#and like…..making them is so much easier than keeping them

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons: Now You See Me, Now You Don’t

Yandere Conman x Rich Married Fem Reader x Yandere ‘Neglectful Tycoon’ Husband

TW: Yandere themes, a man trying to get you to cheat, manipulation, neglectful husband, dark themes, and unhealthy relationship dynamics that should not be romanticized

Glen Magenta had always been a conniving individual since childhood. A natural born flirt who always got his way. Hell, he hardly ever heard the word no.

He was charismatic and romantic so it was easy for him to scam rich, lonely women trapped in loveless marriages. All he had to do was say pretty words and keep them company and he was able to drink the sweet nectar of their riches…

This time, he set his sights on the wife of a wealthy business tycoon named (your name). A delicate young woman with such sad eyes. She would be such easy prey… or so he thought

He introduced himself to her as Magnus Markley, a starving artist who has been utterly bewitched by her… but rather than fall instantaneously for his charms, she simply glanced at him like he was nothing. Was she not flattered by his good looks? By his sweet words and charming smile? How? She was known to be neglected by her husband in social circles.

(Your name) was the beautiful wife of Salvatore Urso. The wife Sal hardly gave any time to and yet she had no interest in an affair.

“I’m flattered, but I’m married.” Her soft voice replied to him as she showed that expensive ring that bordered on being gaudy. Magnus thought it was hideous… he never understood why the upper class had such awful taste, but at least Mister Urso had decent taste in his woman. (Your name) was going to be more difficult to catch than he thought… but he’d make the effort. After all, he enjoyed the hunt.

Glen truly committed to the character of Magnus Markley he created. He was a romantic and easily charmed (your name)’s closest friends in her social group. They were far easier to charm like his many conquests before (your name) yet she was the big fish he wanted… she would be the richest of any woman he’s seduced over the years. If Glen was able to capture her heart, he’d be set for life! He’d never have to work again… plus her husband was never around!

All Glen needed to do was work his way into her heart… even if he had to go through other women in order to do it. His greed had no bounds

Magnus was now often in the same circles (your name) ran with. She now saw him at every social gathering as he slowly wormed his way past her defenses by getting into her friend group to find out her hobbies. She enjoyed book club? He just joined to try to find inspiration for his art! She adored bird watching with the girls? Well, he was there to find an idea to paint!

Months went by into his plan. Hours of work went into his attempts to chip away at the walls around her heart and he finally made a crack… it seemed (your name) enjoyed having a genuine friend. Not that he was truly genuine.

(Your name) sat with him as they discussed books and music. Her sad face lit up warmly as she’d shyly talk of her interests. He’s never met a victim of his that was so cute.

He could see himself genuinely being with her. She was so sweet! How could someone be so sweet? Her husband was a fool for not being with her all the time!

The more he learned about her the more he began to falter with his goal. She was once a waitress at a restaurant before Sal married her? He never knew that… he had always thought she came from money since she was so prim and proper. Sal often bought her extravagant gifts? He had assumed her husband didn’t care much for her… but it seemed he did care. Sal cared far too much for his wife to the point it was terrifying.

(Your name) shared how most of her friends went missing after a while and that it was lonely, but her husband always cheered her up. That he’d take her to the best Italian restaurants each time and then he’d take her out on their balcony and make her limoncello to sip with him as they watched fireworks together.

It seemed he stumbled across a rabbit hole he should have never went down the more he learned. This young woman wasn’t a simple business tycoon’s wife… her husband was a part of the mob.

Glen couldn’t help but want to save her. She had no idea she was associated with the mob… that she was in danger!

For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to be selfish. He had enough to be able to relocate them to another country, he just had to convince her to flee… but he didn’t cover his tracks fast enough. Sal already caught wind of him.

Before he knew it, he was gagged and bound in a metal chair on the back of a ship on the sea. Cinder blocks were tied around each of his legs with heavy metal chains. Sal stood above him with a cigar in hand.

“I looked into you, Magnus or should I say… Glen.” Sal told the conman as he exhaled his cigar smoke. “Real piece of work, you are. Did you think I would let you try to take my wife?”

Glen gulped as Sal held up a pistol to him.

“I-I had no idea you cared so much for your wife-“

“Care for her?” Sal chuckled as his heavy accent dripped with venom, “I’m obsessed with her. She’s my darling wife and I’ll be damned if I let some schmuck get his greasy little fingers on her.”

Glen felt tears well up in his eyes. “Please, Sal. I’ll skip town, I’ll never talk to her again-“

“Yeah right, I found your little diary filled with love notes and your plan to convince her to run away with you.” Sal stood up with the gun still pointed. “Like hell I’d let you live. Rats like you need to be exterminated early.”

Glen felt tears roll down his face as Sal shoved the barrel into his mouth.

“Such a shame I have to get rid of another one of her friends, but she’ll be okay. I’m all amore mio needs.”

A gunshot rang out in the empty sea before a loud splash followed.

[betweenishish]

One of my hyperfixations is various cults and I have researched subsets like men's rights activists, flat earthers, neonazis, etc. The uniting factors between the people who are drawn to this kind of thing is that they feel: -Alienated by mainstream culture in a way that sends them seeking acceptance literally anywhere. Humans are herd animals, and people who are too weird or too much or too sad to act like the rest of the herd are shoved to the edge, which makes it worse. -Normal restlessness that was turned into radicalization by the welcoming arms of these fringe groups who, by design, appear so tantalizing on their face. It is much easier to sway or convince someone who is lonely and sad that you have the answers. -Left behind by the progress and 'elitism' of the mainstream. Many MAGA are holdovers from the rural, conservative strongholds (like the one in which I was raised) that provide a legacy of suspicion and old-fashioned biases blended with a lack of higher education. This leads to a parroting of bigoted rants or antiquated economic attitudes without any sort of reflection or critical thought because the nature of conservatism is a rejection of modern evolution. -Subconsciously bitter about the raw deal anyone younger than a boomer is getting. Though their grandparents might be well enough off, chances are there is only enough familial wealth left over to keep mawmaw until she passes, but nothing to bequeath to the kids or grandkids. Most of us are starting from zero. -Unable to articulate or express their anxiety about society or economics or environmental factors in a healthy or coherent way, which leads to a wholesale rejection of the idea. Climate change makes them anxious, so therefore there cannot be climate change. Hardcore rationalization is a way to protect the mind from unpleasantness, and it is something that every human does. I'm as angry as anyone that so many of those around me looked at what is happening and said "Yes, more of that" when they cast their ballot. On bad days the schadenfreude is the only thing that gets me out of bed. But ultimately, they are human beings as well, and some of them are learning some really hard lessons that I don't envy. No matter how ugly or wrong some of these people have acted, their children do not deserve this. MY child does not deserve this. The nasty urge to reject them out of revenge is understandable, but still wrong. So be angry. Wallow in your grief at what has happened, and then look for solutions. I have been following more politics than I ever wanted to. I donate to legal groups or the food bank or the homeless shelter and I put my friend on my Costco card so our group of ladies can pool their grocery budget for bulk items. I educate my kid and feed neighbor kids if they're hungry and support my local library. Most of all, I speak up when I see something wrong. I vote against racist school board applicants. I look out for minorities in public spaces. It hasn't been necessary in a long time but I put my body where my belief is and intervene if I have to. Fighting for our principles might not be safe, but it is right, and our former MAGA neighbors really need a good example to follow moving forward. Ultimately I'm just trying to be the bigger person; not out of pride or even compassion, but because I want my kid to live in a world that's not crumbling around her.

This is an interesting thing. Looks like testimonies of people who left the MAGA movement- how they got into it and why.

Leaving a cult is really hard, so I really respect the people who are speaking from this place.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 9

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is a little shorter than usual, I've been sick in bed for a good couple of days and didn't have as much time to write as usual.

Content Warnings: Talk of Depression/Depressive Episodes; Reader Gets Drugged.

----------------------

The Trajan Markets are the pinnacle of growth and development in the Capital, a sign the people said that the Gods favored us above all others. No other province grew as ours does. No other nation boasted such booms in business that a five story building need be built for the sole purpose of selling goods. Our streets have become too crowded, markets overflowing with buyers and sellers until the roads clog and the city becomes too rowdy during peak times of the day. There are other Markets in the city of course, but none as grand as Trajan.

None as easy to hide in as Trajan. 

I keep my hood pulled up over my face, a full basket in one hand, the other tapping anxiously along the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. The crowds are heavy, the summer air thick with the smell of sweat and incense and the roasted meat from the food stalls. The heavy din of haggling and bartering makes the pounding of my heart sound far more dull than it had on the crazed dash I’d made to get here. Ditching the Guard to come out had been a challenge; dodging Anise a military feat I think might have made even Cassian proud. Not that Cassian knew I’d left. Or any of my mates for that matter. They would be too recognizable in this crowd; as is I feel like eyes watch my every move. This needs to be quick.

My list of supplies is half scratched off, just a few more pieces of armor and a couple more custom weapons and my mates will be well protected for their next match. I’ve all but thrown myself into the task, as if the extra effort will make the difference in the arena. As if the extra bit of leather might be the very thing that ensures they return to me afterwards.

I try to shake off the pressure driving into my chest like a spike. The Games are tomorrow. I’d chosen Kallias’s Orc for their opponent via a letter--Father hadn’t spoken to me directly since the Council meeting two days ago. I suppose that means Eris has kept his word thus far, but the silence makes time stretch out like a bad dream. I’ve spent nearly every waking moment watching the windows, waiting for the worst to happen.

Abandoning one booth, I move to another, fingers skimming over metal and leather chestpieces alike. All too thin. Too hollow. Orc’s favor axes, they need something that can withstand multiple blows. 

The next shop is too flashy. Too many Imperial colors. My stomach turns at the thought of seeing Rhys in Imperial gold. 

I dodge a squad of the Praetorian, they’ve been doing routine sweeps through the city more frequently since the parade. Perhaps it’s just Father’s paranoia, but there is a small piece of me that dares to hope that there was some sympathy in the crowd, that someone, somewhere in this damned city felt as horrified as moved to action as I was. 

I keep my hood drawn a little lower over my face as I move to the next level. This would be easier if I could have brought them along, no need to constantly double check the scribble of measurements I’d had the tailor make. They could pick what would be most comfortable for themselves, and I’d feel better about sending them off in it, at least they knew what they were doing. But the risk was too great. And worse, I’m a terrible coward.

I haven’t so much as looked at Azriel since the Council Meeting. I’d forced myself to climb into my empty bed and not use the secret tunnels. I’d found anything and everything to keep myself busy the next day. Not because I didn’t want to see him, or any of them, but because I couldn’t bear the waiting. The countdown to the next match had started like a death null in the back of my head. I can’t bring myself to be selfish and sit there with them when there are things within my power to do to save them. It’s not right that I will sit in my cushy booth with a drink while they fight for their lives. I have to give them a fighting chance. I have to do more than last time.

I have to ensure they get back alive. We will have time to work out what we want from each other when this is over. When I can ensure my heart won’t shatter into a million unfixable pieces if something happens.

I give myself a little shake as I skirt past food stalls swarming with several families of Sprites. Trajan, unlike many of the markets on the Square, is full of all sorts of creatures: Trolls and Goblins pull carts of wares down the aisles and up the stairs to the top levels. Pixies and Sprites flit about in the open air, directing traffic. Nephilim with their feathered wings tucked tight shop with Humans and Elves. We are all just shoppers here, none of the Empire’s prejudice to separate us. None of it’s cruelty to turn us on each other. This is how it should be. Tomorrow we will be in the Arena again. The crowds will be different. The atmosphere will be different. It will not be so peaceful.

My next stop is a merchant shop boasting the best armor in the Empire. This will be the third shop with that sign, I don’t have high hopes, but I cannot leave until I’ve searched every shop, exhausted every outlet. 

My fingers trace over the plated armor, shaped like scales. The design is well made, but the material… I tap a knuckle against it and hear a dull, hollow echo. Too thin. The next stall, boasts the best greaves and manicas. The extra padding of a sleeve will be useful, and the dark leather, layered like scales would look good on them. I buy three, one for each and add them to my basket before moving on.

A small cart selling ribbons momentarily halts my search, the colors vibrant and blowing softly in the breeze that drifts through the open market windows. I run my fingers over a violet thread, the same shade as Rhys’s eyes. 

“That’s a pretty color!” The merchant woman, a human I think, but her ears are tucked under a multicolored head scarf, calls out from the worn stool she sits atop.

If we were normal, I’d braid the ribbon into my hair, boast Rhys’s colors with a bit of black thread for everyone to see. A pang of longing hits me in the chest; we will never be normal people, not while the Empire stands. I’ll go to the Games tomorrow in white and gold to match my Father.

“It is,” my voice shakes as I remove the ribbon from the hook. I shouldn’t. I should be practical. It’s a waist of coin, I can’t wear it anyway. Still… 

“We’re having a sale,” the merchant continues. “Three for the price of one!”

The irony makes a laugh bubble out of me. Of course it would be three.

A cobalt one draws my eye next, then a bright red one. Before I can think twice about it, I’ve taken them off the hooks too.

“For anyone special?” She asks as I fish some coins from my purse.

“Of course,” I reply, but I don’t give her any more of an explanation.

The merchant pats my hand affectionately as she passes my change back, a knowing smile on her lips. I tuck the ribbon into the pocket of my cloak that sits over my heart; they’ll be another secret dream, meant for a girl less duty bound as me, but I cannot stop myself from hoping for a chance to one day wear them. 

“I hope they bring your lover luck,” the merchant says in farewell.

A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine; they’ll certainly need it.

--

It had taken hours, but I finally found suitable armor on the fifth floor of the market. Upon sneaking back into the House, I’d left the supplies with the tailor and instructed that she take it to our guests. If the Guard were to ask where she’d gotten it, she’d been instructed to say she’d picked it up in town on her last visit and had just finished adjusting the straps and various ties up until now. A ruse that should be believable and hopefully not be looked into too deeply. I was curious to see what they thought about my decisions, but bringing it in myself felt like it would draw too much attention, so I schemed as best I could and busied myself by going back to the Temple to make some offerings for tomorrow. 

I doubt there is enough bronze in the Empire to sway Fortuna, but that doesn’t stop me from offering my sacrifices all the same. 

Victoria’s altar gets more than its fair share of bull’s blood and wine; I’ve burned so much incense the warm spice mixture feels like it’s seeping into my skin. 

But while my offerings to Luck and Victory may look extreme to the priestesses, they are small in comparison to the blood I spill for the Mother. My nightly prayers have felt feeble and unheard, I remain at the altar far longer than necessary, whispering in Latin for as long as I can before people start asking questions. 

By the time I’ve finished, the afternoon heat is settling into a warm evening wind. I gather my spinning thoughts and head to the kitchens to give Cook instructions for our guests' nightly meal. It takes more than a few coins to bribe him into making enough food for a feast and then sending all of it to the guest wing, along with far more deserts than probably necessary. 

Everything today has probably been a little more than necessary, truth be told,  but I have to do everything in my power to help. I have to tell myself it’s enough. That I’ve exhausted every outlet, covered every angle, left nothing to chance. I won’t sleep tonight as is, but it’ll be worse if I cannot find some way to convince myself that I helped. 

I’m so busy directing plates this way and that I don’t even stop to consider that I haven’t eaten today until Anise grabs me by the elbow. With a couple plates in hand, she all but drags me into the triclinium to eat, despite my protest. There is still so much I need to do! 

“Sit!” The plate clangs against the table. 

The formal dining room has been empty for months. I’ve been eating my meals in my room for one reason or another. She throws open a dust covered curtain with a huff, letting in the last few glimmers of sunlight. 

“You’re pale as a fucking spirit!” She hisses at me. Her gnarled hands strike a match and light a few candles along the forlorn tables, her own plate sitting untouched next to me as she fusses over the room. 

“Probably high off incense too,” she grumbles.

I place my elbows on the table and brace my face in my hands so I can rub my temples. There’s that stash of mirthroot in my bedside table I’d purchased to trick my Father and I’m tempted to use a little bit of it, just to calm my nerves. 

“Do my prayers bother you all of a sudden, Anise?”

She leaves for a moment and returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Glaring in my direction, she fills the first glass to the brim and chugs the entire thing before pouring a second, less generous portion into her glass. “Your reasons more so.”

I grab a fork and stab at a piece of roast chicken. “Do we need to do this tonight?”

She pushes a glass my way as she weighs the bottle in hand, debating if her second glass is really full enough to deal with me tonight. 

My eyes fix on the door to the kitchens, where the shadows from the other room make it obvious that some of the staff are listening behind the door. This is not the time or the place. My nerves feel absolutely shot. I run my fingers absently over my ribs, where I feel a burst of power flittering around my lungs, like it just might bubble out and spill from my throat.

“You’ve scarcely made yourself available for it any other time,” she snaps.

I sip the wine and tear into a loaf of bread, swirling it around in the red sauce next to my plate, trying to find ways to swallow down my powers before they hurt someone. Or blow out the window. “For months and months you’ve harassed me about never leaving the house and suddenly it’s become a problem?”

She slams her palms down on the table as she lowers herself into the bench seat. “You were drowning!” Her voice is so loud I can hear the staff listening at the door jump back in surprise.

“Do you know what it was like? Watching you get swallowed up by your grief? It was like watching you be hollowed out, turned into this shell that didn’t care if the world around her caught fire. You were empty and broken, a ghost of a person.”

“I know,” I nod, shifting vegetables around on my plate until they turn to mush in the sauce. 

“I couldn’t reach you,” her breath stutters out of her and I look away so I don’t see her cry. “Nothing I said worked! Nothing got through to you. Sending you out to watch the Games…”

I use the wine to try and dislodge the lump forming in my throat. She’s the only real family I have left and I know that all this secrecy has hurt her, but I can’t let her in now. She can only know what’s necessary. If something were to happen to her because I’d told her the truth, I’d never forgive myself.

“I knew you hated them. You’d always come back crying as a child. They’re brutal and bloody and…” She pauses to gulp down more wine. “I thought it would wake you up. That seeing all that death might… might convince you that you still wanted to live.”

She’d been right of course, she always is, just not for the same reasons she’d thought. Her actions had pushed me right onto this path; given me a reason to hold on, to fight. 

“It did, Anise,” I start.

“Did it?” She cuts in. “Because this looks a Hel of a lot like self-sabotage to me! Do you have any idea what they’re saying about you in the Capital? What the staff whisper about when you leave the room?”

“You’re the one that’s been pouring contraceptive tea down my throat, I think I can guess.”

Her weathered palm hits the table again, rattling the glasses. “This is not a joke! They kill people for rumors like this! They’ve already tried to do so! Doesn’t that bother you, even a little?”

Truth be told, that Raven has felt like the least of my worries these last few days. 

My gaze flicks to the partially open door; how many of the staff will report this conversation to my Father? How many will go into town for one reason or another and gossip in the markets over this little spat? I have to be extremely careful about what I say next. 

“Of course it does,” I say slowly. 

“Then you know what you have to do to make this right.”

“I’m doing everything that has been asked of me-”

“That’s not what I mean!” She hisses, emerald eyes flashing. “Get rid of them!”

The room spins. Candlelight flickering. The window rattles; table bouncing off the floor. It takes far longer than it should for me to realize that it’s my doing. Dark clouds of ether seep from my skin, slithering out from under the soles of my feet like snakes--like Azriel’s shadows.

Anise gapes at me as more and more pours from my skin, filling the room. 

Shit! I draw in a shaky breath and hurriedly pull it all back beneath my skin, until there’s not a drop of it left in the room. The bond is a roaring, living thing in my chest, bashing against my rib cage, filling up my lungs with the acrid scent of smoke. I drown it out with another big gulp of wine while Anise gapes at me like I’ve grown a second head. It has never been that bad before.

I swallow hard and push away from the table. “They’re not going anywhere!” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, the growling a deep rumble from within my chest. I rub absently at the spot where the tension feels the greatest, even as I storm from the room. 

Anise doesn’t follow, and the staff scatter out of my way as I sweep throw the kitchen in a huff. How dare she demand I send my mates away! They’re mine to protect! Mine to care for! 

Mine.

Darkness trails out from behind me like a scarf, billowing and snapping from where it seeps out of my back. The bond will not quiet, will not stop bashing itself against my insides at the mere thought of being separated from them. 

I all but sprint down the hall, looking for somewhere to expel all this energy. Now is not the time to lose control! I have too many things to do before the morning to worry about this new found lack of control. 

I make it to the safe room, tucked behind a bookshelf in the library, and rip the key that always hangs around my neck off. My hands tremble as more darkness loops round and round my hands. My breath rasps out of me, chest heaving; I can’t get air in fast enough. 

By some miracle, I manage to wrangle the key into the lock and force my way inside before I explode entirely. Darkness, empty and cold and unyielding flies in every direction, until there is no longer light in the room. Until there is nothing but shadow. I surrender myself to it; let it fill and empty itself from every orifice until I no longer exist as I am. There is only darkness. Endless void. Nothingness. The room is inlaid with gorsian stone, so that no outside force could feel the power that escapes me. Mother says she built it in case I needed to hide from the outside world, but I have always known the truth: She built it in case she’d needed to hide the outside world from me.

If this is an indication of the sort of possessive intensity I’m capable of, maybe she was right to do so. 

I’m not sure I closed the door. Blindly, I reach out a tendril of power and ensure it's sealed before I let myself sink back into the nothingness. Let everything that is dark and ugly and cold pour out of me like water. It feels as if it might never stop coming out of me; more and more flows like the breaking of a damn.

Until I hear an ominous crack.

The sound in the emptiness pulls me back from the edge and I count down from ten to try and reign my power back in. 

Another crack follows, the sound like stone crumbling.

I have to blindly find the door to let out the cloud of darkness that fills the room and find a lantern. Once it’s lit, I find myself gaping up at the ceiling, where my power had not only splintered the heavy layer of concrete, but the gorsian stone as well. The greenish metal splinters in the shape of a lightning bolt as the concrete crumbles and falls away from the roof, littering the floor with debris.

“Shit,” I whisper to no one in particular. 

I run back out into the library to grab a chair so I can get a hand on the roof and further inspect the damage. It’s a deep cut, about three inches through the gorsian stone. Not all the way through the other side but enough that I can feel the waning power. The stone is built to absorb and hold power, with a crack like that, it releases into the air like vapor. A clean crack all the way through might very well make the whole room as un-warded and unprotected as another other room.

And there’s nobody who can fix it.

I climb down from the chair with a shudder. No one can know about this. The room itself has always been a closely guarded secret, but if anyone were to see what I had done, what I was truly capable of, forget the mating bond damning me, my powers would ensure my head rolled from my shoulders. Power like that cannot exist within the Empire.

I drag the chair out and lock the door behind me. This place will have to remain a tomb; just another secret to add to my ever growing list. 

I place the chair back at the proper table and go to turn off the lamp when it hits me. If I can crack this stone, can I do it with all of them?

My fingers trail absently over my throat as the idea mulls around in my head. Could I hone it just enough that I could be capable of cracking, say a collar?

The house is dark and quiet. I’d spent a lot longer there than I‘d thought! I rush through the now quiet kitchen, nothing left but a few dirty dishes for the morning, and slip into the cellar. Maybe this could be the edge I’d prayed for! Maybe Fortuna had accepted my offerings!

I can’t get the secret door open fast enough, my hands shaking again, but this time from excitement. I could save them! If done right, the collar wouldn’t be an issue, they could fight freely.

I should have brought a light with me. I’d be a liar if I said I was a little disappointed that the other end of the tunnel isn’t already open and none of them are waiting for me on the other end, but I guess can’t really fault them. I haven’t exactly given the impression I’d be coming around any time soon. 

I fumble for a few minutes to find the lock, pausing briefly to press my ear to the door to listen for signs that it’s even safe for me to do so. None of the vents have picked up any conversation, which is odd now that I think about it. Have they already gone to sleep?

I turn the lock gently. They do need as much rest as they can get, but if I can give them this advantage, maybe this will be the last time in the Pit they ever have to have. Maybe we can turn things around from here. I have to try.

The door groans when it opens, ominous in the stillness. All the lights are off, the curtains drawn so not even a sliver of moonlight can filter through. 

Strange…

I tap at the bond. There’s no sounds of Cassian’s snores. And the thing in my chest is… quiet.

I pick my way carefully over to the room they’ve crammed all their beds in. The door is shut, the metal of the handle cold like it hasn’t been touched in awhile. My heartbeat is a clanging drum in my ears as I turn the knob and push the door open.

It feels like an eternity for the hinges to turn, for the room to come into view. My heart plummets into my stomach, every second of the drop a free fall into the depths of an abyss. The room is empty. 

Every room is empty. I check each in a panic, tugging incessantly at the bond but there is only quiet. 

This can’t be happening!

I was so close! I was going to be able to fix this! 

Footsteps sound down the open tunnel and for a moment the swell of hope threatens to overwhelm me. They’re fine. They’re fine. They’re-

Anise appears in the doorway, frowning. 

Just like that, my hope deflates. My legs wobble and I have to brace myself against the base of the statue of the Mother. “Anise, where are they?”

She closes the door behind her, emerald eyes shifting around like she expects some great beast to pop out and devour us. “The Guard came.”

Panic sweeps through me like a title wave, so intense my fingers live indents in the metal base of the statue. “What did you do?”

She huffs at me, offended. “I hadn’t decided what I was going to do yet, since you no longer are capable of seeing reason, but…” she shrugs, “the decision was made for me. The Emperor has declared that no sponsored champions should spend the night before a match anywhere but the Arena’s barracks. To ensure no outside tampering with the gladiators, of course.”

The room flips end over end and it’s a fight just to get enough air in my lungs. No! No! No! This can’t be happening!

“They’ll be returned to you, if they win.”

“Anise,” I don’t know what I mean to say, what I mean to beg for. I have to see them! I have to finish what I came here to do!

“This will be good for you,” she insists. “This obsession of yours is unhealthy. You need to start tomorrow with a clear head.”

“I need to see them!” I choke out.

“The morning will come soon enough. It’s best if you put it out of your mind and get some rest.”

Rest? They stole my mates! The statue rattles beneath my hands as my control weans again. I have to get them back! I have to-

Something pricks the back of my neck as Anise comes around the side of me, her weathered hand outstretched. 

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she says gently. “I told your Mother it would never come to this, that I would never need to use it. You’ve always had such exceptional self-control, even as a child. It seemed silly that she’d had such precautions, but now…”

It feels like flames beneath my skin, fire shooting up my veins, consuming every lick of power it can find. A hand like a vice clamps itself around the beast that lives in my chest and squeezes so tight my knees give out and I fall like a penitent sinner at the base of the altar.

“Anise-” I choke out.

“It’s just a little faebane, to help with the control. It’ll help you sleep.”

NO!

My body curls up on itself as the burning intensifies. She bends, her old knees popping, to pat my head. “I know you don’t believe me, but I am doing this for your own good.”

Tears prick my eyes as they roll down my cheeks. I don’t know if they’re for me, or my mates. 

Anise wipes them away, making shushing noises like she used to do when I was a child with a scraped knee. “I promised your Mother I’d never let anything happen to you.” She coos. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Spots swim across my vision and I thrash my head, trying to fight them off, but it’s useless. The faebane continues to course through me like a wildfire, burning all resistance in it’s path until my limbs go limp and the darkness inside me snuffs out. Worse, the bond, fragile as it is, shrivels further, until it is a hollow, empty echo. I can’t even feel them on the other end.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, make it stop, Anise!”

She strokes her hands through my hair, humming a lullaby she used to sing me to sleep with, as if this is normal. As if I’m still a child too scared of the dark to sleep. The spots that swim across my vision grow bigger and bigger. I can’t move my limbs enough to struggle, can’t even turn my head.

The chill of the tile seeps through my skirts as my erratic breathing starts to calm, heart rate slowing.

“There you go,” she coaxes. “Stop fighting it.”

“Please,” the word sounds garbled; feels strange in my mouth, my tongue not quite forming the letters.

“Sshhh.”

The spots consume me, darkness yet again filling my vision, but this time it pulls me under as I lose the battle against it.

-------------

Chapters 1/2/3/4/5/6/ 7/ 8

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Tag List: @sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe , @raisam

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@anainkandpaper, @rafeecameronsbitch, @whothehelliskayleigh, @lifetobeareader , @blimpintime

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@marrass, @lia-h-r, @celestialzdiviner, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @tenshis-cake

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@of-outerspace, @erencvlt, @corvusmorte, @lindsayjoy444, @raccoonworld

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@byteme05, @art1012, @the-tummo, @kiwi-mothball, @onthewaytotimbuktu

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@getosimping

As always let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I'm still trying to get a chapter out once a week! <3

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Sweet Puff

Barbie Dolls: Mattheo x Hufflepuff!gn!reader

Word: 1k

summary: you get a nightmare and sneak into your bf's dorm for cuddles

warnings: people making out in public, you are technically a witness, slapping partner (not you or Mattheo), public sex mentioned kinda, smoking mentioned, sex joke, yeah that's it

Nights were never very easy for you to get through. Nightmares came easy to you, easier than breathing it seemed. The shadows of your dorm became taunting and the rumbles of the thunder outside pushed your anxiety over the edge. What was the point of sitting through the stress of your nightmares replaying when you could instead hide under the blankets of your boyfriend’s bed? 

You were sure you would never need a map to find Mattheo. Your body pulled itself in his direction all without thought. You could easily track him down without anything other than your beating heart.

That and his dorm never moved so out wasn’t horrifically hard to find him anyway. You already regretted leaving your slippers behind by your bed. The cold stone floors were spreading a chill across your body. You were thankful for your robe, you knew the Hogwarts castle air would probably freeze you before you even reached the Slytherin door.

Mattheo kept you updated on the Slytherin password, whispering in your ear when it changed. It wasn’t terribly infrequent a Slytherin shared the password with a Hufflepuff. It wasn’t encouraged though. If a particularly caring Prefect found out you’d both be in deep trouble. Though the prefects on duty for the dungeons never had much heart in the game. 

Penelope and Anthony, Slytherin and Ravenclaw. It was astonishing teachers still paired them up for prefect duties. Much less still let them go down into the dungeons alone. You didn’t bother pretending to be shocked when you saw them pressing each other against the wall with their tongues down each other’s throats.

Some days you wanted to sit down and ask them why they found each other so attractive. They were so different yet so alike it set you on edge.

Penelope groaned as she flipped Anothony back against the wall. She lifted her hand and smacked his cheek, not very hard but still enough to make you wonder if someone should check in on Anthony. Penelope muttered something to Anthony, you caught two words, good boy. Right well so glad that graced your ears today. Maybe this is why you’re having so many nightmares. Anthony lifted his head, grinning up at Penelope. Anthony slowly sank to his knees keeping his eyes on Penelope. Lovely couple. 

“Hey, Penelope.” You greeted as you finally reached the entrance. Penelope looked up, digging her fingers into Anothoy’s hair and yanking his head away from her skirt. She smiled brightly at you, her teeth glinting in the dim candlelight. 

“Hello, Another nightmare?” You nodded at her. She frowned, cooing at you. Well, maybe that’s why Anthony liked her. You shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter all that much to you. Anthony tilted him to the side, looking over at you. 

“You know I heard the frequency of nightmares means you need to let go of something in your life,” Anothony said. You kept your eyes ahead of you, trained on the door. 

“Really sorry Anthony, I can’t look you in the eye when you’re pressing your nose into Penelope’s undergarments.” You said, stepping closer to the Slytherin commonroom door and whispering the password. Anthony hummed. 

“Fair enough, sleep tight,” Anthony yelled after you as you slipped into the commonroom.

You had the stairs memorized,  your feet flashing up them as fast as you could. You felt your anxiety slip away as you found Mattheo’s dorm door easily. You secretly hoped his roommates were asleep. You couldn’t handle another awkward conversation with Theo, much less Draco.

You nudged the door open, cringing when it squeaked. You gently shut the door again, pausing a moment to see if anyone was still awake. You heard Blaise’s snores in the bed next to you, a good start. You could see Draco’s perfect folded outfit for the next day sitting on his trunk. Another good sign. His curtains were drawn so he was definitely asleep or at least pretending to be. You settled your eyes on Mattheo’s bed. 

You tip-toed to the bed, pausing when you noticed the sound of rain was louder in the room than it was in the halls. You turned your head to see the window open and Theo sitting on the sill with a cigarette pressed between his fingers. He looked up at you and gave you an awkward smile, flashing his teeth at you. 

“Hello, Theodore.” You muttered. Theo nodded. You sucked in a breath through your teeth, still standing in front of Theo awkwardly. 

“Hello,” Theo answered. You looked away from him, heading for Matttheo’s bed. You gently tugged his curtains open, the metal rings scraping against the bar. Mattheo startled awake, his head picking off his pillow to stare at you. His face was scrunched up in confusion, eyes squinted at the bright moon sneaking in through the window. He relaxed when he realized it was you, flipping around in his bed, so he could lift his blanket. You slipped off your robe, flinging it at Mattheo’s trunk. Mattheo let out a quiet whistle, smiling up at you. You groaned, shaking your head in disapproval. 

“I come to you in emotional turmoil and you’re making sexual advancements on me.” You whisper, sitting up on his bed on your knees. You reached up, jerking the curtains closed. Mattheo sat up slipping his arm around your hip. He kissed your side, nosing your shirt hem up. You swatted him away, laying down on the extra pillow he had just for you. 

“I ran into Penelope and Anthony.” You muttered as you pulled the blanket up to your shoulder. Mattheo grimaced. He frowned and cradled your head in his hands. 

“Oh my sweet Puff, how ruined your eyes are. We’ll have to take you to the doctor, get you replacements. Poor thing.” Mattheo whined, covering your eyes with his hands. You scoffed and pulled away. Your eye twitched as you laid back down. 

“I’ll have you know, I’ve made you do much worse things.” You said, snapping your teeth at Mattheo’s hand when he tried to cover your eyes again. Mattheo grumbled. You beamed at him. 

“Not in public.” You hummed at Mattheo, nodding your head. Mattheo gently pressed his lips against your forehead, cupping your cheek again. You sighed into his presence, finally feeling your nightmares wash away. You quickly fell asleep to the sound of his breath and the rain outside. Your nightmares, are always hidden when you are around Mattheo. 

[wings-of-ink]

Plans, Updates and News!

The Future (and why that's a little scary)

Hello everyone! I hope you are all safe and well.

I wanted to make a post to keep everyone in the loop of where I'm at personally and what that means for the future of my creations, and also give an exciting update!

How about the update first! After some concerns brought to my attention via this post. I decided to change the MC's best friend (Lakota's) name. I received a lot of feedback with reassurances that it was okay to keep this as his name, but at the end of the day, I realized it still has the potential to do harm. That's not what I'm about. Even if most people feel okay with this, someone out there may genuinely not be. The name is easy to change here, and it's not something I feel comfortable trying to justify or anything like that. It hurts me and readers less to change the name than it could by not changing it.

So, I had subscribers on Patreon and Ko-fi vote on a new name! I chose a list starting with 7 names. Voters narrowed down the selection to a top 3. The first 7 were: Kuno, Thamir, Emre, Lailoken, Kalei, Avi, and Asa. After the first round of votes, we narrowed it down to: Emre, Lailoken, and Kalei.

And the winner is...

Emre!

The name will be updated in a future patch!

Up next, I'll give you a heads up on future developments. Here I'll dip into a bit of my personal life. I'm not dipping too far for my comfort zone, and I might put a few things...delicately. But I want you to know what's up and where my head is at right now and why.

So, the second IF is likely not going to happen right now - I think (more on that below). I am not writing this to "stir the pot" or create fear or debate, but it's no secret that things in the States are super not okay. This happens to be where I am. My future is feeling rather uncertain and unsteady and some days I am just scared and not just for myself and loved ones. I am not going to go into all the little details, but my time is already at a premium with working full time and my personal life, and that free time is about to get a bit more narrow in the next 6 or 7 months.

I am prioritizing God-Cursed and Subscriber benefits and have decided that now is not the time to start a second project. I would rather focus on getting GC updates out if my extra time will have more limitations.

Now, the reason I said "I think" it's not going to happen is that - frankly - I'm at risk for suddenly losing my job. Yaay, go me! Part of what I do is funded through the federal government. I'm not employed through them directly, but no money for social services means I'm out of work. If this happens though - I'll have the time for a second project! Yaay???

My partner and I have some emergency plans in place for all kinds of things that might happen be it job loss or something much worse. If this happens, I will prioritize and expand my subscriber benefits to help us survive financially until more work can be found. I am already looking for a new job since the uncertainty is...difficult.

So, if I do find myself with extra time and still employed, I will work on a short story-based IF instead where you can romance 1 character per story. It will be much easier to produce than a fully plotted game. It will likely be a subscriber-only project, but full stories should be released at once (fully interactive with optional spice of course). If I lose my job, you can expect details on a new public IF shortly after, lol.

Okay, moving on to happier things...March is like...here. And March is Duri-month on Patreon and Ko-fi! Around the middle of the month you can expect a cute extra story featuring our favorite demigod for the "Crows" tier and a spicy extra for the "Ravens" tier. I anticipate posting around the 15th or 16th.

Here's a sample!

Currently chapter 6 sits at around 15k words and the first section of it is done (just needs some editing and the like). I'm also making my way passage by passage in previous chapters to improve grammar, word choice, coding, etc....

Anyway, I think that's everything! Take care and be safe!

~Lunan ^_^

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

Note: Hi hi hi

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don't own many dresses, and those you do, are more office casual than date night. Still, you have no time to stall, no room for excuses. You pick out the only one you think you can still squeeze into.

A button-up black dress with long sleeves, a white collar, and white trim around the sleeves and ruffled hem. It's something that would look much better on Audrey Hepburn. 

You check yourself in the mirror. You shouldn't care but you have to. If you want to get out the other side of this, if you want Vaughn to, you need to go along with it. You need to keep Steve happy. 

You emerge, as content as you can be with your appearance after a day of work and an unsettling homecoming. You keep your eyes on the floor as you wring your hands. You need heels, something to match. 

Before you can pass him, Steve stomps toward you. He pinches the frill around your skirt. "You look amazing, sweetheart." He lets go and drags his hand up your thigh and hip. "Can't believe it's the real thing, right in front of me." 

"Uh, yeah," you agree weakly. "I need shoes." 

"Sure, sweetheart, take your time. Get dolled up," he moves away with a sultry sigh. 

You feel him watching you as you shift around and search the shoe rack. You bend over to take out the black vinyl kitten heels and he purrs. You wince and stand up, wobbling as you step into them. 

"Hate to be too forward but I was away a while. Pretty lady like you has me all hot under the collar," he snickers. "Gotta say that dress hugs you in all the right places." 

"Thank you," you murmur and untangle the thin strap of a small purse. You shuffle around your work bag and slip your ID and debit card inside, along with a tube of lip balm. 

"You don't gotta be so shy," he nears. "I mean, I should be. Being locked up, I forget the way things are out here." He steps close and spreads his hand across your ass. "Just so nice to touch you...but I'll be a good boy and take you on a date first." 

You shudder and resist the urge to shove him away. You force a smile, "where are we going?" 

"Somewhere close," he answers and peels his hand off of you. "Been a while since I had a date," he snorts. "If you can't guess." 

"Me too," you mutter as you back up toward the door. You grab your keys. 

"Oh yeah? How long?" He asks as he opens the door and gestures you through. 

"How... er..." you think about it.  

You've not been on many. Vaughn always kept the men away. Even if they wanted a second date, it was never many more than that. 

"At least a year, I think," you step into the hall and he comes out after you. 

You lock the door as he stays close. You tuck the keys into your purse and he offers his hand. "Ready, sweetheart?" 

You don't hesitate. No more of that. You can't keep pushing your luck. You put your hand in his. You can feel his strength. 

He takes you down the hallway and patiently assists you down the stairs as your heels make your steps unsure. Or maybe that’s him. He’s especially gallant for someone like him. A criminal. Wait, no, he’s been absolved, hasn’t he? 

He slips his hand along your lower back as you come outside. There’s a hitch in his strut. Victory. 

“Got her out of storage, fresh wax,” he announces as he approaches the white vintage car you noticed before.

It’s strange how you can pick every single thing that’s out of place but you can never put them together. It was the same with Vaughn. 

“It’s very nice,” you say. “I don’t know much about cars, my brother...” 

You trail off. You’d rather not think or talk about him right now. 

Steve opens the passenger door for you. You get in and he lingers at your door. He purrs. 

“You really do look just perfect, sweetheart.” he tickles your jawline then draws back.  

He finally shuts you in. You shiver as you watch him through the windshield. You fix the hem of the skirt as it rides up with the two sizes you’ve put on since you bought it. Or maybe it shrunk? You pinch yourself as you do, hoping you might wake up from this nightmare. 

No, you’re already awake. Painfully so. 

Steve gets in and you peek over for just a second. The seat emphasizes his size. Everything seems to remind you of his power over you. Over your family.  

You’re so stupid. You have no one to blame but yourself. What were you thinking? Thanking a convinct? A criminal? A murderer? Or not a murderer? 

“You’re tired,” he says as he backs out, “seat belt, sweetheart. Last thing I need is an accident.” 

You buckle up. You dab your nose as it tingles. Don’t cry. You have to play this right. Pretend. 

“A little, yeah. Work...” 

“At the clinic, right?” He prompts. 

It’s like the phone calls. That familiarity he puts on. Your head spins as you replay all those nights in your head. It struck you then how presumptuous he could be. How he said ‘we’. His presence then reframes every call, every visit. They were not the same to him as you. 

“Yeah, a lot of phone call,” you swallow as your throat scratches. “People don’t like waiting.” 

“Tell me about it,” he chuckles. “After how long I waited for this...” 

You stare at his hand. Huge, thick, gripping the slender wheel. You put your eyes to your lap and play with the ruffle. 

“We’re gonna have a good night, sweetheart. You and me.” He preens. “A lot of them.” 

You nod and turn your face to the window, “yes, Steve. Thank you.” 

⛓️‍💥

The restaurant is nice. As you’re greeted at the door, Steve snakes his hand down your arm and twines his fingers through yours. As he squeezes, you realise how strange it must be to him. You shouldn’t empathize with him, not with all the threats, with how he’s taken your life over in less than an hour, but you do. 

“Table for two,” he says. 

The hostess smiles, “yes, sir. I can find you something.” 

She grabs two menus and a smaller one from the desk. She turns and leads you into the dining room. You walk just ahead of Steve as he urges you on, though his hand stays on yours. She stops you at a round table framed with a crescent bench. 

“Booth alright?” 

“Sure is,” Steve answers. 

He holds onto you until you sit. You slide around and he follows. The hostess lays out the menus. 

“Drink menu,” she points to the thinner folio, “a server will be by soon.” 

“Thank you,” you gulp out of courtesy, Steve echoing you. 

You clasp your hands in your lap as he takes the wine list and opens it. You’re not very hungry. Or thirsty. You’re scared. 

You glance at him, the around the restaurant. To the other diners, to the staff, he’s just another man. The suit hides his true character. If you passed him on the street, you’d assume he was some refined businessman. 

“Red or white?” He asks. 

You look at him again. The silver strands woven into his blond shine beneath the chandelier lighting above. You drag your hand up your sleeve. 

“You know, I’m not much of a drinker,” you murmur. 

“Well, it’s a special night, isn’t it, baby?” He drawls and closes the folder. 

He sets it down and you shift forward on the seat. He touches your lower back again, tickling you through your dress. Your posture goes rigid as you open the menu and focus on the options. He pulls his menu down, leaning it on the table’s edge as he continues to pet you, his other hand cradling the folder. 

“Steak. Mm. Been a while since I had a good filet,” he growls. 

“Sounds nice,” you nod. 

“What about you?” He wonders and traces his finger up your spine. 

“Hm, the pistachio crusted halibut sounds interesting,” you tap your nails on the page. 

“You don’t gotta peck like a bird around me,” his hand falls right back down, right along the top of your ass. “You really got a nice figure, sweetheart.” 

You fidget and flutter your lashes, “thank you. It’s not that. I was thinking... something light for dinner and the rice pilaf sounds interesting.” 

“Ah,” he trails along the cushion of your rear, “god, you’re so...” 

His voice peters off and a server appears across the table. He sits up and clears his throat. The man in his pressed white shirt and black slacks is amiable as he prompts you for your order. Steve lets you go first. You close the menu and hand it over after you order. 

“Of course, miss,” the server smiles at you. He’s young and handsome. These sort of restaurants only hire a certain type. 

“Bottle of champagne,” Steve begins, “we’re celebrating,” his arm curls around your middle, “and the New York Strip...” He finishes up his order and shoves the menu across the table. What’s that about? 

“Yes, sir, I’ll be back with the bottle and put your order in,” the server nods and glances between the both of you. 

He strides away and Steve growls. His fingertips dig into your side. He leans back and sucks his teeth. 

“Is something... wrong?” You twist to look at him. 

“That... guy. Looking at you like that,” he sneers. “He’s supposed to be taking our order, not ogling you.” 

“No, he wasn’t, Steve,” you assure him. 

“Sure as hell was. You’re just too sweet to notice. His eyes were all over you,” he huffs and his leg sways in agitation. “Judging me. Thinks I’m too old.” 

“Steve, he was perfectly polite,” you say, “please, you said it’s going to be a good night.” 

You bite your tongue as you examine his face. His sudden anger, his paranoia, unsettles you even more. His jaw ticks as he grits his teeth. 

“Steve,” you touch his sleeve, “please, I’m not here with the server, am I?” 

His blue eyes flick over to you. They search your face. You force a smile. 

You have to keep from wincing as he reaches for you. He frames your face with his large hand and grins, “you’re right, sweetheart.” He draws you closer. You let him. “All mine.” 

He meets your lips with his and you swallow a gasp. His nose brushes yours as he kisses you, softly, then his tongue glides over your lips. You resist for only a second then let him in. His hand slips behind your head as he locks you in. You brace his chest as he takes your breath away. 

“Ahem,” the server clears his throat. 

You rip away from Steve as he snickers. He wipes his mouth shamelessly as you shrink down in embarrassment. The server uncorks the bottle with a pop, his smile effortlessly hiding all judgment. He’s probably honed against all types of customers. 

He pours the bubbly and leaves the bottle. You watch him go and squirm. Steve sits up and takes his glass, “what’sa matter, sweetheart?” 

“N-nothing, I don’t-- I don’t usually do that... in public,” you sniff. 

He laughs again, “I know, you’re a good girl.” He hovers his glass. You take yours and he clinks his against it, “to us.” 

“To... us.” You echo softly. 

You drink as he does, mirroring him. It’s sweet and bubbly. He sets the glass down and reaches for the bottle. He grips it and drags it closer. 

“Only one for me, since I’m driving, so help yourself,” he says. “You deserve it. A nice night to let go.” 

“Oh, I...” you stare at the dark glass. Why did he order the whole bottle? 

He slaps his hand on your thigh and you squeak. Your hand falls over his instinctively. You look at him and lick the moisture from your lips. He growls and kneads your flesh. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps. “Aren’t you happy? I’m here.” 

Your eyes dart back and forth, “yes, I’m happy.” 

He pushes his shoulders back and his cheek dimples, he shifts on the cushion. His other hand tugs at the top of his belt. 

“Not gonna lie, gonna be hard to hold out all night,” he smirks. “Six years...” 

You blink at him. You won’t look down. That’s too much. 

“You gonna be nice to me?” He leans in to nuzzle your cheek, tickling the back of your neck so you shiver. “Huh? I’m so pent up, baby, you gotta take it easy on me.” 

You shudder and ball your hand up tightly. Your stomach is roaring but not from hunger. The more you think about what he means, what he expects, the sicker you feel. 

“It’s been... a while for me too,” you assure him. “We can take it slow.” 

“Slow, baby?” He hums. “Oh, I don’t think I can.” 

[artificialroux]

maddie swallowed hard, staring at the blood on her hands. if this was survival, then why did it feel like they were already dead?

notes and lore about my yellowjackets oc, she's still currently in development as i wait for s3 to be finished. post layout heavily inspired by @puppybutcher.

MADELINE "MADDIE" SHEPHERD ( lamb drawn to the slaughter. )

played by olivia scott welch

PRE-CRASH

born madeline annabelle shepard, first name derived from the greek name magdalenē, which is associated with mary magdalene, a disciple of jesus who came from magdala.

maddie grew up in wiskayok, in a busy but loving household as the middle child of three sisters, constantly overshadowed by their academic and athletic achievements.

she was raised surrounded by faith. church on sundays, whispered prayers before bed, the quiet presence of religious symbols in her childhood home. it was something her parents believed in fiercely even if they weren't at church every day of the week. something that was supposed to make sense, supposed to make her feel safe, but for maddie faith was never simple.

she wanted to believe—really, truly believe—but it never settled into her bones the way it did for others. she tried. god knows, she tried. she went through the motions, clasped her hands together in prayer, recited the words with everyone else. but deep down, she always had questions. what if god wasn’t really listening? what if he was, and he just didn’t care? what if there was nothing at all? doubt crept into the quiet spaces of her mind, but she never spoke it aloud. because faith was supposed to be unshakable. and maddie? she was always shaking.

at age 12 maddie was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder, right as she was entering middle school. it had been building up for years—stomachaches before big events, trouble sleeping, overthinking every little mistake—but it wasn’t until she started having more frequent panic attacks and struggling to focus in class that her parents took her to a doctor.

the diagnosis made sense to her, but it didn’t necessarily make things easier. she wasn’t the type to talk about it much, not wanting to be seen as fragile or difficult. she learned to manage it in her own ways—through routines, distractions, and throwing herself into hobbies—but it was always there, a quiet weight she carried.

spirit in her step, fire in her smile—wiskayok’s heartbeat on the sidelines.

from a young age, maddie was drawn to cheerleading. she loved the way it made her feel—like she belonged to something bigger than herself. she wasn’t the loudest or most outgoing cheerleader, but she had a natural talent for movement and rhythm, and she worked hard to perfect her routines. her sisters would sometimes help her practice, holding her steady as she tried out new stunts or braiding her hair before competitions.

on game days, she especially loved cheering for the girls' soccer team, the energy of the field fueling her own as she called out chants and pushed herself to keep up with the intensity of the game.

the weight of representing wiskayok was pressing on her shoulders—but even then, she never imagined it would be the last time cheerleading truly felt like her world.

maddie hadn’t expected to go to nationals. only a few of the senior cheerleaders were chosen to accompany the soccer team, and with so many girls ahead of her, she figured she’d be cheering from home. but when the final list was announced, her name was there. it felt unreal—one last big trip with the team before graduation, a chance to prove herself on a bigger stage.

she was nervous, excited, ready. boarding that plane, all she could think about was the game, the routine, the thrill of it all. she never imagined none of it would matter.

WILDERNESS

i don't belong here.

the first thing maddie registers is the heat. it rolls over her in waves, thick with smoke, stinging her eyes before she even opens them. something heavy is pressing into her chest, making it hard to breathe. the air smells like burnt plastic and fuel—and blood, and she hears muffled screams all around her. she blinks, vision swimming. everything is sideways. the world has tilted. the seatbelt digs into her ribs, keeping her suspended at an unnatural angle. maddie chokes back a sob, throat tightening with panic.

the screaming is getting louder. she has to move. her hands fumble with the seatbelt, fingers numb and shaking. the buckle won’t—fucking—budge. her breath comes too fast, too shallow, she can’t breathe, she can’t—then it snaps open. she falls forward, catching herself against the seat in front of her. her limbs feel like they belong to someone else, unsteady and sluggish as she stumbles into the aisle. bodies. so many bodies. some still, some barely moving, some missing parts that should be there.

after the crash, most of the few cheer members were killed on impact because they were sitting towards the front of the plane, either from the plane breaking apart, being thrown from their seats, or being crushed under wreckage. maddie stands frozen in shock after running out from the plane—she now was completely alone in a group that wasn’t hers to begin with.

she saw reminders of the other cheerleaders in the wreckage—a stray pompom, a crushed megaphone, a jacket that belonged to one of them—and it made her queasy. this makes her relationships with the soccer girls more complicated. she has no one who truly understands her old world, so she either has to integrate with them or be left behind. it pushes her toward lottie’s influence later on—looking for purpose in all the senseless loss.

maddie clung to scraps of warmth as the wilderness unraveled her.

maddie becomes closest to lottie in the wilderness. while she connects with others, lottie is the one who soothes her anxieties in a way no one else does, offering a strange but undeniable sense of comfort. their bond deepens during doomcoming when lottie quietly braids some strands of maddie’s hair—just like her sisters used to do for her. it’s a small but intimate gesture, one that makes maddie feel seen in a way she hasn’t since the crash.

after the crash, her faith became something else entirely. at first, she prayed like never before. desperate. hollow. raw. she begged for a rescue, for warmth, for safety, late at night when no one could hear. she prayed for the souls of the ones they lost, even the ones they had to eat. but the more time passed, the more survival demanded of them, the more god felt like silence. she watched as lottie’s influence grew, filling the void where faith had once lived.

maddie wanted to resist, wanted to hold onto what little she had left of the faith she grew up with. but she was tired. she was hungry. and she was afraid that if she let go, she’d have nothing left. so she followed. not blindly—not like the others—but because she needed something to hold onto. maybe lottie was right. maybe there was something in the wilderness watching over them. maybe faith wasn’t about god at all. maybe it was about survival.

but even then, doubt never fully left her. it was always there, lingering beneath the surface. a quiet, gnawing thing in the back of her mind. because if there really was something out there—if something was listening—then why did it demand so much from them? and if it wasn’t god, then what the hell was it?

the lamb wasn't ready, but the wilderness was.

after weeks of winter, food runs dangerously low, and the group begins to truly fear starvation. the tension has been building for weeks, whispers of sacrifice hanging in the cold air. maddie, already weighed down by guilt and a growing sense of detachment, starts to believe she is meant to be the one to go. she tells herself it would be easier this way—that if she gives herself up, maybe the others will survive, maybe the wilderness will be satisfied. she offers herself to be eaten instead of participating in the hunt. the guilt of survival, the desperation, and lottie’s growing influence all collide in that moment—she truly believes it’s the only way to atone.

but when the others refuse, when even lottie hesitates, she’s forced to keep living, to reconcile with the fact that she’s not ready to die. because now, she isn’t just surviving—she’s waiting. for what, she isn’t sure. but the wilderness isn’t finished with her yet. this changes her, deepens the conflict within her—between faith and fear, between surrender and survival.

ADULT TIMELINE

played by victoria pedretti

she tried to outrun the wilderness, but in the end, it was always waiting to take her back.

maddie had spent years convincing herself she’d left the wilderness behind. she built a life that was quiet, structured—something she could control. a career helping children, a marriage she thought was love, a world where the past couldn’t reach her. she had been young when she married him, blinded by devotion, desperate for something safe, something certain. but love turned to control, affection to manipulation, and soon she found herself trapped in a life that felt just as suffocating as the wilderness.

by the time the yellowjackets returned to her life, so had the unraveling of everything she had tried to build. the divorce was already in motion, a bitter, drawn-out fight that left her feeling hollow. but that emptiness was nothing compared to what came next. the hunt. the blood. the whispers of the forest that had never really let her go.

at first, she tried to hold on, to remind herself that she wasn’t that girl anymore. but the more the past unraveled around her, the more she felt it creeping back in. the fear. the hunger. the aching knowledge that some things were never meant to stay buried.

[kaivenom]

May I request OP DILF with a reader who likes to ride them or who can be more dominant at times

The OP Dilfs with a dominant!reader that likes to ride them

Characters: Doflamingo, Mihawk, Crocodile, Smoker, Shanks

Warnings: sex (obviously)

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

Even though he accepted to let you be on top and ride him, it still looks like he has the power.

He has too much dom energy going on, so you decided to also tie him up with some rope and handcuffs (shibari style).

That made things a little easier, but still his eyes looked like you were about to melt.

It's nearly impossible to surpass this men on domination.

Luckily, when he closed his eyes and started humping the air, searching for contact and groaning a little, then you started to feel better about yourself.

One thing that he will never say out loud is that he may have dramatized a little his behaviour to make you feel better about it, he knows his appearance can be a little to intimidating sometimes.

Donquixote Doflamingo

If you want to be dominant and ride him, you will have to fight him for it.

Since he is really big, you know you can't win, but you can still try.

He will keep in mind your efforts and then evaluate if you are ready to thake the charge or not.

The experience is curious cause he is big and you take your time but he also is impatient and tries to speed things up.

Since he isn't used to being under someone's orders, he has a hard time trying not to buck his hips into you.

His ego is giving him a bad pass so he tries to humilliate you with some dirty comments but at the end he is the one trying to hold back and not whimper.

Sr. Crocodile

Another one that looks difficult to be dominant with, he is just too much confident and serious.

He makes you earn it, fight with him (psychologically, of course) for the right to dominate him.

Since he is a lot bigger than you, you feel at disvantage to these type of things.

Even his attempt of being nice and help you sounded like a dominant order.

Trying to get the strings of the situation and made him be on the vulnerable side this time, you went to his office for a booty call.

He became so nervous and restless that for surely you will pull out this move everytime you want to take control.

Smoker

He is a bubbling mess.

He said that it isn't manly that you take control, then you caught him with his guard down and suddently he is whining and suplicating you to continue.

He turns into the most subby - miserable - moaning/whimpering men ever.

And you are more than ready to indulge him in that.

If you stop moving, he would surely pray for you to start moving, grabbing your legs and trying to gain some power over you.

You discovered a new world to him, even though he doesnt wanna admit it, you made him go crazy and he is going to indulge in this more often.

Akagami Shanks

Really easy to convince him.

But he is really playfull so he can pull a rolling movement mid-fuck where he puts you on top or he gets back to top.

You have to be prepared when you are riding him just so you can stop him from rolling you both to change positions.

He really loves having you on top and restraining him, giving him orders of where he can touch and where he can't.

He just lives to see your tits bouncing next to his mouth and be able to feel all you weight on top of him.

He gets so loud that you have to cover his mouth with your hands or a rag cause he becomes a moaning mess.

[bamboozledcorvid]

HOUSE MD HEADCANONS

(Mainly about Chase tho, and in the first few seasons cause I love the og group)

- Chase and House both love working with kids, their easier to talk to and they don’t lie as much.

- Foreman HATES working with kids, they’re loud, they’re messy, they’re hyper, they’re annoying.

- Chase hates the jokes made about his dad or his upbringing but doesn’t want to seem overdramatic so doesn’t say anything.

- Foreman and Chase frequently have religious debates (Chase chose religion/Foreman was raised religious) both of them have a love/hate relationship with it.

- Chase is really understanding and patient with children and the mentally ill, he is incredibly short tempered with everyone else.

- Cameron, Chase and Foreman all keep their apartments spotless for different reasons (Cameron’s a neat freak, Chase is a snob, Foreman’s just really well organised).

- Cameron will sometimes buy small things for the others if it reminds her of them or if she thinks they’ll like it.

- Chase reads encyclopaedias for fun.

- they all insist on the Dr. Title; Foreman, Cuddy and House cause they earned it, Wilson and Cameron cause they love their jobs and like people to know, Chase cause he doesn’t like being called Mr. (Trans chase propaganda).

- Wilson and House are both bisexual and waiting on the other one to make the first move.

- Chase definitely experimented with men and liked it but he’s also a whore and likes just about anyone.

- he also definitely experimented with some freaky stuff whilst dating that one banker girl, he also definitely liked it.

- sometimes house just makes things up about one of the doctors to the other two cause he thinks it’s funny that they believe him.

- Cameron likes to see how many outrageous jokes and comments she can get away with before one of them questions her.

- Chase is autistic in the overly loyal, gullible, black and white, rule following way.

- House is autistic in the curious, over thinking, superiority complex, ‘rules are made up’ way.

- Cameron is also autistic but masks a lot better than house, who doesn’t mask, and Chase, who tries to and fails.

- Cameron is “straight” cause she doesn’t want to admit to anyone else that she’s bisexual, she’s “bisexual” cause she doesn’t want to admit to herself that she’s gay.

- Chase believed in Santa Claus and the tooth fairy until a concerningly high age (like 14-16).

[gorbo-longstocking]

Cover It Up | Modern!Caracalla x GN!Reader

Summary: Every few nights, like clockwork, Caracalla shows up at your door, drunk, or high, or both. There is so much that he says, and so little that you can bring yourself to tell him. It’s the same now as it always is.

Tags: Modern AU, GN!Reader, references to drugs and alcohol, implied past child abuse (Caracalla), implied addiction problems (Caracalla), so much yearning, reader is a medical student, kind of sad and angsty, this is technically an side story to my main fic Do Not Blame the Sea but it can be read as its own thing, Caracalla and Reader’s relationship here sort of parallels how it is in the main fic

Word Count: 1.7k Words

Song: Lost Kitten - Metric

Do Not Blame the Sea Masterlist

Before the door even opened, you knew who was standing on your doorstep. Who else would visit you in the late hours of the night when the moon was drifting lower on the horizon in order to make way for the sun? You couldn’t name another person in your life who would dare bother you during the few seconds of solitude you so desperately craved. No one else would expect you to be awake. Not your parents who would lose their minds if they discovered you were doing anything but sleeping or studying, and certainly not your fair-weather friends from college who knew nothing of your insomniac tendencies. It was always him. The one you’d drop everything for, no matter what it was.

It was always Caracalla who knocked on your door.

“Good morning, doctor.” He leaned on your porch railing, his feet unsteady. The stench of booze radiated off of him in waves, nearly suffocating in its intensity. On his chin, vomit was crusted to his skin, and you let out a sigh.

“Caracalla, I don’t think anyone would consider it morning yet. Come in.”

You always thought he was beautiful with the night sky behind him. While your apartment was nestled too far in the city for there to be stars, the midnight blue complimented his eyes perfectly. His imperfections were hidden during the day when you saw him on campus, that was when he was far too fixated on hiding them. It was only at this hour, when sweat made his makeup run, revealing acne and pockmarks, and the humidity made his red hair curl, did you think he was more handsome than you had ever seen him. Caracalla would never believe you if you told him. If anything, he would believe your words to be a joke. So, like all thoughts in regards to your affections for him, you kept them to yourself.

Reaching out an arm, you opened the door wide to help him inside. His hand was clammy, far too warm to match his drunken flush. Judging by the size of his pupils, alcohol wasn’t all he had gotten into. You had known Caracalla long enough to know his drug of choice tended to be cocaine, though with a frustrating tendency to indulge especially when he didn’t know what he was taking. The likelihood he simply ate a random pill he found on the floor of a frat house was annoyingly high. He giggled as he clumsily made his way in the door, pressing his body against yours. Despite his rancid state, you found yourself craving his warmth. You always did.

“Doctor, doctor, I need my doctor,” Caracalla slurred as you led him to the couch. When he flopped onto the cushions, his eyelids fluttered shut before he forced them open again. That made it easier to guess what was in his system, it meant whatever he took wasn’t an upper. “Need you to take care of me. Get to it.” He was always so demanding, and a bit of fondness fought with your exasperation. Before you left to get him a glass of water, he reached out to wrap delicate fingers around your wrist. “I’ve missed you.”

You missed him too. In order to keep the words from spilling out, you gave him a tight smile and pulled away. His glassy eyes flickered with a familiar frustration you paid no mind. Once you were in the kitchen, you fell into a routine. Water to hydrate him, a wet towel to wipe the vomit from his chin, and some tylenol for the morning. Like every night Caracalla came, you would tell him to sleep on the couch, and like every night since you met him, he would find his way into your bed. You set the medicine on your night stand.

“Tell me you missed me too,” He demanded once you were in his line of sight. His eyes were squinted, unable to open them any wider than they were. When you handed him the water, he drank greedily, and before he could wipe his chin with his sleeve, you crouched down to wipe him clean. Caracalla hummed, nearly a purr, as you steadied yourself with a hand against his cheek, leaning into your touch. “I know you did, I can feel it.”

“I’m surprised you can feel anything aside from how badly the room is spinning,” You grumbled.

Caracalla laughed, high-pitched and sharp. His gold tooth glinted in the dim light. “I must be dreaming, but I see four of you, doctor. Surely one must want to soothe my aches.”

“Those aches better be the urge to sleep.” The wet rag you were using caught on his bottom lip, dragging it down. Over a year of yearning made you stare, though you would never dream of taking advantage of him in this state.

Caracalla followed your gaze to his mouth and he smirked. His voice fell into a whisper, breath hot against your face. “The urge to fuck.”

“My answer is the same as always, Caracalla.” Before you removed your hand from him, you gave him a firm pat on the cheek. Disappointment made his face scrunch up. It was a cute expression, and maybe it was a quarter of the reason you kept turning him down. The other half being the fact he was only ever intoxicated when you were together, and the final quarter being your parents inevitable disapproval. “It’ll never happen.”

Caracalla stood, swaying in place for a moment. Once he found his balance, he stumbled the memorized route to your bedroom to curl into his side of the bed. It was embarrassing to realize that he had his own spot in your home now, but with how often he showed up, it only made sense.

A year and a half ago, you wanted nothing to do with Caracalla. You barely knew he existed outside of the rumors that followed him like a plague. Of his pet monkey that made him a miserable roommate in the dorms, of the fact he was a walking petri dish of STDs, his promiscuity, his tendency towards hedonism over his grades, and most of all, the fact his daddy knew the dean personally, so it wasn’t as if he could get in any lasting trouble for any of it. He was in your biology class three semesters ago. Like most people he considered below him, he paid you no mind until you were stuck together on a group project. You intended to do all of the work if only to avoid him, and he seemed content to let you.

You hadn’t meant to find him hysterical and barely coherent in his dorm, nor did you mean to endear yourself to him as entirely as you by calming him down. Apparently, his father had left him quite the nasty voicemail. You didn’t listen, you deleted it the second you got ahold of his phone, but you could put the pieces together well enough. Especially with the half-sobbed pleas for mercy Caracalla cried into your chest.

After that, Caracalla latched on, and like mold on bread, he grew on you. During the day, he barely paid you any attention. It was only at night did he make his affections known, drunk, or high, or both, always showing up when the rest of the world was asleep. You didn’t know why he bothered. If he truly meant what he said, surely he wouldn’t ignore you as he did during the day. When he kissed other people, he made sure you knew, watching your expression out of the corner of his eye. There was a lot about Caracalla you didn’t understand, and you were certain you never would. You wanted to, though. That was why you buried yourself against his side, slinging his arm over your shoulders to help him into your bed.

This was how the night always ended, Caracalla in your arms, snoring away. This time, however, he remained awake, staring up at you. It was obvious it was taking everything he had to stay awake. He took turns closing each eye, one resting while the other bored into you.

“Go to sleep,” You muttered.

Caracalla whined and rubbed his cheek against yours. “I don’t want this to end.”

The admission made your breath catch in your throat. You didn’t want this to end either. He was always gone by the time you woke up.

“Then don’t leave.”

His fingers tightened in the fabric of your pajamas. “It’s better that I do, my doctor.”

“Caracalla.” Licking your dry lips, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “Why do you always come back? If you’re not going to stay, why do you look for me like this?”

He hummed, and for a moment, you didn’t think he’d respond. Finally, clumsy and slurred, the words tumbled out of his mouth and burrowed into your chest, “You make me feel safe.”

You wished he could say it when he wasn’t on some pill when it actually meant something. Still, you couldn’t help the flutter your heart gave. Your eyes burned as you tightened your grip on his body. “I hate it when you’re like this.”

“I hate it when I’m sober,” Caracalla sleepily replied. “I remember too much.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you let yourself ask, “Do you forget these nights too? Is that why you hardly look at me when we’re on campus.”

“I could never forget you.” He was drifting now, and with a deep breath, he forced himself to hover over you, his palm planted on the mattress beside you. With a desperation you shared, he pressed his forehead against yours. “Kiss me.”

It took everything you had to turn away. “Not when you’re like this. When you're sober, I will. I promise.”

Defeated, Caracalla let himself slump back against you.

“I’m never sober.”

“Then you know what my answer is.”

With him curled around you, you barely heard it, the same confession he made every night, spoken with the conviction you tried to ignore. “I love you.”

You didn’t respond.

A minute passed in silence, the only sound in your small bedroom the sound of your mingled breathing. Gently, you shook Caracalla to make certain he was asleep, and when he didn’t move, you told him what you’d been hiding since the first day you held him. Your own declaration that made your stomach churn with fear.

“I love you too.”

And, like every night, Caracalla didn’t hear.

A/N: I know I said that I wasn’t going to do DNBTS oneshots, but I listened to Lost Kitten by Metric and saw visions of this. This is sort of a tumblr only fic, I dunno if I’m gonna out this on AO3?? I gotta think on it. Like I said in the tags, this is supposed to sort of mirror where Caracalla and Alga are relationship wise in DNBTS, just a smidge angstier. Caracalla unable to truly be with Alga in the way he desperately wants due to public perception, but until he can, Alga will continue to push him away despite wanting him too. Cue insane amounts of yearning. Also something, something Caracalla is incapable of change.

For those who don’t know what Do Not Blame the Sea is, it’s my main fic! So, if you liked this, go check that out, hehe. I don’t have much to say here, really, so this author’s note will be short. Bye-bye! I hope you enjoyed this little thingy, please like, reply, or reblog if you did! It’ll encourage me to indulge in more side stories and AU’s <3

[shadow-work-toolkit]

Following on from my hidden pick-a-card reading (previous post on my page), here are the interpretations. Let me know if it resonates, I ADORE feedback.

PILE 1

The fulfilment you're looking for, either in your situation or just in life in general, is not gonna come until you detach from situations in which you're over-giving and under-receiving. You need that energy for yourself to put towards your own empowerment. You have so much potential to make the best of this situation and use it to propel yourself ever-upwards but a deficit of self-love makes you feel like you need to keep accepting second-best. You don't. The rewards are waiting for you as soon as you detach, and, tbqh, any people in your life draining you like that need you to detach too. There is a difference between enabling and genuine love. Everyone will benefit from genuine love in your life and/or situation, but no one is benefitting from the self-sacrifice you're engaging in rn. Put your energy towards developing your own skills and abilities, be persistent about standing up for what you know is right, and start listening to your gut feeling on things. It is correct. The other voices are not. Your intuition is the one that comes from nowhere and feels like gentle, loving advice.

PILE 2

If the minutiae of a situation is making you feel hopeless or overwhelmed, know that it is safe to let it go. Sometimes you need to hold tight to make something work but others that grip will only kill it or stop it growing, and this is one of those situations. The constant vigilance is preventing things from progressing. If you need a distraction, there is something you can focus your keen intellect on to pass the time until your other situation bears fruit, you just have to look up from your current thing long enough to see it. The outcome of the thing you're hyper-focused on either is up to or will feel like destiny when it manifests, it's out of your hands and possibly always was. Your fear of everything going to shit is not based on reality, just because it was that way in the past doesn't mean it will be this time. The path is quite literally blessed, just hidden to you at this time, but it will be made clear very soon. Possibly as soon as 8 days from now, but don't quote me on that lol. Just take a deep breath and try to look at it from above and not from in the thick of it and things will go a lot easier for you with it.

PILE 3

Someone's stubbornness is preventing you from moving forwards and is holding everything up. This could be a good time to meditate on it but I get the sense it's actually just getting in the way of you doing your work and knowing where to put your efforts. Try not to judge them too harshly, including if it's yourself being stubborn, coz the rebirth after this hold-up phase will be swift and powerful. Whether or not it's you being stubborn or holding things up, don't worry, there is plenty of other opportunity for advancement in this area (I'm sensing work but I'm tryna keep it general). And it's likely the situation is nearly over with. Once you've moved through the challenges, joy and happiness you haven't felt in a very long time is waiting for you. So don't rush, use this time wisely to take stock and plan your next moves, but be ready for things to change because that joy and happiness is soon and inevitable at this point. Expect full rebirth by May-June.

PILE 4

So looks like you're feeling pretty stuck and stagnant, something's got you indecisive to the point of inaction. You know what you want but you're not sure either how to get it or, potentially, don't feel good enough to receive it. But the truth is that you absolutely do deserve to receive what you want and actually more than that. You have the ability to get it too, don't worry for now about how stable it is in the beginning or if it's something that's going to be around for the long-haul. The universe is waiting for you to take the first step so it can lay down the path before you. The path only exists once you decide to take it. Idk I'm getting scattered energy a bit here so maybe work on your focus, use your intellect to rationalise it out a bit, and you'll see how to get around any obstacles you do genuinely face but tbh I'm getting that the biggest obstacle in your path is you, so just set your sights on where you want to go, let your feet start walking and you'll be amazed where you end up. You don't even think you're the Knight when in reality you are already the King.

PILE 5

Seems like you're in a bit of a transitional phase right now and feeing at a loss for where to start. You're not sure you can do it alone, but you're so full of impetus to begin. Start with healing and go from there, you have everything you need to get where you want to go but you won't get there if you keep focusing on what's missing or lost in the past. You're going to need to take life by the balls a bit but the rewards are so worth it. Everything you've dreamed can be reality if you balance the emotional/intuitive side and rational side of your brain. Overall it seems like you're in a way better position than you feel/think, or that there is not so much work needs doing as it seems from your perspective right now. You could be seeing real movement and change as soon as six weeks from now.

[blissfulbluee]

Helloo! I fucking love your analysis on gi-hun's character and the way you defended him lol (gotta defend our bbg <3) And sorry for asking cuz I really need someone smarter than me. I saw a post that blamed Gi-hun for Jung Bae's death, that all he could have done was give Jung Bae money so that he wouldn't go to the games (also for ghosting Jung Bae). And that he could have helped other poor people, but he chose to go back to the games.

Also, a YouTube video comparing and saying "who had it worse?" shows Gi-hun and In-ho.

And those takes frustrated me that I couldn't form into words TOT. I'm like a child asking for validation lol.

(again, sorry for asking and for horrible grammar/english)

Thank you! I truly appreciate it. You are all so nice to me :). Also, don't insult your intelligence, please! All Gi-hun defenders have the smartest most beautifullest brains ever. Also, your english and grammar is great, don't apologize. I hope you are satisfied with this answer. I've been waiting to talk about this one.

I also saw that post. Let me get this out of the way first: everyone is entitled to their opinion and I am not making this post to shame anyone or create drama. I just want to get my points out there.

Jung-bae's death is not on anyone except for In-ho.

Gi-hun was not the cause of Jung-bae entering the games. He "ghosted" Jung-bae because he had just went through horrible, unimaginable things and could barely make it through everyday life. People with tons of trauma like that tend to isolate themselves for many reasons. For Gi-hun, he is carrying a lot of weight and it's hard to keep up with relationships when you are constantly experiencing emotional pain. He doesn't want to burden people with that, or put them at risk by being the prior winner who is out to stop the games.

Also, how was he supposed to know Jung-bae was desperate enough to join the games or that he was even a target? He didn't know that he had debt like that or was losing his family to divorce. Maybe you can argue that he would have if he kept in contact, but see my above statements.

In addition, it is vital to Gi-hun's character and his plotline that he sees that money as blood money. He only started using it when he was desperate to stop the games. Plus, what would paying off peoples debts do in the long run? It doesn't erase future debts or all debts for that matter. Gi-hun didn't win that much money. Yes, that is still a good and easier thing to do, but that would not stop the games. It makes sense for him to use the money for finding the recruiter instead so that even if someone has a debt (which is pretty much unstoppable) that they won't be placed in fucking death games. Plus, wouldn't you also want to know about the games and how to stop them after all that had happened to you?

I just don't think its fair to blame Jung-bae's death on Gi-hun, at all.

[girlietips]

Can you give us ideas of healthy recipes for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a calorie deficit and tips on not to snack between meals. BTW I love your blog, I found it today and love what you’re post on it 🥰

Omggg yess! I can’t say I am the best cook especially with college I don’t cook much but I have a couple recipes that are easy.

Recipes

I love love yogurt bowls. You can put anything in them and most yogurts are lower in calories and have good protein. I prefer the oikos protein yogurt. Also if you add a scoop of protein powder you bump up the protein and it creates this delicious thick texture that satisfies a lot of my milkshake cravings and doesn’t feel like a low cal meal.

I also love soups because they are easy to make relatively low calorie and you get a whole meal. Also canned soup is pretty good in terms of calories and I like to bump up the protein with hard boiled eggs on the side.

Oatmeal is also amazing for if you like a hot meal at breakfast. Or you could do overnight oats and play around with different flavors.

When I do cook I like to stick to the formula of lean protein + vegetables + starch/carb. While these meals can get boring if you don’t mix them up enough they are a good fall back. Also makes shopping easier for those like me who get stressed at the grocery store.

Sandwiches are also really good for protein as most deli meats have amazing macros. You can also find relatively low calorie bread (or do a tortilla and make a wrap). Also be aware of how much condiments you are putting on because some are way higher in calories than you would believe.

While I love and recommend smoothies I have found that they don’t satisfy my hunger that much and often times have the same calories as a whole meal. So I recommend eating something solid with your smoothie so you can feel satisfied.

Snacking help.

So first off snacking is not inherently unhealthy it’s what you are snacking on and if it’s mindless.

First make sure you have a lot of macro friendly snacks. I love hard boiled eggs, protein bars/shakes, cut fruit,and vegetables, and rice cakes.

Next it’s important that you aren’t mindlessly eating. I find it is always good to put your snacks in a bowl rather than just grabbing the whole bag. I also recommend not watching things while eating and really savoring your food this is so you can listen to when you are full.

I also think it’s important to understand that if you just ate a full meal with proper amount of protein and fiber. You should not be hunger 30 minutes after. If you are I recommend giving yourself an hour. During this hour you are gonna drink water and do something productive. Once the hour is over if you are still hungry you can grab a snack (especially if you are in a female body there are going to be times of the month you need more food) but most times you probably won’t be hungry.

Mainly just keeping busy and making sure you are not depriving yourself of your favorite foods will stop snacking. I eat chocolate everyday and the fact that I know I allow myself that makes it easier to put the chocolate down.

Hope this helps I am not the best for recipes when I do cook I cook the same things over and over. I highly recommend searching up on Pinterest or TikTok/instagram “high protein low calorie meals” there are so many people who are much better cooks than me putting out amazing recipes daily.

Thank you for the support Xoxo 💋💋

[atypical-artisan]

A MEGA REVIEW OF EGG

This is my mega review of all the current chapters of @tonitheloftwing's 'Egg' as a (Late) birthday gift for him! Also including a mock up of a fic cover image for him too!

Review will be by chapter and include my initial thoughts and re-read thoughts separated by a line.

~

If you're to lazy to read the in-depth review:

Egg is good. It's very realistic and balances it's darker themes with wonderful warmth and charm. The character chemistry is excellent and the main focus, Bianca, is such a sweet woman trying her best. Give Mac ur love and go read it on AO3!!!

Chapter 1:

Initial thoughts: Good setup! Warm, inviting, it really feels like a mother’s love when reading. A little surprised by the ‘house on fire’ metaphor near the end but it’s a small bump. It’s a pleasantly short into that introduces us to Bianca's warmth well and starts the story off on a high note.

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As said in the first read through/review: This chapter exudes a warm atmosphere. It’s clear that Bianca is a loving mother, putting Mac before herself always, doing everything she could to make him happy, paying attention to his interests, playing with him without being cruel, letting him go off on his own without being clingy, etc. It’s a good start for the whole premise of the fic!! It tells a lot about her character in this stage of her life and is a good contrast w later scenes. On the surface it may seem a little slow but upon reread it’s really excellent in how it references aspects of future stories and sets up her character. So bravo work!!

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Chapter 2:

Initial thoughts: Genuinely pretty funny Chapter! It still retains the “warm memory’ aspect of the previous chapters while adding airs of sweetness and humor with Mac’s finding of a cat. It feels pretty realistic for a young child! On top of that the introduction of Mac’s biological father is interesting, especially with how him and Bianca almost immediately fight, distracting them both from Mac to a dangerous degree, and how he comes late to clocking out of work. His approach to parenting feels distant and lax, while Bianca is realistic and trying to keep Mac in order.

~

This chapter is greater than I remember. I really appreciate that u chose to keep Mac as Mac for the most part cause it’s a hell of a lot easier to read like this. Mac's attachment to his dad at this time is really clear but it’s also painfully clear how little his dad cares for Mac and Bianca's time and how little he regards the safety of Mac. While Bea is stretching herself thin w him, worried sick and terrified when their two year old runs off. Mac's dad just laughs, takes a photo let’s the baby keep the damn thing without regard for the landlord. He wouldn’t survive a day parenting alone. And it’s clear to me Mac likes him so much cause he spoils him in a way and teaches him bad behavior. A darkness within but still keeping warmth.

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Chapter 3:

Initial thoughts: Interesting chapter! A lot darker and colder than the last two from the get-go it’s really great! It’s a bit of a sudden shift but the aspect of dealing with the emotions feels really well done and well paced. It’s clear both Mac and Bianca are seriously struggling but trying to get by and it feels pretty realistic. There are some moments, like the one in the car where Mac is explaining his emotions- that feels older than what a 5 year old should be capable of expressing and took me out of the story a bit but it’s still really well written. Maybe if that one aspect was cut up into a smaller monologue it would have worked better for me. The broken glass was a really hard hit and the little hints you give to Mac's autism are really cool!! I also like the element of strict gendering kids do here its a nice setup to future trans aspects of the story. Overall a good, darker chapter!

~

Though upon reread this chapter is less jarring, it’s still heavy hitting and a hard shift in tone from previous chapters. Some of Mac’s words feel really adult here but, Bea implying he’s mimicking his father makes it make more sense. The part where Bea is broken up about the wine glass is really powerful- even if someone hurt us we can still miss them and want to preserve our happy memories of them and it can be horrible if we can’t. Honestly this scene suck to me so much that I got an inkling of autism in Bea from it. Egg is a menace- breaking Bea's heart like that even tho he gets wet food. Plus painful chapter title damn. And Mac parroting how he’s been raised by her is a sweet touch, it feels realistic.

~

Chapter 4:

Initial thoughts: Interesting choice to make his deadname something ppl frequently hc as his name! Oooh very dark aspect of her suspecting Mac’s autism symptoms are from learning abusive behaviors form his dad. Hmm and Bianca being resistant to therapy and the idea he’s autistic? No bueno. Also Interesting is her pushing herself so hard when she does have extra support. She’s like a lot of parents- without a life outside of her kid. Kim seems like a good friend and Bianca is really resistant from moving away from Mac or focusing on other ppl outside of the small circle. OH DAMN YIKES ON MAC THO. Poor boy having such a bad breakdown over everything. Really interesting how his dysphoria is manifesting. On the surface it seems like he might be anxious about the sexism of other kids but we as readers know there’s something more going on. Good chapter! Less dark than the previous but not as warm! It’s a good blend of darkness and light!

~

Rereading this chapter hit hard tbh. Mac's anger and gender distress at the end was just as hard to read as the first time and Bea's attempts to hide her financial troubles, brush off her friends suggestions, and overall clinging to mac are still really clear aspects of her personality. Mac and Bianca's writing feel really realistic to p much everything mentioned here. Like u mentioned the first time, I like how the gender thing could’ve been interpreted as anxious girl afraid of bullies because ppl dislike how they're not femme enough or are just sexist in that time and not something like Mac is trans. Seeing Bianca be hesitant to admit that something is different abt him is also cool as is her hesitance to seek ppl outside of her kid.

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Chapter 5:

Initial thoughts: Really interesting how tense Bianca is about everything. That really seems to be a staple of her personality when Mac is young compared to when he was a baby and when he’s older. And ooh yay Doc!! I can already see Bianca is noticing a lot about him! Him and Bianca have a smooth chemistry already, warm and inviting! Doc is really charming and his banter with Bianca is really natural!! And LOL even in the middle of a dream scenario Bianca is still nervous af abt mac. Ngl the whole kids convo feels a little rushed for a first meeting BUT it actually works p well considering Bianca's entire personality here. And hey once again Doc being Prince charming! There really is a warmth brought back in this chapter from the previous two, it’s a nice change of pace and the ramp form anxiety to warmth is nice. LOL I also love the pen hunting thing you got- very cute. Ngl I really love Doc's enthusiasm here, it’s so sweet and good to read for Bianca. And DAMN Bianca, back at it again with the anxiety. I love how she affirms herself tho, really great. Still just delicious banter between her and doc. Even when they get on edge it’s not bad and it’s still so smooth! "Her name sounded so beautiful on his lips” <- YUM LINE.

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Another great chapter to reread. It does a great job at really stretching Bea's character out to be on full display. She’s incredibly high strung, focused on Mac, yet when Doc comes into the picture a more forward and flirty side comes out of her. And Doc is incredibly sweet and pleasant- a prince charming for real. It makes sense for both of them to be a little shy and awkward but the date is really smooth and it feels really good to read. I’m surprised by how long Bea and Frank were together from at least 20 to 35 holy shit. No wonder she’s so wrecked about him it was at least 15 years- her entire young adult life- down the drain. Doc and her getting together at the end feels rewarding and it’s nice to see Bea come out of her shell to chill.

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Chapter 6/Stiff Peaks:

Initial thoughts: DAMN already we got a “fuck me please”- really hot stuff. Holy crap I regret not reading this earlier. Not only does it keep up such great banter and warmth between them but it feels so real and sexy! And Doc's insistence on clear consent is so cute too. And God Bianca at the end of her rope is so funny. You really do know how to make sex so fun! The pet names are such a nice touch and both Doc and Bianca feel so mature and real here. And Jesus dude your descriptions are absolutely delicious. Just so sweet and charming and good. And even the little break between just amazing!! I REALLY regret not reading this earlier! God just hot hot hot. Amazing everywhere. there were like 2 lines formatted a little wrong but I barely noticed lmao.

~

This chapter is incredibly sexy and I love it. It masters one thing that a lot of smut fics, and really horny fiction, easily fails at and that’s the art of desire. Bea and Doc really really desire each other and you can read it in every line. It holds the whole piece together so well. That on top of their already good chemistry and easy banter makes the porn feel very natural and mature yet still vulnerable and real. That is a real skill to have in terms of writing smut. And I really love how you weren’t scared to make it awkward in a few places, you weren’t scared to have them tease each other. It feels so great that even when you did describe a lot of action it felt incredibly sexy and still in the mood. I definitely appreciate how patient Doc is during it all.

~

Chapter 7:

Initial thoughts: GOD ok, dude how do you write Doc as such a prince charming? He’s so attentive and sweet and open, Ugh he’s perfect. Esp his eagerness to look after Mac is just so cuteeeee. And God poor Mac still being broken up abt his dad n Doc promising to be better- he’s just the best! A marshmallow fluff ass relationship. Okay Mac being observant enough to sense a boyfriend is CUTE and so is the following stuff with Bianca reassuring him and getting ready. Doc is cute af again being so sweet. Doc is so good with little Mac augh!!!! Mac is such an excited little darling- I love how Doc keeps engaging him sm. Mac returns to being well written as a child! He feels so much like a 6 year old it’s cute af. And again the mood is warm and charming! I really love Mac's attachment to doc- it’s a bit quick, but makes sense with the story you’re telling. Love how willing and open Doc is, always trying to be on Mac's level! His earnestness about wanting to make Bianca happy is just fantastic. And the last few paragraphs of Bianca observing the two of them is so good, esp that last line “I want him to be with me as long as hell have me” is so GREAT

~

Another reread chapter with a ton of warmth. They all feel real and in their correct ages. Doc really has his prince charming thing going at full power like damn he’s so charming Mac immediately wanted him to be his new dad. I was expecting Mac to hate him at first but i like that he doesn’t and can tell not only how great Doc is but can be read to think of him as a way to fill the void his bio dad left. Bea is the patron saint of eternally tired mother’s, this woman is absolutely run ragged and she definitely needs the help, it’s honestly cute how Mac doesn’t understand but also sad. And Doc being so emotionally open and vulnerable with Bea and with Mac, it’s wonderful to see. Last line blew me off my feet obviously.

~

Chapter 8:

Initial thoughts: Aight, good on doc for helping the ever anxious Bianca!! And yay mac starts boxing!! RAHH DOC AND BIANCA BEING A MUSHY GUSHY COUPLE!! LOL the Yankees joke dhfbfjdj. Ur really funny lmao. I love the little convo Doc and Bianca have about Mac growing up, us so sweet and charming how much Doc loves her and wants to be in their lives. And damn Doc being anxious? LOVE. It’s so sweet how Bianca wants to help him too augh!!! And their banter is as smooth and fun as ever- you’re so great at writing good chemistry! And OOOF Doc being such a sweet, caring, attentive partner scared he’s gonna fuck things up? Goddamn, love it tho!!! Banter and convos are a+++++ you’re so good at them dude. I really like how Docs relationship w Bull has affected his mental state a lot!! It feels realistic, as does the dialog! It feels a bit like they’ve been to therapy but not enough to be super distracting, it also feels very mature! Also the “bald bull mention” with the emoji fucking SENT ME.

~

I really love how this chapter mirrors the last one in terms of story- chapter 7 involves Bea's fear of sharing what’s troubling her in a current problem and finding a reassurance w Doc and now Doc is getting reassurance from her for a past problem. It’s really nice to hear a bit of Bea's backstory here, the story about the bats was charming! Doc's moments of vulnerability are really great here too and his anxieties here make a ton of sense considering who he was dating. Bea being able to be the prince charming for Doc is really great! It’s brings a nice balance in their relationship that i was starting to feel lacking in the previous chapters. And, omg, the last paragraphs are so cute- them discussing their future together just ❤️

~

Chapter 9:

Initial thoughts: UH OH BIANCA'S SICK. My instant thought was pregnart but I know that’s not gonna be it lol. I find the perspective shift and interesting choice! Is it pulling from Doc's memories now? Oh hey Mac's in therapy! That’s really great! Oh no! My heart is fucking broken dear god! At least Doc is fantastic at comforting poor Mac oml. You’re really good at writing angst too. The whole bit about Mac feeling responsible for his dad leaving him and Bianca is so sad yet so real and sweet AUGH. Doc really is best dad fr. Its so nice to see him be so open and straightforward w his affection. Also Mac asking Doc to marry his mom LMAO. Little surprised almost 2 years have passed already tbh. But I’m happy it’s not making big time jumps either! It feels a bit like a slow burn and it’s nice!

~

This is such a sweet chapter tbh. I love how Mac feels really safe to be vulnerable here and Doc focuses so much on loving Mac and showing him a safe person rather than giving to his base emotions. It’s so damn mature!! Mac is still incredibly well written and has great chemistry as he does with Bea. Mac's worries are so heavy and it’s great to hear he’s been to therapy for it, it’s even greater to see Doc handle it with grace and reassure Mac that he’s a safe person. Now Bea being sick… well on my first read i didn’t expect it to go where it did but it’s a very obvious tell lmfao. I was unsure of the pov switch at first but now I’m really into it. It gives us a great opportunity to see Mac and Doc alone! I’m curious if we’re ever gonna see Mac's pov.

~

Chapter 10:

Initial thoughts: Oooh alright, very intriguing intro here! Considering pregnart is a very scary thing! Poor Bianca!!! She’s already very anxious she does NOT need this too. Kim is such a good friend- poor Bianca breaking down and her being a saint. OH DAMN SHE REALLY ARE PREGNART HUH. And DAMN you did a good job on Doc's reaction- charming and great as ever!! Augh Mac's stupid bio dad- I hope he explodes. Once more ADORING the banter between Bianca and Doc it’s just so good!! They’re so in love it makes my heart ache. And GOD THE LAST LINE. How are you so great at ending chapters? All this good stuff has me TERRIFIED for the future my God. Mac doesn’t have a siblings so… what’s gonna happen good lord it’s a scary thought. Excited for the dread tho!!

~

WHOO BOY BIG CHAPTER. First off, I really like the pregnancy reveal and how anxious it makes Bea- she SHOULD be anxious cause this is a very rare scenario!! But even more I love how we know that he relationship w Frank and fear of him makes her scared if a lot of things, even though doc is so nice to her. It’s very realistic!! Doc's reaction is so damn sweet, nothing could be more perfect. Kim is an angel of a friend as well and it’s really great to see Bea have so much support. Mac being a little unbearable and Bea holding back her frustration is honestly cool to see!! What’s also cool is the hint that “Bea thought mac was a boy”- v clever. Now… as happy as I am for the new parents… I’m deeply worried. Bro u keep hinting that they’re gonna break up and this younger siblings WASN'T in the potluck (no comment in your own words) and frankly this has had me SO STRESSED. Bea hinting that her pregnancy was traumatic is not looking good. It’s genuinely had me worried! I’ve been thinking abt it non stop since I first finished the fic!! Do NOT break my heart bro.

(Editing Charlie: I read the tags, ik u will and forgive u)

~

Overall thoughts:

Egg is a really great story so far and the character chemistry and development is interesting af. I'm SO excited to see where it all goes and can't wait for the next update. Pls read it.

[shieldofiron]

Vibe Check Part 17

I'm a Lover, but I still Fight

Also on Ao3 here and tumblr here

Steve looks too damn good to be in here. He seems totally unaware of the attention, pausing on the dance floor to gather compliments like a beauty queen.

Billy’s dying for it on the other hand, every inch of his body buzzing with awareness when Steve glances his way, mid-dance, bopping his head and grinning like a maniac.

Billy’s a pro at acting like he’s not in love with Steve. In fact sometimes he feels like that’s what he really goes to college for. But tonight is his toughest test yet.

He stays close on the dance floor, always just friendly, keeping himself and Carver and Buckley around Steve so it isn’t too obvious when he shoots an admirer a harsh look.

Carver’s little friend from the gay straight alliance is lurking around too, possibly the only person besides Carver who seems to pick up on what Billy’s doing. But he’s just skulking with his friends, ignoring them.

Some asshole reaches for Steve’s hips and Billy pulls Steve into a goofy spin.

Steve’s all giggles, bopping to the beat, his brown eyes closed in bliss. The plan, so far that Billy’s brain can form one, is just to keep them dancing. It’s easier to keep Steve spinning so he can’t pay too much attention to Billy.

Because after that it's not too different from any other frat party: running Steve interference to keep him from going home with someone.

He doesn’t do it all the time, can’t for obvious reasons. He doesn’t own Steve. But he’s redirected sometimes. Pulled Steve into a game of beer pong or a keg stand to keep him stuck to Billy’s side.

Guilt sears him like a steak, but he justifies it to himself by promising that he’s showing Steve a good, and most importantly safe first time out at a gay bar. He’s just doing his due diligence as a member of the LGBTQIA+ community.

Buckley tugs at Billy’s sleeve, miming sipping a drink. She lost her cup a while ago by trying to pull a complex “get low” maneuver and she agreed to be a DD, so Billy will happily buy her all the Shirley Temples she wants.

Steve bounces on his heels, eyes glowing with excitement. “Yes!”

“Water,” Billy says sternly at the same time as Buckley, who points at Steve knowingly.

Steve spins and throws a heavy arm around both their shoulders. “Boo, you whore.”

“Jason?” Billy tips his chin at the bar.

Jason smiles softly, disentangling from the tattooed guy who’s wrapped around him like an octopus. Somehow he’s much more loose and free than Billy’s ever seen him at frat parties.

It makes Billy want to find this so-called boyfriend of Carver’s and give him a talking to.

Steve tows them toward the bar where the music is slightly lower and they crowd around the only open corner of the bar. Steve pulls out his dad’s credit card and squeezes between two people, waving off everyone’s protests and ordering shots.

“Do you guys come here often?” Buckley asks it generally as they make their way to a free spot a little ways away from where Steve has shoved in, but her eyes are glued to Billy.

“Why, Buckley,” Billy giggles and turns to fully face her, batting his eyelashes coyly, “buy me a drink before you throw me a line.”

She tosses her head and laughs. “No, but seriously.”

Billy looks at Carver, who seems totally checked out, staring at his phone like it owes him money, and then shoving it back in his pocket only to pull it out a millisecond later.

“We just went out once, a while ago. Carver’s the big Cottonmouth cowboy, not me.” Billy says with a shrug.

“You know any other places?” She asks.

“I’ve been to the sugar skull out in Muncie a few times, but I’m not like… into clubs.” Billy can hear how obvious he sounds, and he can only hope Buckley doesn’t pick up on it. He doesn’t like clubs so much as parties with his friends. Parties with Steve. And he doesn’t go out, he stays in, because the one he loves is at home.

Buckley’s eyes narrow the slightest bit and Billy can feel a cold sweat breaking out under what he worked up dancing. But luckily the spell is broken by Steve’s hearty laugh. Billy glances back over his shoulder helplessly, just to watch the way Steve’s head tips back as he hoots to the ceiling.

Billy turns a little more so he can see who makes his Steve laugh so hard.

He knows with his head to doubt what he sees. He knows that it’s not his dad, because that’s impossible.

But for a horrible second, the bar drops out from under his elbow and Billy’s pitching forward.

It’s partially the haircut and mustache, and the eyes, those icy blue eyes. They’re not quite what Billy sees in the mirror but it’s close enough that it has his breath tightening up to double time. And Steve is laughing, laying his hand on the guy’s chest, and the guy is old with blue eyes and a normy haircut and Billy knows this is fine but his heart… his heart…

His heart is gonna explode.

Buckley says something but it can’t get past the ringing in his ears and he can’t see any more because his eyes are swimming in something. She puts a hand on his arm and it feels awful, it feels like his heart is going to wrench out of his chest and fall to the floor with a wet splat.

Somehow he’s able to force his frozen muscles to move and make it, with slow staggering steps, to the bathroom. He closes himself into a stall so that he can die in peace.

Because that’s all he can think, all he can feel. He’s too locked in his dying body, stall swimming before his eyes, hands locked around the side of his head. His heart is pounding so hard that the stall is rattling and it’s all he can do to hold himself in one place.

He forces breath through his lungs by instinct more than anything, but the stall won’t stop rattling. There’s something at the edge of his vision, by the floor, and he shuts his eyes, too overwhelmed to know. He’s dying, he knows he’s dying. His dad is going to come. He’s going to see Billy, and that may as well be dying. If his life is about to flash before Billy’s eyes, he really wishes that it wouldn’t.

Slowly he becomes aware of something squeezing him from all around. It anchors him back in his body, bringing him back online to reality. He’s not dying, he’s just breathing really fast and sobbing, a combination that’s leaving him lightheaded.

He sucks in several breaths, gradually coming online to the strong arms around him and the scent of that $30 an ounce shampoo he knows all too well. Soft brown curls are tickling his nose and he breathes deeply to have a little more of Steve’s air inside him.

“I’m… I’m… how did you get in here?” He gasps.

“Crawled under the stall,” Steve murmurs, but it’s just soothing rumbles really. Billy melts into him, not even caring to hold back.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there until Billy’s sobs totally even out and he’s able to pull away.

“You ok?” Steve asks. He’s lost the cowboy hat somewhere so there’s nothing shading those big brown eyes from the bright overhead lights.

“I… yeah…” Billy says.

“What happened? I thought you were going to puke or something.”

“I wish.” Billy’s totally given up on making sense, he guesses. He suddenly feels far too tired for this conversation, entirely exhausted. He just wants to go home.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Billy doesn’t want to repeat himself again, and he really doesn’t have anything prepared but the truth. “I saw… it’s my dad.”

“Your dad?” Steve blinks a few times, his head twitching in that adorable way it does when he’s trying to compute. “He’s here? He’s… gay?”

“No… I… that guy you were talking to. He looked like my dad.” God, that’s so pathetic. That’s nothing. And what’s more he really needs to wipe the snot off his face but he doesn’t know if he can do it with Steve watching.

“Oh.” Steve doesn’t remove his hands from Billy’s arms.

“I had just… a…” Billy shakes his head. “It was just a stupid moment of panic, that’s all.”

“It’s not stupid.” Steve tugs him forward into another full-bodied hug and it makes Billy’s worn-out eyes prickle. “Man, I’m so sorry. Do you wanna talk about it?”

No. “Yes, I… I don’t wanna ruin your night though.”

“Who the fuck cares about that?” Steve speaks the words and they shake loose something in Billy’s chest that has the tears free flowing again.

“It’s just… obviously a worst nightmare. I mean he wouldn’t be… obviously he wouldn’t be caught dead in a p-place like this but I just saw that guy and I… I locked up, you know?”

“Your dad,” Steve holds him tighter, squeezing gently. “He’s really homophobic?”

And Billy can’t blame Steve, because it’s not as if he’s ever talked about his dad beyond a comment here or there. Billy knows instinctively that Steve assumes Billy hates his dad the same way Steve hates his dad. With like snipes about politics and the occasional strained conversation. Steve’s dad hates that Steve is a film major, and sends slightly out of touch texts about his high school basketball team.

Billy’s dad wants Billy scorched off the face of the planet. But it’s easier to pretend, for everyone’s sake, that he’s just kind of an asshole who never calls.

And Billy was and is very cool with Steve assuming that, because it makes him feel almost like a real person.

Not what Billy is, which is broken and desperate. The kind of person who cries in bathroom stalls.

Billy has to suck in a few more breaths before he can go on. “My dad… when I was sixteen he found a guy’s p-picture on my phone. He… he hurt me so bad I woke up a day later in the hospital. It was a miracle I didn’t suffer more permanent brain damage, because it was almost a coma.”

Steve says nothing, and Billy was grateful Steve doesn’t immediately stop holding him, because Steve is the only thing holding him up right now.

“He wanted to move us out of state because the nurses were asking questions, I guess a cop was sniffing around.” Billy sniffles again.

“What happened?” Steve prompts when Billy takes a beat too long to continue.

“Argyle. His mom’s a lawyer, family law. She took me on pro bono after Argyle snuck a picture of me in the hospital. She helped me get out, get emancipated. And my step-mother, she was able to use it in court too. B-because it was on record,” Billy sniffs again, and Steve pulls back from the hug. Billy’s about to panic again that he said something finally so wretchedly pathetic that Steve would leave. But instead Steve just wipes sloppily and Billy’s face with his hand, and then leans down to get some toilet paper to clean up.

“What… was it the first time he’d hit you?”

Billy laughs just a little too hard, because that question hurts, and it’s either going to be a laugh or a sob.

“Not by a long shot.”

Steve’s open face shutters for a second, all the light gone from his pretty boy eyes, and with it something vital in Billy’s chest begins to fail. This is why he never told Steve. He couldn’t stand to see that pity and derision.

But just as quick as it came, the look was replaced with something else, something much craftier.

“Want me to pick a bar fight with Dale?” Steve says.

Billy sputters, “who the fuck is Dale?”

“The guy who looks like your dad. He’s a total sweetheart.”

Billy laughs, a lot less painful this time. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s the closest I’ll get to punching your dad. For now, at least.” Steve smiles, and rubs Billy’s shoulders. “You wanna go home?”

Billy’s shoulders relax just a little, and he feels marginally less wound up. “Fuck yeah. I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”

“Then let's go home.” Steve smiles just a little brighter, and Billy was too damn tired to analyze it. He’s too tired to do anything but rest on his best friend’s shoulders as they stumble out of the bathroom. Carver and Buckley are waiting for them, but one look at the two of them and they clam up. Billy does his best to avoid everyone’s eye but unfortunately he can’t ignore Buckley is giving him mad side eye.

She accepts Steve’s keys without much comment and Carver doesn’t kick up a fuss either, waving off his GSA friends and scowling at his phone as they make their way out of the bar.

Billy can see the night’s stars and neon signs reflected in the parking lot puddles, feeling breathless for no reason. Steve all but shoves him into the backseat and joins him there. Billy can see Buckley glance back several times as they back out of the lot. But Billy ignores it in favor of closing his eyes and resting on Steve’s shoulder, and letting the rest of the night drift away.

[doshi-sukiru]

What are Optimus's feelings on Megatron's mask? Does he loathe it because he wants to see Megatron's face as they fight? Does it make it easier to hurt Megatron because he can't see the face of the bot he loved and lost? Does he feel amused by it because it reminds him of how much of a Megatronus fanboy D-16 was? Does he find a way to twist it as yet another way the high-guard is 'hurting' D-16 or trying to turn him against him?

It was a gradual descent from joy to annoyance and then anger of its existence.

At first, he found it cute that he and Megatron both had masks. It's like finding your friend matching you by wearing the same glasses- simple, but it did excite him a bit. He does enjoy how it's shaped to look similar to Megatronus's mask, and teased him a lot the first few times about it.

It doesn't take him long to find it bothersome. He no longer got to see the lovely face he always wanted to see during their 'encounters', and trying to look at the bust in his private room wasn't working as well as he hoped.

And when he spies on them one day, he sees Megatron's mask isn't on, and he's with Soundwave at the moment, who also seemed to have his mask off. The moment he shows himself to try and separate the two, he watches as both of them have their masks go up. While he doesn't care too much about Soundwave, seeing Megatron's mask go up like instinct pissed him off.

They were lovers in the past, like I mentioned, so while Optimus did assume their separation would make Megatron harder to talk with, he didn't expect Megatron to actively use a mask to keep himself separated from Optimus (metaphorically speaking). For Megatron, he didn't realize he was doing it when Optimus was nearby, just let it cover his face when he felt danger.

And yes, he did twist it into thinking that the reason Megatron covered his face was because of the high guard. He immediately assumed it was to make Megatron become someone he wasn't, someone that was apart from D-16 (Think like how Silco tried to make Jinx 'kill' Powder in arcane, with that water body). He hates that, because he knows 'Megatron' could never be the designation D-16 would pick for himself, at least not seriously. Seeing how it was like instinct for Megatron to pull the mask, Optimus believed Megatron was forced to learn it, and thought Megatron must have been losing sleep because of it too.

In reality? Megatronus had been teaching him to summon the mask when he felt any presence of danger, and in Megatron's defense Optimus was usually with other Autobots, some that Megatron knew were trying to kill him than capture him despite the Prime's orders. So his frame just reacted to OP like it was a general Autobot after a while.

The only time Optimus finally saw Megatron's face, they got separated from both of their factions on the surface. Their time alone however lasted a few orns before a quintesson attack left Megatron badly injured. When the Autobots found them first, Optimus had him get taken with them for medical treatment, leading to Megatron's second capture.

Hope that helps explain it!