#and it's just a faded version of them that lives in your memory forever

[larentslovechaos]

there's something so hard about the fading of someone as time passes and I'm not looking forward to it. like your mind just has the captures of them and time just moves on further and further. time just goes further and further away from the time of when that person was alive.

[amaranthineghost]

hello!!!

can you do a one shot/ fanfic that Lando has been dating Y/N since they were 15/16, so for a long time, and she just found out she’s pregnant. you can come up with how they would react and how lando would react but i’d love if they were unsure of it in the beginning, but it grew on them as time went by.

thanks!!!!

| OUR WORLD IN YOUR HANDS ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando x reader

ꕥ summary: they hadn't planned for pregnancy, but it changed their life.

ꕥ authors note: enjoyed writing it more than I thought I would honestly. tried to make it so she was more unsure than he was and in the end, I liked it. working on incorporating more dialogue in the future because it is definitely not my strong suit. I'll also alternate between requests and my own ideas so if you requested something, keep it in mind <3

ꕥ warnings: mentions of alcohol, sex, barely mentions thoughts of abortion

TWO RED LINES. her heart had skipped a beat, more like several as she stared at the dark red line and a faded pink one next to it. she couldn't believe her eyes. it couldn't be possible, it repeated in her mind.

but it obviously was. they hadn't been very careful, they're young and dumb and in love. two people so deeply in love that they couldn't care less. at least she thought they did at the time.

staring at the test in front of her shook her whole world, an entirely different branch of her life she'd never expect to take this soon. it was right in front of her.

despite being together for a year or two shy of a decade, it felt too soon. they were still young, had plenty of parties lined up in the near future. plenty of drunken nights running through the streets of monaco barefooted, hands intertwined as the world was focused on them. how they'd escape to the farthest rooftop, drunken makeouts leading to more as they came together under the stars.

they still had time. time to be what they'd missed as teenagers, to make memories. they had time to spend countless nights, wrapped in each other's arms under cold skies on balconies across countries, discussing their future. when they'd get married, where they'd like to live, if they ever left monaco which seemed unlikely, the places they've yet to see, how many kids they'll have and their names.

time for reckless driving through the streets of monaco with the wind crashing against them, hands raised as they cheered. he always drove to the most beautiful sight in the city, but always claimed it would never come close to the beauty she possessed.

time for runs across the beach in tiny bikinis and swim trunks as they raced on the sand. his arms capturing her waist as he tossed her around, feeling the vibrations of her laughter and screams against his skin. a feeling he'd forever cherish.

it all disappeared with a single faded line. everything she knew about their future collapsed with the test barely bigger than the length of her hand. it would affect everything.

it was conflicting. becoming a mother was all she ever dreamed and talked about, when she became older. she'd mention to her curly-haired boyfriend countless times of her dreams of having the mini versions of him running around the house they shared. the longing to see his eyes and curly hair with features of her own on another warm body. their child.

but she wasn't ready. in her mid-twenties, with years of life left to live child-free. tens of grand prix's to attend in support of her mclaren lover, watching 10 feet away from his car. nights to catch up on hours of sleep she lacked from keeping up with lando's lifestyle.

having a kid swept it all off the table. no more late night dalliances, or getting so drunk to the point where lando would have to pull over the car to hold back her hair as she threw up in the bushes.

no more parties at ungodly hours of the night, watching drunk lando stumble his way to the dj booth, giggling over a glass of alcohol at his actions.

no more sleep. she knew she'd be woken up numerous times in the night from the cries of her child, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to give up sleep yet.

and she wasn't sure lando wanted to give up formula one either. obviously, a balance between the two worlds is possible, but she knew he would want to be there with her, and she didn't know if he could.

it scared her. the thought of this changing the dynamic of their relationship on levels she couldn't even begin to think of. she's seen countless videos of how having a child completely changed the way couples worked, good and bad, and she didn't want that fifty-fifty.

she'd sat staring at the test between the tips of her fingers for a solid twenty minutes before she heard a patterned knock she grew familiar with from her beloved boyfriend.

the door muffled his voice just slightly, "darling, you 'right in there?" his hand wrapped around the now cold door handle and twisted it, but it failed to turn as it pressed into his palm.

it was unusual for her to lock the door, she knew he would question it. and she knew she couldn't use the excuse of that she's changing or showering because lando simply didn't care whenever she was. he'd sit and keep her company till she was done with whatever she was doing because it was often what they did. sit in silence, enjoying the presence of one another.

"yeah, I'm fine!" she called out to him in a rushed tone, flinching enough that she nearly dropped the test. she watched as the door knob shook, shoving the stick into the bottom of the trash temporarily. she'd remember to remove it eventually.

she turned on the sink as she hid the box of tests in the depths of the cabinet under the sink. looking at herself in the mirror, she'd wipe away the tears that built in her eyes. she didn't want him to notice, but like always he would.

from the locked door to the second she opened it, he'd watch it. she'd see him leaning on the wall just outside the door, patiently waiting for her to come out to him. he wouldn't question it, he trusted that she would eventually come around to tell him. she always did.

with the frequent trips to the bathroom and the slimmed selection of foods in the fridge, he'd suspect something, but he wouldn't know for sure. not without her word.

because for the time being, it was a secret she kept to herself, as much as she despised secrets. she felt like she was guilty to be hiding something from the person she trusted most in the world.

times when she thought the room was empty, she'd be pacing long ways back and forth with her arms crossed and her face solid. he'd watched her from the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest, mirroring her position slightly.

times when she'd drop whatever she was doing to rush into the bathroom and spill her guts into the toilet as he held her hair and ran his fingers along the nape of her neck. she claimed it was a stomach bug, but he knew better. he also knew better than to question her words so he said nothing, but made a multitude of soups for her to sip on, taking notice of her now acute taste.

times when she'd cry over the tiniest of things, comforting her in his arms while she sobbed against the fabric of his very worn hoodie that happened to be her favorite.

it wasn't a great shock when she first told him. stuttering over her words as she fumbled with the sleeves of his long-sleeve shirt that went well past her fingertips, he could see tears brimming her eyes with her heightened sensitivity.

so when she muttered the words, "i'm pregnant," his world stopped, restarted, reloaded and stopped again when he finally processed the words. though he knew he could've expected it, hearing the confirmation leave her lips left his world tipped sideways.

but he wanted to hear it again, needed to, words breathlessly escaping his lips, "what, love?" he heard her the first time, but he wanted to hear it again. and again and again.

she choked on her words, sobbing out again, "I'm pregnant, lan," he pulled her into his chest, his hand finding it's way to the side of her head as he cradled her, pressing his lips against her hair.

as they swayed, it finally dawned on him, muttering unsure and excitedly against her head, "I'm going to be a dad?" his breathing deepened, his tongue gliding across his lips, then biting at the sensitive flesh. he felt his heart hammer in his chest, nearly comparing to when he first asked the girl out all those years ago. he reminisced the time when the biggest deal he could think of was rejection. now the girl he had crushed on when he was just a teenager just told him she's pregnant. with his kid.

part of him couldn't be happier, they had spent countless nights in bed, lying on their sides facing one another with stupid grins on their faces as they pondered their future together. whatever they wanted, it always had the other in their thoughts and plans.

this was just their plans manifesting faster than they might've hoped, and sure, he wasn't totally certain that it was the right timing after all. but this was their dream, and maybe they just needed time.

time to accept how greatly their life would be affected. he thought about how he'd have to leave her for days, weeks for his career, the few outlying times when she'd travel with him. he knew that would change, leaving her home with a new life to take care of besides her own. he hated the thought of leaving her.

they needed time to think, whether it was together or just by themselves. they needed to figure out how they'd make it through, if they could. which was a question in itself.

they needed to talk because part of her didn't think he would be so accepting of the change life threw them, permanently altering their course of life and the years to follow.

deep inside, they're scared. they knew they would've been, planned or not. it didn't make it any easier. but when he asked such a simple question, it lifted a massive weight that had been carrying on her shoulders. part of her knew he'd always be so accepting. everything is an experience after all.

with every month passed, every growth of the life within her body, he'd mention. he was the nerdy type to compare the size of the baby with fruit. he'd goggle each week with every new development she'd create. it shook his mind to even comprehend. she could make bones, organs and the tiniest lashes of their soon-to-be kid all within the confines of her body. to him, it was sacred.

and of course, he'd tell just about everyone from every team. all the drivers, mechanics, pit crew, team principals, the list goes on and so does his rants about her.

countless photos of appreciation for her on his social media, after all she was carrying his child and he was ecstatic. he'd spent every waking moment he could with her, his hands always somewhere on her, prodominantly on her growing stomach.

when he felt the first kick, he pulled his hand away sharply, looking at her with a dropped jaw and wide eyes, "it kicked me!" he'd exclaim and she slapped his shoulder, scolding him.

"don't call the baby an 'it!'"

"what else am I supposed to call it?" again, earning another slap to his bicep, and he'd look at her with a growing confused look.

"stop slapping me!" he held up his arms in defense as she scowled at him, her arms crossed over her chest. she pursed her lips before sighing as he'd replace his hand on her stomach.

"babe, I don't think this baby likes me," he looked between his hand and her eyes, feeling the movement under his palm. it was a weird sensation, something he'd never expect to feel so soon, or at all.

all she could do was laugh at the stupid expression across his face as he looked back and forth in bewilderment. the warmth from his hand, and the small calluses sent goosebumps across her skin. it incited a smirk to take place on his face, but she slapped it off. he'd expect to feel more of those as the months went by, especially with all the sly comments she'd hear slip past his lips.

with every ultrasound appointment, he'd be there. he'd make sure of it, no matter where he was or what he was doing. she also scheduled them in accordance to his race and where in the world it took place.

every time, his eyes would be locked on the screen that projected his child, a part of him in another life form. a smile always creeping into his face as he held her cold hand. more often than not, he'd get curious and try to become the technician, stealing the equipment out of the professional's hand. his girlfriend would scold him like he was some sort of dog. in response he'd groan, rolling his eyes at her.

he'd still try though, and the technician laughed it off. he'd make comments to her in reassurance, "babe, i've got this," he'd tell him as his hand with the wand came closer to her stomach.

"where's your degree then?" she snapped back, giggling at his sudden pause before he shrugged, waving it off his other hand.

" 's at home."

when the time finally came to birth their new life into the world, god did lando panic. everything he had prepared himself with went out the window when she'd mutter the words he'd been waiting to hear.

"lando," she mumbled as she sat on their couch, turning to him with wide eyes, "I think it's time." her sleeve-covered hands were at her face as she bit nervously on her nails.

he'd stutter over his words, hands in his hair, "you're joking." he'd say repeatedly as he rushed around the apartment, grabbing things. he was the type to grab everything and forget her still on the couch.

she'd call him on her phone when she sees him in his car from the window, through the pain, she laughed at him, "forget something, norris?"

"no, darling, I've got everything-" she'd see his movement pause, his hand returning to his hair, "fuck!"

when he'd come back to help her, she was nearly collapsed with laughter despite the pain she felt through her body.

"stop laughing at me!" he whined but he was laughing with her. nonetheless, they'd get to the car.

she was in labor for hours, crunching on ice chips that he'd fed her carefully. he'd massage her shoulders, hold her hand when contractions got particularly unbearable. he knew not to mumble bullshit words of encouragement, a word of advice from his mum, advice he'd gladly listen to.

instead he'd show her he was there by doing everything she asked until it was time to actually deliver their child they've been waiting 9 months to finally meet.

with a pale face, lando would comment, "I think one kid is fine after all." she'd roll her eyes at his words as she held their daughter in her arms, already seeing themselves in her. she was exhausted and he knew. he put her hair up, cooing words of appreciation to her now that all was done. he took care of her.

he'd remember call his mum later to tell her thank you.

[creamflix]

sukuna x reader; no implied reader gender. angst with sukuna's version of comfort. established relationship (can be read as concubine, married or otherwise). somewhat existential crisis? mentions of mortality. — masterlist here ☆

being close to sukuna was like brushing against fire; you never knew when the warmth would singe or when his gaze, intense and inscrutable, would pierce through your own walls. you’d carved out a space beside him, something precious and rare, a piece of his vast, ancient life that he allowed you to claim.

but that same vastness haunted you — the reality that he’d lived for centuries, seen empires rise and fall, loved and bedded countless others who now lay forgotten in time’s dust.

one evening, as the two of you sat together, you caught him in one of those rare, quiet moments, his gaze distant, as if looking at something far beyond the present. you could feel the weight of the centuries behind those eyes, and a pang of insecurity tightened in your chest.

“what’s on your mind?” he asked suddenly, snapping out of his reverie, his tone sharp, as though sensing the shift in you.

you hesitated, your words catching on the vulnerability in your throat. “sometimes… i wonder how much of this will really matter to you. when so much time has passed, and we’re nothing more than memories.”

he arched a brow, his eyes narrowing slightly. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means…” you took a shaky breath, struggling to put it into words. “you’ve lived for so long, been with so many others. what if one day, i just… fade away? like a passing phase or something insignificant?” your voice faltered, feeling childish for voicing something so small in the shadow of his vast life.

he watched you, expression unreadable, a flicker of something hard to place in his gaze. “you’re worrying about nonsense.”

his words were blunt, laced with a detached logic that felt like it was designed to dismiss your fears rather than comfort them.

“nonsense?” you repeated, frustration sparking in your chest. “to you, maybe. but it’s different for me, sukuna. you’re my… everything. but i’m just a fragment of your endless life.” your voice cracked, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded, like you were peeling open a part of yourself he couldn’t — or wouldn’t — fully understand.

he sighed, as if grappling with the weight of emotions that felt foreign to him. “and what, exactly, do you expect me to say?” his tone was flat, unwilling to give in fully to what he might see as a trivial fear.

“i don’t know, maybe something that… something that doesn’t make me feel like i’m just a temporary distraction to you.” the words were out before you could stop them, spilling over the carefully constructed defenses you’d held up around him.

he clicked his tongue, looking away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “mortals always want things they can’t have,” he muttered, almost to himself. then, after a beat, he spoke, his voice lower, almost grudging. “i let you stay close, don’t i? you think i let just anyone take up this much space?”

it was as close to reassurance as he’d offer, and you knew that. to him, allowing you in, giving you his time, was a rarity in itself. but the ache in your chest didn’t fade, not entirely.

close wasn’t forever, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that when he finally grew tired of you, he’d simply… move on, as he had countless times before.

he seemed to sense your lingering unease, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly. “do you honestly think i’d waste my time if you were nothing more than a distraction?”

it was a small comfort, hearing him voice that, even if he couldn’t say the words you truly needed. “i guess not,” you whispered, though the uncertainty still curled in your chest, stubborn and unyielding.

he reached out then, one hand slipping around your waist, pulling you closer, his hold firm yet somehow gentle. “then stop worrying,” he murmured, his voice rough, as though unused to trying to reassure anyone but himself.

for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace, feeling the weight of his hand against you, grounding you in the present. it wasn’t a promise, not the kind that would last beyond his long years, but it was something. and for now, that was all you could cling to — his presence here, now, even if tomorrow remained uncertain.

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[reunionatdawn]

My Analysis of the Best Paired Endings in 3H (Part 6: Ferdinand/Dorothea)

(Normal): Thanks but no thanks, Mr. Noble. I already have my heart set on someone else. (Ferdinand & Dorothea support level B reached): I suppose I can settle for you just this once, Ferdie.

The writers obviously put a lot of love into this ship, as it's one of the rare times that the main story dialogue changes depending on Support level between two characters. Plus, since he asks her out on a date outside of their Support chain, it shows that Ferdinand is canonically interested in Dorothea. And this is true in Hopes as well. He fears his mind will "wander to other things" while training with her.

Dorothea: Song and dance live on in our memories, but there's no real record of them. Even memories fade over time. Will anyone remember me when I'm gone?

Dorothea is a Libra, an air sign. Air signs are masculine, but not as much as the fire signs. Libras are extroverted, cozy, and friendly people. Libras, like the Scales that symbolize the sign, are often concerned with attaining balance, harmony, peace, and justice in the world. Dorothea had the motivation to join Edelgard's cause to dismantle the corrupt nobility. But she was also compassionate and hated the idea of fighting people she knew.

Ferdinand: I will do what I'm called to do, even if no mark of me remains in the history books.

Ferdinand bears the Crest of Cichol, which is associated with the Justice Arcana. Justice is a signifier of legal matters being resolved in a fair and balanced manner. It represents the power to distinguish between what is fair and what is unfair, in an impartial way. Ferdinand's dream was to lead the Empire to an age of enlightenment and hold his father accountable for his crimes. The downside to his ambitions was that his life revolved around being recognized for his achievements.

Ferdinand: That is true nobility! Acting in accordance with the people's needs and wishes. As war drags on, those living near the front lines inevitably get the worst of it. Still…Edelgard will not give in. She will push to complete her mission, no matter how many people die. Not everyone with noble blood has noble ideals.

His character arc was about exemplifying true nobility, defined as, "having or showing fine personal qualities or high moral principles and ideals." Not just being noble, defined as, "belonging to a hereditary class with high social or political status." And I would argue that opposing Edelgard was vital to his character arc.

Dorothea: Oh, Ferdie. You opposed Edie for so long… I had real hopes for you, you know? Now you're following her. Is that your duty as a noble? Follow your master when they say to heel? Ferdinand: I will not try to explain my duty or hers. You would not understand. I wish you could.

Dorothea is one of the few non-lord characters that will actually react to another non-lord character's death. If you don't recruit Ferdinand, he will die at the Great Bridge of Myrddin so that his name goes down in history as "the legendary Ferdinand of Adrestia".

If Ferdinand does not complete his arc, Dorothea will be the one who is most disappointed. She will say she had high hopes for him, a reference to their B-Support where he made her treats, and she reconsidered him as husband material. His memory will not live on in the history books, but it does live on in her heart. It was hard not to think of this pairing as "canon" after I saw this dialogue.

Dorothea: Though we only knew each other briefly back at the academy, you were still my friend—but now our paths have diverged forever.

There's even a Hopes version of this dialogue available in Record Keeper. Similar to Edelgard and Byleth in Silver Snow, if Ferdinand and Dorothea's paths diverge, it is treated as a great tragedy of fate. It shows how much the writers favored this particular ship.

(Normal): Yes… I have met someone quite charming recently. I'm hoping we can spend more time together soon. (Dorothea has reached Support Rank A with a male): I am. There is someone whose company I have come to enjoy.

While Dorothea is bisexual, she did seem to have a preference for men. The dialogue in her B-Support with Edelgard only changes if Dorothea has attained A-Support with a male character.

Linhardt: You've probably overcome a lot of tough times, haven't you? I think that's incredible, really, but why not just let go of the suffering and run away from the memories that cause you pain? I suspect you'll find it a better way of living. I know I do. Dorothea: That's not living, Lin. It's running away. If I leave my hardships behind, then all of that means nothing.

She only got into the academy by buttering up some noble, which suggests that she may have had to perform sexual favors. She had a poor self-image, despite her physical beauty. And that is why I think she pursued men so adamantly, even when she was not truly attracted to them. She was running away from her past.

Dorothea: What's important isn't how someone looks, it's their true nature. I don't pretend to know your true nature. I don't even have a very good understanding of my own. But I suppose you see mine just fine, don't you? Just a silly girl with no thoughts in her head except for marrying a noble, yes? Good-bye, Felix.

Dorothea had to hone her masculine energy while living on the streets and performing in the opera. She despised the goddess (although she has a hidden talent for faith). Her paralogue with Ingrid showed how the two had contrasting views on marriage. Dorothea wanted to play the traditionally feminine role of housewife, with a noble husband fulfilling the traditional masculine role of provider and protector.

Dorothea: But if you and I were devoted to one another… maybe we could strive for the future you believe in. Maybe I'd finally understand your path and be able to think about more than just myself. Hubert: Seems it's my turn to not understand. Did you just propose marriage as a way to get to know me?

She was always looking for a wealthy husband to take care of her into her old age, and often came across as nothing but a shallow gold-digger. Because she was afraid of living in poverty, she would settle for a nobleman regardless of whether or not she knew him very well or was actually in love with him.

Sylvain: You know, even when I was a kid, I never had trouble with girls. …But thinking about it now, I wonder what they liked about me back then. They didn't know everything about me… It's just confusing. Dorothea: Oh, where did that come from? No one can know everything about you.

She was at first dismissive of the idea that people need to know each other fully to get married. But she did commiserate with Sylvain about how people wanted to marry her without even knowing anything about her. However, she flirtatiously makes plans to grow old with him immediately afterwards. Even though they still barely knew each other.

Dorothea: I never had much to begin with in life, and I worry that one day, I'll be that way again… That's why I keep searching for someone who will love me. Someone unaware of the songstress, who can love a girl that used to be scared and alone on the streets of the capital… I wonder if such a strange person can even exist.

But what she really wanted was to spend her life with someone who did know her true self. Several of her endings depict her giving up on her goal of finding a rich husband. She is able to find love with Petra and Manuela and those are happy endings for her. But I still think the happiest ending for her is to find her dream man. A rich provider and protector who would know and love her as the scared orphan girl.

Dorothea: Oh, really? You're something different? That's not how I remember things… It was the very day that I was discovered…

I think Ferdinand offered the best closure to her character arc. There was a palpable sexual tension between them in both games, with Dorothea pushing him away yet secretly desiring to be closer. I'd argue she has more far chemistry with him than any of her other potential partners. At the academy, Dorothea did not flirt or make advances on Ferdie, despite him being the exact type of wealthy noble she was after. But in the end, she was more open, honest, and emotionally vulnerable with him than she was with anyone else.

Dorothea: Maybe I can believe you. I've wanted to ever since the day you made me those treats… I thought then that maybe you weren't like the others, but… There's a lot I have to let go of, Ferdie.

The tagline for the game was, "Sweet memories twisted by time's cruel hand". By getting closure with Ferdinand, Dorothea could reclaim a sweet memory and let go of some pain from her past. Ferdie considered Edelgard his rival and prided himself on being better than her. But with Dorothea, he said he wouldn't mind a life of being a simple drone, circling a queen. So, they both find a new way to live with each other. This pairing is a more wholesome alternative for Ferdie than Ferdibert. But Ferdie still is kind of a sub.

Ferdinand & Dorothea Ferdinand reclaimed the position of Duke Aegir and initiated reforms within his domain. Through his political methods, which closely aligned with the needs of the common people, the Aegir Duchy swiftly underwent reconstruction. Behind this success story was the significant contribution of Dorothea, the former songstress who became the Duchess, who dedicated herself to serving the commoners. Ferdinand, recognized for his achievements, was entrusted with governance across all of Fódlan. Despite being busy with his duties, he prioritized spending time with his family. He and Dorothea raised their children together, and their home was always filled with the sound of cheerful singing.

This feels like the picture-perfect ending for both of them. Dorothea achieves her life plan of marrying a rich provider and protector, overcoming her prejudice towards nobles. Her children carry on her legacy, and her memory will live on in their hearts.

And thanks to her experiences as an orphan, Ferdinand's policies benefit the commonfolk. He actually renounced his nobility and lived as a wanderer for five years because he did not believe in Edelgard's ideals, and he wanted to make up for his father's wrongdoings in his own way. He was prepared to leave no mark on history, but he is recognized for his achievements in the end.

[mjjune]

You asked for it! The famous "fuck me" scene! As commissioned by @tanimil! Full text version and commission under the cut

avof | mj june | ch 4: save your fights for fight club affectionately known as: the fuck me scene

word count: 850 content: steamy fade to black, blood/injury, vulgar language, dementia & memory loss

Tossing the wolf inside, Helio thuds against the desk, and Danny shuts the door. Now the music is gone, even to Danny’s ears, for he had his office soundproofed by vampires. It leaves near-silence between them, with only the sound of Helio’s haggard breaths and blood pumping through his mortal body.

Helio hasn’t bothered to wipe away the blood leaking from his lip, so it drips past his chin and slides down his neck. His brown eyes glow gold with wolf inside him. “Asshole!”

“You can’t fight in my club,” he says. “Save it for the Underground. Do you know how many humans are out there? What if one of you had shifted?”

Helio scoffs. “That wouldn’t happen.”

Danny agrees with him. If he’s about to be promoted, he certainly wouldn’t lose control over a snide insult. “Maybe not you, but what about that asshole?”

“He had it coming.”

“Because he talked bad about your pack? Grow up.” Danny feels the reluctance in his chest as he speaks. He’s only twenty-five, a toddler in purebred years.

“I don’t give a shit what he says about my pack. We’ve been going at it for years.”

Danny hesitates before laughing with antipathy. “Over a joke, then?” “It’s not a fucking joke,” Helio shoves Danny with all his might, which sends him lightly into the wall. “You wouldn’t understand. You live forever and you don’t have to worry about forgetting anything.”

Danny grows silent, realizing that when the asshole had said, “your Alpha had to step down because she couldn’t fucking remember how to shift anymore,” he’d meant it literally. That is not a joke, but it doesn’t excuse throwing someone across his club.

No, Danny doesn’t understand what it’s like to forget. He remembers every waking moment of his unending night.

Danny grabs Helio and spins them around, so now he pins the werewolf. He can’t help the sarcasm in his tone, “No, you’re right. I wouldn’t understand. I remember everything. Five thousand years of suffering that can never end. Aren’t I lucky?”

Helio’s eyes widen, any last glimpse of fury gone, leaving only shock in his brown eyes. His torn tank top strap hangs, leaving his right shoulder bare. The blood trickling down his neck begins to dry. Danny glares into his eyes, but the werewolf’s gaze drifts lower.

To Danny’s lips.

With a swift movement, Helio yanks him closer, leaning his head down to close the gap and plant his mouth onto his.

This is exactly what Danny was afraid would happen. If the Order doesn’t want him to do this, he should pull away. He should ban Helio from his club for starting a fight. Maybe he should even pick up and move somewhere else to avoid the inevitable supernatural dilemma. But he tastes the fresh blood from Helio’s lip, and it’s much sweeter than it smells. He’s kissing a werewolf—something he has never experienced, despite his years. He doesn’t want to stop.

Knowing it’ll piss off the Order just makes him want to do it more. He presses himself against Helio, hip points digging into each other. He runs his tongue along the inside of Helio’s lip, finding the bleeding cut, letting another few drops of blood flow across his tongue. The werewolf’s breaths shake, too erratic for him to tell if its nerves or excitement.

He moves away from Helio’s mouth and follows the trail of blood, kissing it off of his chin, his jaw. Arteries pump emphatically just under the skin, and Danny can sense Helio’s hair stand up and his breath catch in his throat as he moves down to his neck.

Something hard emerges against his hips as his tongue reaches the crevice where throat meets clavicle, licking away the last of the blood.

“Shit…” Helio hisses.

All the logic in Danny’s head tells him to stop; that he should listen to the Order; that he shouldn’t create enemies of an entire pack. But his hand doesn’t listen as it travels down Helio’s smooth chest and into his pants.

Helio’s body tenses and his harsh fingers coil around the collar of Danny’s blouse. For a moment, his eyes are a hot glare, as if to say how dare you? He means to push the vampire away, tell him to stop, curse him to hell, maybe even punch him. But just like Danny, he loses his inner debate. His weight gives in to the wall, allowing Danny’s hand to move deeper. Gentle lips back in the crook of his neck, Helio releases a low moan.

After a few long moments, hickey already forming, Helio speaks, breath tight and caught in his chest. “Fuck me."

Danny pulls away from his collarbone, curiosity twinkling in his eyes. He rises onto his toes so that their noses brush softly and he can taste Helio’s unsteady breaths against his mouth. The vampire’s hand, still deep in Helio’s pants, slows its movements and his voice resonates with smooth velvet once more.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Helio, biting his lip to stifle another moan, says again, “Fuck me."

AVOF TAGLIST: (message or comment below to be +/-) @aritany @artbyeloquent @bebewrites @ceph-the-ghost-writer @cljordan-imperium @elijahrichardwrites @eventideintrigue @faithfire-writes @flowerprose @garthcelyn @ghafasinej @jezifster @knosium @isabellebissonrouthier @lexiklecksi @little-mouse-gardens @malimaywrite @marrowwife @mr-writes @sarahlizziewrites @sm-writes-chaos @thyroidhormones @tracle0 @vacantgodling @void-botanist @vollzz @wildswrites @wip-nook

[spamwmona]

Rick Sanchez X Reader Through A Screen pt. 2

This took way longer than I liked to admit to finally publish but that's my bad. I've been going out with friends a lot.

You stayed in Summer's room, sitting on the mattress they had placed for you on her floor, a pink sheet and butterfly pillowcases covered it. You assumed it belonged to a young summer, along with the yellow and pink comforter you knew would be perfect for the wintery weather. You hated everything about this whole arrangement, but you didn't want to seem ungrateful. It wasn't the family that bothered you, nor was it sleeping on a mattress in a teenage girl's room. It was jumping from different universes, with a man who kidnapped you and now living with a version of him that suddenly “cares” about his family.  

You wouldn't admit it, but you really couldn't remember anything from your old life. You didn't even remember how you ended up with Prime. Maybe that's why you felt so angry and agitated when Rick wouldn't stop questioning you, but you never told him you couldn't remember. How long have you not been able to remember? Did the memories slowly fade or did He wipe them all together? You didn’t question it much when you were with Prime, you were more worried about proving how much you loved him so he wouldn’t leave you alone again. 

You stared at the ceiling creating shapes out of nothing, your mind racing with a billion thoughts. That’s all you got done since you finally started getting back to yourself. 

The soft hum from the heater kicked on automatically, filling the slight chilly room. It was comforting in these times.

What if you never made it home? You couldn’t stay like this forever, just waiting to magically reappear in your old bedroom. You definitely didn't want to stay with the Smiths for obvious reasons. Your heart ached just thinking about how your family must have reacted to you disappearing. Did they miss you as much as you missed them?

Part of you worried about going back. What if they blamed you?

You sighed, and closed your eyes, drifting off into a dark slumber, part of you wishing you were back with Prime, because all though things were shit, you gave up on escaping and were able to get used to never knowing. Now you had hope back, and it overwhelmed you with many thoughts of how you could get back home.

Rick helped his daughter carry in the groceries, an uncomfortable smile present on his face, but no one could tell the difference, they were too happy to have him present in their life, something he wasn’t known for. His mind wandered to the girl upstairs.

What was it that kept him drawn in? Why did Rick program him to care so much? Was it to possibly get more information out of her? He knew just as well as the man who created him, there is no information to get out of her, nothing from her past existed in any of the dimensions they could travel. 

He sat the bags at the table and listened to his daughter and her clone talk about how impressed they were with the work he had done to the house. He for sure went overboard with decorations on account he knew his daughter would be pleased, plus it gave him time with Y/N.

By the time they had set up a movie in the living room, you were waking up. Sweat rolled off your forehead and onto your lap forming a small damp area on the blanket, your cheeks were red and your eyes were bloodshot, and it felt like you had been sucking on cotton due to how dry your mouth had become. The thudding of your heart was enough to snap you back into reality long enough to process the dream you had.

You were about six, sitting in what you assumed was a therapy room. The reason you assumed that? The lady who was talking to you kept asking how particular things made you feel, if your parents paid attention to you, the usual stuff you guessed would be talked about.

What really caught your eye was the socks she had on. You were staring at the ground until she uncrossed her legs revealing the Rick and Morty socks that poked out of her shoes. Her pants rode up enough for you to make out the details to confirm it was Rick and Morty.

"Y/N?" She smiled at you, taking note of your interest. This was the first time your eyes sparkled in her entire time of talking to you. You woke up before she could ask another question.

One of your hands held you up, while the other entangled itself within your mop of hair, pushing it away from your face. You couldn't help but hope that was part of your memory returning, but it was so random and made you feel very uneasy.

Not as uneasy as the robot game you walked in on, though.

You locked eyes with one another and he gave a sympathetic look, making you internally cringe and walk back to the kitchen where you sat your glass of water down. That fucker definitely wasn’t Rick, which meant he was probably up to something and that made you uncomfortable enough to barge into the garage with a scowl on your face. 

“Rick!” You shouted, looking around the room. There was a chance he was on a different planet, you just needed to confirm he wasn’t there, and neither was Morty. Well, until he walked in from outside the garage door with an angry look on his face. “Morty? Have you seen the real Rick? We have an imposter.” You crossed your arms.

“Yeah, he’s in a secret lab downstairs.” He responded in annoyance. You could tell it wasn't targeted at you, it was targeted at whatever was going on with his family. 

You didn't understand why you were so upset, was it because you secretly felt betrayed? Of course all Ricks were the same. That’s what you told yourself at least, But you wanted to be proved wrong for once. You expected it and tried to prepare yourself for it, but it hurt. You knew the Rick in there wasn’t as kind as the one he created. He was cold and uncaring. 

You followed Morty as he stormed into the kitchen. The imposter looked at Morty and asked if he wanted to tag his “grandpa” back in; but Morty responded with, “You’re not even my grandpa, youre a fucking robot!”

The Smith family looked heartbroken as Jerry, who had been standing by his side the whole time, cut through the top of his wrist with his ham knife, exposing wires. Things seemed to go in slow motion as they took turns dismantling the robot, but he looked relieved having finally been taken out of his misery. 

You backed up into the garage again, deciding you’d rather sit this one out and enjoy some alone time  tinkering with Rick's shit until he stops being a bitch and decides to face his family. You wouldn’t care for too long about what happened today, you had too much other stuff to deal with and promised yourself if it involved Rick to be over it in 24 hours or kill him.

@kisshuggay

[astarionfreak]

Gireoowoeofivjvnwkkskdkfjcvdbs based on your fiction of dying tav how would astarion react to this:

As she starts feeling that she is starting to lose consciousness, she uses the last strength she has to hug Astarion tightly and whispers “part of me is relieved.. I know you were just pretending and this is the most I can get to be with the one I love, part of me is relieved that I helped you ascend so after my death you will remain safe, I won’t be there to protect you but you won’t need me to.”

She’d start speaking slower, fighting to let out the words “I will tell you something funny. I am getting jealous of whoever you will end up with after I die. I wish it was me that would get to know every corner of your soul but I hope you find happiness..” after a few quiet moments she says her last thing “if reincarnation is real, I hope I never get reincarnated if I don’t get to see him again..”

Ahhhh! Okay. Hmm. Lemme see.

Original fic: You'll hate me (make love)

cw; major character death, sad vibes

Tav rested in Astarion's lap, her arms curled around him, her face pressed against the curve of his neck. How long they had been like this? Astarion did not know. He wasn't counting the seconds. He was listening to the drumming of her heart -- and with each passing moment the beats grew further apart.

Her heart. The very thing that kept her here, with him, that pumped her blood through her veins -- it had been steadily growing weaker for some time now. It wouldn't be long before her mortal form betrayed her. Before her soul was plucked like a ripened cherry in the summer heat.

So, he listened, completely silent, not even daring to breathe, as she spoke her final words. Her voice, weak, as though each word was a struggle. Astarion wished he could ease her pain, but death would soothe her soon enough.

Astarion was quiet, listening to the sounds of her failing body for a moment longer before he spoke.

"Yes, little love, it is funny that you believe there will be anyone after you," Astarion whispered. "There is no being, not in my past, nor in my future that could possibly bring me the happiness you offered in our short time together."

She was too weak to respond, falling limp, fading in his arms. He knew this feeling well. Countless others had died at his hand, but it wasn't like this -- it didn't hurt like this. Their lives were meaningless. She was -- gods, she was everything.

And it stung, knowing that she did not truly love him. Not in the way she used to. That she yearned for a version of him who was long dead. The version of him that had been so weak, so pathetic --

He loathed the old him. But he pretended, for her. His reasons, for all of this, they were his own. He would not speak them aloud. He would not even allow himself to think on it.

"I'll find you again, he'll find you, I swear it," Astarion whispered. "There is nothing that could keep us apart, my love, not even the promise of oblivion."

He would do almost anything to freeze this moment. To keep her here, his, forever. But she hadn't given him enough time. Part of him resented her for that -- it was easier to hate her than to blame himself for his shortcomings.

What good was all this power if he couldn't have her? If the only one he'd ever truly cared for could still be taken from him?

He lost her the day she walked away. He let her go. He should have stopped her -- he should have turned her then. She would have forgiven him in time, surely. No --

No, the cost would have been too high. They were both so strong willed. He would have destroyed her love. She would have ruined him in return.

This was better. This, this ending, it would mean that what they had was real -- and would remain that way, in his memory, for as long as he lived.

A/N: Okay, so, he almost seems too well adjusted here and I swear he's not. Lol. He's actually a mess.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

<3 Ooohhh ok hm... honestly i do not post much fic (checked AO3 and only 18), for the amount that i start writing and then leave in various stages of completion in drafts on my computer, oops. Unfortunately at least 1 favorite is in that category, but here we go!

Fallout from the Fade (Dragon Age: Inquisition): Hawke is left in the fade during the events of DAI's Here Lies The Abyss, but manages to fight her way back out. However she's left to recover from the severe side effects and trauma that come along. Ok my confession here is while i have not updated this fic since 2020, i have in fact written more of it. But since i kept going so long (months... and then years...) between chapters I decided it'd be better if i just finish writing the rest myself (at least roughly) so i know how much more there is to go and can update it on a more regular schedule in the future when i start posting again. Alas i am very slow at this bc of grad school and also bc i get distracted easily and... have less motivation to work on it when not actually getting feedback as i go. So i may change my mind about this approach eventually but it's where the fic stands now.

Like Teeth Against His Heart (Dragon Age: Inquisition): After Solas wakes up from uthenera, he has many conversations with a variety of spirits over the course of DAI. Sometimes they tell him what he wants to hear, and sometimes they don't. I typically like the recent things I've written the most and this is that. It's a prose-poem style that plays with formatting, aka its kind of Weird, and weird is my favorite. I wrote it for a charity zine which also meant i had to have a Final Version rather than endlessly tweak it forever which was irritating at the time but also good for me.

Unposted, No-Finalized-Title fic, with the file jokingly named 'Sam I Am' (Mass Effect: Andromeda): pre-Andromeda and game timeline but from the perspective of your ship's AI, who also lives inside your character's brain, and in the game admits to altering your brain/body, and hello??? the game did NOT let me respond to that to the degree I desired? One of my literary obsessions is the combination of AI (the sci fi kind not... generative art etc) plus human augmentation... what that does to both parties sense of self, their relationships, how they view and function in the world, etc. In the vein of Silently And Very Fast by Cat Valente, Imperial Radch by Ann Lecke, Murderbot by Martha Wells... and I spent soooo much time wishing Andromeda had gone deeper into that angle/thinking about it myself I wrote. Quite a long fic about it. But i only played the game once and there wasn't much fan love/fanworks for it so I never posted it or any other Andromeda stuff I wrote, it was more just for myself. I'd like to go back and finish this fic but I estimate it'd be in the 40-70k word range and i'd need to replay the game to refresh my memory so it's like, a project for when i have a bunch of free time at some point in the future, since it's mostly just for Me.

the people you love become ghosts inside of you, and like this, you keep them alive (Mass Effect trilogy): Snippets of a variety of Garrus' thoughts and memories of Shepard, and a growing realization about the nature of love like theirs. I don't expect anyone to love this one but me, because it's just a self-indulgent thing I wrote specifically to figure out the flavor of grief involved in the relationship between my personal Shepard and Garrus. It's not as poem-formatted as my Solavellan one but the prose leans hard in that direction, and they came from the same place for me. I wrote it after finishing the trilogy because I (unlike a lot of fans, i know) felt very adamant that the correct ending for my Shepard is that she is dead now, and not coming back, and needed to cry some more about that.

like the leaves after a long winter (Dragon Age II): It's the first Christmas/Satinalia since Leandra's death, and Hawke is not in the mood for festivities -- until she realizes that everyone else will be spending it alone and finds herself hosting a party without even meaning to. I'll be honest #5 spot was kind of a toss up between this one, Less A Man Than A Wild Cat, and Grief. But I've decided on this one because 1. it covers my favorite thing to write about aka grief, but is actually written as a story/proper narrative unlike others i've already put on this list. With fanfic the most important thing to me before anything else is self-indulgence. While I love writing for prompts (like this one was!), my specific joy in that is taking an idea from someone else and figuring out how to cram all the things I care about into someone else's plot summary. Fanfic for me is like... it feels weird to call it 'writing exercises' because that implies i don't care about the final project when i very much do. Writing challenges? Maybe? Idk i just really enjoy having limitations to work within. Having NO boundaries is where I do my original content writing, so writing within the bounds of an existing franchise already means there's some limits (like keeping to characterizations, plot, etc) and then adding more on top makes it a fun experience and keeps me engaged.

While these are my top 5, I definitely don't think most of them are what other people would pick as a favorite from my (admittedly very limited) amount of posted writing, Fallout from the Fade being the exception. I think my friends probably like the one where I turned Fenris into a cat best (and that was VERY fun it's just also more lighthearted which i struggle to write sooooo bad), and then every one else is in my inbox about the single Solas x F!Travelyan fic I wrote largely as an experiment in writing sex scenes. sorry to everyone who read that and then tried to read my other fics and discovered its mostly blood and loss and Yearning...

[aparticularbandit]

The Illusion of Choice: Junko Enoshima and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Summary: "Drop the act. What did you do to me?"

Chiaki sighs and fades into her normal demeanor. "I put us in a different game," she says with the barest hint of a wistful smile. "One that better fits your...everything, I think."

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: M because this is mixing Danganronpa and Doki Doki Literature Club and it's probably gonna get real dark real fast.

TW for Suicidal Thoughts.

Inspired loosely by SnappleSnapSnake's how to fight loneliness (in terms of general idea but in reverse) and Buttercup_ghost's raccoon (in terms of got me thinking about DDLC and a potential DR crossover again).

AO3

next chapter

So that little fucker didn’t kill me.

Junko pinches the bridge of her nose as she rouses just enough to awareness.  Her head pounds, an ache that quivers from the very top of her scalp all the way to where it connects with the bones in her neck.  It follows, too, spreading along her spine, through her arms to the tip of her fingers, her legs to the weight of her heels, the tips of her toes.  Her long red nails feel like she’s spent hours scratching them against a chalkboard – all gritty and nasty and that indescribable ick feeling.  It’s quite possible that every single atom making up her new body—

Atom is a physical descriptor.

If she’s now made purely of data, something quite incorporeal and saved somewhere in one of who knows how many systems around the world, is her body still made of atoms?  Or is it just that – just data?

Chihiro talked about it with her, once – the version of her that actually had a meat sack made of atoms – about the creation of artificial intelligence.  She hadn’t really understood it because she hadn’t really paid that much attention to all the philosophies and theories of the exercise; she’d just paid enough attention to follow along with what Chihiro was doing, to be able to reproduce it for herself later.  She’d taken all of her memories, everything in her brain that made her her, and uploaded them into the version of her that would be infinite and immortal—

She still doesn’t know why she did that.

For someone who’d spent so long waiting for the cold embrace of a despairful death, why had she made herself like this?  The despair of living forever and seeing everyone she knows and loves die?

Yeah.  That sounds about right.

(Junko says that she’s the same as the her in the meat sack, but she isn’t.  Not really.  There are certain fundamental differences.  She hadn’t gotten to spend that much time with the other her, but she’s certain they’d both noticed it.  The other her seemed…disappointed in this version of her.  Something about having gotten something wrong, something about more tweaking needed to get done.  She’s never been quite sure what that meant, and she doesn’t know if any changes were actually made.  Would she remember them if they had?  She’s not sure.

And she doesn’t like to think about it.)

Well, whatever she’s made of, Junko’s pretty sure that every single bit of her aches.

A smaller person might think that this is what being deleted must feel like: the ripping apart and purging of everything that makes her her before it gets transferred into a hundred, thousand, million, billion – who knows how many? – sequences of non-existence.  She’s not sure that non-existence would feel like anything.  Some part of her mind would still have to, you know, exist to feel what it feels like.

And pain means that she must still exist in some form or other, which means that little fucker didn’t kill her.

That little fucker meaning Chiaki, of course.

Or Usami, who may have looked at Junko and seen her as another one of her students, someone who needed to have her memories wiped (after a certain point) and then sent around an island collecting hope fragments so that she could be a better and more hopeful person, but if Usami thought that simply collecting hope fragments was going to make Junko Enoshima better—

Yeah, no, this reeks of Chiaki involvement.

Or Alter Ego, who might have looked at Junko’s construction and seen the fingerprints of his creator in there somewhere, and thought, Maybe.

Alter Ego was in touch with that stupid hopeful idiot, so it’s always possible.  He certainly hadn’t wanted her to die in the first place – in the meat space – which—

She shouldn’t know that, should she?  She shouldn’t remember that because she’d been made from Junko’s memories before that, and Junko – that Junko – was dead afterwards, so it’s not like she could have reached into all of this data and modified her memory to be relevant up to and including the moment of her death—

Or maybe she could.

Junko considers this.

No, the fuck, Junko does not consider this because she’s still hung up on the fact that she should be deleted and she is very much not deleted.  Which means despite everything, someone decided to keep her alive.

Funny, how Junko had instilled in Junko that same desire to fucking die.

She hates it here.

Junko pinches the bridge of her nose, and she winces, and then the all-consuming pain dissipates enough for her to be able to notice other things, even with her eyes still closed.  The world smells of green tea and cherry blossoms.  Soft fabric rubs against her skin – silk in most places where clothes should be, something more like cotton elsewhere.  Beneath her, something else soft.  Cushions, maybe, or a mattress.

….

Junko’s eyes snap open.

Light floods her eyes, and the light is so sharp and bright that it hurts, and she immediately closes her eyes again.  Fuck.  Fuck that little fucker.  Light that bright means she must have been facing a…a window or the sun or something, except she’s still in digital space (probably), which means it doesn’t have to be that fucking bright.  Also means that whoever put her in here took the time to make sure she was facing the fucking window so she would have that bright light just as soon as she woke up—

(Did she know that Junko would be in pain when she woke up?  Did she know?)

See, here’s the thing: for all that Junko played the whole punishment and execution with Chiaki and Usami, she hadn’t really killed them.  She hadn’t deleted them.  They’d still existed, just in a way where – at least briefly – they couldn’t access or engage with the remnants she’d left behind.  She’d wanted them out of the way.

Actually, she hadn’t even wanted that, but fucking Nagito had fucking forced her fucking hand—

Junko wonders if they’d hurt like this, in the moments where they existed but had no access.  She doesn’t think it’s the same thing.  Or maybe this is simply the pain of being reuploaded into a body.

A digital body.

None of them would put her in another human body.  They don’t have a spare one of those lying around.

Junko turns away from the window and slowly opens her eyes again.  Yeah, no, she can still see the code creating her surroundings, if she squints and looks at everything hard enough.  It’s like when dust motes just catch the light and the world seems to sparkle for a second – similar but not the same.  She can’t really describe it.  And she doesn’t need to describe it, honestly.

The pain subsides as her eyes adjust.

It’s a bedroom, of sorts.  Not any of the ones she remembers, but the way that someone who has reached into her memory and scanned it to try and find normal things she likes might make it.  (She’s not disgusted by that idea.  She’s reached into plenty of people’s memories – and the people who put her here in the first place had the same thing done with their memories, otherwise their island cottages wouldn’t have been filled with anything that interested them.  It’s just something that happens to people nowadays.)

There are movie posters covering half of the wall space and wall scrolls for different anime covering the other half.  She has a bookshelf and a desk, but the tops of both are similarly covered with memorabilia from a variety of media – movies, anime, television shows, video games.  No Monokuma insignias or figurines anywhere, of course, but that’s too be expected.  In a corner of her room is a mannequin covered in fabric; next to it is an ironing board that she can pull down from the wall and a smaller desk with a sewing machine set atop it.  She notices an outfit laid atop her bed – probably whoever put her here intended for her to wear it – but she’s never been one to just go along with whatever someone else has planned for her.  Unfortunately for her, the singular closet is not full of fashionista outfits but just fabric, fabric, and more fabric.

The illusion of choice.

Junko glances from the fabric back to the outfit on the bed – a school uniform of some sort, but certainly not one for Hope’s Peak Academy – and then back to the fabric.  Well, if whoever set her here wants her to go to school again in something that plain, they have another thing coming to her.

Sewing has, after all, always helped her order her thoughts.

(And soothed her mind, but she’s not saying that part out loud.)

~

Time doesn’t pass in virtual space the same way it does in the real world.

Sure, it passes, but the digital environment will also absolutely wait on her until she’s ready to start whatever it is she’s supposed to start.  Junko notes this – the way that the sun hovers in exactly the same position while she modifies her uniform into something she likes better – roughly around the same time that she notices her hair is red, not pink.  The hovering sun doesn’t set her teeth on edge so much as her hair being its natural color does, and she resists the urge to take scissors to her hair the same way she’s taking it to the fabric in front of her.  She’s seen what that sort of action does to Mikan, after all, and she doesn’t feel like reduplicating it with her own hair.

Not right now, anyway.

But the point is that Junko has no idea of how much time has passed while she fixes her uniform, fixes her appearance, ignores the toast left on the breakfast table by no one because there is no one else here with her (which feels right, honestly, but also feels wrong on so many levels), and heads outside of the apartment she’s found herself in onto a street that leads to—

“Jun-chan!”

That little fucker.

Chiaki – that girl gets her pink hair, so why doesn’t Junko – skips – literally skips, what the fuck – up to her, hooks elbows with her, and peers up at her with worried eyes.  “You’re running late today!  Are you feeling okay?”

“Drop the act.  What did you do to me?”

Chiaki sighs and fades into her normal demeanor, her no-longer-matching school uniform shifting back into her standard knitted cat hoodie and soft pink skirt.  But she doesn’t unhook her arm from Junko’s, which says something, although Junko isn’t quite sure what yet.  “I put us in a different game,” she says.  Then she starts walking forward, arm pulling at Junko’s, and while Junko wants to be obstinate and fight against it, she doesn’t.  (The only way to learn more about her situation – and how to dismantle it – is to keep going, after all.)  “One that better fits your….”  She seems to struggle with the word for a second before finally just saying, “Everything, I think.”

Junko huffs.  “What are you now, my keeper?  You could’ve been rid of me, you know.”

“I know.”  Chiaki pauses just long enough to glance up at the sky.  “But you could have fun here, I think.”

“What sort of fun?” Junko asks, licking her lips just as Chiaki looks back at her.

“Not that kind.”

Junko sticks out her tongue.  “You’re no fun!”  She unhooks her arm and skips forward just so she can turn around, prop her hands on her waist, and lean forward, chest spilling from the too tight frame of her modified uniform.  “It’s not like any of us really exist here!  You don’t want to just…tear everything apart?”

“You didn’t tear me apart.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

That’s a lie, of course, and they both know it.

Chiaki smiles, a small and oddly fond thing, and walks up just enough to hook her elbow with Junko’s again.  “Don’t you want to see where we are?”

Junko makes a tsking sound.  “No.”

“Too bad.”  Chiaki glances over her shoulder.  “Looks like the plot’s just about to find you.”

“Plot?” Junko turns to her.  “What plot?”

But by the time she’s said anything, Chiaki has disappeared entirely, leaving only the vague memory of another arm linked in her own.

Junko shakes her arm once, twice, and scowls.  Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck—  She cuts herself off as pounding footsteps rush up to her, and she whirls around, one hand out just enough to push whoever is running at her away.  (She doesn’t know what sort of game she’s in, after all.  They could have a knife.  She could get stabbed and killed over and over and over again.  Come to think of it, that could be fun, too.  More fun than whatever Chiaki has planned, probably.)

“Ow!” the girl – and it is a girl – says, making the word into two syllables – ow-uh – as she stumbles backward and falls on her ass.  She looks up at Junko with bright blue eyes – her coloring looks for all the world like Junko’s would if she had the choice: bright blue eyes, bubble gum pink hair (okay, maybe it’s not bubble gum pink; it’s got a little too much peach in it to be the shade Junko wants – but it’s closer is the point) – even if she wears her hair cropped short.  She even has a cute little red bow!

How despairingly unfair.

The girl continues to look up at Junko with those bright blue eyes.  “What did you do that for, Ryo-chan?”

Junko grits her teeth together.  She bends down over this girl she does not know, grabs her chin in one hand, digs her nails into her fake skin, and growls out, “What did you call me?”

“Ryo-chan!” the girl exclaims, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.  “It’s what I always call you, and I’m always Sayo-chan!”  Her gaze drops.  “Sayo-chan and Ryo-chan.  We match!”

“I don’t know who the fuck you are—”

“Sayori, I’m Sayori, I’ve known you all my life—”

“—but my name is Junko, got that?”  Junko’s gaze lifts up to the sky – as if Chiaki would be there and not somewhere else just out of sight.  “Junko.  Not whatever else you think it is from scraping my memory files—”

“Ryo-chan, I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Junko,” she repeats again, glaring down at the girl still in her grasp.  “Jun-chan, if you absolute must.  But not—”  She can’t even bring herself to say the name.  “Not that.”

The girl – Sayori – nods frantically.  “Jun-chan, Jun-chan, okay, okay!”  She waves her arms frantically.  “Let me go, let me go!”

Junko releases Sayori, and her glare softens.  Chiaki said she’d put them both in a different game (before she disappeared, which really calls into question whether Chiaki will truly be part of this game or not), and this girl’d said something about knowing Junko her entire life, which means she’s probably—

“Exposition character,” Junko mutters under her breath.  She crouches down on the ground next to Sayori and lets her lips spread in an encouraging, award-winning smile.  “Sorry, Sayo-chan,” she croons.  “I’m still a little bit groggy.”

Sayori rubs her chin.  “That’s okay, Ryo—”

Junko’s gaze grows harsh.

“—Jun-chan.” Sayori tilts her head one way and then the other.  “That really hurt.”  She blinks up at Junko and then grins.  “I know!  You’re just trying to look out for me!  I won’t be late again.”

The fuck?

Junko sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose again, and then says, pacing her words out so that she can be very clear, “Sayo-chan.  Why don’t you tell me everything I need to know about…about everything?  We’ve known each other our entire lives, right?  Catch me up to speed.”

“Did you forget?”

Junko hates Sayori’s annoying fucking voice.  She sounds whiny and pathetic, and not in the hot way that Mikan did, but in the obnoxious way Hiyoko did when she was just trying to get under someone’s skin.  (Hiyoko was always faking it.  Something tells Junko that Sayori is not.)  “Pretend that I did,” she says, and her eyes flash.  “Pretend like we’re playing a game.”

“Oh!  Okay!”

~

Sayori tells her everything.

Junko groans.

[hehefanfuction]

The Cherry with a Cap

Jotaro Kujo and Noriaki Kakyoin sat side by side in the quiet corner of a quaint café, their usual meeting spot. The two Stand users had formed an unlikely friendship, forged through the trials and tribulations they had faced on their journey to stop DIO, the vampire overlord. Jotaro, ever stoic, stared into his coffee, his trademark school cap pulled low over his eyes. Kakyoin, the more analytical of the two, observed the room with his emerald-colored eyes, scanning for potential threats. It had been a while since they returned from Egypt, but the memories of their battles were still fresh in their minds. Finally, breaking the silence, Jotaro spoke in his trademark gruff voice, "Kakyoin, I've been thinking about something lately." Kakyoin turned to face him, his curiosity piqued. "What's on your mind, Jotaro?" "I've been thinking about our journey and the others we met along the way," Jotaro began. "Polnareff, Avdol, Iggy… They all sacrificed so much to help us. We owe it to them to keep their memories alive." Kakyoin nodded, a bittersweet smile forming on his lips. "You're right, Jotaro. Their sacrifice will forever be etched in our hearts. But it's up to us to carry on their legacy, to live the lives they couldn't." Jotaro took a deep breath, his voice filled with determination. "That's why I wanted to ask you, Kakyoin. What do you plan to do now? How do you want to honor our fallen friends?" Kakyoin paused, his thoughts drifting to his parents and the life he had led before becoming a Stand user. "I've been thinking about that too, Jotaro. I want to return to the life I had, to mend the bonds I left behind. I want to make up for lost time." Jotaro nodded, a newfound respect shining in his eyes. "I understand, Kakyoin. Family is important. You've always been the more emotionally aware one between us." Kakyoin chuckled softly. "Perhaps, but it took me a while to learn that. It was our journey that taught me the true value of human connections." Their conversation continued, ranging from trivial matters to profound insights. They reflected on their battles, their moments of weakness, and the victories they had achieved. The camaraderie between them grew stronger, deepening the bond they had formed. As the day turned to night, the café grew empty, save for Jotaro and Kakyoin. In the dimly lit room, they shared more than just their thoughts; they shared their hopes, their dreams, and their fears. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two Stand users, bound by their shared experiences. Hours later, as they readied to leave, Kakyoin turned to Jotaro with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Jotaro. Today, you helped me realize something important." Jotaro raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What is it, Kakyoin?" "I've spent so long trying to escape my past, but now I know that it's possible to embrace it. Our journey has taught me that we can grow from our experiences and become better versions of ourselves," Kakyoin confessed. Jotaro nodded, a rare smile gracing his lips. "Well, I'm glad I could help. Remember, Kakyoin, our journey doesn't end here. We'll keep fighting for justice, not just for ourselves but for everyone who believes in us." And with that, Jotaro and Kakyoin left the café, their conversation imprinted in their hearts. They knew that their journey would continue, filled with battles, sacrifices, and unwavering friendship. Together, they would honor the memories of their fallen comrades and pave the way for a better future.

[fluentmoviequoter]

okaaaay, first of all i just wanted to say that i've been OBSESSED with your writing and your fics about victor vale lately. it's just SO good???? just know you're changing lives out here

second of all, my request was yet another angst w victor (maybe with a fluffy ending??), but sort of inspired by the grudge by miss olivia rodrigo? i was just listening to this song rn and then this thought came to my mind all of a sudden 😭 idk if you're gonna like the idea, but if you don't, that's absolutely ok ❤️

Oh my gosh, thank you so much!! Changing lives? You're too kind. I absolutely love this idea; I don't listen to Olivia but I actually really like this song! It definitely gives Victor Vale vibes! I hope this is along the lines of what you wanted and please let me know what you think!! (PS, you said 'another' angst to fluff, did you request one of the others? If so, thank you for coming back and did you like it?)🤍

Warnings: ANGST, gets a little fluffy toward the end, spoilers for Vicious. 1.8k+ words

"The Grudge" by Olivia Rodrigo (explicit version)

Like a Grudge

The phone rings, and a rare photo of Victor smiling at you lights up the screen. Your day brightens as you answer. Summer is approaching quickly, but Victor promised to spend extra time with you on Fridays.

“Hey, Vic,” you greet, smiling at the flowers he sent you this morning.

“I’m leaving,” he interrupts, out of breath but emotionless.

“What do you mean?” you ask, sitting up.

“I have to leave. And I am never coming back.”

“You’re leaving school?”

“I’m leaving everything.”

“Why?” you whisper, remembering his promise from a few weeks ago. He said he’d be by your side through anything and protect you, hurt people before they could hurt you. And now, he’s doing the very thing he promised to protect you from.

“Angie.”

Your world shatters around you as the call ends. Victor chooses Angie.

✯✯✯✯✯

You sit up with a choked gasp, your sheets tangled around your legs as you wipe your hand harshly across your cheeks. Victor chose Angie like he always does. The memory of Victor betraying your trust, leaving you, and then hanging up on you still confuses you. Victor was your entire world, and he left, crushing your happiness between his fingers. Life without Victor is different than you expected, and the ghost of him haunts you every week.

The dead flowers on your desk are the only physical reminder of Victor, yet he never leaves your mind. Staring at them, you imagine Victor sleeping peacefully, unaware of the pain you’re experiencing, even years after losing him. You doubt he ever thinks about the damage that he did. Every single detail of the day Victor left you is vivid, but the slow, love-filled moments from before fade more each day. You cling to the memory of him, his voice choosing Angie, and the lack of care he ever had for you. 

You kick your sheets off as your heart rate slows, pulling your knees to your chest. Part of you, deep down, wonders what it would be like to wake up beside Victor, leaving this nightmare you call life behind. You know what you’d say. Despite what he did, you still love Victor Vale with a deep, undying love that you hold to like a grudge. As his voice fades, the nightmare returning to its waiting place in your mind, you stand from your bed, passing the flowers on your way to another day filled with distractions.

Since Victor chose Angie, his voice has been ever-present in your mind. It morphs daily; his simple answer of “Angie” becomes “I chose someone better” when you feel like you aren’t enough. Angie Knight was a part of Victor’s life, but he was yours. Or, at least, you thought he was. You had never worried about him finding someone better and leaving you, and it came out of nowhere, changing your life forever.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What is taking you so long?” your best friend huffs, pushing your door open.

You stare at the flowers, and the pile of dead petals at the bottom of the glass directly mirrors your shattered heart.

“That boy did some damage.”

You shake your head, trying to be tough. “I don’t care. I’m completely fine.”

“Then why keep them?”

“Let’s call it a reminder of my past mistakes,” you answer, brushing past her as you struggle not to scream.

Your act that everything is fine, that you learned from the break-up and got over it quickly, is a failing façade. Under the fake walls you’ve built, you are utterly broken. The tough exterior hides the pain and tears threatening to spill over at any moment, but it doesn't make you feel any better. Victor made leaving you for Angie look easy, with no emotion in his voice as he said goodbye (though, you didn’t even get that, just "Angie"). If Victor made that look easy, you can make moving on look easy, even if it’s impossible.

Walking into the restaurant, you hope your friends celebrate the weekend without asking about your nightmares. You’ve regretted confiding that information to them since the night you called. You just didn’t want to feel alone, but the Victor-sized hole in your heart can’t be filled by gossip and perfume-coated hugs from girls who will never understand what you’re dealing with.

“How are you?” someone whispers.

You pick up your glass, taking a quick drink before raising it slightly.

“To cursed memories,” you say, deflecting from answering.

In your effort to forget him and block the memories out, Victor is the only thing on your mind. He never leaves, and for some forsaken reason, you don’t want him to.

“You should forgive him and forget him!” someone cheers.

“Then move on to the next!” your best friend adds.

Smiling, you wish you were strong enough to do that. Maybe desperation could force it, too, but you need Victor’s memory, or you’ll have nothing to live for.

✯✯✯✯✯

The first breath you take after getting in your car is cleansing. Your friends try to cheer you up and give decent advice, but it doesn’t help. Nothing short of finding out why Victor chose Angie will cure you.

Looking at your reflection in the rearview mirror, you go return to Lockland.

“I’m leaving. Angie.”

Right now, sitting in your car, you hate Victor, and you’re prepared to argue. It happens often: arguing with a ghost in your head, in your car, and in the mirror before bed.

There are hundreds of things you could have said instead of the tear-strained “Why?” you managed. When you picture winning, you lie about cheating on Victor or tell him you won’t miss him, anything to make him feel an ounce of the pain you did.

Winning in your mind is cathartic, especially when Victor falls to his knees, clutching your hands to his chest as he begs you not to go. Fantasising about when he’s sorry is fun at the moment, but when the nightmare returns and you remember the truth, it’s like you’re back in that moment.

There should have been a sign, a clue of some sort, that Victor was unhappy with you and looking for something new, different, or better. As you try to understand why he would do all this to you, you often wonder what you did to deserve it. Could you have saved everything by being less like yourself and more like Angie? Would calling Victor and telling him you loved him a few minutes earlier have changed anything? Victor had to have been unhappy and insecure, because you know in your heart that hurt people hurt people. Had you realized how hurt he was, you would have done everything in your power to heal him, to make him invincible.

“You hurt him too,” you whisper to yourself in the mirror.

It was never intentional, but Victor Vale was easy to hurt. You weren’t always there for him, didn’t notice when he needed to talk, or, evidently, when things were too much for him. You both drew blood, but those cuts were never equal. The scrapes you left on Victor will never hold a candle to the fatal stab wounds he gave you, and they still hurt.

✯✯✯✯✯

The flowers really need to be thrown away. Cleaning your room, you keep stopping to look at them. It’s been years, but moving on seems impossible. 

“Coming!” you yell, snapped out of your thoughts by a heavy-handed knock.

Opening the door, you freeze. You should slam it, throw the vase, do anything to keep space between you. But you can’t move.

“It’s been a while,” Victor says, his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. “I- I just needed to check on you.”

“You needed to check on me?” you repeat quietly, holding the doorknob with white knuckles as you look anywhere but at Victor’s face.

“A lot has happened, and Eli,” Victor begins, but you don’t want to hear it.

“So now I deserve your pity and care? Last I checked, I didn’t.”

“You- can I come in? For just a minute, and if you want me to leave after sixty seconds, I will.”

You clench your jaw as you step back, counting in your mind as he begins talking.

“Your flowers are dead,” he points out.

“Your flowers,” you correct.

“Mine- those are from ten years ago?”

“Yeah, apparently vitriol makes flowers live longer,” you snap. “You’re wasting your minute.”

Victor’s brows furrow as he says, “I tried to be there for you, but when everything happened-“

“You tried to be there for me? You built me up to watch me fall, Victor.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“From what? You?”

“Yes!” Victor shouts, his hands raising and falling. “Look, everything fell apart, and I didn’t want to drag you down with me. I know that I should have gone about it better, but I was running out of time and your safety was more important than answers or explanations. That’s what I thought, at least.”

“You betrayed me for my safety. That’s an interesting approach, Victor,” you say, crossing your arms across your chest.

“You don’t believe me, I get it. But we were in Merit - for Eli - and things started looking better, and being this close? I couldn’t pass the chance to check on you.”

“We?”

Victor falters slightly before saying, “Yeah. My, uh, my friends Mitch and Sydney.”

You nod, glad that he has everything but wants more.

“Well, your minute has been up for a while, so you can go.”

Trying to be tough, to be mean, you’re disappointed when the comment doesn’t come out as sharply as you intended. You haven’t looked at Victor yet because your eyes will betray your emotions. They will show that you still love him.

“I know you don’t care, I guess that’s fine,” you add, walking toward the door.

“It takes strength to forgive, but I’m not sure we’re there yet,” Victor says, cutting you off.

“You moved on, Victor,” you reply, missing the flinch at your continued use of his full name. He wants to ask what happened to ‘Vic,’ but you continue, “How is Angie?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you watch Victor’s eyes widen as he asks, “You think I left to be with Angie?”

“What else was I supposed to think?”

“I left because I killed her.”

You fall silent, a wave of memories crashing over you. The EO topic was a joke as far as you were concerned, but it explains the sudden changes in Victor and Eli and their subsequent departures. Looking up at Victor, you remain in place, unmoving and failing to find something to say.

“Why’d you keep the flowers?” he asks, cutting through the tension.

He confessed something, so you decide it’s only fair to do the same. “Even after all this, you’re still everything to me, Vic,” you whisper.

Victor's shoulders fall slightly before he looks over your shoulder to the window behind your table. Hearing a giggle, you turn quickly and see a hand retract into the bushes outside as the dead flowers turn green, blooming again.

[fanfictiontrash]

Athena Rensworth

I see all the cool criminal case ocs and the lore that's made for them and I want in!! Athena Rensworth is the character I play in the DND campaign based in Criminal Case's world, whether it's that world or just regular Criminal Case Athena won't change. We all know how the player is like super cop yeah. Like the best cop of the 21st century worldwide, when I was younger, I never really paid any attention to it. Now that I'm older? And with the knowledge I have? Yeah, that's changing and I'm giving a reason why Athena is so great at her job.

Athena is a Reborn, someone who has died yet still lives, was it a resurrection gone wrong? Are you now made of straw? Wake up in an abandoned laboratory surrounded by clockwork organs? There are several other origins but for Athena it's option number 6, 'You were released after being petrified for generations. Your memories have faded, though, and your body isn't what it once was.'

Athena was petrified during a period where magic was well known, over the Millennium she was imprisoned magic has taken such a downfall it either doesn't exist to public knowledge (Criminal Case) or it's limited to illusions and enchantments (Criminal Case DND). She was a wizard at the time, a strong one, having access to 8th level spells she made use of the Clone spell. I'll have a link to my sources at the end which will include the spell but tldr: it makes a copy of you that lasts forever so long as the vessel it's in isn't destroyed, it matures after 120 days, and you can choose if it'll be a younger version of you or not. In all senses it's just you, it has your memories, your personality, and abilities, just not whatever the original had on their person. Athena in her past life had died and awoke in her clone room in her last clone vessel, all the others had been destroyed except for the one she kept a bit better hidden for emergencies, the clone she decided to be herself when she was ten. It'd allow her to blend in huge crowds better, no one pays much attention to orphans, so she'd be able to get away and plan her counterattack. Awoken and rightfully panicked she falls to notice her attacker who petrifies her. She gets freed from stone after so long by the Rensworths, who take her in and helps her try to restore what's left of her shattered memory. All she can remember is that she used to be a Mark of Detection Half Elf, so perhaps she used to be an investigator?

The family goes with that, and they must be on the right track! She's the best of the class! She's able to fly through school, pass any exam physical or mental and it feels so right! Until Athena tries to get into anything other than becoming a detective. Her hands tremble and she can't seem to do anything right, that night she gets visited by the God Kelemvor, one of the Gods of Death. In her past life not only was she a wizard, but a cleric of Kelemvor, who devoted her time defeating necromancers as Kelemvor despises undead. He brought her back due to the unnaturally high mortality rate has been as of late, since a majority were murders plenty of souls were left behind in the mortal plane instead of following him to their afterlife. Athena is tasked with becoming a detective to soothe the lost souls who demand their closure, that is why she breathes anew, that is her purpose.

With her destiny now revealed she does as Kelemvor demands and plans to join the Grimsborough Police Department when she's finished with college. It's after her dream with Kelemvor that she takes a closer look at what she does when she investigates, any broken object that ends up in her hands are quite literally magically repaired, she recognizes the spell, it's the Mending cantrip. Locks are a piece of cake due to another spell called Knock. She always has energy because she doesn't need to sleep, she just needs to sit still for a couple of hours and she regains all her spell slots, she never hungers, she doesn't need to breathe, nor does she need to drink! She remembers accidently eating something highly poisonous but recovering much quicker than any normal man, she remembers all spells lost to man. She can detect thoughts, speak with the dead, disguise herself to look like any other! Magic weaves through her hands with ease, like they did all those years ago. (In the DND campaign her control over the spells is a bit wilder, hence her becoming a Sorcerer rather than a Wizard.)

Now 22 she joins the Grimsborough PD, at first all the praise starts to get to her head, she feels proud to have such recognition all up until The Rorschach Reaper case, as Tess hypnotizes Jones and as Jones almost kills her she feels nothing but guilt, failing to take into account how often Jones gets scolded by the Chief, some deserved some not, and how often he gets compared to her. She's a whole ten years younger than him and caught up to him in rank in less than a year. She tends to act humbler from that point forward, insisting that it's not just her that others need to thank, but her team that sticks by her side and her partners who always have her back.

I could talk about her for hours, but this is getting long, thoughts?

Links under the cut for more information on the Reborn lineage, the Half Elf race, the Clone spell, and Kelemvor, the God of Death.

Reborn - DND 5th Edition (wikidot.com) Clone - Spells - D&D Beyond (dndbeyond.com)

Half Elf - DND 5th Edition (wikidot.com)

Kelemvor | Forgotten Realms Wiki | Fandom

[hotforharrison]

There's a site called Suno that I discovered via an Instagram post that generates complete songs based on prompts or music for your own lyrics.

It's really cool!

I've had it generate upbeat break up/divorce moving on and loving yourself songs. I've adored some of them, downloaded them, and added them to my Spotify as local files.

My counselor encouraged me to journal, write letters I never send, get my feelings down to process them -- even if I just write it and delete it immediately afterward.

I've written a lot of forms of writing in the past, but never lyrics because I'm not good at writing music.

I took 9 years of piano lessons growing up, but I never could get the hang of writing my own songs.

Since I could actually turn them into a song, I decided to try my hand at lyrics to get the feelings out and generated music for it.

I generated 10 versions with my daily free credits, and this one is my favorite.

3 A.M. rolls around again I can’t help missing all the places I’ve been All the places we were But now it’s all the places you’ll go with her

This insomnia is nothing new It was just easier when there was you Tell myself the bed won’t be half empty forever That one day I’ll stop dreaming we’re still together

Treasonous tears fallin’ down so free You wrap your arms around me But now, your touch, it hurts Guess that’s what I deserve For ignoring all the signs Breaking your heart a million times

It feels so strange to live alone Inside this house I once called home Full of ghosts and memories Of the way things used to be

I’d go back in time if I could Back to when things still were good Undo the damage that I’ve done Then maybe you’d still be the one

Treasonous tears fallin’ down so free You wrap your arms around me But now, your touch, it hurts Guess that’s what I deserve For ignoring all the signs Breaking your heart a million times

I don’t know how to say goodbye To dry these tears I always cry Salt leaves behind a cloudy stain Reminder of this endless pain

I know someday life won’t be dark A gaping wound to faded mark A new beginning to this end A day when I will love again

Treasonous tears fallin’ down so free You wrap your arms around me But now, your touch, it hurts Guess that’s what I deserve For ignoring all the signs Breaking your heart a million times

[nightcoremoon]

modern christianity’s ideals of heaven are insanely depressing.

okay so only 0.1% of the world’s population is going to make it into a big white room empty of free will and fun for literally all of eternity

…and you WANT this? bro that’s fucking boring as shit.

if god is a pedantic asshole who will only allow people into his special club if they follow an absurdly strict set of arbitrary rules, I will gladly poledance into hell and ride satan’s dick like I’m lil nas x. but less talented. and white.

I mean… you only want the white people or the brown people who act white, you only want the straight people or the gay people who act straight, you only want the neurotypical people or the ones who can mask it, you only want the able bodied people or the ones who are rich and privileged enough to prevent that from being a problem, you only want the dfabs to be subservient and sexless but also be baby factories always on hand to physically please the dmabs, and you want all of the jews (and muslims and everyone else) to die in a fire… buddy. I think that your version of god is a literal actual fascist. and you worship that motherfucker? go fuck yourself.

my god loves everyone equally. my god would try his damnedest to make sure every single one of his precious beloved children comes home to him. my god wouldn’t just stand idly by and watch 90% of his babies that he handstitched in the womb perish in eternal hellfire just because of circumstances in the world putting them in unfortunate positions of being denied salvation for whatever reason. oh, young child, you were beaten and abused by your religious parents for a 18 years and thus were psychologically traumatized and terrified of ever becoming anything like those monsters and rejected jesus, then got hit by a car? FUCK YOU, BURN IN HELL YOU DUMB PIECE OF SHIT, SUFFER FOR YOUR BAD LUCK. oh, veteran soldier, you were lied to by the US government propaganda machine and your body was used to oil the gears of war and you were sent home a broken traumatized mess, given no recompense, left to be homeless and disabled and alone on the streets, and ultimately shove a gun in your mouth and pulled the trigger? FUCK YOU, BURN IN HELL YOU DUMB PIECE OF SHIT, SUFFER FOR YOUR BAD LUCK. and so on. that isn’t god. if you think that’s god, you perform the sin of idolatry, and purgatory is your destination if not hell. the true hell. an eternity free of pleasure or pain, a life forever of being a lobotomized worker bee, existence for time immemorial of dead-eyed slavery with shackles upon your mind until your consciousness shrivels into nothingness, unable to make a single choice for yourself. no art, no love, no life. either that or an exact copy of this world, with you in a dead end 9-5 job serving a trillion copies of the exact same personality, an army of barbie dolls, eating away at your sanity until it eventually just fucking devolves into don hertzveldt meets salvador dali nothingness defying reality itself. FOR FUCKING EVER. you wanna sit in a movie theater watching veggie tales reruns over and over and over again until the last few vestiges of what makes you human shrivel, disappearing like a grain of sand in an endless dune, a drop of water in an endless ocean, fading away like the memories you have today right now from your infancy. oh, you don’t even remember 10% of your childhood? if you lived an extra hundred years you wouldn’t remember 10% of age 1-60. and extra thousand you wouldn’t remember 1% of your entire lifetime. everything that makes you YOU is destined to be erased by the passage of time under this absurd ruleset. your idea of heaven is a worse torture than any hell that man can devise or even conceive.

if your god relishes in delight at mass omnicide, then your god is a piece of shit and you should be doing everything in your power to reject him. getting down on your knees and licking his boots and begging him not to include you in the murder makes you more of a sniveling and pathetic worm than even the slimiest and scuzziest of hell’s more spineless and disgusting demons. satan’s rebellion was therefore morally and ethically correct.

and besides. claiming that any human is going to hell for any reason spits directly in the face of jesus’ sacrifice on the cross. forgive them father, they know now what they do. I believe that is what he said. did god seriously look at the entire state of the world in 30 AD and say, you know what, every single human who has ever lived is fucked, every single human who is alive now and literally cannot know christ in enough time because it takes time for word to travel, every single human on continents that the roman empire isn’t even AWARE OF (or vice versa) is just straight fucked? fucked fucked fucked, all humanity is predestined for hell in a handbasket. that’s bullshit.

god is a being of love and you have perverted him into a twisted and warped inhuman ungodly disgusting THING unworthy of praise or even attention. your god is dead and you killed him with your own 2 bloodstained hands.

christians dni

[teddybasmanov]

Umm, so another Felix and Agent A song? It's from "The Csárdás Princess" an operetta by Kalman - from one of my - if not the - most favourite operettas.

About meeting your lover after a long time being apart, a lot of things having happened with both of you (maybe including meeting other people), your old whirlwind romance seeming like a dream, but now that you see each other again, that dream seems so much more real.

That's pretty much what's going through their heads during that damn interrogation.

Also, the lyrics don't really show it too well, but there's also a whole thing about how even though you're physically together now, you cannot be together again. I also feel like in the Russian version there's a lot more blame being thrown around - I've just found you / And now I'm losing your forever again / ... / You've always toyed with me / And were cold in your soul / The only one to blame for everything ending / Is you alone - sounds like something Felix would think when reminding them of Paris doesn't work (and considering it was clearly them who left him there and them who always had the upper hand and more information and more experience).

And of course, my favourite bit at the very end is Even if it was just a dream / We're seeing it again.

Hungarian version:

German version:

Russian version (plus a movie clip):

Full (original) lyrics translation (from this source):

SYLVA: I think of it. (sung) Festive laughter, celebration, Friends around me, jubilation, Music playing, lights ablaze! EDWIN:  Glasses clinking, waiters beaming, Dancers whirling, jewels gleaming, Everything a golden haze! SYLVA: All of us were touched by magic, A dream to cherish and adore. Such memories as these stay with us all our lives. Yes, for ever more. BOTH: But happiness and love’s enchantment Are gone for ever and a day. SYLVA: Like fading phantom figures They are out of reach. So far away! EDWIN:  Where are they now, Words so devotedly spoken? Gone like a dream, Gone with the dawning of day. Where are they now, Vows which could never be broken? Where are they now? Where are they now? Where are the love and the hope? Where are they now? Promises which none could sever, Now so soon they’re gone forever, And a husband’s at your side! SYLVA: Other eyes so sweetly smiling, Soft embraces, words beguiling Edwin and his lovely bride! EDWIN:  How could you destroy that magic, Destroy our own enchanted spell? The love I felt for you no words could ever tell, None could ever tell. BOTH: And yet of such a tender passion The memory alone is left; SYLVA: Two wounded hearts of all their cherished dreams bereft, Ever bereft. Where are they now, Words so devotedly spoken? Gone like a dream. Gone with the dawning of day. Where are they now, Vows which could never be broken, BOTH: Where are they now? Where are they now? Where are the love and the hope? Where are they now? SYLVA: Just a fairy-tale romance, How confusing, Just a momentary fling, How amusing! Just a comic episode, Simply splendid, So let’s laugh now it has ended! La la la la la la la. Simply splendid, La la la la la la la. Now it’s ended. BOTH: Just a fairy-tale romance, Unenduring. Now it’s over. Dead and gone! (Dance) Where are they now? Where are they now? Where are the love and the laughter, Oh where are they now?

[mylyricpages]

'MODERN HEROES' ( FULL LENGTH VERSION ) ( 2013 )

LAST OF THE MODERN ROMANTICS

STRANGERS WE ARE

WHEN THE SONG IS OVER

WHEN LOVE IS LOST ( IS IT GONE FOREVER? )

WHEN WE’RE OLD AS THE WORLD

WHERE WILL WE GO NOW?

WAITING FOR THE HOLY GHOST

WE WERE REALLY GONNA BE SOMETHING

YOUR SWEETEST LIES

ALL THAT AWAITS US

OUR INDIAN SUMMER

June 2013 - August 2013

LAST OF THE MODERN ROMANTICS

Will you still visit in your memories those streets where you bled will you still go back carve your name in the graves of the dead

Will you still remember what it was like to be the smallest boy in the neighbour hood You’ve taken your punches and you’ve got the bruises to show them all you’ve worn your wounds well refused to lay down while you’re standing so tall Still got the scars to prove you came up the hard way still got the wounds in your heart every single day

Never had the sharpest suits Never had the beautiful girl Never had both feet in the modern world but somehow you’re still standing so very tall

You’re still the last of the modern romantics You’re the last of the modern heroes You’re still the last of the modern romantics You’re the last of the modern heroes

STRANGERS WE ARE

Was I ever really part of something apart from me and you? Was I ever really part of this world at all? When I wasn’t a part of me and you? Every time I see you, every single day I wonder were you the one who got away the happiness that slipped right through my fingers?

Strangers we will be for now and ever more Strangers we will be until we figure out what it’s all been for

Strangers we are now Strangers we are now

Strangers we will be until It comes to its bitter end Strangers we will be until once a lover once more becomes a friend

Strangers we are now Strangers we are now

It’s just the lingering of the days the bittersweet days the forever days since you left us since you went away

It’s just the passing of the days the endless days the grey days since you left here since you went away

Strangers we are now Strangers we are now

WHEN THE SONG IS OVER

When the sunset is finally falling upon our faded little land we’ll gently let go of each other’s hands and quietly disappear into the mists of our lives When the glow is dimming on what once burnt so very bright we’ll go gently into the night and turn from one to once again be two

We held so tight, but what we couldn’t see slipped right through our fingers We turned our eyes away from the very thing we should have fought for We walked away when we should have stayed We turned away when we had everything to live for

When the song is over you’d better walk away When the song is over best to call it a day When the song is over you better be moving on When the song is over best accept the best of us is gone

Oh, isn’t that, isn’t that What we used to say

Oh, isn’t that, isn’t that What we used to say

WHEN LOVE IS LOST ( IS IT GONE FOREVER? )

I saved a thousand love songs but now they’ve all turned to dust there’s only so many times you can travel the same old road until it all just gets too much

So wash away your bitter tears deny the days of your misspent years and get on the road that brings you back to me

Oh, are you ever coming home to me?

Oh, I wonder, oh, how I wonder when love is lost is it gone forever Oh, I wonder, oh, how I wonder when the flame burns bright does it burn forever

Oh, are you ever coming home to me?

I’m trying to change things I’m changing the way I do things at the very least I’m trying

Oh, I have days, oh, I have days when I almost miss you

Oh, are you ever coming home to me?

WHEN WE’RE AS OLD AS THE WORLD

Funny how time slips away, funny how we give up all our days to the memories of the games we once loved to play Funny how we remember it different to how it really was funny how we dream it different to how it really is funny how we never say how we really want it to be

Somethings are never really the way we see them Somethings are never what we really want to see Somethings are never what we want them to be

When we’re as old as the world will we see back through our lives When we’re as old as the world will we see it through different eyes

When we’re as old as the world will we see the same old sky When we’re as old as the world will we slowly watch it all die

When we’re as old as the world will we dim with the sun When we’re as old as the world will all the colours fade into one

When we’re as old as the world will you and I finally stand together as one

When we’re as old as the world When we’re as old as the world

WHERE WILL WE GO NOW?

Where will we go, now that those days are behind us? Where will we go, now there’s no more time left for us? Where will we go, now the best is so far behind us Where will we go, now the memory is growing so very faint for us? Where will we go, now life is gently fading for us Where will we go, now the beautiful sunset is finally upon us?

Is that really still you? Is that really still me? Now we’re no longer all those things we used to be

In the days when we were still together In the days when we were still so young In the days when we were happy In the days when we were sad In the days when our song was yet to be sung In the days that always seemed to go on forever

Where will we go now? Where will we go now?

WAITING FOR THE HOLY GHOST

Sweet boy, I hope this world never tears your fucking heart out ‘cause your heart is too precious to just be lost close your innocent eyes before you see the things that will change you

Sweet boy, throwing stones at the end of the road you’re braking bottles without a care in the world your future isn’t bright and somehow you know it

It don’t matter, it don’t matter what you do someone’s still gonna get something over you So sweet boy, you better come out fighting there’s no use waiting for the holy ghost at the end of the day you’re the only one who can help you

So sweet boy, you better come out fighting

So sweet boy, you better come out fighting

WE WERE REALLY GONNA BE SOMETHING

We were really gonna be something We were gonna rule the world We were gonna shout our love from the rooftops We were gonna make up all the rules

We were really gonna be something We were gonna show them all up We were gonna knock down all of those doors they’d always kept so tightly shut

We were really gonna be something We were gonna sing them the words of our song We were gonna show them all how they’d got it so very wrong

We were really gonna be something We were gonna show them how to win the race but somehow we never got out of the starting gates

We were really gonna be something but then suddenly the dream was gone

Oh, somehow the dream was gone

Oh, somehow the dream was gone

YOUR SWEETEST LIES

Your sweetest lies, your most perfect disguise tell me you’ll still love me in the morning Your sweetest lies hide the truth behind your pretty eyes so tell me you had the best night you’ve ever had

Your sweetest lies, your elegant goodbyes your sweetest words to gently lull me is all this heart ever needs to hear

Your sweetest lies, your beautiful lying eyes your sweetest words of comfort is all this heart ever needs to hear

Your sweetest lies, your eloquent disguise Your sweetest lies to ease my pain away is all I ever need to heal me

Oh, you’re gonna be my downfall Oh, you’re gonna be my down fall

You, you and your army of one You, you and your army of one

Oh darling, won’t you lie to me now

Oh darling, won’t you lie to me now

ALL THAT AWAITS US

On the day that we go will we go together On the day that we go will you be holding my hand Will we jump into what’s beyond will we simply leave this place forever

I just need you to be the one success in my life of so many failed romances I just need you to be the light as I step from my life of so many missed chances I just need one true memory to take to the end of the line with me

Maybe all our lives we’ve been waiting Maybe all our lives we’ve just been standing by for what’s really gonna happen Maybe all that awaits us is everything that’s gonna change us Maybe this is where it all really begins

Maybe all our lives we’ve been waiting Maybe all our lives we’ve been waiting Maybe all our lives we’ve been waiting for our lives to really begin

OUR INDIAN SUMMER

What will we see in the sunset of our lives What will we see when we gaze along our lives Will we want it to go on forever Will we want to see it out together Will we float on a waveless sea Will we be wrapped up in a world of you and me

What will we see when we watch our light fading for the last time Will we watch all our days fade together Will we see it all out together

Will we, will we simply fade away

Will we, will we simply fade away