#and they either come out of it stronger and better

[orcasoul]

Marcus Acacius Headcanons:

Marcus Is Overprotective When You Go Into Labour

Warnings: swearing, graphic description of childbirth, blood, complications.

Word Count: 2, 027

"That's right, just breathe through it, My Lady," one of the midwives whispers into your ear as you are gripped by yet another contraction, fingers digging into her shoulders and forehead resting on her chest while you are practically doubled over. "This is impossible!" you grit through clenched teeth as you ride out the crippling wave. "It's what our bodies are made for, My Lady." You press your hands into your lower back as you begin to pace the room slowly. "Where is Marcus? He should be here by now."

"He'll be here any moment, I'm sure. Why don't we get you into bed?" the midwife suggests. "No. I'm not having this baby without him." "I'm afraid it's not up to you, My Lady. Baby will come when it's ready." You walk to the balcony doors, searching for any sign of your husband, tears building in frustration. "I can't do this without him," you cry before another contraction clenches your stomach. It's much stronger this time and it steals the breath from your lungs. From out of nowhere the sound of hoofs echo through the courtyard and if you hadn't already been crying, you would have now, in relief as you see Marcus jump down form his horse before the animal has even stopped.

Suddenly, your feet feel warm and wet and you look down to see a puddle surrounding you. "Oh god, my waters have broken!" "We have to move you to the bed now," another midwife says and they both take a hand each to walk you over. The door bursts open and Marcus rushes to over to you, breathless and wide eyed. The midwives let go of your hands and Marcus holds you steady by your upper arms. "Marcus!" you gasp, clutching the sleeves of his tunic. "My love, I came as fast as I could," he says through heavy breathes. He turns to the midwives. "How is she?" "The labour is progressing well, General," a midwife answers.

"Arrrgh...!" you wail, collapsing into Marcus' strong arms. "It's okay," he soothes. "Let's get you into bed." Marcus helps you onto the bed, laying you back against the propped up pillows. He leans down to kiss your forehead despite the sheen of sweat coating it. "Marcus, it hurts!" you grip his hand, squeezing tight. He holds your hand in both of his, wishing there was more he could do for you. He's never felt so useless. "I know..." his voice cracks at the sight of your distress. "But you're strong and you can do this, I believe in you." The midwives are now either side of you, one of them setting down towels on the bed.

The other turns to Marcus. "General, would you wait outside please? We must examine your wife-" "No! I want you to stay, Please!" you plead frantically, not letting go of Marcus' hand. "My Lady, we must examine you privately-" "I'm not leaving her!" Marcus interrupted, sharply. "But sir, it wouldn't be appropriate for you to remain for-" "I don't give a fuck for propriety! I'm not leaving this room! She needs me." The midwife nods her head in respect, "Yes, Sir." They do their checks and you're surprised when they tell you it's already time to start pushing.

Three hours later and you're still pushing. Wave after wave of pure agony rips through your abdomen as you bare down with all your might. Marcus has slid behind you, his legs on either side of you while he supports your weight against his body. One hand is taking the brunt of your pain while the other dabs at your forehead with a damp cloth. "I don't think I can do it anymore," you say, sluggishly, head lolling on Marcus' shoulder as the latest contraction eases. "Yes you can. You're more than capable, darling. You're doing so well," Marcus encourages you. The midwives have now been joined by a Medicus. Marcus had insisted on summoning a Medicus after two hours of slow progress. Better safe than sorry. Your back arches against Marcus and you scream. The contractions are now only a minute apart.

"Isn't there something you can do to help the baby along?!" Marcus asked the Medicus, trying but failing to keep his frustration hidden. "She's been at this for hours." "We're doing everything we can, Sir," the Medicus reassured. "Is it normal to take this long? She's exhausted." The Medicus sighed, "Everything's fine, General. It's perfectly normal for this stage to take a few hours or more." Marcus knew he was being overbearing, but he doesn't care. All that matters to him is the well being of you and his child. So used to being in control is he (wether it's on duty or at home) that having to rely on someone else leaves his nerves feeling frazzled.

He's always been a rock for you; always been able to make anything better and now for the first time, he's completely helpless. A sob so desperate breaks from you that Marcus can literally feel his heart crack in two. He brings one hand up to cup your cheek, wiping away the tears with his thumb. "It's okay, my love, I'm here," his voice shudders as his eyes fill with tears. "You're strong. You've got the heart of a warrior, you know that? Just think, when it's all over you'll get to hold our precious child safe in your arms. Just a little longer, my sweet. You've got this." "Marcus, I ca- arrrgh!" Marcus' body instinctually tenses along with yours, as if the action could somehow impart some of his own strength into you.

"My Lady, you must stop pushing!" a midwife suddenly instructed. Marcus' head snapped to the midwife. "Why?" "What's wrong?!" you both said at the same time. A moment of silence passed as the midwife leaned in closer to examine you, but to Marcus it felt like an eternity. "Tell me what's wrong!" he commanded, his patience wearing thin. "The baby's breach. Everything will be alright, but on the next contraction you'll have to push harder, My Lady." Marcus shuffled behind you, tightening his hold on you. "You can do this-" "I can't do-!" you cry in desperation but it's cut off by another need to push. "That's it, that's it. It's coming. keep pushing..." the midwife cheers you on. "The body is out!" she smiles widely as you collapse back against Marcus.

He can feel the heat from your flushed cheeks against his neck, your breaths ragged against his skin. He turns to press a kiss to your forehead, stroking your sweat slicked hair from your face. "Okay, one last big push and your little one will be here," the midwife excitedly exclaims. Without another word you tuck your chin into your chest and give it everything you've got. "That's it, you're doing it. It's almost over," Marcus praises you as you give one last scream. Then the most beautiful and anticipated shriek fills the room as the new life makes itself known. "It's a girl! Congratulatios, My Lady, General." The midwife holds the baby up and Marcus takes in the sight of his impossibly tiny and beautiful daughter. Her scrunched up little face framed with dark little curls makes his heart skip a beat.

He watches in awe as she is placed on your chest, your sobs of pain now replaced with tears of joy as your hands gently stroke her body, whispering how much you love her already. Marcus cups the back of her head, feeling her delicate warmth. "You did it, my strong, fearless wife!" he coos into your ear, unashamedly crying along with you. He couldn't be more proud of you; more in love with you than he is in this moment. But this bubble of joy is suddenly burst when your arms and head drop at the same time, your body going limp. Marcus looks frantically between the Medicus and midwives. "What's happening? What's wrong with her?!" The Medicus quickly places a towel under your legs. "She's losing too much blood." One of the midwives takes the baby off your chest, telling Marcus to move while the others lay you down.

Marcus hovers near the Medicus as the man and the other midwife jump into action, his heart in his throat. "Help her! Please, you have to stop the blood!" He can see they're doing all they can but as he watches, horror-stricken he just can't stop himself. "Do something!" he yelled in despair. "General, you must wait outside," the midwife holding his daughter steps in front of him. "I'm not leaving her!" "You must!" she now speaks more forcefully. "I know you're worried but you have to let them do their job if they are to save her. You must give them space." Marcus looks at her, a panicked haze clouding his mind. "And your daughter needs you, now." Those words alone brought Marcus back to clarity.

He takes his baby into his arms, the midwife wrapping a blanket around her and despite his every molecule screaming at him to go to your side, he leaves the room. He paces the hallway outside the door, whispering comforting words to his daughter as her eyes, your eyes, stare up at him. "Your mothers' a fighter, just like you, my angel. She'll be fine... Please," he prays the last word, hoping the gods will take compassion on you. A little while later the door opens and Marcus freezes when the Medicus walks towards him saturated in blood. His breath catches in his lungs, sharp and painful. No, please no! "She's stable, Sir," the Medicus informs him. Marcus' shoulders sag, the tension flowing from his taut frame.

"She lost a lot of blood and will be very weak for a while. She'll need plenty of bed rest for at least the next several days." "Thank you!" Marcus breathes out in utter relief. "Thank you for saving her. Can I see her now?" "Of course." The Medicus leads Marcus back into the room, where the midwives are tucking the quilt over you. "We'll give you a minute," a midwife says and they leave the room, closing the door behind them. Marcus pulls up a Curule (chair) next the bed and sits down with the baby snug and asleep against his chest. He gently takes your hand in his, the contact causing your eyes to flutter open. You smile wearily, squeezing his hand.

"Hi, darling..." his brows knit together in a sympathetic frown. "You scared me so badly back there. I thought we were going to lose you." "I'm... sorry," you mumble, voice strained from hours of screaming. "No, you've nothing to apologise for," Marcus kissed the back of your hand. "You did an amazing job." Your gaze falls to the baby. "Is she okay?" Marcus smiles, looking down at her in adoration. "She's perfect, just like her mother." "I need to hold her. I need to feel her, please," you say, almost in tears. "Okay, don't move. I'll bring her to you." Marcus carefully lays her down on your chest and his heart feels ready to burst at the sight of you both. Nothing in his life could have prepared him for this moment; the moment his life became whole.

"We're a family," he whispers, voice strained with trying to hold back a wave of emotions. You begin to cry again but this time Marcus isn't worried. The look of pure joy shining in your eyes is an image he'll always remember. "I love you," he whispers, voice filled with conviction. "I love you, too," you pause and look to your daughter then back to marcus with a beaming smile, "We love you." Marcus leans over to kiss both you and the baby. He truly is blessed by the gods. He has achieved so much in his years; wealth, respect, glory. But it means absolutely nothing compared to what he has now. Until today he didn't realise that this is what he was made for; to love, cherish and protect his family, and he'll do just that until his dying day.

[fallenrigel]

hey hai hello it's me again. my essay is here

im firmly of the belief that kevin was in some way a special needs child, likely neurodivergent in some way. this can make emotions hard to regulate and external stimuli can become overwhelming very easily (see the boss fight line where he yells "EVERYTHING IS TOO LOUD! TOO LOUD!")

this often causes bullying, and kids are RUTHLESS, so it's not too far of a stretch to say that they'd provoke him on purpose, but we all know the thing with bullying. as @waumbgus03 so beautifully put it, "the abusers can do whatever they want, but the second the cornered dogs bite back, they are unjustified and just as bad". we only hear of kevin's behaviour from the scientists, so it's not exactly a stretch to assume we aren't getting the whole story.

how do i know this?

I used to be the 'violent' special needs kid who was written off as the 'problem child' instead of helped.

let me tell you, the other kids know when you are the 'bad kid'. they know they can get away with picking on you. it doesn't matter what they do as long as you hit last. and when you are bigger and stronger than the other kids like kevin was said to be, you always hit last.

you are constantly blamed for defending yourself, and whatever friends you do have are written off as 'not really counting' because you may get rough with them. dr white literally does in kevin's tape, and we know kevin had real friends, because in chapter 3's 6th tape, 'void', his friend joseph gets worried sick about his friend and goes out of his way to find and check on him.

this is further reinforced by the phrasing of "hurt back" as opposed to just "hurt you". he doesn't hit first. he hits back. but he was the 'problem child', put down as being prone to outbursts and violence, so he always copped the blame by default.

and trust me, being blamed constantly for standing up for yourself and being told you are somehow lesser than the very same kids who bullied you so badly that you felt you had to lash out just to save yourself? being constantly written off as the cause of problems you weren't even part of because of that reputation, even? not getting the help you need because the other kids are 'better' and 'more deserving', even if that's not what the teachers meant to imply?

it doesn't make you any less of an angry kid.

i feel it's also worth noting that in this list of people he says to 'hurt back', he lists parents. teachers and scientists we understand, but parents?

jack's parents didn't hurt him. he clearly didn't recognise them as his parents because he yelled that they were lying and clobbered them (WHICH ISN'T HIS FAULT, BY THE WAY! the scientist literally directly says in the tape that he's still adjusting to the new body and thus could not possibly comprehend his newfound strength, reinforced by his immediate retreat once he was done to let jack take over. he's been turned from maybe ~150 pounds into 900. of course he's gonna accidentally kill the first thing he sees, he's terrified). he mistook them for wolves in sheep's clothing because every other adult in that place had been. i don't think it was them he was referring to by 'parents'. matthew very obviously adored his family, who kevin never met, so it can't have been them either.

he had to mean kevin's parents. his own parents. he seems to have come from an abusive home where he learnt to hit back as a means of survival and since he clearly wasn't helped in playcare, how can you expect him to behave any differently now? in the factory's current hellscape in particular, how can you expect him to regulate now of all times? that anger keeps him and everyone he cares for alive. playing nice clearly doesn't get you much down there.

but that's the thing! he did behave differently when we met him!! we hear who is almost definitely kevin during the majority of the interrogation room line, the workyard speech, the lines about really wanting to trust you (HINT HINT), the frustration about the freezing pipes, even the "use this" as he gives you the battery in the generator room.

he went out of his way to be kind to you. hell, he was downright personable! straight-up amiable! positively affable, even! if he wanted the player dead, they would have been. if anything, his restraint was admirable! but he genuinely wanted to trust them. after a lifetime of trusting adults only ever leading to being hurt, he took a chance on this 'angel'. he let them in even when he clearly wasn't sure if he could, let alone should.

and then immediately afterwards, as a direct result of that trust, everything he loved went up in flames.

of course he blamed the player. hell, in his shoes, i'd probably blame them too! it's not a rational response, but what did you expect? he's a scared, lost, angry kid who has had everything he's known ripped from him three times over now. every time he hits rock bottom, something gives out from under him and it gets worse. all he has left now is that he is part of doey, and i can't imagine he spent all this time fighting to survive just to give that up now.

tl;dr: kevin clearly wanted to trust you, but this is the third time he has lost everything because of playtime co. the player is the adult, the employee, who he gave a chance to even after all that hurt, and it was in large part due to their actions that he lost everything again.

you can't blame him for being angry. why are you angry at this child for trying to protect what little he had left? he's just a boy, same as the others. why do you treat him so differently?

"the abusers can do whatever they want, but the second the cornered dogs bite back, they are unjustified and just as bad."

STOP ACTING LIKE KEVIN ISN'T ALSO A CHILD

I know we’re all enjoying chapter four but I need to get something off my chest…

Some of ya'll —mostly children and/or people with no critical thinking skills— have all the understandable sympathy for Matthew and Jack and what they went through before, during, and after they became Doey but you don't have this same sympathy for Kevin.

It's not Kevin's fault Doey became an "enemy" at the end of Chapter 4. Its not Kevin's fault that he was also assimilated into Doey. It's not Kevin's fault that he went through the trauma of losing his parents as a child. Trauma that also definitely lead to his anger issues and unkempt temper. Trauma that seemingly didn't get taken care of the counsellors in Playcare.

Kevin was a child too. Just like Matthew and Jack. After all the evidence we've been shown throughout the series, to blame one of these kids for being unstable after LOSING THEIR PARENTS, BEING EXPEIRMENTED ON and then TURNED INTO A LIVING TOY WITH TWO OTHER CHILDREN SHARING THE SAME BODY is absolutely ludacris.

If Matthew didn't deserve it, and Jack didn't deserve it, Kevin didn't either.

You can't pick and chose which kids to feel sympathy for, both in this series and in real life.

NONE of them deserved to be experimented on. NONE of them deserved the fates they received.

NONE of them deserved that fate.

Rart over.

[maladaptivewritings]

Wicked Woman

Summary: Soap comes home, seeing that his little sister's best friend is staying during their spring break.

TW: General C.O.D activities, Catholicism, Cain instinct

Y/N: Early-mid twenties, College student, Maybe has siblings? not-catholic reader

word count 1.2k

"Do you ever shut up?" Theresa jeered at her brother, sapphire blue eyes darting across the small coffee-table.

" 'M fully convinced that Ma paid to get'cha to graduate." The oaf of a man scoffed as he slammed his last card on the table. Two hours of Uno led to this, as his laugh echoed off the walls. Theresa's back fell to the floor, her sigh following Soap's celebration.

"'Kay bubble boy." Her hand caressing her freckled temples, interrupting the man's lap around the table. He paused, and as you laid atop Theresa's bed.

Stone-Gray eyes meet your own, soon turning towards your best friend. Pulling yourself from where you were perched upon, you try to avoid the conflict about to occur. You didn't want to deal with being a human shield for either if things got nasty. By the time you had gotten to the door, you had realized how quiet the room became.

You wanted to turn around and see the stalemate that began, but self-preservation was stronger. Closing the door before you heard a thunk against the wall. Curses were muffled but Theresa's frustration was clear as she stormed out.

"You Good?" You inquired, her face red from loosing. This was the fifth loss today, no matter the game nor the player. Her huff was enough as you backed away. Johnny's laugh cueing you into what occurred.

"Dinnae worry about her lass, I just dropped ice on 'er." His voice holding back laughs."'Tch she's such'a baby."

You stifle your own laughs, that was your best friend, but she was a drama queen. His wry smile stirred at the pit of your stomach as the chuckles escaped your lips. Content with the fact he made you laugh, he ruffles your hair, disappearing into one of the many rooms as he left.

Theresa's return was now a 180, leftover's stolen from the fridge in her hands as she and you return to her room. The warm light of her lamp caressed your face as you sat with her. She ranted and raved about how annoying her brother was, and why did he have to come here of all places when on his break. Spring break was not going according to her plans. This rant was hours, mindlessly listening as you scrolled on your phone. The evening sun peeking through the window pulled you from this hypnosis, soon following the call that dinner was done.

The table stocked with family and friends as Joesph and James heps their mother set up. You had no clue who half of these people were, or what was for dinner as you sat between Theresa and a younger girl.

"Oh Tati, that's y/n" Theresa explained, the girl shared the striking blue eyes that all the boys shared. Wild curls pulled back as she nodded.

"Y/n dear, thats Tatiana." The matriarch of the McTavish's dotted. "Theresa, use her name, 've told ya this."

Rolling her eyes once more as they situated themselves, than Mama 'McTavish begins prayer.

FUCK

Everyone bows their head, you follow fidgeting with the tablecloth as you try to follow along. Most of the table's eyes closed as your own dart amongst the crowd, besides John's of course. A snort escapes him as he sees the shock on your face, eyes now squeezing shut to pretend you no-part of his mess. You could almost feel the hole being burned into his head by his mother.

Dinner was long, and grueling. Talking to strangers was not a strong-suit of yours, at all. Neither was deciphering accents as strong as these, you silently nodded along to the conversation. Head held low, both literally and figuratively as you hid from the crowd. You felt like a kid at the adult table, despite the fact teen you set beside doing better than yourself.

You counted; first the photos on the wall 19, than awards won 12 soon followed by the people at the table 15, finally crosses worn. You had made it to 9.

Eye contact, as you made it to Johnny. Eyes already focused in on you. You wanted to melt away in your seat, seemingly he did to,

"Um, Mrs. McTavish I can do the dishes while everyone catches up." Your offer posed, an escape attempt. As the woman smiles, you notice your counter want to drown in his jacket.

"Oh dear, your too kind. This is a lot though hinny." Thin lips disclose, as she wants to accept your subtle escape.

"I can help 'ma." John quipped along, soon getting a jab in the rib by Joesph. This whole dinner was for his return, and the twin's didn't want attention on either of them ofcourse.

"My sweet boy, you shouldn't runoff so quick." His mother retorted, her voice is cavity-causing as she tried to hold him longer.

"I insist," He said now making his way towards the woman. You stood in the doorway, unable to remove yourself from this mess. "Shouldn't make a lady do all' tha work." He lightly presses a kiss on his mother's forehead, shooting a glance at his brother. Always the favorite.

The both of you sat in that kitchen, loading and scraping plates. The only noise coming from the next room

"Should I make coffee?" Y/n's voice broke this.

Johnny raised an eyebrow at the thought, as if asking to elaborate.

"Feels right, y'know...Just wondering" The quiet was killing you, maybe you should have just stayed on campus for the break.

"I'd could have a cup." He nodded, grabbing the grounds from the top shelf, his shirt riding up as he reached. He set up the coffee-machine, yeah he was stealing your task once again.

"Seriously?" You contended,"I can't have one thing I can do alone." Tossing your hands in the air as you finish the last dish. He smiled simply waiting for you to crack.

"Y'know what nevermind asshole." Your hushed tone, only audible to him as you splashed the dish water onto him.

That was it.

Until he splashed you. Suds in your hair as you turn around, malice in your eyes.

"Nevermind what? 'eh bonnie?" He quoted, eyes narrowed in like a dog wanting to play. You, of all people up against him? The feral racoon of a man?

You slung a wet rag at him, tripping yourself from the water now spattered on the floor as you ran. Luckily he slipped too.

Everyone in the dining room clueless as you ran throughout the house, quietly cursing as you roamed this maze of a home. Tonight you would be Theseus, and beat this bull.

You reached the last room, no more to wind in and out of in a Scooby-Doo chase. Johnny stood at the exit, eyes watching your every move.

This was his job this is why he was called Soap. It was funny for you to think you could escape the cold thwap of the dishrag that he himself received. The one thing he didn't think of though was how long it'd take for y/n to fall behind the door, and the fact that he couldn't break it down.

The conspiratorial grin that crossed your face as your plan was put into place.

Steps on the stairs,

Soap turns, the door closes, and as his sister-in-law slips bby to use the restroom. You had vanished into one of the many rooms.

[asthedeathoflight]

Like you / Like me

Hi guys. Today I was reading Metal From Heaven by August Clarke and was suddenly seized by like I don't know some kind of fucking spirit. So I went home and I wrote this in essentially one sitting, with a break for dinner in the middle in which I was still kind of writing it on my phone.

CWs for this fic for depiction of a panic attack from a POV character, and also the fact that it is rated M for lesbiaM.

~ ~ ~

People wonder - aloud, even - at how it was that Ajax had come to join the Warriors. If it was in a moment of violence, or bravado. Ajax tolerates the younger girls’ wild speculation and knows the truth will never live up to the legend. The place where everybody gets it wrong is that they expect her to have joined the Warriors as Ajax. Ajax is a Warrior. Ajax has always been a Warrior. Ajax has always been a Warrior. But she didn’t come to the crew as Ajax. There was a girl, once upon a time, who Ajax remembers now in fits and starts, and the story of how she became a Warrior isn’t worth telling to anyone who wasn’t there. And almost everyone who was there is gone. 

The girl who would one day be Ajax became a Warrior in a tense, quiet conversation in which she did not speak at all. She stood near a wall in the tiny, dingy office above a butcher shop and stared sightlessly past where the woman who had maybe always been Cleon spoke with steel in her voice and fire in her eyes. Ajax could never look at her when she was like that. Cleon like that was like the sun, like something that was too much of what Ajax was meant to look at, so much of what Ajax had been made for that she was poisoned by it. 

Cleon was leaning over the desk to speak urgently to the woman behind it, quiet like the ocean was quiet, like she knew her power and didn’t care if you heard her coming. 

Something changed in their conversation. The woman Cleon was speaking to sat back in her chair, scraping a hand along her jaw thoughtfully. She wasn’t safe to look at either. She was rough-hewn like a boulder or an unpaved road, and her shoulders and hands were broad and square. She had a moth-eaten wool cap pulled over her dreads, even inside - no use paying for heat in a building where most of the inhabitants would spoil at room temperature. Her name was Daedalus, and looking at her made Ajax feel a little bit like throwing up, like the spinning feeling of having taken a hit before the pain came. 

So Ajax looked at the wall past them, where it was yellow with smoke residue near the ceiling, and tried to hear their words without understanding them. She had always been shit at not saying everything she felt with just her face, and Ajax wasn’t sure how she was feeling at the moment, so she couldn’t afford to give any of it away. 

Cleon continued intently for a few moments, leaning her weight on the desk for just a second, and then Daedalus nodded slowly. Cleon rocked back on her heels, breathing out like the venting of a steam engine; like wheels spinning slowly to a stop. “Okay, great,” she said, and Ajax had lost whatever rare focus was allowing her to let the conversation slip over her without sticking. 

“Okay,” Daedalus echoed, more gruffly. “You better have meant all that shit. I don’t take kindly to exaggeration.”

Cleon nodded fervently, and Ajax made a mental note to have her explain the bargain she had made on Ajax’s behalf. Oh, Ajax was sure she worded it for both of them, but Ajax was faster and stronger than her. She would shoulder most of it. Cleon didn’t have a choice about that. 

The door to the little office swung open, and a woman stepped in without waiting for any acknowledgement from Daedalus. She was wearing a threadbare bathrobe and a silky little slip of a nightgown and carrying two mugs of coffee. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said with a jazz singer’s husky contralto. 

 As she entered the office she passed through Ajax’s eye line and caught her eye for a moment. She winked. Not safe to look at. Ajax moved her head to look up at the buzzing, flickering overhead light instead. 

“You’ve got perfect timing as always, Twitch,” Daedalus rumbled. “We were just finishing up.”

“How’s the latest litter of strays?” Twitch asked. 

Ajax blinked at the light, and the imprint of it glowed blue-green on her eyelids. It hurt just a little bit. She let the discomfort swallow up any other sensation. 

“Eager,” Daedalus replied.

“Aw,” Twitch cooed. “Patriotic. Cute.”

Ajax could hear that Cleon was smiling when she spoke. She could almost see that smile, cheerful and happy to help and unimpeachably angelic. Her Girl Scout smile. “Just doing business, ma’am.”

“Only one kind of business here in Coney, girl. Don’t go forgettin’ that.”

“Of course not,” Cleon said, a little bit sharper. A little bit more cat-with-the-cream. “Sir.”

Ajax failed to duck away from the chill that ran through her. Her body came back online all at once, without her permission. She dropped her gaze from the light down to the room, barely seeing anything except what she needed to - the door, Cleon’s back, the skeptical upward tilt of Daedalus’s eyebrow. 

Cleon’s hands were clasped behind her in parade rest. Her fingers twitched once in the moment of silence, but Ajax couldn’t imagine it had shown on her face. A heartbeat of silence in the room, and then Daedalus threw her head back and laughed. 

“Christ,” she said, chuckling, “You’re something else. Okay, run along. We’ll be in touch.”

And in the release of the imminent-danger feeling in her body, Ajax became aware that she had missed something. Daedalus, not just a facial expression and proximity to an exit. She sprawled back in her chair comfortably, mug of steaming coffee in one hand. Twitch had come around to stand on her other side , both hands around her mug, standing in the corner formed between Daedalus’s body and the chair and the desk. Daedalus’s other arm was hooked comfortably around her waist beneath the bathrobe, fingers splayed over her hip.

Daedalus and Cleon finished having some kind of silent exchange Ajax wasn’t privy to, and then Daedalus turned to Twitch in a way which plainly signaled the end of Ajax and Cleon’s relevance to the conversation. As Cleon was turning to her so they could go, Twitch leaned down and kissed Daedalus on her still crookedly-smiling mouth. Casual, easy, like parents on TV. 

Ajax wasn’t frozen. Frozen implied an external force that she could strain against. It was just that, suddenly, there was nothing for her to move. She was dropped into cold water. There was no relationship between Ajax and any moving part of her body. Cleon noticed her not leaving. She rolled her eyes and grabbed Ajax by the hand and tugged her towards the door. Whatever had been left in the shell of Ajax that she had abruptly vacated followed obediently behind her, down the stairs and out to the street and back to their apartment. She could feel Cleon’s fingers between her own more like pressure than warmth. 

Cleon fumbled with their keys one-handed when they got to their door and Ajax watched her without seeing, without being able to just goddamned move and let her go so she could open the door. Cleon exhaled in relief as she dragged Ajax across the threshold and shut the door. Her inhale bubbled up and over in her until she was giggling uncontrollably as she bent over to unlace her boots. Ajax stared at her mutely, the ice water slowly draining from her. 

“Holy shit,” Cleon whispered to herself as she straightened up. “Holy shit!” she said again, louder, gleeful. “Holy shit, we did it!”

She stomped her feet and rubbed her hands together a little bit like it was cold, like she did when she was excited. She kicked her boots off to land vaguely next to the coat hook and took a few steps further into their apartment before she noticed that Ajax still hadn’t moved. She turned back to her, still grinning - vicious, giddy, victorious. Whatever she saw on Ajax’s face made her stop. 

What had she seen on Ajax’s face? This was the problem with being Ajax, a problem she had inherited from the girl she was before. Anyone looking at her could tell how she was feeling, but Ajax’s perspective was all wrong. She couldn’t see herself. She didn’t know. 

Cleon’s eyebrows drew together in concern. “Hey,” she said, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Something was wrong? Yes, yes, Ajax realized, something was wrong. The cold water was gone from her and she could feel the raw ache of ice on her insides, a feeling that could have been fear or anger. But oh, how Ajax’s body loved anger. 

“Did you know?” Ajax’s voice was hoarse to her own ears. Not hoarse like Twitch or Daedalus, with time or cigarettes, but hoarse like it was after she’d broken in a moment of weakness and started to scream. 

“Know?” Cleon still looked a little confused, like she wasn’t sure what was going on. Like maybe they were still kids, and Ajax had just skinned her knee. 

“Becca, did you know?” Was it still Becca, then? In their apartment that afternoon, Ajax doesn’t know what to call either of them. They would climb out of that time-between when Daedalus finally called, Cleon leaving Beck Waters in a closet like an old coat and Ajax leaving the girl whose name she sometimes no longer knows in a grave. 

“Is this because of me?” she had demanded, and the vice grip of the glacier had caught her around the ribs. “Because I'm not -” She'd choked on the words, then. “I'm not like that. I'm not like them.”

Realization came to Cleon like dawn, like pity, and in the futility of that moment Ajax had never hated anyone other than herself so much. 

“Ajax,” Cleon says in her memory, and her lips make a different shape. The sound scraped across her in that moment and she shook with the sudden collapse of all her failures, with the sudden snap of a lie. 

“Nooo,” Ajax had said, a lost and animal sound. Where was anger when she needed it? “No, no, no.”

She couldn’t breathe in. She raised her arms to ward off the blow that would not come, forgot the years since she had been small enough for anyone to hit her from above. She couldn’t hear Cleon’s soft footsteps over the sound of her failure to breathe. She put her arms over her face, instead, to protect herself from having to see. 

She felt Cleon’s hands on her shoulders, felt how they were steady over the shaking thing she could hardly recognize as herself. 

“If this is about - I’m sorry - I didn’t mean it, it was a mistake, please -” Ajax could hear herself speaking, beginning unforgivably to dissolve into sobs. “Please, I didn’t mean it, I’m not like them.”

And the lie scorched her throat on the way out. 

The world melted around her and she felt Cleon’s hands on her face, her careful soft fingers wiping away the tears that were spilling from her like blood from a wound. Ajax felt that kindness in her like venom, like briar in her airways. Her chest heaved and no air came in. Cleon tried to draw her in, to press Ajax’s face to her shoulder, but Ajax could only see Daedalus’s broad bicep tucked comfortably into the curve of Twitch’s back. 

She struggled in Cleon’s arms, shoved and fought against the encroaching gentleness without any of the strength she had clawed from her body. She was small and weak and helpless, and the last time she had allowed herself to be overtaken by the softness and heat of Cleon’s body she had nearly ruined them both. 

“Please, please,” she begged, “I can’t. I can’t - I can’t-”

Cleon’s thumb traced little circles along her temple and the wanting jolted through Ajax as a pain too big for her body, rising and falling in waves as it kicked and screamed to be heard. 

“You have to breathe,” Cleon said. As Ajax’s vision refocused on her she looked stricken, looked like it was her heart threatening to collapse into a black hole. There were tears wavering at the corners of her eyes. “Please, for me, you have to breathe.”

And Ajax’s only hope for salvation was some kind of self-immolation but she was too wicked and bruised for martyrdom and she could never deny Cleon anything, not even to save her. 

She breathed rabbit-fast and shallow and broke to pieces as Cleon put a hand on her chest, over her heart. The pain was nothing in the face of how completely Cleon held her then, how utterly at her mercy Ajax was. Even the wanting she surrendered to breathing as Cleon breathed, their foreheads pressed together. For a moment between the person she was and who she would become, Ajax forgot what it meant to fight altogether. 

When Ajax went limp in her arms like shaken prey, Cleon exhaled a shaky breath. “God,” she said, and she sounded like she might cry. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Ajax protested, and she felt like a child who was just barely learning how to speak. “No, I’m sorry,” she reminded Cleon.

But Cleon hardly seemed to hear her. “God, I should have known, I should’ve been stronger, I’m so sorry.”

Bathed in the soft light of having given in, Ajax could only sit up enough to look Cleon in the eyes - they were on the floor? When had they started sitting on the floor? “This is all my fault,” she said gently. “It wasn’t you, it was me. And it was a mistake. You said you believed me.”

She put her hand on Cleon’s jaw in unconscious mimicry of Cleon’s earlier gesture. She could feel the kickdrum of Cleon’s heart. 

Cleon winced, like the words were an accusation she couldn’t deflect. “I should’ve been stronger for you,” she murmured, almost to herself, “I shouldn’t have let you carry it alone, shouldn’t have let you think -”

Very carefully, Cleon reached up and moved Ajax’s hand away from her face. She pressed her thumb into the center of Ajax’s palm, and her hand spasmed under the pressure even as Cleon held her fast. 

Cleon closed her eyes and took one deep breath in and out. When she looked at Ajax again, the specter of the scared girl begging her to breathe was gone. “I’m like that,” she said calmly. Resolutely. “I’m like them.”

The words were just noise. Ajax couldn’t make them make sense. 

Cleon must have seen it on her face, must have known she was beyond words right then. Or maybe she saw the breaking dawn in her of a new kind of desire. Ajax had always been a cage-creature, accustomed to the weight of slamming doors in the face of wantings for freedom. The feeling of wanting something right across from her, something she could have, was alien. She hardly could have recognized it for what it was. But some ancestral monster woken in her body must have known, because when Cleon leaned in, Ajax was already reaching for her to drag her closer. 

For a moment, Ajax was a totally new kind of animal, an animal that had never been anywhere or anyone except here, shoved up against the doorframe with another body on top of her, breathing in another body’s air. 

“I thought I’d die,” Cleon whispered into her mouth, “God, baby, I thought I was gonna die if I never got to do this again.”

Ajax wasn’t totally sure the imminent threat to her mortality had passed. She arched up into the weight of Cleon above her until Cleon kissed her again. 

Cleon kept wanting to pull back to talk, and Ajax kept feeling like she would suffocate if Cleon wasn’t kissing her, so they worked out a kind of compromise where Cleon kissed her in between every other word and Ajax tried really hard to comprehend language. 

“I’m so sorry,” Cleon said, breathless and with a giddiness that belied her words. “I’m sorry, I was stupid, I was waiting for you.”

Cleon laughed at Ajax’s expression of consternation as she tried and failed to parse this new sentence. She kissed Ajax on the nose, and then the temple. She settled herself higher in Ajax’s lap, with her cheek pressed to the top of Ajax’s head. “I thought you needed more time, I thought - I thought this would help, I thought knowing we weren’t alone would help.” 

Time. That was the thing that was forcing Ajax to experience the interminable interludes between Cleon’s mouth being on hers. Ajax hardly needed more of it. She made an impatient noise. 

Cleon laughed again and put a hand in Ajax’s hair to drag her head to an angle where Cleon could kiss her again. That was another sensation that Ajax could not consciously understand but which the ancestral monster of her body understood intimately. The first time, Cleon had felt like a wilderness, swallowing her in newness and uncertainty until she had gotten lost and pulled back in horror at what she had done. 

On the floor of their apartment, Cleon handed her back the memories of a life she had forgotten, the trembling and hunger that Ajax suddenly couldn’t believe she’d ever been able to turn away from. 

Ajax was unsteady as a lamb as Cleon guided her to her feet and lured her one step at a time across their apartment. She navigated the doorknob to her bedroom from behind her with one hand still gripped in Ajax’s braids, which was good because Ajax wasn't sure she could have managed it even facing the door. 

When Cleon’s calves hit the edge of her bedframe she kicked out her foot and tripped Ajax and spun her around in a move that temporarily jostled the circuits of Ajax’s brain long enough for her to have her first coherent thought in what felt like hours, which was that she needed Cleon to teach it to her. This momentary clarity was immediately derailed by the thought that teaching it to her would probably involve Cleon demonstrating it on her again. Maybe even more than once. 

And then her back hit the mattress and Cleon was pressing her down into the bed that had been Cleon’s that morning and became theirs long before Ajax’s brain managed to come back online. 

~ ~ ~

Ajax came to herself in pieces that week and the weeks that followed, not like recovery but like new construction. She stood in the wreckage of the girl, the smoking ruin of someone she was already forgetting how she’d ever pretended to be. 

Twitch was smoking behind the counter when Ajax finally went back. She flicked ash to the ground and smirked. “Little lamb,” she drawled, “I almost don’t recognize you.”

And that was a kind of mercy, a kind of allowance for becoming something new. Ajax hoped nobody who had ever known her before would ever recognize her again. 

Ajax grinned and held out her hand. “I don’t think we’ve properly met.”

Twitch put her hand in Ajax’s, long fingers just brushing Ajax’s palm, and Ajax remembered the twinkle in her eyes, the knowing wink. Bold as anything, bold as the person she would one day be and was already becoming, Ajax brought Twitch’s hand to her mouth and kissed the backs of her knuckles. Her skin was cool and smooth and smeared with just a little bit of blood. 

Twitch’s smirk broke into a smile. “So,” she said, “I hear you’re calling yourself Ajax now.”

Ajax’s grin broke wider like a break in the clouds. Ajax could care less if anyone recognized her, because she finally did. 

~ ~ ~

This fic is dedicated to @alexihollis and her fic where Ajax has internalized homophobia. That fic is foundational to my understanding of Ajax as a character and it was the blueprint for this fic.

[phoenixremix69]

One thing i will always praise JJK for is how they handled the "Strongest" archetype

in so many stories, there will be a "strongest" of one thing or another only for it to be subverted later by either introducing someone just as or even stronger, or they were just being manipulated, thus once the manipulator shows up they're no longer a threat

Take Naruto for instance. Pein was supposed to be the ultimate big bad, the leader of the final villain group, the bearer of they eyes of the sage with godlike power at his fingertips. Then he dies and it's revealed that Obito was not only manipulating him, but he was stronger than Pein the whole time and could've ended him at any time. Then Madara comes back and you think "Oh, this is the guy, not only does he have the power, he's got the history and plot relevance to be the ultimate big bad," then he gets merced by a guy with no actual feats and replaced by Yet ANOTHER big bad this time with actually no relevance. Like none. Kaguya, never heard of her, but apparently she's responsible for everything bad that's ever happened ever.

Then let's take a look at All might and All For One. they're supposed to be the strongest hero and the strongest villain bar none. But it doesn't work for me personally because we never see them in their primes and we never actually see what they do. Like, sure All might supposedly waged a war on villainy that was so successful that Japan is one of the safest places to live period. But we never see any of it. Any time we see him fighting it just seems like one more battle until the next, like it doesn't seem like he's actually made a dent in crime rates. Hell, the second minor thugs hear there's even a chance they could take him on in the USJ, they take the chance. As for All For One, he never really seemed scary either, like he did evil things, he blew up that one chunk of a city, but he never felt like a main bad guy, he was like mid tier villainy for me. It doesn't help that most of his villainy was, for lack of a better term, retconned in. Oh yes, you were the one that fixed Dabi up, and made people racist against mutant quirks so they would turn to crime, and you gave Shiggy a quirk that would kill his parents and raised him to hate All might. Here's an idea. For your big comeback, blow up UA. Murder All Might on national TV. Interact with Deku once outside of battle. that would be a big bad thing to do, actually interact with the story

But not JJK. From the beginning of the story, we're told Gojo is the strongest sorcerer and Sukuna is the strongest curse, and that never changes. They feel big, every time they come out a city is wrecked. No one ever doubts that either of them would lose. Even Kenjaku, who is the usual manipulator,secret "I was in control the whole time," knows that the second Gojo gets close to him or Sukuna gets tired of him, he's dead. And it's not just the enemy sides that act like it, which really sells that they're threats. When Sukuna gets even slightly annoyed at Mahito for coming too close to his stuff, he backs off and never tries again. And the elders are constantly afraid and being reminded that Gojo is always about 5 seconds from just killing them all

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

The Witcher sensed the shift in the atmosphere and weather all at once, viper eyes alert and watching the surroundings... yet there seemed to be an effect on the crimson haired Sorceress as well. He looked out into the waters, saw the rippling in them... and saw the even worse effect happening to the crew, suddenly taking up a sharp variety of weapons... half of them moving towards the Sorceress and the other half towards him threateningly. Cultists after all... following the instructions of the Leviathan beneath the ship and sea... the mouthpiece for the slumbering, imprisoned Cthulhu. A Star-Spawn. He couldn't hear its voice or influence as the cultists and Sabrina likely did, not being influenced by enough close contact to the Great Old Ones' ancient books and artifacts, but he had the feeling he could translate the instructions the Cult of Cthulhu were following. Take the Sorceress prisoner and bring her to Darkwater Island and R'lyeh to help awaken Cthulhu, and kill the uninfluenced, meddling Witcher. He had been doing this long enough to be able to read the intents of others. If they actually thought they would accomplish either instruction, they had another thing coming to them, and he intended to show them what it was. Drawing his enchanted Meteorite Steel sword in a flash, he went on the offensive before the crew could fully surround and close in on him, slashing sword flashing, crossbow firing and Aard Signs blasting through their ranks.

Eskel could not afford to use bombs or fire on the ship at sea, the winds would only spread it... unnatural, sudden winds that were worsening, be it the Leviathan or Sabrina's magic, his medallion was going wild. One after another he met his attackers, spraying their blood all over the deck, painting it, their corpses falling, while Sabrina blasted her attackers off the ship altogether. They were chanting now, in an otherworldly language he knew of, even if he hadn't been stupid enough to fully learn it, preferring to let others who chose to actively study the Great Old Ones to translate it when he needed it done. The language of R'lyehian, the tongue of the Great Old Ones. He hurried up with his rapid agility, cutting them down and silencing their ominous chant. He tried an Axii Sign on the Captain, to get through to him, but no matter how much power he put into it, it made no difference. The whaler was already fully mentally possessed and controlled by a force and will vastly stronger than his Signs. He cut the cultist down instead cleanly, before running down to the ones Sabrina was fighting, cutting them down as well while they were disoriented by the turn in the weather and her magic. In time, the two of them killed every cultist crew member on the ship... yet as the redhead quickly pointed out, that left them in a precarious situation... with only his amateur sailing skills. He cursed under his breath, looking towards the helm of the ship, along with the Scylla's sails... before looking back at her again with a nod, deep, grim voice returning to her.

"You and Scorpion better hold on to something then, red. If that's what I think it is beneath us. Knew this damn boat was too good to be true. I'll focus on getting us to Darkwater Island... you focus on keeping that thing in the water off us. Maybe putting more wind in the sails to get us there faster as well."

On that note, the Witcher turned on the deck of the Scylla, sheathing his bloody sword rapidly and ran to the helm the Captain had been standing at earlier. Avoiding all the blood and corpses he could, the deck slippery with the rain water, sea water, and blood alike. Reaching the helm, the spinning wheel of the ship, he grabbed either side of it and redirected it, turning it the other direction to straighten out the boat and put it back on to its original course. By now, in the far distance, he saw a speck that could have been Darkwater Island... of course they had to make it there in one piece, first. Preferably not floating on three separate pieces of wood for him, Sabrina and Scorpion. If need be, they just needed to get close enough for the Sorceress to glimpse the shores, and she would be able to teleport them there. Even with that in mind, it was still too far away for comfort. He looked to the ship's sails, rippling in the wind and worsening weather, the rain now pouring in buckets around them, waves crashing against the sides of the ship. Something more than waves, unless he was mistaken... the image of tendrils coming to mind, moving up towards the bottom of the boat from beneath the ocean. Now more than ever, he prayed aloud, muttering under his breath... to the only deity he could think of that might cover the domain of water and be listening to him. He needed all the help he could get, with destiny turning against him once more.

"Lady of the Lake, give me strength... oceans aren't precisely your domain, but I could use an exception... gonna need it. This isn't the Eastern Coast and I ain't some kind of pirate Witcher... sailing is not me. Never too old to learn something the hard way... I suppose."

@fallesto

Sabrina remained leaning over the railing, as she felt sick, not from the rocking of the ship, she had long ago grown used to that from her younger days on ships crossing the sea for meetings with the king, but rather from the weight of the task ahead.

The sea spray stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly, trying to keep them clear as she searched the dark water below. Something about the way the waves rolled, something in the way the ship groaned in the storm, it all felt... wrong. Like the ship itself was a living creature and it was in pain. She had felt the presence of the Old Ones before, their eldritch whispers, but it had been faint, distant, like a dream at the edge of her mind.

 Now, though, it was as if the sea was their mouthpiece, speaking to her directly, urging her to abandon her quest. She took a deep breath and stood straight, pushing her wet hair out of her face. She had to be strong. For her, for Eskel, for the world. The thought of failing was not an option she could afford to entertain.

Then, she heard it—the soft metallic slide of steel being drawn from leather sheaths. The crew was moving, and not to perform their duties.

She turned her head slightly, not looking directly at them, but her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of the impending attack. The rain made it difficult, obscuring her vision, but she trusted her instincts. They had been honed over years of dealing with monsters and men who wished her harm.

The tension grew, thick and palpable, like a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury. The crew had drawn their blades, ready to strike, but she wasn't going to make it easy for them.

With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a fierce gust of wind, sending the first sailor staggering backward over the railing and into the frothy embrace of the sea.

His screams were cut short by the hungry waves, and the suddenness of the assault took the rest of the crew by surprise. Chaos erupted on the deck as the wind grew stronger, whipping their clothes and tossing them about like rag dolls.

“Your going to have to sail for us Eskel, I am not wishing to perish in the middle of nowhere!”

[color-ns]

Sometimes tweeter people know their stuff- this is the right kind of toxic angst I want to read.

[pocketgalaxies]

vilya saying "there was pressure put on me at a young age. i don't lead because i want to, i lead because i have to." and beau just going "it suits you, but also do whatever the fuck you want, i don't care." somehow feels like the most validating response Ever. i wonder how keyleth's story could have been different if she had someone beside her who didn't just say "you can do this, you'll do great" but also "do what you want to do – the people who matter most will stay by you regardless"

[yuwuta]

If megumi asked uzhsjdhshd omg I totally see it tbh him wanting you, but I don't think megumi would ever ask yuuji to share you, in any type of way at all. (not trying to push my own hc here!!) I feel like yuuji himself would be the one asking megumi. Yuuji knows that he's yours just as much as he knows you're his. And he loves you too much, a lot, it's purest type of love he has ever felt for anyone. And megumi is his best friend, he loves him just as much, right? Yes, not the same love between you and him ofc but yes. And I have no idea what they were doing but yuuji's just says, kind of out of the blue, that he'd let megumi fuck you. The reason being exactly cause he knows you're his, and you're just so so good that he needs to have someone to talk to (about you and always so respectfully) and who better that his best friend?

you’re opening the pandora’s box that is itfs + reader…. god….. 

okok i agree. if you’re dating yuuji, megumi would never ask, yuuji would be the one to bring all three of you together. definitely because he loves you and you’re his, and he loves megumi too, so it just makes sense that his two favorite people also get to have each other—but also, yuuji can tell megumi likes you, and he can tell you think megumi is attractive and since yuuji’s so nice, what kinder thing to do than to set you two up so he can watch (: he definitely enjoys being the mediator, also enjoys the somewhat awkward air between you and megumi, how yeah, maybe it’s a little taboo that the two of you are about to make out while you’re boyfriend watches, but yuuji likes that too… also he likes knowing that you both like him. like how lucky is he that his best friend and his girlfriend adore him so much :(( you two together makes so much sense in his head, because he talks to megumi about you, and he talks to you about megumi, and now, he can just pour all his love for both of you out at the same time

but also…. i’d like to think that yuuji’s maybe not so nice when it’s the other way around—when he and megumi get together first, and you’re megumi’s best friend. he’s not mean, but he does like to tease... how naughty of megumi to ask out yuuji knowing he’s still got a crush on you, and god does yuuji like to tease him about it :/ jerks him off and taunts about how he knows megumi’s dirty little secret—that he’s in love with his best friend and fantasizes not just about having you, but about watching his own boyfriend fuck you too… 

yuuji knows megumi would take his feelings for you to the grave if he could (he’d have done the same with his feelings for yuuji if yuuji wasn’t the one to ask him out), but where’s the fun in that! you and megumi are sooo cute together after all, so yuuji doesn’t mind trying to get you two to confess to each other too. uses his proximity to megumi to get closer to you, takes advantage of his bubbly disposition to be physically affectionate with you, uses megumi’s feelings to his advantage to tease, to wink, to smirk whenever you and yuuji hug a little longer, when he texts megumi that he’s meeting up with you for lunch, when he gives you his jacket and doesn’t ask for it back… there’s so much fun in watching megumi blush and whine and get off at the thought of his best friend and his boyfriend together. and the thing is, yuuji genuinely does like you, too, he sees what megumi sees in you, and he thinks megumi is crazy to have not asked you out before, but he supposes everything happens for a reason, because now, this way, yuuji gets to be there and watch it all happen under his guidance. there’s something about the power, about being the bridge between you two even though you and megumi have known each other for much longer, about being in control of a dynamic that could have, but wouldn’t exist without him…

[cats-in-the-clouds]

it is unfortunate when i go to prayer and cry my eyes out and the only response i really hear is that i simply have to bear it. like usually i can get my emotions out and once they’re settled i hear a rational solution but it sucks when i don’t get the answer i want. i just have to keep waiting. like normally i hear something that gives me strength but wow apparently i’ve hit a new low

[ahalliance]

i need to do exposure therapy with purgatory i think the fandom experience at the time instilled the unpleasant dread and despair i still feel whenever i think about the event

[mxdotpng]

twirls hair thinking about adaline rozovy and his doomed struggle to live despite really not having a choice in the matter. you will forever be remembered as the weapon of light, hated by your comrades and mourned by your friends. your memory is stained in blood. there are more men you have killed than who you have saved. the world cries for your survival. you are loved.

[jinxessticktogether]

10 days in and i truly believe this will be my last year on earth

either i die some way or another, or i become an entirely different person

[windsofcourage]

FRUITY HC PROMPTS / @hypnoticallycaucasian / ACCEPTING .

🍎  :    how stable is my muse’s mental health?  have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they or should they attend therapy?  

||. WELL , Link sure does have retrograde amnesia. . . . I'm not kidding about that diagnosis , and he definitely should go to therapy,but to actually answer the question : Link ...exists on a perpetual on a scale, and it always depends on "what time period of Link are you asking about", because the answer will change depending on what he does and doesn't remember.

Link before the Calamity (specifically: before the sword) would have been relatively stable. Outside of being a teenage boy with an extreme sense of duty and pressure to perform, he wouldn't have to contend with much. Healthy home, healthy mindsets, healthy life. It's when he pulled the sword and began to shut his emotions down to be a "reliable hero" that some problems would have begun to manifest. In my headcanon : dissociative episodes (+dissociative amneisa &. subsequent fugue) run congruently with his rising stress levels , and are a related but separate issue to his originally-self-imposed selective mutism.

Link is a slow emotional processor. He thinks through his emotions and takes time to sort them out. (Mostly because he really doesn't get bothered by a whole lot.) But when he's "on duty" or otherwise needed... he doesn't feel himself allowed to take the time to sort it out. Not during, and often not afterwards until well later, either. And then only when he's on his own. In Link's world, it's act first, think (and feel) later. ESPECIALLY when all eyes are on him.

At some point in his development into "Knight Link" (which imo was cemented well before he was actually appointed as Zelda's personal knight), Link's solution to a wealth of emotion without any time to process it all was to focus solely on the physical task at hand, whatever that may be. It ... doesn't shut down the emotion spurring the stress... but he can act. He can do something to stave it all off or fix it while it's happening. Face it head on, and quickly. Unfortunately ... even this isn't always possible in his profession. And this mind vs. heart endeavor is a taxing one. As such, if Link is unable to tackle the issue and fix it, he will rapidly begin to deteriorate into a dissociative episode. Specifically dealing with depersonalization. If the stress continues, Link has a tendency to completely emotionally/mentally black out during these periods. (aka: dissociative amnesia). He'll either seem to be completely spacing out, or completely zeroed in on a task from the outside looking in. (It's caused problems and some serious one-sided arguments with his mother before.)

In some conjunction with this, canonically, Link has been known to voice his inner thoughts and feelings less and less over time. By the time he was appointed to Zelda, it's noted that he barely spoke at all. While he is entirely capable of speech, when he undergoes high stress levels, it can become difficult for him to find the words to voice himself freely. (Now, it is worth nothing that Link is naturally a pretty quiet individual (imo even his voice is on the naturally softer side anyways). Link not talking does not automatically mean he's stressed out. But sometimes there is an inherent inability to speak even if he wanted to.)

All of this is true of Amnesia/Post!Calamity Link, although the triggers are different. Post!Calamity Link struggles a lot more often with depersonalization, derealization and dissociative amnesia + fugue, especially the more he comes to remember his/Hyrule's past. Part of that is due to stress, part of is trauma, and part of it is from just barely cheating death/the reincarnation cycle through the Shrine of Resurrection.

[your-internet-bf]

We hadn't always gotten along. When our parents got married, we could barely stand each other. How could we get along with some brat we barely knew? Luckily, I had an idea. I bought a clicker - you know, the one they use to train dogs? - and got to work.

I started with "thank you". Every time you said it, maybe at dinner, in the car, at a restaurant, I pressed the clicker. You couldn't tell where the sound was coming from, and nobody else seemed to know what you were talking about. But soon, I started helping you with chores around the house and when we finished, *click*. And without really thinking about it, you'd say "thank you."

A few months passed, and you'd started to notice things about me. I took care of myself. I was clean, and I exercised regularly. You'd hang around when you knew I'd be back from the gym just to catch a whiff of the sweat and metal on me when I returned - our eyes caught once when you got a little too close, and for the first time you saw something primal, a little dark, in my gaze. But it passed in an instant.

We started getting along better, now. So one day, when you were lying on the couch with a snack bowl, I snatched it up and motioned to throw it into your mouth. Well, innocent enough, right? And it wasn't like I was eating much, so it's fine, right? Every time you open your mouth to catch, *click*, *click*, *click*.

Then, I invited you to come work out with me. Every time you did a squat, *click*. I told you it was a metronome to keep your intensity up, but you noticed the bulge in my sweatpants was bigger than usual. Wait, when did you start noticing my bulge, especially enough to know that...?

Finally, it was time. I'd been listening outside your bedroom door for weeks now, and I knew when you'd be asleep. I quietly opened your door and stepped into your room, locking it behind me. You stirred at the sound of the lock clicking, but I wasn't afraid.

I gingerly pulled down the covers and just... stared for a while. I'd never taken the time to really look at how beautiful you are, how gorgeous those curves were. I could hardly stand it. As you lay on your side, I took out the clicker, and *click* it once. Laying on your side, like you were on the couch with the snacks, you obediently open your mouth.

I pull down my pants, my long, thick cock swinging between my thighs. I brush the back of my hand over your cheek, then set it firmly against the back of your head, and push into your mouth.

You wake up almost immediately, but my hand stops you from pulling back as I force inch after throbbing inch down your throat. The more you struggle, the tighter you feel, the harder I push, until you felt your nose press into my hips. You push as hard as you can against me, but I'm so much bigger and stronger than you it doesn't do anything. I don't even budge.

I start to grind into your skull, making you swallow the thick, heavy head of my cock again and again, as I groan in pleasure. I start thrusting harder and harder, making your eyes water as I slam my hips into your face again and again, until finally, mercifully, I release inside you, deep inside your throat. You feel me pulse with your whole mouth, and you struggle to swallow each load of thick, hot, sticky cum while I'm still inside you.

With a shuddering breath, I pull out, letting you breathe properly for the first time in minutes. I watch while you cough and catch your breath, and then I ask, "what do you say?"

You breathe in intending to scream, but then you hear it, just one soft *click*, and all you can say is "thank you".

You stare at me, confused. I wipe my cum off your chin with my thumb, and *click* again. "Thank you", you say.

"I knew it. You're such a good girl, aren't you? Now," I push you onto your back, "spread for me."

*click*

You raise your legs to either side, exactly like you're doing a squat.

"I don't - I don't understand," you whimper, legs still in the air.

"You don't have to," I reply, reaching one hand between your legs to feel how wet you are.

"You're soaking, little girl," as I bring my hand up for you to see... Then make you taste it. I reach back down and slip in two of my thick, strong fingers, and cover your mouth with my other hand as you moan. I press up in just the right spot, rubbing in tight, quick circles so deliciously that you can't help but arch your back and grind into me. You feel the pleasure build and all thought leaves your mind; the only thing that matters is my fingers inside you, the scent of my hand over your mouth, and the lingering taste of me.

But before you can finish I pull my fingers out, pressing up and out, leaving you twitching and gasping. "Not yet," I mutter, and I move myself down between your legs. I line up my cock, slapping it down on your tummy first. It reaches your navel, and you feel a wave of fear that only makes you wetter. I pull back, then start pushing in.

It's thick, thick, thick, and heavy. I stretch you out wider than you thought possible, pressuring you in every direction, spreading your aching cunt and making you feel full inside for the first time in your life. Long, deep strokes, moving your whole body with every thrust, reaching inside you, my breath coming fast and hard.

And you hear it again.

*click*

"Thank you," you choke out between sobs.

*click*

"Thank you," you moan.

*click*

"Thank you," you plead, tears in your eyes.

My strokes come faster now, slamming inside you like an animal as you continue to thank me for raping you. Finally, finally, finally, you feel me tense up and slam deep, deep, deep inside you, pressing your whole body into the bed, as I cum again. Huge, hot, sticky white loads of my cum shoot inside you, filling you, as my breath comes in gasps, and as I do you feel it too, now, the wave of pleasure cresting, and you cum, your legs squeezing together, your face screwed tight, moaning with the release of months of tension. And as you cum, you hear a new sound, a familiar sound, but it's deeper than the others...

*click*

And you cum harder, knowing I'm training you like a bitch in heat.

I climb up next to you, and just gaze into your eyes for a moment. Then I smile. "Let's go again."

*click*

[zorkaya-moved]

Also never forgetting that Sokolov twins can have the most sadistic state of mind where they take incredible pleasure and delight in making someone they dislike suffer through either physical or psychological trauma or driving them to absolute insanity. Victor prefers more physical trauma, but Zarina wants to ruin another person’s mind.