#also just realized THAT IS A WOMAN’S HAND

[kailoweenie]

Hyun-Ju/player 120 x Trans! Reader

A/N: can be read both as Transfem/woman reader or Transmasc/man reader. The reader is implied to have a physical appearance that points out they're not cis (e.g facial structures, hair, voice, etc but not specified!)

This is also very self indulgence because.....I'm a trans guy who really likes her so....T4T duo fr fr

Also the fact that there's barely any GIFs of her is crazy, I took this gif from an edit of her by @/slutcountry on TikTok LOL

You were here for a similar reason as she was. Whether it's to begin/continue HRT or start physically transitioning with surgery or even simply just needing the money to move to someplace more accepting

The first time you saw her was during the face scan at the very beginning of round 1. You just couldn't help but notice player 120 amongst the other players.

Your eyes widened as you realized that she could've been trans. Maybe it was a wild assumption at the moment but if you were right....then there was another player in the game who was just like you.

The first time you properly talked was during round 2 of the games.

With the other players reacting to you negatively for simply being or looking trans. You had no choice but to muster up the courage to approach the girl that you had been shyly keeping an eye on.

"hey..." You trailed off, voice quiet as you gently- yet slightly awkwardly- rest a hand on her arm. You glanced at the people around you before taking a breath, finally speaking up "can i...is it...okay if I joined you...?".

When she first turned to look at you, you almost stumbled a bit in surprise.

Unlike some other players, there didn't seem to be any fear or judgement in her eyes....she simply smiled and nodded, her voice deep and soothing "of course. We needed one more in our group either way". You gave back a small smile, nodding in acknowledgement to the other 3 players you were teamed up with.

You end up deciding to play the 4th game, the one with the spinning top. You of course stayed quiet when the others needed focus while also calming and cheering the others on if they end up panicking.

When it was your turn, there was still quite some time left. Though as you failed the first time, panic slowly started to creep in.

That is, until you feel a warm hand resting on your shoulder. Looking to the right, you listened intently as player 120 calmed you down. Taking a deep breath like she told you to do, you managed to get it to spin the next try.

The smile on your face was bright as everyone cheered in excitement but the only thing you could focus on was how proud she seemed to look as you succeed.

By the end of the game, you went back to the bed quarters. All 5 of you buzzing with gratefulness that you survived another round.

You sat next to player 120, too shy to sit too close yet still wanting to be close to her presence.

It was the old woman who spoke up first, curious about the both of you considering you both were...a bit obvious you weren't cis.

It was her who spoke up first, talking about her experience and how she wanted the money to move away. You sat there silently as you listened, almost every part of the things she said...you could unfortunately relate to. The need to go somewhere more... accepting.

"...I know how you feel" you suddenly spoke up, all four of them seemed to turn to you. Your confidence faltering a bit at the attention yet you kept going, your gaze flickering to player 120's face.

"The...desperation. The need to go somewhere that might be more accepting to people like me...to people like us." You sighed, idly playing with the hem of the jacket's sleeves "I'm in the same boat. I'm not exactly...." You trailed off, waving your hand up and down your body, hoping they'd take the hint.

Her gaze softened at your words, a small smile on her lips at the confession. The others didn't seem to mind either. You knew it was probably a...bad idea getting attached yet you can't help but care deeply for the other four already.

•It was player 007 who spoke up after a few seconds of silence. Deciding to introduce himself and his mom. That's when you learned each other's names. And that's when you learned her name.

"Cho Hyun-ju...you uh- you have a nice name" you muttered, loud enough for her to hear. The compliment seemed to surprise her a bit, clear in her face that she wasn't expecting it. You expected her not to say anything back yet when she did, your heart was practically buzzing in happiness

"...you have a nice name too." She paused, giving you a small smile "it's nice to meet you".

[woso-story]

Meeting By Chance

Leah Williamson x Reader

London’s familiar rain pelted down in a steady rhythm, the kind of drizzle that seemed to define the city’s atmosphere. Leah pulled her hood tighter around her face, her training bag slung over one shoulder. The day at Arsenal’s training grounds had been relentless. Every pass, every drill, every tactic had been scrutinized under the pressure of upcoming Champions League group-stage matches and critical league fixtures.

Her muscles ached, and her mind churned with strategy and self-critique. All she wanted now was the small comfort of her favorite coffee shop—a warm drink to cut through the cold and the ever-present stress.

Pushing open the door, she barely noticed the soft jingle of the bell or the inviting hum of conversation inside. Her thoughts were elsewhere, her gaze cast downward as she muttered, “Bloody rain, as if today couldn’t get any worse.”

She didn’t see you.

You were just stepping out, your coffee in hand and a desperate hope that the caffeine would salvage your miserable day. Between your boss’s unreasonable demands and the train delays that had made you late, you were already on edge. And now? Now, there was coffee splattered across your favorite sweater.

The collision felt almost cinematic in its chaos. Your gasp echoed as the hot liquid seeped into your clothes, spreading rapidly. You stared down, utterly frozen, as the reality sank in—your sweater, your jeans, even your shoes, all ruined.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” The blonde woman in front of you was already babbling, her hands darting to grab napkins from the counter. Her hood had fallen back in the commotion, revealing striking blue eyes and flushed cheeks. “I wasn’t looking. I—this is completely my fault.”

You looked up, your frustration bubbling to the surface. You were about to let loose, to say something about how people needed to pay attention, when you stopped.

She was breathtaking.

Even as she clumsily offered you tissues, her features were a mix of elegance and sincerity. Her eyes held yours, wide with concern, and for a moment, you forgot about the coffee dripping from your clothes.

“Here,” she said, pressing the napkins into your hands. “I—I can’t believe I just did that. Let me help. Please.”

You took the tissues, though you knew they wouldn’t save your sweater. “It’s... fine,” you said, though your voice carried a hint of irritation.

“It’s not fine,” she insisted, her gaze darting from the stains to your face. “Your sweater’s ruined. I’ll pay for the cleaning. And for your coffee. Please, let me.”

You sighed, exasperated but strangely disarmed by her earnestness. “It's okay. Really.”

But she was already at the counter, ordering your replacement drink. You watched as she handed over her card, her lips pursed with determination. When she turned back to you, the remorse in her eyes was palpable.

As the two of you waited for your drinks, she extended her hand. “I’m Leah, by the way. Leah Williamson.”

The name sounded familiar, but you were too distracted to place it. You shook her hand, introducing yourself. Her grip was firm but gentle, and the warmth lingered even after she let go.

When your drinks were ready, she handed you yours with a sheepish smile. “I still feel terrible. Are you sure I can’t do anything else to make it up to you?”

You hesitated, not wanting to prolong the interaction but also unable to ignore the pull you felt toward her. “It’s really okay,” you said, but she cut you off.

“At least let me take you out to dinner,” she said quickly. “As an apology. Please.”

Dinner? The idea felt strange, but there was something in her voice, a vulnerability that made it hard to say no. You thought about your day—how terrible it had been—and realized that maybe this odd encounter was the highlight you hadn’t expected.

“All right,” you said finally. “Dinner sounds nice.”

Leah’s face brightened instantly, and she pulled out her phone. “Can I get your number? I’ll text you the details. How about Friday?”

“Friday works,” you said, exchanging numbers with her.

As you turned to leave, you glanced back over your shoulder. She was still standing there, her phone in hand, a small smile playing on her lips as she stared at the new contact she’d just saved.

You stepped back out into the rain, but this time, it didn’t feel so dreary. Despite your ruined outfit, you felt lighter, almost giddy. A laugh bubbled up, and you couldn’t help but shake your head at the absurdity of it all.

Meanwhile, Leah lingered in the coffee shop, her drink untouched. She couldn’t believe what had just happened—or how relieved she felt that you’d said yes. Friday couldn’t come soon enough, and for the first time all day, the stress of football seemed like a distant memory.

As she stepped back out into the rain, her thoughts weren’t on the Champions League or league standings anymore. They were on you, the stranger she’d run into—literally—and the chance she’d been given to make it up to you.

Perhaps it wasn’t just an apology dinner. Perhaps it was the start of something neither of you had expected.

[stuckinmymind22]

zoro x gn! reader

wc: 663

this is the first part of a series "you're in love with me" where you realize that they are in love with you can call them out on it

thanks for voting on this one, i had fun with it, sorry it took so long, i got busy with the holidays, but it’s here now 💕

ace's is done and will be up probably tomorrow and i'm gonna start on sanjis, but lmk if you are interested in any other characters

not proof read lol

this goes one of two ways, in both you're being called stupid, both included

it's a chose your own adventure babe!

zoro has been acting strange recently- he was almost too quick to come to your aid, even if it was something you both knew you could handle alone. he’s also been making sure that you eat. recently he brought up a plate for you when you were on duty in the crow’s nest. sure, the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks were tinted pink, but that was easy to write off as a consequence of the alcohol that was surely in his veins. but he didn’t leave right away like you thought he would, he stood on the ladder without moving until he saw you take your first bite. on the last island there had been a miscalculation in your provisions and the ship was running dangerously low on alcohol. there was no doubt that the crew was going to run dry shy of meeting their next destination, which was a bigger deal to some of the straw hats than others. it all brings you to the moment he offers you a sip of the last bottle of sake. you’re speechless. you always thought that hell sure would freeze over before he shared his booze and here he is willingly offering you some. you’re trying to figure out what was going on in his head, why he has been acting so strange, then it hits you.  “you’re in love with me.”

denial is a river in egypt

“did you hit your head or sum?” he asks, trying to remain as impartial as possible, but you didn’t miss how he nearly choked at your words. “no, zo, this makes sense,” you say connecting the dots, "you've been acting real weird about me recently, this explains it." you aren’t about to back down from this, not after you wanted this for so long, not until he admits it to himself. “you’re being an idiot,” he rolls his eyes, “do you want some or not?” with a smile you grab the bottle out of his hand and take a swig, sitting down next to him. “i don’t mind you know,” you say taking another sip, “that you love me that is” zoro is confused why he is so drawn to the dangerous smile that plays on your lips. he shakes himself out of it snatching back the bottle and taking a long gulp. you get pulled away by luffy wanting something, but he still feels your presence.  little do you know how those words haunt him for the rest of the night. fuck, you might be right

he's down bad and he knows it

“n-no I’m not,” zoro sputters, his face alight, “are you stupid or something?” “no, no, this is why you’ve been acting strange,” you say, the weight of your revelation still sinking in. “that’s why you haven’t let me out of your sight for the past week, right?” you don’t give him time to respond (not that he would be able to formulate a coherent response anyway). you continue listing all of his abnormal behaviors and fail to notice how his face grows redder with your every word. poor zoro is sinking into his seat hoping to disappear he’s so uncomfortable. he’s certain that he messed everything up and has no idea what to do now. he knows that you’re right of course, it’s kept him up at night, kept him from his precious naps. it took him a while to realize why you never left his mind, and the determining factor came from the fucking cook spewing some bullshit to a pretty woman on the last island. just when he is certain that he ruined whatever relationship you could ever have you turn to him with a big smile.  “it’s a good thing you are though, or else this would be awkward,” you tell him, before he can even think to question what you mean your lips are on his and his brain malfunctions.  maybe it’ll be alright.

masterlist

[unknownperson246]

a/n: Izzy with a girlfriend that has big boobs (like E cup bc I be struggling to survive out here with these things) and he kind of has a thing for them. One night he takes her out with him and the band to a bar and he slowly notices that his bandmates keep staring at her boobs, and eventually (I'mma say Axl does this bc he seems like the type) Axl makes an extremely perverted joke regarding her boobs and it irritates Izzy so much he drags reader home and rails her so hard her legs are shaking the next morning. Also can you write in that he leave hickeys on her yiddies maybe..? TY have an amazing day/night 😊

Dragged:

words: 690

warnings: *smut* *rough sex* *slight praise kink* *drinking (small drinks)*

✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:*

You were embarrassed everywhere you went. It wasn’t embarrassment, it was just your shyness. You had a really big chest and a more than pleasant rack. You were always stared at by men wherever you went. Many women envied you not only because you were with a man that almost every woman wanted but because you had good looks. One night Izzy took you with him to a bar the band usually went to every Friday night.

“Hey babe, what do you want to drink?” He asked.

“Whatever you want to” You smiled slightly.

Izzy didn’t reply. Izzy knew you got nervous quite a bit and easily too. Maybe it was because there were so many people around at a bar on Friday night. You looked towards Steven and Slash. You caught them looking at your chest but you didn’t mind. You were so used to being stared at by perverted men. You just didn’t have the energy anymore to tell them to back off.

Izzy heard you mumble something about Slash and Steven but decided to ignore it. Izzy did not yet realize that everyone in his band was staring at you. The first time Izzy saw Duff look at your chest he ignored it because he thought Duff could’ve been staring at something else next to you. This time he caught all of the members looking at your chest at the same time.

Once they realized Izzy noticed they looked away immediately pretending they were doing something else. Axl started to speak. Axl said a perverted joke about your chest.

This was Izzy’s final straw. He did not like what Axl said about you. He got really mad. He got irritated. Before he even said anything he grabbed your arm and walked away from the group. He started to drag you to the car.

“Izzy, what’s gotten into you?” You ask softly and not annoyed so you don’t piss Izzy off more.

Izzy didn’t respond to your question.

“You know whatever happened wasn’t my fault right?” You told Izzy.

“Axl is just a perverted man,” You said to Izzy.

“Yeah, I know!” Izzy mumbled under his breath.

Izzy didn’t say anything for the rest of the car ride. As soon as you got inside the house he dragged you upstairs. You saw a bulge from underneath just by him being rough with you.

“Get upstairs and get ready to be fucked so good,” Izzy said.

You were left speechless and just did what he asked. You went upstairs preparing yourself for what Izzy was about to do to you. You dressed up in some lingerie and started to brush your teeth and your hair. Izzy came up to you and didn’t say anything; he just started to kiss your neck.

You kept touching his hard member to have more of an effect on him. You took his shirt off and he kept playing with both of your full and round tits. He started to kiss them super hard and you could feel yourself getting wet.

You thought you would have an orgasm off of him kissing your tits alone. He removed your shirt and bra. He removed your panties and you were embarrassingly wet.

“Fuck Izzy so good” You moaned.

With your words of confirmation, he just kept going and kept going.

You played with his hair. You felt disappointed when he took his hands off your tits. He started to unbuckle his pants.

“So wet for me darling.” Izzy sighed.

Izzy stuck his cock up inside of you. As he was thrusting up inside of you he played with your chest again. You noticed four hickeys on your tits.

“Izzy so good,” you moaned.

You held onto his shoulders while he did most of the work. You heard grunts and moans coming out of his mouth.

“Rail me so good baby” you moaned.

“Such a good girl,” Izzy said, playing with your hair as he thrust in.

Once you both were finally done he railed you so good you couldn’t walk for a week. Once you woke up the next morning you could feel your legs shaking.

[vigilante24ish]

A Thorn By Thy Side

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1998

Chapter 3:

You had partially expected Agatha to leave you in that basement/lair of hers until she had grown tired of you. So, it came to you as a surprise when she headed for the stairs leading up, and her magic kept you levitated, following after her.

So here you were, positioned on a chair, legs and hands bound in front of you with thin purple magic threads. Now that you were away from the lair and those runes, you could handle her attacks, but something told you that she was not a woman who had fallen for the same trick twice.

Your eyes followed her as she moved easily in this urban little house, masked outside by faking the image of a simple wooden cabin. It made you wonder whom Agatha could be running from to go to such extremes as hiding the true image of a house.

Then again, she might just wish not to be bothered by any passersby or hikers? Honestly, you could not tell for sure, but you knew it had a deeper meaning, and she let it be.

A mug of warm coffee was suddenly in your field of vision, putting a halt to any thoughts you had for the moment. Blinking, you looked up at the holder of the mug, and you were surprised to find Agatha.

Yet, you did not accept it right away.

Instead, you eyed the mug carefully and then her, silently showing her that you did not trust her or whatever she might have put in there.

She seemed to catch up with it, for she rolled her beautiful blue eyes at your drama.

“You don’t trust me?” she questioned, though the answer was pretty obvious to you.

You narrowed your eyes in defiance, not letting your bound position or the fact that you were a prisoner actually break you. “Should I?” you snapped back.

She pressed her tongue behind her teeth, leaving a quick ‘Tch’ sound, clearly unhappy with your drama. “If I wanted to kill you, I assure you I wouldn’t take the long way of actually poisoning you.”

You thought about her argument momentarily, and you realized that she had made a point. Of course, she could also poison you just enough to torture you, hoping if you were close to death, you would open your mouth and confess whatever the fuck she wanted to know.

Ultimately, your dry lips and the fact that you had no liquid for a while won over your internal conspiracies. Thanks to the magic binds, you opened your palms as much as you were allowed and let her hand you the mug, the coffee inside still warm.

It was unknown to you what time of the day was or how long you had been out. However, considering you had tried to capture her in the early afternoon, you figured it was past nightfall.

Unfortunately for you, the small living room you were currently in had blackout curtains drawn, making it impossible for you to see outside for any signs of daylight. There was no clock anywhere, and you wondered how she knew what time of the day it was.

You brought the mug to your lips and slowly took a sip, surprised by the sweetness in your coffee. You had a knack for sweet things, whether pastries, chocolates or just a lot of sugar in your morning coffee.

After you felt the hot liquid go down your throat, you lowered the mug and focused on Agatha, who got comfy on an armchair, positioned to look at you.

Agatha was studying you just as you studied her. A playful smirk on her lips drew your attention.

“Sweet enough for you?” she asked, and like the prideful peacock she was, she was ready to flash her fancy tale at the fact that she had figured you out.

You chose not to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was right. “How did you know?”

Her smirk remained. “What can I say? I am an excellent judge of character,” she answered, moving one hand to emphasize her flare.

Eventually, you would come to notice that she used her hands a lot, elegant long fingers dramatically joining her sharp comments as the faintest traces of magic could be seen by their blackened edges.

It was your turn to roll your eyes at her drama and merely suppress any unwelcome comments by drowning them with hot coffee.

“Why am I here?” you finally questioned after a full minute of just pure silence between the two of you.

“Would you prefer to go back to the lair? Because I can arrange that.”

If you were anyone else, you would have immediately reacted and argued against being sent back to the lair, back to the place that truly made you vulnerable. But you were not just anyone else.

Years of training in the Academy and multiple missions beneath your belt made you a veteran in such situations. Even your poker face had been worked on to the point that any mortal could not read your thoughts.

Now, as for magical beings went... that remained to be seen.

“You know what I meant,” you commented, showing her that she was not going to have the upper hand in this conversation.

Something sparkled within her blue eyes at your defiance, at your unbroken spirit. It was not every day that Agatha met someone like you, so stubborn and untamed. This was what made you interesting but also challenged her to find a way and get what she wanted from you, one way or another.

“Thought you would like to be treated a little more like a human being,” she pointed out the obvious, and yet your look did not change. “Fine. You have something within you, and I am interested in what it is. Now I can find a way and drag it out of you, or...” There it was, that sparkle again. “We can find ourselves on more common ground.”

You arched an eyebrow, clearly not believing her—at least not truly. She could be trying to present herself as a better person to gain your trust, and perhaps, had your first meeting been different, it would have worked.

But you were too sceptical, too careful with everything, to just drop your guard around her.

Suddenly, Agatha pressed two fingers against her temple. “My god, are you always so paranoid?” she asked, rubbing her temples as she felt a throbbing weak pain making an entrance.

You blinked, once, twice... then you frowned, trying to understand what she meant... and then it dawned on you. That sparkle you swore you saw in her eyes, the way she seemed to know how sweet you took your coffee...

“You have been reading my mind?” you asked, though it felt more like a statement than a question. “All this time?”

Agatha sighed. “Well, I have been trying. But you have so many inner monologues, I feel as if I am watching a boring biography turned into a documentary.”

“I am surprised you know what any of those things mean,” you scoffed before you could process what you just said.

To your surprise, Agatha smirked. “Clever. Perhaps the cleverest thing you had said in a while.”

You pressed your lips until they formed a thin line, clearly not liking her well-targeted comments that were meant to draw a reaction out of you. To battle it, you chose to change the topic and hope you could get something out of this as well.

“If you can read my mind, why not just take what you need? Why keep me here, playing all nice?”

“I told you, hon. You interest me. You have something more, and I am not planning to let that go so quickly.”

Her cryptic words started to irk you. “What the fuck do I have then? Except for those stupid symbols on my arms?”

Agatha took joy in hearing you snap slowly, the rising tone of your voice a personal success. That was the first step she needed from you. She needs you to react, speak before your mind can stop you, and expose what you subconsciously held under lock and key.

She could always force it out of you, use her magic, but where was the fun in that?

Slowly, the powerful witch showed up. Every move she made and every step she took radiated pure confidence, and you could not help but silently admire her for that. The way she held herself without fear, without a single care in the world.

She knew she held the power at the moment, and she made sure to remind you every second of it.

And surprisingly, a part of you actually liked it. You found a weak voice at the back of your head admiring her confidence and what a dominant figure she could be even in such a simple, silent room.

“Oh, but you see...” Agatha started slowly. “Those pesky little symbols on you, they do not work just on anyone. Imagine the world if any useless being tattooed a rune on them,” she scoffed, amused by such a crazy idea.

This caught your attention. “So, what makes me special to make those runes work?”

“Now we are on the same page,” Agatha said. “But you shouldn’t be asking me that question. It is you who have those answers.”

Once again, her cryptic answers irked you. This time, you could not hold back the sarcasm. “If you are so confident that I have the answers, why don’t you show me, huh? I mean, aren’t you supposed to be an all-powerful witch?”

The idea settled in Agatha’s mind faster than you expected, and it was too late to take back your words, as you were already regretting the idea.

“If you are so willing,” she smirked and headed towards you.

“No, no, no,” you repeated, trying to push yourself harder against the wooden back of the chair as if you could somehow magically phase through it and escape her.

“Relax, hon. I am not going to harm you.”

“Your words are not very reassuring.” You argued.

Agatha came to a halt in front of you, a hand on her waist. She looked down at you, dark curls framing her face to a perfect angle while her bright blue eyes locked on your form.

For a moment, you breathed in, muscles tensing in anticipation of what might come. Yet nothing did happen, and you were left staring back at her, trapped in that chair.

“Aren’t you a bit curious?” Agatha suddenly asked. “Don’t you want to know why you have those runes on you? Why do they work the way they do?”

You thought for a moment, and you dared to break the eye contact, for the shade of her blue eyes was not helping you think.

Truthfully, you were curious. You had them as long as you could remember their origin, a blurry memory that never made sense to you. Perhaps this might be the only way and the only chance you could have to find out.

In the end, you sighed in defeat. “Fine. Help me learn,” you said as you looked up at her. “But no mind tricks whatsoever.”

Agatha dramatically dragged a black-tipped finger across her heart, forming an invisible cross on her clothes. “Cross my heart.”

“And hope you die?” you continued for her, earning an eye-roll from her.

“Funny. Now, sit properly if we are to do things right.”

[theweirdwideweb]

Can we have more film club updates? That was amazing and I’m proud of you!!!!

Well you remember how my friend was also at film club? She and I hung out on Christmas Day. We went to my sister's house for lunch. We played with my niece, nephew, and mother in a tent and then went to Nosferatu. My friend has been closer to the film club asshat than I have and asked if I wanted to see his text to her about The Incident, but warned me it was bad. Since nothing he said to my face about mental illness upset me because duh, not a shred of truth to it--- actually what he said about me in the text upset me. He tried to convince my friend that I was venting narcissistic rage at him the entire 45 minutes before he ran his mouth off and I stormed out. He said I am, in fact, a toxic narcissist who is in active addiction, not recovery, and I'm trying to lure my friend into a codependent relationship. It got to me. Such a reality warping piece of gaslighting. I had therapy today and talked about it. It triggered a lot of trauma. The doctor and I talked about how my mother would mercilessly abuse me as a child and then when I was angry or upset she'd accuse me of bullying and abusing her. We also talked about how the man I was in love with all my 20s would come sleep in my bed 3 nights a week, hold me, give me shoulder massages, fuck me and then act like I should just know better when I wanted to be his girl. For 8 years he led me on that way and then beat the shit out of me. I talked with the doctor about how in my early 20s in the recession when the unemployment rate for my demographic was over 50% I had a small job filling bottles with supplements for $9/hr and how the gagillionaire CEO dressed me down within 30 seconds of meeting me: told me I was fat, depressed, and obviously hadn't gotten laid recently. When I said that wasn't true he said, "Well it wasn't as good as you wanted it to be, was it?" We talked about how I was minding my business on the train home from work just after Christmas 2019 when a completely random woman pepper sprayed me in the face and just stepped off the train. I possess a deep fear that somehow I am marked out for cruelty. Greg, the film club asshat, tipped his hand by calling me a narcissist. He's a narcissist. He's the one who doesn't give a damn about people and tries to warp reality so he appears a victim. Even though I knew it wasn't true when I got home from Nosferatu I was taking internet tests to see if I have empathy, signs you're a narcissist, googling "what is active addiction." Am I hurting people and I don't realize it? When I think people think I'm smart and funny am I just being completely delusional? Am I making a fool of myself? No, I'm not any of those things. But it hurt me because I just have this sense that there's something wrong with me. Something that repulses people, makes them hate me. Even strangers can pick me out of a crowd. Is it because I'm ugly? Is it because I move my body strange? Is it because they read neurodivergence on me? It feels like my fault. I've always felt that way. Like if I could just fix myself and be good enough that I could stop the abuse and have friends and hobbies and a safe place for myself. I've never been safe in my whole life and it gets to me. It's like how I feel trapped by mental illness. I try as hard as I can and it will never leave me. It's as if I'm in an abusive relationship with life itself. I was marked out at birth by my abusive parents and biology. I can take comfort that I'm a better person than all these abusers---but I still lose. I lost that job filling bottles. I lost the love of my youth. Now I lost the film club, too, something which I felt proud of. I said, "See? I can go out into the city and find friends. When I talk to people they see I'm smart and funny and they like me."

[meowshroom1230]

Y’all ever wonder why it’s called the amazing digital circus when no one in the amazing digital circus is from a circus? Well so did I… at 1 am so i’m going to do my best to make sense of my late night ramblings:

Caine- Getting the obvious out of the way he’s the ringleader. Not much more to explain here, keeps the group together, etc.

Kinger- He would be the beast master. I made a point about gloinks in my ramblings but everyone interacted with them in the pilot. My real explanation is just the entirety of episode 3. He was the only one who could calm his wife, he knew how to handle the creature that attacked him and Pomni, and he keep Pomni safe when they were walking through an area infested with demon like creatures. “tHoSe ArEn’T rEaL aNiMaLs!” HIS CONNECTION WITH BUGS THEN. He has an undeniable attachment to bugs and while he might not be taming them I’m sure he could if he wanted to

Gangle- She’s the tightrope walker. She is constantly teetering between being too much and not enough often putting herself at risk often. Depending how you saw the truck scene (either a as a rep for su!c!dal thoughts or just a funny truck-kun reference, goose said those scene was up for interpretation), she could also be teetering the line between life and abstraction. Gangle is in some kind of danger and it is up to her to save herself, until she makes it to the other side.

Ragatha- Now this one you gotta hear me out on, but she is the bearded woman. LISTEN, some interpretations of a beard that aren’t just facial hair are linked to covering up something. A beard in the US can be someone who completes a transaction to cover someone else’s identity. A beard can also be a person who pretends to be in a romantic relationship with a person who they are not attracted to to cover for their sexuality. Using these terms of ‘beard’ as an example I concluded that Ragatha’s ‘beard’ is a cover up for her true feelings. Something’s off about her, and we got glimpses of that in episode 4. She’s not as happy and friendly as she’s made out to be. Now I don’t think it’s something dramatic like she’s evil or a villain, but she’s hiding something and she’s ashamed of it. Bearded women in history were often very ashamed of their beards and some thought the circus was their only way of having some value. Maybe Ragatha finds value in making people happy? Maybe that’s what her ai was programmed to do… but that’s a theory for another time :)

Pomni- Ok after a long one I felt another easy one was in place. Pomni is the clown. Jesters and clowns are often grouped together… but it’s also in how she’s treated. She’s often the butt of physical comedy jokes, she often finds herself in pain because of the circumstances surrounding her. I don’t think she’s trying to be funny but because of the situation she’s in she’s forced to be the clown of the circus. She also keeps everyone ‘entertained’. She’s prevented at least one, if not 2 people from abstracting. I believe that her presence does more than she realizes. Also when first joining the circus i guess who she replaced…

Jax- Now here’s where my ideas are mostly based on vibes and headcanons, so i understand if these are taking more with a grain of salt. Jax is the contortionist. A contortionist isn’t someone you’d think would be in a circus at first glance, i mean they’re just a regular person right? Nothing special about them- JESUS CHRIST WHY ARE YOU BENT LIKE THAT. Now Jax isn’t bending his body into weird shapes… but i think his emotions are. There’s something beneath Jax’s surface of annoying attitude. We see hints of emotion break in only spans of seconds. I can count on one hand the number of seconds we’ve seen a genuine emotion from Jax. I think he’s forcing himself to bend to what others think he should be. People think he’s an asshole? Well then he has to be that way 24/7 or else… something. That’s the only part I haven’t figured out yet. Is he scared of rejection? of vulnerability? caring about someone? That’s the only thing I can’t figure out about him. So just in case I’m wrong about this Im giving him a secondary option… the acrobat. He’s still preforming but he isn’t hiding some tbh in him this version. He’s doing this for himself because either way he gets the attention that he wants. The acrobat is more focused on gaining and keeping attention then hiding anything about himself.

Zooble- Another loose one… I’m pretty sure we’ve had no more than 20 lines from them an episode. Zooble is the oracle. They seem to know so much about the circus despite not going on many adventures. They stay in one place more often than not. They tell you the truth whether or not you like it. They’ve been around for a while and will probably be there for a long time. I don’t know how Zooble knows what they know but they’re quite sure about it. They also stay strong to the ideas that they’ve figured out and refuse to change their mind. Caine is an excellent example, they seem assume things about Caine that most of the members wouldn’t even think of, yet Zooble is very certain in themselves. But because this one is also loose I’m also giving them a secondary, as the contortionist. If it isn’t Jax then it’s definitely Zooble… but for different reasons. Zooble clearly has issues with how they look and often want to change themselves, contorting in every way possible to just find something that’s comfortable. Contortionists suffer pain later in life due to their abilities, forcing them to keep moving their bodies in odd positions just to be comfortable. Zooble could be the same way but in a much more literal sense, forcing to have to try more parts just to find something that works for them.

Here’s the ramblings of anyone else wants to make sense of them lol

[aishangotome]

[Nica Schwartz] I Can't Return to a Time Before You Part 1

Nica: I'm so lucky to be the lover of such a cute girl like you.

Nica Schwartz, the Chief of Staff for Vogel, a special organization under the direct command of the Emperor of the German Empire.

I hadn't yet realized the danger posed by this man who gave off such a friendly impression.

Nica: Nice to meet you, little Robin.

He is "evil" who toys with love.

-

That night, I learned a secret I shouldn't have known and became a Fairytale Keeper for a month.

A week later, Vogel, who came from Germany, turned out to be an organization structured with the same curse as Crown and seemed to be hiding something.

A few days after they arrived--.

(I was called in for a consultation, but I wonder what it's about.)

I had been summoned by Darius, the head of Vogel.

Darius: I'm sorry for calling you in so suddenly.

Kate: No, don't worry about it. What's the matter?

In the room were Ring, leaning against the wall and looking at me, and Darius, sitting on the sofa.

What he said was an unexpected proposal.

Darius: I heard that your first job was to become Crown's lover for a day to deepen your understanding of them.

Kate: Yes, that's right.

Darius: Why don't we do the same?

Kate: Eh?

Darius: We want to get to know you too.

Darius crossed his arms and gave me a soft smile as I stared at him in surprise.

Darius: "Choose one person from Vogel and spend a day as their lover."

Darius: To deepen our friendship, choose someone from among us.

Startled by the sudden proposal, I was speechless when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

Kate: Wah!

???: Can I take on that role?

Kate: Nica!

I looked up to meet the eyes of Nica, who had placed his hands on my shoulders.

Nica: Hey, be my lover, little Robin.

Captivated by his beautiful face, I almost nodded in agreement, but--.

(But I'm Crown's Fairytale Keeper, and it's not right to decide this without their permission.)

I cleared my throat, about to decline, when--

Nica: Okay, it's decided! I'll go get ready, so wait for me in the entrance hall.

Kate: Eh, ah, wait a minute!

He waved his hand and left the room without even waiting for a reply.

(Wh-what should I do...?)

Then Darius stood up and said,

Darius: It's perfect that Nica is willing to take on the role.

Darius: I'll leave him to you, Fairytale Keeper.

He smiled and left the room.

Kate: Eh, huh?

Left alone, I looked at Ring with a bewildered expression, and he also opened his mouth, looking perplexed.

Ring: Um, well... Nica isn't a bad guy.

Ring: It's just that, how do I put it, he's used to... various things.

-

(Maybe I understand what Ring meant...)

Nica: I still don't know London very well.

Nica: If you're okay with it, little Robin, could you show me around on our date?

That's how our day as lovers began. I was supposed to show him around London, but...

(He's walking around like he's familiar with the place even without my guidance.)

(And when we passed by a café, the waitress even told him to come again.)

He was so familiar with this city that it seemed like I didn't need to guide him at all.

Flower Shop Assistant: Oh, you were at the pub the other day, weren't you?

Flower Shop Assistant: Let's have a drink again sometime.

(He's being approached by another woman...!)

He kept getting approached by women, putting his arm around me, and saying these words:

Nica: Sorry, I'm head over heels for this girl.

Nica: With such a cute lover like her, I can't play around with other girls, can I?

Flower Shop Assistant: Oh my... I'm sorry to interrupt your date.

(This is so awkward...!)

With his arm still around me, we left the flower shop and turned our attention to another store, but--

Emma: Nica, why did you offer to be my lover?

His footsteps stopped at my question.

Nica: Why, you ask...? Because I wanted to get to know you better, of course?

Nica: Or maybe... because you're my type?

He grinned as he peered into my face, and I shook my head.

Emma: I don't think you needed to become my lover to get to know me better.

Emma: There are plenty of people who like you, right? I was wondering if it was really necessary to be my lover for a day.

Nica: ...Could you be jealous?

Emma: No! Why would you think that?

As I spoke, holding down my hair that was fluttering in the wind--

Emma: Besides, you're so familiar with London that you don't need me to guide you...

His fingers brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen on my lips, then twirled it around.

Nica: What if I told you that was just an excuse?

Emma: Eh...?

His fingers smoothly caressed my cheek, and I couldn't help but squirm at the ticklish sensation. But as if to say he wouldn't let me escape, his palm cupped my cheek.

Nica: I wanted to get to know you, so I suggested it to Darius.

Nica: I told him that Crown seemed to have become closer to their Fairytale Keeper through the one-day lover experience.

Nica: Look, we're already outsiders since we came from Germany.

Nica: On top of that, we're an organization directly under the Emperor, and we're cursed, so it's only natural for them to be wary, right?

Emma: Well, that's true...

Nica: I wanted them to know through little Robin that we're not suspicious and that it's okay to trust us.

(I had no idea he had such intentions...)

Understanding the reason behind the sudden proposal, I felt a little relieved, but then--

Nica: But well, the biggest reason is that I want you to like me.

My body jumped in surprise when he stroked my cheek with his thumb.

Seeing my reaction, Nica's smile deepened even further.

Nica: I'll tell you about myself. So tell me about yourself too.

Nica: My Schnucki, just for today.

*(Schnucki means "sweetie" or "cutie pie" in German.)

.

.

.

Part 2

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[throatgoat4u]

PLEASE READ!!!!!

okay yall. i lowkey thought over the whole matt situation (only because it’s the only thing seeing on tumblr and tt) but i’ve lowkey come to a realization that matt did not overreact (kinda). first and foremost i want to say that i never, even before my opinion changed, thought that matt is a domestic abuser. personally, from what ive seen, matt seems like one of the sweetest people ever, and i don’t think he’d ever put his hands on a woman. also, i want to take into consideration on how sweet and caring both his parents are. i feel like they’d raise him to never ever touch a woman in such a manner as that. i’ve only seen people on tik tok say it, not really tumblr, but that’s disgusting how people are accusing him of that with zero proof other than the fact he hit his own BROTHER. HIS FUCKING BROTHER!!!! now, i want to address where my opinion has changed. let’s establish some of the things i said. i said i think it was an overreaction, and it never needed to happen, and they could’ve sorted it out with words. i also said he has some anger issues, and how i have them too but i would never hit my sibling over something like this. now as i thought over it, i realized, yes, i wouldn’t hit my sister because she’s NINE. BUT, i have two cousins who i grew up with and lived with for TWELVE years of my life. they moved out a few years ago due to all of us being older now and in need of our own rooms and spaces, but we’re still neighbors, and see each other everyday. so to sum it up, i consider them to be my sisters. one is a few months older and the other is a year older so they are in my age range. i realized maybe i wouldn’t hit my sister, but id hit my cousins if this ever did happen to me. i would honestly do a lot worse to them if that ever happened to me, even if it was a mistake. now i still think it could’ve most definitely been solved by talking it out, but lets be so fucking for real with ourselves right now. who the fuck is gonna talk this shit out?!?! most siblings would probably go for hitting back and then insulting their sibling afterwards instead of having a civil conversation. unless you were raised by the fucking king or queen, i don’t think any sibling are really gonna talk shit like this out at all. i’m not dick riding matt and being one of his little defenders, i’m just saying that maybe it actually was a perfectly normal reaction to this situation. a lot of people are saying we should stop using the excuse that they are siblings, but i’ve literally chased my oldest cousin around our house (mind you i was seven) with a knife because she stole my ipad. before that there was also a lot of tacking, hitting, and hair pulling. so that excise is honestly valid. so i’ve definitely changed my opinion on this situation because it’s the only thing i’m seeing everywhere. that’s all. anywho!

toodles sluts :)

[velvetvexations]

I really like the term “advantages” vs “privilege” when talking about more nuanced stuff.

I’m bi, and was in an m/f relationship when the term “straight passing privilege” was a big thing. And like… I really don’t see how it’s a privilege to have had the people in my life be brazenly homophobic in front of me until one of them figured out that I was also one of the queers, and then get split into 1 of 2 reactions:

Selective memory where they went back to talking shit and pretended I was a straight girl

Getting called a dyke and bombarded with biphobia

But, I can also see how looking like a straight couple sometimes gave us an advantage.

I’m in a t4t relationship now where my partner and I are usually perceived as both being women. (I say “women” and not “lesbians” because it’s about 50/50 whether we’re “lesbians” or “friends” with the occasional dash of “sisters”)

I never had to reassert that “yes, my boyfriend and I are dating, not siblings, we are literally holding hands right now, you saw us kiss 5 seconds ago.” I never had anyone be queerphobic to us as a couple, only to me as an individual if I outed myself or got a little too dykey without him around and a homophobic stranger clocked me.

Past me had an advantage over current me, but I still wouldn’t call it a privilege. So yeah, I really like that term! :D

Bisexual who likes the term “advantage” over “privilege” again: I just thought of another one! My partner is on his way to being able to be read as male. Sometimes, if I throw a he/him out there casually, cis people who were using she/her will switch without questioning. They never do that for me, because I’m a nonbinary they/them user who has way too many “female” traits to even confuse people into maybe thinking they might’ve guessed wrong with she/her. But on the other hand, I can pretty easily fade back into the closet in a way he can’t. When he gets read as male, he gets read as a feminine man, and put in the “doing manhood wrong” box. When he gets read as female, he gets read as a masculine woman, and gets put in the “doing womanhood wrong box.” So, he gets an advantage in having a better chance at getting gendered correctly; I have an advantage at being able to go under the radar easier. I wouldn’t consider either a privilege, because getting misgendered sucks and he’s still at a big risk for queerphobia when gendered correctly, but both provide advantages in their own right. Side note: I’ve realized that (depending on how well he eventually passes) this may eventually lead to us being perceived as a straight couple, which means back to the “straight passing privilege” bullshit for me. Yippee!

I also like that term! You've thought this out very well.

[yoursinisforgiven]

MONSTER ──

pairing: elias x reader (barista) 

cw: a sequel to this fic (venus), death, blood, gang violence, murder, reader is implied not to have a dad, open ending, reader experiences an out of body experience, nightmares, non-cannon character(s).

you are responsible for your own media consumption.

You were there. At Fresno.  

But you also weren’t. Right?  

The air vibrates faintly, an unnatural hum that prickles the edges of your consciousness. You look around and find yourself in a vast, glittering hall. Towering pillars rise toward a vaulted ceiling, bathed in golden light. Ornate beams stretch like ancient arms, holding the weight of something grand—something timeless. It’s beautiful, impossibly so, like a fragment of a Greek myth brought to life.  

But something about it feels wrong.  

A familiar unease settles over you, pulling at your thoughts. You shake it off, unwilling to let the feeling take root. Then you see him.  

A boy no older than thirteen. He stands near a column, a slight figure in a sea of magnificence. His dark curls are a mess, and his posture is hesitant, as though he’s not sure he belongs. When his eyes catch yours, something stirs deep inside you—recognition.  

Elias.

A smile tugs at your lips at the sight of him. The name feels warm, grounding, a tether in this strange place. But then, like a shadow cast over sunlight, a terrible realization dawns.  

This isn’t a dream.  

This is a memory.  

It slams into you with the force of a tidal wave. You stagger, or maybe you don’t—it’s hard to tell. Your body feels distant, unresponsive, like you’re floating outside yourself.  

You know what’s coming.  

You want to look away, to pull yourself out of this nightmare. But your eyes are locked on Elias, who glances nervously toward the hall’s entrance. His fingers twitch at his sides.  

You try to move, to reach him, but it’s like you’re tethered in place. Helpless.  

The memory unfolds, vivid and unrelenting.  

The sound comes first—a deep, resonant roar that shakes the very foundations of the hall. Conversations falter. Glass rattles. Heads turn toward the windows, where a brilliant, unnatural light flares in the distance.  

You feel it in your chest before you hear it: the explosion.  

The world tilts, the sound shattering through the hall in a deafening wave. The stained glass windows burst inward, sending shards raining down like jagged rain. Screams erupt, panic spreading like wildfire as the room descends into chaos.  

Your focus snaps back to Elias. He stumbles backward, shielding his face from the flying glass. Behind him, near the center of the hall, stands a woman.  

Her.  

Elias’s mother.  

She’s dressed in white, a beacon of calm in the storm. Her head turns sharply, her eyes searching until they land on her son.  

“Elias!” she shouts, her voice cutting through the chaos.  

He freezes for a moment, his eyes wide with fear. Then he bolts toward her, weaving through the panicked crowd.  

Your heart clenches.  

You know what happens next.  

The memory sharpens, locking you into its flow. You want to scream, to warn them, but you’re powerless—trapped in this disembodied state, forced to watch.  

The second explosion hits, closer this time. The ground shudders violently. Pillars crumble, sections of the ceiling caving in with a deafening crash. Fire spreads rapidly, consuming everything in its path.  

Elias reaches his mother just as debris rains down from above. She pushes him aside, shielding him with her body.  

The blast knocks them both to the ground.  

It’s foggy. Smoke and ash hang heavy in the air, veiling the chaos around you. You crouch behind a fallen beam, your breaths shallow and silent as you peer out into the ruins of the grand hall.  

Elias is there, clawing desperately at the rubble. His small hands are raw and trembling as he tries to free her. The boy can’t see her clearly—how could he, with the smoke so thick and the flickering firelight casting shifting shadows over her form?  

But you can.  

You stay hidden, half by instinct, half by something you don’t fully understand. Your eyes fix on the woman. Her face is pale, streaked with soot and framed by dark curls, and her breaths come shallow and labored. Even now, pinned beneath the fallen debris, there’s a stillness about her—a calmness that seems almost unnatural.  

You can’t explain it, but you find something beautiful in the scene, as twisted as it is. Her face, serene even as the world crumbles around her, and Elias, frantic and determined, fighting against the inevitable. There’s something timeless about it, a cruel poetry that you can’t look away from.  

You should move.  

You should do something.  

The thought pierces through the fog in your mind, sharp and urgent. If you act now, you could reach her. You could save her—or at least try.  

But you don’t.  

Instead, you stay frozen, your fingers digging into the scorched wood of the beam. You tell yourself it’s too late, that nothing you do will make a difference. But deep down, you know the truth.  

You’re afraid.  

Afraid of what you’ll find if you step out from your hiding place. Afraid of what might happen if you touch her, if you try to save her and fail.  

So you watch.  

Elias throws himself at the rubble again, his sobs ragged and raw. “Mom!” he cries, his voice cracking with desperation.  

The woman turns her head slightly, her gaze finding him through the haze. Her lips move, forming words too soft to hear. But her expression says enough.  

She’s not afraid.  

Even as the weight of the beams presses down on her chest, even as her life slips away, she’s at peace. Her eyes hold a quiet kind of acceptance, as though she’s made her peace with the world long before this moment.  

It makes something inside you twist, sharp and painful.  

The boy doesn’t stop. He keeps clawing at the wreckage, his small frame trembling with the effort. You want to call out to him, to tell him it’s no use, but your voice catches in your throat.  

You’re trapped, not by the debris but by your own mind.  

Suddenly, she exhales—a shallow, fragile sound that cuts through the chaos like a whisper. Her eyes flutter closed. Her body stills.  

“No!” Elias screams, his voice breaking. He shakes her, his hands shaking as he presses them to her shoulder. “Mom, wake up! Please!”  

You feel it then, a deep, aching pull in your chest. The split inside you widens, and for a moment, it’s like you’re two people at once: one who wants to run to him, to comfort him, and another who can’t bear to face what’s in front of you.  

The fog seems thicker now, suffocating, and you close your eyes to block it all out. But the scene lingers, burned into your mind.  

When you finally open them again, the hall is quiet. The fire has dimmed to embers, the screams long faded. Elias is slumped over his mother, his small body racked with silent sobs.  

And you’re still there, crouched behind the beam, watching from the shadows.  

The thought strikes you like a blow: you could have done something. Maybe you couldn’t have saved her, but you could have tried.  

But you didn’t.  

And now it’s too late.  

And then, the splitting starts.  

The fracture inside you deepens, a crack running through your mind. Two versions of yourself wrestle for control: one desperate to reach out, to intervene, and the other resigned to watching, powerless.  

This is your fault.  

The voice whispers in your mind, cold and unrelenting.  

“No,” you mutter, your words weak, trembling.  

But it doesn’t stop.  

You let this happen.  

The memory shifts, fragments swirling around you like smoke. The hall dissolves, replaced by flames and ash, the echoes of screams fading into silence.  

And then you’re back.  

The dim light of the present surrounds you, pulling you out of the nightmare. You’re sitting upright in bed, drenched in sweat, your breaths coming in shallow gasps.  

Elias stirs beside you, his face soft in sleep, untouched by the horrors of the memory.  

But the memory lingers, sharp and vivid, refusing to fade. You press a trembling hand to your chest, as if to steady the fracture inside you.  

The split is there, undeniable now. Two halves of yourself warring for dominance, both haunted by the same past.  

And as you look at Elias, his features peaceful and unknowing, you wonder how much longer you can keep the storm inside you at bay.  

It’s pathetic, really. You cry out, the sound ripping from your throat like a wounded animal. Your chest tightens, and your breaths come in short, shallow bursts as you struggle to control the rising tide of panic. You press trembling hands to your face, trying to muffle the noise, but it’s no use.

The hyperventilation racks your body, shaking you to your core.

It’s enough to stir Elias from his sleep.

His eyes snap open, groggy and unfocused at first. He shifts under the thin blanket he’d curled up in, sitting upright with a jolt as awareness rushes in. Elias was always a light sleeper; you should have remembered that.

“Hey... hey!” His voice is low but urgent, tinged with concern. He’s at your side in seconds, pulling you into his arms—shielding you from the dangers in the world, unfortunately enough you were the danger. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, unable to form words. The tears blur your vision, and your chest heaves as you fight to regain control. The memory of the woman—of her calm, lifeless face—clings to you like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

Elias squeezes gently—reminding you of your grounding, his fingers cool against your feverish skin. “Breathe,” he says softly. “Just breathe, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

His voice is steady, grounding, and you cling to it like a lifeline. You try to follow his instructions, drawing in a shaky breath through your nose and letting it out slowly through your mouth. It doesn’t fix everything, but it’s enough to loosen the vice around your chest just a little.

“There you go,” Elias murmurs, his eyes searching your face. He looks so much older than his years in this moment, his gaze steady and sure, even though you know he must be terrified.

You wipe at your face with trembling hands, still struggling to string together coherent words. “I… I’m sorry,” you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Elias shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I—” He hesitates, his expression shifting to something unreadable. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know.”

His words hit you harder than they should. You want to tell him that you’re fine, that you don’t need help, but the lump in your throat stops you. Because deep down, you know he’s right.

The words linger in the air between you, thick and suffocating. Elias’s steady grip on you, his hand gently rubbing your back in soothing circles, makes it harder to breathe, not because of his touch, but because of what it means. His concern is a constant reminder of the lie you’re living.

You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be leaning into him like this, letting him hold you. You shouldn’t be the one he's comforting. He doesn’t deserve it.

Every time you close your eyes, you see her face—the woman who no longer exists, swallowed by the darkness you helped create. The guilt clings to you like a shroud, a weight that drags you down even when you try to rise. And yet, here you are, letting Elias cradle you, letting him take on your pain, pretending like it’s okay. But it’s not. And you know it.

"I don’t deserve this," you whisper, your voice shaking again, barely audible.

Elias pulls back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he processes your words, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks… concerned. Worried. For you.

“What are you talking about?” His voice is soft, searching, almost like he’s afraid he might shatter you if he presses too hard. But it’s already too late. You’re already breaking.

You want to tell him the truth. You want to confess, to explain why you feel so unworthy of his care, of his comfort, of his love. But you can’t. It’s too much. The shame is too thick, too overwhelming.

Instead, you turn your face away, refusing to meet his eyes, ashamed of the tears that have yet to stop falling. “I don’t… I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you,” you whisper again, and the words feel like they are slicing you open. Every syllable is a betrayal.

Elias goes still for a moment, his hands pausing where they were soothing you. The air between you feels heavier now, filled with something unspoken, something you don’t want to face. He reaches for your chin, gently turning your face back toward him. You see the faintest flicker of hurt in his eyes, a crack in his usual calm demeanor.

“Stop,” he says, his voice firm, but still kind. 

“Elias, am I a good person?” The question escapes your lips before you can stop it, the words raw and aching, filled with a desperation you can’t conceal. You’ve been carrying the weight of this question for so long, and now, with him so close, it feels like it might finally tear you apart.

For a moment, Elias doesn’t answer. His hands hover over your face, stilling as if he’s weighing your words, considering them with a care that almost feels painful. His brow furrows slightly, the light in his eyes soft, unsure.

“I…” he begins, his voice soft and hesitant. “What do you mean? Of course you are.”

His words, simple and direct, are not enough. They can’t be. They don’t make sense in the context of the guilt that’s been consuming you, in the face of all that you’ve seen and done. How could they? How could anyone think you’re good, when you know the truth of yourself? What does it mean to be a good person? You ask yourself this constantly, don’t you? What is the definition? What’s the standard? Is it just about doing the right thing at the right time, every time? Can it be that simple? Or is it a deeper, more elusive question that can never be answered?

You’ve heard that being good means helping others, being kind, giving selflessly. But how much of that is enough? How many times do you have to do something good to make up for everything you’ve done? How many lives must you save before you can even begin to believe that you’ve earned the title of good?

The deeper you dig into this, the more confusing it gets. Because when you look at yourself, you don’t see goodness. You see flaws. Mistakes. You see a thousand moments where you could’ve chosen better, but didn’t. You see brokenness. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to put the pieces of yourself back together. The more you try to be better, the more you realize just how far from that ideal you truly are.

And then the voices creep in, don’t they? The ones that say you’ve already crossed a line. You’ve already done too much to be good anymore. Isn’t that the truth? You’ve seen it in your reflection, heard it in the quiet voice inside your head. You’re tainted. You can’t undo what you’ve done. No matter how much you apologize, no matter how much you try to do right, you’ll always be marked by your past.

What’s worse, though, is the gnawing fear that maybe it’s not just about the things you’ve done—it’s about who you are, what’s inside you. Are you fundamentally good? Or is there something broken in you, something that can never be fixed? Maybe being good isn’t even a choice for you anymore. Maybe there’s something wrong with you at your core.

He’s starting to catch on, you’re sure of it—Elias isn’t stupid, after all. He sees the cracks in you, the fracture in your mind that no amount of pretending can hide. And you know, deep down, he knows. The question is whether he’s trying to convince himself that it’s just a fleeting worry, a twisted lie that will fade with time, or whether he’s already bracing for the truth.

His hands tighten around you, pulling you in closer, like he’s trying to hold all the broken pieces of you together. It’s a tender, steady pressure, but you can feel it, the weight of his understanding slowly pressing down on you. He’s waiting for you to say something, to reveal it all, but you can’t. You won’t.

"I don’t need you to be perfect,” he whispers into your hair, his voice low, filled with something that feels like hope and something else—something softer, more afraid. “I just need you to be here. To be with me, right now. That’s what matters.”

You close your eyes at his words, a tremor running through your chest. It’s like a release, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The relief in his voice should be enough to make you let go, to make you believe. But instead, there’s something darker twisting in your gut, a sense of guilt that tightens its grip around your heart. You wish you could believe him. You wish you could let his love reach you fully. But you’re not whole anymore, not in the way he needs you to be.

The fractured versions of yourself are warring within you, pulling in different directions, each one clinging to its own version of truth, of reality. On one side, you want to believe you can still be good, that you can fix this, that maybe—just maybe—you can find your way back to who you were before. But the other side, the one that holds the weight of all your mistakes, knows that you’re too far gone, too broken, too stained by the things you’ve done. You’re not someone who can just come back from that. Not really.

The conflict inside you rages, a storm of guilt and doubt, each part of you fighting for dominance, trying to take control. You want to scream, to throw yourself into his arms and let the pain fade away. But every time you try, that voice, the one that’s been haunting you for so long, grows louder—You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve him.

Elias’s hands tighten again, pulling you even closer, as if trying to force you to feel him, feel the weight of his presence, the warmth of his care. You can’t escape it, even though you want to. His breath is steady, his presence a constant, unwavering force against the chaos inside you. And yet, somehow, that steadiness only makes the storm inside you worse. It’s a reminder that you’re not steady, that you can’t give him what he deserves.

You pull away slightly, just enough to look at him. His eyes are filled with worry, that quiet, soft concern that always makes your chest ache. You can see it now, the realization in his eyes. He knows. He’s waiting for you to confirm it, to say it aloud. But you can’t. You can’t bear to see the look in his eyes when the truth hits him. When he finally understands that you are the reason everything’s falling apart.

“I’m not okay,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your throat tight with the weight of it. It’s not the full truth—it can’t be, not yet—but it’s the closest thing you can bring yourself to say. The words feel like a confession, an admission of everything you’ve been trying to hide.

Elias doesn’t say anything for a long time. His gaze softens, a mixture of pain and understanding, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans in, brushing a gentle hand against your cheek, his thumb swiping over the tears that are still silently falling.

“I know,” he says quietly, his voice so steady, so sure. “I know, and you don’t have to be okay right now. You don’t have to fix it all at once. We’ll figure this out, together.”

The words should comfort you. They should make you feel like there’s hope, like there’s a way out of the darkness. But instead, they feel like another weight pressing down on you, another promise you’re too afraid to keep.

──

But Elias always kept his promises. Elias was a good person—whatever it meant to be one. That’s why you believed him when he said he would always protect you. 

Now, as you kneel on the cold, unforgiving cement floor, you wonder if that was ever true. The pain in your knees is manageable, but the weight of your situation presses harder than any physical ache. The footsteps echo through the silence of the basement, each one coming closer, and with it, the steady jingle of keys that makes your chest tighten. The door creaks open, and the thick stench of stale cigarettes fills the room, hanging in the air like a shroud. You don't need to look up to know who it is.

You can see it in your mind’s eye: the boots, dark and stained with blood. They’re a familiar sight, something you thought you’d left behind. You don’t look at him. You can’t. Not after everything that’s happened. Not after the choices you’ve made.

But even with your gaze fixed to the floor, you can see them—the boots. His boots. Heavy and grimy with the remnants of violence, the kind that’s become so commonplace now that it doesn’t even seem strange. The metallic scent of blood and the acrid smoke mix in the air, and your stomach churns.

The Vex—they’ve never been kind. They’ve never cared for anything but power, and that’s exactly what you gave them when you walked through their doors so many years ago, young and eager, hungry for purpose. You had no idea what you were stepping into, no idea what you were becoming. But he, Jayce, he had shown you the ropes. He had been a father figure when you didn’t have anyone else. He’d promised you a place—he'd made you feel like you mattered.

But that was before. Before everything fell apart. Before betrayal became the only currency you had left.

The man steps into the room, blocking the dim light from the door. He doesn’t need to say anything. The blood on his boots, the way his shadow looms over you like a storm about to break, says everything. You can already feel the tension crackling in the air, the weight of the past hanging between you, suffocating the space.

"You betrayed us," his voice breaks the silence, low and venomous, the kind of accusation that cuts deep because it’s not just a statement—it’s a betrayal of something you both once shared.

But you didn’t betray them. Not in the way he thinks. You didn’t mean to. Maybe you were too naïve to see the danger of crossing them, of going against the very people you’d once called your family. But you couldn’t bear the thought of what they were doing anymore, couldn’t stand the violence, the darkness that had overtaken everything you once thought you understood. 

"I—I'm sorry, Jayce" you whisper, but the words feel weak. They always feel weak when you say them to him. You can't look at him, can't see the disappointment in his eyes, but you feel it. You feel it like a stone lodged deep in your chest.

The blunt hits your cheek, sharp and sudden, its sting enough to bring you back to the moment. You gasp slightly, but the pain doesn’t linger. What stings more is the wave of regret that crashes over you—the guilt, the fear. You want to say something, to explain, but your throat is tight, choked with emotion. You can barely breathe as it is.

Jayce doesn’t wait for you to speak. His hand grips your jaw tightly, jerking your head back so you’re forced to look at him. His face is harsh, his eyes narrowed with an intensity you haven’t seen in years. The anger in his gaze burns through you, and you can’t help but feel that you’re no longer the person he once protected. You’re something else now, something unrecognizable.

"You think you can just walk away from this?" His voice is low, cold, each word dripping with contempt. "You think they’ll forgive you? They'll never forgive you." His fingers dig into your skin, pulling you closer, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

You want to protest. You want to say it’s not true, but there’s a hollow emptiness inside you now, something that echoes his words like a truth you can’t deny. He’s right. You didn’t just betray the Vex. You betrayed him—the man who had shown you everything. The man who had taken you in when you had no one else.

"I had no choice," you whisper, but the words are hollow, meaningless. They’ve always been. The choice you made was yours, wasn’t it? You chose this life. You chose to stand with the Wraths—No, Elias To turn your back on everything you’d ever believed. You chose power, survival, and maybe a twisted form of safety, but now that choice has shattered you, and the weight of it presses down on your chest like a thousand tons of stone.

Jayc laughs, but it’s not a laugh of amusement. It’s dark, bitter, cruel. "Everyone has a choice. You just didn’t want to make the right one." 

His words land like blows, and you feel each one like a bruise to your soul. You knew it was wrong, didn’t you? Deep down, you always knew. But you thought you could change things. You thought you could play both sides, and that nothing would come back to haunt you. 

But it has. And now you’re here, on your knees, watching the man who once held you like a daughter, a mentor, condemn you with the very same eyes that used to offer you guidance.

“You’re nothing to us anymore," Jayce spits, his words like knives. "Just another casualty of your own making." 

The weight of those words, the truth in them, settles over you like a suffocating blanket. You betrayed him. You betrayed everything he ever stood for. And for what? Safety? Power? You don’t even know anymore.

The silence that follows is deafening, the air thick with all the things you can’t say, all the apologies you can’t make. The darkness inside of you grows, a cold, gnawing thing that spreads through your veins, and you can’t fight it. Not anymore.

"I'm sorry," you whisper again, but this time, it’s quieter, more broken. The words are just that—words. You can’t undo what you’ve done. You can’t erase the past. 

But Elias… He’s always been the one you wanted to protect. The one you should’ve protected. The one who never gave up on you. And now, you’ve led him to this—into the chaos of your mistakes. And there's nothing you can do to make it right. Not now. Not here.

And then, as the silence stretches between you, The cold rope biting into your wrists feels like an eternity. The tension in the air is thick, suffocating, as the man steps closer, his gaze hard and unreadable. You don’t know if it’s the fear or the anger—or both—that makes your chest ache, but it’s getting harder to breathe, harder to think straight.

“You’re soft,” he mutters, his voice low. “You have a heart. That’s weakness in this world

You can’t answer him. Your throat is too tight, too full of bitterness, full of regret. You’re trying to understand him, trying to make sense of it all, but it’s like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. He’s right about one thing, though. You’re too soft. Always have been.

But not anymore, right? Not after this.

He approaches, his boots tapping the floor with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each step resonates in your mind like a countdown. He reaches down, and you flinch instinctively, but he’s untying your hands with a practiced flick. You don’t move, you don’t speak, you just wait. Wait for the inevitable.

And then, as if the air around you wasn’t already thick enough, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun. The metal gleams in the dim light, cold and indifferent. He holds it out to you, the weight of it heavy in your palm when he presses it into your hand.

“Prove your loyalty,” he commands, his voice like gravel scraping against stone.

The gun is all wrong in your hands, foreign and deadly. You don't know how to hold it, how to raise it, but somehow, it fits, and suddenly, it's all that matters.

He pulls another gun from his other side, pointing it directly at you. His finger rests lightly on the trigger, but it doesn’t look like he's going to hesitate. You know what he’s asking of you. He’s not looking for loyalty. He’s looking for obedience, for submission, for you to take this world and make it yours, just like he has.

"It’s either you or me," he says, his voice flat, devoid of anything that might resemble a human connection.

Your heart is hammering in your chest. The gun feels warm now, as though it’s absorbing the heat of your skin, your panic. You can’t think. You can’t breathe. You just—you just—have to survive. But there’s no room to think, not in this moment. You don’t have time for thoughts.

A tear slides down your cheek, and you don't wipe it away. It’s useless, pointless. You have nothing is left in this world except this moment.

You raise the gun, your hands trembling with a fear you can’t control. The weight of the decision presses down on you, suffocating, a thousand pounds of regret and despair bearing down on your shoulders. His eyes are unwavering, cold, unblinking, watching you like a predator. The gun is steady in your hands, but your soul? Your soul is fractured, splintered into a thousand pieces that no one can ever put back together.

You want to pull away. You want to scream that this isn't you, that you can't do this, that you don’t want to be this person. You want to tell him no. But you can’t. You can't because in this moment, you know that if you don’t do it, if you don’t pull that trigger, you’ll be the one left cold on the floor, your life snuffed out in an instant.

“Jayce.”

The words come out strangled, weak, but there’s no turning back now.

“I will kill you.” His voice is cold, hard as stone. No mercy, no hesitation.

“Dad!” The word escapes your lips before you can stop it, the syllables like acid on your tongue. The scream ripples through the room, raw and desperate. You hadn’t realized it before, but it’s the truth. He’s always been more of a father to you than anyone else ever was.

But his answer is simple. "Goodbye."

You don’t realize the double meaning in those words—who’s really leaving, until it’s too late.

Your finger finds the trigger, and in that moment, the world around you seems to slow, stretching out in front of you like an endless hallway of impossible choices. You can feel your pulse pounding in your throat, your heartbeat deafening in your ears. Time stops, and for a fleeting moment, you wish you could step away from it all, wish you could turn back, wish you could change your mind.

But you can’t. Not anymore.

You pull the trigger.

The gunshot is deafening, shattering the silence of the room like the final breath of a dying world. The recoil rattles your bones, sending shockwaves through your body. You stumble backward, dizziness swallowing you, vision blurring as your mind struggles to catch up with the reality of what you've just done.

But then, as your eyes struggle to focus, you see it. Him. Jayce.

He’s falling. His body crumples in slow motion, a ragdoll to the ground. His weapon slips from his grasp, clattering against the floor with a hollow thud. It’s the moment you’ve been dreading. The moment you’ve been preparing for. The moment you thought you had no choice but to make.

But then the silence hits you.

The room is eerily still. His body is motionless, but there’s no blood. No gore. No sign that he’s been shot at all. The air feels thick, heavy, like the weight of the universe itself is bearing down on you.

 ──

You take a step forward, eyes locked on him, the confusion and terror swirling inside you. You look down at the floor, where the blood is beginning to pool around him, staining the concrete beneath him with a dark, almost surreal spread. You blink, trying to process the sight, but your eyes are drawn to something else—the gun in his hand.

It’s still within reach, but there’s something off about it. The chamber is open, twisted by the impact of his fall. You can’t stop yourself from squinting, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing, but as you look closer, your breath catches. The chamber... it’s empty.

And in that silence, it hits you. The gun wasn’t loaded.

A sharp, jagged breath catches in your throat as the truth claws its way to the surface, each breath like a blade cutting deeper. Your chest tightens, and the weight of it all, the weight of your decision, presses down harder than it ever has before.

You didn’t just pull the trigger—you pulled it believing that you would be ending a life, ending him. But all this time, Jayce had never intended for you to kill him. It was never about survival. It was never about loyalty or power. It was about control. Manipulation. He needed you to believe that you were capable of it, that you could make that choice—because in the end, that’s what would break you.

His body is still, the blood spreading out beneath him, staining the floor, but there’s no life leaking from the wound. No ragged breath escaping him. No pleading, no final cry for mercy. Just the weight of the silence, suffocating you in its cold grasp.

 ──

When Elias finally arrived, the sight that met him was nothing like what he had imagined. The room was still, eerily so, with the heavy scent of blood and smoke hanging in the air like a curse. His gaze fell first on the body of Jayce, already stiff with the onset of rigor mortis. The man who had once been a father figure, a mentor—now a lifeless shell on the floor. His limbs contorted in a way that spoke of a struggle, but the finality of it was undeniable. The blood around him had pooled in dark, macabre shapes, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile silence of the room.

Elias’s eyes moved slowly, taking in the scene. Two guns lay side by side, their barrels facing opposite directions but perfectly aligned. There was something hauntingly neat about it, a stark contradiction to the violence that had occurred just moments before. He glanced at the floor beside them—one single, solitary bullet shell, discarded carelessly as if it had no meaning. No purpose.

And then, his gaze shifted to the rope—cut up, discarded. The remnants of what had bound you, a faint sign of the struggle you had endured. The knotting, the marks on your skin, they were still fresh in his mind. Elias’s chest tightened as he stared at the remnants, pieces of a life now gone.

It was all too quiet. Too perfectly arranged. The stillness of the room felt unnatural, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something else to happen.

But nothing did.

Elias's heart pounded in his chest as he took a step further into the room. He could feel it—the weight of the air, thick with tension, suffocating him. He was too late. He had come too late.

His eyes flickered around the room, searching for you, desperate for a sign. But there was nothing. Nothing but the eerie calm and the sight of the final scene you had left behind.

Then his gaze landed on the note. It was small, tucked away near the guns, as if carefully placed with deliberate precision. His hands trembled as he reached for it, lifting the paper to his eyes. The words were simple, almost childlike in their rawness:

I’m sorry. I failed. This is my choice. I’m not strong enough anymore. Please forgive me, goodbye starboy.

The words hit him like a fist to the chest. A wave of cold grief washed over him, followed by a searing anger that had nowhere to go. He had failed you. All this time, he had promised to protect you, to save you. And now, in this quiet, tragic moment, it was too late to undo what had been done.

His breath caught in his throat as he looked around, his mind racing. What happened? How had it come to this? How had everything unraveled so quickly?

The room was a graveyard of choices, of mistakes, and somewhere amidst it all, you were lost. Your choices had led you here, to this moment. And now Elias stood alone in the wreckage, unable to reach you in time, unable to save you from yourself.

──

author's note: this is both elias requests combined in one, just in case there's any confusion reader (barista) is written to possesses no romantic feelings towards jayce; their relationship is strictly platonic.

i will now be proofreading EVERYTHING i write, if you ever see a mistake in my work please message me!!

[fozzieosbourne]

POV: You’re Matthew Porretta after “Control” came out

((OH NO HE’S HOT 🥵))

[beanghostprincess]

Actually thinking more about Reiju's only sin being a woman and... Going into more depth, I know that logically/canonically she's smart and empathetic enough to not want to be in her brothers' place. She doesn't want to be an heir/ successor or follow the family's footsteps at all. She knows they're bad. She sees herself as such, too, unable to change/be different like Sanji was. She doesn't think she can bring her mother's kindness to this world the way Sanji does, so she sticks to what she knows, whether it is to protect Sanji too or to accept her fate.

BUT (and bear with me for a second here, I know I have been watching too much Succession lately) we also do know that during her childhood she didn't do anything to help Sanji from the abuse. She watched it happen because that was the way things went there and because she knew what would happen to her if she did. Of course, she ends up helping him escape and taking care of him but-- I'm just thinking, for a tiny little moment, about how she's actually the oldest.

She should be the heir. She should be the person everybody views Ichiji as. She should be considered the most responsible. The smartest. The strongest one. The one who should take the throne. And she doesn't even want it now, but what about back then? What about when she did have some little, tiny faith/hopes for her family and what they did? She sought approval and naively thought "my father is going to offer me the place I rightfully deserve, right?" blindly seeking acceptance like all of them did.

But no, because she might be the oldest but Ichiji is a man. She might be the strongest, the smartest, the most reliable... But she is not a man. And I believe there must have been a time when she expected her destiny to be something more, and once she realized she was just a woman in their eyes... Well, we know what happened.

I just keep finding similarities between The Vinsmokes (OP) and The Roys (Succession) and perhaps my headcanon of Reiju being similar to Shiv has gone a bit too far. But the scene where Shiv is like "This is real?" when Logan promises she'll be the CEO and he goes "This is real. Remember this. The slant of light" for it to be a lie later is something I fear could have happened with Reiju and Judge if Oda had given us more content,,,,

[ffc1cb]

i’ve always found it peculiar how during meeting the chargers cutscene the game just assumes your character automatically understands what krem is talking about when he mentions binding (though, granted, it’s all very unsubtle). like, this is a roleplaying game. what if i want to play a character who just doesn’t get it

[lollygaggingloser]

My mental health dipped significantly last night. Time to look at VAT7K content to generate serotonin and get me though my maladaptive daydreaming and dissociation.

People please send me your wildest headcanons, hot takes, or just tell me your favorite Tangled or VAT7K character and why.

[moongothic]

Honestly I think crocodile/dragon and crocodile/Doflamingo are only interesting when treated as failed relationships spinning off into increasingly petty grudges and instigations. Become a warlord to piss off one ex by working with his hated father only for the OTHER ex to ALSO become a warlord to drive you insane. Etc.

I am now going to take his as an opportunity to rant about Dragodile because I unironically think it's an interesting ship if Crocodad Real and I don't think I'm ever going to find a better excuse to rant about it unprompted lmao SO HERE WE GO

But yes like. Dragodile is so fucking interesting to me

A marine and a pirate falling in love with each other is already some starcrossed lovers kinda BS. But then it's like, a FORMER marine and pirate who is WORKING FOR THE GOVERNMENT. That's EXTRA JUICY, it adds layers to the starcrossed lovers shit, and I am not immune to it, it's FACINATING, like what was the dynamic here

But also we don't even know when Dragon left the marines and when he and Crocodile first met, so for all we know it could've been some real enemies-to-lovers-to-enemies shit AND THAT'S SO INTERESTING

(Also the mere concept that Dragon could've been chasing Crocodile around kinda like Smoker tried to chase Luffy, only for Crocodile to become a Shichibukai and Dragon having to give up because they're on the same side now (kinda). Like. That is so fucking funny. And then he leaves the Marines to start a revolution. Or just out of spite dshgjdgs)

Then there's the absolutely hysterical part where Crocodile is the meanest, most intimidating, standoff-ish asshole around. So the idea Dragon was fucking into that is INCREDIBLE. THIS MAN LIKES BEING BULLIED DFSHFKGHFGJHDS (It's possible Young Croc might've been less mean but it's funnier if he wasn't)

And yeah. Somehow. In complete secret. A romance blooms.

And then there's a baby.

And Crocodile transes his gender.

And there's a divorce.

And 17 years later Crocodile has commited dozens of unforgivable warcrimes that are almost exactly the kind of things Dragon wanted to stop the government from doing to begin with.

Mind you, I don't actually think there's coming back from that, this relationship was burned to the ground and the ashes blown away by wind, there is nothing left

But could you imagine if despite the anger and the hurt and the warcrimes they still somehow loved each other

I would just