t you just stay out there? If they found you help and stuff”.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that would make more sense.  But I just - I didn’t want people getting close. I thought…I worry about this stuff. I’ve got better control now, but I used to start fires accidentally. Living on the streets felt safer – if I stayed there, I might hurt them when they were just trying to help”.

There was silence for a moment, Eve staring at her bitten fingernails, Diego looking at the knife he turned around and around in his fingers idly.

“I don’t buy it” he said abruptly, gripping the knife and stopping its circling as he looked up. “That’s not why you kept moving” he told her. Eve blinked, stunned to silence. “You don’t do it to protect everyone else. You do it to protect yourself, Evie. So nobody ever gets close. Putting down roots would make you vulnerable, so you avoid it”.

There was a beat of silence, then Eve tipped her head.

“If that’s true…you only know it because you do the same thing, Diego”.

“Yeah, well. Shitty childhoods will do that to you. You think you’d have come out the Academy normal if the old man found you?”

“You think you’d have turned out normal raised as an omen of the Apocalypse in a religious cult?” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow. Two could play at that game and Diego seemed to sense that was what it was about to come, shifting and putting away the last knife.

“Our Dad just numbered us. He didn’t give us names, he had our Mom do it after he built her when we were four – and he never used our names”.

“I was named by the Elder of the Church for the woman who caused original sin and the downfall of humanity”.

“I was sold at birth; me and my siblings were purchased like novelty items. In a house the size of a city block, he gave us bedrooms the size of prison cells”.

“They made me sleep on a metal bedstead, locked in a concrete shed, from the age of five”.

“We were forced to live to a regimented timetable that gave us only a weekly half hour for what was deemed ‘fun and games’” Diego said, a note of confidence in his voice that he could match anything she offered. Smiling slightly, despite the morbid subject matter, Eve pulled her knees up to her chest.

“So that the Brethren could remain self-sufficient, we were put to work on the farm and in the fields as soon as we could be. Child labour – three-year-old slaves” she emphasised.

“To hone our powers, we were treated as experiments, forced to train daily and subject to constant observation”.

“The only education we had was Bible verses and basic maths so we could count enough to help with planting”.

“He risked our lives, sent us into dangerous missions whenever other people wanted. I got this scar at sixteen, and he told me to try harder and be more careful next time”.

“We were made to fast regularly, prayed on our knees till we were bruised and fainted, with no medical attention for injuries or illnesses”.

“He threw Klaus into a mausoleum and left him there with corpses for hours when he was thirteen. My brother has never been sober since”.

“Oh, so we’re not just talking us two? Our Elder stated God told him to multiply his family, that was the excuse he gave for marrying all the teenage girls once they turned thirteen” Eve said, the words spitting out of her with rage. Even before she left, she had known that was wrong, had been uncomfortable with his revelation – and since living she only grew more convinced. For a moment Diego halted, looking more horrified by that disclosure then anything else she had offered so far.  

“Shit – bastard! You were married?”

“No…I wasn’t worthy of his attention. Fucked up as that sounds, it makes me the only girl in the place who wasn’t a teenage rape victim. Still think you can win this game?” Eve pointed out, bitter – not from the lack of attention, but from the world she had been raised to think was normal and suffered in for two decades. “Or do we admit that with these childhoods we’re both losers?”

“Shit” Diego said, slumped a little, his lips falling open and mouth ajar as he turned to look at the wall. “Gotta hand it to you there – this game doesn’t have a winner”.

She had known since she read Vanya’s book that her childhood wouldn’t have been less fucked up if she had been one of the Academy, whereas how bad her background had been was news to Diego. For a moment both just sat there, digesting the sorrow that was their own lives, before he leaned forward and caught her hand.

“We escaped though. They might be dicks, but they didn’t break us”. Eve smiled, the expression clearing all the shadows from her face and she squeezed his fingers.

“Yeah. We did”.  

“So fuck ‘em. Right?”

“Right”.

He winked at her, the expression so full of charm she couldn’t help but blush.

“Atta girl”.

@lovinglydiego @klausbutgayer @reblogserpent @me125 @fatbottomedcurls

[drink-the-midnight-oil]

Wounds Heal, Scars fade

Summary: Jughead Jones, loner extraordinaire, has possessed a superpower ever since his birth. The ability to heal people’s wounds. But only small ones. So what happens when the girl he’s had a crush on since forever is injured in a way past his known abilities? Will she die? Or will he find a way to expand his gift and save the love of his life?

The sound of an alarm going off woke Jughead up from a fitful sleep. He reached over and pressed the snooze button on his phone, effectively shutting off the alarm. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Jughead sat up and looked around. 

He was in his sleeping bag on the floor of Riverdale High's janitor's closet. Last night had been a disaster. After the Twilight Drive-In had been shut down, Jughead had gone to his father's trailer, hoping to crash there for a night or two. Instead his alcoholic father had greeted him, an empty beer bottle in hand, by yelling at Jughead and blaming him for his mother and sister leaving. He had then proceeded to throw the glass bottle at Jughead, just narrowly missing him. However, the bottle crashed into the railing and shards of glass found their way into Jughead's hands. He had run straight to the high school, tears streaming down his face, and found sanctuary in the small supply closet. 

Now, as the hot water ran down his back in the locker room shower, he let out a breathy sigh. He had managed to pull out the glass pieces last night but the cuts on his hands still stung. Turning off the water, he wrapped a towel around himself and walked over to the sink. Looking down at his hands, he saw the small crisscrosses that marked them, like little red lines decorating his palms. Jughead closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

A slight tingling swept through his palms, almost as if someone was tickling them. It flowed through his entire body, warming him and calming him. His tense shoulders relaxed and he felt his aching bones be soothed. The tingling faded and Jughead opened his eyes. The red lines on his hands had disappeared. 

The school bell rang as Jughead hurried down the hallway to the Blue & Gold's office. He heard students talking excitedly about the upcoming winter formal. Personally, he thought school dances were dumb and overrated. It was just another way that society made kids feel left out and unwanted. He wasn't going, no matter what. 

Pushing open the door to the Blue and Gold, Jughead walked inside. A girl was already there, reading something. She was wearing a pastel sweater and her blonde hair was pulled up into a neat ponytail, a signature look for the one and only Betty Cooper. A straight A student, community volunteer, and cheerleader, Betty was Riverdale High's resident golden girl. But she was also Jughead's best and only friend. Not to mention, he'd been in love with her since the third grade. 

Betty looked up and saw him.

"Good morning, Jughead," she said, a distracted frown on her face. 

“Mornin’ Betty. What’s the matter?”

Betty held out the paper she’d been reading. Jughead took it and scanned through it. 

“It’s a police report, Jug. For all those attacks that have been happening for the past few weeks. All those late knife stabbings and muggings. I spoke to Kevin about it and he said that Sheriff Keller thinks the Ghoulies are behind it all.”

“It says here that they are targeting mostly journalists and reporters.” Jughead dropped his messenger bag onto a chair and perched on the edge of the desk.

“Yeah,” Betty started chewing on her lip like she always did when she was nervous. It was a very common habit, Jughead had noticed.

“We got a letter last night.”

“What?”

“My parents got a letter from the perpetrators saying that they needed to back off and stop investigating the Jingle Jangle case. Same goes for us. Otherwise there would be fatal consequences.”

“Did you report it?”

“Yes. My parents went to the police station this morning. My mom said we don’t have anything to be worried about because it’s probably just some kids trying to have some fun.”

“I don’t think that’s fun, Betty. This is dangerous. We shouldn’t be doing this if it’s going to be a threat to your well being. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Well that’s why I have you,” Betty said, a knowing look in her eyes. Jughead looked away, flushing. He knew that she wasn’t talking about him being the brave knight.

For as long as he could remember, Jughead had possessed the superhuman ability to heal. He could heal cuts and bruises and small wounds, nothing too big. It went against all the laws of nature but Jughead wasn’t complaining. With an absent mother and alcoholic father, abuse wasn’t uncommon at home.  His father would hit him from time to time, with nothing more than his hands though. Jughead would cry himself to sleep when he was younger, scared stiff. In the mornings he would wake up, finding that his eye hadn’t blackened, his ribs weren’t bruised and his lip wasn’t cut. He learned to heal at will and started running away to spend the night somewhere, anywhere but that trailer. The healing was quite useful. His main fear was that Social Services would take him away if people saw him covered in scars and bruises. And as much as he feared his father’s wrath, he still had hope that one day their family would be whole again.

Betty was the only one who knew about his ability other than himself. She was the only one he trusted. She was the light that kept his hope alive in his dark world. And there was another reason she knew...

“Only if you’re absolutely sure, Betty. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Betty smiled at him. “I think I can manage that.”

As Betty reached up to smooth her already perfect ponytail, Jughead noticed a mark on her palm. He frowned seeing it.

“Betty, what happened to your palm?” he asked. 

Betty’s face went pale and she dropped her hand to her side, balling it up. “Nothing,” she said, averting her gaze.

But Jughead knew it wasn’t nothing. “Let me see your palms, Betty.”

“No,” Betty said, looking down. Her voice started to shake. “Please just leave it alone Jughead.”

“I want to see what happened. Open your fists.”

Betty looked back at Jughead and he was shocked to see the tears in her eyes. Something was really wrong. Worry built up in his chest as he took her hand and gently pried open her fist. Shock coursed through him as he saw the fresh crescent shaped scars on her palms. He took her other hand and sure enough, there was a line of perfect half moons across it too.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Betty?”Jughead asked, concerned.

“I - I didn’t want you to be upset,” Betty said, her voice cracking.

“Betty, I would never be upset. Don’t ever think that. What happened?” Jughead stroked the scars gently with his thumb, still holding her hand.

“The letter, the investigation, and school on top of that. It’s just too much, Jug. I didn’t think I would relapse, b - but I’m just a weak girl,” Tears were falling freely now. “I - I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Betty,” Jughead pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. Her body was racked with sobs, and she clutched his shirt. “That’s not true. You know it. You’re not weak. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Don’t ever doubt yourself. We’ll make it okay. I promise. But I don’t want you to hide this kind of stuff, alright? It only makes things worse.”

Betty nodded into his chest. Jughead gently pulled away, clasping her small hands in his. “Look at me.”

Betty looked up at him through sooty lashes, the light reflecting off her watery green eyes. God, she’s beautiful, Jughead thought. Like an angel surrounded by a heavenly glow.

“Let’s fix up your palms.”

This was the reason she knew. He folded her hands between his and willed the magic to do its work. A surge of energy flowed through his hands and into hers. He saw her close her eyes and take a shaky breath, her tense shoulders slowly relaxing. He couldn’t count how many times they’d done this before. Her harming herself and him healing the reminders of those nightmares. It had grown less frequent over the past year after she had started taking the anti-depression medicine. But this sudden recurrence frightened him. 

A wave of sadness suddenly hit him and he knew it wasn’t his own. That was the one downside to his power. Whatever the person he was healing felt, he felt too. It was like he was taking away both their physical and emotional pain. And over the years, he had felt a lot of what Betty felt. The real raw emotion in her that he could feel was what made him love her so much. He didn’t have to worry about her pretending, not when he could sense her emotions like this.

A wave of something else hit him too. An unidentifiable feeling. It was..... happy. Pure. Loving. But not quite. As if she was trying to hold back something which she didn’t want to hold back. Almost like if she - 

Betty opened her eyes and pulled her hands away. It was clear that she had realized that he had felt it. She muttered a thanks to Jughead and fixed her ponytail. A few deep breaths and perfect Betty Cooper was back.

“We have work to do,” she said simply, grabbing her notebook.

“Betty - ,” Jughead started, wanting to ask her what that had been about. But he saw the look in her eyes. She didn’t want to talk about it. And he didn’t want to push her. So he changed his course. 

“How would you like to go the the winter formal with me?”

This was a terrible idea, Jughead thinks to himself as he walks up to Betty’s door. Winter formals are for the weak-hearted and shallow minded, he’s known that since forever. So why did he make a stupid decision and ask her to the dance?

The sight of her delighted face pushes all the negative thoughts out of his mind. She had positively radiated ecstasy when he had asked her to go. The image of her beaming brings a smile onto his face. So maybe it would be worth it.

He rings the doorbell and is greeted by Alice Cooper, prim as usual. She smiles at him and tells him he looks wonderful and come in, Betty’s just finishing up. Jughead waits in the living room, hands nervously shoved into his pockets. He’s wearing one of his dad’s suits and the jacket’s a bit too big on him. He’s much leaner than FP and it doesn’t fit right in the shoulders. The grey beanie is still on his head, though. There’s some things he will not compromise. 

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs makes him stand up a little taller and adjust his jacket.

Betty enters the room and it’s as if all the air has suddenly been sucked out because Jughead can’t breathe. The Betty standing before him is one he doesn’t recognize. She’s wearing a white gown that clings to her body. It goes all the way down to her calves, the skirt made of satin. The sleeves fall off her shoulders and Jughead can see her prominent collar bone. Her hair is down and falls in loose waves on her shoulders. He always knew she was beautiful, but this? It’s as if someone’s playing a cruel joke on him, tempting him because they know she’ll never love him. She gives him a nervous smile.

“What?”

“I - Uh - Well -,” Jughead stutters. He’s tongue-tied. From somewhere in his conscience he finds the ability to speak. “Shall we leave?”

Betty looks a bit disappointed but she doesn’t say anything. 

“Yeah, let me just get my wrap.” 

Once she’s ready, they head out to where Jughead has parked his dad’s car. It took a lot of work for FP to agree to giving Jughead the car for the night. It’s not the prettiest ride but it’s much better than walking to the dance or asking Betty’s mom to drive them.

They ride in silence for some time, the only sound that of the wind rushing past. After a while, Jughead clears his throat.

“Betty, you look beautiful.”

Betty turns to him, surprised. “Thank you, Juggie. You clean up nicely, too.”

Jughead glances at her and shrugs. “It was the best I could do.”

They arrive at the school and Jughead opens the car door for Betty. They walk to the gymnasium where the dance is being held. Lights have been put up everywhere and a band is playing up front. People are dancing, dressed in an array of gowns and suits. Betty looks radiant in the dim light and Jughead knows that he has the best-looking date there.

“Would you like to dance?” Once again, Jughead has surprised himself. Betty seems to think so too, the way she’s looking at him.

“Since when do you dance?”

“Oh, my dear Betty. I have many special talents. Apart from the ones you already know about, of course.” Where is he getting this confidence from? It’s probably the nerves.

“Well then, yes. I would love to dance.”

So Jughead takes Betty’s hand and leads her to the dance floor. Luckily it’s a fast song. They dance for a while, Betty moving gracefully to the music while Jughead shuffles awkwardly. But she seems to be having a lot of fun and that makes Jughead happy.

The song ends and a slow one starts. Couples around them start pulling each other close, gently dancing. Jughead decides to take the opportunity. He holds out his hand to Betty and she takes it, a curious glint in her eye. He takes her hand and places it on his shoulder, clasping the other in his own. He rests his other hand at her hip and they dance. 

After some time, Betty wraps both her arms around his neck and that’s when the butterflies hit. He places his hands at her waist, tentatively. A love song is playing and Jughead can feel his palms starting to sweat. Her face is so close to his that he can count the tiny freckles across her nose. She’s staring at him in a way that she’s never looked at him before. 

“So... any letters recently?” Great job, Jones. You ruined the moment.

Betty looks away for a moment and then looks back.

“No, nothing recently. My parents haven’t stopped investigating and neither have we but there hasn’t been any sort of communication.”

“That’s good, I guess. Maybe you’re in the clear.”

“I hope so.”

They dance in a comfortable silence. Suddenly, Betty stops dancing.

“Jughead, when was the last report of a letter?”

“I think yours was the last one. Why?”

“That’s funny,” Betty mutters. “It’s been two weeks since I got one. And the letters always come in pretty regular intervals. It’s been too long.”

Betty takes her hands of of Jughead’s shoulders.

“I just had a thought. Come on.” She grabs his hand and pulls him through the crowd and into the hallway. 

“Betty - Betty, where are we going?” Jughead asks rushing to keep up with her.

“The Blue & Gold. What if letters haven’t been coming because the Ghoulies are up to something? I mean, it’s the perfect night.” 

They reach the B&G office and Betty pushes open the door.

“Everyone in town is going to be here, at the formal. Even the Sheriff. It would be a classic night to pull off a drug exchange. And from our last few investigations, I think I know where it’s going to happen.”

“Betty Cooper does it again,” Jughead says, impressed.

“We need copies of the last few letters. I think all the other ones are here. But the copy of mine at home. Can you please find the other letters? I’ll go and get mine.”

Betty grabs Jughead’s keys runs out of the office and into the parking lot. Jughead is shifting stacks of papers, looking for the letters when he hears the sound of a muffled scream from outside. He rushes to the window and watches as two masked figures run away from his car and a girl in a white dress crumples to the ground. Betty.

Time seems to stop as Jughead runs out to her, nothing else mattering at that moment. His blood runs cold when he approaches her and sees her lying on the ground, barely breathing.

The first thing his mind registers is the blood. There’s so much blood. It’s spreading on the front of her white dress from what appears to be a stab wound. He crouches down next to her, his heart beating fast. His hands are trembling as he looks at her pale form on the ground. Her hair is spread around her head, like a halo and her white dress, with the red flower of death blooming on it, it’s tragically beautiful. He’s vaguely aware of him yelling her name, trying to revive her. His jacket is off and pressed to her wound, trying to stop the flow of blood. They shouldn’t have continued their investigation. He brought this on her. She received a death threat and he didn’t stop her from pursuing the case.

Betty gasps and her eyelids flutter open. Her breathing is staggered. She sees Jughead’s horrified face looming over hers. His eyes are filled with tears. This isn’t the type of wound he can heal. It’s too serious. But he presses his hands to her stomach and tries. Nothing. It’s hopeless. He’s going to watch Betty die right in front of him. He can’t even call an ambulance because his phone is inside. And nobody seems to have heard him shouting.

“Betty, Betty, please don’t leave me. Just keep breathing.” He’s trying to reassure himself more than her. She’s losing too much blood. 

“It’s too serious of a wound, Betty. I can’t heal it.” Jughead is unabashedly crying now.

“J - Jughead, you have to go. Ch - Chase down those guys and f - find out where-” She coughs, once. “You have t - to. Leave me and go.”

“NO! I’m not leaving you. I - I’ll call an ambulance. Just hold on, Betty please.” Jughead feels his heart in his throat.

“Jughead.” Betty’s looking at him sadly now. The metallic odor of blood is everywhere and it’s making Jughead’s head swim. But he is not going to leave her. 

Try HARDER, his conscience says. But his efforts are in vain.

She raises a bloodstained hand to his cheek and brings his face down so that their noses are just millimeters away. Her eyes are still bright green but they look so tired. She’s fighting hard, he can see it. Her eyes fill with tears and she gives him a weak smile. And then she kisses him. 

It’s like fireworks have exploded in Jughead’s chest. Her lips are soft on his, tasting of vanilla. And then he’s kissing her back, hard. She is NOT going to die. From a very deep place inside of him, he summons the power.

Energy courses through him, stronger than ever and rushes through his hands into the wound. She pulls away and gasps, her back arching, as the torn tissues restitch themselves. And Jughead can feel the strong wave of emotion radiating from her as the energy gives back. But this time, he sees images.

They’re in third grade and Betty talks to the shy beanie-wearing kid for the first time. She likes his sense of humor. They’re in Archie’s tree house and make a pact to be best friends forever. She knows she will always keep that promise. Fifth grade graduation and she’s so proud when Jughead gets an award for his writing. Seventh grade dance and Betty wants to go with Archie. But he takes Cheryl instead. Betty’s crying and it’s Jughead who comforts her. They go to Pop’s and Betty is happier than she’s been in a while. High school starts and Archie becomes a jock. He barely has time for them anymore. She has too many AP classes and assignments, not to mention volunteering and extra-curriculars. That’s when the self-harming starts. Nobody notices but Jughead who sees her stressed face no matter how hard she tries to hide it. He holds her as she cries. He doesn’t run away when she shows him her scars. For the first time, he heals her them. Archie doesn’t like her back. It hurts. But Betty’s secretly relieved. She only liked the idea of them as a power couple. She spends all of her free time with Jughead. They work at the Blue & Gold. Betty is mesmerized by his way of spinning boring stories into suspenseful articles. He accompanies her to on every investigation, no matter how crazy it may be. He supports her. She starts seeing Jughead as more than her childhood best friend. He’s not a scrawny, scowling boy anymore. He’s a good-looking, talented writer now. She realizes how much happier she is with him. Archie could never make her feel like that. She starts noticing the way he stares at her, entranced. It stirs something in her. He sees her for what she is. Not a perfect, ideal student and daughter. But a real person who hurts just as much as everyone else. And she falls in love with him.

Jughead pulls away his hands, breathing hard. What did he just witness? The flurry of pictures, the feeling, the reality. Could it all be true?

Betty’s eyes are closed and she’s breathing lightly. Jughead sees that the wound has been healed. How did he do that? There are too many questions to be answered. He leans over her face.

“Betty?” A gentle whisper.

Her eyes fly open and she sees him there, anxious.

“Jughead? Wha-”

“Oh my god, you’re alright.” Jughead’s arms are around her and he’s buried his face in her neck. “I though you were going to die.”

“Hey, I’m not dead. It’s okay,” Betty strokes his hair, his beanie having fallen off when he ran to her. “But how did you do that?”

Jughead let’s go of her and helps her sit up. “I don’t know. I wasn’t able to heal you and then you kissed me and that did it. I’m so sorry, Betty. I shouldn’t have let you continue investigating after that threat. It’s my fault. I don’t know what I would have done if you died.”

Betty places a hand on his arm. “It’s NOT your fault, Jughead. It was my own choice. And besides, I’m not dead, am I? We’re okay.”

She gives him a small smile. “So the kiss did it, huh?”

Jughead’s face turns red. “Yeah, I guess so. W - Why did you do it? Kiss me?”

Betty looks into the distance. “Well I didn’t want to die without having done that at least once.”

“Kissed a boy?”

Betty looks back at him and chuckles. “No. Kissed you.”

Jughead’s heart is threatening to jump out of his rib cage now. “Betty.... when I was healing you, I saw some things. Memories. Of us when we were kids. What was all that?”

“You saw that? How embarrassing.” It’s Betty’s turn to blush. 

“What did it all mean? You not liking Archie. And -” Jughead hesitates. “And you being in love with me.”

Betty studies her hands. Her fingernails have dried blood under them. She takes a deep breath.

“Jughead, I’m not going to deny it. I do have feelings for you. All that you saw was real. How could it not be? You’re one of the best people I know, Jughead. And I get it if you don’t feel the sa -”

But Jughead interrupts.

“Betty Cooper, I have been in love with you since that day in third grade when you told Chuck Clayton to leave me alone. I have loved you every day, every hour, and every minute since then. I love you for showing me the brighter part of life, for making me smile when no one else does. I love you for giving me the courage to share my thoughts without worrying about other people’s opinion. You are my family, Betty. More so than my blood relations. I love the way you bite your lip when you’re nervous, I love the way you’re eyebrows scrunch up when you’re concentrating hard, I love how you sneak food at bake sales because your mom won’t let you have too many calories. You are kind, and strong, and beautiful. By God, you’re beautiful. Even a writer like me could never find enough words to tell you how good of a person you are. And without you, I don’t know how I would have gotten through the years. You make me whole, Betty Cooper. You bring out the best of me. And with all that I am, I love you.”

Jughead finishes and his head is spinning. What the hell was that? He’s going to have scared her away for good now. That was too much, too early. He looks a her face, scared.

Betty looks astonished. But a smile slowly spreads across her face. She takes his face in her small hands and looks him straight in the eye.

“And I love you.”

This time it’s him who leans in and their lips meet. He’s flying and crashing and burning all at the same time. His hands cradle her face, and her fingers find their way into his hair. She pulls him close, kissing him hard. Her lips are oh, so soft against his, nothing like he’s ever imagined. He flicks his tongue against her lips and she lets out a moan, gripping his hair tighter.

The sound of police sirens cause them to break apart, but Jughead doesn’t take his eyes off of her.

“I fully intend to finish this later.” 

They stand up, hand in hand and walk towards the noise. Betty’s wearing Jughead’s jacket to cover the blood stains and both that and the shirt Jughead’s wearing are dark enough so the blood stains don’t show too clearly. They reach the front of the building and see Sheriff Keller, still in a suit, talking to a policeman as two others push the hooded figures from earlier into a cop car.

“Looks like they got them after all. There’s going to be a lot of questions, you know.” Jughead squeezes Betty’s hand. She leans into him.

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes. Right now I want a burger from Pop’s.”

“Betty,” Jughead says, turning to her. “You almost just died and we’re covered in blood.”

“I want Pop’s,” Betty replies, simply. She’s looking at him with her big doe eyes and he can’t say no. He shakes his head, laughing.

“Come on, let’s go.”

They walk to Jughead’s car, fully aware that they will have to report their encounter with the masked people and there will be an investigation following it all. There are too many things to worry about so Jughead pushes it all out his mind. He’s with Betty and she didn’t die. He healed her somehow. How he did it will remain a mystery but what matters is that she’s alive. As they head to Pop’s, Jughead realizes that right now, he couldn’t be happier.

This is LONG overdue. And I mean LOOOOONG. I had exams to deal with so I couldn’t write but now I have finally finished it. This one is based off of @frostbite883 ‘s prompt. I really hope you guys like it and have fun reading it. I’ll have more fics coming out soon if all goes according to plan. Once again, sorry for the delay!

XOXO

Rhea

[bloojayoolie]

Advice, Ali, and Bad: When you want to show off your marks from knife play but don't think that would do When you realize a bunch of people here have similar kinks as you, but then realize that everyone here seems to be playing online and/or monogamous and you're a poly sub that needs physical contact. redd it When the friend that just played you twice in one night at the dungeon opens group brainstorming on mean things to do to you. iredd i well K. ireddt 344 ubmitted 2 months ar d 40 Flufty | Fuckable NSFW 19 comments share save hide give award report crosspost Submitted 2 months ago by 40 Flutffy Fuckable NSFW 25 comments share save hide give award report crosspost Fuckable N5EW 78 comments share save hide aive award report crosspost JUNE I-g d 40 Fluffy | Fuckable S. 47 points 2 months ago I got flogged on a St. Andrew's Cross and then she and another friend did wax play on me while I was blindfolded and she cut it off with a knife... And d 23 points 2 months ago 40| Fluty | Fuckable S while I was dropping and sleepy she started brainstorming "What other I can't wear my bra because itchy healing lines! It kinda feels like I'm hiding a secret... mean things can I do to Allie?" So far... Needles, sounding, fire play, blood cupping (maybe), orgasm torture (not denial), and Ummm insertions and strapon play. I have to clear some of this with my polycule. So far they all approve. t 17 points 2 months ago 40 Fluffy Fuckable Wtf is "knife play"? turns out I had an audience... I don't mind. Also H g 40 Flufty Fuckable 32 points 2 months ago Bdsm/kink play where one person takes a blade and drags it over your skin, with or without cutting. 3 points 2 months ago That... sounds really hot, except for the needles (whee, phobia). As Without cutting it can be fear play, predicament bondage, or sensation play. You can actually leave welts without drawing blood if you have a sharp enough knife. With cutting all of that still applies, but add blood and pain. long as its all safe. Although, what is blood cupping? 50 points 3 months ago HX x I'm a masochist, so I have long shallow cuts across my chest. H 401 Flufty | Fuckable 22 points 2 months ago When you've been single for over a year and the only physical contact you get is from your dogs :( Small incisions and then cupping over them to pull out blood by vacuum. In this case she wants to do that and then flog me while I'm sensitized by it. This is on the 'maybe' list because blood is a soft limit (almost a hard limit) for me normally, but I trust her. -frustrates sub sounds- When you miss having a dominant irl but are scared to even look for one due to how it ended last time. reddit Submitted 4 months ago by NSFW 11 comments share save hide give award report crosspost permalnk save report give award reply H 7 30 points 3 months ago just make sure not to cum on your cats ed 40 | Flufty | Fuckable permaink save parent report give award reply HM 18 points 2 months ago permalink save parent report gve award reply Ah. That sounds really intense and painful. All of this hot BDSM is more things I'd probably enjoy watching. I think wax play is about as painful as I like. 24 points 3 months ago Lots of cat qirls around here looking to get cummed on . - Lyra/Kitten/Mommy slut for ur juices HRT started 2019-1-11 4 points d 40 | Flufty | Fuckable 17 points 2 months ago I'm... Not a pain slut, but I'm a bit of a masochist... ed 40 Flufty Fuckable 11 points 2 months ago Needles came up because I really want to get my nipples pierced be willing to traln dd What I do with my pussy none of your concern and she thinks her ple And she loves marking people but scars are a hard limit for me HA Knife play is yes please, but cutting is a 'no'. It's a very fine line. (ao) HJ a 3 points 2 months ago 2.1 point 3 months ago HS Hey we got the same name (though mine spelled "Ali"). Represent I don't even have a dog to get physical contact from. permalink save parent report give award reply d 40 | Fluffy Fuckable 3 points 2 months ago It's short for Allison! :) HA n 27 points 3 months ago Poly switch transbian cuddleslut here We exist I swear. m 8 points 2 months ago H f just want to hug all the catgirls 14 points 3 months ago t H My gods, that sounds like a hell of an evening. I love seeing other keen Poly switch transbian cuddleslut doms, it makes me up my game. She does sound veeeery keen! Am glad to hear your going to have fun! t mel Hey, a e Sometimes female, sometimes enby, always kinky 5 points 3 months ago d 40 Fluty | Fuckable S. 18 points 2 months ago H There's a few of us I'm still floating a bit, 2 days later. We need to do negotiation some. She can't own me (my polycule would lose it and I love them) and that makes things a little odd. We're not romantic either. We're good friends and her alpha primal resonates wildly with my pet and prey drives. H No - LyraKitten/Mommy slut for ur juices | HRT started 2019-1-11 4 points 20 points 4 months ago Subby Introverted Kitten permalink save parent report gve award reply me too thanks (except inm actually bi not lesbian but bi culture is just I'm so sorry.... I'm sure you will find someone that will take good care of you! saying gay/les to fit in easier) t HH n I get that, sometimes a partner just clicks! Hope the comedown wasn't too hard on you. The solution I've found worked with my cule is having playmate status with folks, sort of commitment but only in a playtime sense (and the emotional responsibility with it.) 1 points 2 months ago pemalink save report give award reply pemmalnk save parent report give award reply d. 40 | Fluffy Fuckable 0 points 4 months ago H Le ph 3 points 3 months ago I feel silly and selfish because I have romantic partners, but my D/s aspects are a large part of who I am. Hell, I'm still with my old dominant on a non D/s basis. Clone, get back in containment! Basically, her PTSD and emotional issues got on top of her over the summer and instead of dealing with it she ended up abusing me pretty heavily ending with a breach of trust that left me dissociative and feeling 40 | Fluffy | Fuckable S-12 points 2 months ago ed worthless. .9 points 3 months ago Mine is complicated for two reasons: 7 months later I'm still not sexual with any of my rl partners really and I miss sub space and that feeling of belonging... And I don't even know how to go about looking for someone as a poly transbian even though I Poly Domme lesbian here we are a thing lol I have 3 partners I live with One used to be my domme, but couldn't handle the the kink community. am active 5 points 3 months ago responsibility it entailed. permairk save parent repart gnve award reply Another I'm still working out dynamics with because both of us are sub bottoms (different types) and neither of us pursue. Yes hello. If it's your girl friend who you have had for years. Do the sex at me a Subby Introverted Kitten 10 points 4 months ago C again as we commonly do. I'm so sorry.... don't feel bad. It's not silly or selfish to miss being a part of who you are... finding a new dom, I have no experience so I don't know how to help... as for permalink save parent report give award reply Things are cleared now with all but that last and I'll talk to her tonight or tomorrow. k 6 points 3 months ago Hs What 401 Fluffy | Fuckable nalun 12 points 4 months ago d n 7 points 2 months ago Oh, I dont Just needed to say something... I think the wives are tired of me having emotional breakdow can see how the history could make things complex, I'm . glad it's all been okayed with two of them, let's hope for H Je a 5 points 3 months ago the third! Then go have some fun. :P same here except sub! e Subby Introverted Kitten 6 points 4 months ago HC Hey... You can't control your emotions, if they don't want to help you through them then maybe they don't deserve you... ed 40I Flufty | Fuckable 11 points 2 months Fun either way. Just mooooooore fun with approval. Insertions and orgasm torture need approval and well... Being strapped to a table with a Hitachi bound against me and getting tortured sounds like heaven. pemalink save parent report gve award reply j 4 25 MTF, mega submissive, has a cuddle kink 6 points 3 months ago 40 | Flufty I Fuckable S6 points 4 months ago H9 Poly people unite <3 cross while filled, I have 3 partners. 1 is trans. 2 are cis female. We all live together. All, including me, suffered emotional or physical abuse when younger. They support me. They care. But if all we did was discuss our emotional issues we'd never get to the bottom of them and we still wouldn't be 'fixed' in any way. I could tell any of them that I need to cry at them and they'd be happy to listen and comfort me. It would also add to their emotional burden at a time when we've all been on the edge of breaking down. It's been a rough 2 months Not my best picture, but I dyed a huge black stripe in my hair last night and couldn the over conditioning to go away before sharing >.< (redd.it) submitted 4 munds bide give award report crosspost 5 comments sha n4 points 2 months ago HH That sounds like a lot of fun, you've given me some ideas too... My own 'cule may have say thank you at some point. here. o come pemaink save parent repart grve award reply 2 points 4 months ago I'm sure they all still love you and care about what you are going through. How elser are you supposed to fix your emotional issues if you don't talk to someone about e Subby Introverted Kiten d 40 Fluffy | Fuckable 4 points 2 :) if you want to bounce thoughts or anything feel free to pm. them... HM Oh gosh that pic hits hard... Feels like when I try to sub my emotions take over and as much as I crave it I end up bawling and scared at the slightest punishment even though I love my Dom.. He k 2 points 2 months ago Hey, little off topic and feel free to decline to answer. A few months ago I started dating two wonderful girls, and there has been talk of moving in togetherelationship, and I'm urious looking to r When you lost count at 10 already but your partner goes "congratulations, you're multi-orgasmic" and you realize she's nowhere near done yet. Submitted 3 months ago by - NSFW 56 comments share save hide give award report crosspost future b y ts 561 are going to work, is there any advice you can offer? d 40 | Fluffy | Fuckable permalink save parent report give award reply 40| Flufty 4 points 2 months Fuckable It really depends on you. We all share a bedroom. Two beds. We've had them pushed together at times for cuddle piles but right now they're separate for the convenience of a walk way. Then all our clothes go in our offices because there's no room for dressers in the bedroom pemaink save parent report give award reply 2 points 2 months ago Thank you, that's a great help. I was thinking two beds might be the answer myself but then I got in my own head about if I was just being insane... I'm sure we'll make it all make sense when it comes to it. 40 Fluffy Fuckable 2 points 2 H9 I lost count but... Gods.. gonna pass back out now.... d 40 | Flufty | Fuckable 151 points 3 months ago was near tears and too tired to scream anymore and just.. Unnnnnnnnffffff... I'm I'm starting to actually like my hair these days (40yo, 22months hrt) hotted d months 00 by ge When we had three, a California King bed worked, but someone always got stuck in the middle and overheated (usually m comment share save hide give award report crasspost permalink save parent report give award reply e 67 points 3 months ago HP it or was it after an op or anything? Holy fuck, NICE. Did you work up k 2 points 2 months ago tHe Yeah, trapping someone in the middle was also playing on my mind, constantly like 'what if they're too hot' 'what if they need to pee in the middle of the night what if they toss and turn'... I guess I just need to stop overthinking it and go permaink save parent repart grve award reply d 40| Flufty | Fuckable S 149 points 3 months ago Does not having sex for several months due to emotional instability and stress count as working up to it? I'm non-op, so no operation involved. I've been able to hit 2-5 with a lot of luck and work since about 6 months in. Mostly luck. with the flow? Tonight, my partner told me she was stone butch for the evening and I wasn't allowed to touch in response, then basically played me like a piano with the magic wand and toys and wouldn't let me orgasm for awhile. Then she ramped things up and up while still backing off every time I got close until I was basically just a needy puddle... then hit my switches all at once and wouldn't stop for a bit even when I was begging. By then I was hypersensitive and she let me calm down for just a minute and - 40 | Fluffy | Fuckable s 2 points 2 months ago Yeah.... You usually figure out what you need. Two beds with the then began teasing and realized I was still going, so she started very gentle and then kept ramping up on different places and backing off again. walkway is nice. Sometimes I miss. the huge cuddle pile while sleeping but not overheating and being able to go pee are pretty awesome Favorite memory tonight *after I suddenly came again without any idea why and sort of lost a few seconds*: permaink save parent repart gve award reply Her: "You are such a girl." Me: "What?" Her: "You just came because I told you I love you."Me: "Was that what you said?" Her: "Uh huh... and you looked really confused and went 'What the fu-" and came again." Me: "I love you too..." Also: "Oh god no stop what are you doing' isn't your safe word so I'm gonna keep going." The sexual revolution and its consequences have been a disaster for the human race.

[dreamofcentipedes]

(1) This chapter opens with a shot of an agehamodoki/butterfly moth (this again, which also happens to represent Touka as well as ghouls, particularly because Touka again is like the ghoul represent in TG) on the floor, seemingly part of all the debris in the abandoned building they have converted to a makeshift love hotel. A butterfly moth is like a fake/imitation, while actual butterflies are associated with illusion/dreams. awkward virgin sex.

(2) The mole on Touka’s breast, actually quite a few characters in TG have conspicuous moles which reminded me that “mole reading” is a thing. According to some Chinese and Indian fortune-telling beliefs, where a person has a mole can indicate something about their life be it their personality or prospects with various things like luck, wealth, love, etc. I have no idea from a preliminary search what a mole on the right breast means as you get widely varying results that can’t be considered 

conclusive. Note that at some point sheets appear under the pair. It’s like magic, because sex on a dirty floor is not too sexy is it? At one point Kaneki references last chapter’s hookline with “ah am I really doing this with Touka-chan?”. The OEK can’t unhook a girl’s bra lol Personally I find this panel kind of off-putting and unnecessary, but before Kaneki uh, gets going, Touka is posed like an angel with the sheets spread out like her wings.

(4) This is to denote her innocence which is about to be lost. You could also see those as her butterflymoth wings, which gives a different connotation of Touka not being what she seems…Of course the most unsettling part of this chapter is at the end, at which Kaneki unconsciously starts to cry right during the thick of things, but this is not the worst part. 

(5) The last page is a spread of Kaneki curled up in fetal position head resting on Touka’s lap as she understandingly and gently strokes his head, and interestingly enough the sheets(that came from nowhere) are creased to resemble an outline of the butterfly moth. So, wtf does all this even mean?

(5) First off the fetal position represents child-like vulnerability. Having sex with Touka, a girl he claims is quite attractive to him meant to be his lover, somehow unconsciously triggers something within Kaneki that upsets him to the degree that it leaves him feeling vulnerable as a child again.But why would this be? A few weeks prior Ishida posted a poem on his tumblr accompanied by artwork of Kaneki curled up in fetal position, which to me seems to have been about childbirth or

(6) mother-child relationship. Touka also appeared in a recent colour cover in which a blood splatter appears over the area where her womb could be, implying some connection to motherhood. If you put two and two together, Kaneki’s breakdown this chapter is related to his mother issues which seem to have been overlapped with Touka. Not good.

(7) The sex was actually “too good to be true”. Instead of Kaneki feeling whole and loved he broke down after being reminded of his troubled relationship with his mother. This spells trouble for the two as lovers, as it seems to indicate that Kaneki won’t be able to love and be loved until he can get over the issues of abandonment by his mother which has left him deeply scarred. That even when Touka was willing to both emotionally and physically give herself to Kaneki,

(8) it wasn’t enough to heal his heart like she had hoped. This I would guess is the “dream” part of the whole thing. Ishida’s way of dangling a carrot only to bring down the stick. (entire chapter of happy sex, you wish). It’s actually kind of a downer for TouKen shippers even though Ishida played it straight. For me, I didn’t care about the sex or the ship so I was able to dedicate my attentions to locating the origins of the mysterious sheets lol

Uhm, really can’t say I agree with this interpretation. The moth represents metamorphosis. Several moths have also appeared throughout the series during key events of change, like when Eto reveals to the world that she’s a Ghoul, for example. Its focus is to suggest a huge change in Kaneki’s emotional state, and as the Tarot of the Sun indicates, it’s a positive one which leads to greater wholeness in Kaneki. And before you might argue that the Tarot is reversed, a reversed Sun indicates “unrecognised hope” which fits Touka to a tee - in avoiding Touka, Kaneki didn’t realise she was his hope. Even if you don’t agree with that interpretation, it’s definite that the Sun is never a negative card, even when reversed.

Touka has had wing imagery for ages, long before she had anything to do with moths. She’s an ukaku and carries the image of a caged bird: “Your wing can’t fly anywhere”, “This world is like a twisted birdcage”, and also feeling explicitly sorry for an actual bird in an actual cage. Even if imagery here is meant to represent moth wings, which I contest, that wouldn’t be a bad thing either because the moth represents change and as the Tarot indicates, change here is positive.

Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar and a mole is just a mole. Likely just for the sake of showing a realistic but still beautiful body.

Blankets are symbolic of warmth. Even if they’re actually doing it on a hard, dirty floor, the moment is so wonderful to them it feels no different than being on silk blankets. They give each other warmth in the cold, they give each other happiness in a world of pain.

Touka’s angelic appearance has nothing to do with the outdated concept of ‘losing innocence’ (she’s killed people for crying out loud). The image is reminiscent of our old friend the Sun Tarot - Touka practically glows with light above our naked child Kaneki. 

See how the darkness at the bottom of the page is dispelled by the light that Touka is bathed in? The positioning of her hands and the blanket behind her evokes angel symbolism to reinforce her imagery as a celestial being that brings light to Kaneki. It’s only “off-putting” and “unnecessary” if it doesn’t lend itself to your theory - for Sun Theory, it’s a giant boost.

Kaneki cried tears of happiness upon seeing Touka again in :re, and his tears here are meant to reflect that occasion, even to the extent that he has to be told that he is crying, and then asked why. He doesn’t provide an explanation in either case, but in both, it’s clear it’s because he holds strong romantic feelings for Touka. Haise’s inner monologue in :re confirmed this then, and Kaneki moving in for the kiss immediately afterwards confirmed it now. He’s crying because he’s finally found what he’s been searching for.

Your analysis in the next section relies on incorrect information. The caption for that image was “Don’t hit me, father”. It never mentioned a mother. Additionally, Kaneki (if it is him) isn’t in the same position in that image as he is in this chapter - in the image, his hands are wrapped around his legs, an image indicating curling up from abuse rather than a foetal position. 

Also, if this was a mother-related breakdown, why would Ishida be so randomly obtuse? His mother isn’t mentioned at all this chapter and unlike every other time Kaneki’s realised something about her, she doesn’t appear in his mind’s eye. If that’s what Ishida intended, wouldn’t the obvious thing to do would be for after Kaneki starts crying to have a small panel with the words “…Mother?” or the outline of her face? As it is, I’m afraid you’re drawing something from nothing here. 

Kaneki is in a foetal position for three reasons: 1) To hearken back to the image of him in a solitary foetal position vs him now with Touka to indicate the end of his loneliness. 2) To indicate that he is being reborn once more, imagery that we’ve also seen when he battled his suicidal urges vs Arima. 3) To appear childlike and naked as Touka smiles on above to match the Sun Tarot Card.

You argue that Kaneki won’t be able to love or be loved after he started crying, but you ignore that extremely passionate image of love-making that immediately followed it. And you say she couldn’t heal his heart, despite looking utterly peaceful with the Sun Tarot right next to him. This supposed stick seems totally illusory. Is it so hard to believe that we’d be given a carrot after facing the stick for so long?

This is why I can’t agree with your theory, anon - that, and because it flies in the face of the entire feeling and emotional impact of the chapter, aspects which certainly should not be ignored. You might not be interested in the ship, but Ishida has always seemed quite invested.

[sincerelybluevase]

Sunday Symbolism: Turnadette and Hands, Part 2

I’ve decided to make this post into three parts instead of two, because there is just a lot to talk about. I’ll be speaking about season 3 and 4 in this post, and then about seasons 5 and 6 in the third and final part.

 Season 3 and 4 are a bit different when we compare it to the second season with regard to hands. This is to be expected: after all, Shelagh and Patrick are married now, and no longer a nun and a doctor feeling things they should not be feeling. I’ve noted every instance in which there’s hand-holding or another important thing regarding hands. We’re going to see that it is often Patrick who reaches out for Shelagh to comfort her (showing us Patrick is usually the one to instigate physical contact), even though there are exceptions. Let’s go!

The first instance of handholding takes place in the 2014 Christmas Special. When Patrick and Shelagh are discussing some of the details of their wedding, Patrick is holding her hand and almost toying with it, lightly tapping it to punctuate his words (he talks about the wedding bouquet he has ordered). He also draws patterns on the back of her hand. It is a small moment that shows the beginning of their physical intimacy (Shelagh’s body language, for instance, is still a bit distant; she leans back rather than towards her husband).

The next moment in which hands play an important role also takes place in CS2014: after Timothy has been hospitalised with a serious bout of polio, Shelagh returns to the hospital to support her stepson and her husband. She takes Patrick’s hand and kisses it. This scene is meaningful because of several things: 1) it directly echoes the way Patrick kisses Shelagh’s hand, but 2)this time, it is Shelagh who does the kissing. She is the one to initiate this physical intimacy, showing her affection and understanding for her future husband’s pain. I think it also shows us that she will be the strong one, now, and that it’s OK for Patrick to lean on her and draw strength from her.

Of course, there’s also the hand holding during the wedding, which again shows affection and love.

 What CS2014 and Season 2 have done, is establishing hand-holding as the ‘standard’ physical way of the Turners to show their love and affection for each other. Season 3 and 4 continue to add to this idea and develop it further. We will see that these two mainly hold hands in emotional times, whether these are happy or sad.

 In S03X01, there’s the case of the baby’s nightdress. Shelagh is sewing a nightdress for a baby. When Patrick thinks this is Shelagh’s way of telling him some good news, he immediately offers her his hand to show her how happy he is. Shelagh hesitates, takes his hand, then tells him there’s no good news yet. They then stroke each other’s hands during the rest of the conversation.

 If S03X01 gave us a case of happy hand-holding, S03X03 gives us a sad one: Shelagh has surgery to discover why she has stopped menstruating and why she is not conceiving. The cause: the TB scarred her pelvic organs, rendering her infertile. It is Patrick who tells Shelagh this bad news. He takes her hand whilst doing it, to show her his love for her and that she is not alone.

 Patrick does not always reach out to comfort his wife, though; there are instances in which he takes her hand because he needs to draw comfort from her, rather than give it. S03X04 shows us this: When they’re talking about Alec’s death, Patrick reaches out and firmly grasps Shelagh’s hand. I think he needs her support. This is not just a case of Patrick needing Shelagh’s strength; the topic turns to Shelagh’s infertility, and since Patrick is already holding her hand, he can now caress it and show her that he shares her pain. It is an instance of both drawing comfort from and giving comfort to the other.

 Not all hand-related scenes these two seasons relate to stroking and holding, though. In S03X05, there’s the infamous finger-wagging. Shelagh chastises Patrick for leaving Timothy to his own devices. She worries about his physical condition, and speaks harshly. Patrick then wags his finger at her and tells her that she shouldn’t be so hard on him or on herself, and that she should try not to smother Timothy. This scene has been discussed A LOT in the fandom, but I’ll still give my two cents. Now, the finger-wagging is authoritarian, and I don’t feel it is something Patrick should do to his wife. However, he has been living with his son alone for quite a while, and is not entirely used to having a fellow adult (in Season 5, we see him wagging his finger when he gets angry at Timothy, which leads me to believe that it is something he does quite a lot in arguments). It shows the audience that the Turners love each other, but they also have work to do. They’ve only been married a couple of months and didn’t live together prior to that. It is only logical that they’re going to make mistakes, and that includes going about the way they argue.

 I think it is important to note that, from here on, there’s a bit of a gap in the hand-holding. Sure, these two hold hands in S03X06 when they’re talking about the possibility of a baby (both hands, in fact, showing us just how intensely they feel about this topic), but between that, the disastrous interview, and their reconciliation, there is no hand-holding. This is logical; these two are becoming more and more distant during this period, which is reflected in the way they behave around each other physically. It is therefore logical that the next instance of hand-holding takes place in S03X08: Shelagh grabs Patrick’s hand when he tells her he’s sorry. She reaches out to him. Again, this is important, because we’ve seen that in 9/10 cases, it is Patrick who initiates this type of contact. Shelagh has been trying to get close to her husband again the entire episode, only for Patrick to refute her. Here, he accepts her hand. He lets his wife get close to him, which is exactly what is needed for their reconciliation to be successful. After they’ve both apologised for what happened and promised to do better in the future, Patrick kisses Shelagh’s hand again. This underlines yet again how emotionally charged this conversation was, and echoes earlier scenes of hand-kissing in which Patrick also made promises (the engagement).

To show us that, yes the Turners really are better and stronger after what they’ve just gone through, we have a second instance of hands+Turners in this episode. When Shelagh is picking out a new song for the choir, Patrick reaches out to her, envelopes her in his arms, and they dance. Things are better than they were before: not only is Patrick back to instigating physical and emotional proximity, Shelagh also embraces this. This is the first scene in which we see them in such an intimate way (he holding her close, his hand splayed on her back….)

 I’d say we can establish how emotional a conversation/event is for the Turners based on how they go about their hands:

Holding one hand> holding two hands> hand kisses.

A combination of one of these means extra emotion, of course.

 Season 4 continues very much in the same vein for the first few episodes. In  S04X01, Shelagh tells Patrick she misses working. It shows us that these two are now communicating properly. Also, because it is a somewhat difficult topic for Shelagh, there is hand-holding.

Luckily, Season 4 also gives us a bit of happy-hands. S04X04 shows us that Patrick is proud of his darling wife (she has successfully delivered a baby, even though she hasn’t done such a thing in over a year), and shows it by offering her his hand, then pulling her close and kissing her hand and cradling it over his heart.

 S04X05 is a Turner-heavy episode, and yet another breakthrough in the Turner marriage. Hand-wise, it starts out as we would expect: Shelagh and Patrick hold hands for comfort. This happens when Patrick feels the emotional impact of having to take a baby away from its parents, even though he believes it to be the right thing (the baby has suffered several broken bones, and he suspects that the parents have brutally abused the child). We do not stick to this familiar pattern, though. Patrick discovers he has made a mistake in taking the baby away from its parents (it suffers from a rare condition that causes broken bones). On top of that, he is also clearly overworked, and gets close to a nervous breakdown. When Shelagh suspects something is wrong, she reaches out for Patrick. He tries to avoid physical contact. I think he does this because he would have to acknowledge that something is wrong if he lets his wife comfort him, and he doesn’t want to do that. Shelagh is no fool, though, and forces him to take a break (the tremor in Patrick’s hands are also clear indicators that there’s definitely something wrong with the poor man). Luckily, the Turners emerge stronger from this incident. This time, we do not have reconciliation through a kiss on the hand, though. Instead, we get a hug and a proper kiss (yay! Physical intimacy progress!) Some things change (Patrick realises it is alright to ask support from his wife; Shelagh goes back to work,) but some things remain the same. The way they show love for each other, particularly, continues to be through hand-holding, though this episode has started a pattern of kisses, too.

The last instance of Season 4 happens in S04X07: when there’s a fire in the maternity home, Patrick naturally is concerned about his wife. They’re not the types for lots of public signs of affection, but he does take her hand and squeezes it to show her that he is relieved she is alright.

After they’ve discovered the baby mix-up, they’re also holding hands. This fits the previously established muster of hand-holding when discussing difficult and/or emotional topics.

Well, that’s all for this week, guys! Next week, I’ll discuss Season 5 and 6, so stay tuned for that!

[anxiousaalums]

From a Writer to a DM

Dear DM’s (Dungeon Masters),

I haven’t played that much DND (Dungeons & Dragons) but I have already learned a lot. I only have experience with one DM so please bear with me.

Why are almost all campaigns in a similar setting. Almost always, they are in the stereotypical fantasy with little to no technology. Why not have a modern version with rogues being drug dealers, hitmen, them shoplifting from a gas station, ect. Rangers being vets or working at a zoo. 

Have coffee shops that put potions in the customers beverages, such as

Confidence Boost: “I have an important meeting today with some employers we’re trying to make a major deal with so a couple shots of confidence in my coffee would be greatly appreciated.”

Love/Flirtation/Romance: “I’m trying to find a (spouse/boyfriend/girlfriend) so if you add the aroma of (love/flirtation/romance) in my latte, that would be great. *gives cashier their phone number* Call me. *wink*.”

Healing (can be any kind of healing: physical, mental, emotional, ect.): “I just got dumped by my (spouse/boyfriend/girlfriend) so if I could get some tea with a healing potion instead of (creamer/milk/sugar/whatever the character/player/npc likes in their beverage of choice) would be nice.”

Some potions could even illegal such as:

Trust: Can lead to sexual assault/rape, kidnapping, & even murder

Guilt: Can very easy be messed up if not handled properly, can also lead to suicide since it only gets worse after being exposed to it in some way shape or form (does wear off after a certain amount of time, but gradually, not all of a sudden)

Hopelessness: Many people think that if they give someone this, they will become that persons only hope. This is sadly not the case & can also lead to suicide if not counter acted with a potion of Hopefulness. This potion is also difficult to see how much hopelessness it will give the person since it impacts everyone differently (does have some kind of impact on everyone who ingest it), only the person taking the potion could really know how its going to impact them & even then that’s an if.

Have the players go to school, from..

Magic school 

College 

University 

High school 

Middle school 

Elementary school

Military school

& anything else you can come up with (or even a combination of them (Magi Academy: School for the Magically Gifted))

 Have the librarian be someone the players/characters can go to get information from. 

Have counselors, have it to where players/characters can go to an npc to ask them to help an npc or a party member.

You could have it to where they work at fast food, or they might be a CEO of their own company.

Have it to where characters do get their feelings hurt, where they can go down the wrong path, betray the party, work for the bad guys. Make a point system to measure mental/emotional growth in the players characters. For good growth, tlg: tender loving growth. For bad growth, chg: callous hatred growth. Maybe have it to where in some circumstances, they can cancel the other out.

Have the players question if they are truly fighting for the good guys. Have the players actually be fighting for the bad guys all along. Make the party wonder if the bad guy(s) is/are actually bad or simply misguided. 

Make the important npc’s very fleshed out, don’t just create one simply because you need to have one or else it would just be the party & some monsters. If you need to come up with one quickly, maybe use one of your characters you have played as in another session/game, or uses npcs you have previously used. If your creating an npc before hand, make sure you have their motives, behavior, vocabulary, & looks down. Maybe they have a nasty scar & that’s them realizing that they should do something about it, maybe fight back, run away & build an army, or where they just simply run away & hide.

Make sure your players characters are well thought out, from background, personality, behavior, motives, ect. Maybe have some personality traits on a strips of paper & make them draw from a hat. The one they draw they must include in their character. Make sure that your players characters have weaknesses other than, they aren’t immune to fire damage. But something that impacts them on a personal level, like them having ptsd, or simply they are a compulsive liar. Anything that can be considered a weakness should be an option for the player to incorporate in their characters (or your npcs). Sometimes, weaknesses can also be a strength. Like them having trust issues could make them wary of who they work for, but suspicious of the party members.

Setting is a very important thing, so you want to makes sure both you & the players have a clear image of what it looks like. If their is an item in the location they can later use in the story (even if not in that specific location) point it out, maybe a player will grab it, you don’t know. A good thing to do when writing about locations is to have a list of the locations the players will likely go to often or more than once. Bullet points are a good way to do this.

The Outlook (Pub/Restaurant/Cafe)

Props

(what is there, what is around them, what do the props look like)

(give detail if an item can come to use later in the game or is just a good item to have on them)

Conditions

(what are the conditions of the place: old or new? what does it smell like? what does it look like: dated, remodeled, or just constructed? ect.)

Patrons:

(what do they look like? what type of people are they? is there more than one type of person there (scholar to barbarian)

Employees/Employers

(how do they treat the party? how do they treat newcomers compared to regulars? ect.)

(what are their uniform(s) like? are they old? are they new? just washed? have they been in battle?)

Chekhov’s Gun is a great way to handle situations that are soon to come. Telling a player that there’s a gun on the wall, should be used later on, or go off. If you really want to make the chances higher of this working, have your players take notes of the things you describe & what’s going on around them.

Mood, this can be used to give players a sense of dread, hope, loss, ect. An easy way to do this is setting.

A dark & gloomy mansion full of life

A bright & colorful mansion without a wink of life

A village, covered in shadows. But the townsmen gossip, so full of life & beauty. they walk around, saying hello to their fellow people

A village covered in light, beauty. But no one is out & about, no a whisper of the wind, not a peep of a mouse, no life all around

Contradiction is a very good way to do this as well. It leaves the players wondering what is going on (especially for the ones that seem to have no problems until given (an) extra piece(s) of information that changes all of that (2nd & 4th)). It’s a very nice way to let them know that something is wrong. Have them do investigation checks to see if they notice anything off in the area (this would work best for the 2nd & 4th example).

Notice the little things, such as how the characters treat their party members or npc’s. Or how the players character reacts in certain situations. Sense players tend to be memey & never take things seriously, use that against them. It will make you stand out against other DM’s, & probably make them want to do another campaign with you. Allowing players to form close bonds with npc’s or other characters is an amazing way of doing this. Especially when you either have it to where they almost lost that npc or party member or lose them entirely. Maybe have them in a battle & not mention that an npc died during it until the end where they find the body or hear their final words, breathe, scream, ect. (Make sure you do this after they have formed a close, emotional bond with this npc or character (or at least that their character has)). You also want to kill them off properly & not just for the sack of killing someone off.

If forming a ship for the sack of it sailing, make sure that it’s realistic. If they two (or more) characters don’t get along, it won’t be a healthy relationship. You have to show that. Don’t just allow two character (players characters getting together, npc & players character, or two npcs) for the sack of a ship. It’s not realistic, it’s fanfiction (really trashy fanfiction that doesn’t make any sense), a crack ship. If the relationship won’t work out, show that, do that. You want real relationships. Your players may be happy that they got together, but it won’t be real. People don’t suddenly change their ways cause their dating someone. People don’t forgive & forget easily. It takes time, healing takes time. If a character was/is bullied by another character, it's not gonna change just because their all of a sudden dating. Abusive relationships are real, they do happen. if you know that the relationship will be abusive or it already is, it’s not gonna change with a snap of a finger (much to Thanos’ disappointment). People aren’t going to just accept an apology from an abuser & move on. They are going to be weary, they may start a relationship, but the way the relationship works doesn’t change with a single kiss or confession.

Relationships are important, if someone (player or npc) did something to someone else (player or npc). The trust isn’t going to come back with a single apology (though this could be possible, its difficult to pull off if you don’t know how the relationship works). The relationship needs to be real, not a fantasy.

Plot, simple enough. But you need to have it roughly planned out. Even then, it needs to be open to change since you can’t exactly predict how the players are going to act or react in certain situations. So it needs to be open, able to change. A good way to do this is too have the things down that won’t change. Like who the antagonist or villain (they are two different things) is, their motives, plans (even then it might change due to the players actions so be wary of that), setting, & npc’s.

I have a character that I play as who could possibly be in the category of the antagonist but not villain. Yet he could also be considered an ally at the same time.

An antagonist: a person who actively opposes or is hostile to someone or something; an adversary.

A villain: a character whose evil actions or motives are important to the plot.

An ally: a person or organization that cooperates with or helps another in a particular activity.

Allies don’t always agree with the protagonist, thought they may still help them out, it may not be in the way the protagonist wants them too.

My character, Aku Morninstar (a rogue tiefling), thinks of the villian, Sam, as a friend more than a foe due to Sam being a decent person to him when they first met at a bar. Aku doesn’t want Sam to get hurt & refuses to fight him even after Sam tried to burn him alive. He actively opposes the rest of the party so that he doesn’t have to fight Sam & will even try to get the others to stop fighting Sam as well.

Aku also understands the pain Sam is going through, having just lost his ghost wife due to the party. He understands what it’s like to lose the love of your life. He understands that this isn’t the real Sam their dealing with, but a grieving Sam. He knows what its like not to have someone there to help you through the grieving process & he wants to make sure that Sam has someone there for him. Even if would end up getting killed in the end. He knows that everyone needs someone while their grieving, he understands that you will always be grieving once the process starts. He knows the process will never end, it just gets easier to manage over time.

As you can see, Aku is not only an ally but an antagonist as well to the party. But he is not a villain. He knows that what Sam is doing is harmful to everyone around him, but he knows that Sam is only acting this way due to grieving the loss of his ghost wife.

A DM needs to know how to improvise on the spot, which is why I stated not to plan the plot out to much. This is not writing a book, this is creating a story. Stories change, books do not. Creating is not writing. You are not writing a campaign, you are creating one. I can not stress this enough. The only time you are writing a campaign is when a session is happening, & you are only writing what happens in the session (as in taking notes). If you want to prepare for the next session. Write down the VERY FIRST THING that will happen. I do this as a player, after a session is over, I plan out what my character is going to do next. THE VERY FIRST THING MY CHARACTER WILL DO IN THE NEXT SESSION! I don’t go & write out an entire action plan, even a loss one. If you do this, the more difficult it will be to improves.

If you do all of this (I know its a lot but bare with me). I can promise you that the experience not only for you but the players as well, will not only be more immersive, but enjoyable as well. I know that writing & being a DM are too different things. But I know that there are some things that over lap as well. Everyone wants to have a fun time. The DM I’m currently playing with is yes, enjoyable. But there are so many things that she could do that, even with the same story line, would make this campaign 10x better than it already is. I know this is a lot of work, I know its even more than a writers work. But remember, YOU ARE NOT A GOD OF THE CAMPAIGN! You are the narrator! Now go have some fun.

Sincerely, 

               A Very Triggered Writer