#but it's not like there was much to be able to tell for certain

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

With his romance with Lavellan, Solas learned a horrific truth—that him simply as a humble man was enough to be lovable. He had been plied out of the Fade by Mythal because of her need for him, and out of devotion, he became something more and dreadful for himself, for her. And she never reciprocated that devotion with the same intensity. He spent millennia fighting for her as a thing he detested—a man of war and death, a being whose mortal body imbued him with innate qualities and emotions that would further twist his Wisdom nature. He was producing the very poisons that would normally corrupt a spirit by virtue of [Being a Person]. The external influences now harbored inside him.

But Lavellan showed him. That being you are, the one that wished to ponder and reminisce of spirits, who valued liberty and freedom and knowledge and the wry observation? That was enough. That was always enough. But he can’t accept it, because millennia of being Fen Harel, being devoted to Mythal and her cause.. to sunder it from himself would feel like a magnificent loss. He has been that for so long, is there anything yet truly left of the Wisdom spirit that once was?

Not only that, but given corporeality, Solas is compelled by the operant [If I can, I must]. He CAN do something about the Veil, so he will. If he doesn’t, then he is forsaking the memory of he destroyed with his choice. He is forsaking his own principles. To do nothing in the face of injustice and cruelty is a sin he cannot bear.

He comes to the Inquisition as a “humble apostate”, both as disguise and because in his de-powered state he is of little greater use (if he had greater power I’m certain he would have nudged the Inquisition toward their goals). This is a costume he is wearing, or so he tells himself. He exists to advise, to suggest, to subtly direct toward more peaceful and humanitarian and spirit-friendly directives. He operates as his former [Wisdom] spirit state.

And Lavellan grows to love it, to appreciate it. She grows to appreciate [Solas as Wisdom]. That part of him, the part of him that he has put aside for thousands upon thousands of years, though his nature craves to return to it. Without his ability to be Fen’Harel, it is pretty much all he has. And oh, this mayfly mortal born of a “forsaken ignorant people”, she is drawn to him, seeing him as a [man], seeing him at his (comparatively) weakest, most ineffectual state and finding it pleasing. Desirable. [Enough].

Enough. He is enough as Solas, simply Solas. But if it is enough for Lavellan, why was it not enough for Mythal? No, no, there was a reason. There was a war. War requires more of people. It requires limits to be broken and terrible mantles to be donned.

But Lavellan is fighting an existential war against Corypheus. And she does not demand more of him. She values what little he is able to provide—guidance, insight, his magic. It is [Enough].

We Solavellans have dissected and discussed at length about the nature of the relationship being one built on deceit, the moral and ethical quandary of love cultivated under a false identity. Veilguard has confirmed the existential struggle and quiet agony that Solas experienced by transitioning into [Being]. While Lavellan should of course had been informed of his ‘true identity’ before falling in love with him, an argument could still be made that Fen’Harel is not his true identity but a long-worn mask that he wishes he could ditch. The man Lavellan fell in love with is who he should be, who he wants to be. Far more underpowered than he’s comfortable with, sure, but the personality for certain. Just a person giving advice, discussing at length about topics he enioys, exploring memories and ruminating over them, smirking over small verbal sleights of hand and sly tricks, engaging in philosophical debates. All of that is already there, that is who he is in peacetime. The man has known war and conflict for so long that he has mentally split Solas and Fen’Harel as two people, because he needed to, but they are the same. Solas who wields the martial prowess of Fen’Harel. Fen’Harel who possesses the wry levity and artistic sentimentality of Solas. SOLAS YOU ARE BOTH AND MORE THAN THESE TWO HALVES.

[deathbxnny]

Helloo!! Arcane is ending soon, so I was wondering if I could request the Arcane cast reacting to a reader who suspiciously seems to know everything that’s gonna happen in the plot? They always appear where the action is, and they warn about dangers before they happen, trying to ”subtly” change the outcomes of horrible events. Tragedies are a core element of the story, so I feel that the narrative would create another disaster if one event got prevented, but the thought of these characters being safe and happy after all they’ve been through would be so healing :3 It’s up to you which way you want to take it 🐁💖 I’m fine with both platonic and romantic, but I’d love to see Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn if that’s ok :)

I love love love your writing, reading your HC’s before bed has become an important part of my day and it’s always a joy to see your work pop up in the tags <3 Thank you for letting us read your creations 💖 I can’t wait to read the second part of your Caitlyn fic!!

The Timekeeper. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx x Gn!Reader

I absolutely LOVE this idea, Anon, and I appreciate your request so much!! Also, thank you for your kind words. It really means the world to me reading something so sweet!<33

Content: Angst, can be read as either platonic or romantic tbh, time traveling, fluff, bitter sweet, cursing, spoilers for season 2?, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

You were always a mysterious figure to them. One that appeared at the right time in the right place whenever they needed you the most.

You never revealed a thing about yourself. You never even told them your name. But one thing they did know was that you had always looked out for them, like a guardian angel in a way.

And on one fateful day, after another evaded tragedy, they finally caught up to you just before you could leave again.

》VI

"Who the hell are you?" She asked completely out of breath after having practically chased you down through the dense crowd of the undercity. She had seen you so many times before. So, so many times. And every time she did, you were somehow able to save her from certain death by subtly showing her the right way to survive.

It took her a while to piece together that you must've known the outcome of every situation she had ever been in beforehand. That was the only logical answer to the many questions around your existence she could come up with, but it wasn't enough to satiate her desperate curiosity. There were times she had chosen against your signs, and the consequences ended up being almost grave. So whoever you were, you must've had otherworldly knowledge about everything and everyone.

Because whilst she didn't know a thing about you, you certainly knew everything about her.

Raising your hooded head, you idly played with the pocket watch in your hand, piercing eyes meeting her own. "Does that matter?" You ask, and truthfully, it shouldn't. Who cared about your identity when she knew she could trust you? But that wasn't enough. "Yeah, it does to me. Now tell me who you are already. I... I've been seeing you everywhere for years now. You have always been there and I..." She trailed off, suddenly losing her confidence.

She had thought of this moment for years now, imagined exactly what she would say to you. And yet, ultimately, she found herself speechless in your presence that seemed to drown out everyone else around you two. "I see... but my apologies, we were not supposed to meet yet." You said calmly, seemingly undisturbed by her appearance. "Time and fate... they both are so tightly intertwined and yet also so far apart from each other... how odd that the timeline changed so suddenly again, no?" Your words made zero sense in her mind, but that just added to your mystery.

"What-" "-Are you happy with the way your life is going?" You ask, and that made the woman pause in thought. The answer was positive, of course, but only because you had a strong hand in it once she accepted your help. She thought of Powder back home, who was probably happily tinkering away with the young girl Isha they recently took in, and that made her finally nod. "Yes. All thanks to you." "Not at all. It was you who chose your fate. I only showed you the alternative paths."

You two stood there in silence for a moment before she shoved her hands into her pockets and looked over to a nearby bar she liked to frequent in-between missions. "Let's go grab a drink and talk. It's on me." Deciding to accept this new path the timelines had given you, you accept her invitation with a smile.

》JINX

"You're terrible at your job." "Am I? I like to pride myself in my good work ethic, actually." Jinx was idly swinging her gun back and forth on her index finger whilst she rested up in the ceiling above you, clearly having followed you around secretly. But she knew that you already knew that from the start.

Scoffing at your words, she jumped down and landed in front of your indifferent figure as she pointed the gun right at you. "Pah! You're a funny one... so what are you? A time traveler?" "Ah, I like the title Timekeeper more." You were aggravating but at the same time a familiar face she had grown to appreciate deeply. You were the reason she was doing well in life now, even if she ignored you for a very, very long time. She thought she knew better despite all the odds pointing against her, especially you. Ultimately, she learned her lesson when she finally just listened to you.

"Ugh... whatever. Can't ya at least tell me your name?" "No." "Man, you're such a pain in the butt!" "Likewise." Rolling her eyes, she lowered her gun and lazily leaned against a wall, arms crossed tightly as she observed the crowds passing by from outside the abandoned building you were in. An admittedly comfortable silence fell between you two, one that relaxed her shoulders and made her sigh in defeat after a while. Your presence was always so comforting.

"So, you let me catch up to you this time. Finally tired of the cat and mouse game we've been playing?" You lowered your head at her question, a sly smile on your face that made her narrow her eyes in interest. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted to ask you how you're doing?" What an odd question, considering the context of your meet-up. And yet, it was somehow fitting coming from you specifically. Wasn't your whole mysterious mission revolving around her well-being anyway?

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that, oh so esteemed 'Timekeeper'?" You found no offense in the mockery of your title. Just pure amusement. "I'm afraid that mind reading was not in the initial job listing." Jinx took a moment to think about your question carefully then, deciding to indulge you despite her better judgment. Things were good now, after all. She, Isha, and Vi were together again as a family, including Vander, even if they had yet to find a way to turn him back properly. But everything was happy otherwise... because you made sure that the end to her story wouldn't be a painfully tragic one.

"... I'm fine. Everything's fine." She muttered, and your smile widened at that answer. "So... I'm not terrible at my job, after all?" Pressing a playful hand to her chin, Jinx acted as though she was in deep thought. "Hmmm... I guess I'll need more convincing than all of this to decide." "Of course... then how about we start with running away before the Enforcers show up to raid this place in approximately... 2 minutes?"

Jinx rolled her eyes again with a grin but agreed to follow you, very much glad to have learned her lesson at your side throughout the years.

》CAITLYN

She was ignorant towards your judgment from the start, especially as she was able to analyze very quickly that you weren't all you claimed you were. You were too smart, too fast, too aware of everything. It was clear that you already knew how her life story especially would come to an end. But that didn't mean that she'd always listen to you.

Caitlyn believed to know better, even going as far as to protest against your word, which she had learned to be fate itself. And sometimes she'd nearly get away with her life, and on others, you'd be the one to show up just in time to save her. It was embarrassing and at times even near humiliating, but you never judged her, just silently left every time she attempted to confront you.

And this time she had finally succeeded.

Now dressed in a formal uniform, she watched your still form stare out of a window in her estate, as though you weren't practically trespassing. But Caitlyn was used to that. "It's going to rain soon. I wonder if the construction workers will get done with the restoration on time today before the first drops fall." The navy haired woman came to stand next to you, ears finely tuned to your calming voice she had heard in her dreams and mind for so many years. It felt surreal to stand next to you at last.

"You already know the answer... but I think Mother will send out guards soon to retrieve them." Her mother, who had only narrowly escaped her death, if it wasn't for you. She had only gotten a little injured from falling debris, but that was all that happened. All of the councilors and people in the building had survived the Jinx attack. No grave injuries. All because you prevented it by throwing Jinx slightly off balance enough to make her shot not as precise.

"... Thank you." "For what?" The right answer would be absolutely everything, but she refrained, noting that you didn't seem keen on praise. You saw it as your job. As your duty to her for a reason unknown. "For saving my mother." That should do.

You nodded at her words in acknowledgment as your eyes spied Ambessa retreating with her troops in defeat. They were practicing chased away by the council since their help was unwelcome. Served them right for meddling with the business of other nations. You had exposed their ulterior motives in secret, and that's all it took for the tide to turn against them. "Just my duty." "I knew you'd say that... but I want to reward you for all you've done. If it wasn't for you... then I... I don't want to know what I would have become."

You glanced at her with an unreadable look in your eye, and that reconfirmed her suspicions regarding how deep she would have fallen otherwise. It's best not to think of it.

Humming to yourself in thought, you gave her a small smile. "Very well, if you insist... you can treat me to some fine tea and cookies." Caitlyn weakly mirrored your grin, relief filling her senses at you accepting her offer. She was worried you wouldn't. "Of course. Follow me." Linking your arms together carefully, you made your way through the dim halls.

A chuckle left your lips when it indeed began to rain.

[atheotic]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐃

╰ SHOW ﹕ ARCANE !

︵ WARNING(S) ﹕╰ swearing ⸝ violence ﹕ sex

︵ relationship ﹕ Vi x fem!fragile!reader x Caitlyn

⟣・S2・HEAVY IS THE CROWN︰

THE SOUND OF screaming could be heard when you had awoken from being on the ground, your hair in a messy style as you couldn’t see your surroundings. was Jayce and viktor okay? was everyone alright? mel..? of course you wouldn’t know, everything in your body hurt, it felt like some sort of piece of metal lodged in your side.

Being a well trained solider had its many perks but you weren’t prepared for this. Of course you weren’t. like they say, the most unexpected things come.

For you though it felt a little far fetched whenever your mom would tell you the stories about the ghost and salem. Where the witch would be haunted down and hunted but towards the end they found her having did no wrong doing.

Sad tale it was. really.

Everything on your body hurt like hell, the only voice you could hear was Jayce’s. was he carrying you and viktor? probably.

That dude had some incredible strength.

JAYCE SITS IN a chair with his head in his hand, looking over at viktor who lays inside the hextech. seeing you and viktor in this condition was tearing him limb from limb, not in a gruesome way but a much more sadder way.

He had hated not being able to protect the both of you, it felt like hell. But you know, some things just come and go…you lay there on a bed with a bunch of iv’s attached to your arms and lower half, your hair was in a messy bun since Jayce had tried thing it himself.

Mel walks inside his office as she takes a look around, her eyes landing on Jayce. “How are they?” She questioned.

“Same as before. They’re both breathing.” Jayce answers in reply, a distressed look on his face. “Their pluses are consistent. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mines.”

Mel walks over to viktor, her eyes landing on the hextech as she starts reaching her hand out with curiosity. When she goes to touch it, it reacts differently with her making her gasp and step back.

“What’s it doing to him?” Mel questions.

“The hexcore has been evolving.” Jayce explains, “shifting through runic patters faster than I can keep up. All I know for certain is that it’s keeping him and her alive.”

Jayce eyes land on where you laid, his heart aching with devastation as he sees you reacting differently to the hextech aside from viktor, your body was rejecting it but also accepting it at the same time.

If it was the only thing keeping you alive he wasn’t gonna mess with it.

“It should be me up there instead of him. I should be laying in that bed instead of her,” Jayce grumbled, gesturing to an unconscious you on the bed barely breathing. “Vi and cait are gonna lose it.”

“Don’t say that.” Mel placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “They’ll both come back to us.”

“I still don’t understand.” Jayce replies. “They were both right next to me. How does the explosion do that to them, and I just…? I just walk out without a scratch? [name] almost lost a hand, my god.”

Mel sighs. “There’s no sense to these things, Jayce.”

The male was quiet for a while before speaking again, “how’d it go with the council?” he asks.

Mel scoffs. “My mother’s entered the game. She’s already gotten her hooks into salo. Using his grief to make a play for hextech.”

“Mel, I promised viktor, never again.” Jayce tells the woman.

Mel places her hand over his. “It’s all right. I handled it. I won’t let them corrupt your dream.”

Jayce looks over at an unconscious you again, before laying his head on mel’s thighs, tears threaten to fall down his eyes but he holds them back.

He just wanted you and viktor back, that’s all.

You were very important to caitlyn and vi after all.

“I should get going now.” Mel says, “you might want to spend some alone time with them.”

With that, she stood up and patted his shoulder one last time before walking out the door. The door slams shut behind her by itself, making Jayce flinch a little.

He feels you stir, his head perks up immediately.

When it does, he saw you already staring at him, a confused look on your gaze.

“What was that about?” You questioned, sitting up with your back pressed against the pillows. It was a little hard to breathe but it was manageable with the breathing machine.

“I don’t even care-- i just-- you’re--?” Jayce launches forward and pulls you into a huge, a huge so tight you had gasped. He wasn’t hugging you too tight as though you couldn’t breathe— he just hugged you with desperation and worry.

“Woah! hey, hey, it’s okay.” You reassured, patting his back. “I’m okay.”

He was so happy to hear your voice.

“ONE OF THE MANY PRIVILEGES OF SERVING AS YOUR COUNCILOR IS HAVING THE OCCASION NOW AND AGAIN TO STAND BEHIND THIS PODIUM TO BEHOLD SO MANY JOINED TOGETHER NOT BY BIRTH OR DICTUM BUT BY ALL THAT WE SHARE.” MEL SPOKE as you stood by the other guards to keep watch, your back was leaned against the wall as the wound with the patch on your side was being healed. Your biceps flexing under the light as your toned abs still hurting from the explosion, but the wounds would heal, you were sure.

You glanced down at the tattoo on your hip and let your thumb graze over it, remembering when it was given.

You see one of the enforcers walk past you, you look them up and down by their attire before your brows furrowed— something felt wrong.

Heading into the crowd you lock gazes with vi, the both of you nodding towards one another before following the enforcer. But another person caught your attention as well, making you turn around and face the other way.

“The hell..?” You whisper lowly.

You push past the crowd of civilians as your hips sway when walking, and you walked with a purpose.

To figure out who the hell these people were.

Walking over to the other enforcers you climbed over the railing, your thighs still hurting but of course you forgot to bring your crutches for support. But it’s whatever.

“Wait, wait, ma’am you can’t--“

“Excuse me, I’m an enforcer too.” You say firmly as your eyes narrowed at the man. “So I can get pass, just like the rest of you.”

“We can’t even go in, so we can’t let you in either.”one of the enforcers replies. “Plus, you’re still injured from the attack so…”

Your piercing (e/c) eyes looked into the man’s brown ones, making his eyes widen a little— least to say, he was intimidated.

“Move, please,” you pleaded this time. “I feel like something is very wrong.”

Caitlyn looks over her shoulder and noticed the panicked look on your face— you would never randomly fuss about anything.

She knew something was wrong.

“Awful, isn’t it?”

Jayce looks over his shoulder when he hears a woman’s voice.

“Losing a loved one.”

When Jayce slowly turns around, the woman slips off her mask as she grabs her chainsaw, swining it at Jayce who barely dodged out of the way quickly.

Everyone starts screaming and shouting, rushing off to find somewhere safe.

“Get all the civilians to safety.” You told the enforcers before turning around to go and find Jayce, your leg still hurting from the explosion. you couldn’t walk around with a weak and injured leg but you thought against it.

“Jayce!” You shouted, searching for him. “Where are you? Jayce?!”

Someone suddenly slams you into a wall, making you hit the solid platform hard. A weak cry of pain escapes past your lips as you slid down the wall, clutching your arm.

Staggering to your knees, you rushed to get away from whatever was chasing you.

Get away, get away, get away

That was just going through your mind.

Something slashes in your back through your coat, “ah!” You shriek as you collapsed to your knees and hit the ground. Back arched as you tried crawling away from whatever had attacked you.

They grab onto your hair, arm wrapping around your neck once they finally got the chance to turn you around, the air in your lungs seemed to have collapsed the second they tighten their large hand around your throat.

You kick and flail your legs around as you gasped for air, eyes heavy and face turning blue as you choked— the breath you were now trying to breathe was very toxic seeping into your nostrils and throat.

You use your fists to hit at the man’s hands, he watched with a sadistic grin on his lips as the life in your eyes were starting to fade.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as the life in your eyes seemed to have been fading.

“Get the fuck away from her!” Vi shouted as she rushed towards the much bigger man and knocked him in the face with her knee.

You collapsed to the ground, gasping for air as you clutched at your own throat.

Vi rushed over to you with concern, cupping your cheek as she leaned over you. “Are you okay? does anything hurt?”

“Vi?” You croaked weakly, grasping at her wrist.

Vi presses your hand against her fast beating chest, concern wiping her features. “It’s me. It’s me. you’re okay.”

She helps you up, “I’ll be right back. go and try to find cait, okay?”

You nodded before rushing off to find caitlyn.

“Cait!” You called out.

You couldn’t even get as far before you hit the ground, passing out.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

[lancermylove]

His Weaknesses, Fears, & Insecurities

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Pairing: Leaders x gn!Reader

Warning: None

This post only contains part of the HCs. To read the full HCs, click here.

———————————————

Malleus

His horns are sensitive to the touch. He’s glad he’s tall, and few can reach his horns.

Cakes are his krypto.

The prince has a fear of rejection. He has already been pushed away and left out so many times that he doesn’t want to think about people who are important to him pushing him away.

Speaking of being left out, the thought of being lonely and having no one around him shakes him to the core.

He has a habit of overthinking and overanalyzing.

Leona

Leona has a hard time adjusting to the cold weather. He braves through it but hates winter from the bottom of his heart.

He’s a beastman, so his ears are overly sensitive, not only from touch but also from sounds. When he hears high-pitched sounds, it makes him see red.

His body is so used to sleeping for most of the day that it has become his habit. If he has to go a day without naps, Leona is grumpy af.

Pride, you say? He refuses to accept it. It’s not his weakness; it’s his birthright – he’s a lion and a prince.

Fear of losing you. This is a deep-rooted fear, but he will not be able to tell you.

Idia

He’s sensitive to the sunlight. Not only is his skin pale, but he stays cooped up in his room most of the time, so his skin can’t handle the sun.

Lack of sleep. Why sleep when you can dedicate that time to video games?

Major social anxiety. Crowds = nope.

Not able to make decisions. While he may not overthink as much as others, Idia is naturally indecisive, especially if the decision includes other people, like where do you want to eat?

Azul

Distrust in others, but also others don’t trust him. Due to his past, he doesn’t trust people, at least not easily. When others don’t trust him, he calls them smart.

He doesn’t like showing his octopus form, but Azul can’t go one day without being near water. He always misses being under the ocean, but shh, you didn’t read anything.

He has a lot of insecurities due to his past, and even if he is sensitive to certain things, Azul won’t let others see it.

Azul does not take failure well. He eventually bounces back, but it takes a strong mental toll on him.

Riddle

Quick tempered, but no one dares to tell him this. Riddle knows somewhere in his heart but refuses to let his brain process it.

He is a perfectionist and sees no problem with it. Does he want everyone to be perfect? No, he’s just too strict with himself because people have high expectations of him, and Riddle will live up to them.

Riddle has a fear of disappointing people, especially since his overblotting incident. He still can’t believe he broke one of the biggest rules for any magic user.

Vil

His face has to be in perfect condition all the time. If he notices even one hair out of place, Vil will get stressed (and fix it immediately).

His skin is also delicate, so any harsh conditions will affect him immediately. But he has a skin care product for everything, so his skin will bounce back no matter what.

Wrinkles. He better not see even one wrinkle; otherwise he will face mask the hell out of it. He fears aging and doesn’t want to see anything happen to his beautiful skin.

Being compared to Neige. He has learned his lesson after his overblotting, but Vil still can’t handle being compared to Neige.

Kalim

Kalim gets so hyper that he runs out of energy very quickly. But his energy comes back just as fast.

His overly trusting nature gets him into trouble quickly and makes him an easy target for others. He sees good in everyone and can’t see the red flags. Luckily, Jamil reads the situation fast enough and stops Kalim from getting badly hurt.

He tends to blame himself for things that are out of his control. Even if someone explains it’s not his fault, Kalim feels guilty and continues to feel that way for days.

His sheltered upbringing makes him oblivious to many things, especially danger and people with ulterior motives.

———————————————

➣ All Masterlists

➣ TWST Masterlist: [Genre][By Characters]

➣ Tumblr Only ML: TWST ML

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Hi if your still up for requests; would it be ok if I request yandere destiny one with a Yaoguai reader who’s on the run from the celestial since the celestials planning to turn her into a pair of immortal pills

(maybe reader is part of the spider fan , or maybe she has a connection to the white bone demon or maybe reader is a human who just made the celestials mad 👀)

Hcs please 🙏

Long and slender legs that run between the tight bush, arrows and spears that whipped through the air, a heavy breath from the nostrils.

The hunt began weeks ago, but now the pursuers were able to catch on to their prey. A deer at first sight, but once the eyes were able to look closer, its mane was covered in silver gleam, the stars of the midnight sky in its eyes. The hunter had freed their dogs, trying to catch the deer now closer than ever to their Blade.

But the deer was fast; its legs were made to run and to own the pavement of the forest, but a frantic creature can take itself to its own demise. The wall of the mountain stopped its escape; the solid rock did not show any help for a climb, and bigger rocks stopped the passage around it.

The deer squished itself on the wall, fearing the sound of the horses and the barking of the dogs. 

It seemed like, despite the fear, it knew that running wasn't anymore an option, and accepting seemed almost inevitable. Yet, the sound changed, the barking grew more aggressive, the shouts were focused on something else, and the sound of spears clashed with the sound of metal and wood. 

The scream stopped; the dog dismissed or emitted some long whines before falling into silence. Then nothing...the Woods came back to its regular silence. The deer looked at the leaves and the branches, expecting everything...except for a monkey.

A young monkey, armed with a staff, walked towards the deer, looking at him with a glint of interest. What a peculiar creature, he was thinking; never had he seen a deer colored like the night. And what he couldn't expect more was that for the deer to suddenly get engulfed in a silver smoker and reappear with a humanoid form.

"Thank you, dear One! Oh, thank you so much!" 

And while the creature held his hands, thanking him from the bottom of her heart, he couldn't suppress the blushes on his face.

///

Your life was perfect.

Once, you were a mere deer, born to survive and procreate, nothing more and nothing less. But one day something awoke in you, a thought, a desire to be more, to do more.

You started to cultivate yourself until, after seeing more things than you were supposed to see, you woke up...changed. Your mantle was now of the color of the Moon that shone between the Misty Sky, and your eyes were like the many nights that had passed over your head. You were meant to be noticed.

A Celestial found you, and you shared your progress in your cultivation, and, maybe noticing a certain talent, he had taken you under his wing. 

You've taken your human form after a long period in the Celestial realm; you were beyond happiness, not just because you were able to achieve something that just a few did, but because you were able to escape from your destiny to be more than you were supposed to be! 

But you learned too much; you found out a secret that Heaven didn't want you to know. They were rational at first, trying to advocate with your silence, offering you a prestigious position!

They wanted to buy your compliance and your silence; you refused... and they didn't take it too well. 

They wanted to reduce you to a pill, to silence you, but you sniffed the danger and fled! 

While telling your story to the monkey, you couldn't hold your tears, so afraid and so lonely, without your kind and without a soul that could help you...

"I will," he said, with a confidence known only to his kind.

"But... I'll put you in danger... I can't..."

"Heaven doesn't like me ALREADY, and I can't LET them keep up with their schemes."

And with that, a new chapter begins for you... If you only could sniff the danger here too.

///

Living on the mountain was like going back to your old life, only for this one to be quite different. It wasn't just because you were there as a fugitive, but mostly because the mokey presence seemed like an almost constant now.

Every day you woke up only to find him around; the entire day was made to be at his side, taking care of chores around the village, and the last face you could see before closing your door was his own. You found it quite strange, odd even, but his kindeness and his protectiveness made you dismiss the fact that, since the beginning, no other monkey, especially the older ones, were allowed to stay close to you.

You weren't bothered; you weren't accustomed to monkeys way of living, and you thought that was normal behavior. And by the way, it wasn't always like that! He did make a few of his younger sisters watch over you, especially when he was leaving for his mission. 

They were always so caring and tender with you, calling you older sister and spending their days with you. They didn't like the idea of letting you roam off by yourself; they always found a new way to drag you back to the Mountain or distract you from your own agenda.

You never batted an eye, never suspected anything, and you never even noticed their way to try to persuade you to never leave their home, to stay there with them and their beloved older brother.

You never questioned his own actions; maybe it was normal around them. To hug each other so tightly, to linger a little too much close to you, to whisper things so near to your ears that your skin shivered.

His hands, always searching for yours, always sending his gaze on every move. To pry into every detail of your life, just to know you, even the more personal ones. You, in your own way, decided to indulge him; he was your savior. After all, a thing that even he never failed to remind you.

He saved you, gave you protection, food, and somewhere you could be protected like you deserved. It was almost an obligation to be kind and accept every one of those small demands that weren't even a big deal.

It was normal, right?

///

His breath was stuck in his throat, his eyes were wide open, and his pupils were as small as the head of a nail. His tail was as rigid as the staff he held in his hand, yet an imperceptible movement could be seen from it, such was the grip that was strong. It seemed like the weapon sensed the desire of its owner to smash the brain of the celestial that was holding you and...kissing you...

Your eyes shined with a gleam that he had never seen before when he was the one in front of her, and a smile that he swore was the most treasurable gift that you ever made.

"Monkey! Please let me introduce to you my future spouse!"

Did you mention about your spouse before? Maybe, maybe he just ignored your tale,

Like many times you had told him what made you uncomfortable, and he always was able to cross it. Maybe he hoped that, without the presence of that immortal around you, you would maybe change your mind and realize that the one with whom you wanted to spend your life wasn't part of the court.

Everything could be a good explanation, but in the meantime he was forced to see you embrace them like you never embrace anyone before, kissing their temples in tears of joy for your reunion, their hands in your hair, so close to you... The monkey couldn't stand it, but he couldn't take away his gaze either, imaging he was entangled in your arms.

That celestial presented themselves in all elegance; their gratitude was like water in their mouth, spilling in vigor for the happiness to find their future bride in good health and safe from the court clutches. But the monkey couldn't care less; how could he even listen when his mind was occupied with so many thoughts?

Why are they here now? Where were they when you needed them most? When you were on the run, with dogs and a soldier at your back. They wanted to transform you into a pill. What if that was a trap?! What if they weren't there to take you to safety but back there?!

No, the monkey thought; he won't let that happen. He wanted to protect you, not like that scum that professes to be your future spouse! He was there to help you and protect you; he did it before he was willing to do it again! Yes, it would be painful. It's clear that they had fooled you quite well, but if he had seen through it, he would not fail you!

And while his mind found every possible excuse it could, his staff spoke for him.

///

Your scream echoed in the mountain; blood spilled like a river, on the green grass and on his hands.

They were dead; their head was long gone. They were dead.

"NOOO! MY LOVE! MY BELOVED NO!" You ran toward the body; your hand clinged to what remained, hoping to feel a sign of life, everything... but their chest was still, and so was their heart.

The monkey looked at your face, tears running like raindrops on that body; the light of the sun made them like pure gold. You were beautiful; even in tears, you were a gift of the skies. Those eyes made of pure lapislazuli looked at you, shining more than ever.

"W...why? ....Why?! I trusted you; how could you?"

"They didn't love you. They left you alone. They wanted to bring you back!"

"How could you say that?!" You screamed in pain. "You killed them in cold blood; they just wanted to protect me like you!"

"No!" He roared; his voice silenced you in fear. A glint in his eyes, it was worse than the one that the wolves had during their hunt. His hands grasped you, holding you down, blood covering your white robes; you were like a bride now.

"I PROTECTED YOU! I DID! BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, MOR ETHEY COULD EVEN DO! I WOULD DO EVERYTHING FOR YOU!"

His hand left your shoulder, reaching for your legs. A shiver of panick made you struggle more, but his hand was solid rock.

"I would die for you. KILL FOR YOU! I'll take care of you; do everything to keep you here with me."

"Stop! You're hurting me! Monkey you-"

"EVERYTHING!"

A crack silenced you, then your voice broke the silence of the mounatin once more.

///

He did keep his promise; he did make everything in his power to make you stay.

The leg that you lost was bartered for Cuschion so soft that it could even be taken for a cloud; he was always there, caring for you and trading the wounds that you inflicted yourself in your attempts to escape. You can't go far with one leg, even in your deer form.

Sometime, especially at night when his arms are like snakes around you, you wonder if being a pill for another celestial wouldn't be so bad.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Control Contained

Loki & teen!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: the Avengers take you in when you develop powers, but no one seems to be able to help you control them—until a certain god of mischief steps in

Warnings: panic attack. Canon? Who’s that? We’re setting this in the Avengers compound like it’s 2012, deal with it.

“Hey, I need you to focus.”

You swear Steve—yes, the Captain America—had said that to you at least a dozen times, but you still couldn’t quite get it.

“It’s not working,” you insisted.

“That’s because you’re not focusing.”

“I’m trying!”

Steve’s eyes softened—you hated it when he did that, it meant that he’d given up on being Captain and was ready to be Steve; it meant he thought you were done for the day.

“Look,” he sighed. “I think maybe you’ve had enough.”

“My powers always come out when I can feel them—“

“But that’s dangerous,” Steve argued. “Strength has to be controlled.”

“Yours,” you corrected. “But mine is different—mine is like Loki’s.”

“Not this again,” Steve sighed. “We talked about this. Loki isn’t trusted enough to train new recruits, especially not you.”

“What do you mean especially not me?” You asked.

“Well, there have been a few incidents,” Steve said.

“That was right when I found out about my powers,” you said. “I’m better now. Besides, no one got hurt.”

“Not yet,” Steve said. The grimace on his face showed that he regretted the words the moment they left him. “That’s not what I meant. It’s not your fault, I know you’re trying—“

“But I’m so dangerous that you don’t think I should be around bad influences, is that it?” You took a deep breath, trying to curb your growing frustration. You could feel your powers pulsating beneath your skin.

“That’s not—“

“Why am I even here? So you can keep an eye on me?”

“Kid, stop, I didn’t mean—“

“Forget it.” You shook your head. “Just forget all of it.” You turned to go, but Steve gently grabbed your arm.

“Wait—“

“I said forget it!” You jumped in surprise when a burst of orange shot from your hands, blasting Steve back against the far wall.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you stared with wild eyes at your friend, your mentor, an avenger, lying on the ground because of your powers. Powers you didn’t know how to use, powers that could hurt people. Steve groaned and lifted himself to his feet.

“You need to calm down,” he barked. “You can’t just—hey, easy, just breathe.” Steve’s tone softened when he saw the way you were trembling and struggling for breath. “I’m totally fine.”

“I’m sor—I’m—I…” you backed away from the man, staring down at your hands. Why had you done that? What if it happened again? You saw Steve approaching you from your peripheral, but you weren’t about to let him.

What if you hurt him?

You wouldn’t give yourself the chance. You turned on your heel and ran out the door before Steve even got close to you.

…

Loki was a bit wary of being around the new teenager in the tower—mostly because the other Avengers side-eyed him every time he so much as spoke to you, as if they thought he were corrupting you.

He felt for you; he couldn’t imagine having to learn about his powers surrounded by—to your eyes—a lot of heroes, nearly all with superhuman abilities. It had been just him and his mother when he learned how to use magic, and he hadn’t even let Thor watch.

It was as if his train of thought summoned you—if only for a moment. Loki barely had time to spot you before you were brushing past him and running for your room. That was abnormal; you always greeted him, always.

“Are you alright?”

The slam of your door was his only answer.

…

Someone was knocking. You’d just hurt Captain America, your heart was pounding, you couldn’t catch your breath and someone wouldn’t stop knocking.

“Y/N? It’s Loki, can I come in?”

Your breath caught in your throat—you couldn’t answer.

“If you don’t answer me I’m going to come in.”

You opened your mouth to try again, then stopped. Did you even want to tell him to go away? After all, he was the one you’d wanted to train you.

But what if I hurt him?

It was too late, the door was opening—

“It’s alright.” Loki was in front of you before you’d even seen him enter the room. “Take a deep breath.”

You tried—you really did—but you couldn’t manage anything better than a wheezing cough before you went back to hyperventilating. Your head was fuzzy, your knee was shaking, and you just couldn’t breathe.

“Ok, too late for that,” Loki muttered to himself before reaching for you and grabbing onto your hands.

“No—“ you managed. You didn’t want to hurt him.

“It’s ok,” Loki assured you. “It’s ok. I want you to let it go—all that power that’s going through you—let it go.”

It was now that you saw the bits of orange floating around your fingers.

“No,” you whimpered. “I can’t control it.”

“You don’t have to,” Loki promised. “You can’t hurt me. Let it go.”

You closed your eyes tightly, forcing a breath in, then harshly out. With your breath, you also forced out your powers, pushing them away to where they couldn’t control you.

“That’s it.”

You snapped your eyes open; the orange of your powers was flowing over Loki’s hands and morphing into green. He was absorbing your expelled energy.

You kept pushing, forcing the magic out until you were spent and collapsing in Loki’s arms.

“It’s ok now,” he said softly. “Do you feel any better?”

You slowly pulled away, taking one deep breath, then another.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “What—what was that.”

“You were having a panic attack,” Loki said.

“I got that—I meant with the magic.”

“You’ve been tamping down your powers and your emotions for too long, haven’t you?”

You swallowed. “They—the avengers—they said I had to have control.”

“You can’t have control by shoving down your emotions,” Loki argued. “You’ve got to feel them, otherwise your powers will build up until they just want to explode. If that had happened somewhere else, it could have been bad. But I know how to absorb energy so it couldn’t go anywhere.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” You sniffled.

“Hey.” Loki patted your shoulder. “Your emotions won’t hurt people if you don’t bottle them up like that. I can teach you, really teach you, how to control your powers, and you won’t have to stop feeling. I’ll talk to the team; we will. We’ll convince them, ok?”

“Ok.” you nodded, the ghost of a smile flitting across your face.

“Ok.” Loki stood to leave, but you stopped him with a question.

“Hey Loki?”

“Yes?”

“Where did you learn all that?”

Loki’s face twisted in a smile.

“My mother helped me—when I was just about your age.”

[additiva]

ace charles?! been dying for some ace fics ngl

Yes!

Here's a snippet, for the consideration of the (proximal) masses. It's unedited (be nice to me).

“Hey, Max.” Charles wonders aloud, tilting his phone for Max to see. “What one do you like more?”

He flicks between two hoodies on the screen – a pale blue, and a black, both with Nahmias splashed gaudily across the front. Max squints at the screen. It probably doesn’t matter which he says; Charles will almost certainly get both.

“I like the blue one.”

Charles hums, letting his head flop back against the pillows, looking down at the screen of his phone propped on his bare chest. Max snorts quietly, amused. From this angle, he has about nineteen chins.

“Maybe, I will take both.”

Max bites back a smile, and turns his focus back to what he’d been doing before – what he’s been doing for the past forty minutes. He lifts one of Charles’ knees back over his shoulder, feeling his heel settle against the middle of his back. He lets his fingers trail up, wrapping over to stroke firmly over the crease of his hip. When Charles finishes shuffling -- still tapping absently at his phone – Max settles in to lick at him again. Not at his clitoris – Charles doesn’t like that – but around it.

The hoodies, Max knows, will be here in a few days, in one of two ways.

Either they’ll come to Max’s address, the box adorned with the fake name and contact details Charles has used to order them; or Doni Nahmias will figure out somehow that it’s him, in which case the clothes will be deposited at Charles’ doorstop, and the money back into his account. After that, Charles will wear them to Max’s apartment, take them off, and forget them on the couch, or in the kitchen, or in the bedroom, or on the terrace. Max will fold them, and put them in the drawer with the rest of his forgotten belongings, until Charles accuses him of stealing them, and takes them home again.

It'll have to happen soon, he muses, thumbing gently over warm, wet skin. The drawer is getting full.

Charles sighs heavily and lets his phone fall, hands collapsing against his chest, apparently content with his procurements. When Max glances up, he’s gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling. His expression doesn’t change as Max’s fingers wander, except that his eyes fall closed. His foot slides up to plant itself on Max’s back, knee lifted a little higher – thigh close enough for Max’s head to lean against, hips tilted for better access.

Max, watching his face, folds his fingers – with two knuckles, he glides firmly over the dip between folds. Charles shudders a little, twitching. Some days he likes this; others it’s too much. Today’s a good day. Max can tell by the way his scent has been clear and fresh all morning. It has a certain crispness to it – one that can easily turn sharp with apprehension or sour with warning.

Max does it again, pressing more firmly with his knuckles – there’s no friction, the delicate skin already thoroughly soaked. Not with slick. Charles’ body rarely produces slick. It’s happened maybe once or twice in the entire time they’ve been doing this – months. Not even enough to make him wet; just barely enough for Max to catch a scent in the air, and a trace on his tongue. He’s not even sure what it was that did it – they haven’t been able to replicate it, to Charles’ great disappointment.

Max doesn’t mind.

Yes, maybe those slight traces tasted better than the champagne he drank on his first ever podium. Maybe it shone on his fingers like gold – gleaming brighter than the WDC trophy.

But in some ways it seems right, that he only got to have it for a moment. He works himself half to death just to hold that trophy for ten minutes each year – none of his replicas at home can quite compare.

He thinks he might’ve worked harder still, with Charles. He thinks they both have.

In any case, for Max, it’s probably the smaller moments in between that make it worthwhile. It’s each step closer to the perfect setup on a new race-weekend. It’s every purple sector, and podium. It’s the way the mechanics make space for him among them; the way Christian smiles up at him with pride on the top step; the way GP’s daughter lights up when she sees him.

With Charles, it’s the way his knees flop languidly open when Max nudges at them; the way his hands find Max’s skin without thinking; the way his scent stays warm and open through it all.

It’s like that now: soft and calm and inviting. It’d probably even stay that way if Max were to slide a finger or two inside him, to stroke at the velvety heat of him and massage at the tightness of the muscles there.

But Max won’t, because as he’s contemplating it, a timer goes off.

So instead, he slowly pulls away, going to the bathroom to wash his hands.

Then he goes back to the bed, and flops down next to Charles, casually tangling their legs as he digs his own phone out of his pocket.

“Alright, so.” He flicks open a spreadsheet. “What went well?”

-----

Idk guys are we vibing it or no? Lemme know.

[candy-cloud-system]

Guess who’s back speaking their shit ! This guyyyyyy ! . Allow me to write a long ass paragraph explaining everything about why I am NOT going to take back what I said.

First off. Comparing anything I said in that paragraph to racism is wild. Not ONCE did I mention race, and it was a completely irrelevant and honestly just false comparison. Hating someone for being downright ableist is SO much different than being racist. And I can guarantee you, I will never hate anyone for their skin color or race. That is something they are born with, and cannot change. And the diversity of human beings is single handedly the most beautiful thing to me.

Now. A more accurate comparison, if you will, would be saying something along the lines of this: imagine you broke your leg because of someone else’s actions, and it causes you a lot of discomfort, pain, and changes the way you have to function. Often you get frustrated with things you’re unable to do the same as someone without a broken leg, or even get super angry at the person who was the cause of your broken leg, sometimes finding yourself daydreaming about how much better your current state would be if you hadn’t been around them or left the situation sooner. Now imagine the next day you see someone else with a cast on their leg, and you think “oh! Someone who may have a similar experience and understand my struggles!” Just for them to tell you their leg was never broken before and they simply “wanted” to have a broken leg.

Imagine the pure frustration that would give. All the thoughts of everything and all the pain and regret and rage you face daily now being mimicked by someone who woke up and decided to claim they had it simply because they wanted to. THATS what it’s like seeing an endo.

I will say this now. Plural means the exact same thing as a system. There is NO difference. There is no such thing as “systems have trauma, but if they say they’re just plural then they aren’t claiming to have a disorder!” Because that’s bullshit.

Endos cause a lot of harm to our communities, even if they aren’t aware. The misuse of terms and stealing of terms from cultural practices, invading our spaces sometimes with purpose to harm us, convincing actual systems their repressed trauma or even remembered trauma doesn’t exist or wasn’t bad, and wide spread misinformation highly effects people like me who have to live with the actual disorder.

I’ve seen a lot of systems (myself included) who are uncomfortable calling themselves plural. Although it is a correct, and sometimes more used in medical settings term for systems; the association of the word with endos who think slamming another label on themself justifies blatant ableism has made that term unbearably difficult to use on ourselves. I’ve seen the same with the words headmates, host, fictives, and other system terms.

“Tulpa Systems” are stealing a cultural term, AND misusing it at that. Tulpamancy is a term from Tibetan Buddhism. Original concepts of it found in the Buddhist Niramāņakāya, and later came into traditions of Mysticism. It is NOT when a 14 year old on tiktok decides they want a serious mental health condition and “creates an alter” for themself. Tulpas are part of a culture. And are spiritual practices.

Invading spaces that aren’t made for you can be very harmful. Even if unintentional or seemingly “harmless” those spaces are MADE for certain people. Those certain people need places they feel comfortable being themselves with other people like them. That’s very important. Something I’ll compare it to is this; I get very uncomfortable when an abled body person gets in the school elevator with me. The elevators at my school are made specifically for disabled individuals and those who cannot walk up stairs. It with the exception of escorts, when someone who is perfectly able bodied gets on, it creates a tension for me. They’re invading a space made for me and people like me, simply because they wanted to. I feel it’s unfair to me, because I’m not able to fit in comfortably in their spaces, I cannot walk up stairs with ease, yet they can, the elevator is a space where I can feel comfortable and capable with the abilities I have, and I feel very uncomfortable when that’s invaded by others. And it’s the same with system spaces. I’ve ranted to my friends countless times about how I never feel comfortable in the online system community. My spaces get invaded constantly by people who think they have a right to steal what should be a safe space for trauma survivors. I have grown accustomed to the reality that I will never have a space online that I will be completely safe from ableism in this community do to endos. Even in real life I have faced people in the eyes who faked my disorder just because they thought it was cool. They faked and copied my real struggles, lied about experiences and made me miserable. And I feel like i don’t even have to speak about the endos who come into spaces to harm us. We can all tell that’s fucked up.

CDDs are a trauma response. And something it does, and it’s whole point, is to hide your trauma. A lot of people with CDDs will not remember what happened. It’s what makes it so tricky to cope with and heal from. I’ve had a very close friend of mine ignore their plurality and not take steps to heal due to them being convinced they didn’t have trauma or wasn’t enough trauma and they were an endo. That is so incredibly harmful. I cannot stress that enough. Telling people they can have a CDD without trauma, even putting that option of being plural without trauma is SO harmful. Because young people who may realize they have a CDD and not be educated on them will brush it off as being an endo, spread that misinformation, and most dangerously; not be able to take the proper steps to heal. Lucky for me, I understood that it was a trauma related disorder, so I was able to get into therapy, get on medication to help myself combat my depression, and find coping skills that were healthy for me to work on growing and coping with my CDD and other disorders. Convincing someone their CDD isn’t serious, or that it’s not trauma related takes that away from them. It takes away the realization of the need to heal, it takes away the chance for them to cope with serious trauma. And it can even worsen it. People with trauma who categorize themself as endo or are categorized by others as endo may be even more effected, feeling like trauma is now a competition or that they aren’t enough to have a CDD that they may actually be struggling with and wanting help for. I hope you understand how harmful that is.

The spread of misinformation is WILD. One of the first things usually brought to me by my friends at school who don’t know much about DID is usually some misinformation they saw from an endo. And of course I don’t mind educating them properly at all, but it honestly hurts me a bit to see some of the crazy things I’ve seen them believe because of how much misinformation people spread on the internet about this disorder.

CDDs aren’t fun, they aren’t quirky. They’re serious trauma stemmed disorders formed to help someone survive. It’s not “having silly characters I like in my head”. It’s NEEDING them to keep you alive and as stable as possible when in horrible conditions whenever you are in the most vulnerable stage of your life.

Blah blah. Internet rant. Blah blah. I can already feel the comments calling me a loser and telling me to blow up or something 💀 like ima lowkey be mean for a sec but do y’all ever shut up? Learn to literally educate yourself instead of believing a 13 year old who wants the entire cast of Hazbin Hotel in their head cus they think it’s quirky (no shade to actual systems with hazbin alters)

Get ur ableist asses outta here fr 💀💀💀💀😭😭😭 making my life hell

Tw: syscourse ,

Endos DNI with this post.

Hot take; I shouldn’t have to be terrified to read / like posts. I should have to read the tags to make sure it’s not posted by an endo trying to infiltrate our spaces. I shouldn’t have to fear that the thing I’m gonna read is going to send me into a spiral because it’s gonna be some stupid ass shit about how “traumagenic systems are losers” or whatever the other stuff endos say about us is.

WE SHOULD NOT HAVE TO HAVE AN ALTER WHO SITS OVER MY SHOULDER EVERY TIME I OPEN THIS APP THAT CAN PULL ME AWAY INCASE SOMETHING GETS BAD.

THAT SHOULD NOT BE A THING I, A TRAUMATIZED SYSTEM, SHOULD HAVE TO DEAL WITH WHEN LOOKING FOR COMFORT OR SILLY CONTENT TO CHEER ME UP REGARDING THE TRAUMA FORMED DISORDER THAT WILL FOREVER MAKE MY LIFE DIFFICULT.

“Endos don’t hurt anyone🥺🥺🥺”

yes they fucking do.

- Sharkbite

[cherry-pop-elf]

Follow My Lead

Curly x Disabled!Reader

Can be read as platonic

AN: Purely self indulgent. I’m suffering extreme disability issues do to the change in weather and it’s very painful and exhausting. So here we are. Friendly reminder of disability’s existing and lives can still be lived. Thank you

SUM: You were returning to the Physical Therapy center for your weekly appointment. As you enter the designated gym, with its nurses, you noticed someone new. New people in the waiting room, and new people in the gym. Wonder who that new nurse is to…

Warnings: Disabilities, medical discussion, reader’s disabilities are vague but will have issues that are common in the disability community, PTSD, Trauma, Everyone lives except Jimmy, lots of medical discussion, so much trauma Jesus Christ

“Just wait for a few minutes and we can call you back.” The woman would tell you. You would give a nod and returned to your seat in the waiting room. Right next to quite the chipper fellow. With floral attire. There with a much older man. Perhaps his father?

“Hi-!” The floral guy would say, before the older man nudged him. Telling him not to bother the other people here at the gym here. You didn’t mind. People can make the atmosphere here so depressing sometimes. It’s nice to have some sunshine.

“Hello!” You returned, meeting his energy. That had him just beaming.

“You two are new here, aren’t you? First time here?” You asked, as the floral man nodded. The older just let the younger do all the talking. The floral one seemed the social butterfly anyway.

“Yeah. It’s not for us though. It’s for our friend Curly. And also Anya! She’s a nurse. Since she’s a nurse she’s helping him with the other like physical therapists here. He really needs a-lot of extra help. His arms and legs are missing, eye is missing, had so many skin graphs. He’s been through A LOT. So we’re here for moral support.” He explained to you, and you would listen.

Damn that Curly really went through alot. Sounded like he lost the limbs then actually was without them earlier in life. He’s going to have a long journey ahead of himself.

“Swansea here is also helping install stuff at Curly’s place to make it easier to move around in. Like railings, changing door knobs, stuff like that! He’s got prosthetics he’s still getting used to, but he also uses a wheelchair when they make his muscles ache too much.” He would ramble on, and you happily listened.

It was so nice to have someone be so positive. Many able bodied people just treat disabled situations with such mourning and sadness. It was refreshing to have someone have a positive outlook. To be excited to help compared to just mourning and worrying.

“You can come back when you are ready-!” A physical therapist would call for you. As you went to leave, the floral man was quick to call out.

“Oh! I’m Daisuke!”

“Well hello Daisuke. Please talking to you-!” You would wave, before heading back to the gym area with everyone else.

Typically most physical gyms would have a designated nurse for each person, that way you can be watched carefully and monitored for improvement. This gym, however, allowed that people who had progressed to a certain level can work out independently with the gear offered here. As a means to allow more independence, and for them to improve or care for their health by their own speed.

It seems like that Curly guy won’t reach that milestone for ages.

He was very easy to notice amongst the often elderly folks there. The rare younger type, but often it’s from some kind of long turn injury or recovery of surgery.

There you would see a man using the standing bars. Metal bars on each side, and a person would walk through the middle. Gave them the ability to use their arms to keep support instead of using all their weight on their legs.

Just like Daisuke said he was in pretty rough shape. His arms had prosthetics and same for his legs. A eye patch covered his missing eye, and much of his skin still was incredibly rough.

Despite it all, he’s trying. He’s shakily walking through, with his arms on the metal, and he’s taking it step by step. Still trying to adjust to having somewhat of limbs again.

Next to him was a kind looking woman. Her eyes looked like they had seen too much, but her smile said she is willing to keep on living. To spite the world she will be happy.

“There you go Curly. You are doing a good job. Just take it very slow. There’s no need to rush. You will be able to do more once you adjust. How about you finish this walk and we can sit down. Then we can try and use your arms for a while. Legs are the most exhausting.” She would say to him.

She had such a warmth in her voice. A nurse that everyone wished they had after any life threatening event. She was perfect for a physical therapist.

“Shit shit shit-!” He would start to panic, and he would end up slipping. She was quicker though. She managed to grab him by his chest, as his limbs went limp. Just dangling like a doll. He looked so humiliated.

Maybe he needed a friend.

“Hi! I heard you two are new here. That guy in the waiting room, Daisuke, told me a little about you two. Do you need help with like, oh I don’t know, anything? I’ve been coming here for a while now. If you want anyway.” You would offer, as Anya would help him stand back on his bionic feet again.

“Oh that is very kind of you. I think we are alright, for the time being. But thank you so much.” She was so gentle with her words. Clearly each word was truly kindness, and not just words to push someone away.

“I wouldn’t mind it. I….I have no idea what I’m doing.” Curly would admit, as there was still shame in his expression. As if he felt unworthy to be there. To be helped at all. That he just deserved the worse.

Very relatable.

“Oh sure! Oh oh! Maybe I can be on the other side of the bar. You can place your hands on my shoulder and your other arm on hers. We will hold you up ourselves so when you slip you don’t fall.” You offered, as you stepped into position.

Anya would do the same, and made sure there was a hand on his back and one on his chest. To help him keep himself straight, and if he slipped you both can push him back into place.

“Deep breaths Curly. You got this. You are almost to the other side.” Anya reassured, as you smiled as well. Suppose seeing you both trying so hard helped him gain the motivation to push through.

Each step was heavy, slow, and frustrated. He was trying his best, but sometimes his muscle spasms kicked in and his leg would just move the wrong way. You could relate to that. Muscle spasms were so annoying to deal with. Especially in public. People think you are on some kind of drug and question you. Annoying as hell.

It was slow, but you didn’t care. He needed a little extra help and you figured you could offer it. Make things just a little easier for him. It’s rough. You know it so well.

He finally reached the other end, and Anya couldn’t help but clap and beam. So proud of him. So damn happy he did it. Course when she let go he ended up falling into you, but you managed to help him get back up again.

“Sorry! Just you did it! Before you know it you’ll be running and jumping. You’ll be back to skiing in no time.” She would encourage, before bringing the wheelchair over. The two of you helping him sit in it. Such a relief.

“You ski?” You asked, as Anya would help take his legs off. Let him breathe for a while. While she did that, he gave a small nod.

“Before all….this….I used to really be quite the athlete. I loved winter sports. If it was in the snow I was there. Snowboarding, Skiing, ice skating, ice climbing, I used to do it all. Even was a body builder. To think I used to do so much…..” He sighed, as he looked over at his arms. Looking at what was once muscle and bone. Now just metal and specialized plastic.

“Hey….I know you’ve been told this a million times, so I’ll just say it from a person that also doesn’t have the best mobility either. You’ll have good days and bad days. Some more extreme than others. It’s gonna to fucking suck. It’s gonna hurt. It’s going to be exhausting. You’ll have days wondering why you should even stay alive. But you’ll also have days where you can accomplish simple things like making your own dinner. Taking out the trash. Fold some laundry. You’ll get there. It’s gonna suck but you’ll reach it.”

Having someone keep it blunt with him seemed to be what he needed to hear. Was like he learned a mistake about keeping things to sweet. That sometimes you need a reality check.

“Thank you….I think it was very important for me to hear that. Thank you.” He would do his best to smile at you, but the nerves in his face were rather damaged. You wouldn’t be surprised if he needed some more surgery there to.

He’s still going to go through so much, but maybe having someone who can genuinely relate to it all could help.

“Hey, I come here every Saturday. That way when I’m painfully exhausted from it I can just relax and have Sunday be a complete recover day.” You said, as you walked with him as Anya rolled him over to a spot to not bother people. She would soon sit across from him, with a small ball, and the two of them would try and play simple catch with it. Both to help with his arms and his new adjustment with a single eye.

“Think that sounds like the best plan for me right now as well…” He nodded, as that was the way you two could agree on it.

He would do his best to play catch with her, but it kept falling in his lap. His limbs just not moving quite fast enough, and his send of direction never quite there. Was so frustrating, and you understood it.

“Said a million times, I know, but take it from me. You’ll genuinely get there. But it will take a while. Not days. Not weeks. Months if you keep at it. But it’ll get there.” You reassured, as you stepped away. Off to do your own exercises for your own issues.

Was a peaceful gym day like that. Spending what spoons you had to take care of yourself. Every now and again, when taking a breather, you looked over to him. Seeing Anya help him get used to his limbs. Small things like picking up something, catching, even paddy cake. Taking it slow for him.

Once you ran out of energy you would kinda hang out with them.

You didn’t ask him how he ended up like that, you just let yourself breathe. Breathe as he spoke what he wanted to speak about. Same for her.

From what little pieces you could pick out from them it sounded like they were victims of a ship crash. No wonder he ended up so fucked up. That fact he’s alive at all is insane to you. Anya deserved way more credit.

There also seemed to be a shared enemy between them. When a person called over for a therapist, named Jimmy, the way they flinched and looked around like someone started unloading a gun. Whoever this Jimmy was sure made his mark on them.

Once he finally couldn’t go on any longer she would take the arms off as well. Letting what was left of his limbs breathe. He was so exhausted, but he seemed happy. Happy to have made some kind of progress, and even happier he had someone to talk to through it.

“I’ll see you next Saturday.” You smiled, and waved, as you started to leave. He gave a wave of his own, before Daisuke and Swansea returned to him. There to carry his prosthetics and be his cheerleaders.

You were happy for him. He deserved a support network.

He deserved to smile again.

You just knew he did.

[grogumaximus]

Jos, do you agree that this was one of the most difficult seasons for Max?

"It certainly was, because of the performance of the car. He was already saying at the beginning of the championship that there were problems, but in the team they laughed, because he was winning. However, when the others grew up, it became clear that Max was right."

What didn't work?

"The wrong directions were taken in the development of the car. The balance between the front and the rear has never been ideal and on top of that the car breaks down on the bumps."

How did Max react?

"He worked hard to get the most out of it, despite the frustration of not being able to compete against the McLarens, who have long been the best on the track. He went to the factory more often, for simulator tests, and tried to help the engineers."

How did you handle the pressure around the team after the Horner case?

"In these moments, he manages to isolate himself from everything. He has the maturity and experience to face any situation. At home he has always been relaxed. Perhaps the most tense moment was in Mexico, due to the negativity spread by the English press (after the double penalty for the fierce duel with Lando Norris, ed. ). But all this is an extra motivation for Max. Nothing worries or scares him".

He was also at the center of controversy for certain statements…

"He won't change. That's just how he is, he always says what he thinks."

Who was closest to him?

"Me, our manager Raymond (Vermeulen), his engineer Giampiero Lambiase and of course Helmut Marko."

What was the best moment of 2024?

"The win in Brazil in the wet, coming back from seventeenth place. He managed to come back very quickly, took the lead and won by 20 seconds, without making any mistakes. It reminded me of his race in 2016, also in Interlagos, with the outside pass on Rosberg in the “Senna Esses”. It was incredible then too."

Starting this year, Max is traveling to European races with his motorhome. How did this idea come about?

"It's something he likes, because this way he has his own traveling home, he always sleeps in the same bed and enjoys more privacy, surrounding himself only with people he trusts. And then he had a simulator placed in the motorhome so he can train whenever he wants. It's a hobby of his, sometimes he stays there until three in the morning, but then he rests at least seven hours. I leave him alone and go to the hotel."

What moments do you share?

"At the races we eat together and talk about everything that happens. I can tell him anything frankly. Our relationship was built like this from the beginning and I only want the best for him. The difference is that now I don't get angry, because Max is a man and can do what he wants with his life and his choices, while as a child he needed a few scoldings".

What do you remember about those years and the holidays with Michael Schumacher?

"We were with the family. Our sons, Max and Mick, were having fun together, even though they spoke different languages, and Michael was playing with them in the pool."

Why did Max say he no longer wants to train on karts like other F1 drivers?

"He raced a lot in karts, maybe too much, sometimes we even did mini races in three with his mother (the champion Sophie Kumpen; ed. ). He also explained to me that, if you drive them only a few days a year, you end up with bumps and pains all over your body. He prefers GT cars. But he continues to follow the boys".

The Verstappen.com Racing brand is linked to a team that uses the Ferrari 296 GT3. Whose choice is it?

"About Max, he likes Ferrari...".

In the meantime, Mercedes was looking for him.

"Normal, they want the fastest driver."

How long will he race in F1?

"We have a contract with Red Bull until 2028 and we will get there, then we will see. We will have to understand if Max will still be interested in F1. All his life he has been told what he had to do, even by me, and now it is happening with the team. The time will come when he will want to decide".

Has he already given you a preview?

"There is certainly much more to his life than F1, and Max is aware of that. He listens to his feelings a lot, he knows what he wants. But it's difficult to say what will happen. Maybe, in the future, he will stop for a year and then he will want to come back. Of course, it's not the records that motivate him. He doesn't need to win seven or eight world championships, he is already happy with what he has achieved."

What do you remember about Max's first victory?

"It was the first race with Red Bull, even today I get goosebumps when I watch the commentary in Dutch. At the beginning we only dreamed of getting to F.1, then that success came and years later the world title, everything came true very quickly".

Who will be Max's rival in 2025?

"Many say Hamilton is too old, but he is a driver who knows how to fight hard. Norris is fast, even if he still lacks experience. It will depend on who has the best car. Ferrari got lost this year, after a good start, but they reacted. Vasseur is doing a great job, he is a racing man who knows how to sniff out situations, I like him".

[kurishiri]

Jude chapter 3 silly but kinda detailed summary

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ any pretty translation you may see in here may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. this is a sort of summary as well. if you enjoy, though, please consider reblogging, but please don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

kate successfully completes sortin out letters so she heads to the port where jude is talking with the foreman. its there she sort of thinks back on her time at raven co and the long and short of it is that jude, as the ceo, is actually really outstanding, and he acknowledges the efforts of those who work hard, produce results and whatnot, and rewards them in turn.

(that said he could work on his wording ,,)

time skip to night after judes done and they all walkin back tgt where kates like “i think i’ll be able to have a good dinner today” and jude scoffs at her callin her a twit. and shes all defensive like hey whats wrong with wanting to eat good food and judes like when did i say that was wrong?

all of a sudden they stop in their tracks and jude tells kate “on the count o’ three, crouch” and kates all panicked like tf is going on but jude already starts counting down so she crouches anw (in a panic!)

some guy in a suits out to kill jude. god knows who too bc apparently jude don’t know him either 💀

Jude: Who are ya? Can’t say ya look familiar.

[ insert some lines im lazy to tl ]

Jude kicked up at the man’s chin, causing the man’s body to do one smooth flip before collapsing onto the ground.

Man in a suit: Jude… Jazza——!

Jude: N’ like I was sayin’, who the hell are ya?

ok turns out jude does remember him in the end, its just another dude who broke his contract with jude and was selling up some illegal drugs and whatnot.

Jude: I told ya, didn’t I? That if ya breach your contract I’d show ya so much o’ hell you’d wish you kicked the bucket?

J: I fulfilled that promise for ya. Havin’ a grand old time in hell, aren’t’cha?

omg he pried open the wound on the mans face and he let out a cry to the night sky that could shake anyone’s soul silly.

kate then thinks or foreshadows (yk how like ikevil stories r kinda told like kate is recalling the past? like “i didn’t realize it then, but xyz” kinda like one of those moments) that what she witnessed that night was but a prologue of what’s to come bc they get attacked over and over again.

kate and jude get into another argument like “i feel im gonna die every time! im at my limit!” and judes like “well ur in the way loiterin round like that” then jude just yeets off w/o listenin to another word.

she does feel something bothering her tho

(For someone like Jude, he should be able to avoid these grudges…)

When I thought this, I came up with a theory that relieved me of this unsettling feeling.

(…Could it be he’s making himself an enemy of many on purpose?)

‘Yeah, right,’ was what I thought, but also, somewhere in my heart, I felt such a theory may also be true.

shes like there’s not enough info rn but if i do know anything its that

Kate: At this rate, if I stay with Jude any longer…a hundred lives would not be enough!

and so shes like i gotta learn self defense! so she goes knocking on a certain someone’s door like pls teach me le jutsu of self defense!

Ellis: Okay. （╹◡╹）♡

turns out ellis was also thinking of teaching her some stuff abt self defense soon.

so ellis takes kate to the lobby and kates like why the lobby and ellis goes to a bookshelf to take out a book which actually reveals vics weapon collection and takes out a gun, telling kate to try and hold it.

idk if this is a real gun or not (as in it exists irl), apparently its made of silver with a wooden grip.

ellis thinks its well suited for kate. like its lightweight yk. hes like you may need to use it jic. and then hes like

Ellis: But, it’s kind of refreshing.

E: Other than me, Jude seems pretty adverse to putting people by his side.

E: So, maybe he wants to get along with you?

kates like mmm doubt but at the same time she has this question in her mind w/o an answer of why he went and wrote a whole contract and let her stay by his side then? shes abt to cook up a theory in her head when…

just then jude comes in.

Ellis: Ah——Jude.

Jude: We got a job to do.

so they head off to some noble mansion.

Jude: How do ya do, we’ll be here a while.

Nobleman: Ah, Mister Jude?

apparently this nobleman is connected with the guy in the suit jude beat up in the beginning of the chptr. he made him spit out info.

Jude: If ya just were sellin’ somethin’ shady I’d let that off the hook. Illegal drug’s some child’s play.

J: However.

Jude raised one leg and rested it atop the long table.

Jude: I seem to recall the contract prohibitin’ the sellin’ and buyin’ of humans, or am I wrong?

ko-fi☕️ ┊ comms🤍

[maddiethedogstories]

The Glasses - The Dark Side

Author's Note: I'm trying something a little bit different with this story. I'm calling it a mirror story. I am going to write a story with the same basic prompt and ideas in two different ways. One wholesome and one dark. This is the dark story. I hope you all enjoy it! Read the wholesome version here.

Greg fancied himself an intellectual. He had a PhD, was the top of his field, and respected by all of his colleagues. He spent all of his free time reading books and papers, absorbing knowledge like a sponge.

Or at least he did, until he met Daddy.

Daddy was everything Greg desired. Daddy was tall, strong, assertive, and brilliant. Greg found himself immediately under the other man's spell.

The first day Daddy brought Greg home, Daddy sat Greg on the couch and pulled the glasses off of Greg's face.

"That's much better," Daddy growled confidently as he watched Greg's panic set in.

Greg, in contrast, found all of his self-confidence leave him as his corrective lenses were removed. Without his glasses, all Greg could see was a soft blur where Daddy's face should be. Greg was almost completely blind. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life, and he hated it.

"Um, could I please have my glasses back?" Greg asked timidly, butterflies fluttering in his stomach from the fear of being left without his glasses for any expanse of time, "I can't see anything without them."

Daddy laughed in response.

"Oh, my pet, you only get to see when Daddy says so."

Horrified, Greg dives for where he thought his glasses were, only to find himself perfectly draped over Daddy's lap.

"Oh, Greggy, you need to learn whose in charge!" Daddy said before Greg felt his pants pulled down to his knees and blows begin to rain down on his bottom.

Daddy never returned Greg's glasses that night, and, despite his horror at being effectively blind, all Greg made no attempt to get them back. With a sore bottom, Greg didn't dare cross Daddy again, especially once he realized that he was entirely reliant on the dominant man to care for him.

Over the course of the night, Greg struggled to care for himself. He sat frustrated through the whole movie, unable to tell what was going on.

He stumbled through Daddy's unfamiliar apartment, unable to tell where he was going. He made a mess of himself eating dinner, unable to see the food he attempted to shovel into his mouth or the utensil he was using to feed himself. And worst of all, Greg eventually ended up wetting himself when he couldn't find the restroom in time to relieve himself.

The whole time, Daddy looked on and teased him.

"Careful, big boy! If you're having this much trouble walking, maybe you should crawl?"

"What a messy boy! Looks like a certain someone could use a big!"

"Oh no! Did the big, smarty-pants professor go potty in his pants?"

Over the course of the night, Greg felt more embarrassed and humiliated than he had ever felt before. By removing just one of his possessions, Daddy has functionally reduced him to a small child.

When they parted that night, Daddy gave Greg his glasses back before showing Greg some pictures and videos on his phone. Greg, able to see again, looked on in horror at images of himself covered in food like a toddler, crawling on the floor after tripping, and, worst of all, wetting his pants.

"What do you think all of those smart colleagues you have would think of you if these ever hit the internet?" Daddy asked like a spider who knew it's pretty was now stuck in its web.

"Please, no…" was all Greg could say in response.

After some 'negotiation,' Greg was able to convince Daddy to keep the images private in exchange for Greg's future cooperation.

As Greg left Daddy's house that night, he felt a strange since of dread set in at the prospect of what the beautiful man had in store for him next. He couldn't imagine giving in and losing his personal autonomy like that again.

Pursuant to their deal, Greg kept seeing Daddy after that night. Their dates took on a common form. At the start of each one, Daddy would remove Greg's glasses and take control over the other man. In turn, Greg would find himself fully submitting to Daddy and all of the humiliations he had devised for him. The few times Greg balked at his treatment, a quick trip over Daddy's lap, a reminder of the photos in Daddy's possession, and a threat to set Greg free without his glasses was all that was needed to remind the submissive man of his place in their relationship.

Over time, Greg--the PhD, the intellectual, and the brain--found Daddy taking more and more autonomy from him each time they met. It was painful for Greg, a struggle and hit to his ego each time he lost a part of himself. However, with Daddy's power over him he could do nothing to stop each relinquishment of freedom.

Over time, Daddy started picking the food Greg ate. He found his mature diet replaced with bland Cheerios, dino nuggets, and other foods designed for the picky palates of toddlers. When he complained, Daddy just pointed out it was easier to eat those foods with his fingers, since he couldn't see well enough to use utensils without his glasses.

He began drinking all of his drinks, which had predominantly become milk, out of baby bottles. Daddy told Greg it was to keep him from spilling given his lack of depth perception, but Greg could help but fill like an infant everytime the rubber teat was pressed between his lips.

Having his pants and underwear removed and replaced with pull-ups and, eventually, diapers each time he entered Daddy's apartment was similarly mortifying. Daddy made sure to emphasize the importance of the extra protection each time he dressed Greg in the infantile garments, given Greg's proven inability to make it to the toilet on time (something made worse each time Daddy changed him out of his soggy padding after Greg repeatedly failed to locate the bathroom in Daddy's home).

Daddy also stopped letting Greg pick out his own clothes. Daddy pointed out that the artificially blind man couldn't see them, and Daddy was the one who had to worry about getting Greg's clothes off to change him anyway, so giving Greg the freedom to dress himself just didn't make sense.

However, no matter how much control Daddy took from Greg, at the end of every 'date,' be it for a few hours or a weekend, Daddy would hand Greg his glasses back, returning Greg to the adult world of academia and filling Greg with a sense of hope that maybe, this would be the last time Daddy would call him over to play.

That pattern continued until one day, Daddy finally made the declaration that Greg had been dreading to hear for months.

"Baby boy, I think it's time you moved in with Daddy full time."

Greg started to cry in his place on the floor where he sat on a soft blanket dressed in only a diaper and onesie while failing to stack wooden blocks due to his poor vision.

Greg immediately crawled (walking haven been forbidden after a particularly nasty trip) over to the Daddy shaped blur sitting on the couch and stared up at him with pleading eyes.

"Please no, Daddy? Please! I hate it here! I hate being your stupid little baby!"

Daddy beant down, wrapped his large hand around Greg's cheek and chin before shoving a pacifier between Greg's lips.

"Hush, pet," Daddy growled softly, his face menacingly close to Greg's, "I've made it very clear who is in charge in this relationship. It seems like you need a reminder."

Daddy then harshly pulled Greg over his lap before proceeding to deliver the worst spanking Greg had ever experienced. At the end of it, the apartment was filled with nothing but the sound of Greg's soft sobs and the crinkling of his diaper, as he thought about the ramifications of daring to question Daddy's judgment.

The next few months passed in a blur. After moving into Daddy's house, Greg found himself wearing his glasses less and less.

Deprived of his ability to see, Greg spent more time forced to participate in infantile activities like playing with blocks or trucks or futilely trying to color in a coloring book instead of reviewing the latest literature in his field like he used to.

Greg's coworkers started to notice how the once brilliant, workaholic man's performance had dropped off. Greg was pulled into his boss' office and lectured on his need to improve, but, Greg, who once prided himself on his career success and independence, found himself unable to improve his performance at work given Daddy's humiliating restrictions at home.

After six-months of living together, Greg's boss had had enough and fired his once best employee.

Sitting in Daddy's lap in nothing but a soggy diaper, Greg cried as he told his tormentor about his lose of a job.

"Daddy," he began softly, hesitant for fear of judgment at what was coming next.

"Yes, pet?" Daddy asked Greg, his ever predatory tone dripping from his every word.

"I was, was, was fired today," Greg chokes out between sobs.

Daddy smiled, although Greg couldn't see it. He rubbed Greg's back possessively.

"Oh, did someone's boss finally realize what a soggy little pants wetter he really is? I can't say I'm surprised, but I am ~very~ excited for what that means. You can finally be my diapered little pet full time!" Daddy said triumphantly.

Greg's sobs redoubled at his sudden understanding of the truth in Daddy's words. He tucked his thumb in his mouth, a soothing habit Daddy had long ago trained in him, and continued to cry in his tormentors arms.

Daddy brushed Greg's hair with his fingers, relishing this moment of absolute victory.

"Daddy is so excited for you to be my soggy little pet forever."

Daddy laughed a little as Greg continued to cry before grabbing a small object that Greg couldn't quite make out off the table.

"I guess you won't be needing these anymore. Maybe we should get them mounted for posterity?"

Greg frowned.

"What, Daddy?"

Daddy responded with a guffaw.

"Your glasses!"

Greg felt his heart drop in sudden realization. Daddy was right. As Daddy's permanent pet, he would probably never wear be allowed to wear glasses again. His world was now fated to forever be a blur.

[pseudowho]

Good god, I thought I was the only one that would literally roll my eyes and exit the page at child like descriptions of genitalia in fanfic. Do you have any insight as to why that has become a thing?

Side note: You absolutely rock in a cool older sister way

Warning! Please do feel free to block me if this is not to your liking. Personal theories and opinions ahead that may well make you hate me!

I have quite a lot of theories, but! all of them are theories, interspersed with my personal opinions, and none of them are pleasant. Here they are...

The trend of hyperfetishisation of, and normalisation of sexualising extreme youth/barely legal young women, has possibly created a push towards extra young 'women' being viewed pornographically. Those who are young in our communities may often therefore feel their burgeoning sexuality is validated, and seek to reflect images of extreme youth in their depictions of pornography (smut).

The rise of labiaplasty; once more, teaching young women that their perfectly normal bodies are disgusting has paid off. I can say with firsthand experience that the amount of women paying money for surgery to make their genitalia as 'barely there' as possible (almost like a child's) is climbing.

The trend towards hypermasculinity, and traditional male!dom, female!sub roles in the heterosexual community where historically the man has been significantly older, and this was considered normal. This has created a push towards 'daddy' culture (in an older man, and much younger girl/woman, way). This will ultimately increase the push for women and girls to be portrayed as younger in porn/smut.

Women's bodies have, throughout the ages, been expected to fall into fashion trends, as if we are clothes to be worn by men. Pin-up girls were expected to have a certain shape (the in fashion shape!) to cater to men. Noughties 'cocaine/heroin chic' builds were typically the ones that would be seen on the arms of the most famous men.

And now? The hyperfetishisation of youth is back. So our society is now creating a progressive push towards extra young women being pushed to the foreground as aspirational partners.

What's even filthier about this, is it has allowed more and more people to feel ethically validated in 'blurring the line' between girls and women, and it appeals to young girls and young women, at the time in their lives when they're often most likely to seek validation.

Society is taking advantage of young women and girls wanting to be wanted, by telling them that it's okay for a barely legal girl to be pursued by a much older man.

In short: I worry about what I feel is a concerning rise in the push towards extremely young women being the 'partner of choice'. There seems to be a patriarchal push back towards women remaining less powerful in more submissive societal roles and in partnerships with men, and it's being packaged as 'womens' choice'.

I'm not saying that young women and girls being able to explore their sexuality is wrong; not at all. I fully support it. I just always ask the question: who is leading this, and why, and who is in control here?

Not all men are as feminist as we write them on Tumblr. Not all men are how we write Nanami Kento. As well most of us know. Which is why we're here...writing men who will be dominant/take care of us while respecting us fully. Because deep down, a lot of us feel that this man is a fantasy.

Older women aren't bitter than men our own age often want younger women; we're suspicious of their reasons for it. Is it because she's less self confident? That you perceive her as easier to mould? That she's less likely to see all of your red flags? Hmm.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[creatingblackcharacters]

I don't tend to interact with people in general unless they initiate even if i want to, and that goes double with fandom spaces. I very easily miss and forget things, including attempts at bullying around or even toward me. Idk i usually only send asks via Anon, but this question thing is just. Really good. At first, i didn't feel like they applied to me much since i haven't really interacted with fandom spaces since i was 14 anyways and that when i did, i also remember confronting the racism i managed to notice.

But thinking more about it. I know there was a lot of racism i didn't notice or recognise or forgot about immediately and therefore didn't respond to and even if i don't see myself as part of 'fandom' that all definitely also applies to the real world!

My two best friends are mixed and have both told me they'd been called the n-word in fucking kindergarten. My dad's friend's wife who i like and care about a lot not only had to deal with moving from Uganda to a very different country and learn a new language only spoken here, but she and her kids must've dealt with so much anti-Blackness that i have no idea about. There's so many people i know, both friends and close acquaintances who constantly have to deal with something i have such a hard time to understand.

Some family members have the philosophy that saying bigoted shit when only family are around is ok. They think I'm being a spoilsport for getting upset about it even when that certain bigotry doesn't apply to me. It sometimes makes me think that maybe i am overreacting, but if i can't feel comfortable even having them around people who that bigotry would apply to. If i feel embarrassed for being related to people like that, then I'm not overreacting at all when i get upset and tell them to cut it out.

Not speaking out against it means I'm contributing to a terrible environment i know not only hurts people i care about deeply but also so many more. Bigotry in fandom might not seem as serious as in real life, but it reflects how those people are irl and helps normalise an environment where people feel comfortable to be bigoted. Black people not being able to escape anti-Blackness for a second even in fandom shouldn't be accepted as how things just are.

I apologise for the long incoherent rambling, weird wording and focus on myself i just. Asking those kind of questions and doing what you do is invaluable in so many ways. I really hope everyone that's seen your posts are able to apply it both in fandom and art as well as outside of it. Thank you, all your work does make a difference and I'm very happy that I'll be able to be a better friend and ally!

Indeed! Nothing I say here can't be generally applied to how you treat Black people in real life. The perspective holds; you don't consume media in a vacuum.

I sincerely hope you do become a better friend and ally 🙏🏾

[stxrrnightjxr]

Autistic Regulus, whom I hold so near and dear to my heart, they can never take you away from me. 😔

As an autistic person, (who gets probably way to hyperfixated on certain characters) these are my HC’s:

- He was diagnosed late. Like, REALLY late. Canon compliance, he wasn’t at all, and in some modern AU it was probably late into his twenties, maybe early-to-mid-thirties, and after he was out of his parent’s hold. Because Walburga and Orion could never accept that there was something wrong with their daughter, son (because I live for trans Reggie) so why should they ever enable anyone to believe that he was ‘mental’? Or ‘slow’? No, a Black child wasn’t those things. (OOC; Just for reference, autistic people are not, nor do I think they are, mental, crazy, slow, or any of those things. I am autistic myself, and have many friends who are, and know that is not the case 💚)

This also leads to a lot of trauma for Regulus, and a lot of repressed emotions. He learned how to mask very quickly, and very well.

- he’s sensitive to bright lights (which his light blue/gray eyes do not help with), and so he squints his eyes a lot. Barty once told him he looked like he was scrutinizing his face, and Regulus simply said ‘I am, it’s ugly.’ (He doesn’t believe that, but he’s not going to tell you that.) (I love sneaking in unrelated Bartylus)

- along with bright lights, he’s sensitive to loud noises. That was hard for him when he would have to listen to, or endure, his parents screaming. When they’d scream at Sirius, Regulus would hide up in his room, in the closet, with his hands over his ears, hoping nobody called for him. When he was the one being screamed at, he’d just zone out and hope they would just go away.

- he used to be that he couldn’t bear to hold eye contact, like it physically hurt him; but his parents beat it into him that it was disrespectful, so now he’s ended up being that guy who will just dead-stare into someone’s eyes if they’re talking to him. It often unsettles them, and makes Regulus out to be some ‘weird, creepy kid.’ (Regulus was originally confused by this; wasn’t he doing it right? Do you look at their eyes or no?)

- his voice is very monotone. He was often able to get away with this, because it sounded much like his father’s. (Orion had a number of peculiar habits, and quirks. No one talked about it.)

- intimacy (even friendly touch, like hand-holding, hugging) is difficult for him. Regulus does not hug, he does not hold people’s hands. (Unless it was Sirius’, because Sirius was the one who’d hold his hand when he was melting down every other night. Sirius’ hand feels too familiar to hurt, like most others’ do.) he’s only comfortable with touch once he REALLY gets to know a person, and even then, there’s still strict no-no’s. (No touching his hair, his neck, his wrists, his legs, his feet, his stomach, (basically nothing below his waist) )- in retrospect, not much. (Those rules had more leeway with Barty, he supposed.)

- he HATES certain sounds. Cannot stand chewing, cannot stand repetitive sounds (even though he occasionally makes those, only when he’s alone), sounds of bugs, cannot stand certain textures, too- velvet, for one (formal events were nightmares, for that, and many other reasons), microfiber, and certain denims.

- he loves the water. It’s very calming, has a nice sound, has a nice texture. He listens to thunderstorm/rain sounds to go to sleep to, (because another thing is he cannot tolerate silence.)

Again, this may be me way too much projecting, but I really don’t care 🫶

[noxianwilled]

I have many thoughts about the comic and I don't think everything is great but as someone whose entire portrayal pre recent lore was 'Marcus really is dead bc Kat chose her loyalty to Noxus and Swain and killed her dad' the last couple chapters appealed to me specifically uahsuahduahd