#but she's the kind of person that would use the word gaslight to mean lie

[redhead-batgal]

Type: Two-Shot (Part Two: Here)

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Damian Wayne/ Robin

Word Count: 8,605

Content: Bad y/n family, self-depreciative thoughts, language, violence, a little bit of gaslighting, angsty times, (a tiny bit of venting), "good" coping/reactions, tiny bit of batfam slander and aged up reader/Damian to 18yrs.

(P.S: I may or may not have another part planned that will make all of this make more sense but like it works fine as it is if y'all like it on its own)

Y/N: your name, V/N: Vigilante name, S/n: Sister's name, Favorite Color: f/c

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Family is supposed to be one of the most cherished and important things in life. They are supposed to support and love you; they are supposed to make you feel safe and happy. They are supposed to lift you up and help you know that despite your flaws you are loved, wanted and cherished.

And yet, yours never did.

Born the middle child you were quickly forgotten. Especially since your younger sister captured everyone's attention. Captivating every person who passed it seemed as if she had some kind of aura that pulled others in.

It seemed as if she was good at everything and nothing you could ever do would even make you half the person she was. She was kind, and friendly, wickedly intelligent and charismatic. A perfect person some would say, and it made you feel like utter shit for not being able to do a third of what she could.

Maybe that was why you turned to a life of vigilantism. Maybe you hoped that doing good, even with no thanks for it, would help you feel worth... something. Worth anything. That even though only you would know, you would be able to burn at a fraction of light your sister burned at. Helping others, saving people merely because they needed help and making a difference made you feel... alive.

But your sister was still there. She was still shining and bright, happy to steal any friend or crush you ever had. Or at least that's the way it seemed, the way her eyes would glint as she laughed twirling her hair chatting with your friends. A vengeful look spilling from them. But she always shed tears upon seeing your distraught face, she seemed to feel guilty though you felt a hidden smile behind her tears.

Sisters are sisters, your parents would say, she will be mean and tease you, but you will always love each other.

You began to wonder if all of it was a lie to make you feel as if she cared about you when it was clear she didn't. She seemed to hate that you had become content that you were different then her, that you proudly held your head high as people pointed out your differences. But she didn't know the way you truly felt. It was strange, she was so perfect that you were jealous, but jealousy was a nasty color on anyone. And you had heard too many times that you were selfish and self-centered to let others know how you truly felt about her.... well, some people knew.

Your partner, Damian Wayne- the mother fucking Robin, knew how you felt. He was your best friend after all, he knew all of your secrets and deepest feelings and wishes as you knew all of his. Ever since you had moved to Gotham and decided upon some extracurricular nighttime activities, only to be caught and brought in by Batman; your life had gotten a bit better. Your sister was miles away in your home state living a happy and pampered life as she went to college while living with your parents.

Regardless, it was hard to forget such emotions- to remove them completely. In fact, it was harder to forget how you were treated since you were so much freer. You were unhindered by your family's expectations and your sister's growing shadowing which you were so used to living in.

Now out of that shadow- out of sight of the throne your parents constantly put your sister on you were better able to see that she wasn't perfect at all... well at least she wasn't as nice and kind as she seemed to be. Away from your childhood home you were able to see all the jabs, torment, disparagement and diminishment you received from her. How she would mock your accomplishments and steal away those who helped you rise passed your insecurities regarding your place against hers.

It seemed whenever you got enough footing to climb out of her shadow, she'd push and knock you back to the depths of it.

You had, as many do, told your best friend of such revelations. But, as humans do, you made it clear that your thoughts probably had bias. An accumulation of years of neglect and belittlement made it hard to be sure what you felt was the truth. Which made it even harder to convince Damian you were right, but you didn't mind fighting such a battle if it meant someone else could see the sister the way she truly was... or at least the way you saw her.

"Ugh," You groaned tilting your head back as you turned your phone off leaning against the gravel covered rooftop, "Miss Perfect is at it again."

Across from you, Robin raised his head. His face stony as he scoffed looking around once again, doing the job you were supposed to be doing at the moment, patrolling.

Silence beat between the two of you and you rolled your eyes, swirling into a somersault before bounding over towards him. He stayed quiet and you began walking circles around him.

Throwing your voice down at least three octaves you spoke again, "And what exactly did that horrendous sister of yours do this time?"

Robin blinked at this, pausing before turning to you, his facade finally cracking as he lifted an eyebrow.

"What exactly was that supposed to be?"

You grinned leaning in a bit closer to him before batting your eyes and replying, "My impression of you being a caring friend and contributing to this important conversation."

This time the corner of his mouth twitched as he hesitated. Then he turned eyes scanning the horizon. You shrugged accepting the small victory as you slid into a perch your back pressed against his.

"I'm going to just keep talking and if you don't respond I'll respond for you, okay?"

He grunted in reply, and you took that as a yes before leaning your head, so it rested against the back of his shoulder.

"S/N found the old diary we shared and posted pictures of some entries on all of her socials. Entries- selective, that only I wrote- embarrassing entries."

Silence beat once again between the two of you and you took that moment to take up your impersonation once again.

"Do you think it was involuntary? Or that she had a particular reason for doing such an atrocious thing?"

You felt Robin's body tremble and twitch as he shifted, and his chest shook. Smiling softly, you looked up at the night sky, partially missing the thousands of stars you could see back home.

"No, I think she did it on purpose. As I have told you before, it is her life's mission; along with being the exact image of a perfect daughter, girl and person, to make me feel like shit." You paused shifting so your weight was slowly and surely pressing upon him, "It was- it was probably because of the pictures I posted last week of me, Steph, Cass and Barabra."

He was motionless this time and still silent. Fiddling with your belt you waited a moment more before replying to him.

"You must have a rather elevated opinion of yourself if you think she would care about something so minuscule y/n- no V/n."

This got a soft- barely audible laugh from him. Taking the second it escaped to bask in the sound and feeling of his body shuddering as he tried to hold it back and you let out a breath. It was relaxing being here with him, talking half to yourself while he listened. It was peaceful and quiet, something you found your cherished. However, the quiet would not last long, so you continued on.

"You see Da- Robin, I would agree with that except she not only was one of the first people to like it, but when it started getting a lot of likes she commented, 'So proud of how far you've come! I hope you'll be home for my ceremony next month!'. Now I have a question for you, is that something someone who doesn't give a shit does?"

This time he moved, shifting so your sides pressed together and faces nearly touched. His brow was furrowed and gaze dark. You blinked in surprise but merely tilted your head.

"What?" He muttered something tense in his voice.

"She commented on my photos of my girl's day with Steph, Cass and Barabra, 'So proud of how far you've come. I hope you'll be home for my ceremony next month. Kinda seems off right?"

Robin scowled as he looked away from you, but not at the city, no he looked at the rooftop, his jaw locking. You weakly laughed and turned so his side was pressed against your back.

"I don't know about you, but that sounds fairly passive aggressive. And I know I'm not the world's greatest detective or his kid, but... that does not seem like something you'd comment on your sibling's post."

Robin grunted and you shut your eyes for a moment, happy tonight was tranquil enough that you could feel the quiet. Every moment that pulsed between the two of you was raw and unimpeded. You could hear every one of his breaths, feel the expanding and contracting of his chest and feel the heat of his body pressed against yours fighting off the chill of the night.

"It is... odd." He finally replied.

You snorted, opening your eyes to see him looking at you, his brows creased with concern.

"That is an understatement if I've ever heard one."

He rolled his eyes snorting as you sat up yawning. Stretching out you faintly heard the beep of the coms, a voice crackling in your ears.

"V/N, Robin, if everything is clear you two are good to go for the night."

Patting your mouth, you nodded making brief eye contact with Robin before you stretched some more, "Alright, thank you very much Oracle!"

Oracle's voice instantly replied, "Of course, get some rest Y/N."

You smiled, shooting Robin a wink as you snagged the small bag you carried with you throughout patrol.

"Yes mam! I will see the both of you tomorrow!"

A soft laugh echoed through the coms before everything went silent, you turned and bounded down the stairs to the closest empty room, changing back into your civilian clothes and placing your vigilante gear into the bag.

Now appropriately dressed, you began your trek home. Which luckily for you, was less than ten minutes tonight. Taking in the night air you bounced and twirled walking down the sidewalk before you arrived at your complex.

Walking inside you began your assent to your apartment; sure, nothing could ruin your night. However, as you made it to your floor you found a figure with bags standing nearby your door.

"Uh, hi," brow furrowed, you slowly approached the figure, "can I help you?"

At the sound of your voice the figure snapped up stepping enough into the dim light that you could see it was a girl- a familiar girl who perked up at the sight of you.

"Y/N!"

You felt the blood drain from your face as the girl raced up and pulled you into a hug. Your head began to spin as you fought to breathe normally.

"What are you doing here?" You weakly asked as the girl released you grinning brightly.

"I'm here to surprise you silly!" She laughed as she pulled on your arm, "I haven't seen you in what feels like forever, so I wanted to come by! I thought it'd be fun to hang out and see how your life is here. Maybe you can give me a tour of the city and introduce me to your friends."

You nodded half understanding what she was saying, still in shock at the sight of her, "Uh-huh."

"Y/N, come on! It's late we should get inside... speaking of where have you been?"

"Work- uh work I work nights most of the time. I usually get back around 4ish," You began, walking towards your apartment.

She nodded in understanding as she pulled her suitcase towards your door waiting for you to open it. Hands slightly shaking you put the key in the lock and twisted pulling down on the handle. With a weak flourish you gestured to the apartment.

"Welcome to Gotham... S/N."

"I'm so excited!" She squealed, wheeling her things in, "we are going to have so much fun."

"So much," You weakly echoed heart dropping as you almost saw your new life going up in flames.

______________________________________________________________

It was unfortunate to say the least that not only was your sister in town, but she wanted to meet your friends. You didn't have many friends outside of the other vigilantes and were nervous to explain that you were friends with the Waynes and never said anything about it.

Part of you wanted to brag and shove it in her face, but you knew that not only was rude but would do nothing. If you were lucky, she would be acquaintances with them in the end... if you weren't.... let's just say you wouldn't be able to have your fun little chats on patrols anymore.

You knew that Damian would never abandon you... at least intentionally. You wanted the two to meet so he could see how all you spoke about was true! So, someone else could tell you, you weren't insane. So that you could feel a sense of relief that you weren't making all this up. But you feared- you so deeply feared he'd choose her over you. You were terrified of being abandoned again for your sister.

Regardless, you knew you had to introduce them at some point because there was no way Damian was going to allow you to not speak to him for that long.

So, after an extensive two-day tour of Gotham and pointing out all of the best places to shop, eat or just relax (despite how few there were) you made your way to the Wayne manor for a brunch of sorts with everyone. To introduce your sister and finally get over with the fear.

Tapping your fingers against the steering wheel you tried to listen to your sister's ramble, but your stomach was churning.

"Sooo," She said, "After this brunch I'm going to go and meet up with some online friends... will you be okay without me?"

You tensed, but slowly nodded, "Oh, yeah! I should be okay. I probably can talk with my boss and ask for some time off so we can continue to hang while you're here. And I run a couple of errands."

S/N nodded, shooting you looks as you pulled into the Wayne's neighborhood. She furrowed her brow as you reached their driveway and the gates opened. You began to go up the driveway when she let out a slight gasp.

"Wait, is this... is this Wayne manor?!"

You nodded your chest tightening, "Uh yeah. I thought I told you I'm friends with the Waynes."

Her jaw dropped as she stared in awe at the manor. You wanted to laugh at her expression, but your nerves were wound so tight you feared it might end in you crying.

"We- we are having brunch with the Waynes?!"

"Well, a few of them. Bruce is busy at work and I'm pretty sure so's Tim. Dick is in Bludhaven. And j-" You stopped yourself recalling Jason wasn't legally alive, "and I think the rest should be joining us, along with a friend I think."

S/N did not move, her eyes wide as you pulled to a stop parking. From here you could see Alfred standing in the doorway. You gave him a quick wave and he returned it with a smile.

Unbuckling, you turned the car off and slid out of it. S/N scrambled to get out as you closed your door. She blinked a few times, shaking her head as you locked the car and began your way to the front door.

"How- how are you friends with the Waynes?" S/N whispered, having clamped onto your arm.

"Uhhh long story, I mean technically work. My boss- he uh... he put me on a project, and I ended up meeting Damian and we hit it off pretty well and I ended up meeting the rest and the same happened." You spat out your prepared lie, noticing the way she tensed upon you saying Damian's name.

"Damian... he's the youngest right?" She muttered as you began to climb up the steps.

"Yup!"

"Miss Y/N, Miss Y/N's sister, it is a pleasure to have you dine with us this morning." Alfred said, holding the door open.

You smiled and gave him a nod, "Alfred this is S/N, S/N this is Alfred Pennyworth he is the butler here and the one who actually runs things."

S/N giggled as she released you to give Alfred a curtsy. He gave you a look as she was bent, and you shrugged. The two of you then walked into the manor a clattering of shouts and chatter coming from the dining room nearby.

"Y/N IS HERE!" A delighted Steph bellowed before bouncing around the corner and bolting towards you.

S/N stepped back as Steph flung herself at you, with surprising ease you caught Steph with a laugh. She grinned wildly as a few more people rounded the corner.

"Looks like all your training is paying off!" Steph giggled as you set her down.

She then paused seeing your sister and smiled, holding out her hand, "Hi! I'm Stephanie but you can call me Steph!"

Your sister's expression instantly lightened, and she took Steph's hand shaking it.

"I'm S/N, Y/N's sister."

Steph released her hand and nodded, "Nice to meet you."

A few beats of silence occurred, and you noticed Cass, Duke and Damian, all approaching you.

"Yo, Duke!" You said almost subconsciously, "It's been a while, how are you man?"

You walked towards Duke giving him a quick side hug as he laughed. You felt Damian's eyes bearing into you, but you ignored it.

"I'm good! You know how it is, school and work. It has been a while, what about you?"

"I'm good, pretty much the same," But you paused as you turned to see your sister shooting you daggers, "My sister is in town. Duke this is S/N, S/N this is Duke! He is one of the chillest people in Gotham and the best writer I know!"

Duke flustered slightly as your sister smiled bounding towards him.

"Hi! It is so nice to meet you! I'm S/N!"

Cass waved hello and you waved back as Damian stopped at your side. Your nerves were twisting tighter as your sister looked to you, her eyes brightening upon seeing Damian.

"That's Cass, she is amazingly talented... oh man if she had one, I would take you to see one of her ballet shows."

Your sister nodded clearly not interested in Cass, she eyed Damian and you noticed Duke and Steph sharing troubled looks.

"And this is?"

"Damian Wayne, it's a pleasure to meet you S/N."

He took the hand she offered out and shook it. You were still as Damian's arm brushed past you, your heart racing. Silence seemed to buzz in your ears before Alfred cleared his throat. You blinked and turned.

"Uh, Is it time to eat alf- Alfred?"

Alfred nodded and you turned towards the dining room feeling Damian's not so subtle grip on your arm, "Why don't we go eat?"

Steph instantly grabbed onto your sister and began asking her questions. She shot Damian looks before caving in and allowing her to guide her away. Duke and Cass followed behind them leaving only you and Damian.

"Are you alright?" He muttered.

"Yeah yeah," You weakly replied, "I- i just wasn't expecting her."

He looked you over his brow furrowing before he nodded, "Alright."

The two of you stared in silence before you felt your face flush.

"Uh, okay let's go eat!"

You felt his grip leave your arm and you hurried to the dining room to find only two seats open. One next to your sister and one next to Cass, across from your sister. You sat down next to her watching as Damian took the seat across from her.

"So!" S/N instantly said, "I'm assuming you've heard all about me so why don't you tell me about yourselves?"

"Actually," Steph chirped, smiling, "Y/N doesn't talk about you guys often... none of us do. It's kinda like an unspoken rule. After all, Bruce adopted half of them and I- let's just say family troubles aren't fun!"

You had to resist a laugh at your sister's outraged expression and quickly drink from a glass of water to hide your amusement.

"Oh," S/N faltered, shaking her head, "that's okay! I just thought that Y/N would talk about us, I mean we used to be so close...anyways uh what do you guys like to do?"

You turned so she wouldn't see your eyes roll, it was clear- at least to you- she was trying to get the other's pity. Make them feel bad for her and be angry at you. Fortunately, they did not fall for such weak tricks.

"It'd be weird if she did when we have a rule about it but okay!" Steph continued, "a little about me hmmm, oh! I love sports and waffles; my favorite color is purple, and my favorite vigilante is Black Bat!"

Your sister slightly flinched before putting on her sweetest smile, "Oh that is so cool! Though... I don't know a lot about Gotham's vigilantes."

This time Duke chimed in, "That's okay, just pick someone you know. As Y/N said I'm a writer, I enjoy poetry and music; my favorite color is probably yellow, and my favorite vigilante is The Signal."

You had to practically shove your fist into your mouth to stop this laugh, your sister nodded looking a little deflated. She then turned to Damian- hesitated and looked at Cass.

"What about you?"

Cass blinked a few times before signing, "I like ballet, black and Spoiler is my favorite."

Your sister blinked a few times and you coughed to hide a laugh before you watched Damian pipe up.

"She speaks sign language, she just said she likes ballet the color black and that her favorite vigilante is Spoiler."

Something in you slipped a bit and your smile nearly dropped as all the laughter left you. Your sister grinned leaning on her arm as she nodded.

"That is very cool. So, you know, sign Damian?"

"All of us do, even Y/N." Duke replied with a shrug.

Your sister turned to you with a surprised look on her face, and you flushed feeling your stomach drop.

"I-I-uh learned so I could talk to Cass. I- I ended up accidentally catching her while practicing and it- it was ... she was so amazing I wanted to compliment her. She understood but- I wanted to talk with her, you know? Be able to hear her words and see her interpretation of the dance."

Something flickered in your sister's eyes, and she nodded her smile looking a little forced as she turned back to Damian, her brow raised.

"I do believe that you should go first, after all it is poor manners to make our guest go last."

She blinked twice before her smile brightened and she nodded, "Oh of course! That makes so much sense. Uh well... I'm in a little bit of everything. Fashion, art, music, science, math, sports. My favorite color has to be blue and uh... Batman is my favorite vigilante."

You bit your lip hard to stop yourself from bursting into a fit of giggles. Damian made eye contact with you, and you could see the amusement in his eyes as you pressed your hand to your face.

"Okay, Y/n it's your turn!" Steph declared, causing you to instantly drop your hand.

"What?"

"It's not fair if you're the only one who doesn't do it!"

"Uh," You hesitated, feeling your sisters' eyes locked on your face, "Okay I guess."

You looked up meeting Damian's gaze for a moment before you looked at everyone else.

"I uh... I like Gotham, my job, spending time with you all and uh my favorite color is f/c."

Silence followed and Steph leaned on the table locking eyes with you.

"What about your favorite vigilante?"

Part of you stirred, tempted to say your own vigilante name when you had a sense of guilt wash over you. It wasn't really fair to your sister, was it? She only knew Batman and- and and now you were trying to find a reasonable way to pick Robin, weren't you?

You shrugged, "Uh I guess I'd have to say Robin since, despite the many different ones, he's just as consistent as Batman."

Steph narrowed her eyes and Damian looked at you, surprise faintly on his face. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed your sister rolling her eyes. She then leaned forwards, capturing Damians attention.

"Your turn Baby Wayne."

You winced at the nickname catching Steph and Duke miming gagging motions and shook at your held back more laughter.

"Alright," Damian said, "I enjoy art, it is so intriguing to see the different depictions of peoples inner most toils. I also revel in animals and taking care of them. While I find picking favorites childish, I will partake out of fairness. Green would have to be the most suitable color and..."

Damian stopped, looking at you for a moment before he looked at your sister.

"I would have to say V/N seems the most competent out of the newer vigilantes."

You felt a very faint blush rise on your cheeks and your sister giggled in delight.

"Oh really? That is so interesting. I love art too! And green is such an amazing color."

Damian nodded as she smiled coyly, the door to the kitchen swinging open as Alfred walked out with trays of plates in his hands. You noticed how your sister watched Damian look at Alfred, his brow slightly furrowing, before she darted up.

"Oh Mr. Pennyworth let me help you with that."

You noticed Damian's eyes following her as she approached, also Alfred's tight grin as he opened his mouth to protest but decided not to stop her from taking a tray from his hands and setting it on the table.

You knew how much Alfred prided himself on being able to take care of the household. Down to even setting food out he found it... offensive when people forced help upon him. He didn't mind if you offered, you recalled once offering to help wash dishes and his soft nod. But when people force their help- he had told you it seems as though they are saying he is not good enough- too old or incapable of carrying out his duties.

Wincing you dug your nails into your palm as your sister continued to "help" Alfred out. Thanking your lucky stars once everything was set out and she finally returned to her seat. With that, you all began to plate up food and dig in.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was around 5 pm when your phone buzzed, the familiar name flashing across the screen with all the familiar words. You were needed for patrol. Your sister had been out almost all day, her internet friends showing her their favorite spots and getting all the "tea" about her brunch at Wayne manor a few days before.

You were a tad frustrated she was using your friends to gain popularity but decided she could dig her own grave. However, upon receiving the text you knew you had to tell her you wouldn't be home until late at the very least. After all she was staying at your place... even if she was never there.

You sent a message back essentially saying you'd be there for patrol, then you shot your sister a text right before you left.

Y/N: Hey! I just wanted to let you know my boss called me in tonight. Apparently, they don't have anyone else who can cover my shift. So, I'll be getting home late.

She did not reply but you could see that the message was read, sighing as you gathered your things and headed to the cave knowing you couldn't expect to be able to leave your stuff around here for much longer.

With your bag hoisted over your shoulder you headed to Wayne manor. Finding Tim on the bat computer and Oracle on your coms.

"Looks like I've got double the help tonight, " You weakly joked.

Neither of them replied so you got dressed, commed up and headed out, half expecting Damian to already be out there. You, however, were surprised to discover that he was not at your normal spot. So, you assumed he was out chasing a criminal or watching from someplace else. Bouncing around the rooftops you looked for any sight of him.

You could have sworn you spotted a flash of his classic colors in the alleyway and descended to investigate. The alley was musty and wet, probably from the rain the night before. Looking around you didn't see any sign of Robin.

"Looks like fifth street's clear," You muttered into the com.

As you readied yourself to go back to the rooftops a figure lunged at you from the shadows, slamming you onto the ground a glint following him as he did.

"Oh shit!" You hissed your finger sliding from the com as a frantic voice began on the other end.

The figure- no, the thug raised the glint, and you realized it was a knife. Fear raced through your veins, and you instinctively pressed your distress signal. The adrenaline coursing over you and drowning out the voices on the other end of the coms.

"Come on you stupid bitch," The thug snarled, "just die already!"

He went to thrust the blade down, but you yanked your leg up and shoved him off of you. Scrambling to your feet as he fell backwards. A snarl of sorts escaped him, and you watched as he rose blade ready in hand. He swung at you again and you barely dodged, your brain beginning to wonder where the hell Robin was and why he wasn't here to help you already.

While in your stupor of thought the thug lashed out again, his blade barely catching your arm, but slicing right through your gear and causing a burst of pain and blood to spill from your arm. You blinked, shaking your head as you tried to focus.

The thug readied himself for another strike and you kicked outwards, sending your foot directly for the knife. You felt the impact into his hand and heard his cursing as the knife went flying backward. You landed and felt your lungs screaming as the thug cursed louder.

Was Robin even coming? What the hell was going on, wasn't he your partner? Wasn't he supposed to be there for you in the most dangerous of moments and you there for him?!

You turned, hoping to get to a more open area so that... that if he was actually coming Damian would be able to see you easier.

However, something grabbed your hair yanking you backwards, you stumbled passed the thug heart racing as you scrambled to your feet. You backed away a bit more hoping to catch the thug off guard. You looked over your shoulder then turned back.

A fist swung out hitting your face, you recoiled chest heaving as the heartbreaking realization you were all alone dawned on you. He wasn't coming.

Reaching up you grabbed onto a fire escape ladder and swung yourself forwards kicking the thug in the chest and sending him skittering backwards. You half climbed up fingers latching onto some round you could not see, and hands grabbed onto your legs. In an act of frantic reaction. You release your grip on the latter allowing the thug to pull you down. however, as you went you slammed the object into his head hearing his faint grunt before slamming into the ground. The heavy thud noise told you he was down for the count.

Spitting out blood, you rose to your feet wobbling as the thug twitched on the ground. Something hot burned in you, and you swung your foot forwards, straight into the thug's gut causing them to go stiff.

Chest heaving and breaths more like pants, you wiped the blood away from your mouth as you heard frantic voices over the coms.

"V/N! V/N are you alright?"

Heaving out a sigh you nodded slowly and answered, "I've been better."

"Thank god, backup will be there soon, hang tight."

"I have a question."

"Uh yeah?"

"Where the fuck is Dam- where is he?"

There was silence and you felt your blood begin to boil. They knew, they knew where he was, but he didn't have the decency to tell you he wasn't going to be going out tonight.

"He's-... he's out." Tim stammered.

"I'm shocked, you are covering for him. Since when would that-" You faltered as you pressed a hand to your bleeding nose.

Oracle voice broke through your rising haze, "He's on a date with your sister."

"What?"

"He's on a date with your sister. He didn't think he'd be gone for so long. He told me he'd be back in time." Oracle remarked calmly.

You swallow, feeling something in you begin to shatter, “My sister?"

Silence followed on the coms, and you closed your eyes for a second remembering her coy smile at him just the other day. And-and how his eyes followed her.

of course... of course he's with her.

"Where are they?" You whispered feeling your throat begin to ache.

"Y/N I don't-" "Where. Are. They?"

"At the restaurant just past the park, the little Grecian style place."

Your- your favorite restaurant. They were at your favorite restaurant. You bite your lip, feeling your hands curl, nails pressing into your palms.

"Y/N don't do anything stupid."

You hissed, shaking your head, "I'm not, I just... I just wanna see it with my own eyes. ... since when, have I ever not been levelheaded?"

Despite what you had said your heart shattered as your mind screamed. Over and over again

I knew it, I knew it, I knew it

Trembling, you waited before bounding towards the restaurant. You skittered to a stop on the rooftop across from the restaurant. It took less than a minute to see them sitting at a table near the windows.

The coms went silent, and you stared through the window. Watching the two laugh together. Damian oblivious to the time and your sister's eyes glinting as she pressed a hand onto his arm. It was a tactic you knew well and noting Damian's back- his body language, it was working. You should have known, when it comes to your sister… you will never be the first choice.

You should have known she will always be chosen over you. You took in a shaky breath.

"Y/N... are you okay?"

"D-don't tell him." You whispered feeling something warm slip down your face.

"What?"

"Don't- act like this- tonight, never happened. Please. Pretend this didn't happen that I don't know... please." Your voice cracked as you moved away from the restaurant.

There was more silence than a clicking sound.

"Tracking data and video footage are gone. Com records will be shredded once tonight's over." Oracle remarks, "what do you want us to tell him?"

"Tell-tell him that you told me he wasn't coming, and I decided to take the night off. Tell him that Nightwing and Hood went out and everything was fine."

"Alright...you should probably go home Y/N."

"Okay... I'll see you all tomorrow." 

______________________________________________________________

Curled on a couch in the Wayne manor library, your eyes darted towards the door, you weren't even attempting to pay attention to the book in your grasps. You knew- knew Damian would be in here soon. And then- then you would be able to ask him what he was doing. To see if he'd try and keep it from you.

At first you weren't even going to mention the other night but... your sister had bragged- bragged about her date. Claiming that Damian had told her all sorts of awful things he thought about you. And to prove it, you should ask Damian if the two of them went out. While you knew what she said wasn't true. Damian wasn't the type to badmouth someone behind their back. Instead, he'd say it to their face, and you'd never heard anything actually awful from him. And to make it all worse, your sister declared as she left, she would be coming back after her ceremony. That- that she had things-people who she couldn't leave behind. That you had no idea what to think of, but you were unsure of whether what she said was the truth. Unsure and uninterested.

However, part of you was .... curious. Curious as to whether or not he'd tell you. He'd be honest and say that he liked your sister, that he was attracted to her. And even though it would be painful to hear, you wanted so desperately wanted him to. You hoped and prayed and begged fate, the universe and God for him to tell you.

You didn't want to lose yet another friend... no, no despite how much it hurt to think of now. Damian was so much more than a friend.

It should have been obvious to you. With how much you craved his presences and adored his smile. How you took almost every opportunity to lean against him and hear his heartbeat. How your heart would flutter when his hand brushed yours or when he said your name. God, were you always this sappy?

Groaning you pressed your face into the book, of course you just had to notice these feelings when your sister came.

"What did that book ever do to deserve, you slamming your face into it?" A familiar voice asked causing your head to snap up.

You swallowed meeting Damian's eyes with a weak laugh, "Nothing... I'm just- it's been a long week."

Damian nodded before sitting down, right next to you. Before- before your epiphany, you would not have realized how close Damian was in a setting as simple as this. And with how you were sitting it'd be hard for him to not be sitting that close.

"I concur." He replied opening his sketch book.

You shifted shooting him a few glances, part of you hoped he'd just tell you without questioning. Another part just wanted to stare at his face for a while. To take in his presence and relax. But you couldn't. Not with all these questions and worries bubbling at your mind.

"What do you wish to say Y/N?" Damian remarked finally looking up and directly into your eyes.

You froze feeling your entire face flush as you dropped your book and stuttered.

"Oh! I- I-uhm... I was just wondering what you were up to the other night patrol got called off. Usually, you asked me to come help you with some of your sketches but that night-" Before you could even finish, he interrupted you.

"I was with Colin and Jon. They wished to spend time together since we are 'friends'."

Something bitter was suddenly on your tongue as you recalled him sitting across from your sister at the restaurant, the image of his back searing int your mind.

"Really?"

"Yes, what did you find yourself doing?"

"Just reading," You mumbled eyes dropping as you felt the air leave your chest.

He was lying. Lying to you.

It almost seemed as if the world came crashing down around you as his words- his lies blared over and over and over again in your mind. A burning was in your throat, and you found yourself struggling to breathe as a single question repeated over and over and over.

Why?

Why?

Why?

Was it because he had... he had feelings for her? If so, why couldn't he just be honest? Was it because he was scared of the way you'd react? Did he not trust you? Was it because your sister was telling the truth? She was coming back to Gotham because of Damian? Were they- were they going to be in a relationship? If so, why was he hiding it, why was he lying?

Your head spun with questions and worries as your heart shattered in your chest, the realization crashing down on you. She did it again. She had taken another person from you.

You in took sharply and Damian placed a hand on your arm.

"Are you alright?"

"Uh? Oh yeah, " You lied blinking slowly, "just tired. I really wasn't expecting S/N to come."

"Maybe you should get some rest." Damian softly replied.

You nodded your mind screaming as your heart raced. You- you couldn't take this anymore. There had to be a change. Something-something had to be different.

Rising slowly, you picked your book up and set it on the couch absentmindedly waving goodbye.

"I'll see you later." You muttered as your heart jumped to your throat.

"Yes, of course... shall I tell Kent and Wilkes you say hello?"

You froze in the doorway of the library as a plan began forming in your mind. You looked over your shoulder seeing Damian's eyes locked on you. You smiled and nodded,

"Of course."

With that you walked out of the room, down the hall. Then- then you were running, running down the stairs and to an office. Panting you bit your lip and squeezed your fists.

With a heavy breath you pushed the door to the office open and made eye contact with none other then Bruce Wayne.

"Y/N, what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked his brow furrowed slight concern on his face as he took in your disheveled figure.

"I wouldn't call this meeting a pleasurable one," You softly began before raising your chin, "Mr. Wayne, we really need to talk."

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The air was fresh, and you took in a deep breath hoping to admire the beginning of a new day, unfortunately that was not in today's cards. Your phone buzzed and you swallowed seeing his name flash across the screen. Slowly letting the air leave you, you answered and pressed the phone to your ear,

"Hello?" You mumbled, only to hear Damian's prompt inquiry instead of a greeting. "You are acting rather irregular as of late, is there something that has been disturbing you?"

"No, no I'm not and I'm fine... unless you know of something that might make me act strange?"

"I do not understand what you are speaking of. Are you implying there is something I have done to make you act irregular?"

You went silent grinding your teeth as you shook your head, resisting the urge to pull your phone away from your face, "Nevermind... why did you call?"

"I was curious as to why you have been avoiding me. And before you go on blathering that nonsense that you are not, I know you are."

"Why does it matter?"

"You are always saying that we are...how did you put it? Ah yes, best friends. Am I wrong in saying such acquaintances should keep in contact and even spend time together?"

"You're not wrong in saying that best friends do that."

"Then what am I wrong in saying? That much is evident by your choice of words."

"That we are best friends."

"Pardon?" Damian voice sharpened causing you to swallow.

"I'm not your best friend Damian... at least not anymore. I-I don't consider us best friends."

"Then what exactly am I to you now?"

"That... that is what you are concerned about? Not why I suddenly changed by mind or that it might have been because of something you've done?"

"Y/N, if you wish to tell me something, say it. I do not care for you beating around the bush as they put it."

"You lied to me Damian." You calmly stated feeling tears building up in your throat.

He went silent before replying his voice trembling just enough to tell you he was lying. "What on earth do you mean?"

"You're lying again..." You paused closing your eyes, "Damian, I know you too well for that bullshit to work. You lied to me about what you were doing the other night. I know you were with my sister... I know you were, on a date with her."

"I-" Damian began, before stopping

There was more silence, and you squeezed your hand into a fist, silent and painful tears spilling from your eyes, "You betrayed me. I-I should have known you were going too, that you would. Everyone- everyone always does... they always chose my sister over me. They always decide to put her first even if I was friends with them originally."

"I do not understand how going out with your sister is betraying you."

"That's the best part Damian, it's not. But lying to me about it, helping feed into my sister's taunts and torments-"

"I never fed into that, I would never Y/N. This- this is all a- a misunderstanding."

You ignored him and pressed on, "Abandoning me when I needed you most, when my life was in danger... to be with my sister at a place- a place I showed you... that is one of the most utter betrayals."

Damian went quiet and you squeezed your eyes shut finally, finally letting him know what actually occurred that night.

"I went on patrol that night, I got ambushed and attacked and and- I waited for you." You heard your voice crack as your crying spilled over into your throat, "but you never came. God, I felt like such a fool, especially when I found out you were with her. I feel like such a fool."

"Y/N I-"

"Do you know what makes this all-worse Damian? Do you know what hurt the most? What burns so deeply it hurts to even fucking breathe?"

He was silent on the other end, and you continued, half sobbing as you did,

"I actually thought that you'd come, I actually thought that you cared. I actually thought that you- that you would be different and that- that-"

You took a slow breath, "I actually thought you might return my feelings. I thought for once- for once my sister couldn't take something -someone I love from me. Yet here we are."

Damian in took but you blazed forwards knowing what he was going to say, you'd heard it all before too many times.

"I know- I know!" You seethed, "She's not just anyone and it makes me wonder, what- no who am I then? Who am I too you Damian?"

He didn't reply and you hiccupped pressing a hand to your face so- so thankful you decided to do this over a call instead of saying all of it in person.

"I know who I am, even if you don't know who I am to you. I am not the quiet girl who I use to be." You muttered looking up towards the rising sun, the pit in your stomach both growing and weakening, "I will not sit aside as my sister tramples over everything and takes what remains. And I am definitely not the girl who is going to stay friends with, let alone partners with someone who knows how I feel about my sister and chose to... and chose her. You chose her over me. Despite all we've been through you lied to me. And-and what hurts the most is had you told me... had you told me the truth? I wouldn't have cared. But you hid it and tried to make it seem as though you were on my side. You- I- I love you, Damian. Actually, and truly love you. In a romantic way. And had you told me the truth- had you not lied... let's just say I wouldn't be leaving Gotham."

"What?!"

"I, am leaving Gotham. I already resigned as a vigilante.... she is planning on returning after her ceremony and I-I can't live with the sight of the two of you together... not- not with feeling what I feel." You in took a breath hoping that this heart wrenching- this heartbreak would be quick so that in- in your new home you'd be able to start fresh.

"Where will you be?" Something almost sounded frantic in Damian's voice, but you must have been imagining it.

"I will be leaving, going somewhere my sister has- well to quote her, 'have been to enough for a lifetime.' You don't need to worry I won't try and hold this over you... in fact after this call I'm getting rid of my phone."

"I will- I will not stand for this!" Damian snarled his voice cracking on the other end, "you will stay here."

"You don't control me Damian... if fact. If I'm being completely honest after all of this- after what's happened. You mean nothing to me." The lie was bitter on your lips, and you bit your tongue to hide your sobs.

"Y/N... forgive me. It's just I-...You don't understand- please. Please, He sounded so desperate it made your heart ache in a different way, but you couldn't let him get to you, you'd come so far, "Please allow me to explain. I beg of you."

"No," You softly replied digging your nails into your palm, "No. I won't hear any explanations. I won't listen to your honey coated lies because I'm sick of it Damian. I am sick of being used and disposed of. I'm sick of being the second choice, I am sick of being thrown away the second people find 'something better'.

"I made a mistake, please."

"Are you sure it was that you made a mistake and not that you were caught lying?"

Damian went quiet and you had to press your hand to your mouth to stop more cries from escaping.

"Goodbye Damian, despite all that's happened... despite all you've done, I hope you have a good life."

"Y/N no please I-"

You ended the call before you could hear the end of his sentence. Removing the sim card from your phone, you took in a breath then threw your phone into the nearest trash can.

Pressing your back against the complex's wall you buried your face into your hands and sobbed. Letting all of your emotions and feelings out. It was a matter of seconds before someone was hovering over you and you looked up to see your new roommate's concerned face.

"Are you okay Y/N?"

"Yeah, " You nodded wiping the tears from your face as you hiccupped, "I'm... I'm much better. Thank you... seriously, thank you so much Jon."

Jon Kent sighed with a weak nod as he gave you another look over.

"Of course, I'm always happy to help out a friend... especially one who is willing to help me cut my rent in half."

You weakly laughed before rising to your feet, wiping all the stray tears from your face.

"I'm happy to have a place to stay."

Jon nodded again looking you over before he turned towards the city, "How about I give you a tour to get your mind off things?"

"Tour? hmm, yeah that sounds good. Let's do a tour."

"Alright, but first," Jon smiled as he gestured to the city, "Welcome to Metropolis Y/N."

Tag List:

@andromedaj2003 @thomasbeloved @instabull @zvtanna @daemonnix96 @krswrites @thefallingstarlights @masset-fotia @neon-scenery @ssak-i @legendarylearner18

#batfam #batboys #y/n #reader #damian wayne #batboys x y/n #alfred pennyworth #stephenie brown #cassandra cain #duke thomas #bruce wayne #damian wayne x y/n #y/n x damian wayne #reader x damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader #robin #angst #one-shot #technically #sister slander #enjoy the technical cliff hanger #speculate all you want #i will answer no questions #only requests #hehehehehe #this may or may not have actually made me laugh out loud #it is supperrr angsty in some ways #and like not in others #I have no regrests

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

So when in was in 4th grade, 9-10 years old, I had a friend named Mike. Mike was the same age as me, as all my friends were back then because that's just how school friends worked pre-internet, and he was the single biggest bullshit artist I've ever met, even into my adulthood. Like, this kid would blatantly lie right to your face and do it with zero shame and absolutely awe inspiring confidence. Years before anyone used the term "gaslight" Mike was six city blocks of gas lamps. He once told me a detailed account of how some girl that rode the bus with us was his secret step sister and every day when he got home from school she was waiting for him, naked, to be his maid/sex slave. This girl got off the bus after him. Looking back, I'm pretty sure he didn't even know what sex was. (and it's fucking weird that a 10 year old kid was making up sex slave stories to share with another 10 year old kid so I wonder to this day what the fuck was going on with that family, but that's not the point of this. Still wtf?) That's the kind of bullshit that would come out of his mouth on a daily basis.

So, one day me and Mike were playing Connect 4. Everyone knows Connect 4. At the time, I did not know Connect 4. Mike offered to teach me how to play. Mike was also, as you can probably imagine, the sorest loser imaginable. I can only assume he thought he would beat me handedly seeing as I'd never played the game before. But, as it just so happened to turn out, Connect 4 is pretty easy to play. You try to connect 4 of your colors. That's. You know, that's it. And I'm not bragging when I say I picked it up pretty quickly, despite being more interested in the part after the game is over where you slide the little bar at the bottom and all the pieces come crashing down. I still think that's the most fun part of the game, tbh. Anyway, Mike did not like that I was winning. So after a game or two, when I got Connect 4, he suddenly stopped the game. I'd come afoul of a rule I didn't know. Apparently, I couldn't make a move to connect 4 right then. He couldn't really explain why, but he said a lot of words and assured me that I'd just made an illegal move, all the while he was taking my piece out of the game. Just, sliding it up the row I'd dropped it in while spinning line after line of pure bullshit. And this moment is what comes to mind every single time someone trots out the "prejudice plus power" BS "definition" of racism. I'm reminded of a very weird, most probably very disturbed, 10 year old gaslighting shithead desperately trying to convince me I couldn't make a totally legal move just because making that move would mean he lost the game. That's what every person, kid or adult, layman or academic, politician or pundit, sounds like when they try to explain how racism is only racism sometimes. Usually right after they say something insanely racist.

Children change the rules when they can't win within them. That so many adults carry this behavior well into their adult years is a sad sign of how far the intellectual capacity of adults has failed. And that any institution actually listens to these ridiculous rule shifts and takes them seriously is a sad sign of how far western society has fallen. Where once we perfected the debate, we're now no different from a lying ten year old kid who can't handle losing a board game.

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

Hopefully, I’m not too late for a request! If possible, I would love to know what kind of Yandere Ace, Snake and Seven from 9 Hours, 9 Persons, 9 Doors would be. Would they be more protective, obsessive, chill, controlling, etc? Would they be the kind to noncon their Darling? Etc. Thank you if you answer my request!

Okokok I know I said I'd try to do earlier requests first before the new ones, but I just finished 999 less than an hour ago and my mind is BUZZING rn

(Spoilers for 9 Hours, 9 Persons, 9 Doors)

Seven is the most "well-intentioned" if that makes sense. He doesn't try to manipulate them nearly as much as Snake or Ace would for their Darlings, and he genuinely thinks he's doing things for their sake.

He's EXTREMELY protective and given what he's gone through and seen from the Nonary Games, that's understandable. He doesn't want anything or ANYONE to harm his Darling, and what starts out with him being a friendly, paternal and overly protective in an endearing way quickly spirals into something unhealthy. He insists that Darling shouldn't go anywhere alone, without him specifically. He tracks their cell phone geolocation data and their car using his access to police trackers.

He's the type to fall for a more gentle and sweet Darling. They remind him a lot of Akane when she was a kid, and that amps up why he wants to protect them. But unlike Akane, Darling doesn't have any morphogenetic fields to help keep them safe. He doesn't know how to forge that connection between the two of them psychically, so he's gonna do everything else he can to keep them safe with his quick wits and his massive strength.

As far as noncon goes, I can't see him forcing himself on them or drugging them just for sex. If they don't want him like that, he wants to respect that. At MOST, I think he'd stick to just touching himself while they sleep so he doesn't bother them if they didn't want to sleep with him. He'll hold them down or bear-hug them if they're trying to escape/are having a breakdown and taking it out on him, but that's as far as it goes when it comes to physical force.

Snake isn't as much of a bastard as Ace, but he's got few issues with manipulating them to what he knows is best for them. He has the physical ability to use force, but he would rather not; instead, his weapon of choice is his words. He'll lie, manipulate, and cajole them into doing what he says. He's also pretty condescending too, even when he doesn't mean to be. Like he'll hold them close after an argument where he gaslights them about his unhealthy behavior, and smile while going "See? I bet you feel silly, getting so upset over a little thing like that. I'm glad I could help you see reason, my dear."

He prefers a Darling with a little bit of spunk to them, one that's intellectually stimulating in one way or another. Maybe they know all about something he doesn't (ie. Video games, a type of artwork, an instrument, etc) and he finds their passion about their interests cute. But even if they have a bit of rebelliousness, he wants to make them crumble and falter and eventually bend to his will.

His heightened reflexes and senses mean that escape is downright impossible unless they come up with a very clever strategy. He'll hear them trying to break their handcuffs, or try to crawl quietly out of the room and quickly catch them with a small grin once he's caught them. He also comes to find the sound of their breathing, their scent, and the way the feel to be so soothing--intoxicating, even.

He'll noncon his Darling, but he believes they're not *really* saying no. I mean...they are, but that's because they don't know what they really want. Once they realize just how good he can make them feel, how well he knows their body/mind/soul, then they'll come to their senses. He'd rather give them a little aphrodisiac or something to make them woozy as opposed to holding them down and going with full force. He'd enjoy waking them up while touching them, kissing them all over and "seducing" them into giving in to what he *knows* they want.

Ace is easily the cruelest, but only as a punishment or a way to keep them in line. He's used to things going his way, and he'll use any means to get what he wants. He'd find Darling to be a cute little thing, and maybe even assume that they have feelings for him: either they're clearly wanting him and being coy and "throwing themselves" at him (they're just being polite and friendly) or they're being hard to get and trying to tease him.

He's good at putting on a kind, noble facade, so he'll use that to lower their guard and try to seduce them that way. He'll always be there to listen to them with advice and a kind word, and he always has a reassuring hand on them somewhere. He's much more touchy with them than other people.

If they still "pretend" they don't understand what he's really after or denies him outright once he makes some more overt advances, he'll either find the composure to play it off and plan how he's going to kidnap them...or he goes mask-off right then and there, pins them to the nearest wall, and forces them to come with him for some "privacy."

The more they obey, the more they get rewarded: with aftercare, privileges like fewer restraints or a bit of privacy, a little gift here and there (he likes giving them clothes and accessories so they can wear what he wants, and show off that he owns them). But if they defy him, he's getting mean. He's forced himself on them before regardless of if it's punishment or not, but when he IS punishing them he's much more rough. Little to no aftercare, providing the bare minimum of foreplay to get them aroused enough to take him without tearing, putting his hands on their neck, tying them down and using them like a doll in any way he wants. Oh, and spanking. He spanks them quite a bit.

He'll use drugs sometimes, and use his own strength other times. It really depends on what he wants. Maybe he's pinning them against that wall and forcing a first kiss on them, or holding them against him while fingering them and mocking them for getting so turned on despite not wanting him. Or maybe he wants to test out a new product that makes the patient a little giggly or sedated or horny, and records this Very Important Research for his own personal use.

Looooves forcing them to cum. They look so adorable and pathetic, pleading for him to stop while creaming around his cock or dribbling down his chin, tearing up and melting thanks to him. See? He knew they wanted this.

He gets much more cuddly after sex than usual. If he's being affectionate BEFORE, it's because he's horny and/or in an especially good mood. He also likes to nuzzle them and hold them close a bit while he sleeps. And of course, like Snake he's a fan of diddling them in their sleep

Also all three of them call their fem!Darling "good girl." Seven's the sweetest about it and never degrades them with that name, Snake is equal parts loving AND condescending when he says it, and Ace is about 80% condescending and 20% loving when he says it. Ace is very uh...Heisenberg-y in how he treats his Darling lol.

#.myshit #.999 #yandere 999 #.ace #.snake #.seven #yandere ace #yandere snake #yandere seven #fem darling #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

Hi Em! Just dropping by to say I’m so sorry for what you’ve endured with the rampant plagiarizing and gaslighting. No one who has done such amazing work should have to endure such a thing, and I commend you for picking yourself up and carrying on.

One thing I wonder is (and I hope you don’t mind me asking), I know you made a post quite a while back about how to write medieval smut. If I recall right, there was a line in there where you encouraged writers to emulate the style of authors they enjoyed.

I’m just wondering what the line is for you between someone simply emulating a style they enjoy (per your advice) versus plagiarism? I’m not a writer, only a fanfic enthusiast, so forgive my ignorance. I’m just genuinely curious and you’re always so kind and patient when explaining these things, so figured I’d ask. Thanks!!

Hey, nonnie!

Thank you so much for the kind words. It’s been a little frustrating keeping so much of the aftermath to myself (long story short, she’s still maintaining she did nothing wrong and her edits haven’t really removed the things I took issue with, but so long as there’s no fresh content copied from me I’ll let it lie), but I’m coping! I do wish that the people who’ve chosen to take issue in the people I keep around me hadn’t decided to absorb the plagiariser into their group as some kind of petty ‘fuck you’ to me, seeing as I think I only ever had one interaction with each of those individuals personally, but oh well. They’re not going to make me quit, though I’m sure it’s what they’re all hoping for!

You raise a good point with your query!

Firstly, I want to discuss a layman’s definition of plagiarism. Direct plagiarism is when you attempt to pass someone else’s work off as your own - for example, when you copy parts of someone else’s work as-is and neglect to attribute it to the original writer. Mosaic plagiarism occurs when you borrow small phrases here and there or use the same general structure and meaning of someone else’s work, with synonyms substituted. I’ve been a target of both these behaviours.

Now, if I were to be hyper-specific - when it comes to emulating the way someone writes, I definitely mean more grammatically speaking. For example, I tend to write prose that doesn’t feature a lot of contractions; that is “haven’t” = “have not”, etc. I also like to list those adjectives REAL hard (e.g. “she stared dazed and confused, unknowing, wondering what it all meant”). When you’re imitating someone structurally, you aren’t taking their text, their plot or their concepts. You use their style.

Here’s a hypothetical: I’m someone who is about to start a blog for publishing fanfiction for Aemond Targaryen, even though I’ve never done it before. Last time I wrote something was in high school 5 years ago. If my intent is to write fanfiction and post it online, but I’m not confident in writing, I might choose to emulate another writer. However, because the difference between emulation and plagiarism is sometimes hard to discern, it would probably be a bad idea to find someone who also writes Aemond fanfiction and emulate their style. Just in case I cross that boundary and start plagiarising! So, I’m going to think of another fandom in which a writer I’ve read in the past has a writing style that I want to be influenced by. I’m gonna go to the….. hmmm….. The Tudors (2008) fanfiction archive and seek out my favourite writer there! Now, the characters are different, the plot and content is different, but the way they express themselves might be something useful for me. I’ll do a writing exercise where I stop a scene in that fanfic at a particular point and attempt to continue it myself, writing in what I believe is their style. I’ll read all of it together, uninterrupted, to see if it flows well. If yes, then I’ll use the bit I wrote as an exercise to model my writing style off for that Aemond Targaryen fanfiction I want to do. But I’m going to MAKE SURE that the plot, the characters, the concept is completely different!

I… hope this was an answer, nonnie. It might be long. Thank you so much for asking!

#fanfiction writing asks

[darlingyanderes]

Can you do one with Muzan and Kokushibo (bad at spelling 😂) With y/n. You can choose the content

Hi thank you for your request!! I might have gone a little ham on this one, I recently watched a movie called “Forgotten” on Netflix, and it inspired me to write this! I hope you like it (and that it’s not a straight up rip-off of the movie ooop)

Warnings: (fake) illness, drugs, explicit gore, murder, demons eating humans, manipulation/gaslighting, badly written amnesia

Word count: 1731

Take your pills - Yandere!Muzan Kibutsuju x Fem!Reader x Yandere!Kokushibo

Muzan and Kokushibo were always right. Or at least, Y/N had to trust they were always right, since her memory is so fuzzy. When the three first met, they told Y/N that she was ill and needed treatment. They claimed it was still in the first stages, so Y/N of course didn’t notice anything yet. But as they took her to the doctor and got her these pills, her whole head has just become so fuzzy. It was hard to stay in the real world and she could barely remember what she had been doing 5 minutes ago. Y/N wrote it off as the effects of the disease and that it was progressing despite all the medication.

But some things were so odd. That doctor they took her to, was that her usual doctor? Who was that person? When did she start living at Muzan and Kokushibo’s house, and since when did they call her ‘bunny and ‘darling’? The more she thought about her situation, the more questions popped up, and the harder it became to find answers. How could she, when her conscious felt like it was floating in an endless sea?

In the end, thinking became too tiresome. She decided to save herself the useless trouble of looking for answers she wasn’t going to get, and just trust Muzan and Kokushibo. She must be ill, that’s why they’re giving her these drugs. She can’t think straight, that’s why they’re taking care of her. That’s all she knew, and all she had to know.

Y/N stood at the sink in the bathroom, with a pill and a glass of water in her hand. She was about to pop the pill in her mouth, when Muzan suddenly opened the door, startling her and causing the pill to fell out of her hand and beneath the sink.

“You scared me half to death!”

Muzan shot her an apologetic look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, bunny. I just wanted to tell you breakfast is ready. Did you take your pill today?”

Y/N looked at her empty hand. She thought that she hadn’t taken it yet, but it wasn’t in her hand. She tried digging through her memory, but it was no use: she didn’t remember even that. Judging from the glass of water in her hand and the absence of a pill, she probably took one. Right?

She grinned at him and said: “Of course! What’s for breakfast?”

---

Y/N awoke in the middle of the night, her eyes drowsily looking around the room. Despite having just woken up, she felt her mind was a bit clearer than it usually was. Rolling over in bed, she realised she was more aware of the softness of the sheets, the faint smell of Muzan and Kokushibo clinging to the fabric, and the warmth radiating from the empty spots where they usually slept.

Wait, empty spots?

Y/N sat up, patting the rest of the bed to see if Muzan and Kokushibo had somehow been lying at the very edges of the matrass, but it was all empty. Why were they both gone?

A scream suddenly ruptured the house. Though it was dampened by the walls, Y/N could tell it was a guttural scream of pure fear. It made the very hairs on her neck stand up. She was frozen in her bed, horrified at the silence that followed. She could only hear her own heart beat frantically in her chest.

Only when the scream came for a second time, did Y/N quickly move from the bed. The scream must have been coming from inside the house. There must be an intruder. Was someone hurting Muzan or Kokushibo? Or even worse, both of them?

She had to help them. Even if her presence would just be a distraction to stop whatever attacker was in their house for only a split second, that would be good enough.

She inched her way through the darkness of their house, following the noise, until she was right around the corner of the bathroom. The light inside was on and the screams of agony kept ringing in her ears. She grabbed her slipper as a make-shift weapon and braced herself, before jumping in the opening of the door and yelling at the top of her lungs: “Stop!”

But what she saw made her drop the slipper in her hand.

The screams weren’t coming from either Muzan or Kokushibo, but rather a deadly pale looking man in the bathtub. His eyes were red and his face was dripping with tears, snot, and blood. He was partially submerged in his own blood and was most likely the cause for all the red smears and hand prints on the bathroom tiles behind him. Even if Y/N was able to perform surgery on him, she could never save him; half of his abdomen had been hollowed out, his intestines draped out for all to see. He was littered with claw marks, and an occasional bite was missing from his limbs.

Right as Y/N had entered the bathroom, a bloodied hand had dug its way into him, tearing his flesh out. The hand belonged to Muzan, the usually neat and tidy man who now had wild eyes and a face smeared red. Kokushibo was crouching next to him, licking the blood off his fingers with that same feral look in his eyes.

With a hopeless dread in her stomach, Y/N fell to her knees. They were demons. She had been living with demons this entire time. Monsters, vicious killers, who posed as loving humans so they could have a cover and continue eating humans in peace. With shallow breaths, Y/N couldn’t stop staring at the man in the bathtub, whose horrifying final moments she was witnessing.

“Y/N? Y/N, it’s not what it looks like.”

Y/N gaze shifted to Muzan, who now turned his whole body towards her. He looked like a tiger about to pounce its prey.

“Go back to bed, Y/N,” added Kokushibo, who tried to show her a calming smile. All Y/N could see were his bloodied fangs.

Y/N shook her head fervently and crawled backwards away from them, tears stinging in her eyes. “You are monsters. You- You killed that man!”

Muzan frowned, before looking at Kokushibo. “The pills should’ve prevented this, right?”

Kokushibo stalked towards Y/N, who couldn’t move away fast enough. “I suppose there’s something we could still do to make this right.”

---

When Y/N opened her eyes, she was back in the bed. Light was shining through the curtains, announcing the start of a new day. For a moment she was lost in the warm comfort of the bed and the two bodies surrounding hers, but then she suddenly remembered the events of last night.

Her eyes shot wide open and she gasped when she saw Muzan’s face right in front of hers. With his usual gentle smile, he whispered: “Good morning, darling.”

When he attempted to brush her hair out of her face, she flinched backwards, suddenly scared of the long claws on his hands. However, she didn’t get far: Kokushibo pressed himself against her back and wrapped his arms around her stomach. After he pressed a lazy kiss on her neck, he said: “What’s wrong, bunny?”

“You killed him.”

“What?”

“You killedhim. How could you do such a thing?”

Muzan once again moved his hand to caress her face, this time succeeding since Y/N didn’t have enough room to dodge him. With a carefully crafted worried look on his face, he said: “Sounds like you had an awful nightmare.”

Y/N frowned. “What? A nightmare?”

It was quiet for a while. Kokushibo propped himself up on his arm so he could look Y/N in the face. He looked grave as he asked: “Y/N, did you take your pill yesterday?”

Y/N opened her mouth to say yes, but stopped. She didn’t remember if she took one. Did she take one? No matter how much she dug in her memory, she just didn’t know.

Seeing the confusion on her face, Muzan sighed and shook his head. As he stroked her cheek with his thumb, he spoke: “You always had terrible nightmares before we took you to the doctor. You’d wake up and be so, so scared, just like you are now. The nightmares seemed so real to you, but they aren’t. They’re just nightmares.”

Kokushibo backed him up as he rubbed Y/N’s shoulder. “We were by your side the whole night, bunny. Right here in this bed.”

Something was wrong. She knew what she saw that night. But then again, why would they have any reason to lie? If they really were demons, they’d just eat her up if she witnessed them doing something like that, right? Demons wouldn’t care if they had to kill one more human, it’d just mean an extra meal for them. And they surely wouldn’t take care of someone like her like this. They must be right. They just have to be. Otherwise it just doesn’t make sense.

This illness really was messing with her head and her sense of reality. She felt like a fool. How could she possibly think that they’d do something like that, when they were always so kind and patient with her? She really was an idiot. In a small voice, Y/N said: “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, darling, we know it’s hard.”

Kokushibo reached over to the nightstand on his side of the bed and grabbed a pill and the glass of water on top of it. Meanwhile, Muzan sits Y/N up straight, keeping his arm around her shoulders and his hand resting in hers.

“Open wide,” Kokushibo said as he held the pill in front of her mouth. When Y/N opened it, she received a pat on her head. “Good girl.”

She couldn’t help but feel this nagging in the back of her head. Something wasn’t right here. The gentle smiles on their faces, and the way Muzan patiently held out the glass of water for her. There was something hidden behind her eyes, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. Was it really just the illness that was making her feel this way?

Finally, Muzan pressed the glass to her lips, forcing Y/N to take a sip and swallow the pill.

“From now on, we’ll make sure you take your pills, okay?”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere kimetsu no yaiba x reader #yandere kibutsuji #yandere muzan x reader #yandere muzan kibutsuji #yandere muzan kibutsuji x reader #yandere muzan #yandere kibutsuji muzan #yandere kokushibo #yandere kokushibo x reader #yandere demon slayer x reader #yandere demonslayer x reader #yandere demon slayer #yandere muzan x reader x kokushibo #yandere muzan kibutsuji x reader x kokushibo #yandere kokushibo x reader x muzan #yandere kokushibo x reader x muzan kibutsuji

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part VII

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni)

Warnings: dramatics, gaslighting, pining pining pining, drinking, attempted drugging, blacking out, vomiting, Nile and Hitch hook up, did I mention pining, one Greek word (thank you again, @cynnyc .)

It’s nearly ten PM as you climb the steps to the PKA house. The brisk October air makes you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and move toward the door faster. You probably should’ve texted your target first, checked to see if he’s even here, but you’re not about to stand outside and wait for a reply, not when you can just knock and ask a living soul.

 It’s Reiner who answers, looking extremely tired with dark circles under his eyes. You idly wonder if he and the other new kids are being kept awake as another stupid fucking hazing ritual, but you don’t really have the time for small talk. 

 “Erwin here?”

 The blond nods and steps out of the way. “His room. Might already be asleep.”

 Shrugging, you walk inside, mumbling, “Just gonna have to wake his ass up then.”

 Which you do, climbing up to the third story after Reiner tells you which room he’s in now. You knock on the door a couple times and almost feel bad when Erwin answers, clearly rumpled in pajama pants and bedhead. 

 He squints at you, and you snort. “Sleep before ten? You some kinda nerd or somethin’?”

 “What do you want?” He gruffs, voice a little scratchy. 

 You can see part of the room behind him, looks pretty similar to the one from last year. That had been the only time you’d really gotten a close look into his space, and it had not ended well. You hope this time will be different. 

 “I needed to talk to you about something.”

 Erwin scrubs a hand down his face then rests his head against his doorframe. “I’ll take a wild guess and say this is about Mike.”

 You push your lips out in a pout and respond, “Maybe.”

 He lets you into his room, catches you off guard when he asks, “Door open or closed?” 

 “Depends. You gonna come onto me again?”

 He chuckles and shakes his head. “I learned my lesson last time.”

 “You can shut it then.”

 Taking up the chair at his desk, you watch as Erwin just crawls back under his covers and fixes cerulean eyes on you. 

 “Why haven’t you been talking to him?”

 Something in your stomach flips, eyes growing as you splutter, “I haven’t been talking to him? He hasn’t been talking to me!” 

 Erwin frowns. “What? He’s been bitching to me incessantly.”

 “And, I’ve been bitching to Hitch incessantly.”

 Groaning into his pillow, Erwin holds out his hand, and you hear a muffled command, “Give me your phone.”

 You do without hesitation, rattle off the passcode then sit and wait as Erwin scrolls through what you assume to be your settings or contacts. The thought that you should be a little scared crosses your mind—you do have some compromising photos in an unlocked folder—but judging by Erwin’s current mood, he doesn’t seem interested in anything except sleeping. 

 “That motherfucker,” he grunts.

 “What?”

 “You blocked his number.”

 “What?” This time is much louder and panicked. “No, I didn’t! I swear I didn’t.”

 He tosses you the device back and gestures in a ‘see for yourself’ manner. “Someone did.”

 Your blood begins to boil as you stare down at your short list of blocked contacts, Mike’s name right on top.

 “Are you fucking kidding me?” You quickly tap to remedy the problem, hands beginning to shake. “I don’t even know how—”

 “My money’s on the shitty boyfriend,” Erwin mumbles.

 You want to text Mike, but you have no idea what to say. Sorry we haven’t talked in over a month. Zeke figured out my phone password and blocked your number haha. You doubt that would fly.

 If you had just come to Erwin sooner, most of this could have been avoided. You don’t know if you’re more upset at Zeke or at yourself.

 Zeke. Definitely Zeke. That is some wildly possessive behavior. That’s isolation. The idea makes you nauseous. This is just another instance of him showing what you believe to be his true self. Between all the fighting and grudges, you’re at your wit’s end. Just the other day, the two of you had gotten into yet another argument when you happened to get a glance at the Tinder icon in his app list. 

 “Why do you still have that?” You’d asked with a frown. You really hadn’t planned on it turning into an ordeal. 

 “Have what?”

 “Tinder.”

 “What are you talking about?”

 Then, right in front of your eyes, he had deleted the app. You saw it, but that didn’t stop Zeke from looking at you with a straight face and telling you, “I think you’re just confused, babe.”

 That’s when it turned into an ordeal. That’s when you got defensive and incredulous. That’s when he just kept telling you that you were wrong, that you were just seeing things, and after a good thirty minutes once you were nice and high strung, he actually had you halfway convinced. 

 Because he always sounds so sure of himself, always makes it so that his word is law. You had doubted yourself—you’re still doubting yourself. 

 “Jesus, I can’t believe this,” you breathe, leaning back in the rolling chair and staring up at the ceiling. You can believe it, actually, you just hadn’t expected him to sink that low. “What do I even say to Mike?”

 Erwin finally pushes himself into a sitting position and stretches. Seems like he’s just resigning himself to being awake. “Whatever it is, you should probably talk it out in person.”

 “Probably.”

 “Might be a little difficult now, though.”

 Heaving a sigh, you mutter, “Yeah, I assume he's pretty pissed at me.”

 Erwin hums, but his voice comes out a little unsure when he says, “Well, that, but also…”

 You're suddenly sitting straight up. “Also what?”

 Making a face, the man across from you enlightens you to the fact that, “Mike is kind of seeing someone. I think.”

 You blink at him, trying to process what he’s telling you. Mike is… With someone? You feel sick.

 But, you shouldn’t because he’s allowed to branch out. You surely did, and you hurt him in the process. 

 “It, uh… It gets worse.”

 Swallowing, you try to hide the lump in your throat when you rasp, “How?”

 Don’t cry. Do not cry. You have no right to cry. 

 “I’m about ninety-nine percent positive it’s Zeke’s ex.”

 Every muscle in your face suddenly relaxes, but it isn’t in a good way. Instead of frowning, your brow softens into its normal position. You release the tension in your jaw, the teeth that were just clenched falling away from each other as your lips part. Erwin moves in and out of focus as your gaze becomes blurry, hot tears gathering at your waterline, and now you don’t even try to stop them from falling. 

 Fucking Rhi. She had been nothing more than an annoyance before, a peppy little annoyance trying to grab your boyfriend’s attention. But, now… Now, you’re ready to fight. Parking lot brawl, throwing fists and pulling hair, and screeching—you want to destroy her. 

 “Oh.” You sniffle then wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s good. I mean—” a quiet cough, “—that’s good for him. I’m glad.”

 Erwin snorts. “No, you’re not,” his volume rises a bit. “So, don’t pretend like you are. God, why are you guys so bad at this?”

 You let out a humorless laugh and shrug. “‘Cause I have shitty timing, I guess.” You bite your lip and look back to the ceiling, trying not to weep too openly, but your lungs are burning, preventing you from breathing, and your heart is bruising your ribcage, and you think your bones just might shatter inside of your chest. 

 There’s a rustling on the bed, and when you look back at Erwin, you find him laying down again but holding the blankets up in front of him. 

 “Come on.”

 “W-what? Erwin, that is literally the last thing we—”

 “I’m not trying to fuck,” he says, eyes heavy as he stares at you. “You need to relax, and I need to sleep, so just come on."

 You consider for a while, looking from Erwin to the mattress. You’re really not that close, would barely even call him your friend, but you did come to him tonight. You had chosen to confide in him. He makes some pretty questionable decisions sometimes, but you still believe that ultimately he’s a good person. 

 “Fine, but put a shirt on.”

 “Then, grab one. Second drawer. Make sure it’s soft.”

 You roll your eyes but do as you're told, running your hands over a few t-shirts until you find one that he should be pleased enough with. He tugs it on then collapses back on the bed, and you kick your shoes off then slip out of your jacket and under the covers.

 You’re facing him, trying to keep a few inches between yourself and his chest, but as you think about the position you’re in—why you’re in it, the tears start flowing freely again, and you’re holding back little whimpers, shoulders shaking at the effort. Erwin breathes in deeply then uses the arm he isn’t laying on to pull you to him, shushing you as he rubs the space between your shoulder blades with a warm hand. 

 “We’ll get it sorted out,” he promises, voice quiet as he starts to doze. 

 It’s not how you expected to end the night, but you suppose there are worse ways.

*

 Mike learns a lot of information in a very short amount of time. Nile meets him outside of the fitness center to give him the scoop, trying to look casual as he walks, but Mike can tell he's nervous. 

 He starts by asking if Mike has talked to you at all recently, and no, he has not. So, Nile tells him that you broke things off with Zeke and apparently it got messy. 

 "Something about him being a manipulative bastard," Nile waves a hand. 

 "Doesn’t surprise me. Took her long enough."

 You've been hanging around the Pike house again, sometimes by yourself and sometimes with Hitch—"Who's really fucking cute, by the way." Obviously Nile and Marie are in the 'off' portion of their relationship cycle. "And, you would know all this if you would just start coming around again. It's stupid to pay dues and not actually engage with the frat, dude."

 "I've just been busy with school," Mike tells him. It's only a half lie. His senior courses are kind of kicking his ass, but he's also been busying himself with Rhi who is… tolerable. 

 "Whatever. Halloween party is in, like, a week. If you don't show up, I'm gonna be real pissed."

 "I'll be there, Nile."

 "Okay, then lemme prepare you for one more thing."

 Mike stops walking and looks at the smaller man who inhales deeply then blows air out through his teeth. 

 "So, uh, she's hanging around again, right? And, you're not there, so it seems like she's sort of, uh, latched onto…" He makes a face, and Mike leans back. 

 "Don't fucking tell me."

 Nile cringes. "Yeah. I don't think they're fucking or anything. I haven't heard them in his room like I used to hear the two of you."

 "She goes into his room?" Mike has to flex his hand by his side, but the brick wall of the library they've stopped in front of is looking mighty nice. Break a few bones, bleed a little, it'll feel good. 

 "Yeah, but, like, they're nowhere near as close as you and her."

 "How close we used to be. It's been so fucking long since we've even talked, dude. And, any time I try to catch her on campus, the dickbag is with her—"

 "Well, at least you don't have to worry about that anymore."

 "Yeah, now I just have to worry about her fucking my best friend. Fuck, she just—" Mike growls in his throat, contemplates turning to go back to the gym because he needs to get this energy out somehow. "She drives me fucking crazy."

 "Yeah, I know, man. I just didn't want you to be surprised at the party when you see 'em all buddy-buddy."

 "I'm gonna punch him," Mike states. "Just lay him out in front of everyone."

 "Please don't," Nile sounds genuinely worried. "Maybe use the party as a way to, I don't know, talk to your girl? Like an adult?" 

 "Obviously not my girl, and I've been screwing around with Rhi anyway. Maybe it's just time we went our separate ways or whatever." 

 It physically hurts to even suggest, but he's trying to put on a brave face for his friend—act annoyed rather than fucking crushed, but god, he is aching. His stomach has opened up into nothing, his chest feels void of everything that was once inside, and he knows he's being dramatic, but fuck fuck fuck, first Zeke and now Erwin? What is it that Mike doesn't have? What can't he provide you with that they can? Just tell him, and he'll fucking fix it. 

 "Yeah, I think we both know that's not gonna happen. Plus, you do realize Rhi is probably just using you to make Zeke jealous."

 "I'm not fucking stupid, Nile, of course I know that." But, Mike is really tired of his love life revolving around that asshole, like he has to wait for Zeke to call all the shots. "I'm using her as much as she's using me, so—"

 "As a distraction?" 

 Mike lets his head loll to the side, peering down at Nile from the corner of his eyes. "What do you think?" 

 The other man gives him a light punch to the shoulder and once again suggests, "Talk things out. Just pull her aside at the party." 

 It's easier said than done. When Halloween rolls around, it's a little insane. It's too big and too loud with a flashing strobe that hurts Mike’s eyes. There are all sorts of costumes, making it hard to recognize anyone. The jungle juice is a mystery, one Mike doesn't plan on touching but that many people will. He has a feeling that more than a few party-goers are gonna end up sick, probably passing out in various locations of the house. 

 Mike has opted for an easy costume, the tacky tourist complete with his pink Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, sunglasses, and a fanny pack. It's so awful, it actually made him laugh, but Rhi, clad in a spandex tiger suit, is not nearly as amused. She probably wanted him to go the sexy cop route or something equally as cringey, but Mike just doesn't have it in him tonight. 

 Nile is a shirtless cowboy, Hitch is a Catholic schoolgirl, Gelgar is Freddy Krueger with a pompadour, Reiner is a werewolf, the list goes on and on. Sexy, bloody nurses, superheroes, Harry Potter, and so on. 

 When his eyes land on you for the first time that night, Mike comes close to drooling his drink. Lola Bunny in her skimpy basketball uniform and a rabbit ear headband. Your face is painted, and you're carrying around one of those foam balls kids use to dunk into Fisher Price hoops, and he has no doubt the prop will be lost by the end of the party. 

 Mike thinks back to Spring Break, to you wincing at his movie choice then trying to sleep through it. You had woken up to him flipping through the photo album, then chose to finally open up to him. 

 So, why this costume? Why "torture" yourself like this? 

 And, speaking of torture, you're sticking to Erwin just like Nile said you would. The blond is in a tailored suit, his face painted like a skull. It's both classy and creepy, and Mike hates him for it. In fact, it calls for another drink. 

 Rhi finds him in the kitchen after making her rounds, taking up her former place on Mike's arm as he uses the counter to pop the lid off a fresh bottle. They watch the game of beer pong playing out in front of them, but Rhi doesn't seem content to just sit. 

 She has to stand on her tip-toes and shout into his ear, "Wanna walk around some?" 

 No. He really doesn't, but he can placate her, especially if it means getting laid later tonight. 

 They trek back to the main room, observing the debauchery taking place. People are grinding and stripping to Monster Mash. Several couples are spread out in the chairs or up against the wall getting pretty close to full on exhibitionism. 

 They stop to talk to "Officer" Marie for a while then move on to Nile and Hitch to whom Rhi spills everything she just heard from the busty redhead. They joke with Gelgar and his catch of the day, some of the pledges—Jean, Reiner, and Eren—who are just trying to survive, and then at last… you and Erwin. 

 Mike sees the way your chest rises with a deep breath, how your fingers tighten around the little basketball. Your eyes flit from Rhi to Mike, flashing when Rhi greets you. 

 Oh, you don't like her. 

 "Love the costume," she tells you. "Who are you supposed to be again?" 

 Mike chokes on his drink, and you suck your teeth before replying, "Lola Bunny. The Loony Toon."

 "Oh, is that, like, Bugs Bunny's girlfriend?"

 "Kind of?" You try. 

 Rhi looks to Erwin who visibly cringes when she asks, "Why aren't you dressed as Bugs then?" 

 Mike wants to turn around, to put as much distance between all of you as possible. 

 Erwin clears his throat. "Because that would be a couple's costume, and we're not…"

 Mike knows his expression is skeptical, cold even, and when he settles it on you, you give him a little shake of your head that he doesn't really believe. 

 "Oh, alright," Rhi concedes only to chime, "'Cause I heard—"

 "Wrong," Erwin cuts her off. "You heard wrong, Rhi." A hard, blue stare lands on Mike, unforgiving when he tells him, "I think it's time you two talked."

 "I don't think that's really—"

 "Oh, fuck," your swear gets everyone's attention, and Mike takes in the shock written all over your face then follows your line of sight to the entry way where Zeke god damn Jaeger is making his way through the crowd. 

 "What the hell is he doing here?" Erwin spits. 

 "You and Nile decided this should be an open party, dumbass," Mike reminds him with a roll of his eyes. 

 "Oh, so we're name-calling now? Jesus Mike, grow up. You're just assuming shit!" As he rants, Erwin takes hold of one of your arms and pulls you behind him, snatching the furry headband from you so the ears don't stick out. 

 For a split second, Mike thinks he's trying to protect you from him, but then he nods to bring Mike's attention to the approaching figure behind him, and Mike understands. 

 He turns his body to face Zeke who's walking over, fragmented by the strobe, his icy eyes piercing straight through his glasses. Mike, despite his anger toward you, feels the primal urge to protect you. 

 "The fuck do you want, Jaeger?" 

 "Woah, calm down, bud. Just looking for a brat—about yea high, spreads her legs for any athlete she comes in contact with. You guys seen her?" 

 Mike steps toward him, but he's stopped by a hand that fists in the back of his shirt. 

 "Ah, there she is," Zeke smirks, and Mike looks over his shoulder to see you now in front of Erwin with your fingers clutching the pink material across his back. 

 "He's not worth it, Mike."

 Mike thinks he is, though. He feels like he keeps getting whiplash, going back and forth between who he wants to hit at any given moment because it seems to change by the second.

 He's just been so incredibly frustrated for the past few months. Lacrosse doesn't help, and  the gym doesn't help, and fucking Rhi doesn't help. Mike has just been stewing, letting everything fester during the radio silence between the two of you. He's mad at so many people including himself, and all he wants to do is shove his way out of this stupid fucking party and take off his stupid fucking fanny pack and be alone in his apartment under his dumb fairy lights. 

 He shrugs out of your grip, figures the best thing he can do right now is get away from all of you. Zeke stumbles when Mike shoulders into him forcefully. He's not even a little surprised when Rhi doesn't follow him, choosing to vie for Zeke's attention instead. 

 It doesn't matter. All that matters is that Mike gets another drink in him. 

 He tries not to watch the way the heated conversation turns out, the way you bow up to Zeke and Erwin has to once again put himself in between you and the other blond. He tries not to smile at the fire in your eyes, that blaze he's seen so many times (usually when you're annoyed at him), and yes, there's that pain again, barely overshadowing Mike's anger. 

 You yell something at Zeke. He yells back. Erwin feels the need to add his own opinion, but the music is too loud for Mike to be able to make any of it out. Whatever is shouted makes Zeke huff and walk away. Rhi prances after him, and Mike resigns himself to the fact that he probably will not be fucking her after this shit show. He could always find someone else, but that takes effort (not much, but still), and then they usually get clingy afterward, and he just can't be bothered with all that right now. Mike can't be bothered with anything right now. 

 So he drinks. 

 He keeps an eye on Zeke who doesn't actually leave the party, and he drinks. He stares at you from across the room, bunny ears back in place, and he drinks. Somewhere between Boom and Beer Pong, he loses the fanny pack, looks down at some point and finds that it's just no longer there. All he had in there was a lighter and a couple condoms, so he isn't too broken up about it, but he does wonder—

 Mike isn't sure what makes him look over at the counter where all the different drinks are set out, but he does, and it's just in time to see Eren hunching over the bowl of jungle juice like some shady motherfucker, and when Mike makes his way over, world spinning just a little bit, he sees the younger Jaeger brother emptying a little plastic bag of green pills into the punch. 

 "What the fu—" Mike has him by the collar before he can even finish his own question, tosses the kid away from the counter so that he actually falls to the floor. It causes a few people to hop out of the way, their drinks sloshing and spilling on the tile. "What the fuck are you doing?" 

 Eren looks up at Mike with wide, panicked eyes, like he's scared and waiting for someone to save him. 

 "I—I don't know what you think you saw, man—"

 "I know exactly what I saw, you little creep!" 

 Everyone in the kitchen is looking at the two of them as more people trickle in. 

 "What even was that? You trying to roofie the whole fucking party or something?" 

 "No!" 

 "Just one person, then? That one special girl," Mike hisses.

 He walks back to the counter and grabs the large bowl of juice, carrying it over to Eren who's still on the ground. The kid covers his face just in time for Mike to empty the contents over his head, drenching him so that red drips from his hair and trickles down his arms. 

 "Drink up, bitch," Mike snarls before throwing the bowl so that it bounces off Eren's head. 

 Naturally, a bigger crowd has gathered, and Nile shoves his way through, shouting over the music, "What is happening?" 

 Mike leans over to yell in his ear, "Saw him pouring pills into the punch."

 "Are you serious?" 

 Mike nods but steps away when Eren pushes himself off the wet floor and nearly throws himself at Nile. 

 "I didn't do it! I don't know what the fuck he's talking about!" 

 Nile arm-bars Mike when he tries to move toward the little twerp, lips pulling back from his teeth because it has been a shitty night. A shitty week. Shitty month. And, now his fury has shifted yet again. 

 "Did anyone else see it, Mike?" Nile asks. 

 "Probably not since everyone is fucked up—"

 "Including you."

 Mike looks over at his friend in genuine surprise because it's starting to sound like Nile doesn't believe him. 

 "Why the fuck would I lie about something like this?" 

 "Maybe because he's Zeke's brother," Nile suggests. 

 Mike is heated. He can feel the blood underneath his skin cooking his god damn insides, frying his brain so that all he can think about is throwing a punch or two (or twenty). 

 Jaw sliding, Mike shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath to steady himself, to stop his hands from shaking as he tries to figure out when his friends started looking at him as some unhinged freak. 

 "What are you doing—the fu—dude, stop!"

 Opening his eyes again, Mike sees that Gelgar has inserted himself into the situation and has Eren pinned against the counter as he shoves his hands in every one of his pockets. He's growling something at the younger man, keeps shoving his face down against the linoleum any time Eren squirms, and after about a minute of people watching and gasping and making crude remarks about the position the two are in, Gelgar straightens up with a plastic bag identical to the one Mike saw Eren emptying into the jungle juice. 

 "It's just Adderall, I swear!"

 Gelgar scoffs. "This is definitely not Adderall. Believe me, I'd know." He tosses the pills to Nile who takes a long look at them before glaring at Eren. 

 "Get the fuck out before I call the cops."

 He should call them anyway, Mike thinks, but he understands Nile's hesitance. There's a lot going on at the party—underage drinking, party drugs in various rooms, etc. Eren wouldn't be the only one taken into custody if the police showed up. 

 Another voice rings out, asking the same question everyone else has, "What the hell is going on?" and Mike comes close to hurling the closest bottle at Zeke as he makes his way to his brother. "Why are you…" He gestures nebulously as his eyebrows pull together. Rhi is close behind him, and further still, you and Erwin are peeking into the kitchen. 

 "They think I drugged the jungle juice!" Eren looks at Zeke with puppy eyes that probably worked when he was a kid, might still work judging by the way the blond whirls around to face Mike and Nile. 

 "Have any proof, or are you just trying to—"

 "Pipe down, Jaeger," Nile cuts him off, holding up the bag and explaining, "Mike saw him dropping these in the punch."

 Zeke is silent for a few solid seconds before rounding on his brother again and grabbing him by the shirt right where Mike had previously held him, and everyone watches in rapt attention as he steers Eren through the crowd, shouting at him the entire time. 

 Having both of them leave is a relief, but Mike is a little disappointed that he didn't get to fight either of them. It would have been nice to feel a nose break under his fist, but he supposed it's better this way. 

 "Hey, thanks for catching that, dude," Nile says, slapping Mike's back. 

 It doesn't make him feel good. If anything, it pisses him off. Mike would understand if his friend had been skeptical of one of the pledges or second years making the accusation he had, but Nile is one of his best friends. They were inducted at the same time, were hazed side by side. Mike never would have thought Nile had such a low opinion of him, that he’d believe Mike’s little broken heart would cloud his judgement to the point of slandering someone without cause. 

 "Whatever," he shrugs before grabbing another drink. 

 He should just go back home. He isn't having a good time. He's angry at just about everyone he looks at. When Rhi decides he's worth her time again, Mike actually tells her to fuck off. He's lost the accessories to his costume, and he's about to lose his mind. 

 It's getting late. Mike isn't sure how late because as the night progresses, he gets steadily inebriated. He tries to avoid anyone and everyone in his fraternity, hanging out with people he knows from lacrosse or his classes instead. They play a few drinking games, take body shots off some sorority girls (or maybe it's the same one, he can't tell anymore). The music becomes bearable, and the strobe light stops hurting his head, and eventually, Mike just… forgets. 

 He forgets about Nile's lack of faith. He forgets about the fuckhead Jaeger brothers. He forgets about you and Erwin walking around and laughing together oh, ha ha we're so close now. He is finally spared from all of his negative thoughts. 

 Mostly because somewhere between shot number seven and beer number who knows what, Mike pukes into a plant (maybe?) and blacks out.

 *

 "God dammit. Erwin," you tug on his jacket sleeve and point to the corner that is home to a fake ficus that Mike is currently throwing up in. 

 Erwin groans, "Oh, Jesus Christ," and starts making his way over with you hot on his heels. 

 A few people are making faces as they glance at Mike, moving away as he coughs, straightens, then bends over again. 

 "Mike, come on, buddy," Erwin pats his back, waiting for Mike to pause in his retching so that he can duck under his arm and support him. "Gotta get you to a bathroom."

 "No bath," Mike snorts. "No green there, no…"

 You take a place on his other side, not that you can help much in getting him down the hall and in one of the downstairs restrooms, but you at least support his other arm and steer him in the right direction. 

 "Why is he talking about green?" Erwin grumbles as you both lower Mike to the tiled floor in front of the toilet where he promptly pukes again. 

 "The leaves maybe? I don't know, dude. Just…" You cringe as you notice the way Mike's shaggy hair hangs down into the toilet bowl, subject to all kinds of splash back. "Do you have a hair tie on you?" 

 "Literally why in the fuck would I have a hair tie on me?" Erwin asks incredulously, and you laugh because a couple weeks ago, he never would have used that word in this context since it's wrong, but the more you spend time with him, the more he picks up on your vernacular, and that really doesn't matter right now because—

 "Water," Mike croaks, voice echoing off the ceramic. 

 "I don't think you'll be able to drink any right this second, man," Erwin tells him, squatting beside him. 

 Mike shakes his head. "Wanna feel—feel water. Cold."

 "He sounds like a fucking caveman," you snicker. 

 You're really just trying to stay calm, masking the sick feeling in your stomach with amusement, but you've been watching Mike all night as he downed beer after beer, mixing various liquors as he took shots and licked salt off some chick's stomach. You figured he would get sick, but there wasn't really much you could do about it. He had made it pretty clear he isn’t interested in speaking to you. Still, you had purposely remained mostly sober just in case something like this happened (also because you make bad decisions when you get fucked up at frat parties).

 "Yeah, he definitely won't remember any of this."

 "Waterrr," Mike tries again, and you look at the way his arm is dangling over the side of the tub, the faucet on the opposite side, and glance at Erwin at a loss. 

 He shrugs, eyes darting around until he sees the plastic cup upside down on the shower rack. He grabs it, turns the water on and fills the cup, then dumps it over Mike's hand. 

 Mike groans, slowly wriggles his fingers under the stream, and drawls, "Thaaaank."

 You shake your head and motion for the cup, talk loud enough to be heard over the faucet, "I can handle this. You go back outside."

 "What? No."

 "There's no reason both of us have to be in here. He's just gonna puke his guts out for a few hours and then pass out." 

 Erwin doesn't seem sold on the idea. 

 "Come on. You've gotta go back. You're vice president or whatever."

 "So?" 

 "Erwin."

 He stares at you for a while then deflates. "Fine. Do you have your phone on you?" 

 "Always." You gesture to the elastic waistband of your shorts, phone pressed to your hip as it hangs on the inside of the material.

 "Text me if you need help, alright?" 

 "You got it, boss."

 He leaves just in time for Mike to violently retch into the toilet, one hand clutching the bowl as his spine curves. You fill the cup back up, pour it over his hand once again, and repeat the action over… and over… and over.

 His face and hair are gonna be a mess, probably his shirt too which is actually a blessing because you'll finally have a legitimate reason to burn it. Pepto Bismol pink and sketched palm trees stare at you as you sit on the edge of the tub, and all you can think of is the first time you saw Mike wearing the terrible shirt, how that had ended up, how you left with it the following morning. 

 How had the two of you gone from that to this? Sure, you weren't super fond of him at the beginning of it all, but he grew on you. A lot. He's your best fucking friend. Through the last couple months, through this weird fight you're having, he is your best friend. It's why you're here right now taking care of his drunk ass. 

 It'll pass. This phase will pass, and you'll make up, and you'll get your chance to be honest with him, to tell him how you feel about him. It may have taken you a little too long to arrive at your destination, so to speak, but better late than never. Soon, you'll both be able to look back on this and laugh. 

 People knock on the door here and there, and you scream at them to go away, eventually getting tired of it and just clicking the lock into place. 

 Any time you stop pouring water over his hand, Mike whines and attempts to say something, choppy words that don't make a ton of sense. You wonder if you need to call an ambulance, look for the signs of alcohol poisoning, but he doesn't feel cold, his breathing is even between bouts of vomiting, and his arms aren't curling in that tell-tale way. 

 More than likely, he just made himself sick. He knows better, too. He's been partying for a long enough time to be well aware of the mixing rules. Beer before liquor and all that shit. He may have just not cared tonight, though. From what Erwin has told you, Mike has just been in a generally bad mood for a while now (and Erwin has not tried to be subtle about why). He's barely around the Pike house anymore, he keeps getting called for personal fouls in lacrosse, and he's sleeping with Rhi which is nobody's business but is also strange considering her history—some kind of mutualistic symbiotic relationship that nobody is a real fan of. 

 Not my circus, not my monkeys, you think to yourself, emptying another cup from your place on the floor now. The ceramic was starting to hurt your ass, and you know your arm will probably be a little sore tomorrow, or later today since it's nearing three. 

 Fatigue is beginning to set in, and you know Mike is exhausted because he keeps dozing off on the toilet seat so that you have to nudge him back awake. Until he can speak in mostly coherent sentences, he's not allowed to sleep. 

 Sitting in the bathroom gives you ample amount of time to think. You go over some mental flashcards for a while, notes you took with the help of Mike's magic textbook. Then you think about going to your mom's for Thanksgiving and how much you aren't looking forward to it. Then you think about Zeke showing up only to have to escort his shady brother from the house. God, you had not been happy to see him. You'd been a little afraid, if you're being honest. 

 After figuring out that he had, in fact, blocked Mike's number on your phone, you had stomped into his apartment and initiated a screaming match. You got loud, he got louder, called you a stupid bitch and punched a hole in the drywall. You had decided that was a pretty good time to leave, both the apartment and the relationship. He's been lurking on campus around your most frequented spots—the science building, the library, but you've been doing a good job of camouflaging yourself in groups of other students. Even if he can see you, he can't do much about it. 

 You've thought about reporting him to campus police, but you know nothing will come of it. The golden boy can do no wrong. It's why you've been spending so much time at the PKA house again. You know most of them have your back, and you are absolutely not above asking any of them to walk somewhere with you to fend off your angry ex. 

 You can't wrap your head around what his fucking deal is. Surely he didn't treat Rhi like this after they split. There's no way she would still be so infatuated with him if he had. Is it just because you're the one who dumped him? He had to have seen it coming once you started putting the pieces together, the way he constantly tried to make you feel guilty, isolating you from your friends, invading the privacy of your phone to not only block Mike but also to turn your fucking location on so he could track you (you had found that out after that first trip back to the frat house to talk with Erwin. It had not been pretty).

 It's hard to believe you put up with it for as long as you did. It was only five months, but that's still five months too long. 

 Mike is quiet for several minutes, and you sigh when you see that his eyes are closed once again. He makes a noise of displeasure when you use your foot to gently shake him, grumbling, "Sto-o-op."

 "Nope. Gotta stay awake, Miche. Can't have you fallin' into a coma or something'."

 "Nooo. No Miche."

 "Yes, Miche," you laugh. 

 He scrunches his face up, shakes his head, but the motion seems to make him sick again. 

 When he finishes gagging into the toilet, he lets out a deep, "Gu-uuh," then sniffs. "No Miche. Jus' she—she—...Jus' her."

 You can figure out the rest, but you can't decide if you want to smile or cry. Only you can call him that. Well, you and his mom. You miss her. And his dad. And Scout. You hope to see them again. 

 "Okay. Just Mike then."

 He hums in confirmation then shakes his hand in the tub so that you'll douse it once again. 

 "You're a needy drunk, you know that?" 

 Mike doesn't respond to that, just takes a few deep breaths as his eyes close yet again. 

 "Sleep now," he mumbles. 

 "No, no sleep now."

 "Sleep now."

 "Oh my fucking god."

 His mouth drops open a little, and the first thing you think to do is splash him in the face with the cup of water. 

 He spits and splutters but doesn't shift much, still wrapped around the toilet. You try not to look inside when you stand and reach to flush what's already gathered, trying to shield some of Mike's face from any flying droplets. Then you wash your hands and sit back down. You figure you'll be here for at least another couple of hours. The sun will be coming up soon. Thank god it's a Saturday. 

 Both Erwin and Nile knock on the door for an update, and you yell that you're okay. Mike isn't throwing up as often, and when he does, nothing is coming up anymore. He's gonna be in a world of pain when he returns to his normal self. 

 So fucking stupid. He's so fucking stupid. 

 He mutters nonsense on and off. Sometimes you can translate what he's trying to say, but other times not so much. 

 "President… dumb boyyy."

 "Hy-poc-risy an' jealous… Hypocrite… I…"

 "Hand… wanna hold…" but when you grab it, he just gurgles, "Waterrr." 

 There's really no pleasing him. 

 "Why-y-y… dick… Erwin."

 "Volcano books… n' space jam… come an' sam… an'... to the jam."

 You laugh too loudly, and Mike cringes at the noise, but the corner of his mouth still lifts. You don't think he knows what he's doing or saying yet—isn't downloading any new memories—it doesn't matter because you will remember this for the both of you. 

 "You're fucking ridiculous."

 Mike pushes himself back from the toilet to sit against the wall, hissing and clumsily rubbing his chest. His shirt is wet and disgusting, and he must know on some level because he says, "Shower," and starts pulling himself over the tub. 

 "Jesus Christ, Mike."

 He's too tall, dangling an arm and a leg over the side and sinking lower. 

 "Water, pleeeease."

 He apparently isn't aware of the faucet that is still on. Whoever has to pay these bills… You feel sorry for them. 

 "No, dude. I am not letting you drown."

 Mike fucking giggles, "Lifeguard," then tries to take his shirt off. He doesn't have the motor skills to handle buttons and looks to be confused by them anyway, so his next solution is to just rip the material down the middle. 

 "Yeah, okay, I guess that works."

 The showerhead is turned on, and you sit on the edge of the tub again, shivering when the cool spray blows toward you while keeping an eye on Mike. Reaching over, you turn the temperature up a little, knowing that the alcohol has dropped his body temperature some. You're almost tempted to slide under the water with him, but there's no room, and you're not about to just make yourself comfortable on top of him.

 So, you just sit and stare and think about how tired you are. Physically and mentally and spiritually tired. You just need some time to not exist—just a few days. It feels like this semester has been nothing but drama so far, and it is exhausting. Maybe that's why Mike did this to himself. Maybe he just needed to not exist. 

 He starts to sit up a little in the tub, but his hand falters and sends him sliding back down. "Fuck."

 Not caring about getting wet at this point, you simply stand up between his spread legs, the shower drenching you immediately, and grab his hands to tug him upright. 

 "ευχαριστώ."

 "Come again?"

 "Means thanks," he mumbles, slumping forward. 

 You think of his family again, how he and his mother had just fallen into Greek as soon as you'd stepped into the house, leaving you surprised and impressed and warm in several different ways. 

 Squatting, you tilt your head to catch his half-lidded gaze. 

 "You back with me yet?" It's been nearly four hours—Fuck, why is there music playing still—but he might need more time. 

 "Dunno."

 "Can you tell who I am?" 

 Mike does his best to roll his eyes. "'m drunk, not a amnes—amnesic—"

 "Amnesiac," you supply with a smirk. Smartass.

 "That," he nods, pointing at you with a finger gun. 

 He can actually understand you now, so that's good, don't have to worry about him dying anymore since he's making progress. 

 Opening his mouth, Mike catches some water in it, swishes and spits. You expect him to tell you that you can leave. He can take care of himself, doesn't want to see you, all manner of hurtful things he has every reason to feel. 

 Instead, he blinks at you, extends his arms, and makes grabby hands. 

 "Can I help you?" 

 He doesn't say anything, just keeps reaching for you. He could grab you without issue. His fingers are already brushing your knees, but he either doesn't notice or wants to wait for you. 

 "Mike, I can't get any closer," you laugh. 

 Switching tactics, he pats his chest. 

 "Oh, no. I am but about to put myself in the line of vom just 'cause you wanna cuddle or some shit."

 Truthfully, you would also like to cuddle, to feel Mike's body against yours again, trace your fingers over his skin and listen to his heartbeat, but…

 Not like this. 

 "Please. No more vom. Promise."

 "I don't think you're in a state to make promises like that."

 He says your name followed by one more, "Please," and you give in, letting out a long breath and grunting as you find a way to lay between his legs with your head on the lower part of his sternum. You're curled a little awkwardly, one foot up against the ceramic while the other is curled beneath you. It is not by any means a comfortable position, but it's what Mike wants. 

 A few months ago, laying like this would inevitably lead to other things. Talking and joking would lead to giggling, maybe some well aimed prods to your ribs. You would bite in retaliation, his shoulder or, if the angle was right, his nipple, until he pulled you up further to sit in his lap, hot mouth finding yours, and so on and so forth. 

 This is different on every possible level. Neither of you are speaking. Your hands are unmoving on each other's bodies. There's no heat save for the water that's pouring down on both of you, plastering your silky costume to your skin. 

 Still, it's enough to lull you into a drowsy state, the ache in your eyes urging you to close them, but as soon as you do, Mike speaks. 

 "'m mad at you."

 Your stomach drops. His words don't come as a surprise, but they still sting. 

 "I know," you sigh. "I'm mad at me too."

 Your head moves with his chest, a gentle up and down that could—and has—put you to sleep. 

 "Still love you."

 You bite your lip, fingers lightly digging into Mike's warm skin as you remind yourself that he's drunk, and he hates you, and he probably won't remember any of this when he wakes up anyway. There's no reason to get emotional over it. No reason. 

 "I love you too, Miche."

 Silence closes in around you once more. You drift in and out for about half an hour until a loud knock jolts you awake. 

 You scramble off of Mike and hop to the door, leaving puddles and drops behind you. Both Nile and Erwin look panicked in the hallway, the shorter man nearly shouting, "Is he fucking dead in there?" 

 "Not deeeead," Mike calls from the tub. 

 Erwin peers over your shoulder at him, then at you, then takes on a disappointed expression. "You didn't. Come on, he's so drunk."

 "What do you—" You frown as you piece together his implication, then squawk and shove Erwin with two wet hands. "I didn't fuck him, you perv! What is wrong with you?" 

 He chuckles and bats away your hands. "I never know with you two! You can't blame me!" 

 "You're disgusting."

 "Look who's talking. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" Erwin raises his eyebrows. "Less bunny and more… I don't know, ghoul?"

 God, you had completely forgotten about the face paint. 

 "Shut up, yours isn't much better." His black and white paint is smeared in several places like someone ran their fingers through it. The collar of his shirt is stained, and his hair is tousled. You can't tell if it's the result of getting frisky or falling asleep. 

 "Stop flirting in front of meeee," Mike whines loudly, sitting up and pushing the shower knob a little too hard to shut the water off. 

 "We're not—" You and Erwin start at the same time.

 Nile interrupts with a drawn out, unconvinced little note and informs both of you, "You guys get a little flirty sometimes. Sorry to break it to you."

 You frown at the blond and he frowns back, then you both frown at Nile who shrugs. "I'm just saying. There's a reason people are thinking things."

 It's not important, and you'd rather not dwell on it because you know the truth, and Erwin knows the truth, and Mike will if he'll just fucking listen, but he's fucked up right now, so that's a problem for another day. 

 "Whatever, we'll work on it, but for now…" You watch as Mike tries and fails to pull himself out of the tub. 

 "He looks like the girl from The Ring," Erwin snorts. 

 "Yeah, if she was giant. And, a guy," you add. 

 Wet hair is hanging over Mike's eyes, still sopping wet and dripping. He's all awkward angles as he hoists himself up, kicking a leg over and swearing. 

 "We should probably help him," Nile says, fighting his own smile. 

 "Probably."

 Between the three of you, you manage to transport Mike from the bathroom to Erwin's room on the third fucking floor which is no easy feat. Nile waits for his friend to be dumped onto the mattress, then announces that Hitch is waiting for him to come back to bed. You don't know how long that will last, but your friend falling into the same frat boy trap you did is mildly hilarious. 

 It leaves you and Erwin to make Mike comfortable. You wrap his head in a towel you found poking out of the hamper, murmur, "Hope this doesn't have anything gross on it," to which Erwin responds with an unamused look. 

 You peel the ruined, tacky shirt from Mike’s shoulders and toss it into a corner but you let Erwin take care of the rest. You've seen everything Mike has to offer, but that doesn't stop you from feeling weird about seeing his dick when he can't really stop you. So, like Mike did last year when he spilled water on your shirt, you turn your back to allow him some privacy. 

 There's some rustling and grunting, but when Erwin tells you it's safe, you look to find Mike in a pair of gym shorts, hair still wrapped, looking more disgruntled than you've ever seen him. 

 "'m still wet."

 "You sure are, big guy," Erwin agrees, slowly guiding him to lay down on his side and explaining, "You need to sleep like this, alright? Otherwise you might choke and die."

 "Erwin!" You throw your hands up in the air. "Why would you even—?"

 "Know how it works, dumb… butt."

 "Oh, dumb butt. That's a good one," Erwin grins. "Very creative."

 "Don't panotrize me!" 

 You have to cover your mouth to keep from cackling, and Erwin shakes his head, corrects, "Patronize, Mike. Patronize."

 "That's what I said!" 

 It takes a while to get him relaxed again. Apparently, Mike's favorite thing to do while drunk is run his mouth to Erwin, so while he's busy dealing with that, you raid Erwin's closet for a shirt and then his dresser for boxers. Once you are mostly dry, you snatch the towel from Mike's hair to wipe your face and toss it away, then step up onto the bed near the pillows, urging Mike to shift so that you can sit against the headboard. 

 He immediately rests his stubbled cheek on one of your thighs, then wraps both arms around the other, his fingers melting into the fat just below your ass as he grunts, "Mine."

 "All yours, buddy," Erwin assures with a grin before glancing at you. "I'm gonna pass out in the chair—" he gestures to the one in the corner of the room, "—if you need me for anything, just wake me up, okay?" 

 "Yeah, thanks." Then, "Hey, Erwin?" He hums in response. "Don't tell him about tonight, like, me staying with him."

 "Why?" 

 "I don't want him to stress out about what he may have said or done. 'Cause I know he will."

 "Whatever you say," Erwin shrugs, collapsing in the chair without even changing or washing his face. All three of you are gonna look like characters from a horror movie whenever you wake up, and the thought makes you smirk as you card your fingers through Mike's damp hair. 

 It's getting longer. He could probably put it up if he wanted to. He's been letting his beard grow a little too. You aren't sure if it's laziness or just trying a slightly different look, but whatever the case, it's hot. 

 He keeps your leg clutched tightly to him like some kind of stuffed animal until he drifts off to sleep. It's nearing five, and you know you probably won't get any quality rest while you're here, so you figure you'll just doze for a while until you can safely extract yourself from Mike's grip. He probably won't appreciate waking up like this anyway. No matter what he's said to you and Erwin—declarations and staked claims—it'll all be worthless in just a few hours. 

 A symphony of snores plays through the room, Erwin splayed out in his chair like he's passed out in a cheap Vegas hotel while Mike drools on your thigh, and if it was anyone else, you'd be disgusted and shove him away, but since it’s Mike, it’s weirdly endearing. He can slobber on you all he wants, it won’t bother you in the slightest. 

 Eventually, the sun shining through the window becomes too bright for you to even fall into a light sleep, so just as you planned, you gently untangle yourself from Mike, pausing when he grunts and frowns, but when he doesn’t stir any more than that, you manage to slip out of the bed. 

 Grabbing your phone and costume, still a little wet and cold because of it, you leave as quietly as you can. Your shoes are still in the downstairs bathroom along with Mike’s shirt, and you have a legitimate mental debate over whether you really should just toss it, but as much as you hate it, you decide against it. 

 You have to step over several bodies to get to the front door, more than usual which is concerning since the punch Eren spiked was thrown out (or really, thrown all over him), but you’re able to make it out without tripping.

 The drive to your dorm feels too long, sun beaming right into your itchy eyes the entire way. You nearly cry in relief when you finally fall onto your mattress, already well aware that most, if not all, of your day will be spent under the covers. You’re more than fine with it, allowing yourself to just not exist for several hours exactly how you wanted to.

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #tw manipulation #tw vomit

[awheckery]

so. uh.

cut for frank discussion of chronic illness and the serious failures of the american healthcare system. tw for fatphobia and gaslighting.

Last July, I got sick. It wasn’t too bad at first: some fatigue, body aches and a slightly elevated temp, until suddenly it was bad and I wound up in the ER. It took three rounds of steroids, a round of antibiotics and a more powerful inhaler to get my feet back under me, but I never fully recovered.

I didn’t talk about it here, except for answering an ask in October and blaming my lack of creative output on depression. It really, really wasn’t depression; it was my health progressively collapsing, one system after another until the avalanche of symptoms that flattened me just after New Year’s.

For the last four months, I’ve spiked a fever over 100°F nearly every single day. My joints hurt. My knuckles are knobbly and swollen, and occasionally my fingers are so painful and weak I’ve had to literally tape my pen to my hand at work. I get rashes at random that itch so badly I claw myself bloody. I overheat and have hot flashes in temperate rooms. The skin on my face and neck and shoulders turns red and hot to the touch, like I’m burning for hours with no immediately discernible provocation.

Some days, I wake up and I don’t have the strength to get out of bed. Some days I can’t wake up at all. I’ve slept through deafening alarms for hours, long enough for my phone battery to run out and die. I can only stand up for ten minutes a day without being hobbled by the effort, and every extra minute beyond that I pay for in hours spent bedbound by exhaustion and pain.

I keep losing words. I’ll arrive at the middle of a sentence and stumble to a halt, because the word I need isn’t there. It’s not true aphasia, and it’s not all the time. I comprehend written and verbal communication perfectly well, but I can’t get my own thoughts out without tripping over them.

I am, to quote a friend attending school to be a nurse practitioner, “a textbook case for SLE,” and I agree, but somehow I can’t pay a doctor to treat me seriously.

In January, I was referred to a rheumatologist after the bloodwork my PCP ordered indicated I had autoimmune activity of some kind.

To date, that’s my only test for anything that’s come out definitively positive for any kind of disease state at all. Ever. I tested negative for celiac disease on a technicality nine years ago, despite how specifically and intensely sick gluten makes me, so I was dismayed but not too surprised when follow-up bloodwork for lupus came back just barely inside the range of “normal.” Despite that, I wasn’t prepared to be jerked around as much as I have been.

The first rheumatologist I saw, back at the end of January, had barely been in the exam room for thirty seconds when I could see he’d already made up his mind about me. He was dismissive and perfunctory and condescending when he told me that “plenty of perfectly healthy people have positive ANA results,” and he referred me back to my PCP for an exercise program and antidepressants to treat my “fibromyalgia.”

Putting aside that I’m not a “perfectly healthy person,” I’m a Fat Lady living in America, and I’ve experienced medical fatphobia for decades at this point. You learn the key words and phrases pretty quickly, and “exercise program” has never not been a euphemism for “weight loss.” (Which is heavily ironic in this particular situation, because before I was Fat, I walked 2-3 miles a day for funsies and spent 15-20 hours in the gym every week. I only stopped because I somehow shredded both my ACLs in one summer. I’d love to get back to that if a rheumatologist could help me figure out how to be active and uninjured at the same time.)

I was frustrated after that first appointment, enough to request a referral to one of the best teaching hospitals in the country. Why not go to the best, right? There was a five month wait for an appointment, but I am stubborn, and I made use of the time by documenting every bullshit symptom my body threw at me. I have a daily symptom journal, full of subjective entries like my pain and fatigue levels, as well as objective entries like daily temperature changes and photos of my rashes and my burning face and my goddamn mouth ulcers.

I thought I had enough logged to be impossible to ignore, and then I saw the second rheumatologist three weeks ago, and the first sentence out of her mouth was the beginning of an interrogation on my blood pressure, and whether I was taking medication or if I was on a fucking exercise program for it. I tried to get the appointment back on track by sharing my symptom diary, and she turned back to my just-under-the-wire test results, and told me, “many healthy people have positive ANA results, it doesn’t mean anything without other positive test results for specific conditions.”

I said, “Healthy people don’t run a fever for months.”

And then she told me that a "fever is not associated with any of the conditions a rheumatologist treats." I was so startled by the confidence and authority with which she stated the lie that I was unable to speak to rouse a defense or contribute anything else for the rest of the appointment. After an insultingly brief examination, in which I never took my face mask off and she declined to look at any of my photos, she said that she “didn’t see anything that could be rheumatologically wrong with me.”

I asked her what she thought could be wrong with me, and she grudgingly admitted it’s possible, though rare to have an autoimmune disease and test negative for everything, so she would order more tests and refer me to appropriate specialists for my various symptoms. She ordered a referral to an infectious disease specialist for my fevers, and a referral to a dermatologist for my “rosacea” (that she’s assuming I have, because I would like to again note she did not see it, at no point did she actually look at my face or a photo of it), and a referral to an ENT for a salivary gland biopsy for my dry mouth, and a referral to a neurologist for my “stroke-like” memory and speech problems.

It was, all told, an unbearably shitty appointment. I cried in my car for an hour in the hospital parking garage so I wouldn’t do anything impulsive like lying down in traffic, and then I went home, cried some more, and went to bed for three days.

On the fourth day, I woke up enraged. It’s one thing to be blown off by a doctor when you’re just reporting symptoms without proof, it’s a wholly different thing for a doctor to ignore your proof and lie about diagnostic criteria to your face.

It’s hard enough not to think you’re crazy when your test results come back negative over and over; it’s that much harder after being told that your major concrete measurable symptom is diagnostically irrelevant, when it really, really isn’t.

(for the record, just going off the symptoms I can concretely prove I’ve experienced in the last week alone, I land a 16 on this chart, which is the most up-to-date, widely agreed-upon diagnostic criteria)

I have decided, for the moment, to play ball. I don’t have the energy to jump through all the hoops this rheumatologist wants, but I'm angry enough to drag myself through them. Tomorrow I’m supposed to see the infectious diseases specialist. On Wednesday I see the dermatologist. In two weeks I see the ENT, and I’ve got a neurology appointment tentatively scheduled for December.

I’m going to be blisteringly forthright with all of these doctors about why I’m there, and that I’m looking to exclude diagnoses other than the lupus I pretty obviously have. (Except with the ENT. Apparently they treat allergies, and I’d like to be able to go outside long enough to walk a dog, someday.)

I’m supposed to see this rheumatologist again at the end of November. Depending on how this week’s appointments go, I’m aiming to either move up my appointment with her when one becomes available, or just send a firm yet diplomatic email asking why the diagnostic criteria apply to everyone but me.

If anybody else has gotten through this fucking nightmare successfully, I’m open to suggestions, it’s not like it can get worse at this point.

#long post #sufferpunk life #chronic illness #chronic pain #sle #lupus #aka why I've gotten nothing interesting or creative done since last year #fml

[nashibirne]

London Calling - 2

So, guys...I know it took me a while but here it is. Part 2 of Bodyguard! August and his adventures in London. I hope there are still some people out there who want to read this. Enjoy and let me know what you think! Every single comment/reblog/like is very appreciated 💜

Pairing: August Walker x ofc (Lucretia "Lu" Johnson)

Words: ~ 3.2

Summary and A/N: This story plays with the thought of "what if…" What if August Walker had taken another road? What if he had turned into John Lark for completely different reasons? What if he had found love before becoming a bitter, disillusioned man?So the events of "London Calling" take place about ten years prior to MI:Fallout and August Walker hasn't joined the CIA yet, he's an FBI Agent and his new mission in London that lies ahead of him is going to be a challenging one. Maybe it's even going to change his life.

Find the previous chapter and my other fics here: Nashi's Masterlist.

Warnings: 18+! This story deals with the topic of a toxic/abusive relationship, gaslighting and problematic behavior of one of the protagonists in general. Please don't read if these topics trigger you or make you feel uncomfortable.

English is not my mother tongue but the lovely @sillyrabbit81 was so kind to be my very helpful and patient Beta! Thank you so, so much, bunny 🐇💜 (Edited by me, so there might still be mistakes and they're all mine)

Credits/Disclaimer: I don't own August Walker or anything related to MI:Fallout. Pics for the moodboard from pinterest, face claims: Lu - Hannah van der Westhuysen, Adam - Freddie Thorpe. FaceApp helped me with making August look a little younger.

Ready? Let's go!

*********

"John Lark," Adam said to Lu, who was sitting opposite of him at the dining table, having a coffee and some fruits for breakfast. He grinned and rolled his eyes. "What a boring name. Let's hope he has a boring personality as well and likes staying in the background just like poor old Eddie."

Lu shook her head with a sad smile. "I still can't believe he's dead. I mean, one moment he's alive and kicking and then he misses a red light and is six feet under."

"He should have been careful, baby. He was an idiot anyway. Please don't tell me you liked the old grinch." Adam ran a hand through his light brown hair and gave her a surprised glance.

"I did like him and he wasn't old, not even 50. He was a nice guy, always friendly and helpful." She leaned back in her chair with a sigh and looked out of the large windows that gave a fantastic view on the Thames and the city of London.

"Did you fuck him?"

Lu froze at the coldness in his voice, that sent icy shivers down her spine.

"Of course not, I…I would never...he wouldn't have..." She stared at the man she was going to marry in just a few months, eyes wide, lump in her throat, feeling offended and unsettled by his accusation.

Adam burst out laughing. "You should see your face, Lu," he chuckled with a big grin on his attractive face. "It's hilarious, you're so easy to lead on, darling. It's really cute how naive you can be. That's exactly the reason why I have to look after you by the way. People take advantage of you but no one fucks around with Adam Mayfield." He gave her a wink but she knew he wasn't just teasing her, he meant it. Lu forced a grin, trying to relax and regain her composure by taking a deep breath. Getting serious he reached over the table and took her hand, pressing a tender kiss on her knuckles. "I was joking of course, I know you are loyal, baby. You're not a cheating whore. If you were I wouldn't marry you and if you were I would know. Nothing remains a secret to me. Nothing, Lu. Never forget that. No secrets."

She gave him a sweet smile and squeezed his hand, her heart beating like crazy. "No secrets," she said because she knew that's what he wanted to hear.

Adam gave her an approving nod, obviously content with her answer.

"So, until Lark arrives the day after tomorrow, Big Ben is gonna take care of you."

"What about you, won't you need him?"

Lu was genuinely surprised. Since Eddie's accident, Andy, the third member of their security staff, had taken over his duties. Big Ben was Adam's bodyguard, more than that actually, over the years he had become his right hand, his assistant, his eyes, his ears, his shadow. The middle aged man, with the thin, sparse light blonde hair and the hooked nose that dominated his puffy face with the pasty complexion, was a nice guy on first sight, always very polite and friendly, always up for a joke, but he had something in his watery eyes that scared Lu. Maybe it was because he was so loyally devoted to Adam. Lu had never heard him question any order, he did whatever he was told to and Lu was absolutely convinced he would turn against her in the blink of an eye, if Adam asked him to. She feared him and she didn't trust him and she was quite sure the feeling was mutual.

"I can do without him for two days, right Ben?" He asked the man who was entering the room right then.

"Sir?"

"You'll look after Miss Johnson today and tomorrow and Andy will keep an eye on me."

"Of course," Big Ben nodded with a smile. The nickname was pretty ridiculous, because he was anything but big. He was neither tall nor broad. He was hardly Lu's height and a little overweight but he was tough and a skilled martial arts fighter. He had been pretty successful in his youth, winning various tournaments and he was still very strong and flexible. Lu had watched him doing some Jiu Jiutsu with Adam a few times and it had been impressive to see the stocky guy so agile and light-footed.

"I won't be much of a nuisance, Ben," Lu said, "I will be busy preparing the vernissage for the rest of the week, so we'll be at the gallery most of the time."

"That's fine, Miss Johnson. I like the gallery. I don't know much about art but you have some beautiful paintings there."

***

An hour later Big Ben was looking at one of these paintings and Lu was watching him closely. Something was off, not only today, it had been for a few days. It started with Adam letting Andy stay with her at the gallery all day. That was very unusual. Eddie had always run errands while she had been working or he had washed the car or whatever. She didn't need him around, the gallery was a safe place, nothing bad had ever been happening there. She had asked Andy a few times why it was necessary that he stayed but he'd always said he didn't know and was just following Mr. Mayfield's orders. And now there was Ben, who was obviously trying to pump some kind of information out of her, asking strange questions.

He was subtle, she had to admit that, but just like anyone, including Adam, he underestimated her. He and the rest of the world considered her to be just a blonde bimbo, Adam's arm candy, a classic gold digger and nothing more. She could hardly blame people for thinking that way and actually she even liked flying under the radar. It gave her a certain kind of freedom because nobody was really paying attention to what she did. Adam was the one in the limelight and since she'd never dare to steal his thunder even the yellow press found her too boring to write about her. So she was able to focus on her work and try to make herself a name as a galerist, not as Adam Mayfield's trophy girlfriend.

She knew most people thought she wasn't very clever, but as hard as her youth had been it had given her two very useful skills, street-smartness and the ability to judge character. She had more knowledge of human nature than most women her age and she for sure could tell when someone was trying to hide something from her.

"Eddie liked that painting too," she said with a smile. It was a lie, Eddie had never been taking interest in any of the artwork she presented in her gallery but she wanted to get Ben to talk.

"Really?" A sad look crossed Benjamin's face. He and Eddie had been pretty close and Lu imagined he was mourning his old friend badly.

She gave him a nod and a friendly smile. "You miss him, don't you?"

"Of course, Miss Johnson."

"Lu," she corrected him for the millionth time although she knew he'd continue calling her by her last name. She had no idea why he insisted on this formal way of addressing her, all the other staff members called her by her first name, but since he did the same with Adam she supposed it was just his way of showing respect and keeping a professional distance. "I miss him too. I can't believe he was so irresponsible. He was always such a careful driver, he never even got a ticket for wrong parking."

Big Ben wrinkled his nose. "I'm sure he wasn't acting irresponsibly. It was an accident."

"Well, Adam said he missed a red light because he was distracted by answering his phone. That's pretty irresponsible, if you ask me."

She saw his jaw working and his hands were balled into fists. Her accusations were making him angry and she assumed that meant they were wrong.

"We don't really know what happened. Just what the police file says," he replied with a shrug.

"And you assume that it's not telling the truth?"

"I don't assume anything, Miss Johnson. I believe in the things Mr Mayfield tells me. And so do you, I guess."

"Of course I do," Lu said quickly, dropping the topic, fully aware of the threat that his words involved. She had heard enough anyway.

****

August took a deep breath before he dropped his suitcase on the floor and took a look around. The room -his room- was nice. Big and bright, with large windows and a big bed that appeared to be very comfy. The en suite bathroom was luxurious and gave off spa vibes while the modern paintings and photographs on the walls made the room look like a very stylish and exclusive hotel suite. He liked that, but he had to remind himself that this wasn't a city trip for a weekend, this was his job and his new life.

He had spent the last days slipping on his new personality, becoming John Lark, embracing his alter ego. He grinned when saw his reflection in the window. That mustache and the three day stubble he wore now was an unusual sight but he had to admit he liked the new look, it suited him. August unpacked his suitcase, placing his clothes in the closet and the few personal items John Lark owned in and on the nightstand. A few books, a moleskin and a pen, a jump rope and a pull-up bar for staying in shape and his personal mobile. He had been handed out an official cell phone by that guy called Ben right at the airport where he had picked him up. He put on the watch Lark's mother had given him after high school graduation, his initials engraved on the back. 6:45. Fifteen minutes till dinner. He had been asked to eat with them to meet Mayfield and his Barbie. Miss Johnson. Just be professional, he scolded himself, she's your target.

Don't fuck this up. Kyle's words resonated in his head. This had to be his goddamn creed from now on if he wanted to join Erica Sloane's team at the CIA, and fuck he did. She was infamous for being the toughest and strictest woman at the agency and for being the best. Her team consisted of the most respected and effective agents and that was exactly where he belonged. He wanted to work with the best, he wanted to be top of the class, he intended to become primus inter pares. The best of the best, notorious, feared, valued, celebrated, desired...all those things that had been refused to him throughout his childhood and youth. He had been a victim till he joined the army, a loser, a pussy. Now he was a winner and he would become a champ and claim what he deserved.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Ready, Lark?"

"Coming."

He put on his jacket and straightened the soft brown fabric of his suit. Adjusting the matching tie, taking a deep breath he opened the door and smiled at Ben who just gave him a nod.

"Let's go," he said. "They're waiting."

****

She knew John Lark was trouble the moment she saw him. It was nothing specific that made her feel this way, not his looks or his behaviour, it was more the aura that surrounded him. Lu couldn't quite put a finger on it, but she knew she had to be careful around him right away.

"Mr. Lark...John," Adam greeted his new employee friendly, flashing him a bright smile. "I suppose it's okay to call you John?" Not waiting for an answer he continued while shaking August's hand. "Really nice to meet you. Welcome to your new home."

August returned the smile. "Thank you, Mr. Mayfield. Nice to meet you too."

"Please, call me Adam. There's no need for formalities. After all, we're going to live together, work together…"

Another charming smile. The guy was smooth, August had to admit. He was even more handsome than his picture had suggested, with fine facial features, tall and lean, exuding natural elegance and wit. A charmer and a ladies man for sure.

"This is my fiancee, Lu Johnson." Adam pulled Lu close, wrapping his arm around her shoulder in a possessive manner before kissing her cheek tenderly. He usually wasn't the kind of person who liked public displays of affection but Lu knew it was his way to put John Lark into his place right from the start, to make sure he was aware who she belonged to.

Lark was dangerously good looking and way too attractive for Adam to let it go without staking his claim. Not that Lu was interested in him, he wasn't even her type -too many muscles and probably too little brains- and she would never dare to even look at another man. But objectively he was very good looking, tall and broad shouldered, sharp jawline, a handsome face, outstanding blue eyes, and most of all he had an appeal that obviously hadn't remained hidden to Adam. "She's going to be your charge. I cherish her like life itself. Make sure you do the same when I'm not around."

Mayfield kissed her again and she blushed, obviously feeling uncomfortable being the center of attention.

"John," she said softly, extending her hand to him gracefully with a polite but distant smile on her pretty face. Just like her fiance she was strikingly beautiful but in comparison her beauty was a little steril, forced. She was lacking the naturalness Mayfield owned, maybe because she wasn't born into the social class she lived in now. It felt like she was wearing a mask. Her appearance was too immaculate to be real, too perfect. There had to be a crack in it, nobody was free of flaws, but whatever it was that was lying underneath the sleek, stainless surface, she was hiding it well.

"Miss Johnson." August shook her hand and held her gaze, giving her a smile and a respectful nod.

"Lu, please," she offered stiffly, pointing at the set dining table. "Why don't we sit."

"Yes, darling, you're right. Let's eat before the Beef Wellington gets cold."

***

August found all of his prejudice confirmed during dinner. Mayfield was a cocky prick, who tried to hide his asshole side under a veil of sophistication and British humour. That veil, luckily, was full of holes big enough for August to see right through.

Johnson however was an ice queen. Cool and aloof, not willing to lower herself to talk to the newest member of her royal court. He wanted nothing more than to ignore her, to make her feel that he wasn't in need of her attention, to make it clear that he wasn't attracted to her in any way. It was actually true. She was pretty of course and sexy, too, but the kind of beauty she represented was not his cup of tea. She was one of those ethereal beings who were much too fragile for him, too fanciful, too distant. Like a precious showpiece that was presented on a pedestal and that whispered "look at me" seductively but at the same time it shouted "don't touch…you're not worthy". He needed a woman to be more than beautiful, he liked women that were sturdy and energetic, lively and witty, confident and strong. He didn't want a queen, he wanted an amazon.

So all of this and more made him dislike her, but he still had to be friendly and charming to gain her trust and to make her fond of him without alarming Mayfield. He was obviously very possessive and protective, the jealous-for-no-reason kind of guy who would make his woman wear a chastity belt if it was socially acceptable. To sum it up, this job was a ride on the razor's edge.

"So how do you like your room, John?" Lu turned to him with a friendly smile. Those were the first words she addressed to him since they'd sat down to eat. Adam had engaged Lark in conversation from the very first moment and Lu took care not to interrupt him. He hated it and he'd accuse her of stealing his thunder afterwards for sure. So she kept quiet, trying to blend into the scenery, contenting herself with being not much more than a pretty ornament, decoration like the sculptures that were placed all over the penthouse - a beautiful, silent object. When Adams' phone rang, he took the call with an apologetic smile, leaving the room in a hurry. Now she was forced to make conversation with her new bodyguard and she felt uncomfortable and awkward because she assumed that he didn't like her. He had seen her and he had branded her, just like anybody else, she was quite sure of that.

"It's great, I like the modern style," August said, returning her smile.

"Really? I'm so glad to hear that." Her face lit up in an instant, her lips curling up into a genuine smile. "I refurbished it a few months ago and Eddie... your predecessor… he didn't really like it."

"Oh, why's that?"

Lu took a deep breath before she answered. "I'm not sure, I never asked him. I didn't want to put him on the spot, but I guess it wasn't cosy in his eyes. Not warm enough. He was a very traditional man…," Lu said and her expression softened with her words, her eyes giving away that she had liked the guy, that she was mourning him.

Not the ice queen you pretend to be, August thought surprised.

"Well, I'm not a traditionalist, I like it bright and clear. The black and white photos are really interesting."

"Aren't they?" Lu agreed with excitement that made her voice sound different, like it had just been brought to life. "They are works by a very talented young artist from France. I discovered her art when we were in Paris last year and now I exhibit her photographs in my gallery. People love her unique take on everyday life, the way she plays with light and angles. She's one of my most successful…"

"Don't bore your new guardian angel to death with your art stuff on the very first day, honey," Adam interrupted her chuckling, when he joined them again.

"I was just talking about the pictures in John's room."

"Sure, and those are lovely pictures," he gave her a generous smile and a peck on the cheek, "but we both know you tend to babble on about the topic and that can be a little unnerving."

"Of course, you're right, darling." Lu's mask was back on, her expression blank again. "I'm sorry, John. Sometimes I forget that most people don't share my passion for art. Consider yourself lucky that Adam saved you just in time."

John gave her a nod and a smile. He wanted to say something, feeling the need to let her know that she hadn't been boring him, but before he was able to do so, Adam carried on with their conversation about his new job and his duties and the wasted chance to show his solidarity with her left a bitter taste in John Lark's mouth.

*******

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @artandotherdelights @notabronte @littlefreya @luclittlepond @eldarwen333 @meowpurrbooks @marantha @liliumdream @enchantedbytomandhenry @greensleeves888 @witcherfan @margauxmargaux07 @radaofrivia @m07belzen @a-little-counter-esperanto @starstruckkittyangel @mary-ann84 @sillyrabbit81 @emelinelovesjc @wheretheriversrunintothesea @lam0ureuxq @kingliam2019 @pandaxnienke @littleone65 @coloraturadiva

#henry cavill #cavillry #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker #august walker x ofc #august walker fanfiction #slow burn

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 3

Bundy

Cult girl gets some unbelievable news.

Trigger warnings: death, emotional manipulation, discussion of cult leaders Koresh, Jones as well as Ted Bundy

"Who the fuck are you, and what the shit are you doing with my dead cousin's phone?" You said, the slam of the car door audible from the speaker.

"Cheerio to you too, [F/N]." Anna answered.

You brought the phone to your chest to muffle the speaker and heaved a sigh.

"It's fucking Anna." You told Hannibal as he climbed into the car.

He buckled his seatbelt. "Put it on speaker."

You pressed the speaker button. "Froot Loops. Why do you have Theresa's phone?"

"Don't you remember?" She asked. "I took it when she died. Hers had a much better camera than my old one. I thought I told you to update that in your contacts?"

"Oh yeah, I do remember that." You nodded. "The body wasn't even cold and you'd already gotten to grave-robbing."

"Hey, that's my sister you're talking about." Anna snapped. "Show a little respect."

You rolled your eyes so far back into your skull you could practically see your brain cells dying. "Why are you calling, Anna? I'm fairly fucking certain I told both you and grandma to never speak to me again."

"Well, grandma won't be doing much speaking anymore." Anna snapped. "Because she's dead."

You sighed. It wasn’t the first time you heard those words, and it was never true. Faking her death was the hammer in her gaslighter toolkit. Meaning that the desired outcome could be produced just as effectively using a combination of other tools, but none were as efficient as a good old-fashioned bashing. The first time, you went through the whole five stages in ten minutes to really sell that you felt something other than relief at her passing. This time, you didn’t have the energy. 

“Did somebody finally strangle her to death?” You asked. “Shame, I would have liked to do it myself.” 

“Are you so completely void of human emotion that you can’t even pretend to be sad?” Anna shouted. 

“No, because I think this is another one of her manipulations.” You explained. “She probably roped you in thinking I’d believe it if it came out of your mouth. But the joke’s on her, because you’ve been her puppet since preschool.”

“You really are something else, [F/N].” Her voice wobbled, as if on the verge of tears. “The woman who raised us had a stroke and died. That’s not a manipulation, it’s the truth!” 

You began to consider the possibility that Anna wasn’t lying. Your voice took on a more solemn tone as you resigned to give her the benefit of the doubt. "A stroke, huh?"

"She died in the hospital." She said, softly.

There was real emotion in her voice. You thought back to that high school production of Legally Blonde, which proved that she was not skilled enough at acting to fake it.

You sighed. The crushing realization that you may very well have been the jerk in this conversation hit you. "So, what now?"

"I know better than to ask you to help out with the funeral." She said. "You didn't come to Theresa's, after all."

The reason you gave for not going to Theresa's funeral was schoolwork. It was a flimsy excuse, but hid your real reasons well enough. Those were much touchier. You couldn't bear the thought of listening to people lie and embellish stories of your cousin's positive influences on people's lives. But you also couldn't bear the fact that at least some of it wouldn't be lies.

You were the one that killed her. Your fiancé chopped up her body and served it to your friends for dinner. Theresa was a sociopath, a narcissist, and plenty other highlights in the DSM-5, but the pain she left after her death was real. It was the most real thing about her. You weren't desensitized enough to face that.

"Good call." You answered, flatly.

"Liam and I will be flying out tomorrow night." She said. "I know I'm in no position to be asking for favors, but if you could come pick us up from the airport-"

"Sure." You answered with a nod. You didn't know what exactly you were agreeing to as you did. Anna's words were just dissipating into the air, hardly reaching your ears.

"Thanks." She said, as emotionlessly as you. That was perhaps the most mutual understanding you'd ever achieved with Anna. And it only lasted a couple of seconds.

That was about as natural a conclusion to the conversation as you could have hoped for, so you hung up.

Hannibal pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. "What are you thinking, love?"

You leaned your head against the window and looked up at the few visible stars. "I've spent so many years wishing her dead and now that it's finally happening, I don't know what to feel."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, knowing exactly how to keep you grounded when your mind started to wander off. You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. He kissed you on the head.

"I thought her dying meant I never had to think about her again." You shrugged. "But now I'm thinking about her and hating every minute of it. And that probably means I loved her. Which is terrifying to think about."

"You think about Jim Jones and David Koresh quite a bit, don't you?" Hannibal asked, squeezing you tight. "Do you love them?"

You shook your head. "That's different. That's academic curiosity."

"But why do we remember them?" Hannibal posited, stroking your arm. "Is it reverence?"

"It's to learn." You answered. "To make sure history doesn't repeat itself."

"Death isn't a sacred thing, my love." He whispered. "Don't feel bad for remembering her as cruel. That's what she was. Don't let anyone forget it."

You chuckled. "Did you know that when Ted Bundy died, a bunch of people near the prison shut their breakers off so the electrocution would be more painful?"

"Interesting." He said, referring less to the fact itself and more to the reason why it came to mind when it did.

"That is to say, I don't actually feel bad that she's dead." You clarified. "I feel bad because I know I should and I don't."

Hannibal pulled you into his arms and placed a kiss on your forehead. "I thought after four blissful years together, you would know you don't have to pretend around me."

You lowered your head. "I guess I'm just scared that if I take off my person suit around you, I'll never be able to put it back on."

"You never need to worry about that, my love." He assured you. “I know it’s scary, but all it takes is a little practice.” 

“In that case,” You felt a smile creeping onto your face, so you let it. “I think we should celebrate.” 

"Well that can be arranged." Hannibal rolled your hair. "With a bottle of Cava in my office."

You felt a laugh coming on, but it just came out as an ugly wheeze. "That is so unethical. I would love to."

"No," He corrected, opening the driver's side door. "It would be unethical to empty a bottle of wine down that pretty throat of yours without a little food."

"It's the middle of the night, Hanni." You objected, though the rumbling of your stomach told a different story. You slammed the car door shut.

Hannibal smiled to himself, disregarding your protests entirely. "Foie gras au torchon, with a bit of brioche, perhaps?"

"Well that sounds like a proper celebration." You grinned, tightening your grip on your clutch excitedly. “Do you mind if I get cleaned up?” 

“Of course not, love, take your time.” Hannibal said, releasing you from his embrace. 

You headed towards the house, a little extra spring in your step. 

“Oh, [F/N]?” He called out after you. 

You looked over your shoulder. “Yeah?” 

“That thing you said about Ted Bundy.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry to tell you, but that’s a myth.” 

You frowned, feeling kind of stupid. “Shit. I really wanted it to be true.” 

Hannibal smiled, reassuringly. “But hundreds of people still celebrated his death.” 

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal nbc #cult girl #cult girl 2 #tw death #tw emotional abuse #true crime #i guess?

[volturiwolf]

The Volturi Princess - A Felix Volturi x fem!Reader Story (part 3)

No of Words: about 5313

Mentions of: Abandonment, Abortion, Anxiety, Blood, Bruises, Coma/Comatosed State, Death Emotional Abuse, Emotional and Physical Pain, Gaslighting, Greece/Greek Language - with translation, Heartbreak, Italian Language - with translation, Manipulation, Murder, Pain, Panic Attacks, Pregnancy, Suffering, Suicide/Suicidal Thoughts, Swear Language, Throwing Up/Puking, Witches/Wizards/Witchcraft

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part 1 part 2

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"The Volturi Princess " Tag List (reply if you want to be tagged or removed):

@felixvolturisprincess @singerj2002 @mrtony-stank1 @ikissedthescarsonherskin @alecvolturiswifeforever @hshehdyhd

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Felix’s POV:

We have been traveling for over a year now, Demetri tracking Carlisle and us following behind him. Demetri located him across the Atlantic, so we swam across the ocean to reach him. Almost a year and a half after leaving Volterra, we tracked Carlisle while he was working as a doctor somewhere in the northern United States. He was surprised to see us, but we kept our austere facade to maintain our sovereignty towards him. He welcomed us gladly in his small house.

It was a two-story building, and it smelled of old wood and mold, but I guess that was the best he could do for now. The living conditions around here did not seem to be ideal. Apart from the Volturi and the Egyptian coven, no other vampire lived comfortably, in castles, mansions, or even big houses; most vampires were nomads, traveling around and living by hunting whenever they could. So, Carlisle actually living in a house, even if it looked like this, was way better than living the nomad life.

“Jane, Alec, Demetri, Felix. To what do I owe this pleasure? Can I offer you anything?” Carlisle had always been one of the kindest of our kind, too compassionate for a vampire.

“No, Carlisle, thank you, we’re good. We are on a mission, and we have a few questions for you.” Jane took it up to herself to start the conversation.

“Please, sit down so we can talk.” Carlisle offered us to sit around the table that was in the middle of the ground floor. We each took a seat at the table. “So, may I ask what it is all about? I don’t think I have personally acted in a way to upset the Volturi.”

“No, indirectly, you haven’t.” Jane continued. “We wanted to ask you a few questions regarding (Y/N). We think that you may have heard by now that she has left Volterra.”

“Yes, word came around. I met a few nomads from Europe some time ago, and they told me that (Y/N) left Volterra, probably permanently.”

I tried to suppress a sob that was fighting to leave my throat. Carlisle knew that (Y/N) left, everyone knew that (Y/N) left. They didn’t know she left her mate behind, and they shall never find out that she was my mate. I didn’t even want to think about the possibility of (Y/N) being in danger if anyone found out that we were mates. I had too many targets on my back to risk anything happening to her.

It was my turn to intervene. “Have you seen her? Has she ever come around here?”

Carlisle turned to face me. “I did. Once. She stayed with me for about a year; that was about 6 or 7 years ago. She tracked me through her memories. She has become quite skilled at that.” Demetri and I looked at each other confused. (Y/N) could track as skillfully as Demetri now?

Carlisle continued. “Anyway, she seemed concerned. She told me she had been traveling for quite some time, but she felt like she was missing a piece of herself, of her past. For a few months, she wanted to learn more about me, my job, how I was doing with the whole “animal blood” diet, simple curiosity really. She had been training herself to abstain from human blood, so it was easier for her to go hunt with me. She told me..”

Carlisle turned to look at me now. “She told me about your bond, Felix.” So, she has felt our bond, too! “She told me that she was scared for you, for your safety within the Volturi. She was worried about all of you, but particularly you, Felix. Being her mate means you are basically a target for anyone who wishes to harm (Y/N). She told me she ran away to protect you. As long as no one knew of your bond, you were safe. The traveling and meeting the world was just an extra benefit for her and her gift.”

“Her gift?!” We all exclaimed in unison. (Y/N) never claimed a “gift”, so how could this be possible? Did she lie? Did she even know about her gift?

“Before you say anything, she didn’t even know what her gift was. It is way more complicated than you think. I guess she’d appreciate it if I gave you an idea about it.” Carlisle paused for a few moments. If my heart was beating, I swear it would have stopped by now.

“You know how, for example, Jane, you can induce mental pain, or you, Alec, can restrict anyone’s senses?” The Twins nodded at Carlisle. “Well, (Y/N) can do both, and so much more.” We were kind of shocked. No one has ever had a gift similar to the Twins; that’s why they were in the Volturi. Because they were unique.

“(Y/N)’s gift is copying others’ gifts. That’s why she could also track me; she had copied Demetri’s gift.” Carlisle pointed at Demetri, who looked utterly shocked now.

I would lie if I said I didn’t feel the same way or scared even. I was not scared because of (Y/N); I was scared for (Y/N). This newly-found discovery meant she would be way more important to Aro than we ever thought. He wouldn’t just let her go - not that this was his intention before, but now, she would be even more precious to him and his cause; she would now be the perfect weapon for him to use against other vampires. I had to find her and warn her.

“Do you know where she is now?” My voice came out more stern than I intended it to be.

Carlisle nodded his head slightly. “I may know where she is now. Before she left, she was trying to find out as much as she could about her parents. I assume that was the “missing piece” she was referring to? Anyway, she may be after her parents. I mean they do know her nature better than any of us does. Don’t forget that (Y/N) is half-witch. No one could ever teach her how to be one; only her father could be the one to do so. So, if I stand corrected, she is looking for them. And there’s only one place that (Y/N) has ever linked to her parents.”

“Greece.” Demetri stepped in. Demetri was the only one who could understand (Y/N)’s connection with Greece; it was their birthplace, their origin, their true home.

“Exactly. If you find her parents, you’ll most likely find her. Even if she’s not with them, it will be easier to track her if you have her parents’ assistance.”

We nodded and we stood up. “Thank you for your help, Carlisle. You were most helpful.” Jane spoke for all of us.

“It was my pleasure.” Carlisle led us to the door, but before we left, Jane turned to him one last time. “We think we can trust you that this conversation stays between us.”

“Of course, Jane. Have a safe trip and take care of yourselves.”

“You too.” Alec smiled at Carlisle.

What Carlisle said at the end had me worried for (Y/N). “I hope you find her soon. Her parents never had the best reputation around.” What kind of people was (Y/N)’s family anyway?

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Tracking (Y/N) proved to be way more complicated and debilitating than we thought it would be. We assumed that the closer we were to Greece, the easier it would be for Demetri to pick up her tenor. We were wrong; we were going around blindly, not a clue about (Y/N)’s whereabouts. Even when we finally set our feet on Greek ground, we still didn’t know where to start looking for her. Nobody had a clue where she could be; we didn’t even know her birthplace.

Demetri took it upon him to start his research in a place he knew well enough: Athens. Athens was the capital of Greece’s civilization for many centuries, but, at the time of Demetri’s birth, during the Byzantine times, Constantinople emerged as the center of the Eastern Byzantine Empire, while Rome remained the center of the Western Byzantine Empire.

Athens was not regarded as highly as it used to, during Pericles’ “Golden Century”, as the 5th century BC was known. It still was an important and historical city, but it has lost its title as the “capital” eons ago. The city was taken advantage of by both “allies” and Ottomans and seemed to have lost part of its previous glory. Still, it was beautiful; I may have been quite “old” myself, but I could still admire the history around me.

It reminded of (Y/N)’s stories and books; knowing Ancient Greek history was one of the first things she took an interest in. The fact that she was able to travel to Athens, with or without Aro, quite a few times also developed her fascination regarding the Ancient Greek arts, philosophy, and overall way of living. Of course, it wasn’t easy being a woman then, or ever really, but she was more financially privileged than the average Athenian - vampire wealth had always been an actual thing, and Aro always prided himself to be a “collector” of wealth (and talented vampires for the matter).

We arrived in Greece at a transitional stage; the country has been experiencing a war against the Ottomans for a few years now, and it was evident around the city of Athens. There were many casualties during the war, many damages around the streets, the houses, and there seemed to be a climate of misery and decline.

Yet, the country had recently elected a prime minister, who declared Nafplio, a city in Peloponnese, as Greece’s capital. That was our next stop, as we couldn’t find anything in particular that could indicate (Y/N) being in Athens. Apart from the poor living conditions, the country was experiencing a plague pandemic wave, which killed even more people, but authorities worked hard on containing the cases, and it seemed to have been working.

Still, without a single clue about (Y/N)’s location, the only thing we could do is go around searching for any possible information. We could only travel at night, and hide during the day; Greece, just like Italy, had always been blessed with sunny days, for the majority of a calendar year.

It wasn’t ideal with us being vampires, but Volterra was an ideal strategic location for the Volturi to travel across the vampire and human world, rule, and impose their laws whenever it was needed. Just like always, we now also had to be secretive about our existence.

I thought about how lucky (Y/N) was in that situation; being a non-fully vampire, she didn’t “glow” in the sun like us. She had a more healthy-skin-like glow, a healthy and subtle glow that made me even more attracted to her - if that was even possible. That basically meant that she could technically go anywhere and everywhere; the weather did not affect her, the sun did not affect her.

I started getting frustrated and disappointed. It wasn’t only (Y/N) I had in my mind; apparently, during the years of the Greek Revolution, many vampires, Greek or non-Greek, started secretly fighting to claim territories for themselves.

We knew that it wasn’t part of our duty, but it wouldn’t hurt if we could actually claim Greek land for the Volturi. Having both Italy and Greece under our control could mean more power, more resources, more blood. It only seemed natural; the three Volturi kings were born in Greece, all three of their wives were born in Greece, Demetri and Chelsea were born in Greece. (Y/N) was born in Greece.

Greece could easily become an extension of our territory - Italy was already ours in its entirety - and it would only be the start. It would be easier to control and deal with any possible riots from other covens - the Egyptians and the Romanians in particular. We didn’t fear either of them, but the Romanians have been holding resentment towards the Volturi for a couple thousand years, so anything could be expected from their side at any moment.

I shared my thoughts with the Twins and Demetri. They all agreed that it was a plausible plan; it would show others that the Volturi are still as powerful as they have ever been, and should be feared. Besides, we knew that just the four of us would be able to subjugate any vampire that crossed our paths. With the Twins’ powers, Demetri’s tracking skills, and my strength, it would be impossible for others to resist or challenge us.

We started interrogating any vampire we found wandering or hunting at night; none of them worthy enough to fight us or even gifted enough to join the Volturi. It was quite easy to find the leaders of these “newly-made” covens, or alliances, as they seemed. Because none of them inspired loyalty to each other; none of them was a coven in the sense the Volturi were. They were more like vampires who came together to fight for territory control; I doubt if they would even manage to stay together for one more day. They did not only lack loyalty towards their "leaders", but also discipline, principles, and basic rules of survival and solidarity towards the other members.

It was quite easy to take over any “coven” in Southern Greece, including the island of Crete. We started moving north, taking over the territories of Thessaly and Epirus, something which the Greek humans did not manage to acquire from the Ottomans yet. We were to take over Macedonia and Thrace next, but we were met with an unexpected obstacle.

Every vampire we would interrogate regarding these two territories would say the same thing: none of them knew who owned them, but whoever tried to claim the territories never returned back, dead or alive. The mystery that surrounded the person or people behind the leadership of these areas made their skin crawl; they all refused to “help” us any further, no matter how much Jane, Alec, and I tried, which made me kind of worried, or more like curious, but I didn’t want to show any weakness or let them question my effectiveness.

Every one of them was just a “normal” vampire; we were better, stronger, gifted, and we have proved that we can bring results every single time. No other vampire has ever dared go against us; we wouldn’t allow them to question us now either.

We continued traveling up north, determined to face whoever it was behind the territories there. I didn’t pay attention to the slight pain in my guts as we were traveling through the country, but it was becoming more and more intense as we continued going north.

We didn’t know how we would find the vampires behind this “operation”, so our plan would be to act in any way possible to provoke them into coming out of their “hiding spot”. For a few days, we were rummaging any small village we could find, killing the villagers and draining them of their blood - not a very “Volturi tactic" may I say. We were supposed to hide our existence, not challenge our luck by killing so many people; yet, this was the only way we thought that could possibly lurk the vampires out of their “comfort zone”.

As we were traveling through Macedonia, we came across a rather developed town, compared to the villages we have seen before. The city was surrounded by tall stone walls. There were a few rivers on its western side, forests and mountains on its northeastern side, and swamps and marshes on its southern side. We couldn’t hunt freely here, at least not during daylight; there was no way we would go unnoticed if we started hunting anywhere in the area. We decided to run through the forests, see if there was a place we could stay for a while; if there was a human or more we could feed off of; if there was a sign of the vampires or (Y/N).

During the last few weeks, I’ve been thinking that our mission has been more about expanding our power and influence, and not as much about locating (Y/N). Actually, it felt more like locating (Y/N) was more of an afterthought now. We lost the purpose of our mission; the reason we came together all along.

It wasn’t as if we would actually be directly benefiting by the territories we claimed; we were still working on behalf of the Volturi. We didn’t ask the kings to claim Greek territories; yet, we did, because we felt obliged to consider their own good once again, this time at the expense of finding (Y/N). Once again, we became the victims of the influence they had on us, and we played their game.

“Why are we even doing this?” I yelled frustratedly. My friends turned to look at me.

“What do you mean, Felix?” Jane seemed slightly annoyed. “We’ve come here to claim the territories, to show these savages who the boss is here.”

“No, Jane, they are not savages, we didn’t come here to claim territories, and we don’t have to show them “who is the boss”. They already know that the Volturi rule the vampire world. No. No. We came here to search for (Y/N). Not to “claim territories”. Not to “show them”. We came here for (Y/N). We..We lost our purpose. We lost the true meaning of our mission. We just started claiming the land for the Volturi, for Aro. We..We forgot about her.”

My eyes were stinking with venom. I felt weak, I felt as if I betrayed her. I promised to myself that I would bring her back home, that I would protect her. It’s been so long and we still haven’t found her. We just kept wasting time on things that shouldn’t matter to us. We should not care about expanding our influence, our territory, our power. We should care about bringing the Princess back.

Jane lowered her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Felix. I didn’t know you felt this way. I have to admit it though; we did lose track of time and we forgot about the actual purpose of this mission. We once again forgot that (Y/N) has always been way more important than any power in the world. I’m sorry. We all are. I promised you we’ll start searching for her right away, okay?”

I nodded affirmatively. We had to find (Y/N) as soon as possible. We were not only running out of time but also out of hope that (Y/N) was in Greece or anywhere else, that she was alive. We got so distracted by our conversation that we didn’t notice we were being watched until we all started screaming in pain. I fell on my knees, the pain on the back of my head unbearable, and that’s when I blacked out.

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I didn’t know how much time passed being unconscious. It felt like a new sensation to me; being a bit over 2000 years old, I haven’t lost my senses once - except for the times Alec liked to play games on me. I didn’t feel like myself; it didn’t feel right. I didn’t like being restricted of my senses, especially now, especially here, in an unknown place. My mind was blurry and I couldn’t see anything distinct around me; I couldn’t see almost anything. I tried to move my hands around but I couldn’t as if the tightest rope in the world was holding me in place.

“No need to fight, sweetheart.” I heard a woman’s voice. “There is no way to escape.”

“Who are you? Why am I here? Where are the others?”

“Felix? Is that you?” I heard Demetri’s voice on my right.

“Demetri? Is that you? Where are Jane and Alec?”

“I am here.” I heard Alec’s voice on my left.

“Me too." Jane replied.

“Alexandre, please, I cannot start with this again.”

Suddenly, I could see again. I was still physically restricted, but my eyes could see them crystal clear and my mind was in order once again. The woman in front of me was very imposing, though of average size. Her long, curly hair framed her face beautifully and her piercing red eyes were piercing through my soul. The man standing next to her was only a few centimeters taller; he had short, straight hair, and his eyes were looking between the four of us sternly. Who were they even? Why were we even here? Why us? As if she read my mind, a woman spoke to me.

“Oh, deary. We’re not going to tell you who we are. But you are going to tell us what you, Volturi guards, are doing in our territory!”

“How do you know who we are?” I exclaimed. Of course, everyone knew the Volturi as the authority of the vampire world, but not all vampires around here have ever met us specifically, or any other member of the coven for the matter.

“Your crest, dear. I have known that crest for far too long. Way before you were even born. I see that dear Aro never changed it. He does like to remain in his same, old ways after all. Never changing, never moving forward, still imposing his “laws”, I’m assuming?” The woman seemed to know way far about the Volturi and Aro. She became a danger for our coven, from the moment she and the man abducted us. She should have never done that; they both would be punished for their actions.

“Dear, I won’t get punished..for anything. You, on the other hand, are in a pretty difficult situation. You see, my husband and I are not going to let you get away until you tell us why you are here.”

“Pain.” I heard Jane saying. The woman turned to look at her but she didn’t even flinch. I heard Jane screaming in return.

“Oh, sweetheart. Your powers won’t work on either of us. You see, I am a shield, so don’t even try to hurt us. On the contrary, WE can hurt you just as much, if not more.” The woman smiled evilly, while Jane was writhing in pain.

“Please, stop hurting my sister.” Alec pleaded, unable to use his gift against the couple.

“So, you are the “Terror Twins”. Alec and Jane, I see.” The woman knew their nickname? “Oh, yes, I do, dear.” She turned to look at me. “You see, I was once part of the Volturi. Technically, still am. However, I left, way before any of you joined the coven. To put it into perspective, I was there when Didyme lived but I left way before she was killed. Dear Marcus has never been the same ever since. I still feel somewhat of a connection to the coven, though I am able to make my own decisions because I managed to escape them. We were actually passing by Volterra a few times. I wonder how you never noticed us, though our powers would practically make us mentally invisible from Demetri, over here, or any other vampire, really.”

She knew Demetri, too?

“Felix, dear, I know all of you and about you. You see, my dear daughter has a special connection with all of you, a kind of friendship neither my husband, nor I quite understand. It wasn’t easy for her to keep her memories secret; though she is an amazing shield - which makes me so proud, she is kind of “vulnerable” when she is sleeping. And my husband’s magic is quite strong and easy to penetrate her mind and memories when she does eventually sleep.”

Her daughter? Could that be…?

“WHERE IS SHE?” The question slipped out of my mouth without even thinking about it first.

My anger could not be controlled right now. I was pushing myself to my limits to break my fetters, to no avail. Were that woman and that man (Y/N)’s parents? I started making some connections here and there; they looked similar to (Y/N), though so different at the same time. Their immortality, their red eyes, their confidence, and their aggression did not remind me of (Y/N). She had a pure face, a face of kindness, she was not like them.

“You think so? Alexandre, can you please call (Y/N), agapi mou?” The woman turned to the man, and the man started moving his fingers in front of him, creating some sort of a wave around him.

Within a few seconds, the door burst open and the first thing I saw was a red silky fabric flowing around the air. When the fabric settled down slowly, I saw her for the first time after so long. She has changed..a lot. Her (Y/E/C) eyes were replaced by piercing red ones, with a slight hint of (Y/E/C) around the pupils. Her eyes apathetic and stern; her facial features more defined; her hair reached a little below her shoulders, straight and shiny, like her father’s. She still looked as beautiful as ever.

She stared at us, focusing her eyes mostly on me. Her heartbeat sounded steady and strong. I was relieved; she was still human, they had not turned her fully vampire yet. She took a few steps farther into the house, her feet bare but surprisingly clean, no dirt, no grass had stained them. She stood right beside the woman, who I now knew was her mother and Aro’s daughter.

“What are they doing here?” Her voice came out stern, yet it was music to my ears.

I missed her voice so much. I missed her so much. Our mate bond, weakened by the distance and time spent apart, slowly started forming again. I felt it; I felt my existence becoming meaningful again. I felt my breath hitching in my throat, her presence provoking so many different feelings and emotions inside me. However, she still seemed cold and distant, and I couldn’t quite read her face. Did she not feel the same? Has she forgotten me? Does she hate me now?

I saw her gaze getting softer, even compassionate? She approached me and bent down slightly, placing her left hand carefully on my right cheek. She stared deeply into my eyes and I closed mine, leaning on her touch. It was the purest moment I have experienced in my 2000 years of life.

I opened my eyes and stared at her. I saw golden flakes scattered in between the red in her eyes. Once again, she took my breath away. It felt as if I fell in love with her all over again, a unique feeling of refreshment. We were lost in our own little world. She smiled slightly at me, the first time she did after such a long time.

“Enough! (Y/N) get away from him, now!” (Y/N) was forcefully removed away from me by her mother. She was looking at me pleadingly and then turned to look at her parents with such hatred. I’ve never seen her like this ever again, not even with Aro.

“YOU. WILL. NOT. TELL. ME. WHAT. TO. DO!” If looks could kill, (Y/N)’s parents would be dead by now. Her hands started lighting up, bright purple flames rising up. She was trying to intimidate her parents, but neither of them looked concerned in the slightest. She turned to us and with a dance-like move of her hand, we were finally freed of our fetters.

It was her father’s turn to speak. “(Y/N), let’s take this outside.” With a jerking motion of his hand, we all found ourselves, outside, in their house’s front yard.

“They’ve come to take you back to Volterra, back to Aro! Don’t you see it? They don’t care about you! They just want to please their master.” The words came bitter out of her mouth. She had a clear resentment towards the Volturi. “I will not let them take you away from me! Not again!”

“I know, mother, I’ve read their minds, too. Yet, I don’t see why YOU seem to think that you can make the decisions for me. I am my own self. I can make decisions for myself. And I get to choose what I do with my life.” (Y/N)’s voice was certain, powerful, in control. “They are not bad people, mother. They just have to follow orders, just like you followed Aro’s orders, just like I followed yours. That’s not going to happen anymore. I am taking control of my life!”

The sweet, little girl I got to see my whole life was becoming a strong, powerful woman right in front of my eyes. She was radiating power; she was taking control of her life. She was..my everything. She was becoming independent, her own self. To say I was proud of her, would be an understatement. She has always been special, but this newly-found power has clearly given her way more confidence and trust in herself.

She would finally be able to rule the Volturi. If she decided to come back to Volterra, she could definitely take over the coven. No one would be able to resist her or her gift. My thoughts were quickly interrupted when her dad started shouting in Greek.

Demetri, who was standing right next to me, saw the look of total confusion in my eyes. “I’ll translate for you.” I nodded at him. “So, her father says: Enough with this nonsense, (Y/N). Your place is here, with us. You owe us; we taught you what you needed to know about your magic. We taught you how to use it, how to develop it. You didn’t know enough to defend yourself back then.”

“Now, (Y/N) says: I don’t owe you anything. Yes, you did teach me how to use my magic, which I inherited from you. But, you gave me away to Aro. You couldn’t defend me or yourselves against him. You just offered me to him, as if I was a present for his birthday or something.”

“Now, her mother says: You, at least, owe it to yourself to get away from these tyrants. You know they don’t deserve you, so why are you still defending him? It’s that man, isn’t it? Now, (Y/N) says: That man has a name. Now, her mom says: You know, his name means “lucky”, "happy" in Greek. Yet, he hasn’t been that lucky or happy at all, has he? We read his mind, (Y/N), he’s not worthy of you.”

“Now, (Y/N) says: Guess what? I have also read his mind, and I have also read the two of you, as well. Don’t you think that it is only you who can read my mind while I’m sleeping! I’ve been reading your minds any chance I get! I know how you’ve been planning to use me, as a weapon against the Volturi! Guess again! I’m not going to let you manipulate me anymore! And that man deserves EVERYTHING in this world!”

“ENOUGH!” Her father shouted and threw a dark red glowing sphere, hitting (Y/N) and knocking her on the ground. My heart dropped at the sight, but she quickly stood up and gathered so much energy in her own hands, attacking her father with a powerful hit.

He got wounded, his face slightly cracked from his forehead to his jaw, yet he didn’t give up. He was about to attack her once again when his wife stopped him. She was looking at me and nodded to her husband. I heard (Y/N) screaming, but I didn’t make out what she was saying, as I started screaming myself and felt myself getting tossed in the air. Then, everything went black once again.

#felix volturi #felix volturi imagine #felix volturi x reader #volturi #twilight #twilight renaissance #twilight post #demetri volturi #alec volturi #jane volturi #the cullens #the denali coven

[ethrenisnotthehero]

@hogwartsmystory is a predator (final)

If you haven’t read the other parts of this callout, I encourage you to start here. As in both previous posts, the normal tags are not included in order to allow this to reach as many people as possible. Potential triggers are listed below, and the main content is hidden to keep sensitive individuals from being unintentionally exposed.

TW: Pedophilia, Abuse, Gaslighting, Sexual Assault, Self Harm, Suicide, NSFW Topics, Faked Illness, Faked Mental Illness, Faked Death, Victim Blaming

Originally, I intended to craft this final part to you, the reader, as an emotional appeal. To be wholly honest, there’s only so much evidence that can be utilized without either forcing Jill to relive unnecessary trauma or exposing deeply intimate or personal parts of her life. Until now, everything I’ve told you and everything I’ve shown you is what was enough to convince me when Jill first reached out to me. If you, the reader, don’t believe the factual information that’s been presented so far, then I don’t think that you will. If you, the reader, believe Jill and her story, then no further evidence is going to magically make her story more true.

However, I don’t have to. Instead, I can let the friends-- the family--that Ren created on his website speak for themselves, and show you with their own testimony just the kind of person he was. Jill wasn’t the only person that Ren hurt. Jill wasn’t even the only person Ren preyed on as a sexual predator. Many people on staff, and many people outside of it, knew Ren and grew to have what they thought was a close relationship with him. People regarded him as someone to look up to, to find comfort in, to aspire after, to lean on; people thought of him as a friend and a hero in his community.

On April 12, 2021, at 9:57 AM Greenwhich Mean Time, the current administrators of Advanced Scribes issued a statement addressing Ren’s actions and his faked death. An additional announcement was made the following day. While the announcements themselves and the replies (including moderator statements) are publicly available, I have saved a print-to-PDF versions on Google for you to browse at your leisure. 

I intentionally waited until the initial panic and outrage died out a little to let the most important statements come to light. Included in the PDF are sentiments that I personally thought were the most important sentiments; edits have been made and pages have been deleted, so you can see the current state of the conversations by visiting them directly. You can find the first discussion at https://advanced-scribes.com/viewtopic.php?f=13&t=42100#p1454263 and the second discussion at https://advanced-scribes.com/viewtopic.php?f=13&t=42107#p1454361.

Before you continue reading, please look over the statements and replies. The words of former staff former friends say more than I can ever hope to about Ren and the kind of reality that he stood for. Additionally, Jill herself has added to the conversation (username Rakuen), so you can read a bit from her perspective by looking into these announcements. After you’ve taken a look, continue below and I will sum up my final thoughts on this predator and his legacy.

Advanced Scribes • Our Statement (PDF)

Advanced Scribes • Change (PDF)

The Act of Grooming, Part 3: Entrapment

One of the reasons that predators get away with their crimes for so long is because they trap their victims. When they gain access to and successfully lure in their prey, they then engage in entrapment behavior to separate victims from other people and build reliance. The reason why kids are so prone to predation is because of how vulnerable they are. Young people just want to belong. They just want to have community, security, and affection. When they can’t get those things in their lives, they seek it out and take it where they can get it even when the situation is obviously bad. Kids can’t be held accountable for being smart because they’re kids. Jill was vulnerable. She wanted belonging and support. She fell into Ren’s lures, and he trapped her. He used his affection as a tool to solicit sexual favors and pictures from her, but never shared his face with her. She was always chasing his love, and all the while he was simultaneously preying on other individuals in the community. For God’s sake, this man had a selfie thread where underage girls would send pictures of themselves publicly on the site for him to look at, and he even intentionally disabled the website’s COPPA features.

Before Jill, there was Buttercup. Buttercup was also an admin, and she was also 13 when she met Ren. While Ren was a minor during he and Buttercup’s relationship, his behavior with her was just as predatory and Buttercup attempted to warn Jill via PM before she ended her relationship with him.

The picture he sent Buttercup wasn’t even him.

The entire time that Ren was convincing Jill that Buttercup was evil, and jealous, and a spiteful, hateful person, he was manipulating her the same way he was manipulating Jill. Ren is a predator who knows what he’s doing; he always has. He draws in his victims and makes everyone hate them so that he’s the only person they have. He makes them so desperate for his approval that they let him screw them over time and time again, and for what? Just to see his face. Think about what you read. He didn’t just do this to Jill and Buttercup. He did this to every person he cheated with or got close enough to get a grip on. Even if he didn’t sexually exploit someone, he emotionally did. An entire community of people suffered through this over and over and over again. Read the statements again. If you only read the live version, read the PDF. 

I also want you to bear in mind that everyone on staff was equally a victim as they were an enabler. It doesn’t erase their responsibility, but their roles in this story or more nuanced than “moderator bad, burn the witch!” Some of Ren’s supporters were as young or younger than Jill when they met him. The two people most notorious for standing at his side right now were both “rewarded” with a relationship with him in the fallout of his faked death.  

At some point, this man looked at his behavior and not only decided that he didn’t need to take responsibility, but that his victims daring to try and claim some kind of ownership over their own story was a personal affront to him. 

Ren is a monster of his own creation. He chose to be that monster again, and again, and again.

What makes his enablers equally to blame is when they became adults and made a conscious choice to ignore what was happening, which brings us to the next topic.

Finally... How Old Was Jill?

Despite everything I’ve said and shared so far, I still get this question in my inbox.

How old was Jill? Did she lie about her age? Is she free of guilt because she was a kid? Did he know how old she was? Was she legal in her country?

I gave you all everything I had. There were some things I just couldn’t confirm because there was no proof either way. However, all of that changed when the announcements were released. I now know exactly how old Jill was when they began dating, exactly how old she was when people knew about their relationship, and even that Ren was public with all of this information. I also know that staff knew everything, and chose to do nothing.

As you can see in the screenshots above of Buttercup’s message, it was sent on Jun 17, 2015. At that time, Jill was 14 years old. By Buttercup’s estimation, they had been dating for around a few months, which is how I was able to discern the previous exact age of 14 years old at the time they began dating.

However, Ren himself refutes that fact in a Valentine’s post for Jill. As pointed out in the “Our Statement” thread, the post that user amnesia. references includes very sexual and disgustingly graphic descriptions of Ren’s activity with her. It also says this:

As per the timestamp of this particular post (as seen below), Jill was 16 at the time. Ren, a man claiming to be twenty-five years old at the time, was proud to admit that he had been with Jill since she was 13.

You can view the full PDF of this post to see what else he said here, but please be warned that his descriptions are NSFW and absolutely disgusting. 

Warm Fuzzies Post (PDF)

No adult should talk about a kid like that. In the statements, several staff members admit that they knew that the two were dating when she was 16, and that it grossed them out. But none of them did anything. To amnesia.’s credit, they claim they tried to pursue legal action but found no viable routes. 

From the discussions and statements, we can discern five things:

1. Jill was 13 when she started dating Ren. 2. She did not lie about her age. 3. Ren did not lie about her age. 4. Ren knew how old she was. 5. Staff knew how old she was.

Jill’s feelings and her opinions on staff and their behavior are separate from my own. She does not share my beliefs here, and I need to make it very clear that what I’m saying next is entirely my own opinion.

To everyone who was staff at that time: shame on you. It’s one thing to be a victim yourself and to not understand how or when to stand up for what’s right, especially when you’re young; it’s another to become an adult and to have let something like this permeate your legacy and your community for all this time. From what I understand, none of you are completely innocent in this. Ren wasn’t secret, he was loud and proud and he didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. Everyone who was an adult then and is an adult now shares some responsibility for that. Those of you who mean your apologies, thank you, but those of you who are using this event as a stepping stone to make that website into your own personal playground know who you are. Stop. There’s an entire generation of kids between AS and CS who have lost years of their childhoods to this shit and the only right thing at this point would be to turn the site over to the police so that Ren can answer for his crimes the right way.

To everyone else: protect the people around you. People like Ren don’t think about how other people think or feel. They don’t care who gets hurt or who they trample under their feet. Look around at your community, and ask yourself if those who interact with you know that you are safe. Inevitably, someone is going to get hurt. Are you the kind of person that they can come to when it happens, or are you the kind of person who will turn your head away? 

Be the person that everyone knows they can come to, because, eventually, someone’s going to need you.

#ethren is not the hero #ethren whitecross #ethren #chicken smoothie #chickensmoothie #harry potter #hphm #hphl #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts legacy #aaron #aaron strider #strider #advanced scribes #advanced-scribes #skyren #captured hearts #aven #lucian

[moonlitceleste]

I’m a warrior (now I’ve got thicker skin) Pt. 2

Part 1          Part 2          Part 3          Part 4          Part 5

Okay, so leaving off from the video.

Marinette gets an outpouring from love and support on Twitter, where she posted the video. However, there are a few comments that are rather disparaging. Chloe sees one of these and goes off.

She admits to being the childhood bully Marinette talked about, but despite her ruthlessly bullying the girl for four years and doing a multitude of things like stealing her diary, her designs, and attempting to frame her for a multitude of things, Marinette still offered her chances. (Of course, she had done this as Ladybug, but Chloe ignored that fact). She talked about how “disgustingly sweet” she was and how when offered an internship at New York by her mother, the Style Queen herself, she declined it and proceeded to jeopardize her career and risk getting blacklisted from the fashion industry to get her to stay in Paris with her bully. “I mean, who does that?!” And even after this act of kindness, she admitted to continue to bully Marinette. “We only became friends until that she-devil, Lie-la turned all her idiotic classmates against her. Honestly, the fact that Marinette is still trying to defend them is utterly ridiculous! They deserve to burn! The girl’s practically a saint, and they threw her away for a few half-baked lies.”

Adrien sees a hate comment saying “What even makes this girl so special?! It’s not like she even did anything” and writes a whole dang essay.

He starts by talking about the scarf she made him, and how she let him believe it was from his father just to make him happy. How she risked getting blacklisted again by taking the blame for Lila, who stole a book from Adrien, just to get him back in school and see him happy. Anonymously. “Marinette is the most caring person I know. She would do anything for another person’s happiness, even if she doesn’t get credit or acknowledgement.”

“Lila Rossi may have been the one to reach out to Hawkmoth, but everyone played a part in what happened to Marinette. Her BFF and childhood friends all turned on their ‘everyday Ladybug.’ The teachers and principal stood by and let it happen. They invalidated Marinette’s feelings by gaslighting and victim-blaming and showed blatant favoritism. They believe Lila, even after she made up the so-called ‘lying disease.’ They told Marinette she had to be the example. Our classmates hurled insults at her, tore up her work, tripped her in hallways. They spread petty rumors and posted nasty things online.

Let me remind you that people have been akumatized over nothing. A baby has been akumatized over wanting a lollipop. Marinette went through three years of physical and emotional abuse because of people she considered to be her friends and managed to not get akumatized for no other reason besides the fact that she couldn’t.

Hawkmoth himself said that Marinette would be his most powerful akuma; even more so that Chat Noir, who almost destroyed the universe. She’s the strongest person I know. There’s not anyone else I can think of that would be able to handle any of that without being akumatized.

Marinette may want to forgive these people for what they did to her, but I never will. And out of the two of us, I’m the one who’s more forgiving. They deserve everything that’s coming for them. They weren’t manipulated by Lila. They chose to believe her. They’re not the victims here. They had opportunity after opportunity to see that she was a liar, but they didn’t. They turned on Marinette because of a few pretty words and fake tears. Whenever one of Lila’s lies were uncovered, they chose to keep believing her.

Marinette went through what must have been torture to protect the world, and she’s still trying to protect the people who put her through hell and back. They don’t deserve her. None of us do.”

People go even MORE crazy after these series of tweets. It put into perspective what some of them didn’t think of, and the gushing about Marinette seemed to be a shared sentiment among her friends.

Now, the Justice League obviously knew about Hawkmoth. They talked to Ladybug and Chat Noir and decided the young heroes could handle the situation but continued to keep tabs on it. Once Marinette’s video came out, Dick was the first to see it. He sent it to his friends and the family group chat, and soon enough, all the heroes knew who Marinette was.

In the meantime, Adrien decided to start a fundraiser with some of the money he got from his father’s company. When Hawkmoth was revealed people questioned whether or not he had been involved, but the police quickly came to the conclusion that he had nothing to do with it. It didn’t hurt that he had the entire Miraculous Team backing him up.

Anyways, he tweeted it one night as a suprise alongside a reveal video. The Marinette Project, it was called. Adrien, Chloe, Kagami, and Luka had been in her living room with smiles on their faces. She was rightfully confused until they unveiled a cake and showed her a few papers. The video ended with her bursting into tears and a group hug.

The fundraiser was for bullying awareness and prevention. Once Adrien’s tweet went up, people started donating; from random citizens to celebrities that Marinette had worked with as MDC. Bruce Wayne even donated a very large sum, and--well, let’s just say the screams that came from the Dupain-Cheng bakery were loud.

What Marinette didn’t know, though, was that this donation would put into a series of events that would change her life forever.

TAGLIST

@2confused-2doanything @abrx2002 @alenee13 @animegirlweeb @anonymously-odd @buginetye @catthhay @certifiedbidisaster @dreamykitty25   @ertyzeta @fishandnoodles *@how-to-function-properly @iamablinkmarvelarmy  @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @kris-pines04 @miracleofadisaster @momothefemur @nach0 @nathleigh *@our-preciousss @starpony999 @swiftie-miraculer13 @t1dwarrior-of-earth @thatonecroc @theg0ddesspersephone @thenillabean @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @tired-butterfly @trippingovermyfeet @user00000003 @velvetterabby

#maribat #celestewrites #i'm a warrior #miraculous ladybug #Marinette deserves better #miraculous salt #daminette #damianette

[shimmershae]

So.  Thanks to my new anonymous friend, this is going to become a thing.

Shae’s thinky thoughts about the latest episode--Acheron:  Part 2--beneath a cut. 

Because spoilers, however vague they might be.  

Let’s be real here.  This is more a stream of consciousness than anything else so if that’s not your thing, you are most welcome to nope right on out of this post.  Trust me.  I’ll completely understand, lol.  Sometimes?  I wish I could nope right on out of my own brain and the way it operates.  

That said?  Without further ado--

Episode 2′s opening, though.  Maggie trapped with hungry Walkers converging?  It totally gives me Glenn under the dumpster vibes.  I don’t know if that was intentional or just happy coincidence but way to link Maggie to her dearly departed better half, show.  

Is it just me or has Father G had more OOMPH to him these last few seasons?  Again, I have to ask--Rosita’s influence or no?  Regardless, I bet Seth Gilliam is loving the job these days.  

Side note:  am I gonna have to go to bed early every Saturday night from now until the end just so I that I might be able to SEE?  Something?  Anything?  My curtains are flimsy-ass.  I admit it.  But this is more frustrating than TXF.  Angela, WTF?  

No, seriously.  It’s like complete guess work who’s in these subway scenes.  Some of that has to do with them being overly populated by redshirts and the rest of it has to do with me having to squint and turn sideways to make out their facial features. 

Look at Daryl busting through concrete walls!  Should I call him the Kool-Aid Man considering NR has once again allowed himself to be led right into a biased, shipper trap?  Hmm.  I might.  

Imagine seeking refuge in those dark, filthy subways.  Any second now I expect to hear the skittering of rats.  Will Dog lose his effing mind a la Divergence?  He’s been shown to go off half-cocked that way, lol.  Oh well.  Guess it’ll be in character if he does.  

Impressive graffiti storyboards.  Does it mean something that it immediately cuts to the Commonwealth storm troopers afterward?  Maybe.  Who really knows at this point?  They been trying to gaslight us forever.  

LOL at Princess yet again.  Yumiko is just like da fuq is this person?  

No, really.  LMAO.  “That was her.  From last night.  Did you see how she was looking at us?”  

Then you have Eugene, hahaha.  “Oh God.  Why did he tell off the big guy?”  Like the man is totally me in this type of situation.  Not even gonna lie.  

“That’s right.  We want to talk to the manager.”  

I literally cannot wait ‘til Carol and Daryl meet Princess.  Can.  Not.  Wait.  

How sad is that note on that $100 bill?  Small moment but it totally gives me Season 4 vibes when they were on their way to Terminus seeking sanctuary.  

Hmm.  Remember how that place wasn’t what they thought it was?  I’m sure neither is the Commonwealth.  But I feel like what’s left of Team Family is totally going to do Rick proud, lol, and prove they’re messing with the wrong people if they try something.  

Daryl, Man.  You gonna have to get a better handle on your headstrong Fur Son.  I wonder if Dog would listen better to his mama?  Things to ponder.  

Sounds like Miko has this group’s number.  Or does she?  

Princess and Eugene totally look like they’re waiting their turn for the Principal’s office, LOL.  

“Stop moving!  You’re taking my nerves over the edge to a proverbial 11 on a scale of 10.”  I feel you, Eugene.  I do.  Also you, Princess.  Two of the most relatable TWD characters right there, I’m telling you.  

Princess is me when I really, really, really have to pee.  TMI?  Sorry, lovelies.  LOL.  I just...she’s so relatable.  

LMAO.  “If that fine ass dude in the orange suit...”  Princess and Mercer incoming in 3-2-----

Princess’s excitement over the toilet paper=PRICELESS.  

Eugene, Man.  You desperately need to develop a poker face.  

There’s Daryl getting another cool camera shot.  Angela?  You playing favorites again?  

Carol’s claustrophobia could have never.  I bet that’s in the back of Pookie’s mind.  You can’t tell me it’s not because Carol lives in there rent-free.  

Ohhh.  Back to the subway car.  Looks like we got the Maggie redshirts leading the way.  First sacrificial “lambs”?  

Maggie pistol-whipping Negan was kinda deserved, but he wasn’t all wrong so.  

Damn.  I’m no Gage fan.  He can fuck all the way off for what he did to my baby Lydia.  But Maggie over there with ice in her veins.  

Yep.  I think the dude just got one of the most gruesome deaths in a while.  Yuck.  

I think Alden’s faith in Maggie definitely took several hits.  I feel like he kind of had her on some sort of pedestal dating back to Hilltop times.  Father G, though?  The man is continuing to show himself a SAVAGE MFer.  

Josh gives Eugene such believable tics and mannerisms.  He IS Eugene.  

Thank you, Maggie, for lighting that flare.  I could not see a damn thing.  

What are these bad memories Negan alludes to?  Hmm?  Him being a shit husband to Lucille back when he was still taking her for granted?  

Father G on Gage’s Walker--”All that is, is a shell of a man, who died a coward.”  Kind of ironic considering Father G’s own origins, huh?  Has he any warmth in there for anybody but Rosita and Coco?  Does he equate it with weakness?  

“There are worse ways.”  And Maggie proceeds to paint us a horror story with mere words.  

Dark Maggie really surpasses anything certain fans have ever accused Carol of being.  Is she too far gone?  Who the hell knows?  I think it’s clear that she and Carol are both on a sliding scale of sorts when it comes to being able to compartmentalize shit to survive.  Personally?  I feel like Maggie might have leap-frogged Carol in this episode but it matters none because of the double standards so deeply entrenched in this fandom.  Both women have endured and had to do some horrific things.  It’s not a contest.  But it’s probably going to be turned into a season-long one.  

It’s almost like Kang was like, “Ya’ll bitches think Carol’s dark?  I’ll show you DARK.  Check and mate.”  

Whatever the reasoning, Maggie just got exponentially more interesting to me if not likable.  And before anybody out there comes at me, it’s entirely possible to be on a character’s side in some things and not be all up their ass in love with them, lol.  Like I’m attached to her because she’s family and Glenn loved her.  There’s a loyalty there and she absolutely is justified in her hatred of Negan.  But I’m not going to pretend her shit don’t stink like everybody else’s.  

Speaking of my baby Glenn.  What would he think of this version of Maggie?  I think he would be gutted and heart stricken that events led to her being like this but he’d understand because he’s pure like that.  Don’t mean he’d be A-OK with it all.  

Dog must be protected at all costs.  

Confession.  I know not the fuck who Pony Boy is, but I know him because all my fandom friends have pointed him out to me, lol.  RIP, Man.  I think you’re number’s up or close to it.  

Okay, though.  I admit it.  I am kinda LOVING Badass Father G.  

That scene in the subway car with all of them working to take all the Walkers out was already badass.  Then Daryl arrived and made it, in @freefromthecocoon’s words, HAWT.  LOL.  

Eugene staring at that little black book like it contains torture tools, hehehe.  

“Processed?  As in administratively?  Processed as in bologna or other meat stuffs?  This inquiring (enquiring?) mind needs to know.”  OMG, Eugene.  I admit it.  Even if it makes me look like a lunatic, LOL.  I straight up LMAO at that one.  I mean, ten years later and Terminus still fresh on the man’s mind.  

“You like feeling nervous?”  Well, no.  None of us that do, Mercer?  Do.  

Then he proceeds to make me howl with his “You can’t lie for shit” to Eugene.  

Josh McDermitt?  I love you, Man.  40 year old virgin, LOL.  

All this talk over the seasons of Daryl’s virginity and we have Eugene, hahaha.  But was he telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?  

Finally.  Some daylight.  Where I can see.  

Eugene’s relief at seeing his friends safe and sound was such a beautiful thing to see.  I loved those hugs.  

Mercer’s face when he snarled “beat cop” in disdain to Ezekiel.  I think I’m gonna love this dude.  

“I went to West Point.  Asshole.”  Yeah.  I am.  

I know they probably catfishing Eugene right here because spoilers tell us that ain’t Stephanie.  But my heart still did a little d’aww.  Angela.  Don’t play with his poor heart like that.  

What’s got Daryl so pensive, huh?  Is it that the note reminds him of kids being lost or taken from their family? Or separated from their family?  Is he thinking of those Grimes babies and wondering if Michonne will ever make it back and why and how she was able to leave them behind?  Tell me it ain’t that Find Me nonsense.  

“This place sure has gone to shit since the last time I was here.”  LMAO, JDM.  I mean Negan.  Sorry.  Sorry.  I still hate Negan, but JDM has me entertained at least since they gave the asshole some shades of gray.  And speaking of shades of gray.  I’m loving the gray beard.  JDM’s looking GOOD (hear that NR?  Embrace the gray).  Negan can still kick rocks, lol.  

Anyway.  That scene was CREEPY AF.  Not even gonna lie.  

The Reapers strutting right on up to our group like it’s The Purge:  ZA.  

My bad, Pony Boy. Now RIP.  

Dark, dark episode with loads of tension broken up by some welcome humor by Princess.  The girl is fast becoming a fave of mine.  

My baby’s back next week!!!

I’m just going to plug my ears and pretend they’re trying to capture/recapture the horses because they’re pets.  Not because they’re starving so bad they feel the need to eat them.  La la la la la.  I can’t hear you.  

#The Walking Dead #Season 11 #TWD spoilers #things that make me smile and cry #for reasons

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shadows And Pills - 1

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it. If you have any questions, please feel free to message me or send me an ask.

Thank you to @thoughtslikeaminefield and @glassjacket . I would not have made it through this story and would honestly not be here today with the two of you. I will never be able to tell you how much you mean to me.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

1

Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all.

Alexa comes away with a shadow.

In the weeks following the disaster, the public equally lauds and decries the Avengers, but while their opinions are divided over the heroes, the villain is universally denounced as nothing short of Satan himself, and the city throws an actual celebration the day Thor takes Loki back to Asgard to face the justice of their people.

Alexa, having not turned on her television since the day she got home from the hospital, ignores the boisterous celebrants and goes about her shopping, earbuds firmly in place, frown lines now permanently etched between her eyes and around her pinched lips.

“Routine will help you through some of the worst days,” her therapist tells her during one session. “Something familiar and safe to retreat to when the flashbacks are the worst. Just give it a try,” he adds at her disbelieving grimace.

And so she sets a routine.

Morning Routine: wake up. Ignore alarm, lie in bed an extra thirty minutes or so. Shower. Pretend to eat breakfast. Take meds (this one she never skips or shirks). Find something to wear. Stare at it for another ten minutes. Eventually get dressed. Contemplate keys for another fifteen minutes. Leave the goddamned apartment already.

Her routine has varying results, although she does admit to her therapist that life is marginally more bearable with the routine than without.

“It’s nice to have something to look forward to for the next day.”

Her therapist can’t quite hide his grimace at her flat, deadened tone, but she’s not being sarcastic or rude. She finds that going to bed at night is a trifle easier when she knows what’s going to happen the next day.

“So, who are we up to today?” the doctor asks, switching the subject with awkward abruptness. It’s been six weeks since Hell came to New York, and during their twice-weekly meetings, her therapist suggests going through each of the people she saw die in front of her that day, to get closure...or say goodbye...or something.

Sometimes Alexa wonders whether he just wants to hear the details for his own perverse pleasure.

“Brenda.”

Alexa robotically begins to list the personal details she knows...knew...about her floor manager. Unlike the mail room intern she discussed at their last meeting, the list for Brenda goes on for a while. She’s worked with Brenda since she started at the company, learning most of what she knows about her current job from the woman.

Brenda was kind, sharply intelligent, and mothering to everyone under her supervision, and yet she did it in a way that didn’t make anyone uncomfortable. She balanced work and a family long and well enough to both receive regular promotions within the company and also, very recently, become a new grandmother.

The backs of Alexa’s eyes sting as she remembers the photo Brenda showed her not twenty minutes before part of the building collapsed on top of half the department. Her jaw locks as the scene plays before her eyes again, the explosions and shrieks of metal drowning out the shrieks of the people only five feet away.

She closes her eyes, but there’s no pause button to freeze the scene, no power button to shut the images off as she turns in her memory and runs, making it to the stairwell and slamming the door open, turning back and screaming for Brenda, straining her eyes through the smoke and dust and mountains of falling debris. Brenda is running, reaching for Alexa even though she seems miles away, and then one of the file cabinets is thrown over, propelled faster and harder than should be possible, and...and…

And then Brenda isn’t running anymore. Her outstretched hand, the only part of her that wasn't crushed by office furniture, spasms against the ruined carpet, as if it thinks it’s reached its destination and is grasping at its savior.

Alexa’s hand tingles, and her fingers lock into her palm, nails fitting easily into the little grooves she dug there weeks ago. No blood, she only dug that deep once, but the furrows remain as permanently etched there as the frown lines on her face.

Alexa struggles to take in a labored breath as her therapist watches her with the appropriate amount of professional, clinical sympathy and detachment.

“Do your counting,” he reminds her.

How could she forget? She counts to three once, letting a breath out at the end. She repeats the process twice more, ignoring her therapist’s brief flash of annoyance at her departure from his “system.” But, for once, he doesn’t ask her why she has to deviate from the standard one-to-ten method and just lets her do the goddamned counting in peace.

Small blessings.

“Have you had any flashbacks since our last session?”

She stares at him, letting her gaze rest heavy and disbelieving as she turns his question over. She’s been averaging about five flashbacks a day, triggered by everything from accidentally brushing a stranger on the sidewalk (Jim knocking past her to get down the stairs just as the door on the stairwell behind her explodes inward; more shrieking, then falling, then dark) to lifting a carton of cold milk from the shelf at the grocery (that impossibly cold hand grasping hers, pulling her up from the rubble, bringing her face to face with...something...something in the...shadows, it was so dark there, and…).

“Yeah. I’ve had some flashbacks since our last session.”

“What sort of coping strategies did you use?”

He’s not even meeting her eyes now, just getting notes down on that damned pad. The scratching of his pen grates into her bones, and Alexa grits her teeth as she glares.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

She slowly recites the list of strategies he suggested during a previous session, none of which have proven particularly effective at lessening the frequency of the episodes, but most of which she grudgingly admits provide some slight relief afterwards and allow her to refocus her mind on the present rather than dwelling in the memory.

“And the shadows?”

How can he get this wrong every time when he’s taking all those fucking notes?

“Still just the one.”

“Has it manifested in any other way? Asked you to do anything? Do you feel different in any way when you notice it?”

There’s a distasteful eagerness to his words that always turns Alexa’s stomach, and she has to physically bite into her tongue to keep from asking what kind of bonus he gets for each symptom she shows of different mental illnesses.

“It’s just there sometimes. I..” She hesitates, feeling vaguely nauseated from his questions, but she has to be honest, right? Because, ultimately, it’s his job to help her, and she’s never going to get through this by hiding symptoms. He can’t help fix her if he doesn’t know what’s broken, and he did suggest the routine, so, okay, he gets a pass for this one.

“I still mostly only see it before I’m falling asleep. I’ve started seeing it in the late afternoon, as well, not often, but sometimes. Always in shadows that are already there. It doesn’t talk or anything, doesn’t really have any face or form except for vaguely person-shaped, but it...it watches me. And it’s...denser than it was last week. More...it’s thicker than it was, like when you see wispy clouds kind of...gather and turn into storm clouds?”

He nods, his pen whizzing over the legal pad he records their session notes on. “So, you feel threatened by the shadow? Like it’s storm clouds gathering to...what? It feels menacing?”

But, like most of the questions Alexa fences in this office, this one isn’t easily answered.

“It feels like it’s watching me, waiting for something. I don’t know what. I don’t...I don’t know if it’s menacing, exactly. Like, it feels potentially dangerous, but I can’t tell if it’s for me. I don’t know. It’s just...darker and more there this week, but it doesn’t do anything, and I don’t feel different, and it doesn’t speak to me. I. Don’t. Hear. Voices.”

She clips off each word at the end of her rant separately and precisely, repeating her counting in her head, and she forces her breathing to even out. The doctor is just doing his job, he’s just trying to help, he’s supposed to ask these questions, it’s how he helps-

“Hmm. I’ll have to consider that between now and our next meeting. In the meantime, go ahead and move up to the next dosage step with your meds, keep it on the escalating schedule we set.”

You set, she thinks mutinously for a moment before internally shaking her head. She nods, biting her tongue once more. She’s going to have a permanent indentation there as well, at this rate.

“Any side effects? Itching, swelling, difficulty breathing? Any unreasonable lethargy or detachment?”

“I mean...I don’t really have anything to attach to at this point, so…”

He frowns at her again, and she wonders if he’s going to crank up her dosage two notches instead of one.

“Are you having what you feel are typical emotional responses to everyday stimuli? Have you laughed or smiled at anything yet? How long has it been since you emotionally felt anything besides the frustration and panic?”

And, somehow, this question is difficult, too. She struggles through, trying to find a balance between honesty and not making herself look like a complete failure who can't function in life. She doesn’t help her case when she admits she hasn’t followed many of his suggestions beyond establishing a routine.

“Not even exercising?” he asks, his disappointment palpable.

When she silently shakes her head, her lips pinched tight against his disapproval, he shakes his head with a sigh that sings of ultimate betrayal. Instead of berating her as usual, the doctor frowns and looks down at his notes, considering them silently. He clicks his tongue against his teeth for a moment before switching over to end-session mode, robotically delivering his closing remarks, his typical reminders to keep her meds on a strict schedule at the exact time every day, to avoid all alcohol and unprescribed drugs, to keep her diet as clean and unprocessed as possible, and to get plenty of exercise. Even this last bit is delivered with a sharply clinical detachment, as if she has driven him to the brink of her own psychoses by stubbornly refusing to accept his help.

There is a short, silent moment between them where they refuse to look at each other, the doctor perusing his notes once more while Alexa examines the wrinkles creased into her jeans from lack of folding. The doctor flips pages over in his legal pad and slaps the cover shut sharply, breaking the standoff with one last, dismissive comment.

“Routine, Alexa. Stick to the routine. If it’s what brings you comfort, if that's the one thing you’re taking away from these sessions that actually helps, then stick with it. I’ll see you Thursday afternoon.”

….

Her afternoons vary, according to her therapy schedule. Her sessions take roughly an hour and a half, so that’s one block of time she doesn’t have to try and fill. On the days she isn’t having her skull cracked open, she can sometimes force herself to work on the files her company sends her way. Grunt work, brainless stuff that any first-year intern could do, but it keeps her on the payroll and covered by health insurance until the doctor clears her to return to the office.

Not that there’s an office to return to yet.

Grocery shopping for food she’ll pretend to eat later, making excuses to stay out of the apartment a little longer each day, watching the shadows of the buildings grow darker and longer until the sunlight disappears from the streets.

And the other shadow, the darkest of all, thick and solid against the brick and stone, pacing her, keeping track as she wanders through the broken city blocks. Sometimes she walks a little faster, pretends to not notice the black spot. Sometimes she pretends it’s keeping her company. With the most conversation she’s had in weeks taking place in her therapy sessions, she occasionally finds the imaginary company of her shadow stalker to be more pleasant than menacing.

Occasionally.

Eventually, though, she and her chimerical companion head back to the silent, encroaching walls of her apartment to begin the night routine.

…

Night Routine: laundry. Pretend to eat dinner. Shower. Finish laundry. Clean already clean kitchen. Another shower (on the bad days, the ash and debris won’t wash off). Rearrange already arranged closet. Braid hair. Take meds, do not skip, no matter how much they screw up her sleep, because they help. They do. Settle into bed. Stare at the wall. Adjust pillows. Re-settle. Stare at the shadow. Start to drift off, slide into a flashback, scream back to full consciousness. Watch the shadow. Doze. Awaken from a fucked up nightmare she can only partially remember. Repeat ad nauseum.

Really, if Alexa could just skip the nights and go straight into morning, that’d be great. Mornings are tedious but tolerable. Afternoons are blurry and tense, especially therapy days, but nights…

Nights just won't shut down.

The drugs are partially responsible, the doctor has told her multiple times. The medicine can either make sleeping more difficult, or it can act like a sedative, dragging and holding her down. Honestly, she’s getting kind of mixed results. It’s difficult to stay awake, easy to slip under, but then she can’t stay asleep for very long, jerking back to consciousness in something close to full panic, unable to figure out if it’s the drugs or the dreams that’s pushing her to the edge.

Because the fucked up dreams...well, that’s all on her and her broken brain. She stopped bringing up the dreams in therapy after the first couple of weeks of sessions. The doctor seemed hell bent on steering Alexa towards the possibility that she was experiencing waking hallucinations, but there’s no way she could possibly be awake for all this shit. Maybe some of the flashbacks, but not…

Not…

Her brain isn’t that broken.

No. No, she can tell from the way she jerks to consciousness afterwards, she knows she’s asleep. Yeah, she’s unstable and has flashbacks, but she’s not delusional. They’re dreams.

Every night.

About…

Something.

Okay, sometimes she can remember. Sometimes the meds dull her down so much she forgets what day it is, but sometimes she can hold on to a detail or two. Cold, slender fingers, impossibly strong. A flash of bright blue that sends nausea racing through her entire body (who knew your toes could feel nauseated?) or a glimpse of bottle green that, conversely, thrills her to her soul. A smooth, velvet voice that penetrates every layer of her being, down to the deepest recesses. Darkness descending...a sense of dreadful awe…

And sometimes she can remember every unhinged detail with a terrifying clarity that she will never even consider mentioning to the therapist. Not if she likes her jacket sleeves to fit properly.

There’s honesty, and then there’s idiocy.

The shadow is larger tonight. Taller, a little broader, definitely denser. She would say looming, even, but it’s not quite that large.

Not quite.

She stares at it openly, no longer trying to avoid acknowledging its presence. What's the point? The doctor knows about it, and it’s not like she’s talking to it. She’s not that far gone yet. And she hasn't lied to the doctor, either. The shadow does watch her, like it’s waiting, gathering. Convalescing. But it hasn't ever talked to her.

She does not hear voices.

She yawns and rolls her shoulders, left then right, sliding a little lower in bed, searching for a cooler place between the sheets. Movement catches her eye, and she looks up as the shadow shifts, leaning left then right, and seems to…

Grow?

No, it’s never moved before. She’s pretty sure she’s never seen it move, but now it pulses and raises up, stretching-

No. No. Sourceless shadows don’t move. They don’t grow, they don’t shift, they don’t-

The shadow stretches upwards abruptly, definitely looming now, and Alexa hits the wall behind the bed, scrambling backwards in a blind panic as she realizes the shadow isn’t growing.

It’s coming closer.

Her breathing speeds up, but her limbs are heavy and dull with narcotic stupor. The foot of her bed darkens as the shadow creeps even closer, and she opens her mouth to protest, to scream, to say something, but her tongue is numb and stupid with the acrid, coppery tang of fear and pharmaceuticals, and she hates, hates this kind of dream where she can’t speak, can't move and she can barely breathe, and...and…

The shadow reaches out, stretches over her foot and slides up her calf in a clammy, viscous caress that tightens on her knee and pulls her several inches down the bed as her throat closes.

Do not shrink from Me. It is not your fear I crave, but your adoration. Come to Me, allow yourself to move past the fear and embrace what I wish to grant you.

Horror, deep and instinctual, floods her veins. Alexa feels the voice more than hears it, and it awakens an ancient fear that finally, though futilely, awakens her drugged limbs. She claws at her sheets uselessly as the shadow moves over her, a freezing oil slick that oozes against her skin as if her blankets and clothes weren’t even there, sending shivers to the very marrow of her bones as her gorge rises, and she chokes on the bile that singes the back of her throat. She can’t fight, can’t move against this intangible force, but neither will her terror let her sink past the fear to blissful unawareness.

Give over. Let go of your stubborn fear that tethers you to this useless reality. Allow Me entrance, and I will grant you the relief you seek. Release your grip on the world that cares nothing for you, and I shall bestow upon you the peace you so desperately crave.

Her skin raises in gooseflesh everywhere the shadow crosses, and her stomach turns as it squeezes its way up her torso, her chest, her throat, slipping over her lips in a sick parody of a lover’s caress. She opens her mouth - to scream, to breathe, to do something - and the shadow plunges inwards, invading her mouth, her throat, coating her inside and out with a thick, glutinous sensation that leaves her mouth hanging obscenely open, tongue thrashing, while her mind screams useless denials.

Submit to Me what you see I can easily take, give Me My due. Give over, drown in Me, and I will save you from this miserable existence.

And she is drowning, the air pressed from her lungs as a dark heaviness settles solidly over her. Her arms are forced over her head, and she is strung out on her twisted sheets, writhing under the weight of the shadow as it presses over every surface, against every entrance. No matter how she strains, her legs are gradually forced apart. The darkness’s lack of speed is affected, some barely functioning bit of her brain whispers to her; it could take her as swiftly as it cares to and is only moving slowly because it wants her to suffer, wants to taste her anguish. She has no chance against the shadow, she can’t even touch it, really she could just save herself the anxiety and fear and just-

NO.

She twists as hard as she can, but the shadow simply moves with her, flows over her, waits until she takes another breath, and then surges between her thighs, driving her torso off the bed with the force of its thrust. Every cell in her body locks, not in pain, but in complete revulsion. And then again, and again, cruel in the thoroughness of its violation, covering and saturating every crevice of her being, coating and tainting everything it touches.

Wrong, can't...stop, stop, stop, wrong, can’t...God, please…

You cannot rely on yourself, on your own mind for proper guidance. Let Me protect you. Let Me save you from yourself.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just stop, please…please-

The alarm clock shrieks right in her goddamned ear, and she can breathe and move and scream and goddammit, she fucking hates those dreams that send her careening onto the floor, scrambling for cover when she can’t even remember what she's running from.

Her morning routine is already in shambles. There’s no ignoring the alarm clock today. A morning shower maybe, to wash off the sticky aftermath of night sweats, definitely, but no lying about, staring at the walls in a sleep-daze. Definitely washing the sheets tonight, too.

She surveys what she can see of her bed from her crumpled position on the floor in front of the closet and sighs. Must’ve been a hell of a nightmare to tear up the covers that badly. She thinks for a moment of trying a little harder to remember, to recall some piece of the dream, but then her stomach flips over, and she summarily rejects that idea in favor of caffeination and medication.

She allows herself another few minutes on the floor, waiting until her respiratory and heart rates return to a less alarming pace before climbing to her quivering knees. The shadow darkens the far corner of the room, as innocuous as always. Though she doesn’t know why, she can’t help an involuntary flinch when she first sees it. It’s not normally present in the morning, at least, she doesn’t think so...well, she can't remember the shadow being so dark in the mornings, at least. But...

She clears her throat against the thickness that seems to coat it suddenly, and readjusts her plan to include a glass of water before she starts in on the coffee. She realizes after another long moment of staring that her hands are trembling along with her legs. Her jaw clenches, and she knows she’s being ridiculous. It’s a damned shadow. It just sits there. It’s a minor manifestation of a mild psychosis secondary to major psychological trauma. It’s just a damned dark spot; it doesn’t change, doesn't want her to do anything, and it definitely doesn’t fucking talk to her.

She. Does. Not. Hear. Voices.

…

Up Now: 2

#mcu #mcu fic #loki #dark loki #rape #torture #abust #self harm #negative portrayal of psychological services #negative portrayal of mental health professional #hallucinations #stalking #supernatural horror #prescription drug use #prescription drug abuse #mental illness #ptsd #flashbacks of violence #gaslighting #physical and mental exhaustion #denial #self neglect #isolation #mental spiraling #mental abuse #emotional abuse #original chracter #original female character

[4mph1b10us]

korekiiyo shiingujii ana1ysiis

spoii1ers for ndrv3!

iit’s quiite hard to wriite 1iike thiis wiith autocorrect on, so from the 1iine break be1ow ii wii11 not be usiing my typiing quiirk Σ(･口･)

word count (exc1udiing author’s notes): 1,611 words

tota1: 1,717 words

for siimp1iiciity's sake, ii've done thiis on computer so that there's not a wa11 of text

~*~

"You wonder, "Who is this?" Yes... I shall make that clear first. My name is Korekiyo Shinguji... I am called the Ultimate Anthropologist."

~*~

Hello everyone, my name is Milo, and today I’ll be doing my best to cover one of my favorite characters in the Danganronpa universe, Korekiyo Shinguji. He is originally from the 3rd mainline game, New Danganronpa v3: Killing Harmony. Since I don’t physically own the game, I’m basing most of this essay entirely on the Danganronpa Wiki page for Shinguji. Please read that if you desire a more lengthy look at his actions from an unbiased perspective since this one leans more towards empathy than hatred. Whoops!

We first properly meet him after talking to everyone else inside of Hope’s Peak. He’s in the main hall and standing away from the doors leading out to the courtyard. When he introduces himself, Shinguji goes on to talk about anthropology and the beauty of humanity. This proceeds to creep Akamatsu out.

Alongside that, in Chapter 3, we are unfortunately forced to see his relationship with his sister. It’s weird and only gets weirder if you spend two of your Free Time events talking to him when you first play as Akamatsu. He’s evaluated that all girls present at the academy would be great “friends” for his sister, barring Iruma and Harukawa. This is because Shinguji believes that Harukawa doesn’t believe in the power of love, and Iruma is just… well, she’s Iruma. Hardly the girl you would want to send home to your parents.

This weird incest plotline is unfortunately present in most Danganronpa games, such as Leon and his cousin (though one-sided on his cousin’s behalf; he didn’t like her), Tsumugi in the Love Hotel (if you consider that canon), and Monotaro & Monophanie (which is then implemented into Gokuharu’s execution, killing them both).

His sister’s name is never disclosed in-game or in any other Danganronpa media, so the fandom dubbed her “Miyadera/Miyatera,” which is an alternate way of reading Shinguji’s last name. The miya character - represented as 宮 - and tera character - 寺 - are both present in Shinguji, 真宮寺. For the rest of this essay/paper, I’ll be referring to his sister as Miyadera, and himself as Shinguji.

I’ll be getting deeper into his mischaracterization later on, but I want to talk about his appearance for now. Mainly, his hair, his mask, and the lipstick he wears. From what we see of Miyadera in Shinguji’s execution, if that is Miyadera at all, we can see that she had long hair, and when Shinguji was turned into a ghost, it was the exact shade of Shinguji’s hair. From here, we can assume that Miyadera looks exactly, if not similar, to Shinguji.

His lipstick and mask are results of representations of his tulpa, Miyadera. Tulpa is defined as “a concept in mysticism and the paranormal of a being or object which is created through spiritual or mental powers.” In much simpler terms, it is an object or living thing that was created/imagined through spiritual/mental abilities. Shinguji gained a tulpa by being beaten half to death by villagers shortly after arriving there. When he was in a state between life and death, he saw his sister, who joined his subconscious and took control of his body whenever his mask was off. It’s why we only see him take off his make once Saihara dubs him the culprit of Chapter 3, and why his voice suddenly took a more feminine tone. A quote from Miyadera, which can be found in the game, is, "Sweet Korekiyo, calm yourself... Their words are all hollow. There is no meaning to any of them... You must teach these ignorant children a lesson."

That statement can be interpreted two ways, one; that she’s trying to calm him down and two; she’s repeating whatever she said to him during childhood. It’s implied that Miyadera passed away from disease sometime before Killing Harmony takes place, which is both a good and bad thing. It’s great because then we have some time frame of how she was and how she acted when Shinguji knew her best.

Whenever I read the quote above, or any of her quotes, to be honest, I am filled with a sense of dread, or even, despair. The following quote especially makes me feel terrible; "Calm yourself, Korekiyo. You mustn't raise your voice. You mustn't stutter. You mustn't lose composure. You mustn't become flustered. You mustn't waver. Look at their horrid faces. This sorry lot is not worth agonizing over."

Have you noticed how she’s setting guidelines on how to defend himself? She’s turning Shinguji’s attention away from Saihara and the trial and to her because she knows that Shinguji trusts her even after all these years.

You might be wondering, “Milo, what the hell does that all have to do with Shinguji?” And I’ll tell you plain and simple: he was abused by Miyadera. Shocking, I know. Having Shinguji rave and rant about being in love with her, only to be a victim? Sadly, it’s very true indeed. Shinguji was most likely groomed and gaslighted into thinking that Miyadera loved him when that was not the case.

Gaslighting is defined as, “[to] manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.” From the two quotes I provided, it doesn’t seem to make sense. Miyadera only sounds like a kind, worrisome older sister. Incorrect, I say. She’s emotionally gaslighting him, trying to make him believe that the trial makes no sense and he shouldn’t worry about any of them. I can also bet she used this tactic to control him as a younger person as well.

It’s a well-known fact that children are both impressionable and gullible. If an older sister figure came up to you as a child and told you to do unmentionable things, unfortunately, you might follow her directions. Shinguji states that his sister was a sickly girl who often stayed in the hospital. When she would come home, he’d be at his easiest to manipulate. Why would his dear, sweet, sickly, older sister ever lie to him?

Next, I’m going to be covering his relationships with other students, namely Shuichi Saihara and Rantaro Amami. These will delve further into spoiler territory, so if you didn’t already read the warnings I put in place, here is your extra warning for spoilers for Chapter 3 of Killing Harmony.

To start with, I’ll be exploring his poorer relationships first. Most of the girls fit into this category, namely Iruma, Harukawa, Chabashira, and Yonaga - that means he has a terrible standing with four of the eight girls present at the beginning of Killing Harmony, five if you count Yumeno’s way of dealing with Chabashira’s murder. Shinguji even taunts her once they solve that mystery, stating, “Let me guess, you’ll never forgive me. Himiko, you must hate me so very much right now. Maybe you’d feel better if I was executed by Monokuma…”

Shinguji has a poor relationship with Iruma and Harukawa due to seeing them as “unfit” to be “friends” with Miyadera. He has a poor relationship with Chabashira because he’s a degenerate male, but he still thinks she made a good friend for his sister. His poor relationship with Yonaga is shown in Chapter 3 when Yonaga forms the student council. Once again, I’m making amends to some parts of the characters. I’ll be referring to Yonaga’s god as God, simply because Atua is an actual Polynesian god in real life. Shinguji doesn’t worship any god, and so wants to study Yonaga’s God purely for anthropologic purposes. This displeases Yonaga, who then states that God's business hours are closed for the day. In Chapter 3 when Yumeno brings up Yonaga’s God, he simply asks whether or not they’re done talking about it, cementing his distrust in faith.

Next, I’ll cover his better relationships. Akamatsu isn’t too terribly creeped out by him and instead sees Shinguji as a kind guy who cares about his sister. Akamatsu even apologizes for saying that Shinguji would be into inc*st, this event either taking place in his first or second Free Time event. I’m saving his and Saihara’s relationship for last since I’ll have the most to write about then. Instead, please enjoy the news that in the events of Ultimate Talent Development Plan (UTDP for typing purposes), Shinguji and Amami are actually great friends. In Amami’s first free time event, he tells Akamatsu that Korekiyo has a strong personality, but she’ll be able to understand him plenty if she takes time to. It’s also stated that Amami emphasizes that Shinguji is also the calm and clever type.

Lastly, I’ll be exploring his relationship with Saihara. It’s slightly rocky, if only because Shinguji hasn’t let go of his sister yet, but it’s miles better than his relationship with Chabashira. Slight side note before we begin, I’ll be discounting the Love Hotel scene mostly because I’m a minor and I don’t feel completely comfortable having to watch that simply because I’m writing an analysis. As the game progresses to Chapter 3, Shinguji and Saihara have built trust between themselves. While Saihara still found Shinguji creepy, he [Saihara] never discounted him simply for existing. There was even a point where Shinguji offered to help Saihara communicate with Akamatsu from beyond the grave, though he was turned down.

Korekiyo Shinguji is a misunderstood and somewhat tragic character who usually gets disregarded and uncredited all because people do not like him. However he’s not an “uwu soft twamatized bean <3” either. He’s a strong character who has questionable morals at best and a terrible representation of an abused character at worst.

~*~

thank you for readiing!! p1ease make sure to get a hea1thy amount of s1eep and that you do have a cup of water and some food, you deserve iit!!

sources:

- https://danganronpa.fandom.com/wiki/Korekiyo_Shinguji

- https://www.quotev.com/story/7873923/Danganronpa-Class-Trials/73 (siide note: how fucked up iis iit that ii was on1y ab1e to fiind a transcriiptiion of the triia1 on quotev)

#korekiyo shinguji #shinguji korekiyo #sister shinguji #miyadera shinguji #drv3 #ndrv3 #killing harmony #new danganronpa v3 #new danganronpa killing harmony #character analysis #korekiyo shinguji analysis

[i-need-entertainment]

It’s my Fault...right?

Character: Komori x female reader **TOXIC RELATIONSHIP** Washio x female reader...Pretty long too..

WARNINGS: Toxic relationship, mental and emotional abuse and manipulation, gaslighting, reader thinking things are her fault. ANGST, some yandere themes/behaviors.

*So uh...this got pretty uh, pretty rough. I would not recommend reading this if you do not like angst. Also, I love Komori and I am in love with Washio, so this one hurted.*

@motoyafightclub​ I hope this was angsty enough~😌

**PSA: I AM IN NO WAY ROMANCING OR EXCUSING ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR, THIS IS AN ANGST, IT WILL NOT END WELL. I AM VERY CLEAR THAT THIS IS A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, IT IS ABUSIVE, IT IS NOT HEALTHY, OKAY OR JUSTIFIED!! I DO NOT THINK KOMORI WOULD EVER BE LIKE THIS, BUT THIS IS FANFICTION, IF YOU DO NOT LIKE IT, DO NOT READ IT!**

Komori Motoya was known to all as a joyous, kind and considerate man. He was hard working and inspiring, he could light up a room just by walking into it. That was how everyone saw Komori Motoya. Everyone except you, who knew much, much better.

Komori was a nice guy, he was always smiling and always positive. But he was also incredibly two faced. You were 16 years old when you met Komori. He had come up to you one day during lunch in your second year of high school, asking if you could help him with some class work he had been struggling with. It was on your second study session when you realized he didn’t need your help at all.

When you asked him about it, he simply confessed he felt he needed an excuse to talk to you, him feeling you wouldn’t have been interested in getting to know him. You, who had been admiring him from afar for the past 2 years let him know that was not the case, and the ‘study sessions’ turned into get togethers. About 2 weeks later he asked you out officially, you of course said yes.

That was 7 years ago.

A lot can change in 7 years, a lot did change.

But nothing changed as much as he did.

To most, he was still the same happy-go-lucky Komori, always smiling and cracking a smile. But that was when he was out of the house, and the two of you weren’t alone. Because alone…well, you didn’t know who he was when it was just you two.

You couldn’t place just when he changed either. There was no traumatic experience, no negative changes made to his day to day life. And yet he was…off. He didn’t like you hanging around your friends as much, which confused you, he always liked your friends. But he would never lie to you so you started spending more time with him, and less time with your friends.

It seemed to be that way with most aspects of your life, if he didn’t like something, you changed it, no questions asked. Asking questions only made him mad, and you didn’t want him mad, you wanted him to be happy! So you did as he requested, even if you yourself didn’t think it was fair.

You could tell he wasn’t the same, at least not to you. But it became most noticeable when you two moved in together when you were 19. You had been going to college and he had advanced greatly in his career, your relationship was steady and strong, so it seemed like the perfect time to take that next leap.

It started off small.

He was always a little bit more irritable than he normally was, nothing too major. It could be from you leaving a plate in the sink even though you did dishes that morning, or you forgot to move the washed clothes into the dryer one time. But it was also on days he had a rough practice, so you let it slide.

Why wouldn’t you? You knew he didn’t do it on purpose..you knew he didn’t mean it. Why are you upset? Why are you getting defensive? Are you questioning him? Why are you doubting him? He just had a bad day, he can be upset, he deserves to be, you do not.

Every time he blew up at you it always ended the same way, it was your fault because you overreacted.

That was one thing you learned after living with him for 3 months, you were the one at fault, not him. And you had no right to suggest otherwise.

But it wasn’t bad, no. He was having a lot of bad days anyone would be upset! I mean…sure, he shouldn’t be directing it at you, but…he can’t help it, he’s not doing it on purpose. It doesn’t mean anything. You know your Toya loves you, he tells you every day, so why would you doubt your precious Motoya? Stop being a terrible girlfriend…

It wasn’t long before you stopped questioning the biting words, he threw towards you, because after months of hearing them, you started believing them too.

He was right after all…wasn’t he? I mean, isn’t he always?

The next big change you noticed was how utterly controlling he became. It wasn’t just about what you two ate for dinner, or what movie you watched. He made the decisions about everything. Specifically every decision about you. What? Didn’t you like the dress he picked out for you? It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t your style, you love him, don’t you?? If you loved him, you wouldn’t question him.

Ah, that’s the other thing he had become exceptionally good at. Guilt tripping.

If there was ever a moment he didn’t want you at a specific place at a specific time, it was simple; you wouldn’t go.

It had been your best friends 21’st birthday when this happened. She had wanted to go out to dinner, nothing crazy, just a nice dinner with her friends and maybe a little shopping. You swore you had told him; you were sure of it. So you were utterly confused when he walked into your shared bedroom, eyes narrowing at the sight of you dressed up nicely.

“…Where are you going..?” You turned around in shock, heart beating unnecessarily fast. You gulped as you fumbled with your words. “U-uhm, it’s Aiko’s birthday, I’m going out to-“ “You’re what?” You stopped talking as your gaze met his ice cold one, eyes unwavering as they stared you down. His stance was relaxed, but it was anything but cheerful. He knew the power he held over you, how else was he supposed to watch over you? Keep you safe…love you. This was what love was. And after 5 years, he thought you knew that.

“I-I told you two days ago..” His eyebrow raised as he very slowly took steps towards you, you unable to go anywhere. “..I don’t remember that sweetheart, are you sure you told me? Because…I specifically remember asking you to tell me things a week in advance…” You looked down as you nodded, hands clasping together In front of you as he stopped before you. Even though you were sure he had never told you that…

He sighed as he started to play with a piece of your hair, “You know I hate when you don’t communicate with me…you’re supposed to let me know these things..you’re supposed to listen to me, you know how hard I work for both of us, you know that…don’t you?” You very meekly nodded, and he shook his head as his hand dropped down to his side.

“Well, you can’t go out, text your friend and tell her you can’t make it.” Your head shot up at his words. “But- Toya, please..I…I haven’t seen her in months and-“ “And?” You gulped at the definite sounding tone he used, but you almost screamed when you saw the look in his eye. There was no trace of the fun-loving Motoya you knew and loved, there was barely anything in the glare he was giving you. But you knew better.

That was two years ago.

And despite your constant wishes for him to change, for him to go back to being the sweet, kind Toya you knew and loved, he was good at reminding you that wasn’t how things were. You thought that was just how it was, he was your first relationship, your first love, your first everything actually…

How could you know better when all you knew was Komori Motoya?

You’ve been out of college for a year now, but you hadn’t gotten a job yet. Your dream job. I’m sure you can guess why you didn’t have a job.

He had been downright insulted when you suggested it, the thought of you being off for a whole 8 hours by yourself, away from him. Out of his reach. Even if all you did now was sit at home and wait for him.

To him the idea seemed downright outrageous, the mere fact you even suggested it being a problem in and of itself. But to you..? A job sounded like freedom. It sounded like being able to do things for yourself again, getting to make (at least a few) choices for yourself, and perhaps the most appealing, it was time away from your lover.

You stilled as the thought crossed your mind. Why do you want time away..? Don’t you love him? Don’t you need him, don’t you rely on him for, everything?

But the more you had these thoughts, the less they made sense.

Wait a minute…you were your own person...weren’t you? Isn’t it your right to think for yourself? To try new things? To make decisions for yourself?

That’s how you found yourself sneaking away to the living room at 11:00 one night, waiting until Komori was sound asleep to use your laptop. You spent the next 2 hours browsing for a job, something, anything you would qualify for. Then you found it.

It was small, you would need to work hard, but you could do it. You took a deep breath as you started the application process, finger shaking as you pressed ‘enter’ and submitted It to the company. You almost smiled, almost, that is until the living room light switched on.

“…what are you doing up so late sweetie?” You froze. He walked towards where you were sitting, swiftly catching the screen right before your successfully closed it, eyes narrowing when he saw what was on it. His brows furrowed as he narrowed his eyes, expression growing more and more frustrated as he looked at the screen before him.

“What is…why did you…and behind my back?” Your hands gripped the edge of his t-shirt, doing whatever you could to will yourself to not cry. “I..I’m sorry but…I-I had to..please, I swear I’ll ask next time but, please let me have this!” You completely broke down, sobs racking your body as you cried. He closed the laptop and set it down on the coffee table, walking over and holding you in his arms.

You didn’t even know why you were crying…guilt? Fear? But why…what did you do?

“…you know you shouldn’t go behind my back, it’s not fair to me. You know better…it was selfish of you, cruel…am I not enough for you?” You shook your head as you pulled away, “Yes! Yes you a-are and I’m sorry. I-I promise I’ll always listen, please! I’m sorry!” He smiled, If that’s what you’d like to call it, as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. The tenderness gone in a second when his eyes turned to stone. “Fine…but you will never stay late or go out with anyone from work. You go there, and you come straight back here. Do you understand me?” You nodded as you sniffled, holding him tight against you.

That night seemed like a win, and at the time it seemed like it was fair. It made sense; he was doing it because he loved you obviously! Now, in the past 7 years he had yelled, thrown things, demeaned, and degraded you and made you feel completely worthless.

But he never put a harming hand on you, not once.

So it couldn’t have been abuse…he didn’t hurt you physically, he just didn’t understand that what he said had such a devastating effect on you …he didn’t understand the way he broke your heart in two…that’s all this was, a big misunderstanding. You were mixing things up, you were making this a big deal. This was your fault.

I mean…wasn’t it always?

Slipping on your new work shoes, you exited the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind you. Komori left for work about an hour before you did, so it was on you to lock the door and such.

After meeting your new boss and getting the necessary training you would need, you sat down at your new desk. You were an up and coming event coordinator for the Japan Volleyball Association. Oh yeah, that was why he let you take the job, because it was still connected to him. But it was a job nonetheless!

2 months had gone by, and the job was going great. You were making quick progress in your career, and your bosses had taken notice of you. The only downside was you didn’t see Komori as much…but as the days went by…it started to feel like less and less of a downside…things, “normal” things started to seem less and less normal, and increasingly…toxic.

Right now you were walking through the EJP stadium. Your boss had sent you down to the stadium to coordinate some practice games between EJP and some other teams.

You walked through the hallways, heels clacking on the linoleum floors. You were just about to enter the open elevator when “Oof-“ You winced as your bottom met the cold hard floors, “I’m so sorry, are you alright?” You lightly laughed as you nodded your head, opening your eyes to meet the slightly widened ones of Washio Tatsuki.

Clearing his throat, he offered his hand, you gratefully taking it and allowing him to help you up. “I’m fine, it’s my fault I should have been paying more attention…” You looked down as you knelt to the floor, scurrying to pick up the many papers that had scattered when you felt a presence beside you; noticing that he had kneeled beside you and was helping you gather the papers.

You felt like crying. Not only had you only talked to this man a handful of times, but you had bumped into him and inconvenienced him, and here he was picking up the papers you dropped. The gesture was so simple, and when you thought about it, pretty normal. But there was something so simple, so utterly kind that struck you right in the heart. This was how Komori used to treat you…this is what it was like for someone to do something nice for you..

There was no complaining, no expectation for something in return, just a kind smile as he gave you back your papers neatly stacked back together.

“I’m sorry, they’re probably out of order.” You shook your head as you swallowed, “I’m sure it’s fine…thank you, it’s nice to see you Washio” He nodded as he stood, you standing as well. “It’s been awhile, it’s nice to see you L/n. I was getting worried, I haven’t seen you in awhile.” You offered a small smile as you nodded. “Well…I just don’t go out much anymore…but uhm, I should get going.” He nodded, “It was nice to see you again. Oh, and the office you need is on the other side of the stadium.” You groaned as you dragged one of your hands down your face, sighing and muttering an ‘of course it is’ as you lightly laughed.

Washio offered a small smile, “I was headed that way, would you mind if I walked you there?” You blinked, You knew you should refuse, say you could find it by yourself. But he was being so…kind. So respectful…So much like what Komori used to be… You couldn’t refuse. “Not at all.”

You hadn’t done anything bad, you had run into him and he offered to help you find your destination. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the encounter, and when Washio asked for your number to be friends again, you gave it to him. There was nothing wrong with that either. Afterall, you used to be friends with him.

When Komori had started at EJP, your relationship hadn’t gotten so bad He often took you with him to social events and team things, and you had gotten along well with the middle blocker. It had been concerning to him when it was like all of a sudden you had dropped off the face of the earth, Komori always having a reason as to why though..

There really was nothing wrong with the encounter, or what followed.

But when you came home that night…things were not okay. As soon as you stepped foot in the house you could feel Komori’s glare slicing through you. You gripped the strap of your purse as you willed yourself not to break.

“What happened earlier with Washio?” Your eyes widened, how did he know..? “Answer me!” You flinched as his voice echoed off the apartment walls. “I ran into him a-and he helped me! That’s all! I swear!” He snarled as he walked towards you, you yelping as he tore your bag away from you, frantically searching for something. “Where is it?” “where is wha-“ “Your phone!” You took a step away from him.

“…why do you want to see my phone..?” He glared at you, “So I can delete his number.” Your eyes widened. No…he couldn’t do that…that’s not…it’s not fair.

You gulped as you clenched your fist, “….no..” One of his eyebrows lifted. “…no?” You looked to him with tears in your eyes, be it from fear or from pain was unknown. “No…you can’t look in m-my phone…you can’t- you can’t control me anymore…I am my own person, you don’t own me…It’s not my fault.” This wasn’t okay, the words, the thoughts, nothing about this was okay. And it had to end…Before he could so much as blink you spoke again “….goodbye Motoya..” Not bothering to grab your things (not like you had anything important there anyway) you turned around and headed back to your car (luckily your keys had been in one pocket, your phone in the other).

You got in your car, and you drove. Adrenaline coursing through your veins as you drove. You got 15 minutes before the tears started falling. 7 years…you had been with him for 7 years…and it was all gone.

You pulled into the parking lot of some random fast food place and pulled into one of the more secluded parking spots. You gasped for air as you continued to cry, all of the tension that’s been collecting inside of you releasing itself through your cries. Your phone started buzzing, and after wiping your eyes on your sleeve you checked to see the caller ID, quickly declining the call from ‘Toya<3’ before you blocked his number, deleting your social medias as you did that. You spent an hour in that parking lot, crying and reflecting, and as you did things started to make sense, and you started to see things about your relationship that you hadn’t.

For starters, it was not a good relationship. At all. He was manipulative and cruel, and controlling is an understatement. He made you feel like you were always at fault, like everything bad happened because of you. But that’s not true…you are more than that.

Sniffling and wiping your still damp eyes on your even damper sweater sleeve, you picked up your phone and called the one other person you could.

It was a gamble, and it would no doubt be weird, but something was telling you to make the call.

So, you scrolled through your short list of contacts and clicked on his.

*riiiiiing* *riiiiiing* *riii-* “Hello?” You sighed, “Hi, Uhm, this is L/n from earlier, *sniffle*, uh, I’m really sorry to call you, but um…could I stay with you? I know that sounds really weird and probably creepy but. *Sniff* Motoya and I Just broke up and- and I need to talk to someone and…and I need somewhere to go…” The other side of the line was quiet for a moment, “I’ll text you my address, please be safe, call me when you get here I’ll come down and get you.”

That was the moment you knew, Washio Tatsuki was someone you could rely on.

Which was good, because as of the moment he was the only one you could rely on.

You spent the night crying your eyes out on Washio’s shoulder as he did his best to comfort you. He wasn’t used to being peoples go-to guy for comfort, but he definitely wouldn’t turn anyone away, and especially not you. So, he listened when you needed to rant, gave advice when you asked for it, and soothingly rubbed your back when you started hiccupping from crying so hard.

You thanked him as you carefully sipped the cup of tea he had made you. Your eyes burned, slightly squinted as you gingerly sipped from the warm cup. You were exhausted; physically and emotionally drained, and heart broken. “..sorry…I’m a mess…” He shook his head, “Don’t be sorry, you have nothing to be sorry for.” You shakily set the cup down when you started to cry again, elbows resting in your lap as you clutched your face with your hands. Washio started to freak out a bit, he had spent the past 2 hours consoling you, did he really just make you cry again?!

“I-I’m sorry, it’s just,” You laughed, maybe a bit more from hysteria than humor but you laughed nonetheless. You sniffled and rubbed your eyes before looking up to him, smiling up at him. “It’s been so long since I heard that…thank you..thank you so much.” He smiled and handed you another tissue, you taking it and wiping the new tears that had fallen.

You spent the night in his guest room, and for the first time in who knows how long, you slept very well. Because for the first time in who knows how long, you felt safe. Washio made you feel safe.

Seeing as your work was close and you needed some time to get back on your feet, Washio offered to let you stay with him until you found a place of your own. And from there, you two got close. He was someone you could depend on. He was honest and steadfast, he never pinned his wrong doings on you and he was clear with his intentions. He never twisted your words or placed blame, he was so incredibly good to you, and you weren’t even dating.

Although…it wasn’t completely out of the question..

It had been six months since your break up with Komori, and you were still living with Washio. And after countless late-night conversations and several deep conversations, you decided you were ready to move on with your life, from your first love. You were ready to move on from Komori, and move on with Washio. So, you two started dating.

Your life had been going great, but there was this unmistakable feeling of doubt, of guilt eating away at you. No matter how far you pushed it away, no matter how much you ignored it, it was always there. But, you ignored it, or tried to. You had other things to think about!

Washio was an incredible boyfriend, he truly was. He was everything you could have ever asked for and more. He was more than you deserved…were you even good enough to call yourself his girlfriend?

You had gone to the store to get some groceries for dinner. You held the small list in your hand as you scanned the grocery aisle shelves, looking for the specific thing you needed. You jumped a bit when your hand bumped into someone else’s, someone who had been reaching for the same item.

You turned to apologize when you stilled. “Hey Y/n, it’s been while.” You swallowed and tried to smile, “Hello Motoya….” The aisle had been empty aside from the two of you, and you were feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

“So, Washio huh? He must treat you well.” You nodded, “yeah, he does.” Komori looked at you, that same dangerous glint in it. “He’s a great boyfriend I’m sure but…it’s too bad you can’t be a great girlfriend.”

You glared as you stopped yourself from hitting him. “Before you get all mad, look at the facts. You don’t deserve him because you’re not meant to be. Don’t you think he’s sick of taking care of you all the time? Don’t you think maybe he doesn’t want to deal with you? Well? Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t think those things, I think you’ve forgotten, I know you.” He stepped closer and grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer to him. Leaning down to where his mouth was right next to your ear he spoke in a low voice.

“..You’re mine, that’s how it is…you will never have anyone else because you don’t deserve anyone else, I am the only person who will ever love you, who ever can love you, you need to accept it.” He pulled away, a feeling of satisfaction running through him as he saw the walls begin to come crashing down inside of you. Watching each and every doubt that had been circling your mind slowly take control of your thoughts and rationality.

“Face it, you’re just not enough for him, I mean, c’mon Y/n. He’s a professional athlete that could have anyone, he’ll leave you someday…but I won’t. I’ll always be here, because I’ve always been there. I am home for you, and I know you know that. Don’t throw away 7 years, not after all we’ve been together, come back to me.”

You knew what you should do. You should scream, run out of the store and into Washio’s arms. Heck, you wanted to do that more than anything. But. He was right…Washio didn’t deserve that…he could do so, so much better, you were just wasting his time.

He shouldn’t have to put up with you…it’s not fair…was this all you did? Cause the people around you pain?

You wiped the tears that started to fall, “…fine…”

Komori Motoya was known to all as a kind and fun person, always there to support a friend and the life of the party.

But you knew better.

And you should’ve known better than to think you could get away, since you’ll always just come crawling back to him. You should’ve known better than to got to that grocery store alone. And as Washio spent the night alone, phone still where he dropped it after reading the text you sent, breaking up with him. He knew he never should’ve let you go alone.

But even if you knew better, if you knew what you were going back to, you couldn’t complain. This was on you after all.

I mean, wasn’t it always?

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