#i don't actually ever consider what i write to be abuse but i have had people accuse me of that a lot in the past
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Ok so Steve breaks up with Eddie bc their relationship is just too intense. They’re just completely co dependant with each-other and he doesn’t think it’s normal and tries to do the right thing. Eddie doesn’t give a fuck though and just wears him down any way he can. Whether it’s making him jealous, ‘randomly’ bumping into him, spreading rumours about him etc… eventually Steve can’t take the mind games and tries to hash it out. Eddie gets off on the fact that Steve finally came to him, and masterfully sweet talks him into giving things another go. This is the toxic cycle. Eddie can be the sweetest most wholesome guy when he wants to be, but he can also fuck with Steve’s head like no other when he wants to, as well.
oh my god I honestly love this so much, I can't lie. There's a big part of me that always craves dark and messy relationships in fic, I think because I find it a lot more true to what real-life romance and relationships can be like. Like I understand that fic is about escapism and of course it's lovely to write sweet fic where everyone gets their happily ever after, I TOTALLY understand that desire. But I also love it when characters are complicated and flawed, and where relationships are passionate and intense but with all the bad things that come with a highly charged dynamic like that. When people get jealous and possessive to the point of controlling, and where two people become completely codependent and so wrapped up in each other everything else falls away.
So I would LOVE to see a fic where Eddie and Steve break up but they're still obsessed with each other. And I'd love to see a version of Eddie, who never had anything of his own growing up or anything special that belonged to him, who's unable to let Steve go. Who would actually be mean to Steve and say nasty things because it's so much better to get a rise out of him than to be given the cold shoulder. And, as you've said, I would LOVE to see an Eddie who, yes is sweet and gentle and sensitive, just like he is on the show, but has another side where he's manic and obsessive and who knows how to manipulate a deeply insecure Steve to get what he wants. Like is it unhealthy? Yes. Is it toxic? Yes. Does it verge on being abusive? Yes! But sometimes that's exactly the kind of fic I want. Like I love how you've written "he can fuck with Steve's head like no other when he wants to" and I think that would be SUCH an intriguing dynamic to explore within the realms of a Steddie fic.
I think people generally get scared of writing fic like this because of the potential backlash and being accused of romanticising unhealthy or abusive relationships (which has happened to me in the past). I feel like dynamics like this were much more common in fic years ago and now are much harder to find. But the landscape of fandoms is so different now too. Content is policed to a much higher degree and there’s a lot of judgement and public scrutiny. Where there used to be this collective understanding of “don’t like, don’t read” etc, people are a lot more aggressive now when they see content they don’t like and will readily call people out publicly and question their motives. And it's such a shame because I love variety in fic, and while I love fic that's sweet and tender, there will always be the part of me that craves darker fic too.
Anyway this was a whole rant sorry!!! But your ask is like catnip to me, I want to write a toxic ex Steddie fic so badly.
#asks#steddie#i'll add#tw abuse#just to be safe#i don't actually ever consider what i write to be abuse but i have had people accuse me of that a lot in the past#toxic ex eddie verse
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Flowers
Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader
Summary: You're living a perfectly content life on Geidi Prime with your husband. It's a shame your mind can't rest, sparked by glimpses of a life unknown. Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.
Word Count: 1.5k
TW: Dark!Feyd-Rautha, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, yandere!Feyd-Rautha, manipulation, gaslighting, like SO much gaslighting holy shit, descriptions of violence, abusive relationship, emotional abuse, isolation, tragedy, nonconsensual drug use, nonconsensual medical treatement, induced memory loss, amnesia, dubious consent, pregnancy, songfic, happy-but-not-really-happy ending, I know I said female!reader but there's virtually no pronoun usage or descriptive words in thisfor the reader besides titles so maybe GN!reader??
A/N: I'm blown away, almost 500 notes on His Kiss, the Riot? Holy shit, all of the thanks! Here it is, the final part! I'm ending it with the song that actually started this whole idea. Listening to Eva's interpretation of Eurydice singing Flowers gave me the most delicious, fucked-up bit of inspiration and this came out. I was clutching my own metaphorical pearls writing this cause damn, this gets dark. Like, way more than I thought I could write. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the end of this twisted tale. Thank you for reading! As always, I appreciate you taking the time to like, comment, and reblog.
Read Part One and Part Two
AO3
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.
Lily white and poppy red
I trembled when he laid me out
“You won’t feel a thing,” he said, “when you go down”
Nothing gonna wake you now
Drops of blood.
A wicked, black smile.
“You won’t feel a thing.”
You wake up with a gasp. Your doctor had warned you about dreams like this. They weren’t real, just an aftereffect of your accident.
The medical staff for House Harkonnen had been gracious enough to inform you of your predicament. When your family had recently hosted the Harkonnens, you quickly met and fell deeply in love with the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. Your love for each other was so intense that you had demanded to get married right away. Your father disapproved of the union, so he disowned you and banished you, demanding to never see you again.
On the journey back to Geidi Prime, a stray asteroid hit the ship and caused you to hit your head. Feyd had apparently worried for your life, which saddened you and warmed your heart. It was nice to know that someone truly cared for you. However, your mind wasn’t quite the same afterwards. Your life before Geidi Prime was completely unknown to you. Your memories were in a fragile state.
That was just a few months earlier. Unfortunately, your mind has not yet recovered your memories prior to the accident. You were diligently taking a specially brewed tea that would calm your mind so it wouldn’t fracture under the immense pressure to try and fix itself. When you asked how long it would take for you to recover, your heart cracked when they said that it may take the rest of your natural life.
While it broke your heart to hear of your father’s dismissal of your feelings, you believed that you were strong enough to carry on. Having no further ties to your home world made it better to settle in with your new family.
You are a Harkonnen now.
Now, your footsteps make the quietest of echoes as you traipse down the narrow corridor. Heads of nearby servants and slaves bow, and eyes snap to the floor as you pass by. You feel the barest of sympathies, for not being allowed the simplest of human connection with their na-Baronness. But it was paradise considering the consequences should anyone ever feel bold enough to try otherwise.
Your husband wouldn’t allow that.
Dreams are sweet, until they’re not
Men are kind, until they aren’t
Flowers bloom, until they rot and fall apart
“Can I not have a single friend on this planet?!”
You burst into your shared chambers, rage rushing through your veins. All you had wanted was to have lunch and tea with one of the few female palace advisors you had taken a liking to. Maybe share a laugh or a story. Make a connection outside of your new family. That was all ruined when Feyd barged in and gutted your companion, stomach-to-throat, while she sat in her chair.
You were sure that your shoes had trailed blood down the hallway, but your mind was focused elsewhere at the moment.
“What use would you have for friends? I am right here.” He closed in on you, grasping your arms and forcing you to look in his direction. “Am I not enough for you? Do I not give you everything you should ever desire?”
His hands tighten around your wrists, making you flinch. A stray tear falls from your eyes, guilt starts to overcome your anger.
“No, not at all, husband! You have given me everything I could have wished for and more,” You wrench your hands out of his grip and grasp his face. He showered you with gifts, never let you go hungry or thirsty and this is how you repay him? “I just… I didn’t think you would want to hear me talk about certain things. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”
“I know you don’t, my darling.”
You take a deep breath as you feel the tension in the room start to settle.
“Your mind is already fragile from the accident… I just want to keep you safe.”
Safe. That was the key here. He takes step back and retrieves a small dagger from his belt.
Feyd holds it up, showing you the weapon. “Did you know that your friend had a blade dipped in poison strapped onto her person?”
You can feel the blood rushing from your face. No. You didn’t know.
“I-I didn’t see a knife on her. She couldn’t have-“
“She did.”
He drops the blade and leans in closer to you, forehead aligning with yours. “There are people out there who seek to harm you, who seek to harm me through you. I can never let that happen.”
You nod furiously. You couldn’t believe that you had been so stupid.
Trust is unbelievably hard to come by in the Galactic Imperium. Your few months’ worth of memories can even attest to that. It seems that the only people you can truly rely on is family.
“I only want what’s best for you.”
You understand now.
Is anybody listening?
I open my mouth and nothing comes out
Another argument discussion had emerged from your telling of your latest dream. Your husband was convinced that you were entirely too exhausted to put any stock into what your subconscious was telling you, but you thought otherwise.
Fingers run through a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—
“I swear to you, it felt so real! It was almost like a memory, like something I-,” A firm hand is placed on your shoulder as you give a slight stumble. Feyd puts a hand on your back, leading you to the edge of your bed, setting you on the bench that was placed against the footboard.
“Please, have some of your morning tea, my darling. You look a bit peaked.” You accepted the cup he gave you, settling down and taking a few sips of the warm, spiced drink. Your mind instantly calms, anxieties evaporating from your body like puffs of smoke. Never mind the memories that you had just… Floating.
Your husband is now on one knee in front of you, arms encasing your body, as his hands cup your face. He brings your eyes to meet his, seemingly searching. For what? You do not know.
“What were you saying about this dream of yours?” A pause reverberates throughout the room as your head tilts in confusion.
“My…?” You stutter, mouth opening to complete a thought that was no longer entirely there. “I can’t quite remember. What were we talking about?”
Your husband gives a smirk, analyzing your face once more before placing his hand on the dark fabric covering your swollen belly.
“Nothing of import. It seems that my heir is set on scrambling your thoughts.”
There seemed to be nothing in this world that brought more joy to Feyd-Rautha’s face than the sight of you and his unborn child. He’s more protective of you now than ever, having guards always posted near you, having you wear a shield during all public appearances. Not to mention, he was damn near insatiable in private. His hands and mouth are practically dragged away from you and your growing stomach every morning.
You give a chuckle. “I’d heard about pregnancy brain before, but never knew it to be this taxing! Perhaps I’ll take a walk later if I’m feeling up to it.”
Feyd gives your cheek a soft pat before rising to his feet, “Rest, my darling. I shall check in on the both of you later.” His hand rests next to yours, giving your belly a quick rub before he walks towards the door.
Your head goes to set on your pillow, the warmth from the tea running through your body. You must be really tired, since you fall asleep so quickly.
Quick enough to not hear the deadbolt lock clicking from the outside once the door is closed.
Flowers, I remember field of flowers
Soft beneath my heels
Walking in the sun, I remember someone
Someone by my side, turned his face to mine
The dreams start to encroach your mind while you are awake. You continue to follow your doctor’s instructions: take your daily tea, rest often, don’t overexert your body or your mind. But, ever persistent, they push through, finding parallels with your daily life to latch onto.
A hand, gently enlaced with yours, guides you through a meadow—
You husband’s hands lead you to stand with him by his uncle’s side, preparing for another ceremony.
A laugh, familiar and warm—
A chilling cackle of laughter reaches you in your viewing box, watching your husband gleefully slay another adversary in the arena.
Bright, yellow sunlight caressing your face and neck—
The black sun of Geidi Prime pulses in your periphery as you wave to a crowd below, your husband standing stoically next to you.
A kiss, given freely—
Feyd ravishes you in your chambers, lips melding together with yours.
My darling—
My love—
My darling—
My darling—
My darling—
My darling—
My darling—
“Is everything alright, my darling?”
You blink, snapping back to the present. Pale, smooth skin and blue eyes, your husband extends his hand towards you. Safe. He gives you everything. You and your child will never struggle or suffer with him. You are safe with him. Aren’t you?
Blood splatters over a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—
You give a bright smile.
If you ever walk this way
Come and find me lying in the bed I made
#dune#dune 2#dune part 2#dune part two#feyd rautha#feyd rautha x reader#feyd x reader#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd rautha fanfic#feyd rautha fic#dune fanfiction#dune fic#feyd rautha harkonnen x reader#feyd x you#feyd rautha x oc#austin butler#austin butler fanfiction#inspired by hadestown#hadestown au#dune movie#dune 2024#dune part II#orpheus and eurydice#hades and persephone#feyd rautha fanfiction#jada writes sometimes#dead dove do not eat
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PRECIOUS
SMALL LIL’ ANGST—>FLUFF FIC
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PAIRINGS: Alastor x Reader
SUMMARY: You and Alastor get into a fight because you’re just worried he got hurt after a fight with Vox. He snaps at you and…well, you isolate yourself. whoopsies!
WARNINGS: Emotional abuse, Toxic relationship dynamics (but they both love each other dw), Intense emotional distress, Language, Potential Triggers, Donestic conflict. (MAJOR FLUFF AT THE END THOUGH!!! ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP!!!) They were a couple alive too if you don’t mind idk i suck at writing- USAGE OF Y/N I ALMOST FORGOT AHHH- Lmk if i missed anything :3
NOTICE: please don't steal/copy/translate my work. But thanks for liking it, though!! ^^
WORDS: 1.7k
Enjoy!!~
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“Alastor, are you serious?!” You yelled as Alastor started to walk away from you, mid conversation.
Alastor had just gotten into a big fight with Vox, luckily survived, though. The frustrating part is, he won’t even let you heal him. Or know what the battle was even about?!
Which made you really, really paranoid.
“Alastor, don’t walk away from me, that’s rude.” You caught up with him and began to match his pace and he walked to the halls of the hotel to lucifer knows where. “We need to talk about this.” You say firmly. “I’m going to find out one way or another.” You add, raising your voice slightly.
Alastor stopped walking and turned around to face you. He was looking down at you, which always made you feel so small. Even if he wasn’t actually looking at you, you could still feel it.
“Well, then.” His voice was calm, but a hint of annoyance was there. “Aren’t you just invested in my little public hiccup.”He crossed his arms, waiting for your response.
“Yes I am. And I think we should talk about it, instead of you getting defensive.” You looked him dead in the eye and kept talking. “And why you didn’t tell me.” Your voice went quieter again.
Alastor hid a chuckle, “I thought you would care more about me surviving, than knowing how many lives I took today.” He raised his eyebrow, mocking you. “Or maybe, I don’t want to share this kind of information with someone who will judge me for it.” He was now fully annoyed by you.
You stepped closer to him, trying to keep him from leaving again. “Alastor, please stop. I’m just trying to help. I don’t…” You trailed off nervously. “I don’t want us fighting.”
Alastor smirked at you, “Oh, don’t worry love. We aren’t fighting. Yet.” His tone was harsh and he leaned down to look you in the eyes. “But I will if you continue to harass me about this.”
You felt yourself start to panic, but tried your best to hide it. “I’m sorry Alastor, I just…” You couldn’t finish your sentence, as he interrupted you.
“No. Don’t ‘just’ anything. You know I hate that word.” He said with a cold smile. “Now leave me alone before I get upset with you.”
“…You know,” You began, standing in your place as Alastor walked away, “You should at least act like you care about my opinion, maybe act like a husband, as well.” You snapped back, but in a more calm, collected tone. (minus the shakiness in your voice.)
“That’s rich coming from you.” Alastor snapped back, turning around to face you again. “What did I ever do to deserve such a self-righteous wife?” He raised his voice a bit, but not enough for others to hear. “How dare you assume things about me without even asking. How dare you come here and make demands of me. How dare you try to control me.” He continued yelling, walking towards you. “You have no right to tell me what to do! I don’t have to explain myself to you!”
“I’m not trying to control you. I’m just saying, maybe you could at least consider what I have to say sometimes…” You tried to say bravely, but failed at the end. You felt so small. So insignificant.
You felt like nothing.
Alastor was now right in front of you, towering above you. His height and stature were intimidating, but his voice was worse. It was rough and demanding, making you feel like you weren’t worth anything. “You are nothing, nothing compared to me.” He sneered. “I don’t give a damn about what you think. What you say. What you do. You’re just a pathetic little sinner who has no idea what real power feels like. You’re not worthy of my time. You’re not worthy of my attention. You’re not worthy of my love.” He spat out the last word like it tasted sour in his mouth.
His words were cutting through your heart, and you couldn’t take it anymore.
You dashed away to the nearest staircase, needing to get to your office. Your only safe space.
***
It has been about a week now since the fight you and Alastor had.
It had also been a week since you came out of your office.
You didn’t really leave your office because, one, it had a fridge of food and other things. Two, you had a makeshift bed with the couch. And three, why would you even go out there?
Only problem is, you’ve cried everyday, and that made you feel like complete imp-shit.
You really wanted to see Alastor, but you knew it wouldn’t end well.
You also didn’t want to be around anyone else, either.
***
Alastor was a gentleman to all women who deserved so.
An example he would give you is Rosie. He’s a gentleman to her because she’s nice to him and has manners. She deserves it.
But, if he was near Velvette, he would call her cruel names and shred all her ‘designer masterpieces’.
But, now he was confused.
What happened with Y/N?
He had never fought like that with her before no, usually she would be next to him in bed right now.
He was starting to miss her.
…he needed to give her an apology.
But he knew he wasn’t good with words.
So, he brainstormed.
“I could probably give her a heart…” He thought, stepping out of bed and pondering for a moment, “…no, no….maybe…some flowers?…” he looked over to his bayou. “…Allergies.”
He slumped onto his armchair and looked around his room for any ideas at all.
“…maybe some candy? No.” He thought, “She doesn’t eat much sweets.”
He sat there for a while longer, thinking.
Then it hit him.
***
You heard footsteps outside your door, and immediately froze. You looked around your room for any escape route, and found none. You decided to sit back down on your couch, and began to wait for whoever was there to leave.
The footsteps stopped outside your door, and a knock sounded out. “Y/N, open the door.” Alastor’s voice was stern and commanding. “I know you’re in there.” He added.
You opened the door slowly, and peeked out to see who it was.
“Hello, darling.” Alastor said with a warm smile. “Can I come in?”
You just stared at him, saying nothing
‘fuck’, he thought, ‘i caused this.”
“Y/N, I just want to apologize.” He finally said, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I was wrong.”
“…you don’t mean that.” You replied, still not moving.
“I do mean it, darling. Please jsut…let me in.” Alastor said sincerely, taking a step forward.
You hesitated for a moment, then moved aside to let him in. He closed the door behind him and stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, unsure of what to do or say next.
Then, your eyes wandered to the large picture album he was holding to his side.
“Alastor…what’s that?” You asked, taking a step back cautiously.
“…it’s our picture album.” He looked at you, remaining calm. “…from…when we were alive. You know, with all those crappy photos.” He smiled softly.
You looked up at him, “…I’m scared.”
Alastor knew exactly why, as well.
He sighed, “I promise…I will keep myself contained if i ever, ever lash out like that… ever again.” He claimed, tears building up in his eyes.
“What i said back there was not true at all. You are everything to me, you are worth so much, and most of all, I love you.” He dropped the book to the floor and held out his arms to hug you.
You didn’t move, “…I don’t want to be here…” You said, letting a tear fall.
He nodded, “That’s okay, dear, let’s go to our room, okay?” He reassured, picking the book back up and holding you tight to his waist as the shadows consumed you both, talking you to his room.
***
You and Alastor missed this.
Limbs tangled together in bed, holding each other close, breathing in each other’s scents, you wish you had this sooner.
Alastor flipped a page of the album, “Oh look,” He noticed, pointing his claws to the first picture in the album, “It’s our cat, oh, what was his name again?” He asked, looking at you.
You were still crying.
He took a deep breath, “Y/n,” he exhaled, “It’s okay, dear…please don’t think about it.”
You looked at him, “w-what?” you said, wiping your cheek.
He ran a claw through your hair, “Nothing.” He said, smiling softly.
You put your head on his shoulder, “Okay,” you mumbled into his chest, closing your eyes and enjoying his scent.
He stroked your hair, “Do you remember our wedding day?” He asked.
You shook your head, “…no, I don’t…it was too long ago…” you said, sniffling.
He kissed the top of your head, “That’s alright, sweetheart, we have plenty of time to talk about it.” He assured you, pulling you closer to him.
You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. You felt safe in his arms. Safe and loved.
Alastor flipped the pages until he found the wedding pictures, “Oh, here we are. Look, see how my mother walked you through the aisle?” He rubbed the picture with his thumb, rethinking back the memory.
“…yeah…I remember now…” You snuggled closer into him, trying to control your ragged breathing.
“…just breathe daring.” He reminded you, “Look here, you see how much you’ve changed?” He laughed softly, flipping another page, “See here? Here you are at our anniversary dinner, you wore that beautiful dress that made your legs look amazing.” He blushed lightly, “I remember you told me I was the only one allowed to see it.”
You giggled, “…that was a joke, silly.” You said, opening your eyes and smiling up at him.
“Ah, yes, I know.” He smiled back,
“…You’re so precious to me, y’know that?” He said, leaning down and kissing your forehead.
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NOTES: Idk what i was thinking when i made this fic erm…! Idk I’ve been going thru some shit rn but I’ve gotta impress the community because the notes/likes/comments/reblogs on my posts aren’t doing to good rn!! Oh no!!! (that is a sign from my greedy ass) And i just started a multi-chapter fic so like idk why i’m typing this- support is appreciated. BAI!!
#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor x wife reader#alastor#hazbin alastor x reader#alastor x you
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my acotar unpopular opinions
taking this time to come out as an acotar reader. yes i've read all the books and i've spent way too much time thinking about it. i enjoy the books in the sense that i enjoy hating on many of the characters and loving a few of the others.
be forewarned inner circle fans. you will not like this.
rhysand is not a 'morally grey' character. he's a rapist and a groomer. he sexually assaulted feyre utm, he groomed her (reminder that she was 19 in acotar), and he withheld important medical information from her. 'you'll always have a choice' my ass.
nesta telling feyre about her pregnancy was not a bad thing. why do people act like it is? 'oh she did it to hurt feyre' hurt her by doing what? revealing the lies that her beloved husband had woven? revealing the fact that she'd die giving birth? the fact that rhysand told literally everybody but feyre?
mor is not the champion for women everyone thinks she is. this i will give to sjm it is truly impressive to make a character like women and still be a pick me. i'm not even going to go into her whole weird ass relationship with her dad (i still don't understand why she wouldn't just kill him. 'oh rhys needed the army' rhys is supposed to be the most powerful high lord ever. either admit he's a fucking loser or give me an actual good reason for this) or the fact she's seemingly incapable of doing anything to help the women in the court of nightmares, but everytime she was mentioned, i had to let out a heavy sigh and rub my temples.
on a similar topic. i liked eris. like a lot. out of all the acotar characters sjm has written, eris is by far my favorite.
the inner circle needs to sit the fuck down. they are the most hypocritical bitches i've ever met. they like to think themselves high and mighty. reading them make fun of lucien's band of exiles while their name is literally 'court of dreamers' was the most infuriating thing ever. and then they have the gall to be insulted when called out. don't dish what you can't take.
out of all the inner circle, the only one i don't hate is azriel. this is simply because he is the only one who hasn't opened his big fat mouth and done something bad (except if you maybe count his whole thing with elain). cassian is on my hit list. it's on sight with cassian.
nessian is sjm's worst ship and i will stand by that. lucien/nesta could have been so much. 'nesta would have ripped lucien apart' and cassian was your first choice? not even azriel was considered? like be so for real right now. sjm didn't see the potential of lucien/nesta and i will forever mourn that.
sjm is a terrible writer. i'm not saying this to be mean but she seriously just sucks at it. that being said i admire her ability to still make millions of dollars off her shitty writing. as a woman, i am rooting for her. as a reader, every day i wake up a shoot a prayer to the heavens begging the gods to not let sjm write any more books from the inner circle's pov.
lucien/elain is better than azriel/elain. argue with the wall.
eris/azriel is better than azriel/elain. you can kiss my ass.
NESTA/ERIS IS BETTER THAN RHYSAND/FEYRE. i know this because i have been enlightened.
feyre is a victim to rhysand. that being said, she is also a major bitch. both can be true because these things are not mutually exclusive. i wish she could make friends outside of the ic like nesta did, but i know that's unlikely.
feyre's pregnancy storyline was completely useless and went against her whole character.
acomaf retconned everything about tamlin and feyre's relationship in order to make more money. idc.
tamlin gets a ridiculous amount of hate. rhysand is hypocritical. so tamlin locking feyre in a house because she wants to ride out with him into potential danger is terrible and abusive, but rhysand locking nesta in the house of wind for... *checks notes*... having sex and spending money on alcohol is helping her? what?
#anti rhysand#anti sjm#anti inner circle#anti acotar#rhysand critical#inner circle critical#acotar#acotar critical#pro nesta#anti nessian#pro eris vanserra#anti mor#this might be a controversial one
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Hey love, hope your all right. So Hoe about dazai with an s/o who always acts cheery and all childish like him in order to hide their immense trauma. So whenever someone scolds Them bit too loud reader flinches but again brushes it off?? ❤️
SRRY IS THIS TOO LIKE ANGSTY I RLLY AM CRAVING FOR HURT TO COMFORT RN----
You don't have to do it BTW ^^
"it's okay... to not feel happy all the time."
taglist : @justcallmesakira @riiwrites @silverbladexyz @atlasnessie
warnings : angst to comfort, lowercase writing, cursing, mention of past abuse, evil exes(heheh scott pilgrim), kunikida is SOOOO out of character holy shiiitttt (╥﹏╥) not proofread, sorry!!
HAII BABEEEE!!! consider your cravings feed!! i'm actually like this irl omg is that why i'm so excited to write this???? hope you enjoy
i love dazai so much :( my back hurts from slouchinggg i'll have back problems by the time i'm fricking twenty!!!!
osamu dazai x gn reader
dazai
HEADCANONS ₊˚ෆ
you are so cute.
almost everyday is a new adventure for him when he's with you.
he's the first thing you see in the morning.
he opens his eyes and your all in his face like; "hi, sisters!!" and he literally shrieks, but don't tell anybody.
you start tickle fights with him all the time when you seem to be in an upset mood or just want to hear him laugh, but can you ever win?
he will play along with you because too be honest; he is just as childish as you are from time to time. ESPECIALLY when he's with you!!
you grab his arm a lot and jump up and down when something really gets you excited.
once, kunikida agreed to use his card to buy you some ice cream at the fair and you grabbed onto dazai's arm and almost slapped him in the face with his own hand.
he's never really understood why you get so like that over something so childish.
be glad it's not fyodor; SHEESH.
until, one evening.
you screwed up on a mission with atsushi; too which caused kunikida to throw his anger out on you. all the two of you were ordered to do, was to steal the documents you were ordered to retrieve in order to take down this small organization of scary gifted (not the port guys; •⤙•)
atsushi had to save you from a sudden attack, injuring him in the process, having no other choice but to retreat.
yosano treated him up right away.
atsushi noticed the way your arms would flinch up to your face each time kunikida would raise his voice, but honestly kunikida was just ranting about how stupid it was for you to get distracted over such a childish thing like a stray kitten.
he gave kunikida a look, saying to calm down and just go rage somewhere else without having you in the room.
after that you mentioned none of this to dazai; however atsushi thought telling him the way you reacted would be the right thing to do as both your friends.
SCENARIO ₊˚ෆ
"HOW can you be so careless, y/n?!"
it was almost like you felt a knife stab through your rib.
over and over for the past couple minutes kunikida has been going off about you getting distracted on the mission you and your weretiger friend, atsushi nakajima, were assigned on.
"i thought you would be perfect for this job because of how focused you were on all our other missions. WHAT HAPPENED?"
you gulped on your spit, your arms shalking from the once again booming voice come from kunikida.
it was a simple mistake-
"SIMPLE??"
atsushi side eyed you to see how you were holding as he was just awkwardly standing beside you as kunikida continued to just shout at you.
he would noticed your lips tremble ever so slightly, you head held down low as your fingers played with the fabric of your pants as you plucked up the courage to finally speak; "i'm sorry, kunikida. i didn't mean to screw up-"
"we'll, you wouldn't have to be sorry if you had just DONE YOUR JOB!"
your eyes were fixated on the floor still as you took in a deep breath, "jesus, i knew you were childish, but y/n what the fuck!?"
he swore.
atushsi was also getting a bit uncomfortable at kunikida's screaming session.
"atsushi got hurt on this mission, y/n, because you!"
without another word, you ran past atsushi who reached out t grab you back, however kunikida told him to let you go as he sat at his desk, removing his glasses, rubbing the bridge is nose.
with a frown he watched as you ran, looking at the carpeted floor to notice some tear stains following the exit.
you ran.
and ran, and ran, and ran.
into on coming traffic, past strangers who complained when you accidently bumped into them, and to yours and dazai's apartment.
there you were now. standing in the lobby of the apartment, the security guard awkwardly looking at you as you entered the elevator that has opened after a couple of seconds of waiting.
you used the mirror to look at yourself in as you quickly tried to wipe the tears away from your face, and maybe any makeup you may have had on? does it matter, it all melted away anyways!
your floor arrived, and the ding from the elevator dinged as you exit it and slowly walk toward the door of your home.
you fumbled for your keys that were in your pocket, even after all that running and bumping you did to get here, hands shaking with fear.
kunikida's voice echoed through your head; "are you really that childish? he never seemed to care...why does he have to shout?? there's no need for it, no? and even atsushi was there, double the embarrassment!!"
"'donna!?"
dazai's voice rang through your head as you looked up at him at the door step. oh, right, you unlocked the door but have yet to open it, causing osamu to do it for you.
"i thought you were at work, your shift doesn't end till..oh, well you still have 35 minutes?"
you pushed the thoughts in your head in the back of your mind, and gave him the biggest smile you could muster and hugged him, giggling and spinning around until you reached inside.
"don't worry, i just felt like coming home early to see my handsome and amazing boyfriend, who promised me ice cream waffles when i did get home!"
dazai chuckled, grabbing you by the waist and using his foot to close the door, managing to keep you in the air with one hand as he quickly used the other one to lock the door behind the two of you.
"well, i can tell someone's been excited all day?" you giggled, although your throat hurts from crying so much on the way here, dazai hadn't had seem to notice.
or so you think.
he placed you on the couch, gently kissing your lips before slowly pulling away. your eyes were still closed as he did and a smile on your face.
"feel free to choose whatever you like, my dear~" he taps the remote for the tv on your head and hands it to you; "well thank you kindly, my...man?"
he smiled at your cute comeback, causing you both to giggle as he walked to the kitchen.
you could hear him to rattle around with the toaster and opening and closing of fridges and freezers, probably for the ice cream.
when he was out of sight, you checked to feel anymore tears on your eyes and sniffled softly, not knowing dazai had already figured everything out.
"so, how was my sweethearts day, today? make any new friends?"
you chuckled, knowing he meant about the stray kittens you always seem to run to.
"it was alright, what about yours?" you tried to change the focus onto him, but he was smarter then that.
"mm, boring without my angel. day-off's are so sad without you," you heard the sound of the waffle popping out of the toaster, "didn't you have that mission today with atsushi? tell me, how did that go?
he expected the sudden silence that had filled the room. he scooped vanilla ice-cream into a small bowl for you; and only you, as he hummed.
"'donna, don't go quiet now. talk to me..."
you felt the tears roll back again. it was that voice that made you all emotional again. it was so soft and gentle, almost as if he's whispering into your when he's on the opposite of the room.
you took a shaky deep breath in as you stopped clicking the buttons on the remote, you stared at it, your hands shaking once again as you tried to control your crying.
dazai had a blank face was he added whip cream to top of the dish, and finally emerged from the kitchen...his eyes immediately on your figure which was seated on the couch, right where he left you, however your cute and childish personality wasn't.
he slowly walked over to you, his eyes drifting away from you to place the bowl on the table in front of you. you looked down to take a look at the dish; it was a waffle and ice cream scooped into it, like it's own bowl, and whip cream on the sides to give it the mountain shape, "you can do more then stare at it, ya'know?" he smiled, sitting beside you suddenly and wrapped an arm around your shoulder.
you felt yourself suddenly start crying; to which he pouts at; "it was first mission, darling, there will always be more-"
"IT'S NOT ABOUT ME FAILING IT!"
he looked at you like wide eyes and nod; "something more?"
you sighed loudly and hugged yourself, "it's just-" you kept stuttering due to your lack of breath from your sobbing,
"take your time, it's alright." he gently scratches your scalp to sooth you.
"kunikida...gohot so mahad...he...he yelled, he swore at him, he got close to my face...ahand the..thehe thoughts..ihi..ihi could only thihink abouhut my ex...whoho would do the sahame when i screhw something uhup.."
although you kept sniffling and breathing hard through, dazai understood each and every word.
his hands moved to rub the back of your neck, as his other held your hand tightly as you cuddled into him, your tears staining his dress shirt.
"ihi...just got schahared...ihi just whanted to...to have you...buhut i didn't want to bohother you with my prohoblems.."
dazai couldn't believe was he was hearing.
you, giving him problems about your mental health? what are you, MAD?? no, just insecure. which he understood completely.
"may i?" he asks, taking your cheeks in his one palm, making you look at him. not knowing what you agreeing to, he suddenly pulls you in for a tender, soft kiss.
you almost forgot what his kisses felt like, all the memories of your ex made you almost forget you have found somebody new, who will never, ever, want to hurt you without having any sense of what he's talking about.
moments later, he pulled away, placing his forehead to yours's as tears spilled from your eyes; however these were the tears that brought joy and happiness to your relationship.
he was never good with the words of comfort, however this is the reason why he is learning to be better, for you.
"there are bad, bad people in this world, and sometimes they change, some don't. i would know, but that doesn't mean everyone has such an evil heart. like you.." he chuckled, poking your chest, "you have such a pure heart, only the kindest of souls could ever have a chance to ever get close to it and open up to it. kunikida is just a grumpy man, when things don't go as planned he just goes.."
dazai circled his finger by his temple, causing that adorable smile to appear on your face.
"oh, there's that smiiile~" he laughed as he suddenly dig his long fingers into your soft sides, causing you to squeal and laugh immediately, "theres that smile, yeaah, awh~ your so cute, i could just eat you up-"
"DAHAZAI!"
you screeched when he nibbles on your neck, now tickling your upper ribs as well.
all those nasty thoughts that were in the back of your mind, dazai has a way of taking them and tossing them out the window and making sure you go to sleep with that cute smile on your face every night.
#bsd#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs#bsd x reader#bungo stray dogs x reader#bsd x y/n#bsd headcanons#dazai x reader#osamu dazai#dazai osamu#osamu dazai x reader#dazai osamu x reader#bsd dazai x reader#bsd dazai#x reader#bsd fluff#fluff#bsd comfort#angst to fluff#bungou stray dogs dazai#dazai fluff#dazai x you#dazai bsd#gender neutral reader#reader insert#my writing#๋࣭ ⭑ rue writes 🖋
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Double Tap
House We Share: Double Tap, Sfumato, Good Comes In 3
Summary: You were hesitant when your friends told you about their other friend who needed a roommate. Living with a man, let alone a Naval aviator, isn't your ideal living situation. However, you are desperate to get out of your current house. So, you will have to suck it up and make a deal with Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Now you just wish he would stop doing things that make you fall in love with him.
Pairings: Jake "Hangman Seresin x Fem! Civilian! Reader, minor Javy "Coyote" Machado x OC
Word count: 19k
AO3 LINK
Warnings: Abuse (Implied and mentioned), confrontation with Abuser, Child abuse (mentioned), Slow burn, Implied calorie counting, routines and compulsions, Jigsaw puzzles, taxes, Neurodivergent coded! Hangman, Fiscally responsible!Hangman, Protective!Hangman. Please let me know if I missed any for this part, I know it is a long one.
Authors Note: This got so completely out of hand. It started as one scene and then grew a mind of its own. Part two is written, just not edited, I'm planning on having that done later this week. Hangman Coyote BFF supremacy. I apologize for writing the most hyper-specific!Jake you have probably ever read. 85% of his personality is just things I find attractive in men.
Thank you so much if you take a chance to read this work. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.
You had been at your friend Marlee's house for almost an hour before she couldn't stop herself from confronting you. She had at least let you get settled and offered you a drink while pretending to be distracted by the lasagna she was making. She had spun towards you expectantly when it was in the oven, having reached her limit on waiting.
"What happened?" Marlee asks.
"It's nothing." You respond.
"It is something. I don't want to reread your texts back to you, babes."
"Marls," you sigh, briefly closing your eyes, trying to fight the exhaustion you feel.
"You can't live there anymore. We need to get you out."
"Yeah, let me just move and find a place to live. It's not that easy, Marlee."
She sighs heavily. "I know, babes, but at least stay here with Javy and me. If he touches you like that again."
"It was just a one-time thing," you quickly cut her off. But, from the pitying look in her eyes, she knows it hasn't been just this one time.
"If something happened."
"Nothing is going to happen." Marlee was too bright and too good of a friend. She knew something had already happened, and she knew things had been happening. Her frown and eyebrow raise say it all.
"I can't just crash here," you say.
"You are always, always welcome."
"You are," a voice pops up, and you both look over to the couch. You thought Marlee's husband, Javy, was thoroughly invested in the game he was playing on his Xbox, but it turns out he had an ear on your conversation.
It wasn't something that bothered you. You loved Javy, he had been an excellent partner to Marlee, and you considered him a friend. He was fun and easygoing, something you hadn't expected from a Navy man. You also weren't bothered because everyone knew they were the type of couple that told each other absolutely everything. So, Javy would have found out one way or another.
"I know that. Thanks, you two." You tell them, trying to get them off your back.
"Marlee is right. We can't have anything happening to you."
"Nothing is going to happen to me, Javy," you say, now trying to reassure them and stop this unnecessary worrying.
"You know. I have a friend who has actually been looking for a roommate." Javy says.
"You do?" you ask, surprised you hadn't heard about this sooner.
"Yeah, I mean, he can be a lot. But he is a good guy and a great roommate."
"Who ?" Marlee cuts in.
"Jake."
"Hangman?"
"Yeah, Hangman." The two of them stare at each other, and you can see that they are having one of those conversations of glances and small expressions you weren't entirely privy to understanding.
Marlee then shrugs, nodding, and looks back at you, "It would be a nice safe place."
"I mean, it's an option and would be a nicer place to stay than anything else you'll find. Plus, someone who is not a total stranger as a roommate." Javy tells you. He pulls off his headset and makes his way to the kitchen. He sets his hand on your shoulder and gives you a kind smile.
"I'm not sure about living with a man."
"If you don't want to live with Jake or you aren't interested, we will find somewhere else. Or you stay here with us, but you can't stay there anymore." The seriousness behind Javy's smile isn't lost on you. So you start to slowly nod.
"I guess I could at least chat with your friend if y'all think it's a decent option."
"Yeah, for sure," Javy said with a grin. "I'll ask him about it, then maybe y'all can meet this weekend. We are still having a big bonfire on the beach. I'm sure he will be there."
"Oh, I wasn't planning on going to the bonfire." You start to say, which makes both Javy and Marlee frown.
"Why aren't you coming to the bonfire?"
You tried to think of a valid excuse beyond that being in open public spaces was terrifying to you right now. An excuse past the fact that you knew your bruises wouldn't be gone by Saturday.
"I've just been stressed about finding a place to live, you know." You gave them both a weak smile, but neither of your friends seemed appeased.
"Well, now you have a reason to come," Marlee says.
"Yeah, exactly, and I'll talk to Jake." Javy presses a kiss to your forehead and then a lingering one to Marlee's lips. He returns to the couch, but not before looking at you seriously. "You know if you ever need anything, you call us?"
"Sir, yes sir," you tell him with a laugh, making Marlee giggle too.
Even with Javy's reassurances, you are unsure about this whole idea. However, whoever this friend Jake is, you know he had to be better than your current living situation. After dinner, Marlee and Javy both reiterate their feelings on the whole issue before you leave their house. You did your best to wave them off and tell them you would see them in a few days.
When Saturday rolls around, you head to the pin Marlee sent you for the bonfire. You are thankful it is a cooler day and will only be colder once the sun sets. It allows you to not look so out of place in your conservative clothes, ensuring all your bruises are covered.
You arrive purposefully late and park far from the beach. By the time you make it to the group of people, you have sufficiently hyped yourself up to interact with the others. You decide to ease yourself into the party. You walk around the different coolers, opening them and investigating the available drink options.
You are in the middle of shuffling through one when you hear a voice behind you.
"Anything specific I can help you find, sweetheart?" You turn around and are met with one of the most attractive men you have ever met. He is tall, with dirty blonde hair and a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose.
"I'm just browsing," You tell the man with a shrug, proud of yourself for being able to put together a sentence.
"I think I know what would be perfect for you, sweetheart.
"Oh really?"
"Yeah," He says, flashing you a grin. His smile makes something in your stomach swoop a tiny bit.
"And, what would that be?" you say, raising an eyebrow.
"Me, of course."
You can't help the shocked laugh that falls out of your throat. Which just makes his handsome smile widen.
"I was thinking something a bit stronger, actually."
"I know I look like a tall glass of water but let me tell you, I won't disappoint you."
"Well, looks certainly can be deceptive."
"That's true. Are you really as sweet as you look?"
Before you can answer, you hear Javy's voice to your right. "Oh good, you two already met."
You turn your head to see Javy jogging over. He stops next to you with a smile on his face. You process his words and feel your stomach drop. The incredibly handsome man you were trying to flirt with was Javy's friend. Javy's friend he thought you could live with.
"There haven't been any formal introductions," you say.
"Jake Seresin," he says. He sticks out his hand, waiting for you to shake it. You take his hand, give it a firm shake, and share your name. He repeated it softly, giving your hand an extra squeeze before letting go.
"Javy said you are looking to move," Jake says casually. Your voice seems stuck in your throat. You examine Jake's handsome face again and know you can't do this.
"Yeah, she is. Soon, too." Javy says after you haven't said anything leaving an awkward pause.
"I have lots of space."
"Oh well, you know." You say, trying to figure out what to say by saying nothing at all. Jake nods along with you, but his eyebrows pull close together while his eyes narrow.
"Plus, Jake is really clean," Javy adds.
"That is good to know. Maybe Jake and I can talk about it later?" You say, giving both of them a smile. You turn back to the coolers and grab the first drink you see.
"Yeah, we can talk about it later. Javy owes me a spike ball game anyways," Jake says. He flashes you another smile while grabbing a High Noon out of the cooler, gesturing for Javy to do the same. You leave them to find Marlee and chat with some other people at the party.
You are considering how to best say goodbye and leave the party while sitting next to the fire later. You stare into the flames hoping they might provide you answers.
"You would actually be doing me a huge favor by moving in, "Jake says to you casually. You are startled by his sudden presence, and you look over at him, quirking an eyebrow in response.
"Oh really?"
"Yeah. I haven't had a roommate for a while, and I would prefer someone who isn't in the military. I don't want to bring work and ranks home. You know?"
"Oh yeah, sure, that makes sense," you say, following his line of logic.
"Also, rent these days is," Jake doesn't finish the sentence, instead just whistling quietly.
"Yeah, rent is expensive," you laugh. You find it much easier to talk to Jake if you don't have to look directly out at him.
"You don't have to let me know right now, but I don't have any issues with it."
"We haven't talked about it much," you tell him, surprised he had decided so quickly.
"There is this saying that beggars can't be choosers."
"I would want a roommate contract. Is that okay?"
"Yeah, that would be fine by me, Sugar."
"Okay, cool, but we should think about it."
"Tonight is a party, and we are supposed to be having fun. Not doing business. So, why don't you text me, and we will hash out the details this week. Plus you can see the place, which you would probably want. Maybe you could move in next weekend if we can work it all out?"
Part of you thought you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, so you decided to text Jake throughout the week to hash out the details. And the next thing you know, Javy, Marlee, and Jake are helping you move your stuff.
Living with Jake wasn't as hard as you worried it would be. In fact, it was much easier than you were anticipating. Jake led his life with strict regiment and routine. It was something that stretched beyond that he was in the military.
Jake would wake up in the mornings and go on a run before coming home, making breakfast, showering, and going to work. Then he would come home, change and go to the gym, come home, shower again because he needed to, and then eat dinner. Every night if you were home while he was cooking, Jake would always offer you some. That leads you to find out he is a phenomenal chef.
Then Jake would read in the large armchair in the living room and half-watch whatever you put on the TV to watch yourself. He only requested to use the TV when one of his sports teams was playing or on Wednesday nights, where he would spend an hour and a half playing Animal Crossing with his niece while they facetime.
You had told Jake that the TV was his, and he didn't have to ask you to use it. Jake just laughed and shrugged before telling you he wasn't the biggest TV guy. Jake had been telling the truth when he said that. You realized that Jake was more interested in his books. If he wasn't reading a book, he sat silently with one of his sudoku puzzles and country music playing on vinyl. Then Jake would go to bed after whatever chores he deemed he should do.
It was a strictly followed pattern, only differing on Fridays when he would sometimes go out to a bar with the guys or sometimes Saturdays. However, even on the weekends, he would follow the schedule closely. Regardless if he had gone to the bar, he would still wake up outrageously early in the morning, work out, do chores, and then go to the gym again. Sometimes Jake would venture out of the house to see his friends, but more often than not, he was reading or in the workshop in the garage with some project.
Marlee had not prepared you for how amazingly hot Jake was. When you moved in, he had been very polite, if a bit curt. Never venturing to flirt with you again like when you first met. As the weeks living with Jake passed, though, he definitely warmed up to you. But still never pushed the roommate line between you.
You worked hard to push your attraction for Jake to the side or shove it into a safe in the back of your mind. That was a challenging task to accomplish because, just like Javy said, Jake was very clean. It wasn't that he was a clean freak per se, but he was definitely an orderly and well-kept person. Everything in the house had a place it belonged.
Jake always did his dishes and tidied up after himself in your common areas. He also never leaves any of his laundry waiting around. You had watched in a mix of awe and horror the first time he pulled out clothes from the dryer within five minutes of the machine going off. Then Jake started folding, halfway through the laundry, stoping to pull out an iron and ironing board.
The sight was all so attractive that you had to excuse yourself upstairs. That was something that you often had to do. Anytime you felt heat build in you towards your roommate, you would quickly excuse yourself. You knew giving into your attraction for Jake in any shape or form would not lead anywhere good. You needed a place to live, and this place you had with Jake was way too good to risk anything.
Given his career choice, it was not entirely surprising how regimented Jake is. However, what did surprise you was when he started to incorporate you into his routines in small ways. Jake would automatically set out an extra plate for you when cooking, and picks up snacks you like from the store. One day you come home and find a second shoe rack by the door just for you. On the days you had to be up for work, you would find that Jake had already put your morning drink together for you when he returned from the gym and was making his own breakfast. You like the steady rhythm and consistency that living with Hangman provides you. It's seamless and easy to fall into step with him.
You had been living with Jake for a few months, and things were going really well, almost too well you sometimes felt like it was too good to be true. Your nightmares weren't as frequent. You get full nights sleep and feel comfortable here with Jake. The only times you don't feel content are the times that you think about how hot Jake is. Or when Jake does something that makes it hard not to try and smash your lips against his in a heated, passionate kiss.
Then one day, you get home from work, and worry suddenly sweeps over you as you glance at your phone and realize what time it is. The house is completely dark and quiet. Jake should have been home several hours ago and on his way to the gym already. In fact, right about now was when he should have been getting home from the gym.
You resist the urge to call Jake and check that he is okay. You know that action would be overstepping the roommate boundaries that exist clearly between you. You tell yourself it's silly to worry all because he wasn't following the schedule you made up for him in your head. It's not like Jake had ever written down his routine and given it to you. Maybe today was a special anniversary, or maybe he had after-work plans you didn't know about.
Your worry is eased about twenty minutes later when you hear Jake's truck pull into the driveway, followed by the garage door rumbling open. You find yourself easing further into the couch, some of the tension you weren't wholly conscious of easing out of your body.
Jake comes in, and you cut your eyes over to see him still in his flight suit. He doesn't say anything to you as he unlaces and kicks off his shoes. He passes you while walking to the stairs and manages a short but gruff hello. Then, without another word, he is gone. You stare after his back in shock. Something is definitely not right with Jake.
He left his shoes sprawled on the ground by the door. It was not a sight you had ever seen in the house, not even the times Jake had stumbled home drunk and giggly. Jake always pulled off his boots, neatly tucking the laces in and then setting them up on his small shoe rack by the door.
You get up from the couch and walk over to fix his shoes, tucking in the laces. You tell yourself it is so no one will trip over them, not for any other reason. Then you hear Jake's shower turn on, and the water runs much longer than the twenty-minute showers you are used to him taking. It all feels so odd and out of place. You decide to make some pasta for dinner, convinced Jake is planning on not eating at all with how far he is off his schedule.
You are just finishing dinner when the water in his bathroom finally shuts off. Then fifteen more minutes later, Jake comes downstairs in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a thread-bare Annapolis shirt. He appears to be looking around downstairs, almost a bit dazed and lost.
"I made dinner. How about you have some?" You call out to him from the kitchen. Jake follows your voice to the kitchen and looks at the food you have made and dishes up. Hesitantly he sits down at the table.
"If you don't mind."
"Of course not. I know this may shock you since you normally cook, but I can do it too."
"I've never thought that you couldn't cook." Jake quickly responds.
"I know, Jake. I'm just teasing you. Now eat up."
Jake follows orders and takes a bite of the pasta, letting out a small groan. "So good," he mumbles before taking another bite.
"Do you want the macros?" You ask him conversationally after eating in silence for a few minutes.
"Oh. No, thank you. I appreciate you making something and sharing. No need for you to put in extra work. I will be fine not tracking my macros for one meal," Jake says.
"Okay," you say and give him the kindest smile you can think of. You don't want to push him on why he isn't okay. However, you can't stop yourself from sliding the piece of paper you wrote the macros on across the table to him anyways.
Jake stares at the note card for a long moment and then looks up at you. It's not a look you have ever seen on your roommate's face before. You aren't entirely sure how to decipher the way his green sea-glass eyes are gleaming back at you. He folds the paper once before putting it in his pocket.
Jake clears his throat, and the edges of his lips quirk up. "Thank you."
"Of course, anytime, Jake," you say back. He puts away his plate a few minutes later after finishing his food. Then packs up the leftovers into some tupperware.
"I'm going to bed," Jake tells you. Jake doesn't even stop to grab the current book he is in the middle of from where it is placed next to his chair in the living room.
The moment Jake disappears up the stairs, you are frowning again, considering his behavior. It bugged you, something clearly was off, but you weren't in the position to ask him what it was. As you start to settle down for the evening, you notice that Jake had put it in the laundry basket next to the washer that morning. Seeing that you knew he originally had every intention of starting it before going to the gym that night something that never happened.
You briefly considered that maybe it isn't normal how you have memorized his routine, but also maybe that was just part of living with Jake. You didn't even think before you were throwing his laundry in the washer for him. You stay up to put the clothes in the dryer. Then you find yourself folding items and hanging some of them, not confident that you could iron them correctly. About halfway through the chore, you stop realizing just what you are doing but finish it out, imagining the look on Jake's face when he sees his laundry done. You are in too deep to back out at this point.
🏡🧩🏡
You knew it wasn't the best idea that morning when you had left to go pick up some of your remaining stuff and random mail from where you used to live. However, you didn't expect it to go as badly as it had. You were still shaking from the interaction you had when you got home. Every moment of the interaction repeats over and over in your head. You hazardously throw your keys into your little key bowl, not caring to notice Jake's there as well.
You were still trying to take calming breaths and push away the tears streaming down your face. Standing at the entrance to the living room frozen, you aren't sure if you are actually at home or back there with him.
You startle and jump, letting out a small shriek, hearing a sound in the kitchen. You turn slowly, shocked to see Jake staring at you dressed in his NWUs instead of his flight suit. You are equally surprised by the sight of him home in the middle of the day, in a uniform you rarely see him wear.
The adrenaline of being scared forces your brain into letting go of the nerves and panic you had barely been keeping in check. Tears spring freely from your eyes as you take gasping breaths. J ake sets down the knife he is holding and takes long strides across the room to quickly reach your side. His hands hover near you but don't actually touch.
"What's wrong?" Jake asks in a deep voice.
You just shake your head at him, unable to respond, instead focusing on getting air into your lungs.
"Can I touch you?" Jake asks then, and that does seem okay, so you jerkily nod your head yes.
First, his hands settle lightly on your shoulders. Once it seems like you are okay and comfortable with that. Jake goes a step further and wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. You press your face into the material of his shirt. Your hands come up to bunch it slightly on his chest as you find purchase to clutch him closer.
He makes gentle shushing noises but otherwise doesn't say anything while holding you. He is so warm, and his arms feel strong around you. Jake's hold on you doesn't waiver once while you cry. Only relaxing slightly when your sniffles and crying start to level out and you let go of his shirt.
You take one more deep breath of him. Jake smells of a pleasant mix of his body wash, y'all's fabric softener, and his cologne. Letting the calming effect of the smell flood your system before letting go of your hold on him completely, only then does Jake let his arms slip away.
Pulling away from the hug, you shyly look to see Jake's face. You find that he is already looking at you. For one of the first times since you met him, you don't like how Jake's face looks. There is a soft and sad demeanor that you see in his eyes. His eyebrows crease and his lips are pressed into a flat line. You feel embarrassment and shame flood you. The way that you just broke down and cried on your roommate, fully processing in your muddled tired head.
"You're home," you eventually say, trying to break the ice and put a brave face back on.
"Yeah, I'm not flying today. So, I had the time to come home for lunch."
"Sorry to interrupt." You say, looking down to examine your feet.
"You didn't interrupt anything," Jake reassures you. He goes back to the kitchen, and you watch as he continues to cut ingredients for his salad.
"Do you want me to make you anything?" He asks.
"No, thank you. "You say not feeling even a little hungry.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Jake asks next.
"No, thank you," you say again and settle at the kitchen island to watch Jake cut the veggies and toss them in a big bowl.
"Okay," he says. You like that Jake doesn't push you for things. He respects the boundaries you set and doesn't even try to toe up against them.
"Am I allowed to know why you aren't flying today? I thought someone had broken in. Plus, I hardly recognize you out of a flight suit."
"You don't like these?" Jake asks, looking at the Navy camo print he is wearing as if this uniform suddenly offended him.
"I didn't say that," you tell him, giving a small laugh. Obviously, Jake could make anything look good, even things that shouldn't.
"Can't fly every day." He says with a shrug. "Also, I'm going through some maintenance stuff and checks with my sailors."
You hum, but otherwise, don't comment watching Jake wash the knife and cutting board he had been using then. Then, after he drys them and puts them away, he turns back to you.
"There isn't anything to be embarrassed about," he tries to venture lightly.
"You don't come home and cry on me," you say, frowning.
"You sure about that one?" He asks, shoving a mouthful of salad into his mouth.
"Pretty sure that I would remember such an occasion."
Jake just hums. One of those sounds that makes you feel like he doesn't actually agree. A few bites of his food later, he sets his bowl down. His green gaze is trialed on you, but then he glances at his watch, huffing in annoyance.
There is a slight caving feeling inside you. You feel bad. How much of Jake's lunch have you taken up? You had never actually seen him come home for lunch before, so he must not get a long time.
"I do all the time. Maybe just a bit less of the wet physical crying." Jake tells you, putting a container lid on his bowl.
"You could," you utter to him, a little embarrassed.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, wouldn't bother me if you ever needed to. You know. I'm here for you."
"Thank you, Darlin," Jake says. Then glances at his watch again. "I got ten minutes before I have to go. What would you like to do?"
"I'm fine," you tell him. "You should use that time to eat."
"I'll munch while I'm doing some paperwork later."
That was a lie. You knew that Jake would never eat around paperwork. However, it was the kind of lie that settles warmly. It was one of those lies born with good intentions and made to be soothing. You could never be upset that he is even trying to comfort you at his own expense.
"I don't want to talk about it, Jake." You reiterate again.
"I know, and you don't have to. I won't ask again. However, if you ever decide that you do. I'm here for you too. Always."
"Thank you, Jake. You're a really good roommate."
"I hope you can consider me a friend too?"
"Of course, we are friends too," you reassure him. Jake's lips quirk upwards, his dimples flashing upon hearing that.
"Now, I can't go back to work without seeing at least one smile."
"That's a pretty tall order."
"Well, they don't call me the best for nothing."
"Do they really call you the best or is that something you just tell people?" You ask him, mostly joking. Jake pretends to take offense, pressing his hand dramatically to his chest.
"Ma'am, you wound me," Jake says, pouting.
"I don't know. I think it is a pretty legitimate question."
"I am the best."
"And how do they determine that exactly? Who the best is."
"Well, there are a lot of ways. Many different factors to consider."
"Oh really?"
"Yup. Also sorts of stuff, but they get us all together once a year, and we have a competition."
"What kind of competition?"
"Only the elite members of the Navy participate. We all take turns sliding."
"Sliding?"
"Yup," Jake confirms, sounding one hundred percent serious. "We set up a huge slip and slide on the carrier runway. You only get three tries, and then we add them for scoring. I may have ripped off all the skin on my chest last year, but it was worth it to win."
You can't help but let out a laugh. You picture Hangman competitively sliding down a yellow tarp that doesn't have enough water on it. It's such a silly concept you aren't sure where he came up with it.
"Ahh there she is," Jake says with a broad smile.
"I never would have thought that was a skill the Navy values."
"Yes, Ma'am. It's actually the second part of the Naval academy mission," Jake tells you, still maintaining a serious tone despite his smile. Then Jake stands up straight to his full height in parade rest.
"To develop Midshipmen morally, mentally and physically and to imbue them with the highest ideals of duty, honor and loyalty in order to graduate leaders who are dedicated to a career of naval service and have potential for future development in mind and character to assume the highest responsibilities of command, citizenship and government." Jake repeats dutifully and then adds. "In addition to putting these ideals to the test by hosting the world's most competitive slip and slide competition. Weirdly, people don't talk about that second part much."
You only laugh harder, shaking your head at him. "Yeah, an absolute mystery. I can't believe that isn't common knowledge."
Jake chuckles along with you. Then you two are interrupted by a timer going off from Jake's phone. He sighs and silents it.
"I'm sorry. I've got to go, sugar. Are you going to be okay?"
"Yeah. I promise I'm okay. Thank you, Jake."
He bites his lip and nods at you going to put in his shoes and lace them back up. "Are you going to be home later?"
"Yeah, I'll be home."
"We could do something if you're feeling up for it. Or I can pick up takeout."
"That's sweet, Jake, but you really don't have to."
"I want to," he says with a shrug. Then checks his reflection in the mirror, making sure he is presentable to go back to work. After that, he turns back to you.
"I'll think about it." You tell him before playfully shoving him out the door so he isn't late. You try not to melt when Jake gives you another hug. You catch his hand just before he is too out of reach.
"Thank you, Jake. For making me smile."
"It's the prettiest thing I've seen all day," Jake says, squeezing your hand with his own. His words muddle your brain a little bit. You don't get to say anything else before he heads off to his truck, waving at you one more time and driving off.
You also pretend you aren't screaming on the inside when Jake comes home from work that night with your favorite food and ice cream. The night feels easy and warm, sitting and eating with Jake. The events of that morning can't cross your mind while Jake tells you all about some of the weird contraband he found in the junior sailors' barracks that day. He is no less than spellbinding.
🏡🧩🏡
Jake is sitting at the kitchen table when you get home from work. He is surrounded by neatly organized papers spread all along the table in various piles. Jake is wearing a button-down, tie, and slacks that make you do a triple-take on him.
"Welcome home," he says, glancing up from his laptop that is open in front of him. That's when you see he also has a pair of glasses on.
"Thank you," you say, slowly making your way to the kitchen but still looking at him.
"What are you working on there?" You ask.
"Oh, I'm doing my taxes," Jake says while giving you one of his winning smiles.
"Taxes?"
"Yes, Ma'am"
"I guess that makes sense," you say while looking around the kitchen for a snack.
After a few minutes of silence, you decide to ask another question. "Do you have a date later?"
You knew Jake dated. A man who looks like that has to date. However, you had yet to see him ever bring someone home, which felt odd considering everything about Jake, and the persona he liked to put on as Hangman.
"No. What makes you ask that?" Jake asks you.
"Oh. I don't know. You're dressed like you are going on a date."
"No, I'm not," he says, looking down at himself.
You laugh at him and shrug. "If you say so."
"I would never wear this on a date," Jake mutters, clearly offended.
"Well, then, why are you wearing it?"
"I'm doing taxes," he says again.
"Yeah, we have covered that. What does that have to do with your clothes?"
"I'm dressed like an accountant," Jake tells you. You can't hold back your giggles at his phrasing and bring a hand up to your mouth to try and stifle them before giving up entirely.
"What? What's so funny?"
"Two things," you say, holding up two fingers, finally biting back your giggles.
"One, the fact that you got dressed up to do your taxes. The second is that being an accountant is a euphemism for being a sex worker." Jake chuckles at your explanation but shrugs.
"Well, Mrs. Celeste said I should always dress for the day. It helps you present your best self. If you dress the part, it helps you act that part." Jake says that like a well memorized and treasured quote. A saying he clearly remembered with much fondness.
"And today is my tax day, so I am dressing like a tax professional. I will have you know. Since I started doing them myself, I have never had one problem with my taxes."
You couldn't help but chuckle more at his explanation and give him a fond smile. Sometimes the way Jake was so perfectly built and attuned for the military was endearing. Of course, a career Naval man would think a uniform was essential for each different activity.
"So, are the glasses part of your tax uniform too?"
He made a show of pushing the said glasses further up his nose. "Yes, Ma'am. They also are blue light blocking, which helps prevent migraines."
You nod along to his explanation. You finish putting together your snack and lean against the kitchen counter while munching on it. "Who is Mrs. Celeste? A teacher?"
Jake's lips flatten slightly before the expression relaxes just as quickly. "No, Mrs. Celeste is my Babula."
"Your Grandmother?" You guess.
"Yeah, sorry. My grandma, but she was strictly Mrs. Celeste growing up, only Babula occasionally."
"I don't think I've met someone who calls their grandparent by their first name."
"Well, not really her first name. You have to be respectful and throw the Miss in there with it. She is a very particular lady."
"Is it a southern thing?"
"Yeah, maybe," he says with a small laugh. The edges of his lips quirk up, and you have to look away from Jake to distract yourself. It is easy to fall into the trap of how beautiful he is, with the sparkle he can get in his eyes. Or how even the smallest of his smiles makes you want to grin back.
"So, how are the taxes?"
"Oh, it's good. I'm almost finished up."
"Awesome, congrats Jake."
"Have you done yours?" He asks you.
You shake your head and roll your eyes at the idea. "No, I definitely haven't."
"But you got your W2s in the mail last week."
"Jake, are you snooping through my mail?"
He raises both his hands up in defense. "No, I'm not! W2s just have a very particular look."
"I'm just kidding. I know you wouldn't snoop through my mail. Yeah, I got them, but I've been busy. I guess I should make a Tax Masters appointment or something."
That crease in between Jake's eyebrows appears, the one that haunts you, that you pretend you don't obsess over. Followed by a small frown.
"Tax Master?" He asks, clearly appalled. You shrug back at him, not entirely seeing the issue.
"I could do them for you," Jake says, then quickly adds on. "I mean, I can help you do them. If you have the time. I'm already dressed for it, and I won't charge you or anything."
"Oh no, Jake, that is so sweet, but I can't ask you to do that."
"No, really, I wouldn't mind. I think it would be fun. Plus, then you will have it done, and you won't have to worry about it."
"Really, thank you so much, but it's fine."
Jake's frown deepens at your answer, and he seems almost genuinely upset at your denial of his help. The warm feeling in your chest likes to flip over and grow a little bit more each time he is too sweet in moments like these.
"You know Javy warned me that you were an asshole when I was going to move in. However, you have not once lived up to that. You could stand to be less nice to me, Jake." You tell him. You mean it to come off as almost flirty and a bit of a joke. However, it doesn't seem to land with him that way.
The change that comes over Jake isn't something entirely tangible. It is almost like a shift in the air around him rather than anything physical. The way Jake looks at you just feels heavier and more charged. The confidence he always exudes seems to double with how he sits up just the smallest bit straighter but then leans back against his chair casually.
"Go get your W2s." He tells you in a perfectly level tone, but it has a demanding edge.
"Jake," you start to say and roll your eyes at him.
"Nope," Jake says, popping the p. His voice takes on a lower candace, leaving no room for arguments. "I'm not giving you a choice. We are going to do your taxes."
"No, we aren't doing my taxes."
"Yes, I am. I can't be caught not living up to my reputation. So, I'm not going to be nice and accept that you don't want to. This is one of the few situations I won't take no for an answer."
"It was just a joke."
"No, it wasn't," Jake says, giving you a small shrug. You can't tell if he is actually hurt by how he is acting, but you suspect some part of him was twinged at his best friend's description.
"It really was, Jake. Javy adores and trusts you. I'm sure he never would have suggested me moving in with you if he actually thought you were an asshole."
"I know I'm an asshole. It's fine, sugar, don't worry. I'm not going to tattle on you telling me that to Coyote."
"You aren't an ass, though. That was my whole point."
Jake just shook his head at your answer. "I am one, and I don't want that to be a surprise when you inevitably witness it."
You aren't sure how to respond to that, so you are relieved when Jake changes the topic. "Now, get your tax stuff, so it doesn't take us all night."
"Okay," you sigh, giving in to defeat. Jake gives you a mega-watt smile, and looks back at his computer screen.
As you are walking up the stairs, you hear him yell across the house. "Dress like your best accountant self!"
"I won't be doing that," you yell back.
"Please! It's important." Jake yells back.
When you are in your room getting all your stuff and paperwork pilled together. You find yourself opening your closet and pulling out an outfit that you could imagine wearing if you were an accountant.
You also spend several minutes too long wondering what would happen if you went back downstairs in the most provocative lingerie you own. After all, Jake didn't specify which type of accountant to dress up as. You wondered if it would be tempting to Jake. Could you provoke him into falling into lust with you? Tempt him enough that he took you on the dining room table on top of all the Tax paperwork? Jake has expressed attraction to women before, so there must be at least some part of him that is at least a little attracted to you.
You smash down your thirsty thoughts and try to screw your head back on straight before it can drift too much off on track. When you get back downstairs, Jake is still at the table. You dump all your stuff on an empty spot there.
Jake looks up from his computer and smiles at you, quirking an eyebrow. Then, Jake speaks to you teasingly, "And here I thought you might dress up as the other type of accountant you were telling me about."
Your brain has no choice but to start short-circuiting, and you open and close your mouth twice. Jake starts shuffling through your paperwork, looking at what you have brought him.
"I ordered us some pizza too," he says before you get out a proper response or say anything teasing back to him.
"Yum. I'm excited," you tell him sliding into a seat and opening up your own laptop.
He stops his shuffling and examination of the papers to level you with a serious look. "Thank you for indulging me, by the way."
"Anything for you, Jake," you tell him and mean it. Unfortunately, the way you feel about your roommate is rapidly spiraling out of the tight control you tried to keep it in.
"I like when we do fun things like this together," Jake says to you, grinning.
"Me too," you tell him. Then add, "Only you would find taxes fun, though, Hangman."
"I am about to show you just how fun taxes can be and how you can get a great return," Jake says, taking your words in stride.
Jake does your taxes almost entirely by himself, only asking occasional questions. He also then organizes all of your paperwork in an extra accordion binder he has. The taxes aren't fun, but spending time with Jake is.
"Thank you," you say to Jake daring to press a soft, affectionate kiss to his cheek. You linger for a moment, the prickle of his end-of-day stubble ticking your lips, but you don't mind it. When you pull back to gauge his reaction, Jake looks almost pained and upset. You worry for a moment that even just a cheek kiss could make him react this way. You briefly thank god you didn't actually try to seduce him earlier.
"Always, anytime." He finally says. However, Jake is now glaring down at his keyboard and not looking at you.
"I hope it wasn't too much trouble," you venture, confused by this mood shift.
"Sugar?"
"Yes, Jake?"
"I don't think you should pay so much rent."
"What?"
"Listen," he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it all out of sorts. "I just don't think it's fair for you to pay so much."
"Of course, it's fair. I live here," you explain.
"Yeah, but no. I get BAH, and I don't have any student loans from school. Plus, the Navy pays me plenty as an officer. I was paying for this place all alone before you moved in anyways."
"I'm not going to pay less rent because you saw my financials and feel bad." You tell Jake quietly, trying not to actively become upset.
"Please don't be so stubborn," he pleads with you.
You cross your arms over your chest, "Take your own advice."
"I'm the one being stubborn?"
"Yes! You are. You are the most stubborn man I have ever met."
Jake's frown deepens, and that sad look in his eyes at your words starts to break through to you. Then he responds, "I'm sorry. I guess I'll try and work on that."
Jake starts meticulously putting things away into different folders. He moves through each of his piles on the table and doesn't spare you a second glance. It leaves a crushing feeling in your chest.
"I'm sorry for snapping at you."
"There is no need to apologize. I'm the one who is sorry." Jake says, shrugging off your apology.
"No, you don't need to apologize. I understand why you said what you did. I know you were trying to be sweet." You start to say but are cut off.
"I wasn't trying to be sweet."
"Oh my god. Okay, fine, trying to be nice, then," you say, rolling your eyes.
Jake sets down the folder he is currently holding, and it thumps a little bit on the table. The force and loud sound make you flinch.
"I'm not sweet, nice, good, or kind. Okay? I'm not any of those things. I call things how I see them. I look at facts, figures, and numbers. Then I run calculations and act accordingly."
"And how is it mathematically possible that me paying less rent possibly works out for you, Jake? You will be losing money." As he shakes his head, he huffs at your words a little bit like they are funny.
"You could do a lot and make a lot of gains if you paid less rent, and I don't mind picking up the extra amount. You might be one of the few people I haven't hated living with. I don't want you figuring out you need to live somewhere cheaper and moving out on me. So, I'm not being nice. I'm being a selfish asshole." Jake clenches his fists hard, and you see his knuckles start to turn paler. With a deep breath, he relaxes and shrugs. Loosening the tight coil of his muscles, Jake gives you a curt tight lipped smile with a nod. "I'm just a selfish asshole, okay?"
"Please stop. Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true," he says, rolling those beautiful eyes at you.
"It's not true. Also, I would prefer if you don't use the word selfish around me, please." You say in a surprisingly steady voice. You don't really want to get triggered right now, and you could only hope that you wouldn't have to explain triggers to Jake. It takes him one moment to think and another to process before he says anything.
"Oh fuck. I'm so sorry. I won't use it again." Jake promises, no questions asked. His words blow up a balloon in your diaphragm, making it feel like your breath is about to catch. Then he adds on, "If there are any other words…" He looks around and grabs a loose pen and one of his notebooks. Jake slides them across the table to you. "Write them down. Maybe? If you can."
The warmth Jake inspires in your chest is unparalleled and drowns out anything you can think of aside from how endearing he can be and how fond you are of him. Jake doesn't take the lack of response from you well.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes again. You spring from where you had been sitting, walking slowly and deliberately toward him. You make sure to give him plenty of time to protest and say something.
Jake looks steadily back at you. However, he looks like he is preparing himself to be slapped or punished, holding perfectly still. Instead, though, you wrap Jake in a tight hug. He is stiff as a board beneath you. After a long moment, as you consider pulling away, Jake relaxes and wraps his arms around you. They are wrapped loosely at first but then tighten in small intervals until Jake is practically clinging to you.
"You are so good," you whisper to him, a little dazed. You are almost stunned by how desperately Jake tries to pretend otherwise.
"Don't say that," Jake whispers in a broken voice, hugging you a bit tighter.
"Too good." You left the words for me unsaid, but you felt them.
"I'm really not."
"It's okay if you don't see it. I see it for you. I'll make sure everyone else sees, too," you tell Jake curling your hands into a fist in his shirt.
He doesn't say anything but keeps holding you tightly. You don't know how long the two of you stay embraced like that until Jake finally eases his grip on you, and you reluctantly pull away from him as well.
He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Please stop paying so much in rent," he requests again.
"That will not be happening, Hangman."
"So stubborn." He sighs. Jake kisses your forehead again. He leaves his lips lingering, and you start to count the breaths memorizing how warm his lips are. Three breaths later, he is pulling away. Jake grabs his laptop and a stack of folders heading upstairs without another word to you.
You stare after him for a while, trying to parse out the mystery Jake presents, and coming up a bit short, just like you always did. He is one of the most outwardly confident men you have ever met. Yet, other times, Jake is the first person to make a self-deprecating comment about himself. You swallow down how much you desire more from him, wishing for more, knowing you can't and shouldn't have it.
🏡🧩🏡
You and Jake were lounging on the couch. He was scrolling on his phone, avoiding going to the gym, half-heartedly trying to convince you to go with him. You were also scrolling your phone while deflecting Jake’s offers.
That was when your doorbell rang, followed by heavy knocking. You and Jake both look up at each other. He raises his eyebrows, and you just shrug, having no idea who could be at the door. Jake looks back to his phone, clearly ready to ignore it, when the doorbell rings twice more, and the pounding on the door gets louder. Jake sighs and gets up, walking across the house towards the noise.
“Hold your horses out there!” Jake yells towards the door before opening it.
You wait for a moment, trying to hear who it is, curious about who would be so rude and what they needed. However, you don’t hear anything from where you are on the couch. So you stand and follow Jake into the entry hallway.
“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” You hear Jake say. He is standing at his full height in the door frame.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” You hear from on the other side of the door.
Nervousness shoots through your whole body hearing that voice. Anxiety immediately pops up, and your stomach drops. You know that voice. You have heard it a thousand times before. Why was he here? How was he here?
“I asked you to leave, Sir.”
“Just tell that little bitch that —”
Jake steps further forward onto the front porch. “Now, we don’t speak about ladies like that where I am from. And I’m going to ask that you act accordingly while at my home, Sir.” Jake cuts him off with that well mannered southern military niceness.
“I don’t give a fuck where you are from.”
You flinch at his tone of voice, feeling bile rise up in your throat. You lean against the wall slapping your hand over your mouth, trying to prevent yourself from throwing up.
“I asked you politely to leave. I won’t ask again. I can call you a taxi or an uber. But don’t you dare take one more step on my front porch.” Jake says in a deep tone. You are hit with the sudden, horrifying realization that he is going to hurt Jake, and that is something you just won’t let happen.
You are trying to go through possibilities in your head. Anyway, this could shake out; it would be bad for Jake. Jake would either get hurt and get in trouble, or he would kick ass and gets in worse trouble. This would end badly; either way, Jake is going to get in trouble, and it would be your fault. You would be responsible because you caused this situation. Jake was going to pay the consequences all because he was trying to protect you. You were roommates, so Jake must think he has some obligation to protect you.
You feel swamped in stress knowing how easily Jake can escalate a situation and provoke someone; sometimes, all it takes for him is one well-placed smile. That stress is finally what unfreezes you, and you stumble towards the front door.
Jake’s large, broad form still mostly hides your view of the other side, but you cautiously approach and set your hand gently on the back of his shoulder. You feel how tense Jake’s muscles are under your hand and can see it in the line of the back of his neck.
“Sugar, I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Jake says in a deep voice. He doesn’t budge an inch or look back toward you. “But I would like to suggest that you go back inside. I have this handled.”
You want to cry. You want to cry for so many reasons: cry because you are in this situation, that you have to deal with this again, that you feel so small. However, you mostly want to cry because Jake “Hangman” Seresin is such a good man. It’s startling sometimes, not because it’s really unexpected, but rather that it is so completely and bluntly genuine.
Having Jake here defending you, trying to protect you from the person who has probably scared you most in your life, it feels so silly to pretend like you don’t have feelings for him, to pretend that you aren’t more in love with him than you ought to be.
The realization doesn’t really feel shocking; it is closer to acceptance. A given truth that is part of your life now. An empowering truth that swells in your bones like a swift tide, filling up the spaces that have been empty for so long.
You love Jake more than you are scared. The warmth of affection towards him is so hot it burns out the freezing ice in your veins and the numbness in your fingers. You love him, and you will be damned if you let Jake be hurt, touched, tainted, or affected by this man who has hurt you. It seems cliché that loving someone like this is enough for you to finally break through the barrier of fear you have lived your whole life in. However, now it just feels so simple.
Your heart is beating hard. The adrenaline is pumping through you so strongly that you can hear it echoing in your ears. Your hand slides up Jake’s back to his bicep, and you give him a gentle push. Jake shifts with the movement. He slides to the right so you can finally fully see the front porch. However, he doesn’t move enough that you are fully exposed. Jake’s body is still partially concealing you from view.
Then you hear your name, and your attention snaps away from its hyper-focus on Jake. You turn it forward and brace yourself. You drift your eyes to the ground, landing on the feet of your visitor, staying there for a minute before meeting his burning eyes.
“Hello, Dad.”
“Ah, so she is here,” your father says, throwing his hands up and glaring at Jake. You can smell the booze on him from the doorway. It makes your stomach turn. You resist the urge to wretch, squeezing your hand, which is still on Jake’s bicep. He flexes, and his bicep digs into his shirt as your nails also dig in. You don’t like those angry, hateful eyes on your Jake. Jake doesn’t budge an inch or react to your nails on his skin.
“What are you doing here, Dad?” You ask him. Your hold on Jake acting like an anchor point for you.
“You don’t bother to answer my texts or anyone else’s calls and texts. Just because you moved out doesn’t mean you get to be a selfish bitch” your dad spits out.
“I’ve been pretty busy,” you defend yourself in a small voice.
“Oh, I bet you have been so busy. What are you doing these days?” He growls at you. “You know it doesn’t really count as moving out if you are spreading your legs to pay for it.”
You flinch, your hand falling from Jake’s arm and balling into a tight fist at your side. You hate how easily he can make you feel small, even when you are angry.
“Watch your mouth,” Jake hisses, rejoining the conversation. You glance at him, and Hangman is shaking with contained rage. You know this is not a good situation; anytime, someone could blow up.
“You should go inside, Hangman,” you tell him gently.
“Absolutely not,” Jake responds instantly.
“So you are playing the part of a pathetic little whore wife for this pretty boy.” Your dad says, cutting in.
You grit your teeth as he continues on. “Come on. I thought you gave up pussies after our talk when you were in high school.”
With the reminder of just what he is referring to, You are overcome with anger, and you finally can’t take it anymore. You recognize his words for what they are, a direct bait at Jake and undercutting you. It makes you so angry you start shaking. Tears burst from your eyes, trying to let off some steam bubbling inside you. It boils up, so you can’t take it anymore, and you whisper, “Shut up.”
“What?” Your dad asks, clearly shocked. You take a step forward fueled by your anger.
“Shut the fuck up.” You pronounce each word slowly. Then continue on, “I’m tired of this. You don’t get to be mean to me and still expect a relationship with me. You don’t get to hit me, yell at me, and abuse me just to show up at my house on your bullshit. And you sure as fuck don’t get to say anything about Jake.” You suck in a rapid breath, the words fueling the fire in you. Your angerburning brighter with every word.
“You made me think that kind, decent men didn’t exist, Dad, but Jake is good. He isn’t a pretty boy. He is smart, sweet, strong, and kind. I will not hear you say one more thing about him. Ever.” You punctuate the sentence with a jab of your index finger at him. He looks like he might be cowed, and before you can even finish a prayer that he will be done, the fire in his eyes lits again.
“You could have at least found someone who stands up for you. A real man.” Your dad isn’t even looking at you when he says it. Instead, he is staring at Jake.
“That’s a rather rude thing to say about an active duty Naval Officer,” you hiss. Your dad takes a step back, his eyebrows raising, reexamining Jake. He shifts his weight between his feet nervously.
“You aren’t welcome at our home. So leave and crawl back into the bottle you drank before coming here. Don’t come back, Dad. I don’t want to see you.”
You try to force your body to relax, but the adrenaline is still pumping hard in your veins. So, you start to walk backward back into the house. Jake still hasn’t taken his eyes off your dad, and he makes no move to come with you back into the house.
“Jake?” You ask.
“Just give me a minute, sweetheart. I need to have a talk with your old man here and make sure that he makes it home.”
“I don’t want him near you.”
Your dad still looks blown away by this turn of events. Like he is scrambling to put words together. He keeps looking back and forth between you and Jake.
Jake breathes out heavily through his nose. He turns his head enough to glance at you. Whatever he sees on your face must break his resolve. Jake clenches his jaw, and you watch the muscle flex once, then twice. After that, he rolls his shoulders, and it’s like Hangman is physically able to just shrug the tension of the situation off.
“Get home safe, Sir. I suggest doing so soon. MAs are known to drive down our street.” Jake says it in a light, easygoing tone, border lining on cheery. Then, plastering that practiced, perfect smile on his face, Jake nods his head toward your dad and comes back into the house.
Jake closes the door but doesn’t move, staring out the frosted window on the front door. His body is tense again, standing rigidly at his full height. You are still shaking from anger. You slump against Jake’s back, letting your body weight shift into his. One of his arms bends backward a bit awkwardly, sitting on your waist. His large palm is burning hot. You can feel it through the fabric of your clothes. Then Jake’s fingers flex to give you a small squeeze of reassurance.
When Jake finally does move, it is just to turn away from the door and wrap you tightly in his arms. You enjoy the warmth of his strong embrace, feeling exhausted as the adrenaline starts to fade. Jake is still shaking, though.
“He’s gone,” Jake says into the crown of your head. You let a little sigh escape you, feeling a bit more of the tension release.
“Good,” you manage to tell him.
“I wanted to defend you. I wanted to slam his face so hard into the porch that he wouldn’t ever be able to open his mouth again. Wanted to tell him how you are—”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” you cut Jake off before he can continue. You don’t want to know what he thinks about you right now. You can’t handle whatever words could spill out of his mouth next.
“I’ll make sure he never comes back here,” Jake says, his voice dropping, and you feel the rage contained in him, the subtle shake and heat coming from how tense he is.
“I don’t want him near you. If something happened to you because of him….” you trail off. Your hands wander the expanse of Jake’s back in an almost soothing motion. However, you don’t know who it is soothing more, you or him. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
He takes a deep breath and then releases it in a heavy sigh. “What if you just give me his full name and social security number? You wouldn’t have to know about anything else.”
“Jake,” you whisper in a tone that is almost reminiscent of amusement.
Jake sighs again. He draws back from your hug and cups your face. He swipes his thumb across your cheekbone, wiping away the tears that have been lingering.
“You are the kindest, most compassionate person I have ever met,” Jake whispers. Considering how he is looking at you with a glimmer in his eyes, it’s clear the emotions of the situation are still running rampant. That look, paired with how he is holding you, makes you think Jake might be about to kiss you.
“No, No. Stop.” You don’t know if you are trying to ask him not to kiss you or to stop talking. Either way, you feel like you might explode if this interaction isn’t over soon.
“Yes,” Jake says. “Let me, please.”
His thumb is still tracing along your cheek, and you can’t help yourself from leaning a tiny bit into his palm. An action that momentarily freezes his thumb before it picks up steadily again. Not hearing an explicit no from you again, Jake continues on.
“That man has no say over you. Who you are is so stunning. You never deserved to be treated the way you were. I am so sorry you ever had to go through that. I am so sorry he showed up here. You don’t owe him a single second of your time or attention. You are valuable. You are amazing. He is trying to make you small because he sees how good you are.”
A shudder racks through your body, hearing Jake’s words, and fresh tears start to fall unprompted from your eyes. As soon as they do, though, Jake pushes them away. “I am so proud of you for getting away from him. You are so strong and brave. It makes me awed. I’m so glad that you moved in here. You are…” Jake doesn’t finish the sentence, he seems to lose his train of thought. His mouth parts a little bit, and his eyes flash down to glance at your lips.
Jake is going to kiss you, and it might possibly be the worst thing that could happen. If he kisses you right now because of your dad, you know you might break into a million different pieces. You don’t want Jake to kiss you for any reason but pure desire and affection. You don’t want him to kiss you in comfort, or pity, or convenience, or as an outlet. You don’t want him to kiss you just because emotions are running high from the incident that just happened. Most of all, you don’t want Jake to kiss you and not mean it. You don’t want him to kiss you without the intention of kissing you again.
So, even though you are desperate to feel his lips, and memorize their shape, how they feel against yours. Desperate to discover what he tastes like, curl your fingers in his hair and take comfort in the form of his body. You know you can’t, it has the power to break you, and you already feel so broken and exhausted.
You cover the hand Jake has on your face with your own and pull it away. However, you don’t immediately let go holding his large palm. Hangman takes your hint and steps backward, giving you a little space so that he is pressed against the door again. You decide to thread your fingers with his. Jake’s skin is still almost hot to the touch in your hand.
“Thank you, Jake,” You finally say, meeting his piercing green eyes again. You squeeze the hand you are holding. He gives you a tight nod and then tips his head upwards, so he is looking at the ceiling. Jake rests his head against the door as well and closes his eyes.
You observe him for a moment, then you go to release the hand you are holding. Jake stops you, though, his hand tightening as yours loosens, and you try to pull away. You give a little tug, and he tightens his fingers even more. Jake’s head is still tipped, and you hear him sucking in a deep breath before blowing it out.
“Please don’t let go,” he begs you. Jake’s eyes flash open again, and he is looking down his nose at you. “I just, I need you.”
You inhale sharply at his phrasing, and he sighs heavily. “I might do something terrible if you let go of me. If you don’t need me here, there won’t be anything to stop me.”
“You’re not going to do anything terrible,” You say, retangling your fingers with his. Jake’s hand flexes in yours, and he takes another big breath.
“I’ll make sure he loses our address and forgets it too. Make sure he doesn’t remember anything at all anymore. I’ll—”
“You’ll stay right here, Jake.”
He lifts his head so it isn’t tilted against the door anymore and stares down at you. He looks like he is holding on to every word you are saying to keep his sanity. His skin is flushed from anger, and his palm shakes slightly in yours. You were in awe he was able to hold back this reaction so long, remaining calm and collected throughout the entire encounter.
“You will stay here with me, Jake. I need you.”
“Yeah?” He asks shakily.
“Yeah. Need your help, Jake.”
There is a low rumble in his chest, almost resembling the hum it was probably supposed to be. You step closer to Jake, once again closing the gap between you.
“Tell me what you need.” It comes out as a demand, and he seems to realize that when he adds on a small quick “Please.”
You look at him then, trying to read his face and those eyes that haunt your dreams. You examine the creases and lines his face makes with the severe angry look he has plastered on. You take the time to observe how his hair is hazardously falling out of place for how many times he has run his hand through it. You don’t really find any of the answers you are looking for. You just find Jake. And Jake is an oh-so-wondrous thing to find.
You step closer to him and tug the hold he has on your hand again. His nose scrunches for a moment, and his frown tightens. His eyes lift upwards towards the ceiling again as his jaw clenches; he lets go of your hand. Jake’s hand falls heavily back until it hits the door making a smacking sound. You flinch at the sound but take another step forward, crowding Jake against the door. You lift your hand up to trace over his neck and then settle on his face, encouraging him to adjust his gaze back to you. He follows direction and leans into your hold, just like you leaned into his earlier.
“Need you to stay with me,” you start slowly, encouraged as Jake nods his head in a small jerk.
“I need you to leave the front door.”
He considers your words for a moment, then shakes his head. “I don’t think I can do that. I’m sorry, sugar. I need to protect you.”
“There is no one in the world I feel safer with than you, Jake.” He squeezes his eyes tightly closed at those words and pulls in a ragged breath. “So, you can’t leave me alone here.”
He nods again but still has his eyes closed. “Ain’t leaving. You need me.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Can I hold you?” Jake asks, then once again remembers his manners throwing out another small, please.
“Yes, please,��� you whisper. Jake doesn’t waste a moment before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you snuggly against him. The change of angle causes your hand to slip from his face, so you wrap it around his neck instead, your fingers drifting against the short hairs there. You go to wrap your other arm around his waist but instead awkwardly hit the front door. You hiss out a small breath at the momentary pain.
Jake responds to the sound. He starts walking forward, making you walk backward. Walking while he is wrapped around you proves to be difficult, and you stumble a little. That seems to be all Jake needs; he wraps his arms under your ass and lifts you.
You are terrified at the concept that Jake is going to try to carry you, and you open your mouth to protest. However, with only one small grunt that honestly sounded more like pure sex with how low and husky it is, Jake is carrying you down the hallway. You wrap your arm around his neck more securely, adding a second one for more leverage.
Jake doesn’t stop to set you on the couch like you had expected. Instead, he continues up the stairs and right into his room. He sets you on his bed gently, and you unwrap your arms from his neck, letting him pull away. Jake goes back to the door of his room, closes it, and clicks the lock into place. You raise an eyebrow at his action.
"That’s rather presumptuous, Hangman.”
“What?” He looks at you confused before he looks back at his door. “Oh no, I’m sorry. I wasn’t, I’m not.”
You shush him motioning towards yourself to try and get him to come closer again. “I know.”
Jake comes back to your side. Now that you have been given the temporary clearance to freely touch him, you cannot stop yourself. Jake sits next to you on the bed, and you are scooting closer so that your thighs are flush side by side. Jake throws an arm across your shoulder, pulling you even closer to him.
“Do you need to talk about it?” He asks you softly. You let a hollow dry laugh at his question, your laughter starts to devolve until it’s nearly hysteric giggling. Jake takes it in stride, holding you close and his thumb drawing small soothing back-and-forth shapes. After you are almost breathless and heaving, you finally start to recover.
“I don’t want to talk about it, but I definitely need to. Not with you, though, Jake.”
“Why not me?”
“Because it’s the kind of fucked you talk to a therapist about.”
“I’m a great listener.”
“I know you are, but this isn’t your baggage to pack around and deal with, Jake.”
“Baggage? Sugar, that’s why we have the attic. If that isn’t enough space, or you fill it up. I’ll build a shed in the backyard.”
“What if that’s not enough room?”
“Then we have the garage. We’ll just park in the driveway.”
“You would give up your shop?” You ask, thinking of Jake’s favorite place in the house.
“Yup,” Jake says without hesitating. “And after that, well, I’ve never been too fond of the extra guest room anyway.”
“If that’s all not enough?”
“Then we’ll move. Or we go through it until we find some we can let go of.” Jake says, his free hand crossing his body to settle warmly on your knee.
“It’s not physical baggage.”
“I know it’s not.”
The feeling of affection you feel for him grows even more. Every time you think that there is no way possible you can fall further in love with him, Jake turns around and proves you wrong. He does some kind, funny, sweet, unexpected thing that makes you fall a little harder.
You lift your head and look at him. Jake’s eyes meet your own, the severe stormy look in them a little less present. He is a bit more at ease, no longer shaking with anger. You let your eyes fall to his lips. You briefly think you love him so much it might be worth the risk to shift forward and kiss him. That maybe it wouldn’t lead to disaster like you’ve convinced yourself it would.
“What’s your favorite comfort movie?” Jake asks, breaking you from your trance. You shift a bit further away from him but not far before giving him an answer.
The two of you watch your favorite comfort movie. You are cuddled into Jake’s side the whole time. The two of you had shifted back into the bed, cuddled close while watching the wall-mounted TV in Jake’s room. Exhaustion hits you like a wall as the adrenaline leaves your system, accompanied by the heat radiating off of Jake, the way everything smells like him, and his Tempurpedic bed; you relax more than you have in a long time.
As you start to drift asleep against Jake’s chest, his heartbeat has a steady, soothing rhythm under your ear. You think out of all the times you have dreamed of falling asleep with Jake in his bed, none of those fantasies come even close to how good it actually feels. None of your dreams prepared you for how safe you would feel.
Your dreams also didn’t prepare you for sneaking back to your room at three in the morning when you woke up. Or pretending the next day that nothing had happened. After all, nothing had happened except some tense moments and Jake getting a glimpse of your past. You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t, either. You catch him watching you closer than he would typically for the next few days.
More time starts to pass, and you are thankful that nothing was risked or changed between you and Jake or has affected you as roommates. There are only the slightest moments when both of you are much more casual about physical affection. Hugging Jake was now a commonplace part of your day, and you occasionally catch yourself daydreaming about what it felt like to fall asleep in his bed.
🏡🧩🏡
You had started to pick up what the signs were when Jake wasn't okay, and something was bothering him pretty early into moving in. He had some pretty obvious tells. However, something had been really really bothering him for a while now. He didn't say anything to you, but he didn't have to; Jake's mannerisms gave him away. Jake wasn't following his routine and had started obsessively cleaning.
The other night, he knocked on your door, bursting open seconds after you told Jake he could come in. Then Hangman had all but begged you to let him deep clean your room. When you told Jake no, he gave you a look like you just insulted his Babula and stalked out of the room. Half an hour later, he was back in your doorway, asking the same question phrased slightly differently. You had finally given in after his second time double-checking. However, you insisted that you helped and supervised his cleaning. Once you agreed, Jake had done his happy dance. It was so cute it managed to cover the embarrassment that was crawling in you at letting someone else, let alone the man you loved your roommate, clean your room.
The next day Hangman decided to reorganize all the bookshelves. First by color, then by genre, and even one time by the number of pages. His last reorganization was to put them all back to by author's last name. This was only after Jake talked to you for over an hour about the pros and cons of the Dewey decimal system in modern library science.
After the books, you come home, and there is a puzzle on the table. A 2500-piece puzzle of the painting Meeting On The Turret Stairs. Jake works on it constantly. Only stopping to go to work and the gym. For three days, he doesn't read and doesn't do his sudoku. Jake doesn't sit with you in the living room at night. Instead, he just works on his puzzle, blowing past his typical bedtime every night. Then he stops going to the gym, and a day after that, he cancels his weekly call with his niece. That's when you know without a shadow of a doubt that whatever is bothering Jake must be significant.
Finally, you can't bite your tongue or try to keep your nose out of his business anymore. The concern you feel is too much to handle. You had gotten up at 3 am for some water, and Jake was still puzzling at the table.
"How's it going, Sport?"
"No, I'm Hangman," Jake answers in a quiet voice.
"What?" you ask him, confused.
"Not my callsign," Jake mumbles to you. You squint and try to piece together what he means in your still half-asleep brain.
"You know someone named Sport?"
Jake just shrugs his shoulders, engrossed in his task. "There are worse callsigns to have."
"Like Hangman?" You tease him. Jake finally looks up at you when you say that. Jake's eyes are bloodshot, and he has a hurt look. The small frown, paired with his glassy tired eyes, makes you feel like you just kicked a puppy.
"Hangman is cool," Jake protests.
"Hangman is very cool," you tell him placatingly, holding up your hands in surrender.
"You don't actually think it's cool," Jake whispers, his tired eyes falling back to his puzzle. Jake sounds so sad about it that your feet are moving before your brain, and you are sliding next to him on the bench for the long side of the table.
"Hangman is cool," You say and then nudge him affectionately with your shoulder. "You are cool."
His lips quirk upwards from his frown before falling again. “Well, I am the Hangman.”
"How is the puzzle going?"
"Fine, good. I like puzzling."
"You have done other puzzles?" You ask.
"Yeah, I have a whole box full."
You hum at his words, tiredly wiping your eyes. "You should have been Puzzleman."
Jake's eyes flash over to yours, slightly worried. "Do not ever say that around Coyote."
"Hangman, It's three AM." He looks surprised to hear the time, and you watch him turn his wrist to confirm the time on his watch.
"Go to bed," You add softly.
"I like when you call me Jake."
"Then why do you listen better when I call you Hangman?"
"Hmm, maybe because that's the name I hear most often. Maybe because it's easy to be Hangman."
"Is it hard to be Jake?" You ask him gently.
Jake is quiet for a long moment after your question. Before answering, he sets the piece he had been holding back in its color pile. All he gives you is a whispered, "Sometimes."
You aren't sure what to say, so instead, you put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it. "It's time for bed, Jake. It'll be here in the morning."
Jake nods his head, listening to you. You get the water you initially came downstairs for and wait until Jake starts up the stairs. Following behind him, you make sure he goes into his room. You aren't really eased about the situation when he shuts the door. However, you are glad he will at least get some sleep.
Before you go back to bed, you shoot your group chat with Marlee and Javy a text.
Have you ever seen Jake do a puzzle?
You wake up to texts from Javy and Marlee, both asking all kinds of questions like: what you meant? What kind of puzzle? With how many pieces? And, how long has Jake been working on it?
From the questions alone, you gather that your worries are correct and Jake puzzling is not a good thing. Getting out of bed, you make yourself presentable enough to venture out of your room and downstairs.
In the mid-morning light, you are once again greeted with the sight of Jake hunched over his puzzle. A steaming cup of tea sitting next to him, and Chris LeDoux playing from the record player.
"Good morning," you say.
"Morning, sugar," Jake says back. You are glad to get a response, but the worry is still gnawing at you. You start putting together your own morning drink, and your eyes keep drifting back to him.
"Jake, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good." He says, not looking away from the puzzle piece he is currently studying.
You stop leaning against the counter, taking your drink with you and walk over to his side. Jake is completing this puzzle concerningly fast; you notice examining his progress this morning alone. He keeps staring at the piece in his hand, unblinking even as you approach. You watch him for a few more moments before deciding it's time for you to intervene.
"Do you want to talk about it?" You pose cautiously. His eyebrows crease, and he still doesn't look away from the puzzle.
"About the puzzle?" he asks you in a hopeful tone.
"No, Jake. About what's bothering you."
He finally does spare you a glance, and you don't like how dull his green sea glass eyes are. The normally vibrant, mischievous glint isn't present, and they are slightly bloodshot and red, even after you forced him to get some sleep.
"It's fine. I'm fine. Just work stuff. I've got to finish this puzzle." He tells you, then looks away.
You frown at Jake's answer. Puzzles are supposed to be fun, and you don't think this is actually a healthy, cathartic activity for Jake anymore. You almost preferred his book reorganization or when he went to every door and oiled the hinges, the top and bottom hinges twice but the middle ones only once. When you asked why not the middle one twice? Jake had told you something about middle children that had made you laugh.
While Jake normally released stress through organization, order, and control. The frenzy and energy he has with this puzzle is different. This wasn't like the month after you moved in, and he decided to rearrange his shop in the garage. Jake had reorganized his tools, labeling where they all went. After that, he made you a booklet of where everything in the garage was located, just in case you wanted to use something. Jake was very genuine about it, too. As if he really believed you were about to start borrowing his screwdrivers, saws, wrenches, lathe, and various other tools.
Your frown deepens, and you pull out your phone, shooting a text to your group chat with Marlee and Javy. Answering some of their questions from the morning and shooting back a request of your own.
After texting with them for a few minutes, you set your phone down on the table, taking the spot next to Jake. He gives you another short look but doesn't say anything. You take a moment to look at the piece he has been staring at for over five minutes at this point.
Taking it gently from his grasp, you examine it yourself. A moment later, you place the puzzle piece into the correct spot. Jake ghosts over the piece you just placed and taps it twice as your hand retreats.
"You got to tap it into place," he tells you softly. Then Jake is back digging through his piles, looking for the next piece.
You help Jake with his puzzle for a little bit, pleasantly surprised at the textured surface of the pieces, enjoying how tactile they are. You know this must be a very expensive and nice puzzle. Any time you place a piece, you make sure to tap it twice for Jake. Each time you do, Jake gives a small nod of approval. The one time you forget, his fingers quickly find the piece again and tap it twice with a small annoyed huff. You don't try and coax Jake into a conversation again, simply enjoying just being with him.
Y'all's work is broken a while later by the doorbell ringing. The sound startles Jake, and he jumps in his seat and his head snapping towards the door. You place a hand on his shoulder again to try and ease the sudden tension.
"It's okay," you tell him quietly, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze. "I'll go get it."
"No, I can get it," Jake says, starting to stand up. You know he doesn't like you to answer the front door anymore. He hasn't ever since your dad showed up unannounced. Jake has never explicitly told you he doesn't want you to answer the door. However, you have picked up on it because he has not let you answer the door once since the incident. One time Jake had even sprinted across the house to beat you to the door.
"Don't worry. I know who it is," you say. Jake gives you a concerned look but then nods a little bit. His eyes trail after you as you make your way to the entry hall.
You open the door to Javy's tall form and are immediately wrapped in a tight warm hug. You lean into his embrace, enjoying the comfort for a moment.
"Is it really bad?" Javy asks you in a low voice when you pull away from his hug.
You shrug but then follow it up with a nod. "Yeah. I mean, I don't know. Maybe not? But it's the worst I have ever seen."
Javy gives you another reassuring squeeze before he saunters into the house towards the living area. Jake's eyes are trained on the hallway, clearly waiting for you to come back. However, when he sees Javy, he blanches, dropping his eyes back to the puzzle. Jake's shoulders hunching tight almost up to his ears.
"Hey, Hangman," Javy hums.
"Machado," Jake says gruffly, fiddling with a piece.
Javy shocks you by not immediately going over to Jake. Instead, he meanders over to your TV. He shocks you even more by opening a drawer in the entertainment center and pulling out an Xbox. Javy starts hooking up the console, and you shift your eyes to Jake again.
He is still sitting there digging through his puzzle pieces. You aren't sure what to do. If you should leave the two of them alone, join Javy in the living room, or go back to the table with Jake. So instead, you end up in a weird middle ground lingering in the hallway. Finally, when Javy has everything set up, and the Xbox booted on, he goes over to Jake. Coyote sets his hands down so hard on Jake's shoulders that it jostles the blond a bit.
"Wow, buddy, this is a nice puzzle," Javy says casually.
Jake just hums in response, placing a puzzle piece and tapping it twice. Only answering once he picks up another piece. "It's a watercolor by Frederic William Burton. He painted it in — "
"It's time for a break, Hangman," Coyote says, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"Naw, you see this section," Jake gestures generally towards the entire surface area of the puzzle. "It's almost done."
"Nope, it's break time," Javy repeats more firmly.
Jake's shoulders hang, and it looks like it takes him physical effort to stand up from the table. Jake's joints and back audibly pop from the action, and he raises his hands above his head to fully stretch.
You try to root yourself in concern, not thinking of the flash of skin you saw where Jake's shirt rode up a bit. Jake blinks a few times, and when he finishes stretching, he turns to fully look at Javy.
"How long are you staying?" Jake asks, daring to glance back down at the puzzle. Javy snaps his fingers in front of Jake's face twice and then points aggressively toward the couch.
"As long as I want to," Javy responds with an upbeat tone and a wide grin. He gives a light shove, and Jake shuffles over to the couch. Jake looks at you as he walks, and you can tell that he feels betrayed.
"I'll leave you to it," you say, ready to retreat into your room.
Jake looks away from you then, and you don't like the flash of embarrassment on his face as he does. It's been odd seeing Jake so completely out of his element and uncomfortable in his skin the last few days. Embarrassed wasn't a look that fits well on Jake. It made you want to rush in and remedy the situation.
"You don't gotta go," Jake calls to you.
"Javy came over to hang out with you, Jake." You say plainly. You want to give them space to talk and hang out.
"Yeah, bro, feeling the love," Javy says jokingly. It earns him a sharp jab to his side from Jake. The action just makes Javy laugh, though. "Don't worry so much, Hang. Marlee is coming by later with dinner, and then all four of us will kick back, but right now, it's me, you, and the Master Chief."
"You'll hang out with us later, though? Or are you doing something tonight?" Jake asks, ignoring Javy.
"There is nothing I would rather do tonight than hang out with you," you tell him. Jake's eyes snap up from where they had drifted to the left, lowered just enough not to meet yours. The burning bright color in them is startling after the dull, distant look he has supported the last few days. You can't stop the words you say next, needing to try and back peddle. It takes a long beat before you say, "and Marls and Javy. I don't know if you've ever had Marlee's green chile enchiladas, but they are to die for."
"They are so good," Jake agrees enthusiastically and looks down at the controller he is holding for the first time. Javy then shoots you a smile with a thumbs up, and you are reassured enough that you head upstairs and into your room.
You hear Javy's voice behind you, "You know Marlee only cooks for two reasons."
You close your door before hearing Jake's answer and resist the urge to eavesdrop. A few hours later, you hear loud yelling and laughter from the living room. Then get a text from Marlee to send the boys to help her get the food out of her car.
The rest of the night is mostly light, and Jake almost passes for his normal self. He jokes with Coyote, eats two helpings of Marlee's enchiladas, and with you... well, with you, he is hot and cold. One moment Jake will be flirting with you in a heavy bravado, then the next, he falls into a quiet, contemplative silence. Javy has to herd Jake away from his puzzle three separate times. It gets easier to draw Jake back in every time; the last time only took a question directed toward Jake to draw him back to you guys.
It is a good night, and everyone seems happy at the end. Jake hugs Javy and Marlee goodbye and leaves you to walk your friends out. You let out a small sigh of relief, seeing Jake walk up the stairs and not back to the dining room table.
You talk with the couple for a few more minutes on the front porch, then hug them goodbye. You are thankful for them, to have such good friends who are willing to be a support system, for you, for Jake, and for their other friends too. It warms your heart, and it feels a lot like family.
Jake's puzzling is less frenzied after that night, and he starts to reign back in. He has full conversations with you again and goes to the gym after work as well. He follows Javy's rules that had been texted to you both and doesn't puzzle by alone again.
For the next week or so, Javy and Marlee end up in your living room in the evenings. Keeping Jake from becoming too obsessed, you also notice that he won't let Javy or Marlee touch his puzzle pieces. But when Jake does work on the puzzle, and you are home, he always invites you to join him.
Jake makes an effort to converse with you while working too. The conversations you two get into range from academic to childhood memories, favorites — books, movies, foods, bands, animals— funny stories, and anything else that would pop in your heads. Of course, each puzzle piece must still be double tapped into place, and you are meticulous about following that rule.
Puzzling in the evenings with Jake surprisingly becomes one of your favorite times of the day. Sometimes you would even just sit there at the table with Jake, scrolling on your phone while he works on the puzzle.
Hangman's presence is a comforting steady grounding force, so much so that you can only hope you provide half of that for him. You knew you were roommates, and Jake may not carry the same romantic feelings you do. However, you couldn't deny the plain platonic affection that poured from him, so much you sometimes think M aybe . Maybe he does feel more.
When you enter the kitchen, you see the puzzle is finished. You go to examine it and realize two pieces are missing. You feel a bit of worry creeping up in you, not sure how Jake will react to having lost pieces and being unable to complete the puzzle.
You start to look around, checking every chair and bench to make sure a piece hasn't fallen. You shine a light under the couch in case they slipped under there. Then you are flipping up the edge of the rug in the living room and trying to think of any other feasible place the pieces could have disappeared.
"What are you doing?" you hear, and you snap your head to see Jake standing on the other side of the couch, looking at you bemused.
"Sorry, I was just looking for your missing pieces," you say, straightening up and fixing the rug.
Jake quirks an eyebrow then he follows your gaze to the table where his puzzle is. Jake's mouth drops open, lips barely parted, and a soft "Oh." falls out like he didn't even make the sound intentionally.
"No luck so far, though. I'm sorry. I'm sure they will turn up. Only so many places they could have gone," You say, making sure to project an upbeat, positive tone and attitude.
Jake looks between you and the puzzle twice before suddenly you are graced with the rarest of Jake Seresin's smiles. It is one you have only seen a handful of times. It's different than his smirk and his confident panty dropping smile. It's not the smile that he gets when he laughs, and his eyes crinkle around the edges or the mouth wide open smile. It's not his practiced perfect smile he uses for pictures.
No, this smile is closed-mouthed, those pearly whites hidden from view. It's a quirk of his lips like Jake is trying to hold it back from showing it on his face but he isn't entirely successful. His bottom lip is tucked a little bit between his teeth as if he is physically trying to bite back the expression, none of which prevents Jake's dimples from popping up.
It's a smile that always leaves you a little stunned, and this is no exception. Not that there are many things about Jake that don't leave you feeling that way. This smile, paired with the soft look in his eyes, makes you want to melt into the floor.
"I have the pieces," Jake tells you then. It takes you a few moments to process his words.
"Oh, you do?"
"Yeah, I do," he says and pulls out a ziplock baggie from his pocket with the two pieces in it.
"That's great!"
"They weren't lost. I was saving them, actually."
"Saving them for what?"
"For you. Well, for us."
You don't think you are able to hide your surprise at his words. "For us?"
"Yeah. You know, so we can finish this puzzle together. We worked on it together. So, we should finish it together. Few things match the feeling of putting the final piece of a puzzle into place."
God, you want to kiss him. You want to grab his face and smash your lips against his. You want to taste him and thread your fingers in his short dirty blonde hair. The little fantasy starting to form in your brain is cut off by Jake walking over to the table.
You follow him there, and Jake sets the last two pieces on the table, letting you pick which one you want. Once you make your selection, Jake grabs the other one.
"Okay, on three," he tells you with a grin. At his countdown, you both place the pieces of the puzzle. Automatically you double tap your piece into place. Jake was right; it is an extremely satisfying feeling finishing the puzzle and seeing it whole for the first time.
Your gaze drifts over the puzzle, and you look up to see Jake staring at you instead of the finished piece. After a moment, you realize what is wrong. Your hand reaches across and gently nudges Jake's to the side. Then you tap Jake's piece twice, realizing that for the very first time, he seemed to have missed that compulsion of his. However, you knew it would bother Jake when he realized he had forgotten, so you make sure to complete the ritual.
Jake's gaze snaps down to the piece you had tapped for him. Then his knuckles purposely brush against the back of your hand, sending shivers up your arm.
"Thank you," spills from both of your mouths at the same time, which makes you laugh.
"Jinx," Jakes says in a rushed voice, making you laugh harder. That odd tension in the air between you two disappears.
You walk into the kitchen and grab a white claw from the fridge, bringing it back for Jake, handing it to him. Jake is a strict enforcer of the jinx soda pop rule. The two of you look at the puzzle for a few more minutes. Taking in the stunning painting, the yearning and sadness of it never fails to impact you.
While the two of you had been working on the puzzle, Jake had told you many different facts about The Meeting On The Turret Stairs. How it was a watercolor painting by Frederic William Burton, the poem it was based on, the era it was painted in, and its place in Irish art.
When you asked Jake more, he surprised you by knowing hyper-specific details and answers off the top of his head. Intrigued, you learned how he had double majored at Annapolis in Aerospace Engineering and History. However, because Jake was golden boy Midshipman Seresin, he had gotten away with his final history thesis being art focused. Hangman more than understood how to be charming when he needed to be.
"What now?" You ask him.
"What do you mean?" Jake asks, confused.
"What do we do with the puzzle?" you ask. It sounds much better than what you wanted to say. What now between the two of you? What were you going to do to keep spending time together?
"We take it apart." Jake shrugs.
"No," you gasp, horrified thinking of all the time you had put into the puzzle just to undo it and throw it back in the box.
"What else would we do?" Jake asks you. You think for a moment before smiling at your own idea.
"Let's Mod Podge it, and then we can hang it up. We have some pretty bare walls in the house, and it is a stunning piece of art," you suggest.
Jake doesn't even take a moment to think it over before saying, "I love that idea."
So, you two are driving to the craft store to get cardboard and Mod Podge. A week later, the puzzle has been cemented and hung on the wall in between your and Jake's rooms upstairs. After the puzzle is finished, Jake is back into his sudoku and his various other reading books. He still lingers near you in the evenings, waiting longer than he used to before retreating to his room for bed.
One night almost a month after you two had finished the puzzle, Jake brings the subject up again. You two are lounging on the couch, he had just gotten home from watching the Army-Navy game at a bar with some of his friends, and he is definitely a little bit tipsy.
"I am going to build us a puzzle table," is the first thing he had loudly declared, walking in the door.
You were instantly worried about why Jake might want to start a new puzzle. "Is everything okay?"
Jake doesn't seem to hear you, though, as he continues on. "A really nice one that opens and closes with velvet or something so we don't have to worry about losing pieces, and maybe I can even make it an adjustable height?" He is talking to himself more than to you.
You watch as he grabs a notepad and pencil out of a drawer. Then he slumps on the couch. Before you know what's happening or can stop it, Jake has his head on your lap and is sketching design ideas, potential measurements, and materials.
"How are you doing?" you ask him again, staring down at his face, unable to contain your enamored smile. Jake just nods his head and keeps sketching while mumbling.
You run a hand through his soft hair tentatively. It is a bit longer than usual right now, almost out of regulation. He will need to get a haircut this week, but the strands are so soft, and you can't help but enjoy that there is a bit more there to run your fingers through. His eyes instantly close, and he hums contently at your touch.
"Hangman?" you ask him almost teasingly, halting your movements.
"Yes, sugar?"
"Are you okay?"
He blinks his eyes open and looks at you. Their gleaming sea glass green color is a little glazed over and so very soft. His mirth is open and obvious to you. "I'm so great. Navy won."
"That's great. Go Navy." A wide grin splits his face wide, and Jake's eyes actually crinkle closed, hiding their unique color from you again.
"That's right, Honey. Ooh ahh!" Jake responds automatically, making you both laugh, and maybe you had been drinking a little bit of wine before he came home; perhaps you were warm from that, or maybe Jake was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Your eyes lock with his, and your hands pull out of his hair. You let one drift trace his face helping him relax the furrow in his eyebrows.
"Why do you want to start a new puzzle?" You ask.
"No new puzzle. A new table." He corrects you. Jake taps his pencil on the notepad pointedly.
"For a new puzzle?"
"You liked doing a puzzle with me, right? Well, after the first bit, you liked it?"
"I loved it." The words slip out of your mouth before you can amend the sentiment to come off less forward.
"Me too,"Jake says and trails off for a moment. Then he continues asking, "So you would be open to doing another one with me? Just for fun this time, not my mental health." Jake doesn't say the last sentence with any bit of shame or embarrassment, which you admire. However, the vulnerability is obvious and glaring.
"Yeah," you confirm, once again having to run your fingers over his brow to relax his face.
"Perfect. I'm building the table, then. You can pick the puzzle this time."
You can't help but let your hands slip back into Jake's hair, and he returns to sketching on his notepad. It was a moment of quiet peace you knew you didn't ever want to let go of.
"Javy said that you don't like to do puzzles with other people, and that's what helps you pull out of the pit."
Jake's eyes don't leave his notepad, and he turns the page. You watch Jake start to scrawl the pros of a dovetail joint versus a dowel joint before he starts to draw it out as well. You almost don't think he will say anything back by the time he finally does.
"You aren't other people," Jake tells you, as he starts drawing in shading, which is completely unnecessary for anything beyond aesthetic. He bends the lines from a basic blueprint to a detailed drawing of a realistic table joint. It was distracting watching the engineer in him flow into the unexpected artist.
The idea that you ever had thought his talent for art and engineering were such radically different things was a bit funny. Now that you see him dance between the lines back and forth so elegantly that you understand it wasn't two competing sides of Jake. It was just him. It was how he worked and operated.
It was how he was Hangman and also Jake. It was how he could fill out sudoku then go to bed at 9 pm and how he could shoot pool until closing with the squad. It was how he was a cowboy and a pilot. It was how you wanted to cry a little bit, knowing he enjoyed you there, knowing you weren't like other people.
And you are struck with the thought that you don't ever want Jake to do a puzzle with anyone but you. You never want to see him sitting alone at three am with bloodshot eyes putting pieces into place again. And you don't even want to consider him explaining animatedly why he believes a piece goes in one color pile and not the one it was originally sorted to anyone but you.
You want to be selfish with Jake. You want to have him, and you want to keep him close, never letting go. Surely you could convince Jake to be yours. It was a selfish act that could be forgiven if you promised to cherish him. After all, there were worse things in the world than loving someone, so entirely the fact they might not love you to the same degree didn't hurt so much.
Jake flips to the next page in the notepad and starts to sketch out the living room. As he works, the living room table starts to look significantly different than your current one.
"Oh. It's for the living room?" You ask him.
At first, he just hums in response, but when he finishes rounding out a line, Jake lifts his pencil from the paper. It pauses there, poised and frozen, as he asks, "Do you want the dining table instead?"
"No." As you continue, the pencil falls back to the page, "It just wasn't what I was originally thinking."
"I could do a dining room table too. They could even be made of the same wood." Jake says. His green eyes broke from the page to glance up at your face for the first time in a while. He searches your face trying to gauge your reaction to his suggestion.
"Two puzzle tables?"
"Think of all the possibilities. We could do two puzzles at once." Jake gasps. You kind of hate the excited timbre that Jake's voice picks up at the idea, but you actually mostly love it.
"Just one puzzle at a time, please." You say, giving his hair a teasing gentle tug, ignoring the sharp inhale of his breath that immediately follows. You refuse to give away the unexpected thrill sent straight through your body that settles at your core. You have to consciously make sure your words do not fall out rushed, "I think it would be nice to have out here, comfier."
"I thought the exact same thing."
"Oh really?" You ask, amused.
"Yes, Ma'am. I've got two words for you, puzzle naps."
You huff a small laugh at him and bite your lower lip. He flips back to his first page of notes, where he had a small list of wood. He adds cherry to his list after oak.
"Juniper is really pretty," you suggest. He immediately starts to write down your suggestion with a little heart next to it. When Jake starts to shade in the heart, you feel like the one in your chest might actually burst out. Something very similar to butterflies was fluttering around in you, but it is much less nervous and rather born of pure fondness.
"Sounds beautiful. I'm sure it's perfect," Jake tells you.
"Let's pick one together, though. It should be our choice."
"No," Jake says, drawing an elegant oval around juniper. Then he goes back and strikes a straight line through the other options. "No one else has ever remembered to double tap."
Jake spends a few more minutes detailing the design before his eyes start to get sleepy, and his pencil marks become light and halting. It doesn't take much from you to encourage him to go to bed, just a whispered suggestion.
He stumbles up from the couch and places a kiss on your forehead. Jake puts his notebook on the counter in the kitchen. After that, Jake circles back to press a second lingering kiss to your forehead. You watch him go all the way around the house to double check the locks, the front door, the garage, and the back door. Finally, after sending you two finger guns, Jake drags himself up the stairs, humming Anchors Aweigh.
"Until we meet once more, here's wishing you a happy voyage home!" You loudly hear him sing. You listen to Jake as he hums his fight song while randomly peppering in other lyrics. When you finally hear him close his door, your mind makes a decision on the war it's been having.
You are going to do whatever it takes for Jake Seresin to agree to be yours. Potential consequences be damned; Jake is worth the risk.
#jake seresin x reader#hangman x reader#jake seresin x you#Hangman imagine#Slow burn#Roley Coley's writing#part 1#Double tap#Hangman x you#house we share
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Was dick Grayson is wrong for not being a brother to jason when he needed it most .I seen lots of post about how dick is abusive towards jason when he is robin and jason scared of him because of his bad temper and it reminded him too much of his father willis todd.Many jason fans believes Dick is the worst brother compared to jason who always potrayed as good and reliable brother .What is your thoughts on this
All of that information is false and part of the reason why this fandom holds hostility toward the fanon Jason stans.
Dick was never abusive toward Jason. Hell, he was hardly around Jason at all before Jason died. And he was never really around Jason because he was with the Titans during that time in New York. He did, however, give Jason his phone number and Robin costume. He told Jason to call him if he ever needed to talk. When Jason did a mission with the Titans, Dick offered to stick up for Jason against Bruce should Jason need Dick's support.
Robin Jason was never scared of Dick at any point. If anything, Robin Jason is sometimes the one who's depicted as a prickly asshole to Dick. Also, I don't like to use "bad temper" to describe Dick, and here's a post on why.
Referring to Jason as a good and reliable brother is downright laughable considering his history of trying to kill the batfam. I mean, sure, writers have been trying to go for the more family friendly angle for Jason lately, but you couldn't even count on him being a good brother to Dick when Dick had amnesia. Like when Dick was being mind-controlled, Jason literally said that if Dick crossed the line, he'd be happy to meet him there. Like idk maybe Jason's priority should be trying to help his brother and not threatening to possibly shoot/kill him. And now more recently, they've got another writer having Jason say some variation of, "Dick, I love you." Like... Jason doesn't even have reliable relationships or characterization asldkja. Whoever is writing him won't be consistent with previous versions of him.
I have a post on Dick and Jason's relationship that should clear things up. Although, take note that it's not up-to-date, and I'm actually missing a pivotal interaction with Dick and Jason in it (in which Jason dressed up as Nightwing and started murdering people). I'll have to include that someday.
#fanon jason stans want jason to be dick so bad 😩#also lmao why do i feel like jason stans would try to defend him with that dumb christmas carol inspired issue#and speaking of that issue--pssst dick... don't go to your family's christmas party 😌#Dick Grayson#Jason Todd#canon vs fanon#replies
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Could I ask for a reader x Sirius where Sirius James and reader share a house because like reader is James sibling and it’s just James finding them being really couply and everything and him over reacting?
Yes, ofc bbg
Sirius Black x gn!Reader
Warnings: mention of bad home life, sort of suggestive in literally one sentence
A/n: GUYS I'M SORRY FOR TAKING THESE LONG ASS BREAKS 💀 I really need to start writing on a computer instead of my shitty phone lol. Anyways, requests are open
A few summers ago, you and your brother made the decision to get Sirius Black out of his abusive household. It was seriously one of the best decisions both you and James had ever made. Sirius seemed so much happier now that he actually lived with people who cared about him. And he seemed especially happy about getting to live with his significant other.
It was a hot summer day at the house, and no matter how high the AC was turned up, it didn't seem to help very much.
In an attempt to battle the heat, you and Sirius had resorted to sitting on the floor of your room in front of a fan that was turned up to its maximum setting. Two large glasses of ice water were sat next to the both of you and both glasses were half empty.
Sirius groaned as he slid down the wall that he was leaning against, moving to lay on his back.
"It's hot." He whined as he threw an arm over his face.
"Yeah," You agreed. "I noticed."
"I don't understand. It felt so nice yesterday and now it's absolutely scolding." He continued to complain.
You looked over at your boyfriend and chuckled. "I know why."
"Why?"
"It's cause yesterday you were going on and on about how nice the weather had been lately and-"
"Don't blame this on me!" He cut you off, sitting up and giving you a grin.
"I'll blame whoever I want!" You giggled.
"I'll turn this fan off." Sirius threatened.
"No, you won't."
"Yeah, I won't."
The two of you smiled at each other for a moment before Sirius moved to sit next to you and leaned his head on your shoulder.
"Seriously?" You asked, looking down at him. "Isn't it too hot for cuddling?"
"Never." He replied.
You couldn't argue with that. You rested your head on top of his and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.
It was nice despite the fact that the both of you were sticky with sweat. You closed your eyes, enjoying the peaceful moment when your door opened.
"Y/n, do you know where the fan is-" James began to ask as he walked in. "Oh my God, of course you two are using it."
"We were hot." You told James.
"You'd both probably be less hot if you weren't laying on top of each other." He said as he leaned against your doorframe.
Sirius hummed as if he was considering what James said. "Nah, I think I feel much cooler right here."
"Yeah, I've gotta agree." You said as Sirius wrapped his arm around you and kissed your cheek.
James gagged. "Oh, get a room."
"Great idea." Replied Sirius.
James couldn't help but chuckle. "You're both gross. I don't even want the fan anymore."
"Then you should probably leave." Sirius suggested.
"Yeah, before we start making out in front of you." You added with a mischievous grin.
"You don't have to tell me twice." James said as he turned and left the room.
You and Sirius exchanged a look before both giggling.
"He hates us." You said.
"But, he loves us." Sirius added.
"And I love you." You leaned down to kiss him softly.
After the short kiss Sirius chuckled. "No wonder he hates us. Look at how cheesy we're being."
"There's no one I'd rather be cheesy with." You told him as you kissed the bridge of his nose.
Just then James reentered the room. "I've changed my mind, I'm taking the fan."
"NO!"
#fanfiction#x reader#marauders x reader#marauders fanfiction#Sirius black x reader#sirius black fanfiction
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It's either you said it one of the other fantastic CoD writers. Simon is the only one who had a normal life before joining. He was older when he enlisted got to experience adulthood a bit even if it was only a year or two. Even after his torture he came home and took on primary care giver for his family throwing his dad out, getting his brother clean, and even helping his brother find the love of his life. He had a good 5-7 years as a civi adult before he became ghost. Ghost was his grief hidden he wants to go back to the softness of Simon.
Also I just want to compliment you on actually writing a close to canon ghost. Far too many people forget he is confident in his appearance and that's he's a bit off goof ball. Yes he has PTSD around getting forcefully touched all over. (I also head canon autistic ghost) Of course he's not gonna want to get touched and the ghost mask allows him to preserve simon. Because he unlike König isn't proud of his war crimes he only does them so others don't lose their families or get their hands dirty.
Now soap, the lyin son of bitch, who joined the service at 16 instead of 17 like a good kid who knows Patience. He's rough and a bit vulgar he needs to be thrown into a rock tumbler 4-6 weeks going through all three stages before he'll be considered soft. He'll have soft moments, but those will be more accidental. He's a good time, but unless you're equally rough he is not husband material.
-hot mess rambler
(I said I'd get out and yet here I am... I hope your day is well ghoul)
Ghost is so fun because there's so much dimension to him. He's cocky, he's funny, he is absolutely blunt but encouraging, he wants his team to do well. He grew up in a shitty household but he pulled himself out of it. He knew joy and family and it was ripped away from him, of course he's trying to protect himself now. OF COURSE Simon is locked away far under the facade of Ghost. He's like an abused dog, he's looking for someone to love him and a place to feel safe but he'll bite if you push him too hard.
Soap on the other hand. What a rascal, a rake, a rapscallion if you will. Trying to join the SAS at 16, and getting kicked out when he's caught only to go back at 17 because what else is he doing? He's hiding all his soft edges behind an impenetrable layer of Scottish charm. You're not going to get anything genuine out of him unless you force it out of him. He's gotta bond with people and even then you are hard pressed to ever get any sort of deep response from him about anything. The man is a hardened soldier, using humor to cope and come off as less rough than he is.
This is why he's gotta butt against darlings that don't want him, or just are making him work for it. Gotta break Soap down and force him to admit he has feelings under all that charm.
(I hope you keep coming back to my ask box! My day is going well but busy. I hope yours is going well!!)
#ghoul speaks#hot mess anon#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#I feel like they get each others characterization in fandom#Soap becomes this huge joker and Ghost gets super serious#which like yeah but look at the layers of it#they're both defense mechanisms
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Hey. Asking about how Chloe was abused. My knowldge of abuse is fairly limited to general pop knowledge so I'm curious as to what abuse was done to her.
Okay caveats first:
I am not a medical professional, I am simply someone with a vested interest in the topic who has done more research than the average person.
There are many definitions of abuse. Legal definitions are rarely useful, as they are limited to concrete, provable, gross violations. Just as you can inflict a lot of pain on someone without leaving the marks to prove assault, you can do a lot of damage to a child without it being legally 'provable'. Medical definitions are much more helpful for discussions.
Lastly some level of extrapolation is required as it is a show. We take what we are shown. For example:We actually only have Felix's word that he was ever abused, and his first character traits sre being deceitful and manipulative. We still take his word though, because it's a show. (And also we should give weight to victim accounts!)
So both parents are guilty in different ways. We will start with Audrey, the simpler one. There's clear verbal and emotional abuse demonstrated on screen. Mis-naming your child is a form of abuse:please ask the trans community about the impact of deadnaming even in full grown adults.
Beyond that she is constantly dismissive and belittling of her child- to the exclusion of all else. Style Queen/Queen Wasp is rife with examples. There is also the clear behavior shift in Chloé. The wheeling, approval seeking, hunched posture expecting rejection. This is a *pattern* not a one off. Audrey may live in NY, but no fashion movil would be away from Paris for 13yrs straight. We are simply seeing the most recent interaction. This culminates im a child having to ask 'Why don't you love me mother?' and the response is telling
Audrey barely chokes out the strange word when trying to contradict the question. It takes Marinette literally making them both mad at her to get a bare minimum of interaction on Audrey's part. It doesn't last though. Audrey falls back into her negation behaviors and is now present to inflict them more regularly on Chloé, while also being a constant target for/model of behavior for Chloé. (Seriously it was such a misstep to write Marinette reuniting a victim with an abuser) We know the show itself considers Audrey'ss care as a bad thing because the original script had André divorcing her and takin Zoé because Zoé 'doesn't deserve you' so Chloé being in an abusive parenting situation in Representation is supposed to be 'punishment'(ewww)
André is not off the hook either. People look at him 'spoiling' her and leave it at that. Well, 'spoiling' can in fact be abusive too. Let's look at what we see:
André has been her primary caregiver for 14 years now, so he has had the most responsibility in molding what we see for good or bad(mostly bad). She does learn from him too. Darkblade she proudly announces she learned everything about winning elections from watching her father. He's also excessively arrogant (I'm the symbol of Paris!) and quite willing to abuse his power for his own ends(having Roger round up protestors etc) which explains where Chloé learned where power is to be abused.
André is also extremely neglectful as a parent, extreeeeemely. Let's hit a bunch of points in the order they come to me.
Chloé lives *alone* in a hotel suite. There's no shared space, no family area. It's not even really her room. It's commercial, sterile. Where sre her hobbies? Posters? Even her *colors*? She is so used to being ignored at home that the girl who is loud as heck everywhere else doesn't make a single mark on her living space.
A hotel employee seems to think he needs to step in to raise Chloé. Let that sink in. An employee can see how bad it is and tried to make some kind of change, (he's working against a lifetime of ingrained behavior and is not very good at it himself). He doesn't even think to you know... Get Andre in to do this.
André was unaware or didn't care his daughter hasn't done schoolwork since Sabrina *learned to write*(5/6 yrs old) that is a shocking level of disinterest in your child. 6yr olds aren't criminal masterminds.
Andre supplants actual attention and affection with *stuff* he gives material possessions in *place* of parenting. This is somewhat similar to spoiling but not the same. André's method denies the child something vital. You see- things aren't a substitute for affection/attention, developmentally. And so while they may delight they never satisfy the need. They never validate the emotional attachment. So after the shine wears off, the hole is still there. So, like someone with an addiction, the child needs more, and more, and more. Since the needs are never met, it is never enough. And this is what the child views as *normal* this is simply *how it is*. They rarely know they are being given inadequate care because it's just life to them. Seeing something different in a one off doesn't make a dent vs a whole life.
This sort of thing makes a potent cocktail when mixed with the abandonment issues from her mother too. See- if her mother left, and daddy doesn't pay attention, anyone can leave. This leads to a cycle of pushing/demanding/hurting. The child expects to be left and let down, so they both try to reassure themselves it won't happen, and *make* it happen on their own terms (because they believe deep down it will) so more outrageous demands, because when those demands are met, it shows that you are still 'loved' and when they are not met, then there you go, you are not loved and they will leave you. It's a self-destructive spiral.
You see it play out with her interactions with her classmates and Sabrina specifically. How does she express affection? Gifts. What does she do? Push. Push and push and find the breaking point because if she can make Sabrina actually leave then it shows that she herself is worthless and her mother was right to leave her and her father is right to ignore her. Pretty messed up right? Yeah. Child abuse does horrible things to kids.
We're not done with André yet. Some people might say 'he expresses love for Chloé!' and to that I say- performatively.
André likes the idea of being a father. It's what respectable people do. It looks good on camera. It's someone to love him unconditionally. It's an ally against his wife.(broken home dynamics are horrible too) André just doesn't like having to parent for more than a snapshot.
We can see his interactions with Zoé highlight this too. He's delighted she's here!(a potential person on his side vs his wife and daughter) what's his first parenting advice? 'lock your dreams away and get on with life' A+ André.
What's he do in Queen Banana? He uses his power to let Chloé manipulate the movie *kicking Zoé out of it* This is the guy who is supposed to be supporting her? He only draws the line when it comes to sending Zoé away... Why? He doesn't want to lose an 'ally'. It's power dynamics. Not parenting. Where was he when Zoé was stuck in boarding school? He was going to keep Zoé in the divorce so clearly Mr Lee isn't in the picture, Audrey probably forgot Zoé existed, why didn't André bring Zoé to France and let the sisters grow up together? Oh, right, that might be work.
André likes Zoé because she comes pre-raised(boarding school was probably better than either parent) he doesn't have to put in work and he gets a free good kid to make him look like a father. She's his 'do over' as he throws the one he raised in the trash.
André shows his true colors when he's lamenting to Gabe about his corruption and abuse and blames ot on his 'heartless daughter' you know... The child he raised. The grown man is actually shoving his own corruption and misdeeds onto his child. You really don't need much more than that.
So, via neglect, verbal abuse, and emotional abuse the Bourgeois parents raised an incredibly messed up child. Chloé is not a 'good victim' like Adrien, she doesn't sulk quietly under abuse. She lashes out. She is hurt and angry and she passes the pain on. This is why they call it the cycle of abuse.
The end of Revolution illustrates this perfectly. Audrey throws verbal abuse at her on the plane. Angry that Chloé embarrassed her(not that she did wrong, Audrey loved the power grab) and calls her a loser by implication. You *see* it hit, the physical cringe. Then Chloé immedietely goes to try and pass on the pain. She is hurt and making someone else hurt is the only way to lessen it. She calls Marinette. Marinette breaks the cycle though, and good for her. But the show seems to have forgotten there's still one hurt child in this scene, and it doesn't seem to care.
I'm going to stop here for now. I probably left a bunch out, but I do have other things I need to do. Feel free to ask more questions. Thanks for taking the time to seek answers.
#ask#chloé bourgeois#child abuse is never okay#child abuse is not justice#andre bourgeois#audrey bourgeois#zoe lee#miraculous ladybug
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@thewillowbends
Hope it's okay I moved to text post, it seemed like a better idea.
First, let me be clear: People can write whatever they want and I'm not saying they can't or shouldn't.
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"If Tav is happily evil, then we’re back to the issue of limits in the narrative functionality beyond shorter works."
If Tav HAS to be a meek, regretful abuse victim in order for a story to be lengthy and meaningful, then that is 100% a skill and creativity issue of the writer. Either them not having the ability to see the story from another perspective, or them not having the creativity level to consider other canon-friendly manifestations of the Evil Tav x Asc Astarion relationship. Those "limits" you speak of are only limits if you allow them to be and don't let yourself grow as a writer.
"As it is, game is pretty blunt about how the story of spawn Tav ends"
The game is not blunt at all. The game gives us NO ending to that. It's up to the player. The closest we have to an idea of an ending for "spawn" Tav, is this datamined title card:
(read image description for transcription)
While this was cut from the official release of the game (like all the epilogue content), it still shows what Larian had/has in mind for the direction of the Asc ending. And it's got no hints about abuse.
Astarion tells you as much if you break up with him — “I would’ve ruined your love, used your trust.”
This is called metagaming. BG3 is not like a tv show where all the little dots connect and line up. BG3 is a "choose your own adventure" novel in video game form. It works just the same. So any choices or options you DO NOT select are NOT TRUE for your character in that playthrough. So nothing Spawn Astarion says in that ending matters in regards to a playthrough with the Ascended ending. Nothing Asc Astarion says matters in regards to a playthrough with the Spawn ending. In BOTH endings, he thanks Tav genuinely, fully appreciates the choice, is glad the opposite choice wasn't made, and wants Tav to choose what their next adventure will be.
Both endings have to be worthwhile and feel satisfying for the player, and the best way to do that is to have Astarion genuinely appreciate what Tav has done, in BOTH endings. And he does.
"it’s a story about cycles and the destruction of life. It’s telling you what Astarion will become because Cazador used to be in his position."
It's telling who Cazedor was and his story. That doesn't mean Astarion is doomed to repeat it. Or that a specific ending IS him repeating it. There is no warning of such. It CAN go that way, but nothing in-game says it has to. Because breaking "the cycle" isn't one specific thing. And he breaks cycles in BOTH endings.
Astarion's story is about corruption and choosing to either become more corrupt (than he already is) or try to live by the rules of society and just accept how things are.
In the Spawn ending he talks about the "cycle of power", meaning the cycle of vampire culture that thrives on a pyramid of power. He is free of that headache and appreciates that.
As to the quote you mention, Astarion is speculating about ascension. He has no idea what would have actually happened, he can only guess. He is an opportunistic optimist so he'd more likely see the path he couldn't take as one he shouldn't have anyway. And having him say that in-game for that ending, makes that ending feel worth it for the player.
In the Asc ending, he breaks the cycles of loneliness, living in darkness, selfishness, hunger, and wants to treat his own spawn better than Cazedor ever did. Astarion hates the word spawn and chooses to call his future ones his "children" instead. He loves the sun, it's symbolic for him. Yet, he is fully willing, without hesitation, to give up something he loves so much, so that his "children" can thrive in a world that is shrouded in fog. He also takes on a consort (vampire bride/groom) and wants to share that power, something Cazedor did not do (as far as we know).
You can break away from Larian’s story, certainly, but a lot of fanfic writers are trying to stick to what was extant within the media itself. At some point, if you pull too far away from it, you’re just writing an original story, and the issue most writers then run into is…why not turn it fully original and publish it then?
Here's the problem with this: Larian's story IS BOTH endings. There is no metaphorical build up in the game that sets up *only* the Spawn ending as his "real" or "true" ending. It's a metaphorical build up that can have TWO different solutions. One being reject the power and accept life as it is. The other being usurp power and rewrite the rules. Ascension is never shown to be a truly evil or bad thing. The worst part of it is sacrificing the 7000 spawn. But if Tav/Durge rationalizes this, there are no real negatives. The only negatives may be if one does not vibe with his confidence boost and prefers him more docile.
The whole last statement you've made and way of thinking makes it seem like his Spawn ending is the real one and his Ascended ending is just some "fun and sexy" alternative but invalid thing you can do.
His story arc is BOTH endings. They are both just as bad and as good as the other, it's just a matter of what works for your Tav/Durge and for you as the player. He does not have ONE TRUE ENDING. You choose the lesser of two evils. Which one is "lesser" depends entirely on the player and Tav/Durge as individuals.
If ANYTHING, writing Ascended Astarion as an abusive, uncaring, unloving monster is just writing an original story and not sticking to what is within the game itself. Not the other way around.
Also, as a last comment... a fanfiction does not have to be a 70 chapter epic. It can be 1-3 chapters and be a complete work. Or just one chapter. Or a few paragraphs. But Tav and Astarion being happily evil together shouldn't be a reason you can't write a lengthy and fleshed out story. That's just lack of creativity. Spawn ending fans outnumber Asc ending fans, and most Spawn fans have a negative view of Asc Astarion. So that's more likely the reason why we never see many happily evil Tav x Astarion fics.
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Feel free to ignore you've probably got a lot going on right now, but considering you know a lot about DOTC and Clear sky, I had a question...
We know that he's a terrible, misogynistic, woman beating and war mongering lunatic who was excused of all his actions because his equally misogynistic brother said " But-But he's nice! Deep down! This isn't the real him! "
But! In a world where the Hunters could write such a character, what do you think Clear Sky would look like as an actual sympathetic villain?
Idk if that makes sense, but what I've thought of doing is taking purely cannon Clear Sky and attempting to change him enough that he's still an antagonist, but not too far where only Reddit defends him.
I don't think he works as a sympathetic villain, on any level, ever. I think you're making a huge mistake to even try, and I have never seen an AU where it was done well nor am I interested in entertaining the thought.
Characters. Are. Tools. They exist to tell a story. The story that people tell me, by obsessing over some alternate universe where he was "ACTUALLY sympathetic and had a REAL redemption arc," is that they're not fucking interested in his dozens of victims. Nor do they actually care about the abusive impact he had on the minds and feelings of his family. They're JUST interested in Clear Sky himself.
Just like the Erins. Everything that happens in DOTC revolves around him. Everything. All his wives die so he can be sad about it. His brother defends all of his actions and BEGS you to sympathize with his pain so he can be 'redeemable.' One Eye comes out of nowhere so that there can be an example of "real" evil to contrast Clear Sky so he's less bad in hindsight.
The first three books of DOTC are bad, but the last three are fucking insufferable because SUDDENLY all that Gray Wing apologia pays off, and they take their main villain and throw him out a window. You CAN'T have "redeemable" Clear Sky and the plot of DOTC without dragging in someone else to drive the conflict, to BE the bigger threat to "unite" against. Slash and One Eye have to be conjured up out of thin air so Clear Sky can WHINE about how people only suck his toes instead of deepthroat them after he killed all their friends.
And yet, in spite of this absolute failure of an attempt, we continue to see this bullshit "redemption" be a mistake because Clear Sky is a fantastic villain, with major antagonist roles in nearly EVERY bit of follow-up material for DOTC that came after.
He's the most consistent monster in all of Warriors.
He's a fragile, egotistical, self-absorbed megalomaniac who ALWAYS sees himself as the victim, REFUSING to self-reflect and blaming everything else for all of his terrible choices. He will USE your love of him against you like it's a chain through your nose, step out of line and he will yank you into place with guilt trips, manipulation, public shaming, and violence.
He's a child abuser. He's a tyrant. He abandons the sick and disabled as soon as they're of no use to him, with grand speeches about "illness" and "weakness." He's a murderer who stands above the shredded corpse of his victim and bellows, "I'M NOT GREEDY! I'M JUST STRONG!"
And you'd write a "good" redemption arc for this, why?
Why are people so chronically unable to accept that there are LOTS of people like him, and you can't save your abuser? Why don't you ask yourselves why you're not interested in exploring Thunder, or Petal, or Gray Wing, and how his toxic influence impacts them? Why does the sympathy fall on Clear Sky? What about the DOZENS of victims who are dead by Book 3, and how THEY could have been saved?
Why ruin a perfectly good villain?
What's behind this trend where a billion people say to me, "Yes Clear Sky is a walking cavalcade of fucked up abuse apologia, and an incredibly realistic depiction of an abuser, but how would you change this while keeping it all the same?"
I wouldn't. You can't. It wouldn't be the same story, or it wouldn't be the same character. Never seen it done well, and I have seen it a lot. So I don't entertain this deeply frustrating "Well What If Clear Sky But Nice" impulse.
#The closest I'll ever get to that is Fallenleaf. And she lost it all#And spent years in the time-out tunnel#BAD KITTIES GO IN THE PEAR WIGGLER TO BE SUFFICIENTLY WIGGLED.#I don't think people in power typically change. If they do it's so rare it's not worth entertaining. Camel through the eye of a needle shit#and I mean ALL powers. this goes for abusive relationships too. I think they need to lose that power before they change.#When you have power. REAL power. You can fill those holes with it. You can force people to not leave.#so im actively hostile to stories that winge and cry about giving powerful people endless sympathy and chances#You've already shown me what you want to do with your power and as long as you keep it you haven't seen your consequences.#Power reveals.#It doesn't corrupt. It reveals.#DOTC hate#clear sky's redemption arc#If you're in an abusive relationship or under a terrible boss or in some other bad environment. You won't fix it.#You are not responsible for fixing it.#You can't fix it.#And they will not change. so GET OUTTA THERE#And that's who he functions best as. To me.#He's the bastard you need to escape.#And that's infinitely more compelling to me than Nice Clear Sky Attempt 32324#I don't write stories that beg you to sympathize with tyrants and keep your heart open to some maybe-change on the horizon#I write stories where they ruin everything they touch and have to be forcefully yanked out of power before they hurt more people.#And also screw every related take that's like 'ohhh after 5000 years of having his toes sucked he regrets it a bit :('#no he fucking wouldn't. he had his toes sucked for 5000 years. He's vindicated by how fondly he's remembered.#You can't fucking tell me that he doesnt REVEL in how violent the culture became. That him being offended about the clan's exile-#--was anything but him being offended his namesake was going away. That he wouldn't parade around like every choice he ever made was right.#''I made some vague mistakes which I will never name. BUT Im never wrong and always did it my way even if it was hard''#If you haven't met a person like that I envy you.#bone babble#Nothing makes me mad quite like this character#Again I yell about his brother a lot because he's widely loved by the fandom
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So I've been working on a Feyd-Rautha/Reader fanfic, and am working out various headcanons I have for him in terms of his sexual preferences and past, as well as what I've written but might be a little too silly to include in future chapters and kind of want to get it out there to get an opinion on things.
Link here: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 1 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]
Some of my NSFW headcanons down below
-Okay, so it's firmly established that he's a sadomasochist. It's also mentioned in the books that he'd been abused by his uncle when he was younger. I don't think the two necessarily have to correlate but I think on some level he finds physical pain cathartic, and the moments in which he's masochistic to him feel like he's reclaiming something for himself. He chooses the pain rather than having it inflicted on him.
-I get the impression that he's generally more dominant but in the right headspace with the right person can enjoy being more submissive. It has to be explicitly on his terms, though. Like with pain, he has to make it clear that this is something he's giving of his own free will and that is not to be taken lightly.
-I don't think he would or could ever tolerate being subjected to humiliation, degradation, or feeling emasculated. Subjecting a partner to that, sure, but I feel like that would actually be a severe trigger for him so someone calling him pathetic or questioning his manhood in the bedroom may very well get killed on the spot for it. He's buried a lot of his trauma from his uncle's abuse but those things awaken it.
-I don't think there's a specific kink community with a vocabulary or guidelines on Geidi Prime. I don't think he knows what a trigger or a safeword is. As established already in my fic, he doesn't fully understand the concept of aftercare and is pretty bad at providing it (so far.)
-Being an arena fighter on Geidi Prime basically makes him a rock star, and as such he does get his equivalent of groupies. He's never been in an actual romantic relationship, but people fascinated with his brutality in the arena have gotten curious about what he's like in the bedroom and while it doesn't happen all the time, he has sufficiently satisfied their curiosity.
-I'm not sure if this will end up making it into the fic, but I picture him as being predominantly but not exclusively attracted to women, and as someone who's had a couple of consensual encounters with men as an adult, partly out of genuine curiosity/interest and partly to reclaim some level of power.
-Spoilers for future chapters--I'm writing it that he doesn't have sex with his Darlings. They're a little too animalistic even for him. He doesn't mind if people assume he does, though, because of the danger and fear associated with it.
-He enjoys period sex. Nothing deeper about it, the man just likes blood. Will also enthusiastically go down on his partner during the heaviest days.
-So...here's where I'm worried it's going to get a little goofy. While he has a lot of kinks that would be considered adjacent to BDSM, as I said I don't picture there being a specific community. I wrote a scene that hasn't been posted yet of Feyd-Rautha using a flogger on the Reader character and her initially being terrified thinking it's a cat-of-nine-tails and calming down somewhat when she realizes it's not that severe. I'm worried it will seem ridiculous, but I could also picture him having something certain tools custom-made for him. It was one of the first scenes I wrote for this fic but am worried it will come across as tacky/not fitting for the environment. Granted, I'm not writing a particularly substantial fanfic. It's completely removed from the main plot and is mostly a combination of character study and smut so I think anyone who's enjoying it probably knows that it's not that deep. *
*Although to be clear, I'd love to hear from people on that they think.
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You seem to be really against Hermione for the bird incident, but don’t seem to care much about Harry sending Hedwig to claw at Ron and Hermione during the summer preceding fifth year, why is that?(/gen) You also seem to ship Ronarry. Is it just because she’s the canon love interest that you’re so upset? I know Harry regretted telling Hedwig to do what she did afterwards, but I don’t remember him ever apologizing to Ron and Hermione. How can we know that Hermione didn’t apologize to Ron after he came back in Deathly Hallows but before the battle of hogwarts?(I agree with your opinions on Hermione in general, I’m just curious.)
If you don't know, I've made some jokes about how Harmony shippers are right about Harry and Hermione having something in common, which is that they both sent birds to attack Ron.
Harry doesn't interest me nearly as much as Hermione because to be frank he's pretty much just... the most boring character in the series to me. I like him for his Ron-loving potential which is pretty off the charts when Rowling isn't actively using Ron as a stepping stone for Harry and Hermione to look better.
I'm actually a pretty big Romione shipper even if I myself get confused about what I'm mad about sometimes. Honestly, it's just that I've kinda had it with people constantly writing Ron fucking up and having to make it up to Hermione, I want her to be fucking up and making it up to him and it not being considered a Crime Against Women Everywhere because yeah, women fuck up and hurt men too, men also get abused or shat on by women, it happens. Hermione as she is has a pretty toxic mentality, what with her often using violence completely casually (her first "big heroic moment" in the series is to set a man on fire) coupled with that shitty tendency of Rowling to use "Hermione on the verge of tears" as a kind of sedative to make the average reader go "who cares what Hermione did before, she's crying NOW and that's UNFORGIVABLE, PROTECT HER".
But, Harry himself also has a system like that, by virtue of being Our Poor Orphan Protagonist. Honestly, I hate to say it but Potterheads read another book because yes, Harry is nothing new, when an author wants you to root for their protagonist they give them a backstory that makes you want good things for them, yes Harry's suffering is just all destined to make you attached to him and meant to make you think everything that ever happens to HIM personally is automatically The Most Horrible Thing Ever To Happen To Anyone Ever and I'm kinda done with that as a whole because of fandom experience. I can only tell people to pay attention to what Ron goes through only to be rebuked by a "but look how hard Harry had it, in comparison Ron is a baby" so many times before I get completely soured and decide that the character they feel so sad for doesn't need any more people to feel sorry for.
... I don't know if I'm being clear. But yeah I function mostly through pure spite nowadays.
I know Harry regretted telling Hedwig to do what she did afterwards, but I don’t remember him ever apologizing to Ron and Hermione.
He did say a token sorry to Ron specifically:
He showed Harry the index finger of his right hand, which sported a half-healed but clearly deep cut.
‘Oh, yeah,’ Harry said. ‘Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know –’
(I say "token" because yeah it's not really an apology given how it's immediately followed by a justification.)
Hermione however?
‘He seemed to think it was best,’ said Hermione rather breathlessly. ‘Dumbledore, I mean.’
‘Right,’ said Harry. He noticed that her hands, too, bore the marks of Hedwig’s beak and found that he was not at all sorry.
WOOP WOOP FEEL THE HARMONY YET
How can we know that Hermione didn’t apologize to Ron after he came back in Deathly Hallows but before the battle of hogwarts?
Honestly she can have apologized anytime, I'd just like it to be shown to me, and I'd like it to mean something.
While for example @divagonzo believes that after Malfoy Manor Hermione realizes her own mortality and blunts her sharper edges, I still remember the scene where Ron isn't sure they can trust Griphook and Hermione immediately insult him for being racist. Yeah, if that's blunting her sharp edges then I sure hope she's got other ways to do it otherwise she's gonna need a lot more Malfoy Manors.
As it stands, Harry and Hermione are really underdeveloped and bare-bones. If Harry has a character arc then I've missed it entirely because while he does realize that Snape has reasons and shit he's still kinda hating on him all through OOTP, HBP and DH until the Epilogue pulls the rug from beneath our feet. Hermione has moments indicating there's some things happening - her arc with Luna in OOTP is neat, in DH she finally learned to thank Ron for complimenting her - but aside from that she never is confronted to actual failure, to actual dilemnas, to actual problems without a true "I'm right you're wrong" solution - we only see her "being right" without anything exploring what she COULD be beyond "being right".
Which leaves Ron to shoulder the burden of having to do character development for two static characters that amount to "male role model" and "female role model". Ron IS confronted with failure, with actual dilemnas to which there's no easy answer or solution, Ron IS confronted with his personal character flaws... in pretty much every book, he's kept in a loop of "complete character arc" -> "oh no JKR needs drama to happen and she can't have Role Model 1 & 2 do it because they're supposed to be Above Mere Mortals" -> "backtrack on Ron's character arc so he can cause the drama so she doesn't have to strain her brain too hard", which is pretty obviously a disservice to Ron's character. And sadly, the fandom picks up on it but takes the wrong message from it: instead of realizing "wait, Rowling is violating the rules of good storytelling by constantly backtracking on her one good and complex character's development all so she doesn't have to risk Harry and Hermione's popularity by using their character flaws to create conflict", the fandom instead goes "ugh Ron is always causing messes while Harry and Hermione always have their hearts in the right place and always want what's best and anyway if they ever did something bad it's because they were forced by the situation".
It's... upsetting.
#ron weasley#harry potter#hermione granger#ron weasley defense squad#ron weasley defence squad#hp meta#anti jk rowling#vivi answers
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Hiii Chaos, how are you???
I was wondering how do you think Joker's relationship with his mum was like??
I think they had a good relationship, I also hc Joker was the younger brother who had to stay at home with his dad while his older brother just went away and never came back for him, just leaving him alone with all the mess at home.
And he just had to stick around with his drunken dad.
His mum was also a drunken but at least she cared about him, deeply.
Hello love! 🖤✨
I never thought about his parents actually. I bring a “I don’t care about his past” type of energy to the fandom that ppl don’t like. 🤷🏽♀️
I guess this is a think piece continuation to a backstory ask I had back in May!
If Joker did have a relationship with his mom, now that I think about it more; (I have to disagree with myself back in May) it would probably be very protective.
Joker drinks his feminine juice thank you very much so he took majority of the abuse in order to protect her. There's no hard feelings between mother/son despite the crappy living situation.
Ever wonder how Joker is so soft and sweet with you? Traits he learned from taking care of his mother. 👩🏾💻
If she’s still alive (omg the possibilities) she would be set for life, a literal queen.
She hasn’t a clue what her son does up in the big city—all she knows is that a nice man drops off a duffel bag each month with money and a handwritten note from her son. She ain’t complaining but it would be nice to see her son..
Joker crafts each letter with a shocking amount of love and care. A completely different man emerges when he writes to his mother and she keeps each one and treasures them dearly.
Her name is the password for many important things in Joker’s operations. He's so far removed from his old life, no one is the wiser. If J dies, there’s even a protocol in place for his mom (and you of course).
Things obviously weren’t easy growing up with a deadbeat father so Joker makes sure his mother is happy now and lives life comfortably.
He can never visit her (duh his scars and he's kinda ashamed of who he's become) but he thinks of her as much as he does his Light. So like everyday.
I can guarantee you Joker killed his father. Moving right along.
Any siblings would no longer matter to Joker. They either deserted him and Mom or they didn’t help fight back when J got fed up for the last time…Joker considers that a sign of weakness. They’re dead to him.
Joker dreams one day that his Light will get to meet his mom (if she's still alive. We don't know how old she is)
He wants the two most important women in his life to know each other. One is from his past, the other his future.
#thanks anon!#thanks for the ask!#sfw headcanons#ledger joker#joker is so sweet when he wanna be#heath joker#joker x y/n#joker x reader#joker x you#ledger joker x reader#joker x black!reader#dark knight joker#this was fun#joker's backstory
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Hello! Um, I don't know how welcome you are to asks but I kinda wanted to bring up this little headcanon I have of Michael that you may or may not find interesting? Iv posted about it somewhere on my blog, but to summarize it, here
Consider the potential of a Teenage Michael!
Hear me out! I just think there is a lot of potential, not only angst wise but also narrative wise.
I just love the idea of the head angel of the celetial relm being this scrawny teenage boy with issues.
Not only is he a teenager with the responsibility of being the mature older brother to the other angels, therefore, having to step up more in the absence of lucifer, but also having a lowkey abusive father who burdens him with religious trauma.
And I just loove the trope where it's like:
The younger siblings stays behind with abusive parents left to take care of the rest of their family because their older sibling left to live a healthier life. And resentment builds because they think their older sibling abomdoned them.
Also considering how I don't think the devs will make him a villian, I think it would make Michael look way more sympathetic if he was on the younger side.
Is this accurate to what the game has established Michael to be? Not really but they've retconned things before. Not that I'd ever think they'd go along with a concept like this.
Anyways I'm writing this at like 11pm so exuse the spelling errors, I'm so tired 🥲.
Ps. I really like your content :D
I actually REALLY like that, and the angst oh boy :")
I mean, looking back to NB S1 (spoilers!!!) with this in mind makes everything so much sadder. Like how he disguised himself as Raphael just to visit the others in the Devildom because he missed them and didn't know how to interact with them as himself. And also him giving Lucifer that ultimatum to either come back or make the Devildom an enemy of the Celestial Realm as a last attempt to bring his older brother and brothers back (even though deep down he knew they'd refuse) because he was struggling to step up and handle things on his own after he left, especially since the trauma of the war was still fresh for everyone (including himself) and he had to look after the traumatized part of the family that stayed, like you said.
Which is... heartbreaking.
Funny thing though: I always thought Michael to be the oldest one (or them being twins) and your ask made me start thinking about how that would play out in this scenario with the og game stuff in mind.
So like, the older sibling carrying resentment while also being happy for the youngest because they got tired of the abuse and had the courage to stand up to their parent and leave to have a happier life when he couldn't because he still feels tied to that parent and that it's his responsibility and duty to stay with them no matter what (think of Dean and Sam from SPN, who have this exact dynamic and a very complicated relationship with their father).
And then there's the whole thing about Michael being the one to cast out Lucifer and his brothers from the Celestial Realm, which only adds to this. It's like: the younger brother stood up to his father and was met with rage, so the oldest stepped up and to avoid something even worse from happening kicked him out of the house himself.
(@luckykittysshowerthoughts has an amazing post about this that has never left my mind ever since I read it and I recommend everyone reading it)
So we fast-forward to years and years later where the oldest is still living with their parents looking after the siblings who didn't leave while missing his younger brother, worrying for him, and wanting to know how he's doing. So he tries his best to stay in contact and know what's happening but since their relationship has been strained ever since what happened (because from the youngest's POV his older brother betrayed him by not taking his side and kicking him out of the house, which I think was how Lucifer felt for a long time before he saw the bigger picture as he got older) the youngest rejects his attempts at trying to contact him and the oldest's only way to know how he's doing is by sending his other siblings to check up on him or contact the people close to him.
Does he do it to the point where it gets annoying? Yes. Is his constant need to know how his brother is doing making said brother feel even more frustrated with him and only driving him further away? Yes. Would it have been better if he had left the brother alone and waited for him to reach out on his own? Yes. But he can't find it in himself to do that because he'd worry too much and miss him even more.
Tbh, I can see both of these scenarios being true together. So younger Michael right after the fall is still bitter and doesn't want to admit that he misses Lucifer and his brothers (he didn't seem to like to hear that Luke thought he missed them when talking to him as Raphael) and later accepting that and leaving a lot of that resentment behind to just be happy for them and miss them, wanting to know how they're doing often, etc.
So I definitely don't see him as evil either, but more of a broken younger/older sibling who wants to reconnect with his family and whose intentions are good but don't translate very well in his method of doing things.
Sorry for going on my own rambling here, lol
And I'm more than fine with asks, I love discussing stuff about the game and the characters <3
#this ask made me like Michael's character even more. I love it#obey me#obey me michael#obey me lucifer#omnb#omswd#obey me shall we date#obey me nightbringer#asks#☙ no creativity for names ✾
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