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imagine-knowing-a-name · 9 months

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we could be heroes

summary: with Natasha dead and forgotten to the world, your hurt leads you down a path she never wanted for you. It's up to Yelena to stop you before it goes too far.

Word Count: 2660 Pairing: Natasha Romanoff & daughter!Reader. Yelena Belova & Reader Warnings: Bit of angst with comfort at the end. Nat is dead. A/N: This is based on a prompt given to me by @lovely-nighttt. I also wrote this within a day and proofread it at 3am, so please excuse any mistakes lol. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

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Nobody cried at her funeral, if it could even be called that. Just a handful of people gathered around an empty coffin.

Clint's family alone accounted for half the attendance. Then there was you, Steve, Bruce, Maria, and Fury... that was it; nothing like Tony's funeral, with everyone in attendance and expert planning. This one was an afterthought, organised by a newly-orphaned 16 year old when no adult stepped up to do it.

She deserved a big procession. She deserved mournful tears and celebration for her actions. She deserved to be buried, not left on an unfamiliar planet in an unfamiliar time.

If you flew out to bring her home now, all you'd find is a skeleton left 9 years to rot.

You deserved to see your mother alive.

The world had changed now that she was gone; you were changed. And as hard as you tried, tears wouldn't come to your eyes because that wasn't what you were feeling. Without her to keep an eye on you, nobody noticed the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

The speeches finished and you slipped out. You didn't want to hear the sympathy, regret, or straight up excuses from those who had been alive during the Blip. You just wanted your mother, but the world wouldn't bring her back.

16 years old and alone in the world, you let anger fuel you. None of the Avengers offered you help, and bitterness stopped you from asking them for it, not when they cared so little about your mother that they wouldn't even check up on her child. You had no place of your own and no money to your name, but you were determined to get by on your own without any of their help.

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Natasha had never neglected you for work, she'd come home from missions undoubtedly tired, but still cook you a meal and ask about your day. Her days off would be spent with you, from cuddling up in a pillow fort for a movie marathon, to sparring in the fields outside -- but only because you'd asked to learn.

She was everything you wanted to be when you grew up, so her free time was spent training you to achieve that. You weren't as skilled as she had been at 16 but, unlike her, your survival had never depended on it. Natasha had never pushed or punished you in her training, but her calm teaching still gave you skills beyond the average person, and you planned to put them to use.

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You had lived well within the law all your life, never daring to stray even close to the line, lest the consequences come back to target not you, but your mother. Her grimace was still ingrained in your mind from when SHIELD agents came to talk to you. She had stood behind you when an agent knelt before you, and wrapped her arms around your shoulders in a subtle show of protectiveness.

You couldn't have been older than 5, but the agent explained the 'bad things your mommy did in the past' and emphasised the importance of the law to both of you. The threat of consequences on Natasha went over your head at the time, but now it was clear as day. You had looked back at her for confirmation of the truth, since her word was everything to you back then, but all you had seen was a blank glare at the agents, then a polite smile, before she caught your eye and gave the first genuine smile of the encounter.

Once they had left, she sat you down and explained her past in ways you could understand, namely that she had done some bad things, but now she was good, and that you should always be good.

"The difference between a hero and a villain," she had explained, when you were still young enough to believe in such things, "is not to do with the law. It's to do with morals. I need you to stay within the law for me, Y/N/N, otherwise the agents will come back again." You remembered the eye roll that accompanied the 'again', designed to make you laugh. "But when you're older... follow your morals, do everything you can to help people, not hurt them, even if it's against the law."

She had smiled after that and ruffled your hair. "Nothing to worry about for a long, long time to come," she had promised.

But now was that time.

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At the start, you contemplated what Natasha would have wanted before each step you took. Realistically, she would have wanted you to go to Clint, or someone else she considered family, but that wasn't an option right now.

You needed food, and you knew how to get away with stealing it, so that was what you did. If you break the law, don't get caught – that was your mother's advice.

You targeted large stores, the ones which always dealt in excess, then slipped small snacks and packets into your pockets in places where you knew the cameras weren't pointing. Walking out with confidence was the next important step, you couldn't let guilt display on your face or else it would betray you. Pockets full, head high, walk out and don't look back.

Until your fortunes changed, you would stay on the move. Nobody in that shop would see you again.

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Things spiralled quickly; your actions got harder to justify, but you were just trying to survive.

You travelled from town to town, breaking into empty houses for shelter in the nights, stealing the essentials you need, and most importantly, not getting caught. That was, until you returned to New York City. Memorials of Tony Stark and Steve Rogers plastered the skyline, from illuminated billboards to alleyway murals, the world mourned for them, but never for Natasha. Steve wasn't even dead, but he got more thanks than your mother, who gave her life just to give them a chance.

The anger returned to your veins and you began to get reckless. You didn't care if you got caught because if your mother's actions don't matter, then why should yours?

It was only a matter of time before the darker side of New York caught up to you. They'd noticed you, when you thought nobody in the world blinked an eye at your actions, they'd seen you. Your small skills drew interest, they knew you could be a valuable asset, but there was one more thing they had to test before approaching you.

Muggers were sent to attack you, 3 against 1, armed against unarmed, but you didn't weaken in the face of a gun. You walked out of the alley without a scratch, while the three men lay beaten, bound, and disarmed, ready to be embarrassed when their boss picked them up.

Not long after that, another group approached you, unarmed this time, but the strongest candidates the gang had. Unlike before, these ones didn't start a fight but made you an offer. Protection, pay, and shelter in exchange for your skilled services. It has been months since the funeral at this point, and your luck was yet to show any signs of changing. You agreed.

The bosses never asked for your full name, thankfully, because you wouldn't have given it, but they gave you an alibi for each task they required of you. You knew by now that Natasha would never have approved of either your company or your actions, but you continued on regardless; it's not like she was around to stop you.

Besides, all they asked you to do was to rough up their enemies. They gave you an address, you'd find your way in and hit them with a few warning blows. You got paid, and the victims survived without even any lasting damages. It was the best you could get and if they made you do worse, you could just leave, right?

You justified it well enough to cover the guilt seeping around your heart; you wouldn't let that bother you. You couldn't let that bother you.

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As the months passed, the bosses started to push you. They'd request more injuries, stronger hits; you were put into training with their bodyguards and, unlike Natasha, they didn't hold back. When they spotted a weakness, there was no stopping to correct you, they capitalised on it instead and hit you as hard as they could to leave you littered with bruises and patching your own broken bones.

You cried at night for Natasha, wishing she could still patch your wounds and rescue you from the hell you had gotten yourself into. But she couldn't.

The training shaped you into the tool your bosses wanted, and that was all they cared about. The pain that came with it was yours to bear alone.

You put up with it and followed orders, if they said to hit harder, you would, even at the expense of the victim's pain and your own moral guilt. There was no place for your feelings here, only the job that needed to be done.

Your superior eventually called you into his office, a sombre air about him that made your hairs stand on end, but still you followed him in.

He took a seat at his desk while you stood ready on the other side. The man watched you carefully, judging your every move as he relaxed further into the chair. Eventually, he spoke. "I have a different mission for you today."

Natasha's voice haunted your brain no matter how hard you tried to suppress the memory. It wasn't the time to reminisce, but your mind wandered back to all the times she has said the same line to you as a child. When she used to call all of your chores 'missions' because she knew you wholly, and she knew you wanted to be like her and have her job more than anything else.

You got your wish, in a way, but you'd broken your mother's wish to get there.

"When you're older... follow your morals, do everything you can to help people, not hurt them, even if it's against the law"

How had you gone so wrong?

You snapped back to the present. You couldn't afford to keep your superiors waiting. "What is the mission, sir?"

Instead of speaking, the man reached into the inside pocket of his blazer and, very slowly, so as not to startle you, pulled a small pistol out of it before setting it on the table. He beckoned for you to assess it.

"You've had gun training, I presume?"

"A little. When I was younger."

"Then here's a way to get more practice. Follow me."

You nodded, checking the safety and holstering the gun just like Natasha had taught you before following him out and into the adjoining warehouse.

"Wait there," the boss ordered when you were just through the doorway. You saw another man seated in the centre of the room, and the boss carried on towards him.

It was only when the seated man struggled to get away that you noticed he was bound, tied to the chair and gagged, but his uncovered eyes met yours with frantic pleading.

"You have great potential," your boss announced. He leant on the back of the chair and kept his eyes on you. "I think you could even take my place one day, with a bit of work, but I need to know you're committed. You joined for the money, I know, but at this stage, I need you to be willing to die for us. More importantly, I need you to be willing to kill for us."

The gun felt heavy in your hand; you knew where this was going.

"Shoot him." Your boss laid a finger gently on the forehead of the bound man before continuing, "right here."

You aimed the pistol and even though your body trembled, your hands stayed steady. If you pulled the trigger, you knew it would be a perfect shot.

The boss ambled back to your side. The buzz of his smartwatch faltered his carefree attitude for just a second before he recomposed himself and stood upright beside you. "Take the shot," he urged, "this is someone who deserves it; you'd be doing the city a justice."

Still you hesitated. The other injuries you'd afflicted had been minor, whereas this was permanent, a slight movement of your finger and this man's life would be over, his death permanently on your hands and your record. There was never a justification for that, no matter what he did, your action would follow you forever.

Another gun clicked, and black metal filled your peripheral vision. "Take. The. Shot."

The options were weighed now. You either live with blood on your hands, or die for keeping a clean slate; you know which one your mother would have chosen – the one she did choose in the end. But that was her at the end, in her life before that, when her sacrifice would have meant so little, she had killed without mercy to survive. Would that be you? Could you go that far?

The 'shing' of a knife blade wedged a third option into the mix and proceeded a threat: "get that gun away from my niece." Your answer was determined for you; you could choose the out.

Tears blurred your vision when you looked to the side, but you recognised the figure from her voice alone. Yelena had a knife to the boss's throat, gritting her teeth as she subdued him until eventually he relented and dropped the gun to the ground.

Your will was unthreatened once again, but your gun was still pointed at the man. Your body desperately looked for approval and success even when your mind protested.

"Don't," Yelena warned. With a well balanced punch, she knocked the man in her hold unconscious, then approached you slowly, her hands empty in front of her. "I'm sorry I wasn't there afterwards. I was too late into America for the funeral, then swayed down the same path as you were, likely by the same grief."

She sighed. Yelena was right beside you now; you let her wrap her hands around yours and take the gun from your grasp.

"Clint brought me out of it when I tried to kill him, let me be the same for you. Without the killing."

"You tried to kill Clint?" Your voice was small, it lacked the bravado you had put on in the recent months. Now it was just you and your aunt, she brought out the side of you that you'd thought died with your mother.

"I was told he killed Natasha," Yelena defended, smiling when she saw the faintest hint of a smile return to your face; she swore to bring you back completely. "And for my honour, I could have killed him. It is not try, he just put sense back into me."

"I think I need that right now," you muttered.

Yelena pulled you into a hug, both of her arms over your shoulders to pretend that you weren't taller than her now. The familiarity gave you cause to smile, but also had your sobbing on your aunt's shoulder when the grief and the guilt hit all at once.

"Let me be that for you, Y/N/N" she offered, "come stay with me. We'll try this grieving thing over again."

You left the building like that, Yelena's arm around you guiding you out. You were protected in her arms and together, you would work out how to live without Natasha.

"Yelena," you said, just before getting in her car, "we forgot to untie the guy in the chair."

"Гавно. We just walked all that way," (shit) she moaned, "can we just leave him?"

"My mom wouldn't. She said it was a hero's-"

"No, no, I heard that speech enough times. Okay. Let's be heroes."

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#natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff & reader #natasha romanoff & y/n #natasha romanoff & you #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff & daughter!reader #yelena belova #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova & reader #yelena belova & y/n #yelena belova & you #natasha romanoff angst #ikan writes #marvel #fanfiction

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necroman666 · 1 month

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Half a year ago my mother passed from lung cancer and I have been oh so very lucky to inherit her mistakes and broken dreams.

This is just a vent post talking in detail about my struggle to deal with my dead parents making my life a living hell because I’m tired and don’t know how to cope anymore.

Around 5 years ago my father died in a car explosion as a hired soldier participating in a genocide because that was, by his judgment, easier than getting literally any job to support our family after already years of leeching off my mother. Motherfucker got what he deserved and I only wish he died off sooner and the torment and his constant abuse of this family would stop. The hefty compensation my mother received for him dying she spend on, well, who fucking knows what because it was not her massive credit card debt.

Turns out that the bastard kept my manipulative, weak willed and egotistical mother at some bay and with him gone she was about to unleash her rotten nature on me and my sister.

About 2 years later or so she got her first cancer (not too relevant and it was in the end cured) and started dating a new, different (but not too different) piece of shit, proceeded to bring him into our home where he then cheated on her, financially leeched on her, beat our family dog and drove my sister out of our home. As you can guess my mother just let that all happen. In her words, she “didn’t want to die alone so she had to endure”. I find that ironic, because later (precisely 6 months ago) she choked on blood to death, alone in a hospital bed after two years of literally rotting away on the couch in our living room from her second cancer, with no one caring for her.

She stopped paid treatment. She refused free treatment at some point. She turned to waste money on some kind of medium healer that was supposed to cure her. She slowly died in her house filling plastic bottles with cigarette butts and blood to then throw away because she did not have the strength to get up anymore.

After she passed, even if I liked her enough to grieve, I didn’t get to - because now I had to deal with her husband stealing her stuff from our house to sell it off while berating me and my sister. We also, of course, inherited the massive credit card debt that she nurtured and let grow big and healthy better than me or my sister.

Half a year later, today, now that the inheritance is gaining legal status, her husband lets us know that he doesn’t have the money to pay off the debt for the car that they bought together and he threatened us to court over, scared that we were going to take it away from him. So we inherit both the car and the debt on top of the already existing one.

This is only the past ~5 years of suffering my parents caused me in short. Before this I have endured a life of several types of abuse from both of them, made depressed since age of twelve. I still get nightmares about both of them. I’m so stressed by the looming over debt that is now my responsibility that I can’t sleep for the third night in a row.

Stress eating and escapism don’t help anymore so I’m listing their sins to publicly shame them as a new coping mechanism.

#tw animal abuse #tw parental abuse

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horizon-verizon · 1 year

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This is about the show only:

Viserys, as the King, is the patriarchy, and Rhaenyra is only able to get away with rebelling against it because Viserys lets her. Viserys expects Alicent to be a dutiful childbearing wife but let’s Rhaenyra do basically whatever she wants because he feels guilt for what he did to Aemma. And Rhaenyra is okay with that. She doesn’t care about other women suffering. She only wants to bend the rules for herself.

Instead of being angry at Viserys for marrying Alicent she is angry at Alicent, who had no choice. Alicent has been maritally raped by Viserys for years. She dutifully bore him three sons and daughter. They even all have the Targaryen look and ride dragons. She did her duty, and he still doesn’t give a shit about his kids with her and clearly favors Rhaenyra. Still, Alicent took care of Viserys for years when she could have just let him rot. She may not love him romantically but she clearly cares about him, despite what he did to her.

Alicent has been a saint, because if I were her I would have poisoned both Daemon and Rhaenyra and also Viserys to protect my children. Alicent, as a victim of Viserys has every right to advocate for her children and put them first. She has every right to want Aegon to be king, not because she’s some woman hater like y’all think, but because she’s simply a mother who wants to protect her children and frankly deserves to have her bloodline on the throne after everything she went through.

She doesn’t even want Rhaenyra dead, she still cares for her despite everything. Alicent isn’t perfect but neither is Rhaenyra. You can support and root for Rhaenyra while acknowledging that Alicent does have a point and that the story is not black and white. I understand why Rhaenyra wants the throne but I also understand why Alicent thinks crowning Aegon is necessary.

Special Note: Since the show's world is the same as the ASoIaF canon's, the cultural, legal, and political laws and situations and contexts I will bring up are all valid. Plus, I've made several posts as to how this show is garbage in terms of writing and characterizations & basic consistency. This post will put that aside (for the most part) to be Watsonian.

*EDITED POST* (4/7/24)

Can you do something for me, anon? Point out to me a single scene or family that is actively preparing to usurp Rhaenyra before any of the greens did. We see Borros shout at Lucerys, but did you actually see him with troops and supplies stored places in preparation to usurp Rhaenyra BEFORE Aemond arrived?

Alicent's kids were always safe. You, like her, took Otto's words for granted, and for why?

I explain how Otto and Alicent were wrong about the lords rebelling (w/o green interference) all in my points below.

Let's take a breath. Imagine what having a female Queen Regnant--not just a Queen Consort, Queen Dowager, or Queen Mother--would do for any other woman seeking power in a male-dominated society that frequently abuses its own women from noblemen to common blacksmiths (Megelle).

There is now a precedent (since people shout "what about precedent?!") of a female leader. Such that would socially justify and legitimize further other female claimants of noble seats across the realm.

Jeyne Arryn is an example of a woman who would have benefitted even more from Rhaenyra ruling, even w/o Rhaenyra being Aemma's daughter and thus Jeyne's cousin. Her rule of the Fingers, Vales, etc. would have had much more confidence and power than if Rhaenyra hadn't had an unencumbered reign as a woman in her own right.

("The Blacks and the Greens") -- the greens looking over list of those who could support them:

("A Son for a Son") -- Jeyne's reasoning for supporting Rhaenyra:

But because Rhaenyra not ruling, what happens? For years, women/girls like Arianne Martell, Sansa and Seren Stark, and Jeyne Poole (Arya Stark, if she hadn't gotten out) are even more abused--physically and emotionally--by power-seeking/misogynist men.

You bleat about how Alicent is abused. Well, by her participation and actions in usurping Rhaenyra, she made life worse for all women in Westeros. Because the idea that women should not be leaders and that men should always have power over them became stronger (posts and reblogs by brideoffires).

If Rhaenyra had been allowed to rule, would any of what happened (during the Dance) to the common-born or any noble person in and out of King's Landing have happened? NO!

Rhaenyra had been heir for at least 12-13 years in the show and Lord Caswell was killed for trying to escape and alert her. I'll bring up the book once here just so my point is supported: those oaths that Viserys had the lords make for Rhaenyra? Most followed through and supported her throughout the actual war...that the greens started. Many of them enthusiastically did so. (Frey, Blackwood, the Arynns/Jeyne Arryn). Even a Stark, Cregan, kept fighting for her.

And a quick note: Also, do you know another person who plunged Westeros into war based on their anger at a handful of people for merely personal AND unjustified reasons (I will explain how Alicent is unjustified to be against Rhaenyra way below)? Aegon IV against Naerys and Aemon for their possible affair and Naerys birthing Aemon's child. It was said that Aegon believed Daeron, his official son, to be the bastard son of his siblings Aemon and Naerys.

In this case, Aegon IV was the type to prefer everyone suffering if he had no control, instead of doing as Viserys I did (if it was true or not, that part really doesn't matter politically) and kept hypothetical non-bio-son as his protected heir. I say "protected" because by naming all his bastards legitimate on his deathbed, Aegon IV endangered Daeron II's body and claim.

Yet this show will have us think that Alicent thinks always or mostly in the favor of "the realm" and unselfishly. And a huge reason why I that Alicent presents as "unselfish" more than hypocritical by the show's wriitng rather than her own hypocrisy is because Rhaenys--the resident supposed "wise" woman--has named Alicent as "wise" depsite immediately following that up with Alicent only making "windows" in the "prison" their patriarchal system shoves her into.

Another way is the effect of the Nymeria page she sends to Rhaenyra to try to dissuade her from war and just accept Aegon's rule...reminder, this page is of a woman nonDornish Westerosi would think a woman abnormal for her being a ruler onto herself AND Nymeria was a woman who while had to flee her past home and war with many lords for her people to survive....like Rhaenyra in this situation, aso had to fight wars (even when they were of conquest) to ensure her people's survival. She changed Dorne not for any noble reason, but for necessary self-oriented reasons of survival. And she's remembered as one of the most influential, important figures of Westerosi history, having created an entire different and lasting society in Dorne. Nymeria being framed as abnormal or cautionary--like Rhaenyra & Alicent have been in the in-world document of Fire & Blood--is par for the course and if Alicent was trying to be cautionary to Rhaenyra through the cautionary example of Nymeria, it would make sense for Alicent to do that. But it doesn't, really for Rhaenyra to fully & sincerely accept that line of persuasion. In other words, we shouldn't be validating--if what I said abt Alicent trying to use Nymeria as a cautionary note to Rhaenyra and not something like "remember when we used to be friends?!" way--and saying her reasons AND her way of ending a war are justifed or good...because she's still stealing something, one of the only things Rhaenyra has had that a man is allowed in this world.

MOST of the Westersi lords were in support of her and her "bastard" son Jacaerys. There were no real, substantive pushback or material war preparations against her for a real rebellion. Helaena was safe to marry Jaecaerys and become Queen herself, but Alicent refused why exactly? Because Jaecaerys was, to her, a bastard unworthy of her daughter...

AND because she was still angry with Rhaenyra for...what exactly? Because Rhaenyra lied about "losing her virginity"?

Why does this matter to Alicent, when it is the fault of her father for making this public news? Why couldn't this be kept secret, as all the other times a noble girl/woman has had affairs and bastard children? (I get into real-life scenarios of kings actually allowing their wives to birth bastards and have lovers way below). Hint: Otto wants Rhaenyra to be replaced above him doing his "duty" to Viserys and actually being a good Hand. To pretend otherwise is a delusion.

Let's review the context of Rhaenyra's lying to Alicent (scroll down to "The Context of Rhaenyra’s Lie in Episode 4").

You: "Viserys, as the King, is the patriarchy, and Rhaenyra is only able to get away with rebelling against it because Viserys lets her."

Did you witness episode 6, where Alicent nearly lead most of the council meeting while Viserys sat close to her?

We are meant to understand that over the years, Viserys lets Alicent do more and more. He also allows her to demand Rhaenyra's children be brought before her every time they were birthed or not long afterward, knowing that Alicent wants him to call them bastards and declare them as such.

Customarily, Queen Consorts don't sit in councils unless their husbands allow it. Otherwise, they aren't included. Alysanne was involved because Jaehaerys allowed it.

But do you hear of any Queen Consorts joining the council After the Dance? Was Naerys involved when Aegon IV ruled? What about Daenaera and Aegon III? Shaera and Jaehaerys II? What about Rhaella and Aerys II? Cersei and Robert?

No, again, it is after the Dance that women are customarily excluded from substantive politics even as a Queen Consort. (Queen Dowagers or Mothers do not count because the king is usually their son/stepson who is either too weak to rule independently or officially too young like Alyssa Velaryon was for Jaehaerys).

You need to remember that Alicent is trying to force Viserys' hand and reveal the boys' parentage to everyone so her own sons get support, knowing he did not want this, knowing that he is king.

Like Rhaenyra pointed out about Otto tailing her, questioning the heir/princess about their business and especially the parentage of their kids is treasonous (without concrete proof, and honestly she has none because one can never prove another's parentage at this point in history AND they had room to claim that the boys could very well have inherited darker features from their Baratheon kin).

In this light, we can say Alicent acts "treasonously". Yet Viserys lets her get away with it instead of putting his foot down. Doesn't really matter that he was ill and rotting, he was able to muster the strength later when he was sicker so that anyone who questioned Rhaenyra would not be left alone to live. Why couldn't he do this earlier, when he was healthier and stronger?

Yes, Viserys ignored her about the Velaryon boys...what did you expect him to do, renounce and abandon his daughter just because she birthed kids, not Laenor's? And make Corlys' ire worse? The guy who WANTS Luke to inherit Driftmark? Not only that, ruin his daughter and the house's images more than if he did as he did and allowed them to be legitimate? Then wouldn't Viserys be a worse father? Alicent was suggesting trash "advice" on that, both politically and personally.

So really, it seems you want him to be evil to Rhaenyra alone, rather than actual fairness.

I don't think you watched episode 4 well.

I agree that HotD!Young Rhaenyra is freer than Jaehaerys I's daughters of the book. But what Viserys gives Rhaenyra is actually not much choice or room at all. unlike Jaehaerys' daughters, who have both parents one of whose problems were that there were too many children,

Rhaenyra's mother's death by Viserys mission to get a son AND her immediately being named his heir gave her new unique anxieties and burdens.

Her distance and rebuttals are all results of Viserys taking her friend as a wife and breaking one of those few bonds left to her. Because you can't be your stepmother's/Queen Consort best friend when she will birth other competitors (at this point, show!Rhaenyra was in deep doubt).

In that episode, we see how much choice he actually gives Rhaenyra:

Not letting her speak, not working with her to shut down Otto

dismissing her concerns about Otto until she gave him an ultimatum, which only seemed to work because he already suspected or disliked Otto

Not considering how it would rather benefit her claim to marry her uncle, as was the point of all those incestuous marriages between cousins and siblings and uncle-niece/aunt-nephew both in Valyria and Andal/FM Westeros.

*not in the episode, but still a part of this* marries her only friend, knowing that she is literally her only friend, all so he can avoid marrying another younger girl and have his cake/eat it too--attracted...knowing that they would never be the same again

He wanted obedience, anon. "You are my political headache!" Meanwhile he doesn't see how it would be politically better for her to marry Daemon.

Laenor is gay. We already know that he and Rhaenyra tried but nothing came of it. There were never going to be any kids from that union.

What did you expect Rhaenyra to do exactly? Rape Laenor? Get a Lysene sex slave to impregnate her? You'd be the first to call her terrible for either of these.

Not have kids? That is even worse than not birthing her husband's children. For someone like her, the heir to the throne, to be called "barren" and unable to produce heirs herself. A thing Otto can use against her and promote Aegon the Elder as heir, which would give Otto more power over Rhaenyra.

Find another Valyrian-descent-male noble or blonde guy? And what guarantee do we have that he wouldn't try to take advantage of Rhaenyra though his blood link to any children he would sire and endanger her--plus those kids'--lives and reputations and positions?! We see how men in Westeros and beyond reach for power through even those children they do love...Rhaenyra was with Harwin bc he didn't demand anything of her nor looed for advancement through their kids. He was there just for her.

Do you want that, maybe because you already have a deep hatred for Rhaenyra that is irrational?

Viserys got Rhaenyra into the mess that she was in with Laenor for his own ends and by his own cowardly need to have Alicent/someone that he thinks he chose as freely.

He is not only responsible for Alicent's misery but Rhaenyra and Laenor's as well. He also was responsible for Rhaenyra having to have kids whose parentage would always be doubted since it was an open secret that Laenor was gay.

Again, what do you think Rhaenyra was supposed to do? Demand an annulment and risk insulting the already ruffled Corlys? We already saw how Viserys was determined to have her marry Laenor to ensure a Velaryon alliance and smooth over his rejection of Laena. Do you really think that she could have done much there, when she already depends on Viserys for the said inheritance for the throne, as you have stated WHILE battling her other feelings of grief, anger, etc.?

So no, Viserys doesn't give her much choice or many allowances.

In real-life medieval, Tudor, and early modern history, kings, lords, etc, there are many examples of husbands and fathers (latter less occurring) actively encouraging or allowing their wives, daughters, etc to have their own lovers or even children with said lover that the husband then names as his own.

Whether because:

the lover is an accomplished politician who takes the burden of rule off of him

wanted to stay married to said wife because of her dowry, other inheritances, or political connections

because the husband is infertile

because the husband is gay and unable to impregnate his wife

or because they already have kids and the king/lord/husband/etc do not want to jeopardize or draw suspicion of their kid's legitimacy -- better to claim all than to risk some

Sometimes it is even the court and territory's nobles and courtiers who want the queen/lady/wife to have lovers and children outside of her legal marriage just for the heirs, to avoid the madness of said king/husband, or to obtain a more competent politician/commander. The open secret if you will.

This means that Viserys sees many benefits in Rhaenyra having any sort of kids, which explains how he was willing to claim her sons as legitimate. I also have to remind you that Corlys also accepted these boys because he also wanted an heir.

Yes, Viserys loved his daughter in some capacity and wanted to protect her, but we can't ignore the political benefits that come with her having children within the cover of a legal marriage to a gay man.

In this way, Rhaenyra is further trapped in marriage, popping out sons and kids that while she comes to love, are also there to be heirs for another man. Does this sound familiar?

You should take read of Eleanor Harman's Sex with the Queen to learn more. Here's an excerpt:

With regard to royal children, the only consideration more important than their kingly blood was the monarch’s self-interest. Many kings acknowledged children they knew had been fathered by someone else. Often, kings did not want to cast doubt on the paternity of older children they knew to be their own. In the case where the king could not father children, sometimes court factions heartily desired the queen to bear bastards in order to stabilize the throne and cement their own interests.

Fortunately, the queen’s complete and utter disillusionment with her husband usually set in after the birth of the heir. And so it was not deemed worthwhile to lose international prestige, throw the nation into tumult, and question the paternity of all royal children, simply to deny the one cuckoo in the robin’s nest. In the early nineteenth century, the last son of King John VI and Queen Carlota Joaquina of Portugal was extremely good-looking and slender - unlike either of his parents - and happened to be the spitting image of the handsome gardener at the queen’s country retreat. Other than a few snickers behind painted fans, no one said a word.

You: "Viserys expects Alicent to be a dutiful childbearing wife but let’s Rhaenyra do basically whatever she wants because he feels guilt for what he did to Aemma. And Rhaenyra is okay with that. She doesn’t care about other women suffering. She only wants to bend the rules for herself."

Already explained the little-to-no choice for Rhaenyra aspect.

Yes, Viserys does expect Alicent to do this, because, unlike Rhaenyra, Alicent is not facing 10% of usurpation or pushback that Rhaenyra--as heir--would/could.

She is Queen Consort, not soon-to-be-present Queen Regnant. Alicent is not his heir. She is his wife and the person who bears him other children, his "spares". Unfortunately, that is the way of feudal, monarchial patriarchy. Of which Alicent wants to use it for herself and uses it to judge/make Rhaenyra seem unfit...the very system and principles that oppress her, Alicent.

This does not mean Alicent had no right to pursue power for herself by principle, even though I want Rhaenyra. Show!Alicent, however, lives to give up power for conformity's sake in comparison.

And Viserys should be held accountable for sleeping with a teen girl who clearly didn't approach him with full willingness. And if not Alicent, it would have been any other girl or woman. Because girls are socially eligible to become wives as soon as they get their periods in Westeros, even if the practice is that parents and guardians usually wait until the girl is in her later teens (16-19). That's a societal problem that both he and Otto can and did take advantage of.

But again, anon, what exactly did you expect Rhaenyra to do? The girl was also 15, like Alicent!!!!

You seem to give the mantle of responsibility if Alicent's suffering to her. I said this already in another post, but Rhaenyra just lost her mother a few months earlier (something Alicent has experienced) and she has taken to her duties as heir. Alicent is the one who was more available for her than she was to Alicent. Can Rhaenyra read minds, now? Why didn't Alicent let Rhaenyra at least know that Otto was forcing her to do this? That, at least, was within Alicent's power.

What is Rhaenyra supposed to have done when Viserys and Alicent both explicitly told each other (episode 2) they'd keep their meetings secret from Rhaenyra, thus keeping Rhaenyra totally out and in the dark whilst she was mentally preoccupied?

NOTE: I want to clarify that I don't think Rhaenyra would necessarily become Alicent's savior and stop Viserys from choosing her and use chess moves against Otto, or that Alicent should have thought Rhaenyra would 100% deliver her from this situation. Rhaenyra may or may not have been at least able to bring them together to think of how they could Viserys to know of Otto's plans, but that is not the point I make when I compare Alicent and Rhaenyra during this time. Alicent seems to have lived her entire life pressured into suppressing her desires for the sake of obeying her overbearing father, and it would be terribly hard to overcome that and see through those teachings instilled in you. But just by these statements alone, Rhaenyra proves to not be her actual enemy nor the cause of her suffering.

I could flip it around: If we say they were truly friends, why not say something--if we presume that they always talked about Otto's suffocating expectations of Alicent and their supposed many years of close friendship? The show--by not letting us see how they actually related their relationship with their families to each other (the jump cuts and lack of any flashbacks)--refused to allow us to better qualify the character of their communication habits. (I already answered this in the paragraph above). How close were they really? We only get their relationship through the lens of Rhaenyra's family's succession crisis. Before the events of episode 1, did these two girls tell each other a lot of things that they wouldn't tell others, and I mean the most private things--or do they hold those back and why? Would Alicent tell Rhaenyra about her father sometimes drunkenly bemoan her mother's passing if Otto did that? Would Rhaenyra tell Alicent any of her crushes? Would she tell her what she thought about the Faith, and if so, where did she stop if ever? Either way, with what is presented on-screen, the onus of their relationship did not/does not rest fully on Rhaenyra, esp when she didn't even know and could not spare time or thought to Alicent while going through shit herself.

So it doesn't look like Alicent gave Rhaenyra much of a choice either, to even attempt to help her out or give room to process information and respond, choosing to keep it close to her chest. Maybe to not lose her friendship sooner than she liked, it being due to obedience to her father and Viserys keeping it secret, or afraid of Rhaenyra not believing that she wasn't being overly ambitious and disrespectful towards Aemma's memory, etc. Once again, the point is that Rhaenyra had less ability to anticipate all this happening, so there needed to be just one person who told her all this. And in friendships & any relationship, one has to know when the ball is in their court, and in this instance, it was Alicent and Viserys. But both chose to keep Rhaenyra out of the loop completely until the last minute bc neither wanted to deal with what they both knew would be very hurt & angry feelings from her.

Meanwhile, before Viserys announced his marriage, Rhaenyra was actually being very helpful and "obedient", performing her tasks/duties. If you think ignoring Otto and choosing a capable fighter, specifically saying that "my father needs a worthy fighter with experience" and choosing Criston is her not following the rules or thinking of Viserys, you'd be dead wrong. This also goes for her suggesting they use dragonriders to join Corlys in the Stepstones, to which, once again, Viserys refuses and makes her look dumb, all because it was an interruption in "adult", manly matters. (Yes he allows her on the council later, but first events matter and he allowed a bad image to be made that day of her. Stupid of him.)

Finally, Rhaenyra is ranked lower than Viserys, THE KING, despite being his daughter. It appears you want some grand gesture or a big power play from Rhaenyra to protect Alicent from soemthing she doesn't even know is happening. What would you want her to do? To repeat myself, demand an annulment or a cancellation after it's already been announced? Again, if she had known prior, maybe something could be done and she could persuade him otherwise, but we'll never know, will we? And risk insulting Corlys? Again?!

So really, you should be angry at Otto and Viserys more than anyone. They are the ones with the power to put Alicent into the position that she is in. That's the patriarchy talking. That's not Rhaenyra's doing.

As for Rhaenyra's anger:

mother just died

Alicent's silence/keeping such secrets from her

Viserys' public dismissals

feeling some self-hate and disappointment for not having a male's value in her society

If you are going to advocate for Alicent finding fault in Rhaenyra's ability to find holes in the patriarchal mold made for her, we should keep in mind that Rhaenyra was deliberately kept out of even knowing what would happen to her and what she'd be up against later on in the first place. Would this not sting at least? Especially after she's told Alicent, presumably, about her fears for Aemma, her disappointment in Viserys' disregard for her before Aemma died, and her fears of being discarded once a male child arrives? All those years of friendship and thinking Alicent would tell her such important information? If we can forgive Alicent for thinking Rhaenyra would literally kill her kids or endanger them bc she fears her father and believes everything from him, why can't we "forgive" or cut Rhaenyra some slack for being angry that her best friend didn't tell her anything that could determine her future?!

When you've been doubted and sidelined all your life, it would take a lot of ability to compartmentalize (certainly more than anyone in this show has) to see past the nail in the coffin before it came down, which is not necessarily a good thing bc you risk repressing too much of your own emotions and thus debilitate yourself from making more rational decisions or debilitate your own ability to process information and get to conclusions as fast as you could.

Honestly, both girls are beleaguered and have much in common in terms of suffering from patriarchal authorities. Both are forced to have children for the sake of politics, one sexually abused and denied sexual exploration alrogwthwr before she hit 18, and the other totally shut down in any participation in politics as well as trapped in a position more vulnerable to others machinations if she hadn't had kids.

Their fathers both are the ones truly trifling.

You: "Alicent has been maritally raped by Viserys for years. She dutifully bore him three sons and daughter. They even all have the Targaryen look and ride dragons. She did her duty, and he still doesn’t give a shit about his kids with her and clearly favors Rhaenyra. Still, Alicent took care of Viserys for years when she could have just let him rot. She may not love him romantically but she clearly cares about him, despite what he did to her."

I wrote a post about feudalism, Queen Consorts, spares, etc for Alicent and Viserys, and the claim that just because she birthed him, children, doesn't mean he customarily owes her anything, much less making her kids heirs. Because this show's world still has the same sexist circumstances, same as what I said there for the show.

Anon, it's misogynist to go "Alicent did her duty by bearing four 'obvious' Targ children" when Rhaenyra's kids also ride dragons while not looking "typically" Targaryen.

You're saying that Alicent's kids are "worth" more than Rhaenyra's because she was a good girl and birthed heirs. You also fell for the court idea of "trueness" being "obvious" in appearance--blood purity.

Finally, are Alicent and Rhaenyra only worth their wombs, now? Is that what you want from your (assumed) fav, to just be a pawn spawning out "true" heirs for her father to take advantage of? Whose fault is it that Alicent is put into her position? Viserys is obviously partially at fault for choosing her at all, but who put her there? Otto. For purely selfish reasons. Why are you so devoted to hating a girl for mourning and being busy, whilst the true perpetrator of Alicent's suffering is Otto?

Why do you think that suffering for doing your "job" of being a baby factory and enduring marital rape = having "good morals"?

*Disclaimer*: I do recognize how show!Alicent was sexually abused, as she was obviously unwilling.

My point is that why does sexual abuse have to be or is a requisite for respect and a tool of exchange for power? Why is it characterized as a thing that Alicent "let" happen to her, instead of just socially forced onto her? You do this when you argue that she "did her duty" and consented to give Viserys children without it being a problem about how Otto put her there in the first place, a place where she had little to no options. You don't mention this.

Children trump wives/husbands/spouses/SOs, as you argued that Alicent's love for her kids trumps whatever she feels towards any hypothetical husband/Viserys.

Why are we asking him to emotionally abandon Rhaenyra altogether for Alicent's kids? Romantic love is a nonfactor. Romance doesn't get top priority when we're talking politics, nor is it always or should be the final authority on who gets more favor. I mean, if we're talking about the characters only, Rhaenyra is Viserys' daughter. You're revealing that you'd prefer if Viserys gave his political favor to his wife over his daughter, which is pretty crazy considering that Rhaenyra is his heir and his eldest child, the child he's known and emotionally engaged with far longer than he's known Alicent. And this is coming from a person who agrees wholeheartedly that he was a terrible dad to any/all of his kids in different ways but was worse towards the green kids with his comparative neglect.

While it's fair to say Viserys should pay more attention to his other kids, I don't think that's all you want. I think that you want him to just name Aegon heir, that he can only express true love for his other kids by giving the heir title to Aegon and removing Rhaenyra. Because you think that the throne is Aegon's birthright. And you think it is his birthright just because he has a penis and Andal male-preferred primogeniture exists. Meanwhile, if you go through Westerosi history and read carefully, you will see that while girls are not as preferred to boys, you will see examples of girls leading houses even with male relatives available. Jeyne Arryn is one, who had male cousins and uncles by no brothers after they and her father died. You may counterargue and say either Jeyne had to take power to have it and/or that in Westerosi tradition the girl can only inherit if she has no nuclear-male relatives, and you would be correct.

Problem there is that you would be defending a patriarchal setback for women, and are therefore misogynist because you do not want women to have real autonomy. Autonomy is the power of self (it's in the word). Power that comes from and is practiced from the self, exists by itself and is generated from the self. It is the ability to make decisions for one's self, by oneself, as far from others' always-biased-and-never-fully-understanding-of-you's perspectives or abilities. More substantial power is not when a woman/girl only gets power when all other male options are unavailable, is that actual autonomous power or a pure autonomous claim the same as a man's? No.

So if you, anon, are upset with the idea that a woman seeks power for herself or ways to shape her life how she wants it without a man or man-lead/filled/prioritized institution making decisions against her, then you yourself prove to be misogynist and hateful of women seeking autonomy.

What about when she grows older? Do you suggest that Alicent remains powerless then? Again, what I pointed out about Viserys letting her have a lot of power for years from episode 6. You should be troubled by how it's told how the Queen consort's only true job is to be a fertile womb, not congratulating her fertility under this context. Why is passive "power" the only power you want to afford a woman?

Once again, Alicent is Queen Consort. Not a Queen Regnant as Rhaenyra would have been.

After Viserys gives her that power and she gains much more in episode 8 in his illness, she is the next in the show's hierarchy/authority, as we saw by her giving orders to the Kingsguard. At least next to the King's Hand. She is also in charge of the running of the castle in that she dismisses servants and makes sure that whoever is in charge of collecting and organizing accounts of food, supplies, etc. (usually a castellan or a steward). Servants including those who dress and take the king's piss/poop out. Those who are literally close to Viserys. We see it in episode 3, where Alicent sends the servants away and cleans Viserys herself.

She has more influence or power than she or some fans think bc she is closest to the King. Not official policy-making, law-making, war-waging power, but a lot of social court power. Power that does not come from Otto.

In Westeros, it appears the heir officially outranks the Queen Consort because we haven't seen a Consort boss around the heir on their rank alone [a parent can do do with a child, but what about if the Consort isn't the parent of that child?] but in the show, they try to reverse that in episode 6. This doesn't track at all unless the writers do what they should have done and show accumulations of moments where Alicent gains more unofficial power as Viserys deteriorates and lets her go off to the races OR/AND she more and more gets him to feel that he needs to give her such power. Queen Consorts don't sit at council with the King, once more, it's a privilege granted to them and is actually an anomaly. Therefore, it would have been that much more meaningful to show how Alicent got where she got in at least 3 episodes preceding what we get in episode 6, even though it still wouldn't b match what happens in the original story. This is an example of the writers creating a new lore point but not sticking to their own invention or being logically consistent abt it.

Yes, her main and defining "job" -- by those patriarchal more she herself is trying to enforce -- is to give Viserys children and be the model of female chastity that Andal tradition dictates to her (alms, faith to the Faith, only having sex with Viserys). Plus run/oversee the royal inner household (its resources [ex. food] & the royal offspring), and possibly arrange marriages. She is even expected to bear with her husband's bullshit because he is her husband and she is a woman. (You'd be surprised at what Queen Consorts had to put up with in real-life history.) But she is not completely helpless & she doesn't have 0 agency. She just doesn't have any imagination and is resentful of Rhaenyra instead of the real perpetrators. Mostly because her imagination or independent thinking has been stifled by her social role as a female noble.

No, she could not have let Viserys rot with no (at the very least) supervision because that would put a social mark against her and her public image as a merciful Queen--the customary standard for a Queen--and be seen as her neglecting her husband. And Alicent had no intention of inviting that sort of censure. I recognize that she grew to have some sort of care for Viserys enough to be upset at his suffering and death, but that is something that is unequally expected of her as a wife and Queen Consort. the pressure is more on her to fulfill her duties to her husband than it is on Viserys to his wife, and he does not have the same duties as her, thus less pressure. He can take a mistress all he wants if he's adamant or sexually seeking enough. This is a world that is harsher and more expectant on the wife than the husband, even placing conditions of legal treachery into the mix. What do you expect as a "reward"? You don't get power or respect by complying or submitting to already oppressive systems/individuals' oppressive actions. Do you think that if you are a "good girl", you get to be happy and safe and compensated? That's not how hierarchies work. As a commentator below states. No, you get crumbs that you are taught to "enjoy" or have no other choice but to swallow.

So, it is not black-and-white "pure" & "free" devotion that she just wanted to take care of Viserys. She's also motivated by what she thinks she has to do to be a good woman/Queen/wife, which is all patriarchal bullshit. She thinks she has to be so accommodating towards Viserys because she knows that is her feudalist role as a Queen/woman/wife and that that will somehow give her peace. She thinks being perfectly chaste and caring will bring her some sort of satisfaction with how her life turned out, but suppresses her anger and probable feelings of shame that she seems to ignore.

Shame for having been spent to Viserys at all while having been above reproach before then (there should have been court gossip, but that's another thing).

Shame or guilt for not letting Rhaenyra know.

Shame for replacing her friend's mother when she listened to her speak about her family drama AND lost her mother herself.

All works as a paradox for living as a Queen Consort.

It is by Andal tradition (not Valyrian) that the husband has nearly full power over his wife's life and that a wife obeys her husband. Rhaenyra is Viserys' eldest and Alicent gave birth to Viserys' "spares", which by the Widow's Law, we very well can make a strong case for how these kids do not go before Rhaenyra in the line of succession:

To rectify these ills, in 52 AC King Jaehaerys implemented the Widow’s Law, reaffirming the right of the eldest son (or daughter, where there was no son) to inherit, but requiring said heirs to maintain surviving widows in the same conditions they enjoyed before their husband’s death. A lord’s widow, be she a second, third or fourth wife, could no longer be driven from his castle, nor deprived of her servants, clothing, and income. The same law also forbade a man to disinherit the children by a first wife in order to bestow their lands, seat or property on a later wife or her children.

Rhaenyra can use this law to argue -- not that she should be put on trial, she's made heir by her father and since it was his will/word that's the definite LAW -- and strengthen her monarch-given right to ascend.

Your wife/Queen Consort can be good to you all she is. If you, the king, say that the heir is a specific person, they are that person regardless of who his wife is or how dutiful she is. State matters can and have been influenced through marriages and interpersonal care, but it can just as well not be because it all depends on the king's/monarch's disposition and the political context. That was the risk Otto took and used his own daughter to try and manipulate. Not Rhaenyra's fault at all.

That Alicent failed to see that until the 9th episode (the show itself, for all its flaws, is telling you this, anon!) shows how intelligent/narrow-minded/unrighteous Alicent has been from the time she set herself against Rhaenyra in their conversation of episode 4. And even before, when she never told Rhaenyra Otto's instructions to her and for years pushed that burden of responsibility on Rhaenyra..

When she's yelling about "having one child like that", she's referring to children born out of wedlock to a girl who doesn't act within her patriarchal sexual restrictions. Said restrictions are that women/girls should expect to only sleep with the man/boy their authority figure designates for them while their husband sleeps around and fathers bastards indiscriminately.

So, yeah, Alicent is a misogynist towards Rhaenyra.

You: "She doesn’t even want Rhaenyra dead, she still cares for her despite everything. Alicent isn’t perfect but neither is Rhaenyra."

Anon, you really don't get human psychology. A parent's love and care for their kids is such a visceral thing.

How is it in any way feasible that 8th episode-Alicent's behavior is realistic or consistent with how real people behave toward what they think is a threat to their kids? It doesn't make any sense how Alicent changed her tune after Rhaenyra apologized in episode 8. By:

calling Rhaenyra's sons bastards, endangering them all (whether by social shaming/ostracism [which can and has caused mental deterioration in human history], exile, or actual execution)

humiliating Rhaenyra by demanding that Joffrey be brought to her right after Rhaenyra birthed him to show the entire court that she doubts his parentage

by dismissing all her concerns and demands to deal with the Stepstones problem in a much more substantive way than just leaving it up to Daemon to stave off the Triarchy

There was no coming back from the years Alicent spent antagonizing Rhaenyra. She herself broke that connection based on false notions. Alicent has shown malice before episode 8. HERE is my past post about how Show! or Book!Alicent was never going to be a woman I rooted for when a possible Queen Regnant was available.

Rhaenyra is the rightful heir and has always been so. Therefore, what Alicent was doing was usurping her.

...Usurping means killing people 80% of the time (an arbitrary number, but you should get it). And of the two sides, the greens were the group who'd be more willing to carry out unprovoked assassinations (Aegon after Jaehaerys' death [book, who knows if the show will include this], Aemond killing Lucerys, all the ploys Otto made behind Viserys' back, Aemond firing on the riverlands and killing all the Strongs, etc.)

To quote a lot of green stans and flip it: looking back in real history, people killed for thrones and power more often than they did in imprisonment, and even with imprisonment, it's usually not long before the person mysteriously dies in prison. Know your history and upgrade your understanding of human behavior and motivation. If any person who seeks to usurp someone else truly-duly thinks they can do so without killing them or having one of their supporters kill them (unprovoked), they are delusional. Or at least if you use this argument for why Alicent should act as she did, why isn't this the same for Rhaenyra/the blacks' end?!!

As I've said, Rhaenyra had several supporters who even fought for her after she died.

Watching episode 9, how could you think that Alicent actually had any influence and power over Otto and the councilors, who plotted behind her back to kill Rhaenyra? That she had to give her feet up for Larys to masturbate to in order to just get verbal info? (This is all after Viserys dies, so do not try to use me saying she had power under Viserys above when she loses much power after he dies, which is my point and which HotD exaggerates).

She couldn't use her brain to figure out Otto was behind her suffering all along? Until episode 9?

Show!Alicent never claimed power, so she was in a worse state than book!Alicent was. Your fave is an eroticized doormat for the male gaze (xenonwitch's reblog), not a powerful, self-driven woman.

Their friendship never made sense anyway. From a Doylist standpoint. And show!Alicent herself is a terribly constructed character; Rhaenicent doesn't make sense (article in Polygon).

Sure, Viserys supposedly treats Rhaenyra well and lets her get away with a lot of behavior that these other fathers of ASoIaF would never, BUT he also doesn't:

[book & show] give her any political training--though he makes her his cupbearer and allows her to sit in council to hear said council (passive learning), he does seem to properly engage, quiz, test, etc. her in decision-making for economic, political, etc. stuff; he does not seem to ever ask for her opinions of certain laws or policies, existing or currently considered; he does not let her make many decisions without lecturing her or ignoring her in front of others (episode 3 with her suggestion about taking dragons to meet Daemon); NOR does he get some sort of tutor through some sort of training, military-wise--likely strategy, not actual combat training (a tutor even from Essos, there would have been many businesspeople and wealthy business families available and eager to work for the royal Targaryens)--that Dany in the main series had to herself must learn and continue from her earlier exilic education on the go. Rhaenyra herself must learn by herself when she heads to Dragonstone! If you can give your heir/child the material to help advance their understanding of certain things even in ordinary education, why are you holding back for this specific instance when the stakes are higher?!

[book & show] he does not firmly, properly, and publicly denounce Alicent's harassment and accusations

[book & show] make one or more of her sons his cupbearer/transition him into being a part of the council as well

[book & show] he does not try to prevent other's talk of Rhaenyra's sons until much later when it is way too late

[show] he doesn't question Alicent's asking for baby Joff at all or pursue why Rhaenyra was even there and bleeding apart from how she shouldn't be there--he quickly moves on, too

[show] In the book, he does send her on a "meet-and-greet" tour or "progress" of the realm to: put a face to the woman in her oath-bound lords/houses' minds -> amplify her "Realm's Delight" image, and reinforce her attractiveness/desirability/sexual purity -> make her more real and appealing. Show!Viserys sends her out on a point-blank marriage-tour where she hears marriage suits after her. The book version explicitly has Viserys/his council at least make Rhaenyra meet her subjects and hear their desires, concerns, and what they think of her. There is less of the kind of formality and distance than what the sho made in changing it into a straight-up marriage tour, so the ladies and lords seeing Rhaenyra for the first time only get to see her under the more stressful (for them as well as for her) and less emotionally engaging context of a mere business exchange. Also, Laenor was always both show!andbook!Viserys' final choice for Rhaenyra. Book!Viserys is just a little bit smarter and more careful than show!Viserys.

Viserys is better than most Westerosi men in how he treats Rhaenyra--book and show--, at least those fathers we get to hear about or get to know. Better, but not still not enough to meet the demands of his daughter's actual needs.

(8/21/23):

THIS is a great post by mononijikayu about medieval queens, female rulers, the history of how women in leadership positions were made and seen as threats to the very structure of social “order”, and contextualizing Rhaenyra thru Empress Matilda. I didn’t even know about Matilda’s husband being comparable to Rhaneyra’s Daemon! PLZ READ!!!!

Excerpt:

just as much, along with these fictitious portrayals, more lies are depicted. these women are considered vixens that cause havoc to men by shifting them into desires and danger. through the written word, we see how women are cast in roles of villains in men’s lives. it is because by their conclusive thoughts, women are the only creatures that are able to turn ‘good honorable men’ into despicable creatures who do shameful, deplorable acts for the sake of women’s pleasures. […] it is within this narrative that ancient chroniclers declare that women were in fact the doom of men. if they were not able to control the dangers posed by the wiles of women, then the foundations of the mighty society they had built would be up in flames. [...] as i mentioned, these factors of community are written down and preserved. and with that, the example of the ancients were the foundations by which medieval society built itself. the same concepts continued to cause the same issue within society and that was the exclusion of women from participating in the bigger picture of community and state, much so with governing states in their own right—without judgment or disapproval.

#asoiaf asks to me #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra vs alicent #hotd male gaze #hotd writing #hotd characterization #alicent's characterization #rhaenyra's characterization #medieval history #court politics #westerosi court culture #westerosi court #westerosi society #perfect victim post #women in westeros #westerosi women #hotd #asoiaf

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anamenooneowns · 2 months

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A Creepy Fanfic: The Big Dick.

A/n: This is a fanfic to indulge my inner pre-teens creepypasta phase (which was never really a phase🥀⛓️🖤🤘🏽😔) also, the woman above is not a face claim and you're a spirit entity thing. i'm obviously making up shit bc it sounds cool in my head. so yeah. enjoy.

warnings: Cursing. Death/dead people. Gore? sorta. Horrible jokes bc i think i'm hilarious. No use of y/n. Use of religion to bully another. Bullying. Sex (use condoms pls). Spanking. Name-calling (bitch and cunt). Rough sex. I think thats all... if I missed something lemme know🙂

pairing: ticci toby x you

Water was still when it was untouched. The water in Lake Black has been still since the death of that poor girl–it was so sudden, so awful–awful how everyone in that bumfuck town pretended they had nothing to do with her death. (♱) didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t her fault that her mother was sick, that her mind was broken since the terrible death of her husband, (♱)’s father.

The witches of Black Falls is what they called her and her mother. Rolling their eyes back and pretending to spasm whenever she passed them in school hallways and in public, reciting prayers in their Religion class to ‘ward’ her away, refusing her food in line at the church when she and her mother had been hungry–starving.

But no longer. A dead girl didn’t need to eat after all, right?

Wrong. Because (♱) was hungry. Starved. Ravenous with a need to sink her teeth into the rotting meat that was this town. A stain is what it was. All heretics.

A head split the still waters of Lake Black. Jet-black hair plastered to brown skin, droplets of water clung to her hairline before rolling down, connecting and parting over and again as she continued to rise. The fog that had settled over the water billowed around her body, rising with her slowly, the currents below swirling angrily and bubbled with the white-hot, scalding, burning anger of a woman scorned.

Eyes, white–having lost their iris and pupil–were all sclera and thin, red veins. When her pale blue lips kissed fresh air after having been lost to the bottom of Hell for so long a hiss escaped them. The water relinquished its hold on her as she continued to rise into the embrace of the moon on this beautiful night. The only companion she’s ever had her entire life.

The woman in the moon. Her daddy would make up stories about it. How she had been cast away into the stars for bringing darkness…darkness associated with anything bad. Yet, she was so warm right now. Anything would be considered warm compared to (♱)’s cold body. Undead.

She was going to eat this fucking town. And everyone in it, alive.

Drenched, scuffed sneakers dragged along the asphalt of the street. (♱)’s only goal was to reach the only person here who mattered: her mommy. Each step she took in line with a house on the block set it ablaze, screaming long having made its symphony in the night as they all burned alive. Skin shrinking and fat rendering–it was all so delicious. Her body absorbed it like she was eating, the wounds of her body fading as she gained more… ‘life’ into her.

And when she reached that house, the door opening for her before she could touch it, the sight ran flashbacks through her mind when she was still alive. Out of the mudroom, the stairs to your left in the hallway, up the stairs, the first door to your right was her mother’s room. The door creaked open and there her mommy lay. (♱) neared her and laid on the bed, wrapping her wet, slimy arms around her before weeping softly.

Because her mother was dead. A pill bottle in her hands, and her body cold, but smiling. To think she was ready to leave this place and be with her husband and daughter again, but (♱)’s soul knew where it belonged, and after tonight–it was destined to one place only.

“You shouldn’t be alive.”

Silence.

“I… know,” (♱) croaked. “But I am.”

“So you are,” they affirmed. “You’re gonna stir a lot of shit, but, you don’t know the rules yet so The Operator is letting you off the hook, but you need to come with me. Come with us, and learn.”

“If-if I don’t?”

Something cold pressed against her throat. It was sharp. “You die here, and your soul is sent straight to Hell where it belongs.”

(♱) didn’t care that the blade has sliced into her neck a bit. “I don’t believe in Hell. I don’t think I ever did.”

“All the more reason to come with us then. None of us believe in it much either,” they moved the sharp blade.

She sat up slowly and looked at them. It was a man. He had shaggy brown hair, light brown eyes, and skin as pale as the moon. Looking back at her mother, she leaned down and kissed her on the cheek before standing. “Okay,” she agreed.

A black tar-like substance webbed across the ceiling of the room before lighting up, fire licking away at the interior of the once warm home. It was the end of her old life, and the start of another.

“Y’know, I hate when you do this shit,” Toby grumbled. “It ain’t playin’ fair.”

“Playing fair? That’s for losers, baby,” (♱)’s voice echoed like a purr in his mind, the exact way she’d voice her words if she was in fucking front of him and not hiding.

“Callin’ me a loser, little girl?” he huffed, cutting down the greenery blocking his way.

His eyes flitted around the clearing as he looked for (♱). Ever since she joined them and fell into step quickly with the whole undead thing and learning the extent of her abilities-and them falling in love yada, yada, ya-she was the prettiest damn nuisance he’s ever experienced in his life.

Her laughter echoed from the crows above on the gnarled trees. He growled and huffed out a deep breath from his nose-

“Are you?” A boline knife shaved a bit of his five o’clock shadow. (♱) tilted her head at Toby and smiled, black lips parting to reveal pearly whites at her man. “Loser,” she whispered.

Toby chuckled and pulled his goggles up to rest on his head, brown eyes slicing over to her from the corner of his eye. “Alright, mama… you got me. Training over.”

He turned to her and pulled down his mask, revealing his own smile. A vicious scar ran jaggedly from the left corner of his mouth into a permanent sneer. A half-glasgow as (♱) would tease, a running joke after she had said it to hurt him during a particularly nasty argument. The skin there was taut and deformed, the flesh puckered and a whitish-pink, healed but forever marred. With his skin ripped and pulled back, teeth–which were slightly yellower on this side but just as straight as the rest of the teeth in his mouth–were on permanent display.

(♱) leaned up on the balls of her feet and pecked his lips. “What’s my reward?”

Toby raised an eyebrow and snorted. “You’re jokin’, right? This is part of the job description, sweetness.”

“So? Don’t I deserve a.. I dunno, a fuckin’ blowjob or something?” (♱) huffed.

Toby’s eyes widened. “Babe, what the fuck are you-”

“Look, after how I just fucked you in the ass with that win, I’d say I have a pretty-” (♱) squealed as Toby picked her up and threw her over his broad shoulder-“big dick!”

“Big dick, huh? I’m gonna show you a big dick, little girl, always runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth,” he smacked her ass sharply and then her thigh.

Toby walked toward their cabin, passing Tim and Jeff–Jeff whistling at the sliver of the bottom of (♱)’s ass on display from her ridden-up shorts because, of course–cursing a “Fuck!” when Toby cracked him on the back of the head with the stick of his axe. “You may not be able to close your eyes you lidless fuck, but watch it unless you want me to pluck them out for (♱) to use in her witchy shit.”

(♱) giggled, kicking her legs lazily and waving at the two other men. “Bye, Tim! Fuck you, Jeff.”

In their cabin, which was in a more secluded section of The Operator’s woods, Toby kicked the door open and shut it behind them. “So fuckin’ cocky and thinkin’ you can talk to me however, babe-” he dumped her onto the bed and (♱) giggled, biting her lip as she rolled onto her belly, Toby grabbing her throat and lifting her head to force her into an arch. His eyes looked into her own, seemingly sightless without an iris or pupil, but he knew she could see.

“Then what’re you gonna do about it?” she hissed.

His permanent sneer stretched.

(♱) bobbed her head with a voracious need for the mouth-ripping burn of swallowing down Toby’s dick, a thick oozing string of saliva filled with bubbles and mixed with pre-cum drooling onto her chest and the bed. (♱) was still on her belly on their bed while he stood up above her, a big and pale tatted hand clamped around her neck, rough fingertips digging into the joint connecting her skull and jaw to force her mouth open. Her clothes were sliced off with her own weapon, courtesy of her boyfriend, the bastard.

Those gorgeous white eyes, not as soulless as one would think, looked up at him.

And then there was the rough scrape of enamel against flesh. “Fucking- oh, you litte cunt,” he hooked his fingers over her bottom teeth and pulled her jaw down as far as he could before pistoning his hips forward. A wet gurgle came from her throat as (♱)’s gag reflex was triggered, her nose buried into his pubic hair where the pungent smell of sweat from training had become stale. (♱) gagged and choked, tears rolling down her brown cheeks as her nose burned, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his shaft with each thrust of his strong hips.

And she loved it. God, hearts would be fucking floating around in her pupils if she had any.

“God- you’re fucking disgusting,” Toby laughed dryly. “Bet that pretty pussy is all wet just from suckin’ cock, right, mama?”

(♱) moaned around his length and he finally pulled out of her mouth, smirking as she panted-and also because she let his cock rest against the fold between her cheekbone and nose. “Huh? What was that?” he asked.

“I said… I-I alr..already told you I have a big dick,” (♱) panted with the most impish fucking smile.

Toby let his head fall, shoulders rising and falling in short intervals. He was laughing. “Alright, bitch-” he grabbed a handful of thick curls and (♱) whimpered as he pulled her up to her knees and then used both hands, tucking them between the back of her thighs and calves to pull her forward, making her bounce onto her back. With the wind knocked out of her, Toby was already pushing his turgid cock into her, the pierced head of his length breaching her first, cold and shocking.

(♱)’s hands pressed against his lower abdomen and he snatched her wrists together in one hand and held them in front of him as he fucked her, smirking as the sight of her back arching away from the bed and her hips canting forward, making a bridge. “T-Toby, oh my… fuck!” she whined, breathily. “Sho… big,” she slurred.

“Nah, that doesn’t sound like what I was just hearin’ sweetness. Fuckin’ say it. Who has a big dick again?”

“Y-you-”

He leaned down to her face, head turned so his warm breaths were spread over her ear and neck. “I can’t. Fucking. Hear you,” he snarled.

“You, baby- on…only you!” (♱) wailed.

“Good girl,” Toby licked up the side of her neck, her sweat making his salivary glands sting. He let go of her wrists and she immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, whining and pursing her lips which he responded to. His lips pressed against hers, tongues sliding against each other as they kissed, suckling and smacking. He pulled away the ripped side of his mouth making divots where the puckered flesh connected to normal skin, he was smiling. “Yeah, there we go… can’t even get a word out.”

(♱)’s eyes were lidded, the muscles of her neck loose as her head fell back onto the mattress. Just babbling quietly, legs crooked at the knee and splayed open, cradling his body between them. Her cunt gripped him tightly, small spurts of cream coating his cock in a thin sheen as he buried himself inside of her warmth over and again. “T-Toby,” she whined.

“Shh, I know, mama–m’gonna take you there,” he panted. His thumb strummed over her clit, his hips stuttering every time she clenched too tight around him, jaw falling open so his ragged breaths could fall from his lips. His free hand wrapped around her throat and she bit her lip and he could tell she was looking at him, straight into his eyes.

It felt like electricity crackling through her nervous system, each shock waking her up but the lack of proper oxygen flow making her dizzy and hazy.

Toby’s balls, heavy and tight–churning with cum–pulled upward, the seam of his sac making the separation of each ball prominent. (♱) sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth that developed into a groan as she was right there. Right… there!

White-hot heat coiled and burst in (♱)’s belly, lava overflowing and extending through her body as her toes curled and her muscles contracted and trembled. Toby pressed her thighs against her chest, her pussy squeezing around him so tight that it forced him out of her, her squirt sluicing over him while he humped himself to completion between the chubby folds of her sweet cunt. His cockhead dipped between her pressed together thighs until it was jumping and twitching, thick ribbons of cum streaming over her plump lips, dripping down her brown skin.

He sighed, grabbing his shaft and running it up and down the seam of her pussy until she whined. “Alright, alright, m’done,” he chuckled.

“R-remind… remind me to p-piss you off-” she lifted her head and smirked at him- “more often.” Toby leaned down on the bed, the muscles of his back shifting and rippling. “Sweetness, you can piss me off as much as you want as long as you remember one thing at the end of the day: I’m the one with the big dick in this relationship.”

#x black fem reader #x black reader #creepy #creepypasta #platonic #fulfilling my inner child #hope you liked it i dont know if it should be a series #it prolly should be to make sense of everything happening but whatever

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afton-family-askblog · 1 month

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Then pray tell,what about the children you’ve slaughtered you dim witted,arrogant Mother fucker? Im sure your son Evan could be around and haunting you with them and maybe your daughter too ,what will you do if they ask you to bring them back? If you refuse they will ask and beg but if you bring them back they will tell the others what happend,also you clearly have no common sense ,you KNOW how much Henry loves his children so of COURSE he would be strung up by that continuously,so you won’t have a “better” or happy henry unless you bring her back.though because you killed her it will be the same for the missing children,

Your wife also.all of them know what you did.and you think Micheal won’t find out? Or Henry? You have fucked up so bad,there is no positive outcome or even an outcome that benefits you on how you want it.the easiest would be that you will rot away in a jail cell,you scrawny ass fucking sad excuse for a rabbit in human skin.the worsts are where you end up dead or heavily injured and rotting.

Another thing is Mr ASSton is that people DID bring people back to life but they didn’t kill Them nor use the souls and agony of children.people took away lives like you did and they DID give life back.but I won’t tell you how.

Let’s make one thing clear.you will NEVER be divine and honestly can’t.not like this.you do not DESERVE it shitweed.god your worse than Felix Kranken and HE ATLEAST KILLER ON ACCIDENT AND REGRETS IT AND FEELS GUILTY

ah fuck it.you do not feel shame and never will.

Remember my words though.mr afton

-Mono anon

You seem to know more than you're letting on, Mono. Even with your playground insults, you seem to thik you're clever. They'll forgive me, when they see I've fixed it all they'll forgive me. I know they will. They must.

#THE WALTEN FILES REFERENCE.!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!#I forgot his name to be honest and thought it was one of my. Oc's. Felix. And i had to take a SECOND #Cries mr ASSton #fnaf #ask blog #ask #william afton #ask william afton #ask the aftons

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skylarmoon71 · 10 months

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Eobard Thawne (Flash) - Extra

“This Eobard Thawne must be another effect of changing timelines.” Harry stated.

Right now he was tucked in the pipeline as they tried to figure out what course of action needed to be taken.

Cisco was obviously down for vibing him to another planet.They were all pretty much done with handling all the different versions of the evil speedster. At least this time he didn’t look like Harrison Wells. It was unsettling having two Wells just casually walking around.

Barry wasn’t sure what the right decision was. No matter where he dropped him, he knew some way or another he would return to cause havoc. They were all brainstorming at this point.

“I can help.”

The new voice made them flinch. Harry went into fight mode, and he expected Caitlin, Barry and Cisco to do the same, but they just froze as if they’d seen a ghost.

“(Y/N)..” Cisco was speechless.

You just wore a sad smile.

“We thought you were dead. Eobard said the blast had killed you…that the reaction was delayed and you just disappeared. W-We never even found a body..” You could tell that it had torn him losing you like that.

“I couldn’t stay. I knew too much and if I’d intevine it would have jeopardized everything.”

“You knew?” Barry asked.

“I know everything.” Your eyes glowed that blinding white for a second before it disappeared.

“I had to let it all play out. I’m sorry about everything.”

Cisco shook his head.

With so many changing timelines and mistakes, he didn’t have it in him to be angry at you.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” He ran over, pulling you into his arms, and you held on with a smile.

“I feel like I’ve missed something completely.” Harry spoke.

Barry laughed, and soon enough, you all did.

“I need to find a way to trick them.”

He just needed a plan, then he could get away and hide out in some other timeline until he could get strong enough to finally defeat Barry. The second he heard footsteps he schooled his features. The trick was making them think he was in control.

“So what’s the verdict?” He planted a confident smile. What he doesn’t expect is how calm they all seem. Another person came from around the corner, and he felt his heart stop.

“(Y/N)...”

He didn’t say it aloud. Truthfully he never thought he would see you again.

“Hi Eobard.”

You wore a gentle smile, and his mind ran back to that kiss you’d both shared. That day when you begged him to give up his hunt for revenge and join you into a much better place. You hold out your hand for him

Unconsciously, he felt himself reaching out. He touched the glass, and when he caught the gesture, he yanked his hand backwards, glaring.

“This is a trick! Do you really think they’re going to just let me walk out of here. Barry would sooner die than let me go!!”

His words held so much spite.

“I won’t.” Barry admitted.

“As much as I hate you, there’s nothing that I can do about how you see me. I can’t take you back to the future, because I know you’ll cause issues. Putting you in argus was the only option we would have. Because watching you rot in a prison would make me feel better.” Eobard gritted his teeth.

“But it wouldn’t bring my mother back. “ He says. Caitlin runs a hand down his shoulder.

“We trust (Y/N). For some reason she actually cares about what happens to you. So if she says that she can save you, then we believe her.”

Eobard realized then that he could take a chance. He had extreme faith that Argus would not hold him. In a week’s time he would be able to get himself out. He’d gotten away from worse situations.

But on the other hand…

“Come with me..”

He never forgot those words. That look of complete and utter selfless love. Like the last time, he knows it has to be his choice. He could continue down this part, or maybe, actually be happy.

“You don’t deserve happiness. All you need is revenge.”

That voice in the back of his head made him hesitate. When you moved closer and placed your hand on the glass, your body phased right through. Harry was astonished, so was everyone else.

“You deserve to be happy, you can be. All you have to do is take my hand Eobard.”

You turned over your hand, eyes filled with so much faith in someone as broken as he was. His hand trembled as he reached out for you, sliding his palm into yours. It glowed, and for the first time since he’d gotten to this timeline, he felt a sense of relief. No hate or pain or anger. Just relief.

He looked back up at you.

“I missed you.”

Your lips hadn’t moved, but he heard it.

He smiled, sliding his hand against your cheek. He almost forgot how amazing it felt to touch you.

“I missed you too.”

Your eyes shifted back to the team, and you could tell they knew that this was goodbye again.

“I love you guys.”

Cisco wiped the tear from his cheek.

“I miss you already.” He spoke. Barry sent a wave, and Caitlin smiled. Your gaze moved back to Eobard.

“Where do you want to go?”

He shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He took a step, and when he leaned in for a kiss, both your bodies dissipated with the shine of a light.

Maybe happy endings were possible after all.

#eobard thawne #trust #power #sentinel #past/future #Speedster #Barry Allen #flash #reverseflash #teamflash #care #Happy Ending #love

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this-world-of-beautiful-monsters · 1 year

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consider my age, please don’t take me at this stage

Damian Wayne stands in a room of dead children and tries to remember that he’s not one of them. Not right now, anyway.

(Coda to Streets of Gotham #7)

____

@amonthofwhump‘s 12 Days of Whumpmas Prompt: Christmas Wishlist

Titles taken from the song O'Death by Amy Van Roekel.

You can find resources related to the current Roe crisis on my sideblog here.

(tw vomiting, discussions of graphic violence, past child abuse, internalized victim blaming, unreliable narrator, child death, graphic corpse description, implied decomposition, dissociation, mental health issues, trauma)

You can also see this on Ao3.

________________________________________________

“Have you been a good boy this year?” Dumpler asks, blinking at Damian from the shadows of the Arkham wagon. He’s still wearing that ridiculous red suit, pale ruff tickling his chin like a mockery of a beard.

Damian stares back at him. The standards of “good” and “bad” have been rearranged rather abruptly for him since last winter, after all. He’s not sure how well he would perform, by either his mother’s standards or his father’s, if it was all tallied up.

Well...his eyes flick past Dumpler’s head, towards the mock-orphanage and the shadows of police officers moving in and out. Grayson is still in there and Damian is out here, sent to “watch” Dumpler, as if the man’s got anything resembling fight left in him right now.

The aftertaste of vomit stings in his mouth, bitter like shame. He has a good idea of what both of his parents would think of his conduct tonight.

It’s not like he’s a novice with corpses--he’s made plenty of his own, after all. Dead children shouldn’t bother him any more than dead adults would; there’s absolutely no excuse for his disgraceful conduct. Grandfather would probably beat him for it, and Damian would deserve every blow.

Dumpler’s humming Christmas carols and Damian suddenly can’t stand this anymore. He squares his shoulders and turns abruptly away from the wagon, marching back towards the lit doorway like he’s going off to war. He’s not afraid, he isn’t.

When he steps inside, teeth gritted, the first thing that hits him is the smell--a mix of melting ice, a shame-inducing waft of cooling vomit, and the first dark wisps of rot. The cold had kept the corpses preserved up until his and Grayson’s idiotic blunder, but not the space is filled with light and heat. The place will smell like a charnel house, like the proving grounds at high noon--

Enough. Damian clenches his fists at his side, palms sinking into his flesh hard enough to leave marks. He forces his gaze down over the bodies, tracing the outline of bruised flesh and crooked limbs.

Dumpler had washed the bodies, hidden them in shadow, but there was a lot he couldn’t get rid of. Now the lights are up, every one, dead children laid out like a feast. The toys watch at their sides like sentries, jewel-bright eyes blinking.

Deep breaths--one, two, three. Assume command of the scene.

Mother’s hand on his shoulder, breath warm in his ear. He takes care not to look over his shoulder, because her eyes are glowing green again and the sight makes him nauseous. Look at the faces. Tell me what you see.

I see my father cutting through the crowd like a shark.

I see the target’s eyes when she watches her wife.

I see my cousin’s face smashed in with a rock. Mara’s father was never the favorite child--I had to start brushing maggots away before Grandfather deigned to bring her back.

I see dead children and one of them is...

“Robin?” He stiffens a little, glancing up. Grayson and two police officers whose names Damian doesn’t care to remember are coming from a back room, closing the door on more bodies, more children. “I told you to watch Humpty.”

“Dumpler is fine,” Damian snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s not just Dumpler they’re talking about, and they both know it. Grayson bites his lip, but thankfully has enough self-restraint not to get into things in front of the police.

One of said police is turning to look over the corpses. “Dumpler fits the bill,” he declares. “There’s probably enough of his DNA in here to fry him--”

“Because he took care of the bodies after,” Grayson points out.

“He says he did,” the cop shoots back.

Grayson huffs. “Humpty’s mental state--”

“He didn’t do it,” Damian cuts in. “They did it to each other. Some of them, anyway.”

They both look back at him. Damian bites his lip, trying not to feel pinned down by their gazes. Keep it together.

“See those handprints?” he says, gesturing to one boy’s throat. “Too small for Dumpler’s--or any adult or teen’s, for that matter.” He curls his hand over markings, lets them see how small they are.

He hits a man in the throat, and he falls back, twitching. The mark he leaves is smaller than the one his instructor did when she showed him how to do it.

“She’s missing hair,” Damian says, pointing to another girl. “And judging from corresponding length, texture, and coloring, he’s got some of it under his nails,” he explains, gesturing back at the other boy.

Mother cried out the first time he tried to yank on a strand of her long, dark hair during a fight. He let go on instinct and the pain vanished from his eyes, instantly placed by a triumphant smile. “You cannot let your enemy’s suffering distract you,” she’d told him afterward as they bandaged each other up.

“Small fist here, with no training.” He waves at a child’s cheek, the only part of their face not covered by matted brown hair. “The opponent broke their fingers.”

He does not remember where he learned to throw a punch--the same place he learned to wield a sword, that strange, hazy part of pre-memory.

“Robin--” Grayson asks. What is his problem? Damian is calm, calm, calm. Words fall from his lips like stones, cold and hard, laid out neatly for perusal.

“They didn’t know what they were doing. There are much more precise ways to fracture a skull.” He gestures to the side of a girl’s head, smashed dark red and twisted, before moving to the raggedly sliced neck of the body.

“And these cuts are sloppy. Most of them were holding weapons too big for them.” Damian’s cuts are never sloppy but the sight of a too-big blade in a too-small hand leaves distinctive marks that he knows all too well.

The officers are looking at him the way Drake used to, fear edged with a hint of contempt. Damian ignores it.

Mother gave him an island once, then left him on it, weaponless, for three months. He almost died many times that first month and discovered he was happier with animals for company than people.

The second month she started sending people in to kill him and he discovered how many times you have to bash someone’s head in with a rock until they stop twitching. After the third month he had to relearn how to speak. That made her unhappy, although whether out of disappointment or sorrow he never dared to ask.

“Fighting over food, maybe?” one officers asks the other other. “Or drugs?” Neither is directly at Damian; he suspects that his presence makes them uncomfortable. This happens a lot.

“What kind of kids would do this to each other?” One of the cops, he can’t tell which. There’s confusion in his voice, maybe even horror.

What kind of child indeed.

“Kids who have no choice,” Grayson snaps. “None of the fatal handprints are from adults, but there are bruises from larger hands, and some are almost as fresh. They were...dragged.”

Shoved. Pushed. Stumbling onto hot sand, holding a blade tight. Everyone is watching. His shoulder aches and the fight hasn’t even begun.

“There are bruise marks from cage bars, too,” Grayson adds. He takes a step towards Damian and Damian’s legs twitch with the sudden urge to move back, to cover his exits. “Like they were kept somewhere and then released.”

Damian has the vague sense he’s supposed to nod but can’t entirely remember how. “...Yes.” The handprints on the wrists or shoulders are large, the ones on the throat are small. The nail marks, gouged frantically through each other’s skin, are small. He can see the small, small shimmer of teeth come loose, buried in flesh.

You could put one under your pillow, Grayson says as they look down at Damian’s tooth. Damian can’t imagine being foolish enough to openly invite a stranger into their home.

“They didn’t think about what they were doing,” Damian tells the corpses. “They weren’t thinking clearly.” It’s something Mother would say, and he can’t decide where that would put him on a list like Dumpler’s. Good or bad?

“They couldn’t,” Grayson says, deliberately gentle. Chiding, maybe? It’s hard to tell.

“Too much all at once for a gang initiation,” Damian says. “More like a...” Blood splashes across his feet. “...fighting ring.” Show us what you can do.

An al Ghul would never fight for the entertainment of the unwashed masses. But that does not mean the al Ghul’s would never fight for anyone’s entertainment. Damian can feel his grandfather’s eyes burning into his back. Unless it’s the police looking at him instead. Or the dead children, glassy-eyed and dull, like a fish display.

He doesn’t want to look. He has to look. Watch or die. Damian’s face is reflected in every child’s eye, every glimmer of melting ice. He brushed bugs off Mara’s face as she rotted in the sun, while Dusan begged Grandfather for the right not to deem his daughter a failure, to let her be brought back. Her foot had skidded--it could have happened to anyone on the dusty fighting grounds. It had happened to Damian before.

“We’ll need to look at shelters, foster homes, see who’s missing,” Grayson says. His voice curls into something--anger, maybe, or frustration, directed nowhere in particular. “Who wouldn’t be missed. This is a--business--that needs a steady supply of product.”

He sits with her because he feels he must. He’d stabbed her because he felt he’d had to. One of those actions was some kind of moral weakness, he’s sure of it, or maybe both, but he can’t remember which one.

Follow the trail. See who holds the strings. Mother, Father, Grayson. In the end, they all sound the same.

"Some of the cuts are neater than others.” Damian’s voice sounds far away. He can see them, poking out through the layers of bruises and brokenness, older, sloppier marks folded on top of each other, to the red flowers beneath them. “Especially on the older ones, or the better-fed ones, with injuries to the knuckles or hands than the face. The ones who won more fights. They rose higher and higher until they faced--”

After he fights Mara, he fights Dusan, face blank with fury that will never be directed at Grandfather. He wins, but barely, and is left shaking and bleeding. Then Grandfather decides to spar, and Damian’s memories are all green fire and screaming afterwards

“Someone who knew what they were doing.” The words sound so cold, so empty. The words of someone

Damian usually fought adults, not children, as befitting one of his position. There were other children in the League, of course--it was a good way of bolstering their numbers from the best stock--but he was mostly kept apart. Sometimes he trained them, or was set against a pack of them

or was ordered to punish a particular one for the sins of their parents

but none of them were started quite as early as he was, none finessed from the womb like he was. Not even Mara, skilled as she was.

Damian was greater than the children, greater than the adults. He was the best, he had to be. He’s beyond this stinking room, these cold, staring bodies. Or he should be, but he still looks down and reads the corpses like his own history.

“The cuts are precise, designed to cause suffering,” he tells them. “To draw out the display as long as possible.” Pay attention, Grandson. This is how you make it hurt. The knife sinking into his flesh, the knife he uses to sink into someone else’s. It all feels the same. “The watchers stop betting on who wins and start betting on how long this one will last.”

Mara jabs her blade into his ribcage. The traitor screams as Damian breaks her child’s neck between his palms. Everything tastes of blood and ice.

"They are told that the strongest, bravest, fiercest of them will be allowed to survive, but none of them get that far. There is always someone better, someone greater, waiting in the wings. It was set against them from the beginning; they got blood on their hands for nothing. Foolish to--”

“Robin.”

Damian blinks. Grayson is kneeling in front of him, light glinting off his white eye coverings. His hand hovers in the air like he’s going to touch Damian’s shoulder, but he isn’t sure if he should.

It dawns on Damian that at some point, he’s shifted into parade rest. Why is he in parade rest? Grayson hates it when he gives reports in parade reset.

“Robin, can you look at me?” Grayson says, voice soft.

He is looking at Grayson. Isn’t he? Or is he still looking at the corpses, laid out so carefully for his perusal? Body after body after body. Smashed, broken, too, worthless to both sides.

“The more precise cuts all come from a downwards angle,” Grayson says, voice soft, eyes burning into Damian like hot coals. “An adult was responsible, not a child. An adult was watching and let it happen. This was done by adults. The kids didn’t do anything wrong. They were just trying to stay alive.”

“I...” Damian’s mouth is dry, like sand in his throat. Exactly like sand in his throat.

The cop behind Grayson turns to his partner. “Crazy as Humpty, that one,” he mutters, jerking his head in Damian’s direction. “Last Robin was a known-it-all, but at least he wasn’t a--”

“Do you have something to contribute, officer?” Grayson’s voice is cold and sharp as glass. It’s not a Batman growl; it’s something else, something all his own and designed to cut. The officers both go still.

“My partner and I will be leaving now,” Grayson says, rising to his feet. “Thank you for your assistance.”

We have more to do, Damian wants to protest. I can look longer, I’m not weak, I’m not-- But the words are swept away in a blast of cold as the door closes behind them. Dumpler’s wagon is gone and the frost beads cold against his skin. He stands on the doorstep, feeling himself sway slightly in the breeze, but unable to stop it.

“Can I pick you up?” Grayson asks.

His lips form the words I can walk, but nothing comes out. When Grayson reaches for him, Damian can’t even make a pretense of wriggling away. His fingers are numb and tingling, his head ringing, blood pulsing behind his eyes.

He grabs for anger--anger always helps--but it slips from his fingers, fire winking out in his hands. Anger won’t bring the children back, anyway. The Lazarus Pit is a gift/curse offered to very few (and to be honest, there are plenty of nights when Damian’s not entirely sure it did its job at all).

“You’re okay, Dames,” Grayson says. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He sounds like he really believes it.

The world slips by in a buzzing gray blur, snow and sand and ash all melting into each other. The distant press of Grayson’s fingers against his skin feels like the only thing keeping Damian grounded.

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barnbridges · 7 months

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Just here to say that I've been scrolling your blog and reading your tsh takes and analysis and they are so interesting and pleasing. In the fandom I feel like people usually like the same characters and mostly talk about them solely. So it's nice to see Marion analysis! And Bunny and his relationship with her

Also thank you for being brave and talking about submissive meow meow bunny because everyone is just here to say 'hes homophobic I guess he deserved it.' like NOoo you guys don't get it!

And do you want to talk about any of your drafts? Because I've been writing a dumbass Wattpad level of quality fic of Henry and bunny and it brings me so much joy lmao

first of all thank you so much for this ask <3 it really made me happy to read it ghjk

i'm just a humble little girlie, I write about whoever I think about at the moment. It just so happens I tend to talk about Mom and Dad because they are funny to think about, and not as intertextual or high-brow to imagine versus other relationships in this emotional rollercoaster of a book.

He deserves everything that happened to him, because he is breedable, weird and offputting, and personally? He should rot. But he's also my son and my father so... make of that what you will. He's a creature <3

GHJK please do write! One of my favorite things to do in this little rotten corner of the interwebs is look up ancient works and gawk. For my own silly reasons, I have decided to contribute by virtue of the little "girl who looks and feels like old dead people" drabble and what I'm working on is the prequel-sequel to it, mood spoiler, it's just rot rot rot roT.

Here's a fun excerpt under the cut, mood spoiler.

The Buddy Holly 8 track he got his brother rested boastful under the crapton of comics Ted somehow thought they’d read. He got it off Sean for a pack of cigarettes he picked from Lisa when she was there, all beige suits and trying to nod to everything Mom was saying. Back then they placed their bets, if she’d kill Teddy or get knocked up first, because no way he took her any other way. But she was nice and all, even in the summer kept her bob sharp and lips in a dainty smile. Funny thing was, she did both just fine it seems. ‘98. It was sad and all, like their Uncle down in Springfield, but they left the kid to find them. In bed and all, romantic almost. Lisa’s last pack of ciggies resting careful atop the dresser. But it was still Pall Malls. Who even smokes that trash? Neither he nor Bunny smoked much, but knew to appreciate a good ciggie when presented with it. Ted and Lisa were under the ground by their own making for years, but a part still yearns for the stench of every car they ever owned, the way even the kid John smelled of it. For all of his father, Jack Corcoran felt sticky, even a bundle boy carried half-conscious across the parking lot at the burger place, he bore some of that maternal ugliness. It comes with having a mother at all, he muses. He’s rather think about anything, than the dopey grin that was half puked up birthday cake that Bunny had for him that birthday. It still feels etched into his soul, that this was it, where it all went wrong.

#coughs thank you for checking in im gaying over here

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tsuki-sennin · 2 years

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It's the final stretch for the Zombie Survival round, and our Kamen Riders are fighting tirelessly for the chance to move on to the next! All eyes are on our brilliant survivors and also Tycoon to see who will become the DGP MVP! Odds are... not particularly high for some of us, but it's still anyone's game!

Anyways stan Na-Go.

Spoilers, I guess...

-Heeeeeey, Keiwa. I was just kiddin', you know?

-Seems like Neon's mother has really gone above and beyond keeping her on a leash. Though to be fair, this is a situation no parent would want their kid in. ...even with the insanely high likelihood that's not at all the reason Mrs. Kurama is doing this.

-Oh damn, Mary. Or rather, Kogoneya, right?

-Da-Paan in gamer jail.

-Damn, we're just killing them all right now huh fellas?

-Keiwa's pretty justified in running at him like that, Game, up yours.

-"I was just kidding haha fuck you"

-Awwww, Neon...

-Just wanted to be free, huh?

-Keiwa's so cruel.

-"Money" seems like a pretty wasteful use of this kinda wish, Kogoneya.

-People die, and for them we still fight on. Thus says the fox.

-John and Ben seem like perfectly fine guys off the clock. Shame Neon's got such a target painted onto her.

-HOLY SHIT

-No you, don't get to say that, you knocked her onto the floor with that slap!

-Yeah, you tell that bitch!

-Cat, Fox, and Raccoon.

Keiwa: Even if your chances are slim, you're still my friend and I want to help you get that second lease on life you deserve. Ace: And I'm gonna kill you for that Victory Royale. :) ...sorry. :(

-Neon... by gosh, do I admire you.

-You ain't a rotting meat sack yet, Neon! ...or I guess rotting plant sack, but...

-Gamer time.

-Oh shit, Azuma's got a gun!

-I guess Da-Paan didn't make it.

-Wow, Mary's willing to put civvies in active danger for that.

-Oh dammit, he's still kickin'.

-"As a Gamer, I already had no rights!"

-Oh hell yeah, Neon's back!

-Na-Go, playing by her rules!

-NEVER GIVE UP!

-...see it's funny, because Armed Hammer is a repaint of the... the Donkachi...

-Never mind

-The cat has the power of BONK

-Speedrun strats, gotcha!

-Awww, giving her a little Boost :)

-Huh... are they perhaps setting up a more explicit romance than normal between Neon and Keiwa?

-...I'm pretty on board with this.

-Na-Go and Tycoon, they have potential to be a cool Reiwa power couple. As long as they figure things out naturally, Keiwa knows how to treat a girl right, and Neon gets to keep being as cool and fascinating as she has been, then yeah I'd be all for it. ...don't fuck this up, Takahashi, I beg you. Neon's desire to break away from her abusive mother and live a normal life is an absolutely perfect motivation, just let this thing you may or may not be planning between her and Keiwa be part of that instead of superseding it.

-...with all that said, I'm still gonna be assuming that Keiwa and Ace are fucking extensively off screen. Neon can even join in if she wants, but that's just how it works in my head. OT3, go!

-Okay, Tangent Over, sorry about that, where were we?

-Oh yeah, Neon's about to kick everyone's asses. Based.

-Dual On!

-Boost Armed Hammer! Ready, Fight!

-Catgirl Violence.

-Oooooh, absolutely smashed!

-Nice catch, man!

-God, I love team-up attacks. Hope we get to see tons more of them.

-Oh whoops.

-Thanks Buffa, eat my ass.

-It ain't over til it's over!

-ACE YOU LITERALLY COULD'VE KILLED HER

-Revolve On!

-LOVING this look btw.

-Oh!

-That's a big hammer!

-That's King Dedede's Down-B!

-Thank you, Boost Buckle!

-Hooray, you're free!

-Good job, Neon!

-I see Keiwa doesn't get an honorific. I hear that's pretty indicative.

-Da-Paan going to Gamer Hell.

-Sayonara... Kanato Sumida.

-His riding license has been revoked.

-Final boss time.

-I'm rooting for you every step of the way, Neon.

-I see... Ace and Azuma are being backed for different reasons, hmm?

-What might next episode bring us?

-Pairing up!

-Punkjack?

-Is that a fucking pumpkin bear

-Oh, no, that's a grizzly. Too bad Shirowe's dead and Da-Paan's in Gamer Jail, we could've had a We Bare Bears special.

-Hmm.

-I see.

-Okay.

-Apparently Punkjack's a bot for Mary to team up with. I wonder how many NPCs the DGP staff have? And how they were created? ...are they perhaps heavily modified HumaGears, Takahashi? Perhaps some benign strain of Bugster Virus? Or are they like weird... developer ghosts?

-Either way, I'd be happy to see them in action.

#the world's next round: trick shot of desire for the grand victory #kamen rider #kamen rider geats #kr geats #geats spoilers

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pathofmysins · 1 year

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𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈’𝐦 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

I've tasted blood and it is sweet.

I've had the rug pulled beneath my feet.

I've trusted lies and trusted men.

Broke down and put myself back together again.

You couldn’t tell where the grey skies ended and the grey seas began. There was only the wind, sending shivers down my body as I was walking down the coast of southern California. Despite the wind and the freezing air, engulfing me in it’s clutches, it was somewhat peaceful. I loved storms, they resembled my personality, but even more I loved sitting on the beach during one. It was therapeutic, a way to calm the storm within my mind while watching one unfold before my eyes. Another wave of shivers runs down my spine and I throw that old, outworn leather jacket over my shoulders. It belonged to my dad, at least that’s what my mother told me. The jacket was all I had left of him now. We lived on the outskirts of town, but our house was located conveniently halfway between biker clubhouses and acted as a safe haven to a lot of the bikers who stopped at our house. When I was ten years old, I used to pop open beer bottles for them while my mother patched up their wounds and cooked them dinner. Sometimes she would let them crash for the night and that’s also how she became pregnant with me.

Once I make my way closer to the water, I sit down on the wet sand and inhale the salty peace while lighting up a cigarette. The ocean always felt more home to me than those four walls and a roof people call home could ever be, that’s why I always came here since the day I can remember. It was my escape, where I kept the record of the wreckage in my life. It was not a tragedy, it was just the sad reality.

My mother always blamed me for ruining her life, shattering her dreams of fame. Her wish was to be a famous singer and travel the world, but instead God gave her me. I was the daughter she never wanted, the mark of shame for eternity since she wasn’t even sure who was my daddy. There was a man who sticked around for a little bit though, he taught me how to ride a bike and how to hold a gun when I could barely even fit it in my hand. No, it wasn’t love, but it was the closest I ever got. Of course it didn’t last long and the dream soon turned into a nightmare.

“I’ll be back soon, kid. Make me proud.” Those were the last words he ever said to me before placing a kiss on my forehead and walking out through the doors to ride off into the sunset. Twenty something years later and I still haven’t heard from him, no prayers will ever bring him back to me now. People disappear, but a little part of you always remains hoping that maybe it was just a bad dream and soon enough your loved one will walk through those doors again. My mother says he’s probably rotting in prison, but I would rather believe he is dead.

I have mastered the art of portraying the perfect facade of not having a single care in the world. I had no choice, it was the only way to survive in my world where different men came and went almost every night. It was an open house. I lost count how many boyfriends my mother had over the years or how many times she let them slap me across the face. It didn’t take me long to realize where the money was actually coming from. What once was my home became my worst nightmare so I grew up on the streets and quickly enough I found myself involved in many dangerous situations as well as potentially fatal addictions. Some of them, I regret and regret is something I carry a ton of within the depths of my soul. My path is now one of sins, it always has been my fate, no matter where I go. I try to be better, to be selfless and compassionate, but then a trigger gets flicked and my emotions turn cold. I push the good people away, hurt them in ways they don't deserve to be and in times like these, I fail to be the warrior I was born to be. Instead, I show the frightened child within, still hiding under the safe covers of my bed, counting seconds until the next hit would come and leave me in tears.

“So you let Max fuck you now? You know what he does, Nora. I didn’t think you were this fucking stupid!” My mother shouted while stubbing out the cigarette into the ashtray on the kitchen counter. Her eyes gave it away, how little she thought of me, how ashamed she was of my choices.

“What can I say? I learn from the best. You have no right to judge me.” I snapped back.

An embarrassment, an idiot, a slut. All the insults heard one too many times, I became immune to it all. I have tasted blood too many times before and now it just tastes sweet. Oddly my mother never approved of the lifestyle I chose, but she gave me no choice. I would have done anything not be stuck in this house, which is why I got involved with Max and his business, that was the easiest way to make money around here. Earn enough to get myself as far as possible from this place. Max owned a brothel in the city where I spent most of my nights for the past few years. It wasn’t all that bad, at least no one could hurt me there. Besides, most of the men only last five minutes and they are good to go which makes my job so much easier. The plan was always to get away and perhaps if only I could get closer to Max, become his favorite girl, a different path would open up. With every risk I take, with every kiss and each tainted touch - I get one step closer to my goal.

My mom’s last boyfriend, Jonathan, he was a bit of a drinker. That’s how I got all my bruises since I was about ten years old, that’s the age when I started to remember. The first slap was the worst, even though his hand was empty, I felt like I was hit with a piece of metal. I guess when you’re a kid, you don’t realize how much strength adults hold because they’re never meant to use it against you. When I was older, whenever I could, I used to take the hits meant for my mother too. My whole childhood I dreamed of the day my mother would leave him, I would go with her and flee the violence. But that day never came. Every hiss from Jonathan’s lips had to be more spiteful than the last, as if it was bringing him satisfaction to see me hurting, breaking. Long ago I learned how to hide the pain, I became intoxicated with the emotions I never had the desire to feel. Hate. The acidity of it was too strong to ignore, it was just waiting to be spat out in the most foul manner. In this fog of anger and vulgar words, before I could realize what was happening, his fingers were wrapped around my throat as he slammed me against one of the kitchen walls and spit on my face.

“You’re a fucking whore. If you were my daughter, I would fucking kill you.”

Here comes another insult, but I just smile in the most twisted way possible. Perhaps I was signing my death wish with the sarcastic curl of my lips, but the temptation to send him over the edge of anger was too sweet to resist. I looked over to see my mother, she was curled up on the couch, almost choking on her tears, but she never had the courage to protect me. The wall shuddered, I could hear my mother desperately crying out for him to stop, to let me go. But his fingers tightened instead, the glowing embers in his eyes ablaze with rage and I could smell the reek of whiskey coming from his breath. I couldn’t deny the pain anymore and my facial expression was a clear indicator. My vision blurred, a flame curled in the pit of my stomach and my brain went on overdrive.

This was my life, always has been, whatever I do, they make me suffer for it. Repeat, repeat, repeat. How many more hits before he decides to finally kill me? How long until my mother finds me beaten to death on the kitchen floor because there was no more whiskey in the house? My words were scattered as I struggled to breathe with his hand still wrapped around my throat. That bitter smile on my lips though, it lingers as I try to provoke him to see how far was the bastard willing to go.

“Kill me, go ahead. Put me out of my misery. I fucking dare you!”

The memories come rushing through, weighing me down as I relived every night I spent crying, begging him to spare me. The flame twisting in my stomach came rushing forward, crawling through my veins and taking complete control over my body. My fingers coiled into fists as I was being completely deprived of air and now my rage held the power of a wildfire. I saw it in his eyes. It was either kill or be killed. I’m scared. Frightened. Was there a chance that all of this is just a nightmare? I’ve been there for my mother so many times, saved her over and over again, but now I was being outgunned and she still would rather watch me die than fight the man she claimed to love. She didn’t know what love was, neither did I, maybe we were never meant to find out. Now my lungs are running out of air as Jonathan continues to choke me. I worry I won’t be able to control the ending of my story. Darkness consumes me and I find myself reaching over for one of the kitchen knives on the counter. Pain and sickness, fear and cold. I let go of the last piece of hope in my heart and stab him in the abdomen.

The waves are crashing, rising and falling. They come without fear of the beach, embracing their destiny. My fingers find their way into the pocket of my leather jacket as anxiety begins to take over, my chest is hollow. What have I done? Is he still breathing? Trying to juggle my mistakes, my past and present sometimes would leave me wishing I was drowning in these mighty waves. I am worthy of a better life, but I have been a drowning victim since childhood and now, in adulthood, I curse those to blame for the life I found myself living.

I walked these streets my whole life, I know them as if they were etched in my mind with a sharp knife, scars so deep they would never heal. I knew I did something horrible, but I had no choice. Right? I had to do it. The guilt was now like gasoline in my guts, there was so much of it, that it left me completely empty, just an outline of a person. I had no one to turn to, except for the family I chose myself, it meant more to me than my own blood. And these beautiful streets, that were once my salvation, now spike up my adrenaline as good as a shot to the arm.

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wmarximoff · 1 year

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This reminds me so much of Bates Motel. Spoilers but in the end of the series, Norman killed his mother and refused to acknowledge it and kept her body underneath in the basement. And once he finally realized what he did, he loses it but in the end, he found peace because when he died, he was reunited with his mother. You think that would happen to Wanda? In her last moments, she sees R and is finally happy again?

Oh I imagine by this point Wanda will have spiraled into her madness so much that she's sure to hallucinate with R being there all the time – the R in Wanda's head though is just a little shit that brings up the fact that she's dead all the time, always pestering Wanda. In the last moments, Wanda would see R smiling beside her, and then R would approach her and say something like "We'll be together rotting in hell now honey, for all eternity like we deserve. I'll never let you go."

But hey, wasn't that kinda what Wanda wanted all along? lol

#wanda maximoff #fanfic writing #t asks #(don't fear) the reaper!au #anon <3

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rhea-florent · 2 years

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Self para: Aftermath Set after the war of The Reach & The Westerlands against the Ironborn

( tw: death & mention of abuse )

Bring me Yara Farwynd, the ruling lady of Horn Hill ordered when the Reachmen departed for the war in the Iron Islands and her husband’s men delivered.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? How quickly things change,” the Mistress of Whispers said casually, glancing down at her hand as she toyed with a ring Harlon had recently gifted her. She stood outside a cell, and inside, in chains, the woman that birthed her was just coming out of a stupor. “Granted, it wasn’t as quick as I’d hoped. But I can understand the satisfaction you must have felt then... seeing me weak, beaten, right where you wanted me.” The corners of her lips tugged up subtly, a half smile appearing for an instant.

A pained groan escaped Yara Farwyn’s lips and Rhea glanced up, meeting her mother’s eyes. How she hated her own eyes were of the same color. Not quite a shade of clear blue; a darker tint on the outside of the irises, a color that could seem greenish under certain lights. A mixed color of ocean water. It was like looking in a mirror when meeting her mother’s gaze. A twisted mirror. “Don’t try to speak. That ache you feel in your throat... it’s the poison, mother”.

A gleam of fear appeared in the Ironborn’s eyes and there was a sense of swelling pride in the Mistress of Whispers, pride of the worst kind, in seeing that her mother didn’t doubt for a second what she just said. Yara didn’t think it a bluff, she knew it was true.

“It’s a lovely little export from Myr, I’m told. Thallium. The Madman’s Poison,” Rhea stated calmly, “It has no smell, no taste, no color. You drank it with your water during your last meal. And that burning you’re starting to feel in your throat, it will go to your whole body. It’s like feeling hot coals inside you, that’s how it was described to me”.

The pain Rhea felt when her mother beat her senseless wasn’t quite like hot coals, it was a different sort of ache, one that broke skin and shook so much of what she had believed up until that point. She’d always known Yara to be a woman of a harsh nature, but having such hostility turned towards her... that had hurt more than the bruises, the cuts, the broken ribs. Rhea’s own violence was of a different kind, though. And Yara Farwynd didn’t deserve anything less than what she was getting.

There was terror in her mother’s gaze and hatred too. So much hatred. Yara could leave this world cursing her name for all she cared. Too bad she couldn’t speak.

“It’s quite the slow-acting poison, I believe you might still be alive at this hour tomorrow. But barely. The delirium of the pain might get to you first, hence it’s name”. Rhea moved closer to the bars, looking down at the wretch locked in side. “You took so much from me and I had plans, but what happened at the war changed them. So make no mistake, this is for Omer. I want you to die knowing that your fatal mistake was going after my brother,” Rhea hissed.

“Pray to your drowned god if you like,” the lady stated in a dismissive tone, beginning to walk away. “What is dead stays dead here in the Reach, and your corpse will rot undergroud, Lady Farwynd”.

#tw: death #tw: poison

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ouvertyr · 2 years

Text

Letter

@urushiol and @breederethan writes: Your muse has to share something that’s hard for them to talk about. What is the biggest thing they don’t want to say aloud/admit? What makes it hard for them to say it?

That they need help. The both of them.

Damian grew up proud and independent. A strong boy bred to be resilient, while Hikari simply had to be. What they would ask for help in regards to does, of course, differ, but the sentiment is still the same; it’s horribly difficult to get help if you aren’t ready to take it. Damian is, of course, still proud and independent. And it is to his detriment. Sure, in a way its brought him far enough to where he walked away from his crimes fairly unscathed – he got lucky, luckier than he deserved, but now he has to tackle that fact on his own. He’s lost a part of his independence when he lost his left forearm. He’s lost his pride when he was stripped of his given name.

That same pride stops him from moving forward. He knows that he did a lot of wrongs, yet he doesn’t know how to undo them or how to behave to not do them again. For if he did wrong when he tried to do right before, then what would be different if he tried now?

Hikari… Well, in a sense it’s much simpler with her. All she would have to do would be to stop fighting against the help she’s given. To stop fighting her mother, herself and those who care about her. Behaving like a dead girl won’t bring her back in time, after all, and she will have to realize that eventually. But, for now? She would rather let the wound on her shoulder fester and rot.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

#letter - damian #letter - hikari #urushiol #breederethan #they need theraphy your honor

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darkdevasofdestruction · 3 years

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An Angel and A Demon ~ Pyramid Head x Reader

Update 2: My laptop restarted when I was in the middle of writing this, and trust me when I say it, I am positively pissed off, and I want to end my days, that's how bad of a day this was.

And I didn't leave the house.

That says a lot about today...

Update 1: But, without further ado, I was half-way writing this story, and I received this ask, and let me tell you...

helloooo, i absolutely adored the fanfics you wrote about kazan and danny🥺 could i request one where pyramid head is just really whipped for and in love with the survivor! reader but he doesnt know how to announce it to them so he brings her random ,,gifts" in and outside the trials and protecting her bc well, im pretty sure he cant speak so he doesnt really have any other options on how to express his feelings??

I live for it.

Bless you for sending me this, it's the reason I'm still sane right now.

I love you, baby-cakes.

Update 3: I want to kill myself so bad. Just smash my head on a wall until it explodes or sth. I was so happy with how this imagine turned out, only fuck fucking tumblr to just fucking delete EVERYTHING just as I was about to put the last gif and hit POST NOW.

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For the 5th time writing this :

FUCKMEDADDY - but this time - FUCKMYBRAINSOUTPLEASEIWANNADIE

Thanks.

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Hell - What was that place, anyway?

Some would describe it as an infinite ocean of flames and lava, where it's eternally melting-hot, and a bunch of hooved, horned, tailed red demons torture you with acid, with their red pitch forks, or boil you alive in their cauldron for soup. Or maybe you just get tortured by Stalin, who knows?

But never would have anyone thought that 'Hell' could look so...Normal. Well, normal in a very demolished, desolate, ravished way, but still...Normal, by human standards. Albeit, the never-ending loop of madness, anguish, agony and desperation of getting killed in different gruesome ways or fleeing for their lives and feeling a myriad of emotions pumping adrenaline through their veins so badly that their anxiety-meter skyrocketed to abnormal levels.

All this darkness, this hatred, this...Everything...It changed all the survivors. They became selfish, stubborn, rude, some even went as far as to sacrifice their fellow survivors in trials, just so they could survive. It was a complete mayhem that defied all kinds of reason, normality, morality or even ethics. Everyone became devoid of any laws that used to bind them to their humane sides, and now, you weren't sure if the killers were saner than the survivors or not.

But even in this abyss where you couldn't even see your hand in front of your very eyes, there was a little star - A beautiful angel radiating brightness and warmth, someone who was somehow able to guide everyone's straying souls with her benevolence.

In reality, she was merely a survivor, not the little lantern from an angler fish's head, but she treated everyone with such an untainted kindness...It was beautiful, and yet, unrequited for most parts. Everyone was still putting their own lives above all - And who could condemn them? - Perhaps their cowardice, for the girl preferred to save her fellow survivors as much as possible, even if that oftentimes assured her place on the hook, to be a sacrificial lamb for the Entity.

On the other hand, she rarely ended up on the hook - Most killers prefer to kill her themselves, instead of letting her become pray for the horrible Entity who tortured so many of them for refusing to cooperate - The Trapper, Evan MacMillan - He knew the best, with those hooks digging into his flesh, impossible to extract. He was the first to protect this girl. It wasn't much, but if he had to, he'd rather give her a swift, painless death, than seeing her without that serene, angelic smile on her face, as the Entity feeds on the last bits of her soul's beauty, the last parts of her humanity.

The other Killers were confused at the Trapper's actions, but little by little, they began to understand why this girl was so precious and special - And this domino effect hit Rin Yamaoka next, with Y/N stopping in the middle of a chase and taking off her jacket, just as Rin was about to butcher her with her katana, and she smiled, extending it to her. 'You must be cold' she said, realising that the Spirit was merely wearing a few bandages, not even her school uniform, or her kimono.

The ghost girl was shaken up by this, and told the others at the killer camp, but they just shrugged it off - Rin was a little girl who faced close to no kindness, they weren't surprised she was so taken aback by such a feat. That is, until Adiris, in a particularly terrible day, when everyone at the camp was staying away from her, as her profane censer wasn't able to cover the stench of rotting flesh - Y/N came over, taking out a small yet elegant glass bottle with pink liquid on it, spraying some on her - And now, The Plague smelled of roses and vanilla - 'You can come to me for perfume whenever you want, I always carry some with me!' she grinned at the Babylonian High Priestess, before leaving back to the survivor's camp site, leaving the ancient God symbol to stare with her mouth agape at the girl.

These words began to spread, and it was no surprise when the killers saw Susie clinging and begging her Legion friends to spare Y/N, for she was there to hug away her worries more than once, to tell her sweet words, to play with her hair and play the guitar whatever songs she wanted to hear, to get reminded of her home - She was so home sick that she freaked out, but now she was better, thanks to Y/N - 'I know you miss home, but sometimes, home is where your best friends are, and all three of them are here!' she tried to encourage the cute pink-haired girl who could only squeal and hug her new friend.

Even Ghostface wasn't exempt from falling to her charms, and they would often take silly selfies and mess around, making fun of the old horror movie tropes and doing lots of puns and pranks - So much that she even got his trust to be told about the Danny/Jed thing, and how he began his killer profession - 'You're a very talented photographer, Danny! You deserved all that recognition you got, both as a journalist, and as a killer!'

And very soon, Y/N found herself in the crushing arms of an overprotective Anna, humming her mother's lullaby together with walking through the forest, Y/N making flower crows for all the female killers at the camp site, and little by little, she somehow managed to worm her way under everyone's skins.

Y/N was the survivor with the highest survivability percentage, and maybe the Entity sometimes got pissed off, but at least she still got killed sometimes, so who cares? Well, that was soon to change as soon as a new Killer was added to this sick game - Pyramid Head, the terror of Silent Hill, as Cheryl, the new Survivor, called him - or The Executioner, as he was known now. He was ruthless, merciless, grotesque - He had his own criteria of killing, his own moral compass, ethics, conscience and understanding of the concept of life and death. Nothing that could compare to the visions of humans, clearly - Everything was gravitating around Divine Retribution and Justice, but the from the outside, he was nothing but a killing machine.

He would kill everyone and anyone that crosses his path, without fail.

Y/N felt like her fortune ended completely the second she found herself in the new, overly cramped map, with Pyramid Head as the killer - She couldn't help but run around like a spazzic meerkat, trying to find and fix as many generators as possible, without having to get face to face with the walking hazard...

Only to run past a stuck Pyramid Head.

Slowly backtracing her steps, she saw the mountain of a man with his metal pyramid stuck in the frames a low window which he tried to walk over. He was trashing like a raged bull trying to attack a matador, but it was clear he was getting nowhere with this.

"H-Hey, u-uhm...Need some help?" she asked in a soft, careful voice, almost like a meek cat trying to test the waters, but in return, he started groaning even louder from the wrath he wanted to unleash upon the whole world. "Okay, uhm...I think I saw a can of vaseline in one of the chests around. I'll go fetch it and I'll come back for you. Don't move." she said, only to then realise how horrible that sounded, considering the situation, and it only seemed to anger the killer. "...I'm sorry, ignore me, I'm an idiot." she slapped herself pretty harshly before bolting out of there trying to find the chest.

However, Y/N cursed herself for not having perfectly memorised the whole map by heart already, since she found the vaseline can after the 3rd chest, and then, it took quite a while to find the bloody window that got the killer stuck - And by the time she got there, she was dead tired. "Okay, I'm here, I found the vaseline! Let's try to get you out of here." Y/N muttered as she put her feet on the low window pane to get to his level. "If it's not too much trouble, could you please hold onto me? I can't balance myself with both hands occupied, and I'd rather not fall." she explained as she opened the vaseline can, only to shiver as she felt two big, strong hands getting a firm grip on her hips. It was almost...Endearing, were she not too busy trying to get the killer unstuck. She kept massaging the metal edge, trying to push and pull, also praying to whatever deity that existed in her human world that she had her tetanus shot done on time - Until finally, she was able to get hear a loud screech, like a pop, and the killer got unstuck, and in the process, he stumbled backwards, while Y/N fell down on her butt.

"Ouchie..." she muttered, rubbing her back and sides to take away the pain surging through her body. "Are you okay?" she asked, almost intuitively, without realising it at first, until she heart a low grunt that brought her back to reality. "O-Oh...! You have glass shards stuck in your side! And you're bleeding too! Hold up, let me help." she hurried to his side, while the killer merely stiffened, feeling her delicate, slender fingers tracing his body, while he heaved and slouched his shoulders from the repressed wrath. "It may sting a bit, and I'm really sorry, but I promise it will be better soon." her voice was so motherly and warm, which also resonated in her actions, as she gingerly took a water bottle and imbued some tissues with it, to wipe away the blood smearing down his skin as she extracted the glass shards, and then..."This is grandma's marigold ointment. It's really good, and it smells nice." she explained as she carefully smeared a thick layer of the yellow ointment on the biggest wounds, while the little ones were covered by smiley-flower patterned plasters. They were cute, and colourful, and they never failed to make her smile. "Okay, there we go, all better! I hope you'll feel better very soon!" her voice got a tiny bit more cheerful and upbeat.

It made the Killer think about a trillion things, as he stepped in front of her, towering over her like the Empire states building next to a smiling pomeranian. What was with this girl? Why did she help a killer? And why did he feel so...Warm inside? He could sense a foreign kind of luminosity, a naivite and innocence that he only witnessed in children and animals. This woman in front of him was untainted by the darkness and evil of the world.

It didn't matter how many hardships she's been through, or how much sadness she had to endure - Her soul remained as pure as any snowdrop, as the first snow of winter, as the fleece of a baby lamb who let out its first 'meeeeh' to its mamma sheep.

He couldn't allow this human to be maimed in any way - Not by the world, not by the Entity, and certainly not by him. - Screw the Entity, Pyramind Head kills by his own rules, and now, he was blessed to be faced with a human who bore no real hatred for her peers, or for the world, despite the horrible situation she was thrown into.

He didn't understand, obviously, especially as he remembered the myriad of abominations that lurked through Silent Hill, all of them created by the torment of humans - The very torment that distorted their own reality, which resulted in him needing to solve the purpose as The Executioner - Eradicating the world of all evil.

"Th-This sword is so heavy...H-How can you carry this around like that...?! Your muscles must be so strained and sore...Y-You really need a massage, I'm sure." she stuttered as she tried to lift the much taller and heavier sword from the ground, only for the brute to simply bend and pick it up with extreme ease, putting the girl to shame with her complete lack of strength. "Hehe...You're really strong. I'm embarrassed now." she chuckled softly, scratching the back of her neck.

Before she could leave or do anything else, Pyramid Head picked her up by the throat, careful not to hurt her or restrict her air intake - I mean, how else was he supposed to carry her so he wouldn't hurt her with his metal head or sword? - and it was pretty clear she didn't feel any malevolence from him, as she clinged on his forearm, trying to keep herself up, only to be dumped on top of the hatch, as the killer pointed towards it, so she would leave.

"O-Oh...! Thank you so much! You're really kind! I really appreciate this...I-I know it probably doesn't matter much to you, since you'll be doing this over and over again with all the survivors...But I really appreciate you for your kind gesture, and I appreciate you for being so nice with me. Thank you. Take care!" her dazzling smile lit the whole place up, but he couldn't talk, nor could he tell her how he should be the one thanking her for showing him that, despite the hundreds and thousands of years he had to roam the 'Earth' and execute the injust, miracles still existed.

As soon as she reached the survivor's camp, everyone cheered for her, asking how in the world could she have escaped the wrath of the butcher. "Oh, but he wasn't that bad. In fact, he's much more humane than I anticipated! I think he has a beautiful, blooming heart!" okay, she's lost it - the other survivors thought - but even so, she's always been a bit...Out of it, so who cares?

It took quite a while for the other three survivors to reach the camp, all bloody, in fact, like the new killer, who dragged himself with the same menace to the Killers' camp. "How the hell did you manage to survive?!" they yelled at her in utter shock, seeing that she got out of there unscratched. "Oh, you see...I found the hatch." she shrugged simply, not wanting to give away that the person who massacred those three was a soft one and he basically threw her down the hatch to her safety.

As she took a twig to roast a marshmallows, she noticed how Pyramid Head was standing much farther away from the rest of the killers - She knew that silent killers were bound to stay away from the more obnoxious one, remembering how Michael Myers almost killed Ghostface and The Legion at least a dozen times - But this time...He seemed kinda...Lonely? So Y/N took the matters into her own hands, roasted another marshmallow in another twig, and when it was done, she went to the killer's camp, calling out the lonely one's name - She has no idea why, but he actually followed her, pushing her further deep into the forest, until he was sure nobody was going to hear, see or interrupt them...

"Hey. You seemed pretty lonely out there...I thought you could use a friend. Thank you again for what you did at the trial...Here, this is a marshmallow. I don't think you've had many before...Cheryl told me of that horrible place you had to live in...So I hope this will make your day a bit better!" Y/N extended one of her hands towards him, so he could take the marshmallow - And a long, black tongue erupted from underneath the pyramid, snatching away the fluffy marshmallow and gulping it in one go.

What the hell was he turning into?

A towering man built of pure muscle, wrath and divine justice, with a pyramid representing the evil of humanity burdening his body, and a sword taller and heavier than the average human being constantly dragged in one of his hand...He now was a slave to a cute, innocent girl who was putting flower plasters on his minuscule wounds that would heal in a heartbeat regardless - He saved this girl who was now offering his these soft, squishy things that tasted overly sugarly, just like her upbeat and cheerful personality - If he could eat her, he was sure she would taste even sweeter than this - A sickish kind of sweet, that is.

She was indeed a beautiful angel in this tragic hell. But he didn't wait to snatch the second marshmallow either.

"Ah...! You liked it, didn't you? Well...Next time, I promise I'll give you more!" she grinned at him the same way a princess would to her chivalrous knight who saved her. The since he couldn't talk, silence took over them - It wasn't an uncomfortable one, per se, but it made it feel as if the conversation was over. "W-Well...I'll guess I'll see you around! Take care and I hope to see you again soon!" she waved cutely, trying to turn around back to her camp, only to feel a rough hand on her shoulder, turning her around and urging her to stop and wait for him and he went deep into the forest, leaving her alone and undefended by the potential malevolent forces of the forest.

When he returned, however, he stepped right in front of her, creating the perfect shade as he towered over her - Then he kneeled in front of her, so he would reach her eye sight, then he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and put a beautiful pink flower - As pink as the blush that started creeping on her face - He wanted to see her luminous face better, to highlight her dazzling smile and her glimmering eyes as the warm, silver light of the mother moon caressed her face.

Y/N felt her heart picking up the pace - It was beating so much faster than ever before - But this time, it wasn't out of fear or anything negative...It was something good. Something she never felt in her life, especially with her human acquaintances from back home. None was as chivalrous and gentle with her as this butcher of tormented souls - The bringer of justice, the merciless Executioner who was supposed to end the life of every living being that would cross his path.

It was insane how every Yin finds its Yang, even if that comes in the form of a little lamb of a small, frail girl, and a huge abomination of a brute man who knows nothing but death, bloodshed and carnage. It was truly crazy how opposites attract, and here she was, holding the killers large hands and gingerly putting them on her face, leaning into his touch - She felt safer now than ever in her life - Now, in the arms of an ancient killer.

An Angel and A Demon brought together in a perfect union.

As she leaned down, she touched the metal of the pyramid where she anticipated his forehead would be with her own forehead, and closing her eyes, she finally felt herself calming down. There was no need for words, actions spoke louder than anything, and she appreciated it...She appreciated him.

"Thank you." she whispered to him, knowing that yes, even though nobody else would hear it anyway, it was much more intimate than anything she ever experienced.

She was hooked.

Hope you liked my completely shameless pun, I couldn't stop it, especially after the pain I went through trying to write this...3 freaking times.

Yay.

#dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight imagine #dbd #dbd x reader #dbd imagine #silent hill #silent hill x reader #silent hill imagine #pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #pyramid head imagine #red pyramid #red pyramid x reader #red pyramid imagine

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sweetbunnykook · 3 years

Text

Only You (10)

Word Count: 11,267 // [SPOILER IN WARNINGS] angst (mention of double homicide, gore/blood, miscarriage, mistreatment of a corpse, panic attack, meltdown, blackmail, gun, abuse), toxic relationship, manipulation

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.

A/N: Thank you for waiting so long! Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter if you want to. Enjoy! - 🐰

The distant sound of television in your living room.

‘We bring breaking news…Kim Namjoon, the heir of…yesterday morning…in questioning…accessory of the crime…kidnapping and killing of pregnant fiancée…found motive…’

The splatter of blood on his skin, the taste of blood on your tongue. Your whole world melts into a puddle of red. You feel him inside you, around your throat, his grip tightening, his kisses searing against your lips to pin your tongue underneath his.

A whisper against your ear.

‘You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, noona.’

You wake up with a start, gasping for air as you reach over to where Jungkook should be only to be met with a gray rabbit plushie. It has been a week since the night your life changed. Whether for the best or the worse, you can’t tell just yet. You rub a hand over your stomach where you’re cramping, taking deep breaths through your nose and exhaling through your lips to calm the panic of hearing and seeing red in your dreams once more. The brain is a relentless organ. No matter how much you force yourself to forget, to justify the past, to let your anger roam free, your dreams follow you as soon as your body succumbs to exhaustion.

Jungkook gifted you a bottle of melatonin for such nights but it was rather hard to sleep when every thought goes back to the sound of Yori’s lifeless body swallowed by the rustle of a black plastic trash bag. It’s a stark dichotomy from the images you have of her in her soft chiffon dresses, bleached hair swaying in the wind, her lithe frame moving effortlessly between the trees in your family garden. To think that you would lose her in such a way is unfathomable even when there is a sick, hideous part of you that felt almost relieved that you’re alone at last. Her existence only served as a reminder of your humiliation.

It’s why you’d spent so many weeks and months back then cursing her – hoping she miscarry during your most vulnerable nights, hoping Namjoon would leave her for another woman so she gets a taste of how you’ve suffered; yet when the day comes when she’s truly gone, your heart and mind is restless.

As your stomach settles, the residual guilt rising like bile up your throat gives you a newfound reason to tell yourself you’re still very much a good person. You’re still the woman Jungkook loves for your understanding and hardworking spirit. Partly feeling guilt towards her death meant you still loved her in your true, good nature – or at least you love the memory of what she used to mean to you. The girl you remembered – the girl who would make crowns for you with wildflowers, paint your sleeping form, talk about all the men she wrapped around her fingers – was long gone before you found her lying at the end of a staircase. Your mother can’t kill someone who was already dead in your eyes.

The body your boyfriend stuffed in his freezer didn’t deserve your kindness nor repentance. It’s why you were able to waltz right into work the next morning from Jungkook’s studio, drinking the same cup of coffee at your desk, working the same files, and mentoring interns with a smile albeit the sudden panic episodes had caused you to empty your stomach after each meal.

You’ve run out of fingernails to bite. You’d expected the world to crumble and fall at your feet in the following days but everything feels oddly normal. The sun still rose. Flowers still bloomed. And Jungkook still loved you.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, the thin sheen of sweat on your body makes the valley down your spine tingle, prompting you to reach back to scratch your skin raw. When you look over at the nightstand, the red digital numbers on your clock glare into your irises through the sleep haze – it’s barely two o’clock in the morning. With a groan, you stretch an arm towards the floor and pull Jungkook’s shirt towards your feet before bringing it to your chest. The half-buttoned cotton still smells like him. Like comfort.

When you slip the black long-sleeved shirt over your head and roll it down your body, buttoning up to cover your chest, you’re struck with the realization that tonight is the night Jungkook must finish the job. He hasn’t left your side since the accident, treating you with the utmost care, his prying eyes following your every move to the point you ended up pressing your lips against his each and every time just to cease his worries. His fingers melt like butter on your skin when he cups your jaw in search of any anxieties you might have hidden from him. It’s evident that he’s in awe and in confusion at your strength. Maybe he thought too highly of your capacity for forgiveness; like the loud saccharine-faced women you work with, you’re just a tantalizing red apple infested with rot beneath.

And it’s with that very same façade you faced the detectives.

The police came knocking at your door two days ago. Jungkook promptly informs you that there was nothing you need to worry about for now except keeping your composure.

The two men explained the situation – a vague description about Yori’s disappearance, suspicion with Namjoon’s prolonged stay abroad, and odd evidence that she may be kidnapped or blackmailed – just as Jungkook predicted. You feigned passive concern as they took your statement about the last time you saw your former friend, inquired about the wedding incident, and noted the places she could be from your childhood memories. You answered every question with the calmness of an experienced storyteller, comforted when Jungkook confirmed your alibi with his hand wrapped around your fingers to keep you grounded when you trembled. A few angelic tears you shed hearing about Yori softened the mens’ heart although they didn’t have a single inkling of a different kind of fear buried inside you now that there is an investigation ongoing.

There was something about the glimmer of their handcuffs that made you fear for Jungkook playing the role of the clueless but supportive boyfriend like a seasoned actor. The thought of the men pinning your boyfriend on the ground and ripping him away from you had you hurling digested dinner over the toilet shortly after they left. Your tears must have done much of the heavy lifting during the interrogation that even Jungkook had asked if you were feeling alright, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your cold, wet cheeks.

You can’t live without him and if he were to be taken away from you, you wouldn’t know what to do. You’ve learned to fear his absence more than his capability for murder. Such thoughts threaten to cut the last strings of sanity holding you together.

Despite Jungkook being there for you every step of the way, he was powerless when it comes to protecting you from the stench of office gossip that you must endure for the sake of calming suspicions about your outside activities. It was obvious what your coworkers thought of you as soon as the news came flooding about Yori’s sudden disappearance. Whether you feign concern or not, there have already been rumors about a sabotaged pregnancy. Their fake kindness and whispers gave you the freedom to look as disastrous as you feel.

If only they knew that the true reasons for your sunken eyes and weight loss are far, far beyond their comprehension. If only they knew you were on your hands and knees scrubbing bodily fluids; the longer their mouths yapped, the more you thought about the red on your fingertips, how satisfying it felt to watch it spiral down the drain.

The first week was grueling but the second week – this week – when the voices of the two detectives, blood-filled memories, and buried dreams resurface, you’re completely cornered. Oh, how much you crave Jungkook’s touch, his gentleness, his ability to read your mind and body even more now that he’s gone to settle your debts.

You take your cellphone resting on the nightstand next to the digital clock, place the rabbit plushie under your arm, and make your way out of the bedroom. The condo is dead silent except for the muffled cracklings of vehicles running over pebbles on the highway nearby. It’s awfully cold but the sight of the fridge makes you clench your jaw and turn towards the couch, sliding onto the padded surface when another pang of panic hits your stomach, leaving you to press your abdomen inwards with the heel of your palm. You grab your laptop from the dirty coffee table with your free hand and place it on your lap, cursing once more when your nerves refuse to ignore the coolness of the aluminum surface. You squeeze the soft fur ears of the plushie, but it doesn’t feel the same as holding onto your boyfriend’s fingers in times of need.

It’s cold in the room, you note once more, but Yori’s body curled in Jungkook’s freezer is even colder.

Would he let her thaw before burying her? Would he burn her somewhere in the woods? Dump her in a lake? Would he admire her beauty first and brush his fingers down her cold cheeks, feeling pitiful about the woman who humiliated you just because she was carrying a child?

You shake your head, watching the laptop come to life. You need a distraction. Any kind of distraction to forget that your boyfriend and Yori might be alone in a room right now as if they’re on a little date.

The cramp twisting your innards isn’t caused by panic this time. It’s jealousy.

…

Taehyung is exhausted to the marrow of his bones. If he didn’t consider Jungkook to be his only family left, he would never have flown to South Korea on such short notice. It’s expensive to leave clients on hold when he’s spending a fortune every month lining bribery pockets. He hopes Jungkook is prepared to work without pay for the next month. Judging by how eager the younger man is to see him, he decided to cut him some slack in the end. That’s what families do.

Right now, Taehyung is only annoyed to find out that his partner – who had already left the refrigerated room – brought his least favorite pliers when he asked her to lay the tools on the table next to the body. The pliers are black but coppered with rust and prone to slips with its slippery silicone padding resting where his gloved fingers would go. He doesn’t even know when or how he came across such an awful tool but he’ll have to make do.

He turns back to Jungkook who is sitting on a plastic-covered stool across him on the other side of the body, brows scrunched together as he looks down at the nude woman’s slightly protruding but stiff stomach. There’s no sense of discomfort on his face; a good sign, Taehyung notes, as it has been some time since Jungkook has dealt with a body. Yet he finds himself uncomfortable when looking down at the vicious woman he’d heard an earful about. It’s not a good omen to cut open a pregnant woman, not when Jungkook has been preparing for parenthood ever since he dumped your birth control down the toilet.

“Are you sure it’s wise to leave her alone?”

Jungkook scratches behind his ears, watching Taehyung’s fingers pry open Yori’s frozen mouth to reach her teeth. The older man places a balled cloth inside the mouth before lining the plier towards the molars, gripping the frozen teeth between the iron clamps before yanking the tool to one side. The tooth pops out with a crisp snap, leaving a deep black hole in Yori’s pale gums. Freezing her made cleaning extremely easy – Taehyung can’t help but pat himself in the back when Jungkook seemed to remember all that he’s taught him about the work. He is, however, a bit disgusted that the body was kept in the same fridge as food. Hell, even an experienced butcher like himself has some decency not to do such a thing.

“I think it’s fine,” Jungkook murmurs, watching Taehyung’s sturdy hands yank each tooth out of her gums with razor-sharp precision. “She’s been sleeping better than the first week so I don’t think she’ll be awake by the time I get back.”

“She’s not like us,” Taehyung scolds, his baritone voice low. A puff of smoke dissipates in the cool air as he speaks. The younger man lowers his head; there should be a limit to the favors he ask for and he’d crossed professional boundaries one too many times. “It’s a big risk you’re taking.”

Jungkook juts his lower lip out like a child filled with remorse. “I know, hyung. But...I trust her and she trusts me. Or else we wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

Taehyung hums at that, finding it rather odd that a girl with a fine upbringing had the guts to do cleaning work (poorly as expected, according to Jimin showing up with the rest of his crew to spot-clean the rest).

“Trust can be an expensive thing, Jungkook.”

Desperate to appease the older man, Jungkook snaps his gloves in place and reaches over to take an electric saw in his hand, watching the silver glimmer under the lights before standing. He waits until Taehyung finishes the removal, placing the teeth neatly in a plastic cup, before lining the blades to Yori’s pale neck and quickly sawing down her esophagus. The saw groans as it hits her spine but with Taehyung’s palms pushing the saw down further, Yori’s head comes apart clean from the rest of her torso. Under the sharp blue lights her insides look tar black. Such a pretty exterior holding such ugliness inside of her, Jungkook thinks, before he shakes the thought away.

Her beauty can never be compared to you. You’re a goddess. And her? A mere insect to put back into the earth. Yori had caused you immense pain and he would see to it that she will be treated with utmost disrespect.

“What’s your plan after this?”

Jungkook moves the woman’s hair away from her face then removes the cloth from inside her mouth. He then pushes her jaw up to cover her black gums.

“I’m going to try to convince her to leave work for a while. Hopefully...she’ll be pregnant by then and it’ll make it easier for her to marry me.”

Taehyung nods. “Then?”

“T-Then…” Jungkook nibbles on his lower lip. Something about Taehyung’s gaze makes his insides queasy and he doesn’t know whether it’s because the older man is upset or just exhausted. With a poker face like his, with eyes that sink deeper than an eternal labyrinth, it’s difficult to tell. He settles on the most comfortable answer. “Then we’ll live like a normal family. Maybe after she gives birth we can buy a house instead and live near the sea like we used to.”

It’s not a definite answer, but it will do for now. When you regain confidence that life will continue on as it always had, it should be smooth sailing from there. Namjoon or Jin have been a threat but once the baby comes they’ll know better than to approach you again.

Taehyung’s assistant comes back into the room with a soft smile. She glances down at the decapitated woman briefly before walking towards the incinerator in the far corner. Like clockwork she appears once there is a twenty minute time limit before the room reverts back to a comfortable temperature. Jungkook’s freezer preserved the body enough that they can pull apart Yori’s limbs and burn each piece separately; the burning will be handled by her but dismemberment is intimate, a family bonding type of activity that re-establishes their brotherhood.

“Are you happy you’ll have a family soon? Does it bring you joy?”

The younger man nods, lips trembling softly as he looks down at the severed head. His cold breath fans over Yori’s eyelids. “Yes, I am. Very. It’s all I ever wanted. ”

Taehyung stares. From the scar on the left cheek to the mole under his lips, he watches Jungkook as the younger man saws through the arms, letting the frozen limbs fall to the plastic-covered floor with a rustle and blunt thud. Once all four limbs are torn apart on the floor, he lines the saw down the navel just above the slight hill of Yori’s protruding belly. Just as he moves to switch on the saw, Taehyung grips his wrist with a tightness that alarms Jungkook.

They look at each other, truly look at each other in the darkness.

“Will you ever tell her the truth?”

Jungkook jaw tightens as he holds the older man’s gaze. His fingers are going numb, not from the cold but from the grip around his wrist.

The question causes him to chuckle incredulously. One small step and everything can fall apart like a house of cards. The risk he is taking burning someone closely associated with you can pull them both back into the times when they lived like rodents; hidden from light, at risk of being poisoned every step of the way out from the ground.

When Taehyung doesn’t mirror him, he falters. “…What use will it be if we tell her? She doesn’t have to know anything about me.”

“Is it because you’re afraid she’ll be hurt or afraid she might leave if you do?”

The reaction is immediate. Jungkook’s brows come together and he lays the saw on top of the torso, releasing a harsh exhale as he desperately pushes back tears. Taehyung expected the reaction; it’s what he was aiming for in the first place. The minute he walked in the room and saw Jungkook smiling happily in the distance he knew the boy has taken his delusions too far. He’s willing to oblige with the many ridiculous requests in helping him secure you as a wife, but he’s not a hopeless romantic. He doesn’t believe in soulmates and pure, perfect love that Jungkook pines for. There is only so much luck Jungkook can depend on before you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have. With a criminal bond, the stakes have never been higher.

The boy takes his bottom lip under his teeth. “She won’t leave me.”

“Answer the question.”

“She loves me, okay? That’s all I need.”

He peels his arm away from Taehyung and brings both hands behind his head, burying his face in between the elbows. He turns away towards the concrete wall, his temples pounding from how hard his teeth are clenched. Couldn’t Taehyung just be happy for him? Couldn’t he take time away to celebrate this victorious night?

The reality is that two people who love each other may still never truly know each other. Just like how he doesn’t know the true reason why you wanted him as you watch him from the balcony in silence all those months ago, you won’t know why he can’t tell you everything about his upbringing. There’s no doubt that you would see his lies as betrayal, perhaps even worse than what Yori did because he made you believe he worshipped the ground you walked on (and it’s the truth). If you learned that the doe-eyed boyfriend part of him is dramatized, your heart will take irreversible damage. He had shown what it meant to be in love, to have a place where you both can call home, to care for each other through sickness and crime. He can’t ruin that illusion. Not when he’s this close to taking you away from everyone you’ve ever known.

“The fire is ready.”

He brings his arms back down to his sides and turn towards the assistant who stands with her hands clasped in front of her as she looks between him and Taehyung.

When neither of them move, she kicks opens the incinerator and releases a waft of hot air towards the thawing body. Jungkook turns back to the body and kick the limbs towards the fire. He grabs Yori’s head by the hair and tosses it towards the limbs, wondering if you would still love him if you saw him now in a grimy lab coat, reeking of frozen flesh. You most likely won’t. You most likely will be disgusted with him, your eyes might resemble his mother’s, peering at him as if you couldn’t waste one more second breathing the same air as him.

“I’m scared,” he whispers at last, walking towards the torso on the table. He places his hand over the blood-stained stomach. The baby didn’t deserve this death, he thinks, but it would have ended up as miserable as he was when he was a child.

“I don’t know how not to be scared. That’s why I…I’m doing all of this for her. It’s why I still can’t tell her everything even if we’re tied together now. But…but I’m…we’re still men, right? We’re not monsters who do this for fun. We do this to protect the people we love.”

The older man puts his hand over Jungkook’s on the cold stomach and rubs his thumb over his knuckles. The younger man relaxes a bit more now that he understands Taehyung isn’t frustrated or upset that he put them all in danger, only concerned.

Taehyung’s life’s purpose has been to protect this boy and now it’s Jungkook’s turn to protect the woman he’d fallen for. It’s all the more cruel that the woman Jungkook believes to be his soulmate came from wealth, from prestige, from a family that may be dysfunctional but more often than not normal. It pains him that he’s willing to live the rest of his life under a façade just to keep the illusion of a perfect romance alive. If only Taehyung could have convinced him that the beautiful couples in movies aren’t real, that the men in those movies are not like them and the women in those movies are not perfect little angels he think you are.

But that’s a battle Jungkook has chosen to fight and he could do nothing but support. That’s what families do.

“We’re not monsters,” Taehyung finally speaks at last as he walks towards the limbs and crouches down to the open incinerator. He brushes his long fingers along the metal edge, letting the tips of his fingers burn pink. His deep brown eyes reflect the orange hue of the fire yet his pupils welcomed no light. “But we’re damn close.”

…

Your skin prickles with goosebumps as you gulp down the remaining ice cold water from the fridge, laying your forehead on the door handle. It’s unbearably hot and cold at once and you’re growing impatient as the minutes tick by and you’re still alone.

It doesn’t take long to bury a body, does it? Jungkook never specified what he was going to do. Maybe the reason why it’s taking too long is because he’s driving far into the woods but your heart pangs in worry at the thought of a witness catching sight of him hunched over with a shovel. He seemed confident when he left (in your sleepy haze you don’t remember clearly) that the thought went away as quickly as it came. Your boyfriend can be meticulous; there’s a high chance that he’s taking extra precautions. He probably isn’t calling because he assumes you’re still asleep. He’d tucked you in and kissed you on the forehead, only murmuring something about being back soon and bringing back breakfast.

You set the glass down in the sink and walk past the kitchen counter, halting in your steps when you find your purse laying haphazardly next to the fruit basket. It’s been there since the police came and the contents of your wallet and keys threaten to tip over into the basket. You pull the undone zipper apart, rummaging around the inside to straighten the sides until your nails click against the uncapped flash drive. It makes your insides quiver when you realize you had been opening the files when your mother called during that day and the world crumbled. Oh how blissful you would be standing here if you never picked up the call, if you let her deal with her own problems, if the guilt of her being alone and scared didn’t affect your tender heart. The worry that Seokjin had written a love letter seemed rather insignificant now that your boyfriend can be taken away in cuffs if evidence surfaces. The tabloids would have another field day for sure.

You turn towards the digital clock on the stove, noting the time once more, and grasp the flash drive in your hands before making your way towards the living room. The flash drive blinks green as you slide the silver end into your computer propped on the coffee table. The laptop will keep you sane because you know damn well if you see Namjoon’s face on the television once more you’d spiral into panic. It’s not wise to speak of his name under your roof.

It’s not wise to speak of Seokjin’s name either, but if Jungkook isn’t coming anytime soon, the least you can do is read what your old friend has to say and be rid of this little tool in case your boyfriend’s curiosity leads to a temper tantrum.

Once again, the document window reveals a ZIP folder along with an array of photo files. You extract the file first, letting it load before double clicking to pull up the document window. It’s not what you’re expecting. There’s no sweet words and no mention of Seokjin’s name on the page. The document is over two hundred pages long and still loading as you scroll down the pages. There is a case number in the middle of the first page and then several police reports from several years ago, all dated within the same year.

Busan.

Two victims.

Two suspects.

Juvenile.

With your brows furrowed, you scroll further down the file, slowly falling back down to earth from the blanket of mental exhaustion. You feel a cold breeze down the curve of your spine, your fingertips slowly coaxing the cursor downwards. Several sentences are censored or cut in the corners. The further you scroll the more you find yourself asking if Seokjin had given you the wrong flash drive or if he was pulling a vicious prank on you. It all seemed like a whirlwind of information you don’t know how to translate until you pause on a page halfway through the document.

Kim Taehyung.

The name is most definitely familiar. The second name listed in the following page, however, you recognize in entirety.

Jeon Jungkook.

The universe must be playing a sick joke, you think, as your cursor swims around your boyfriend’s name. He would have told you about an incident big enough for a case report that spans over a hundred pages, wouldn’t he? Jungkook wouldn’t hide anything important from you, not after he had urged you to be transparent with him. Not after he had punished you for something as silly as keeping jewelry gifted by or ex or forgetting to wear a brassiere in public. Something in your gut tells you to keep scrolling despite your vision beginning to blur and the air around you becoming heavier as if you’re breathing over a pot of boiling water.

You scroll further down, lips parting as your eyes scan over the document with record speed. The Jeon family massacre, the shack in Busan, the weapons used on the bodies for both murder and disposal – everything is written in clear detail. But it’s impossible, you think, as Jungkook has never once hinted that his parents were deceased. In fact, there were several times when he welcomed the idea of you meeting his family. He wouldn’t have agreed with enthusiasm if he had to reveal the details of this case, would he?

He wouldn’t have his mother’s number saved. It doesn’t make sense and the more you wonder who that woman could be in his cell phone, the more your insides twist.

When you hit the last hundred pages the censorship worsened. Most of the pages are illegible with black boxes shadowing over sentences but you don’t need the missing sentences. The last five pages summarized the timeline of the incident and highlighted possible motives from abuse to undiagnosed mental disorders for both Jungkook and Taehyung. You’re not sure if the file is even reliable considering what you’re reading and the boyfriend you’re living with seem like two different people.

There is hardly any record about the two of them except the elementary, middle, and high school they’ve attended. The paragraphs blur together as you scroll with trembling fingers. Something about Jungkook’s instability, his codependency on Kim Taehyung, the manner in which he was released shortly after Taehyung’s escape from the facility despite facing juvenile charges for second degree murder.

Then, the details of the crime.

Jungkook couldn’t do something like that, could he? Your lungs ache as you pant, a sudden sob leading you to clasp a shaky hand over your mouth. There is no reason for you to claim this case as unreliable when Jungkook is disposing Yori’s body somewhere within the twenty mile radius. There is no reason this case is talking about another Jeon when the first thought your boyfriend had when you confessed your mother’s accident was to help with the cleaning.

This couldn’t be anyone else but Jeon Jungkook, the boyfriend who kisses you until you melt like butter in his arms and pouts whenever someone looks at you the wrong way. Despite the file in front of you, you shake your head.

“It’s not him…it can’t be him.”

Closing the file window, you take a deep breath before opening the image file next to the folder. The first few photos were of the crime scene and your blood turns cold at the disfigured corpses in the room. The room is dirty with peeling wallpaper, blood splatter, broken furniture, and schoolbooks and papers. The couple in the picture is your boyfriend’s parents, there’s no doubt about it. You can see the resemblance in what remains of his father’s face and you wonder if that’s the reason why he never felt comfortable in his skin, as he once told you during pillowtalk.

With your core tightened, bracing for the worst, you open the last image. There is Jungkook, in the flesh, pictured with a uniform and handcuffs, eyes blacker than your morning coffee. His face is littered with bruises and the corner of his lips are swollen, caked with dried blood. The purple and green bruises stretch over his eye socket, reaching far back to his temples where his hair falls. Somehow the fact that his mother had abused him didn’t register in your mind until now. It feels somewhat far away, like a distant memory that has no effect on the person he is now. But Jungkook didn’t become the sensitive and hardworking man you know now because of sheer willpower; he was forced into the role.

He did what he had to do to survive and you know deep in your heart you can’t hate him for it. You can’t justify murder, but you can’t ignore that he was desperate to leave.

You place a trembling hand over your heart and lean back into the couch.

Either way you look at it, one thing remains true. Jeon Jungkook had spun lies upon lies to be in your life. He had successfully kept you in the dark, hardly ever showing how truly dangerous he can be until the time is right. His anger has been, at times, loving and sweet. Other times, it spurred fear. He had promised you time and time again he would never hurt you. Yet, that promise holds no substance when he doesn’t practice his own standards for loyalty and truthfulness that he instilled in you.

There’s the Jungkook from Busan who showed no remorse for what he did and there’s the Jungkook who held your heels in his hands as he led you to safety from that fateful wedding night. Burying your head in your hands, you fist the roots of your hair until your scalp burned.

You’ve been sleeping with a stranger.

…

The precinct is a large, block building next to the subway station that would be invisible if it were not for the newly painted gray-blue gates set around the perimeter of the building. There is a group of photographers huddled against the gates despite the very late hours of the night, sporting the same black padded coats as they tumble over each other like penguins. When Namjoon steps out of the building and into the Mercedes parked in front of the building, the camera shutters click. Reporters shouts his name for a statement. He merely glances at the crowd before stepping into the vehicle, adjusting his coat before slamming the door shut.

The crowd of reporters part as the vehicle makes its way down the concrete path to the streets. There are no officers in sight to control the crowd, prompting him to watch in silence as they knock on the tinted glass and the side of the car. His chauffeur would seem unbothered if not for the whiteness of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel, stepping on the gas with urgency while being careful to not anger the hungry journalists desperate for next morning’s cover story.

He can understand Lee’s anxiety as they drive towards one of his apartments in the city with higher security. He has been in a state of paralysis ever since he landed and was immediately brought into questioning. The handcuffs at the airport wasn’t necessary, he thinks, and he’s convinced some of these cops must be journalists in disguise, blaming him for a crime he had no knowledge of. Aside from such inconveniencies, there are other problems to address such as the dent in his parents’ pocket to keep the media from prying too much into the investigation. He’d faced his father’s wrath earlier before his first shot of whiskey, and then his mother’s who cried on his shoulder as she was too relieved to see him walking freely. He doesn’t understand why people are surprised that he isn’t the culprit when there is so little evidence against him. The precinct wanted to make an example out of him, about how the rich aren’t safe from persecution; however, they fail to consider that the rich aren’t always guilty with whatever they are accused of either. It’s been an exhausting last few weeks to face the same mob of cameras before, during, and after the questioning. They must know by now that Yori’s disappearance was as surprising to him as it is for everyone else.

There is no end to the investigation – especially when they are set on finding evidence that it was premeditated - and his exhaustion reached its peak this morning when he realizes today was the day the baby is due. Yori wasn’t fond of motherhood – unbeknownst to outsiders who only saw her poised nature – and neither was he. But he had made an oath that he would be there for the child at least financially if not emotionally and would provide the necessities while he legalize their marriage and transfer abroad for work. He swore to not touch a single drop of alcohol when the first cry of his child reaches his ears yet here he is, pouring himself a drink from the mini fridge assembled between the seats.

“Where do you think she is?” He asks, then takes a shot of straight vodka. This was one of many times he despised how poised he can be when the situation is dire. His lawyers had advised him to be emotional, but he can’t bring himself to put on an award-winning act when he’s one sleepless night away from a coma.

The older man glances at the rearview mirror, lips setting in a thin line as he eyes the bottle in Namjoon’s hand.

“I’m unsure, sir. The police and your father has been searching in all of the places she could possibly be. I’m sure they will find her soon.”

“Dead or alive?”

The car jolts to a stop at the red light. “Sir?”

“It’s been a week. She hasn’t called, there’s no activity from her bank account, no money taken from the house, and no report of her fleeing the country. She left her belongings behind, including her cellphone and a coat during this weather. The investigation is only ongoing because there’s data from security that she let someone in at night and the back gates were open. The surveillance in the main roads nearby didn’t pick up any suspicious cars either. Now tell me…do you think she’s dead or alive?”

Lee presses on the gas pedal and sighs, staring straight ahead at the roads but unable to focus on any of the signs.

“I don’t think I can answer that question, sir. Please forgive me.”

Namjoon takes another shot and turns his head towards the cars passing by him. There was no money taken, which concludes that the culprit’s motive had nothing to do with financial gain. It must be the reason why he’s under suspicion.

“Perhaps…” Lee speaks again, his careful eyes meeting Namjoon’s apathetic ones through the rearview mirror. “Perhaps _____ might be able to help with finding Miss Kim. She was very close to her. Maybe she knows a few locations we’ve missed.”

He considers the offer for a moment, knowing that the detectives had reached out to you for more information at the same time of his questioning. It’s true you were Yori’s closest friend for most of your life. Until last year, you talked to her on the phone several times a week and shared a meal with her at least once a week in your former apartment. You invited her to all social events and dressed, shopped, and spent quality time together. It would be a wise choice to call you in such a catastrophic time. He does, however, understand that you would be reluctant to involve yourself in the investigation for you had started a new life with this new boyfriend of yours and had distanced yourself from even Seokjin himself. Not even your mother knew about what you were up to on most days.

Nonetheless, the situation is too severe to preserve his own pride as well as yours. Yori is with child and there’s still a morsel of a chance that she – and the baby – is safe. You may have changed in the last several months, but if there was one thing he’s still sure about you, it’s your willingness to set aside differences to help others.

He hopes you would take the call once he musters the courage to dial your number. Maybe he’ll call Seokjin instead if he has a change of heart.

“I’ll consider it.” Namjoon nods as Lee nods back, slightly relieved.

For the second time in his life, Namjoon is terrified of losing someone close. He had watched you, white chiffon and silk in your hand, as you ran out of the lobby and his life forever. He hoped that he can do right and bring Yori and his child back to safety and make sure – this time – to cherish what he has rather than what he’d lost.

Knocking the last shot of vodka, he leans his head back against the plush leather upholstery and closes his eyes, hoping more than anything to be taken out of his misery.

…

They say a woman’s intuition doesn’t lie.

You’re thankful that it’s too late in the night and too early in the morning for your neighbors to hear the ding of the elevator as you make your way down the building. You didn’t bother dressing, merely grabbing your purse with the flashdrive tucked safely in one of its compartments on the way out. You’re still wearing Jungkook’s shirt as a dress and you slid into the first pair of sandals you can find through the burning tears. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel in the haze of betrayal but there’s a sense of humiliation that comes with finding out you were lied to – perhaps laughed at behind your back – for months. It’s the same feeling as that wedding night, but a million times worse now that you’ve reached the end of no return.

Even if you call Seokjin and urge him to help, there’s nothing you can do to change that you’re an accomplice. There’s nothing you can do to change that a sick part of you enjoyed scrubbing blood off the floors, fucking your dirtied boyfriend afterwards, and pretending life will continue as normal.

Furthermore, there’s nothing you can do to change that you’re still utterly in love with Jungkook.

It can’t all be a lie, can it? The reason why he chased after you, jumped over fences to bury his nose in your intimates, and carve your skin isn’t because he’s using you, right? There’s only so much pretending a person can do. Deep in your heart, you feel that Jungkook does really love you. You wouldn’t feel this safe with him, even after knowing he had done something irreversible in his childhood, if his tenderness towards you isn’t genuine.

Yet, you’re also acutely aware of how much money your family has. You know how many valuable assets you have under your name after your father’s passing. You know how easily you can change your life at any given moment if you choose to meet your mother’s expectations in marrying into a conglomerate family and living without worrying about money. The reason why Jungkook helped you during that wedding night can be because he had the opportunity to be with someone who can offer him financial security he didn’t have growing up. Maybe he was attracted to how easygoing your life is, only having to worry about which restaurant you want to pick for date night, unlike his formative years surviving on scraps.

You’re also pathetic, desperate, unloved. It was too easy for Jungkook to charm his way into your life in a moment of vulnerability. He must’ve known you came from money just by the size of the venue and how much you offered to pay him for his photography services. He must’ve known how naïve you were when you were willing to sleep in his arms that night, how willingly you swallowed the painkiller he gave you.

Even then, it doesn’t make sense. He owned a studio. He bought you gifts and took offense when you denied his offer to help pay for things only married couples do. He gifted you flowers every week and take you out to beautiful places when you were sad, never thinking twice about putting down his last dime if that’s what it took to see you smile. He’s patient and empathetic. He’s kind because he understands the pain of being hurt by the ones you love but he can also be kind because staying with you is convenient.

And you don’t want to be the convenient woman. Not anymore.

…

Jungkook’s phone vibrates in the back of his pocket, prompting him to remove his gloves and throw them in the fire with the rest of the corpse. The assistant is asleep on the couch, unaccustomed to night cleaning when Taehyung keeps her in charge during the day. Taehyung, on the other hand, slides his sanitized tools back in the slouchy leather bag, turning his head towards the fire when the alcohol from Jungkook’s gloves reawaken the fire for a moment.

Jungkook reaches behind him and fishes the phone from his pocket to see the notification from a security sensor. His stomach drops when the notification loads, the buffering swirl of the loading screen feeling eerily similar to the swirling aches in his stomach. He’s relieved that there are no police cars in front of the garage, but the relief is short lived as his eyes land on your car instead, the door to the driver’s seat left open.

He quickly switches to the cameras from the inside, pointed directly at the front door to see a figure walking through. He watches as you stumble inside, falling on your hands and knees as you tumble into the boxes of books and accessories he kept near the front steps. He haven’t had the chance to throw them back in the garage when Jimin and his team took away the freezer and left behind a mess.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung comes next to him, peering down at the phone. He watches in silence as Jungkook’s hand trembles.

He watches you grab onto the nearest table and pull yourself up from the ground before switching on the lights. And it was the sight of your swollen eyes, your bloodied knees, and your heaving breaths that had him running out of the room, grabbing the car keys and jacket from the hooks next to the door. The thought that someone might have hurt you set his head into flames. Taehyung’s assistant wakes with a slight gasp the moment Jungkook slams the door open into the bright reception desk area of a run-down funeral home. The walls vibrate.

“I’ll come with you,” is all Taehyung says as they fly out front door. His assistant would know what to do without him.

Taehyung takes the keys from his grasp and starts the car, stepping on the gas without hesitation as Jungkook buries his face in his hands and fold over in the passenger seat. He reaches over and runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, cursing underneath his breath. The younger man takes a moment to collect himself before his shaky fingers unlocks his phone once more, the loading screen causing him to bounce his knees as he waits. Even Taehyung’s comforting hand does nothing to soothe the panic rising up his esophagus.

“S-She’s going in the dark room,” he huffs as he keeps his eyes locked on his screen. “I don’t…d-don’t know why she-”

“We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

There are no cameras in the dark room, not even ones he can hide inside everyday objects.

In half the time it usually takes to get to the studio, Taehyung steers the vehicle into the familiar neighborhood, head swinging left and right to check if anyone else is nearby. Before he parks outside the garage, Jungkook undoes his seatbelt and steps out of the moving vehicle, running towards the front doorsteps. His shoulder crashes into the front door as he twirls his head around the studio, checking to see if he missed anything. He sees your handbag on the floor, the sliding doors to the darkroom remaining closed.

You’re inside there, hurt, bleeding, needing him. He should’ve stayed behind with you and let Taehyung take care of Yori; it wasn’t necessary for him to be there, but he didn’t want to be seen as ungrateful after asking for numerous favors.

Taehyung steps inside the studio and closes the front door behind him as Jungkook slides the darkroom doors open and step inside, sliding the wood back into place behind him. He steadies his breathing and takes a few seconds to adjust his eyes to the dark red bulbs above him. When he hears a crunch he looks down to see numerous photos of you underneath his soles, entire binders and broken photo frames laying across the concrete floors.

Jungkook steadies himself with one hand on the wall, lining the perimeter of the room until he can spot your hunched figure in front of the metal cabinets. Your shoulders are shaking, hand patting around the inside of the of the cabinet, knocking over medication, empty film canisters, and stationery.

“Noona?”

You gasp, your hand flying to cover your mouth in the semi-darkness. The bottle of pills in your hand clatters to the floor, rolling towards Jungkook’s boots. Your back slams into the cabinet behind, eyes wide with fright as your tears roll down your face. He keeps his eyes on you as he kneels and takes the bottle in his hands, briefly looking down at the transparent bottle before looking back up at you.

“What’s going on? Why are you crying?” He asks, panting as he strides towards you with outstretched arms.

In the midst of your anger you fail to realize someone like Jungkook would have taken extra steps to track where you are. You didn’t even check if the car or phone is bugged. Even during this time you’re still stupid, you think. No wonder it’s easy for men to lie to your face with that kind of carelessness.

You shake your head, backing away from him. “Don’t.”

His eyes brim with tears as you clutch your chest, your body trembling. Jungkook shakes his head, holding his bare hands in front of him to show he won’t touch you. You look at those hands – the hands that have caressed your cheeks in the morning, massaged your shoulders after long work hours, buried your old best friend – like they were weapons.

“I-I don’t understand,” he breathes, his hands trembling as his eyes rake over the scattered pictures on the floor, the open cabinet doors, and at your tattered appearance. You’re still dressed in his button down shirt, the material falling mid-thigh and he catches a glimpse of dried blood on your knees from your fall.

“I thought it was strange. How calm you were about all this. I t-thought…” you put your hands together over your heart, your chest shaking with sobs. He can hardly make out your words from the tears and the sound felt so painful to his ears he wanted to smother you, put his hands over your mouth, and keep you locked in his arms tight.

Your teeth clatters, not because you’re cold, Jungkook knows, but because you’re scared. Of him.

“Noona,” he whimpers again as he waits for your sobs to subside. He struggles to understand.

With the heel of your palm you wipe away the tears but the more you rub the worse it gets until you feel as if your face would drown under your own ministrations. The gut-wrenching pain you felt reading his report lingers in the depths of your stomach, churned into fear that there is a possibility you could end up just like them. How could you even know if his tears are real? How could you even know if the last few months of your relationship was even real?

“You never loved me, Jungkook. You…this is just some sick fantasy of yours, r-right?” Your voice breaks. You don’t understand what’s coming out of your mouth when the only thing you wanted to do was hurt him. Make him feel the way you do now. “Making me fall for you. Believe I can earn your dead parents’ approval. Making me your fucking doll. You got off on me being a naïve little bitch, didn’t you? You sick fuck.”

You know.

Oh god, you know.

Jungkook feels as if someone had wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled. Is it punishment for wanting happiness? Is it because he was bound to this endless life of suffering where the people he loved end up hurting him in the end? End up leaving?

Jungkook shakes his head, mouth falling open as he watches you back away from him into the corner. His sobs are loud and pained as if you had hit him across the cheeks. With every step he takes towards you, you take one step back, as if to say you don’t want him near, you don’t want him to touch you, as if you don’t even want him to look at you with those seemingly innocent eyes.

“You lied to me,” your voice reduces down to a whimper. “You promised me you’d never do that. Did you intend to keep this from me forever?”

“N-Noona…”

He falls to his knees, putting his hands together in prayer as he sobs. Through your anguish and his, Jungkook still holds your heart captive.

Like a dam bursting, his apologies engulfs you.

“Noona, I’m sorry! I-I-I didn’t know how to t-tell you,” he gasps for air, putting his hands down in front of him in surrender. He puts his forehead against the cold concrete, clasping his hands together in prayer, writhing, withering. “I swear, it wasn’t me! I didn’t w-want you to think I was a mu- murd-derer,” he hiccups, coughing as his hunched figure trembles.

Backing away until your shoulder blades lean against the adjacent walls, your body slides down, the phone from your grip clattering onto the floor. The screen brightens with the image of you and him as Jungkook’s trembling figure creeps closer, crawling towards your feet in the darkness. You can’t feel your teeth gnawing on your thumb until you taste blood in your mouth. You watch your boyfriend’s cold hands wrap around your ankles as he puts his forehead onto your calves and begs.

“I love you, noona. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you so much. Please don’t hate me noona, please, I don’t know what I’ll do if you hate me. I’m sorry I l-lied to you, I swear I was going to tell you everything soon, noona. W-Whatever you saw is all wrong. I never killed them, I l-loved them with all my heart,” he surrounds your folded legs in his embrace, leaning his wet cheeks against your scraped knees as he sobs. “They hurt me. They m-made me like this, I didn’t want to be like this noona, I ju-just wanted someone to love me. I didn’t mean to b-be bad-“ His clammy hands presses your calves together, keeping your knees still.

Jungkook’s head raises, slowly, his soft dark locks falling from his face. His doe eyes aren’t focused on you but on some invisible spot on the ground. He whimpers your name before doubling over and hurling vomit onto the ends of your shirt, his head slamming into the cabinet next to you. The stench of bile wafts towards your face but you’re given no chance to move when Jungkook gags and empties his stomach once more, acidic saliva slipping down the corner of his mouth as he sobs.

With no warning whatsoever, he brings his head back and slams the side of his head against the metal cabinet doors. You’re frozen stiff, your body trembling as you watch the love of your life knock his head into the doors again and again, drool dripping down his mouth.

When he wails, you reach for him. “K-Kook-”

He brings his head back, eyes glazed, as he rams his head into the metal sheet again. And again.

“I-I’m sorry noona,” he cries, etching the words into his skull. “Noona I’m sorry…I-I didn’t meant to hurt you nng, noona…I won’t…”

With shaky limbs you crawl closer to your boyfriend, pulling him by the collar to stop but the panic causes your shaky hands to slip, merely finding success in pushing him towards the ground. He coughs, gasping for air. When his wails become louder, you hover above his writhing figure, hands on his arms to keep him still in desperation. It’s no use when he continues to apologize, not hearing your pleas to stop, to listen to your voice and breathe. Seeing him like this makes you want to take back your words.

The door to the darkroom slams open, revealing a tall man whose face you can’t see until he steps further into the red hue. You weren’t aware Jungkook didn’t come alone.

He must be Kim Taehyung; there’s no mistake from the stained lab coat he adorns to the tar black eyes that could bore holes through your skull. He looks awfully similar to Jungkook and if you hadn’t read the case and hadn’t known that Jungkook was an only child, you would think they’re brothers.

“Move.” He commands, the edge in his voice causing you to flinch back as he crouches above your blubbering boyfriend’s head and scoop him from under the armpits.

He’s strong enough to uncurl Jungkook’s shaking body, hushing the cries as he places your boyfriend’s face under his chin and press him against his chest. Like a child, Jungkook’s hand reaches up to fist the lapels of Taehyung’s lab coat, sobbing so hard that you were afraid his lungs might burst.

“Hyung is here, Jungkookie. I’m here. She’s here too, okay? We won’t leave you. Hush now.”

Taehyung’s voice is deep but filled with warmth, completely different from all the times you’ve overheard him speak through a call in your living room.

“I-I’m so-sorry noona, I won’t do it again- n-noona-,” he coughs.

The older man reaches inside his coat and fishes out a syringe. He cover Jungkook’s eyes with his long fingers, whispers a word of reassurance, before pressing the needle deep into Jungkook’s arm.

In a few short seconds, the cries lower, Jungkook’s body falling limp against the older man’s chest as your name falls repeatedly from his swollen lips. Taehyung places the syringe in his pocket and wipes the vomit and saliva from Jungkook’s chin with his thumb, his eyes sad as he peers at the boy in his arms.

The sound of water dripping down the faucet seems as loud as fireworks in the silence of the room. With your arms wrapped around yourself, knees pressed against your chest, you watch Taehyung brush away Jungkook’s sweat-soaked hair and wipe away the snot and tears on his nose and cheeks with the sleeves of his coat. Once his face is dry, he props Jungkook against the cabinet and stands to face the faucet, gathering a handful of water in his hands and cleaning Jungkook’s forehead where a bruise is starting to form.

“How did you find out?”

The tethered anger in his voice causes you to curl into the corner, making yourself as small as possible. You don’t forget that Taehyung is the reason why they are both free men; the man is every bit terrifying as he is handsome.

“A-A friend of mine…he showed me.”

Taehyung hums, knowing exactly who had caused tonight’s troubles, wiping his hands on his coat. He takes several strides and crouch down in front of you, glancing at Jungkook’s face before turning back. He stares into your eyes without commenting and you’re not sure where to look. You settle on looking down at your scraped knees, the trembling causing your voice to shake.

“Are you disgusted?”

You meet his eyes, biting the insides of your cheeks. “D-Disgusted…no. Not disgusted. I’m just…scared…s-scared of what he did.”

He exhales, his long fingers coming up to massage his temples.

“I killed them.” He blinks. He nods shortly afterwards, as if he were reliving the moment. “Jungkook was simply there. They were going to kill him. It was me who did everything you saw in those photos.”

You swallow, eyes brimming with tears as your body warms in response. Your boyfriend is innocent. Maybe not completely, but enough that you can release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Okay.” You murmur, nodding. You’re not sure what the proper response is for that kind of confession.

“There are some people who don’t deserve to be parents. His mother, especially. You would be surprised how happy he became when we had no more family.”

You nod, keeping your eyes lowered. Your eyes fall to your cellphone near Taehyung’s shoes, your lips parting.

“T-Then…he wasn’t adopted afterwards?”

Taehyung cocks his head. “Adopted?”

“I-it’s just,” you stammer, wondering if it would anger him if you asked but something tells you Taehyung is a reasonable man albeit his brutality. “There’s a co-contact in his phone…a-and he labeled her as ‘mother’…”

The older man nods. “We call her our mother. She helped us when we had nowhere to go, gave us a place to sleep.”

As if the weight from your shoulders melted away once more, you slump against the wall. Of course, Jungkook wouldn’t cheat on you with another woman.

Taehyung continues. “We did what we had to do. We learned how to make fake documents, little things like IDs, and it kept us afloat for a while. Jungkook prefers that kind of work still, but I don’t. You’ll never see a photographer making this kind of money without dabbling into…indecent practices. It’s expensive to feel secure, I’m sure you can at least relate to that.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Do you understand the kind of life we had now?”

You nibble on your bottom lip. There’s no doubt you love Jungkook but the wound remains agape, the initial ugly feeling of betrayal swimming in your belly. You have the right to feel this way, but Taehyung is rather unconcerned about your feelings. If you weren’t loved by Jungkook, he would have stuck the barrel of his gun down your throat and threaten to blow out your organs out the other end. He’ll be patient this time and let nature takes its course; there’s a possibility you’re pregnant. You won’t be able to leave now, and you won’t be able to leave once you carry the baby to full term.

“I do,” you answer, the trembling gone.

You glance over at Jungkook’s sleeping form. Despite how hurt you may be now, you need to be there for him. You can’t imagine how sick he would feel, how much panic he would feel, when he wakes.

“I’m glad you do. After all,” Taehyung stands. “You’re not completely innocent either.”

Your head snaps up to meet his gaze.

He knows about Yori.

“Did you…?”

He confirms your thoughts. “I did. There’s no need to worry unless you talk, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t.”

You release a shaky breath. “Okay.”

You’ve reached a dead end. You can’t amend your mistakes like good people, sane people, do. You’re as good as married to Jeon Jungkook, Yori’s burial being the glue tying you to him in holy matrimony. You have no choice but to vow to protect and love him in sickness and health. In all honestly, you can’t imagine your life any other way.

Taehyung brushes invisible dust off his coat.

“There is one more thing,” he says and with new conviction you meet his gaze once more. “If by any chance you do something stupid, I will kill you. And Jungkook can’t stop me then. Remember that.”

…

Seokjin follows the scent of a cigarette. It’s hardly half past six in the morning and the wind makes him push his head down as he maneuvers through the trees to the abandoned park. The playground he played in as a child is torn down, the blue slides and yellow swings torn apart by ongoing construction. Between the trees and industrial machinery he struggles to find his former co-worker and friend who had messaged him quite suddenly about the investigation on Jungkook. It’s something big, he says, and Hoseok doesn’t say something like that unless he means it. And if it’s bigger than the case file, then it’s bound to be something incriminating. He wasn’t sure if Yoongi might be here too, but he doubt it since the man can hardly drag himself out of bed in the morning.

It’s a little odd that Hoseok asked to meet immediately and he wonders if it was because he responded as soon as he received the text. Maybe if he had answered later in the day he could sleep in before work, but with Yori’s disappearance his nights have been filled with thoughts about you. Some fresh air would serve him well.

“Hoseok?!” He turns his head left and right, huffing as he struggle to catch his footing on the uneven cobblestone paths.

When he hear footsteps near the playground he turns his head towards the noise, blinking as he struggles to make out the figure of a person on the ground. She must be homeless, he thinks, as he watches her wrap her tattered scarf around her neck while wailing in a strange, kitten-like voice. She mutters something to herself in another language.

He takes a step closer, calling out to the plump woman as she stretches a leg out in front of her and fans her hand over what looks like a bloody wound. The gash is deep enough for him to stop in his tracks.

“Ma’am are you alright?” He asks.

His phone rings in his coat pocket and he reaches inside, looking down at Namjoon’s number displayed across the screen before locking his phone. Seems like he’s quite in demand this morning. He tucks the device back into his coat and walks over to the woman.

“Ma’am?”

She looks up at him, her mud-caked face and hair crumbling as she whimpers and move her bloody leg away from his sight.

“Do you need help standing?” He asks, closing in on her rocking figure. It’s not safe for a woman – much less a homeless woman – to be alone and injured. The park hardly garners enough visitors for its awkward location. He might be her only help.

“N-no…n-no…no,” the woman holds her leg away, wailing as she rocks from side to side.

Seokjin hovers next to the woman, folding over to gauge the extent of her injuries when his eyes trails over the thin red paint covering from the bottom of her knee to the middle of her calves. She babbles and wails, flailing her arms over the leg until a silver glint flashes over his eyes and air is knocked out of his lungs. When he opens his eyes and groans, he’s facing the cloudless sky, his vision flashing purple and black. He curses and turns to his side only to come face to face with a pair of black shoes.

He doesn’t raise his chin. Rather, he’s not given the choice, not when he feels the barrel of a gun pressed upon his noggin. The sound of bullet entering its chamber sounds from behind and he realizes quickly that he’s been set up.

“Kim Taehyung,” he wheezes, sputtering as he catches his breath. The gun behind him trails up his spine until it’s pressing into the back of his skull. He doesn’t know who that woman his, but he knows for sure the man standing in front of him can’t be anyone else but Taehyung.

In his paralysis he can hardly think of how Taehyung was able to use Hoseok’s number to meet him at a place only he and Hoseok investigated. The last time he spoke to him, Hoseok had only warned that he couldn’t continue the investigation, that Kim Taehyung had formally requested him to quit meddling, and ended the call shortly after. Surely Taehyung couldn’t have done something to the man in Hong Kong? He couldn’t think of a reason why someone who isn’t even related to Jungkook by blood will go through such lengths to protect him.

“Didn’t I tell you not to meddle in my affairs?”

He nods, exhaling. “You d-did.”

The gun from behind slides from his skull to his temple.

“You should have listened the first time.”

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