#but NOBODY cares everyone uses them reclaimable or not

[everythingwasnormalhere]

A bunch posts ago I said Kenny is kinda part latino and never elaborated sooo

His mother is latina, specifically from Paraguay (like my best friend :D), but she and her brother moved to South Park when she was really young so she doesn't practically have an accent

However, she does speak in Spanish when talking to her parents (her brother doesn't talk to them, but she does) and to her brother

Kenny was mainly raised in English, but he forced himself to understand some words in Spanish as a little kid so he could understand his mother when she's talking to her family

When Kenny was about five, Carol's brother died (of old age they said, but really he got AIDS), but he lived with the McCormick's up until then. As he refused to learn English, Kenny also had to understand him in the very few times they would talk

Between his parka covering him and the cold weather, Kenny's skin looks like a white kid's, but if it was warmer and sunnier he'd tan really quick

Kenny can't form coherent sentences in Spanish too well, but he can understand almost everything in Spanish, mainly if it's with Paraguay accent (and he also knows a couple words in Guaraní, but it's a really hard language so that's it)

When he ended up at Mexico (S4 E10, "Probably"), he at first didn't understand anything because he wasn't used to listening to people talk to him in Spanish (as the one who mainly did it was his uncle) and less to the Mexican accent, but eventually he managed to communicate enough to get himself and Cartman out of there

Some of his favorites bands in Spanish are El Cuarteto De Nos (mainly El Cuarteto Tapicero) and Skimales (principally because of Atropellando Viejas and Ploma, La Gallina En Coma)

Also, when he watched Terrance & Phillip: Asses On Fire, he looked up the Spanish version of Uncle Fucka, and it didn't disappoint (as a Spanish person, it really slaps more than the original)

He will insult people in Spanish (there's so many Spanish swear words it's fucking awesome), and if they ask what it means he'll just say "gilipollas" means "handsome" or something like that XD

[genderqueerdykes]

you know what. fuck it. i'll fly off the handle. i get so tired when people try to explain "why" people who refuse to use it/its pronouns for its users. like i honestly don't want to hear you spitball a "reason" why these people do this, it's a fucking waste of time no matter what. i don't care about finding the reason "why" anyone chooses to misgender me or anyone else. you don't have to psychoanalyze strangers and "get to the bottom" of it because what you're doing is writing it off and handing that person sympathy.

i don't care if they do it because many people weaponize it/its against queer people. i don't care if people do it because it makes them "UNCOMFORTABLE". what the fuck? i don't care if people do it because it's "hard" for them. it makes me WAY more than just "uncomfortable". it's disrespectful and it rightfully pisses me off. i don't care if people do it because they find it disrespectful or in bad taste. i don't care about any of this.

why does NOBODY care about the comfort of the it/its user?

i literally don't care "why" someone refuses to use my pronouns- what i care about the fact is that they just CHOSE to misgender me. focus on the bigger picture, here- folks not using our primary or ONLY pronouns is misgendering us. i literally do not fucking care which reason people Choose to misgender me or anyone else. everyone wants to reclaim slurs, but we can't reclaim people weaponizing it/its against us?

i care about correcting the behavior so people don't have to be misgender because of someone else's discomfort. why are you trying to be sympathetic or "understand" people who choose to misgender other people? focus on the fact that queer people are being harmed, intentionally mind you, by other people who refuse to look past their own nose. using it/its makes them "uncomfortable", but refusing to use it makes us feel disrespected.

if you're so concerned about being respectful: use our goddamn fucking pronouns and none if this would happen in the first place!

[jinuaei]

Cleaning up

Yandere! Husband! Alastor x Fallen Angel! Accidental Spouse! Reader

Part 1 --- Additional art

Maybe it was a bad idea to be married to this man. You thought as you saw other demons run away and cower from him, you would have also ran with them if only the person that everyone is so terrified of wasn't holding your arm hostage. 

It would have been embarrassing getting dragged around by this tall deer if it wasn't the fact that you're also pissing yourself sacred. But the good thing is he actually believes that you are his ‘spouse’, so you don't think you'll be hurt…much. Besides, he’s such a gentleman that he gave you his coat to cover up your wings so that it wouldn't be exposed to any more harm.

After a while of trying not to trip, actually stumbling, and Alastor dragging you up again and again, you manage to notice the change of scenery, from tall depressing buildings to smaller, more quaint establishments. The demons that also frequent the streets changed from shark demons, to red imps, and finally to black eyed demons with sharp teeth. 

Well, at least they look friendly.

“This place here is the cannibal town! We’ll be visiting a good friend of mine, I’m sure she’ll be able to clean you up in no time!” your ‘husband’ exclaimed. 

I reclaim that statement.

The town is charming, and rather calming in contrast to that chaotic, overstimulating city you crashed landed in. Despite being in hell, there were flowers growing here, clearly being taken care of wonderfully by the citizens of this town. Vintage cars roam around the road and you see children playing in the parks you've passed through. It’s almost identical to what you see in heaven, but more demonic and nobody uses cars because well, everybody has wings. When you are reminded about the wings, yours twitches in response, rubbing against the deer’s coat. Because of that, feathers, still stained with blood, fall off. Alastor’s shadow tendril grabs it midair and pockets it into his trousers.

Finally, the radio demon abruptly stops, giving you enough time to stabilize yourself properly. With a wave of his hand he shows off to you a building named ‘Franklin and Rosie Emporium’, and you notice on the side there is a huge line of people waiting to enter. Whatever they sell here must be quite popular. Now that you think about it, it might be related to the ‘cannibalism’ part of the town.

Alastor must be important here because people moved away from him as he waltzed through the entrance and into the door. As soon as you both step in, an exclamation of his name catches both of you and your ‘husbands’ attention.

“Oh Alastor! It's always a delight when you come to visit the Emporium, how have you been? And oh! Who is this adorable birdie? Though they look absolutely filthy,” the demon steps into the view, a sweet looking lady with a polite smile who gingerly holds your hands.

“Rosie, meet mon cher, sent by the heavens to become my beloved spouse,” the radio demon lifts up your chin with his fingers, moving your head side to side as if to show you off to Rosie, “Also, would you be a dear and help them clean up? I expect my spouse to be absolutely pristine considering they're married to the greatest radio host of all time!”

“Well, I’ll be delighted to play dress-up with the sweet thing, maybe you can run to the tailors real quick and find them new clothes too.” 

Agreeing to that, Alastor waves you goodbye and leaves, Rosie then ushers you to follow her while shouting at Franklin to man the store while she's out. You both emerge to a room above the shop, Rosie leading you to a spare bedroom with an en suite bathroom. It's quite homey, with mostly red as its main colour, other than that, nothing stands out to you.

“You can stay here for the time being as you wait for your husband, bathrooms over there, and there should be bandages and such under the sink. I will be down below to help Franklin with the customers, just find me if you need help!” Rosie closes the door to the room and leaves you to your lonesome. It's time to clean up, you think.

Stepping into the normal looking bathroom, a bathtub greeted you, thankfully it's big enough to fit you and your broken wings. You absentmindedly fill up the tub as you think back to before you fell, trying to determine what happened to cause you to fall from heaven's graces. Nothing comes to mind and eventually the tub fills up. 

Shrugging off your ripped clothes and Alastor's coat, you sink into the water, seeping into the open wounds on your body. As much as you want to climb out the tub, it's important to rid yourself first from the golden blood and debris that cover you. You look over your whole body under the tainted water, you are covered in cuts and bruises but other than that, there's no concerning wounds to be found. Well, other than the numbing pain of your wings. Now that you think about it, your halo has been missing the whole trip. You can sense that it's there, but you cannot feel it above you, nor do you see it illuminate the room.

Maybe it's just hidden? 

As you think that, the halo starts to manifest just above you, the glow weaker and flickering just slightly as if it's a broken bulb. You frown at the sheer difference from when you were in heaven, when it was incredibly bright, the other angels would tease you for being a walking lighthouse sometimes. When you lift up your hand to touch the halo, you notice a mark on your ring finger. Looking closer, it seems like a tattoo, of two snakes twisting into something akin to chains. How odd.

A knock pulls you out from your thoughts and a voice from the other room calls out to you.

“I’ll be leaving out your clothes on the bed my dear, Rosie will come by in a moment to help you with your hair!” 

You quickly finish the bath and stumble in front of the mirror. Eyes darting to your mirrored self, you gaze upon the broken wings and dim halo, you are ashamed to see what you are now. Though you have done nothing to cause the fall, you still feel the undeserved guilt of being wrong. Ingrained to you during your time alive and dead, but you yourself know you've been good, so why berate yourself over other people's definition of good and evil?

Still, you try to will away the angelic limbs attached to you, and are successful in hiding it, leaving only red patches of burned skin on your back. Thankfully, you were able to soothe the irritated skin and patch up the area fairly well. 

You close the door behind you and check out the clothes Alastor got for you, it's similar to his in design but also suited to you. How he was able to get your size right you're not sure. Regardless, it fits you perfectly, and there's even an opening at the back for your wings, though you've already willed it away, still you appreciate the sentiment.

“Are you done honey?” a knock reverberates in the room and you answer with a ‘come in!’. Rosie does and is pleasantly surprised at the lack of wings on your back. You remember the coat left in the bathroom and grab it, shrugging it on to cover the exposed skin and bandages. 

The cannibal guides you to the vanity, starting to brush your hair.

 “So you're Al’s little angel hm? How’d he manage to catch such a cutie pie?” The woman's Boston accent grabs your attention from the various tools in front of you.

“Well… As he said earlier I’ve been assigned to him as his spouse haha…” you laugh awkwardly,”but enough about me! How about Alastor…What is he like?”

“Oh! He’s such a sweetheart! Well he is an Overlord, he eats other demons, and kills for fun, but don't you worry about that! You're his darling, he wouldn't do anything to harm you. You're in good claws sweetie.”

“Sorry, what???”

“Hm?” 

Rosie just smiles at you before finishing up your look. And might you say, looking at the mirror you look absolutely breathtaking. Coming out of the room, you find Alastor in the kitchen cooking. The smell wafting around the house is magnificent, you are reminded how hungry you are after falling from heaven.

“There you are my dear, I made some Jambalaya for you! My momma always said once I got my own cherie I should always provide for them for the rest of our days. So, expect more of this dear,” the man hums an upbeat tune as he gives you a plate of the food. 

Adorably, he wears a yellow apron that says ‘Deer-est cook’ at the front, you also notice that he had his hair up with a ribbon in a low ponytail.

You were excited to consume the meal right in front of you but then you remember where in hell you are now.

“...Did you put demon meat in the Jambalaya…?”,eyes glancing up at him, the question lingers in the air as he catches your eyes and stares back, still smiling. A few unnerving seconds pass before he answers with a ‘of course not!’

You breathe out in relief and trust your so-called ‘husband’.

Or maybe I shouldn't trust what he says, but he's still staring, what if he gets angry that I won't eat it?? Oh heavens, please forgive me.

With closed eyes, you finally bite down on the food. Praying to all things holy, hoping that you did not do anything blasphemous by accidentally eating demon meat, you find yourself pleasantly surprised at how delicious it was. You almost forget proper etiquette when you start ravenously gulping down the rest of the food. 

The demon before you chuckles in delight at the sight of you enjoying your food. As much as he would like to feed you his exotic diet, he would rather not force you to do anything you don't want to. And oh…the pleased shiver that ran down his spine at the trust you've shown him by not questioning him any further regarding the meal was truly delicious.

Dear angel… MY dear angel. How perfect you are… I'll never let you go. After all, you were made for me weren't you?

“I forgot to tell you how absolutely darling you are in that outfit! I must say I have quite the taste! Haha!” he laughs at his joke,“might I ask where your wings are? I could’ve sworn it was there when I left! Unless you cut it off? You should’ve asked me though, I’m sure your wings would be a delicacy…”

“I was able to hide it, I don’t want to be a walking target you know? An angel down in hell seems like a bad thing to be.”

“Oh don’t worry about being a target! I’ll kill whoever tries to even look at you wrongly,” crooning at you, he brushes away invisible dust on his coat, “also you may keep my coat dear, it’ll be a good way to show people that you belong to me now, that is until I can find a ring worthy enough to be worn by you!”

“I-uh thank you…” 

Crap. If I don't escape soon I'll be officially married to him. Then again…if he keeps cooking me good food I guess it won't be too bad…

With that in mind, you hope your future will be brighter than your descent to hell.

A/N GODDD THAT TOOK SO LONG. Honestly, the more people kept asking for part 2 the less inclined I was to actually make one but here I am.

That being said, I will be making more fics at my own pace. Finals is coming up so please do not expect new parts for this fic. Truth is ITS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE MULTIPLE PARTS! It was merely an idea I had while I was in an art block. Nonetheless I hope you enjoyed it :DD

(I unfortunately do not do taglists)

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Divider by @/cafekitsune

[infiniteglitterfall]

OP there first claimed that I was only using Western sources, then blocked me when I shared too many tweets from anti-Hamas Palestinians.

Not the first time. That is standard operating procedure in the pro-Palestinian movement. And it's probably the biggest red flag, out of a LOT of red flags, that this isn't any kind of grassroots progressive movement.

It's an astroturfed far-right Hamas movement, disguised with progressive buzzwords.

A progressive movement would be centering and platforming the activists on the ground. The people directly affected, who have expertise and knowledge in what's happening and what helps.

Not blocking them on sight, as many Palestinian activists have complained SJP leaders and pro-Pal influencers are doing. (Sometimes AFTER calling them "Zionists.")

Kudos to @queermarzipan for reporting OP for supporting terrorism. I'm posting this to show everyone how easy it is to do that. And to encourage fucking beg people to report worship of Hamas, PFLP, and all their pals.

This shit is screwing over the actual people of Gaza.

It's actively helping Hamas to continue silencing Gazan voices.

And it's abandoning the people of Gaza who have fought Hamas so fucking hard and suffered so fucking much at its hands.

I'll hand this post over to Gazan activist Hamza Howidy to explain more.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Hamza Howidy (@hamzahowidyy)

We Gazans attempted several times to remove Hamas from power. In 2019 and in 2023, the people of Gaza held peaceful marches against Hamas; for this crime, we were brutally assaulted by Hamas militants. Hamas imprisoned over 1,300 protestors at each protest.

I was one of them. I was personally imprisoned by Hamas and tortured twice, because I participated in these protests.

So I know firsthand that when ordinary Gazans like myself protested against Hamas, there was no media attention.

No human rights organizations demanded the release of prisoners held for months in Hamas prisons, not to mention those who were tortured by Hamas, and even killed by Hamas—like Issam Al-Saaffein, who was killed under torture in Hamas's jails.

This trend has continued during the present war. Since October 7, hundreds of Gazans have been killed by Hamas' failing rockets. Hamas has confiscated the food, fuel, and medicine sent to Gaza, and they did not stop here. 13-year-old Ahmad Breka was shot in the head by Hamas in Rafah while attempting to collect humanitarian aid. Others were fortunate because they were merely shot in the legs by Hamas while attempting to grab humanitarian goods that Hamas stole and kept in their facilities. These inhumane acts, along with the agony that Gazans have undergone since October, prompted many to demonstrate anew during this war.

They demonstrated in Khan-Younis in front of Yahya Sinwar's house; others protested in the north, asking that Hamas free the captives and cease the war.

They received the same response from Hamas that I did: They were fired upon.

There have been protests in Gaza, throughout the war, demanding that Hamas surrender so they can finally have peace.

Nobody in the movement has heard of it or mentioned it. Much less coordinated protests with them, or amplified their demands. Instead, our protests ignore them at best. And often, openly fly Hamas flags.

Everyone who cares about Palestinians needs to reclaim this movement from Hamas and its supporters.

This is just one step towards doing that.

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 7

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, dealer!ellie, LOSER!ELLIE, cursing, ANGST, use of marijuana and alcohol, brief mention of death, descriptions of a weapon (it's just ellie's switchblade), sexual speech and content, brief mention of violence, brief description of homophobia, ellie's POV, minors do not interact

word count: 3.5k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

“Ellie, seriously, calm down. Also, can you hand me the fucking joint already?” 

Dina watches as Ellie paces back and forth across the living room of the apartment Ellie shared with Jesse. She’d come back early from her Electrical Engineering Design class after silently storming out a mere 15 minutes into the lecture. She had her Particle Physics class in less than an hour, but she had very little intention of attending. 

She’d even bailed on making a quick stop at Ruston Coffee in order to reclaim the jacket she’d lent to Daniela. She had four unread texts from her, but she ignored them. 

“Dude, I just—” Ellie starts. 

“I know,” Dina replies. “But can you blame her?” 

Ellie doesn’t reply, instead angrily groaning as she plops down next to Dina on the couch. She hands Dina the joint, which was already half-burnt. 

“God, at least ash it first,” Dina complains, taking it from her and flicking the dusty remains into an ashtray on the coffee table. “Anyway, what the fuck is she supposed to do? Not move on from you?” 

“No, but—” 

“You’re only this mad because Abby Anderson’s the one she was seeing before you,” Dina says before taking a hit of the joint. “I mean, you’d still be irritated if it was someone else. But now, your ego is a little bruised.” 

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Ellie scoffs. “And she and I weren’t seeing each other, we—” 

“It’s been two fucking years. You need to stop saying that shit.” Dina interrupts, getting exasperated. 

“We literally weren’t—” 

“Who the fuck cares, Ellie?”

“D—” Ellie attempts, but Dina continues. 

“She was in love with you, and you were so fucking in love with her. And don’t try to pull that shit with me, saying that you weren’t in love with her.” Dina adds, seeing that Ellie was about to interrupt once more. “Everyone saw it, and everyone knew it. Fuck, even Joel saw it, and it’s Joel.” 

Ellie says nothing, choosing to stare intensely at her fists. They were turning white from how hard she was clenching them in agitation. 

It had been so long since she’d seen your smile, the honest and genuine kind that you used to flash at her countless times. She hadn’t seen it since before your cousin Rafael passed away. The way it’d adorned your face so naturally just now, it broke something in her today the moment she glanced your way. Something that she’d hastily patched up after you cut her off completely. And for Abby Anderson to be the reason for that smile… 

Dina purposely blowing smoke in Ellie’s face wakes her up from her reverie. 

“The fuck, D…” Ellie complains, coughing and fanning a hand in her face to clear the smoke. 

“Jesse and I love you very much,” Dina continues, ignoring her curses. “But to be honest, we’ve kind of been pissed with you for a while now.” 

Ellie’s eyes shoot up to frown at her. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

Dina sighs. 

“We love her a lot too, you know. And we miss her. The past year, she’s pulled away from us because of you. And we would have pushed, but she asked us not to. She asked us not to choose and to just keep being friends with you like normal.” 

“I—“ Ellie stutters. “I didn’t know that.” 

“Because she told us not to tell you.” Dina sighs. “Even after you hurt her, she still thought about you. She knew how much we mean to each other, and she didn’t want to get in the way of that. And that’s why she hasn’t told either me or Jesse what happened between you two when you took her home at the end of that summer.” 

Ellie puts her head in her hands, recalling that drive. That day rattled in her mind constantly over the past year or so. She’d tried consistently to repress it at first, but it was all cemented in her mind: your nervous twitching and fidgeting, the way your lips trembled when you spoke, the redness of your eyes as you fought not to cry. Eventually, she gave up trying to forget it all; deep down, she knew she deserved to live with the guilt. 

“Fuck.” Ellie sighs. 

“Yeah.” 

They sit in silence for a few moments as Dina finished the rest of the joint, eventually putting it out on the ashtray. 

“So,” Dina finally speaks. “You gonna tell me what made her break up with you?” 

Ellie sighs. 

“I don’t think you really wanna know, D.” She mutters. 

“You know,” Dina says. “It’s not really fair that you’ve had me and Jesse update you nonstop the past year on what’s been going on with her, but then you won’t tell either of us what went down.” 

“It’s just…” Ellie continues, thinking. “I know you both think I was real shitty for what I did to her. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t think that. But I don’t want you both to think that I’m a complete and total asshole.” 

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You are a complete and total asshole.” Dina shrugs. 

“Oh, you dick.” Ellie says, smacking Dina’s arm a little too hard. 

“Ow!” Dina complains, rubbing the spot where Ellie hit her. “We don’t all go to the gym religiously, you know. Some of us are delicate!” 

“Pussy.” Ellie chuckles. 

Dina rolls her eyes before getting up from the couch. 

“Anyway, get your shit together, Williams. I gotta go.” She says. “Got class in about 20 minutes.” 

“Skip it.” 

“No. Go to your next class, Els.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Ellie says dismissively, brushing her off. 

Dina said her goodbyes and waved before leaving the apartment, locking the door behind her. 

Ellie sat with her thoughts for a moment before getting up to walk to the kitchen. She grabs a mug from the cabinets, one decorated with a red-winged blackbird on one side and a sandhill crane on the other. After she nearly fills it to the brim with whiskey, she begins drinking it impatiently as she makes her way into her bedroom. 

She places her now half-empty mug on her bedside table before plopping down onto her bed. Not bothering to remove her dirty Converse, she stares up at the prickly, white ceiling. 

Abby Anderson? Why her? 

Her tattooed arm was positioned above her forehead while the other laid on her side, her old, trusty switchblade suddenly in her hand. She starts playing with it mindlessly as thoughts of you swim inside her head. 

When the fuck did she start seeing her again? She didn’t even like Anderson that much… 

Ellie’s mind was a battlefield. She begins recalling memories of you when you’d talk about Abby Anderson, trying to discern the level of attraction you had for her from the bashful looks on your face and the dreaminess in your voice. At the same time, she was trying to push away her own emotion from those memories: the forced smile she’d give you when you brought Anderson up, the way she bit her tongue from unleashing nasty, sarcastic retorts about her, the seething rage she felt as she stormed away from you the first night she dropped you off at Anderson’s dorm. 

She didn’t even… She only slept with her once…  

Ellie thinks about that evening, when she watched you getting ready. She tried desperately to shut out the images of your tender eyes begging for her approval, your messy hair cascading down as you’d taken it out of its bun, every curve of your body that she was allowed a glimpse of when she’d helped you dress, your lips…

Anderson was just some fucking hook-up, I know she was… 

Ellie remembers miserably how she waited until you’d completely turned away to watch how mesmerizing you looked as you ascended the steps to Anderson’s dorm. Ellie remembers the disappointed look you had on your face, crest-fallen that she’d kept you at arms-length the rest of the evening. She remembers wanting desperately to call out your name, stop you from walking through the door, and claim you for herself. She remembers nearly doing so, but her courage had not moved swiftly enough. 

I fucked her hundreds more times… There’s no way Anderson is pleasing her like I did… I’m the one who knows how to… 

Ellie begins speculating on what you’ve been doing hanging around Anderson again. There’s no way that you were just friends. She sees the way Anderson swaggers when they occupy the gym together, her flirty smirk as she greets people as she walks down hallways. Ellie recognizes another lesbian player when she sees one, and she knew for a fact how popular Anderson was with other girls. And more than anything, Ellie knows how beautiful you are. She knows that anyone within five feet of you would be delusional not to want a chance. 

Anderson’s not her type… Anderson is not her fucking type… What the hell is she doing? She can do a whole lot fucking better… 

Ellie’s thoughts unravel as she wonders about what Anderson was saying that was making you laugh so much. She obsesses over the way you were touching her arm, how your fingers brushed over her muscled bicep. She torments herself about what you were letting her do to you at this very moment. 

I just… I just fucking saw her a couple of days ago… She’s single, she looked fucking single… 

Were you spending the night at her place this evening? Were you all dolled up today just to see her? Is Anderson taking you out on a date tonight or is she bringing you straight to her bedroom? Has she touched you already today? Has she kissed those cherry-flavoured lips of yours once more yet? Is she lifting your dress over your head or are you doing it for her? Is she kissing your neck as her fingers make their way down into your underwear to— 

Ellie sits up all of a sudden, yelling in frustration and hurling her switchblade across the room. She breathes heavily as she stares at her knife now fastened securely into the drywall, halfway stuck resulting from a throw a little too vigorous. 

“Fuck me.” Ellie huffs, disgruntled, not by the damaged wall, but by the jealousy smoldering within her. 

Why? 

Ellie picks up her half-empty mug of booze and chugs it. As droplets of whiskey dribble down her chin, she glances at the painted birds on her now-empty mug. 

Joel had bought it during a trip to a thrift store when she was 14 after she’d begged him to get it for her. Every time before the school year started, she’d always be sure to pack it to take with her, a piece of home. It was her favourite mug and it reminded her of her father. 

She missed him. She wished she was back home in Jackson with him right now, away from these problems. Life felt so much more simple when it was just her and Joel, just the two of them against the rest of the world. But she was no longer 14 and no longer an innocent. 

Ellie sighs. She deliberates for a moment or two. Maybe she could call Joel, tell him what was going on. He knew her best, besides Dina and Jesse. He usually steered her in the right direction, whether it was in a way she initially agreed with or not. 

In the end, Ellie decides against it. Explaining lesbianism to a well-meaning but clueless 60-something-year-old man was hard enough. Having to illustrate the current state of her love life? Ellie didn’t have the time or patience to describe to her father how lesbian situationships worked, much less what a “situationship” was. She’d give him a brain aneurysm within thirty seconds of her explanation. 

She also thinks back to the last conversation she had with Joel about you. He’d given her yet another caring but stern lecture before she headed back to campus for this school year. She knows deep down exactly how her father felt about you. Is that what she wanted to hear right now? 

Ellie lets herself fall back onto the bed, pulling her phone out of her pocket once her head hit her pillow. She swipes away yet another text from Daniela without bothering to skim it and opens up Instagram. Almost instinctively, she switches over from her main account to a separate one.  

For the first three months after you and Ellie fell out, you had her number and all her socials blocked. She hadn’t exactly tried to reach out to you during that time, but she hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to lurk. She’d treated it like she was defusing a bomb: she’d delicately open up social media, hastily type in your name, only to be abruptly greeted with blank screens. She wasn’t surprised. But whether out of pure curiosity or masochism, she’d continued this routine of searching your username on different platforms just to stare at nothing for a couple of minutes. 

Ellie wasn’t sure what had suddenly prompted you to one day unblock her from everything. For a while, she waited to see if this meant anything, if you were going to reach out to her in some kind of way. But after a few days of nothing, she accepted the continued, albeit unblocked, silence. She wasn’t naive; she never expected you to come back to her. At least she could still snoop in peace. 

Though not exactly adept with social media, Ellie wasn’t stupid. When she wanted to look at your Instagram page, she did so through a fake, secret account that she’d made solely for that purpose. It felt pitiful to do so, at least at first. But she’d known you had no intention of speaking to her again, and therefore no longer needed to impress you; so she swallowed the feelings of shame and self-disgust every time. 

Switching over to a blank account with the user name “br!ck_master2013” that has 2 followers (both of which were bot profiles) and was following 0 accounts, Ellie types in your username by heart in the search bar. She scans your Instagram page for any changes. You don’t update it often; your last post is from early the previous summer and is just pictures of your family cat Clementine who had passed away. 

A purple and orange circle dances around your icon, indicating you’ve posted something on your story within the last 24 hours. She let out an agitated breath before pressing her thumb onto the mirror selfie you’d set as your profile picture. 

There are four stories: the first is from 22 hours ago and was a fan art post of a video game she knew you liked, the second is from 18 hours ago and was a picture of the mocha frappe Dina had gotten you the day prior with a caption thanking and tagging Dina, the third is from 15 hours ago of a post that read, “Don’t Want To See Trans People? Gouge Out Your Eyes” (prompting her to chuckle to herself), and the fourth is from this morning. Ellie’s breathing hitches. 

It was a selfie you’d taken in your bathroom before you left for class. You’d captioned it with “fuck mondays but at least i’m cute,” an understatement in Ellie’s eyes. She was only permitted a minute to gaze at you in person earlier today, and it was from several feet away. A picture doesn’t amount to the real thing, but at least she can fully drink you in with her ocean green eyes this time, completely at her leisure. 

You were wearing that same pretty, floral sundress, the sweater you were wearing earlier missing from your ensemble in the photograph. She doesn't recognize the dress, so she figures it must be new. Ellie thinks it looked like it was made for you, the way it fits you so perfectly. 

She then dares to stare at your face. Even after all these years, she revels in how flawlessly you were always able to have your makeup complement your appearance. It was a gift, really, how you used colours to, not create your beauty, but accentuate it. And you seemed to have gotten even better at it now. 

Ellie keeps taking in your image for what feels like a hundred years until your Instagram story closes out on her. She blinks and then sighs. 

There’s no way Anderson hasn’t made a move on her already. 

Ellie reaches underneath her bed and grabs her laptop. She knows what she was about to do pushed her even further into loser lesbian territory, but she had passed the point of caring long, long ago. She opens up her laptop and clicks on the Spotify application on her desktop. 

The window pops up to display a few recommended albums and playlists. Scrolling past her most recently listened to song (“Novacane” by Frank Ocean), she clicks on the little icon on the top right that says “Friend Activity.” A sidebar opens up to reveal icons of a handful of Ellie’s friends. And of you. 

When you’d blocked Ellie from everything, she guessed correctly that you wouldn’t think of blocking her on something as trivial as a music app. Most people in your generation didn’t really pay much attention to these stupid little details. But Ellie did. And she was thankful you didn’t. 

Ignoring what songs the rest of her friends were listening to at the moment, she looked for your icon to see what you were playing. According to the tiny grey letters next to your picture, you were listening to “decode” by some artist named Sabrina Carpenter. 

Ellie chuckles quietly. You had a rather wide variety in music taste, always having been musically inclined. But you weren’t immune to enjoying and fixating on what she would call “generic, top 40 pop straight girl music.” She’d tease you about this relentlessly, to which you would respond by turning the song up even louder and belting your heart out to it. Even though it was in the act of defying her, Ellie always noted internally what a pretty voice you had when you sang. 

She figures that this artist was your current new fixation. She grabs her spare earphones from the drawer of her bedside table, plugging them into her laptop. She clicks on the song you're still listening to and lets it play. As the song progresses, Ellie feels her heart sink. 

♫ You're good at the fallin', not the stayin' there / You're good at the givin' too much, then gettin' scared

You're good at impersonating someone who cares / And you had me for a minute there ♫

Ellie shifts her laptop to one side and rolls to the other, allowing the music to continue in her ears. 

♫ But now I wonder why / I let your confusion keep me up at night 

I'm so tired / Reread every single undertone ♫ 

Ellie sighs, hooking an arm underneath her pillow, clutching it tightly as she clenches her jaw. 

♫ There's a weight off my shoulders now that I don't chase you / Bein' myself, did that emasculate you? 

Learnin' from you that I can walk away too / And you had me for a minute too ♫

Ellie frowns, closing her eyes, allowing the song to envelop her in shame. 

♫ Now I wonder why / I let your confusion keep me up at night 

I'm so tired / Reread every single undertone and I—♫ 

“Yo, Williams—” A voice interrupts with a knock on her bedroom door. 

Ellie shoots up from her bed, earphones tearing out from her ears. 

“What?” Ellie answers, irritated. 

Jesse’s head pokes itself through the doorway. His expression turned into amusement once he saw hers of annoyance.  

“Oh, sorry, dude. Did I wake you?” 

“Yeah, but it’s fine,” Ellie lies, relaxing a little and tapping the spacebar to pause the song. “What’s up?” 

Jesse scans her features further. He took a step in, leaning against the doorframe. 

“You alright?” 

“All good, dude,” She says, closing her laptop and hopping off her bed. “Was just having a bad dream.” 

Jesse considers this when his eyes wander to Ellie’s knife sticking out of the wall. 

“Bro.” He says, pointing to it. 

“It was a really bad dream, alright?” She shrugs. 

“Els,” He groans. “If we don’t get our security deposit back—“ 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll fix it.” She says, crossing her arms. “What did you want?” 

“You got a second? Got someone here who wants to buy.” 

Ellie sighs. 

“Yeah, okay. They good?” 

“Should be.” Jesse confirms. 

“Fine.” Ellie replies, standing up straighter and rolling up the sleeves to her flannel. 

“Cool. You might have actually met him the other night.” Jesse jabs his thumb towards the living room, beckoning her to follow him. 

“The other night?” Ellie questions, trailing after. 

“Yeah, he was with us at the diner after the party.” 

“Wait, what?” 

Before Jesse can answer, Ellie’s eyes fall on who Jesse had brought into their apartment. Wearing a backwards cap, a plain navy blue t-shirt & khakis, their visitor looks like every other standard, forgettable college frat boy. 

But Ellie didn’t forget. In fact, Ellie remembers exactly who he was quite well. 

“You remember Adam?” Jesse asks.

“Man, really? Didn’t clock you as a queer.” 

“Yeah,” Ellie answers, eyes seeing red and hands balling up in fists. “Yeah, I remember you.”

author’s notes:

okay so part of why this took me so long to write and why it also took a lot of convincing on my own part to post is cause i was writing it from ellie's perspective and that was a lot harder than i thought!! didn't plan it to be this way tbh but that's what flowed and well, here it is!

i hope all the college descriptions i’ve been writing have been realistic enough! i had a messy collegiate experience myself and i ended up dropping out after a few years, so i’m just trying to write from experiences from so many years ago (i legit researched what kind of classes aspiring astronauts need to take cause we know our girl wants to go up in space).

the birds on ellie's mug are just references to a couple of my gf's favourite birds (she's an avid bird watcher and she loves birds hehe)!

also idk why i know ellie's a whiskey drinker, but god i just know she is. what butch lesbian is not a whiskey drinker (just from personal experience, don't kill me).

you get a gold star if you got that "brick master" reference ♡︎

i also don't know why i know ellie would listen to frank ocean, but god her loser ass would be LISTENINGGGG to frank ocean. thank you also to everyone for bearing with me and my current sabrina carpenter phase rn ♡︎

does anyone else still look at their friends activity on spotify or is that just me. i love seeing what my friends are up to! i use the airbuds app too, i feel so involved. yeah, that is a pic of me from many years ago as reader's tiny little icon the spotify pic, that's the most y'all get as a pic of me rn sdklfjsd

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriessxinthespring, @amitycat, @thefishymissy, @yevheniiaaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnoviecita, @digit4lslut, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @qtefolleunpez, @libr4sonsa, @17luv, @robinismywifee, @villainousbear, @ashlynnnnnnnn15, @scarlettadore, @vianna99, @g0n3girls, @totheblood, @embermdk, @awyunh, @kenz-ee, @marvelwomen-simp

[animasolaoriginal]

A B A N D O N E D 🥀 1/3

A new-in-town urban explorer stumbles upon a (not so) well hidden secret in an abandoned building, turning his life upside down when he takes more than pictures and leaves more than footprints.

Normal dude meets broken girl turned sex toy

WARNINGS: Urban exploration. Implied past rape. Implied past caning. Wounds and injuries. Objectification. Submissive character. Strangers to lovers. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Fluff. Eventual smut*. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 7.6k

A/N: This is a spin-off to my original story INFATUATED, set in the same universe. There's no need to have read INFATUATED, just know that there's a man we refer to as Sir who took in (kidnapped) a girl we refer to as Darling to make her his personal little plaything (but then proceeds to develop “feelings” for her), and this is the story of one of the unfortunate girls before her. A "study" on what a normal dude may think about an abandoned sub. Remember: this is fiction! A product of my own sick little mind, a fantasy. Our guy here may have some opinions later that may or may not stem from my own view on things (just some rants about certain kinks, and if those insult you, please forgive me, I don't mean any kink shaming. Everyone is valid around here – except Sir who might not get the best reviews in this story). By the way, the protagonist may have a name here, but it's only mentioned a few times, so you can still imagine any character here if you want to!

1 🟢 2 🟢 3

Glass crunches beneath his boots as he makes his way through the abandoned building. It's eerily quiet, just the wind howling through the broken windows and holes in the walls. The occasional rustle when debris or dry leaves move under the breeze. Nature's completely reclaimed this old house that used to be an apartment building with a bunch of tiny shops on the ground floor. Too off the beaten path, the shops became obsolete when a large mall opened only a few blocks away.

He's also in a very bad neighborhood, and nobody seemed to care about this particular building for a long time. Overgrown and broken, glass panes a good target practice for your usual teenage delinquent or bored child, doors ripped off their hinges by age and decay and maybe some random angry dude who needed a place to vent. Furniture long gone, either taken along or stolen later, things that couldn't be moved too easily (like sinks or toilet bowls) smashed into tiny pieces.

Normally he prefers places stuck in time, where tragedy struck and nobody's been back in decades, with faded photos on the walls or on dusty shelves, the smell of slowly rotting armchairs and a hint of mold in the air. Those make the best pictures. Little time capsules, evidence of older times, in the midst of a blooming bustling city. This building, however, looked more promising from the outside.

He raises his camera and takes a shot of a broken window where thick vines of ivy crawl around the frame and up the wall, the light of the setting sun giving the scene a soft glow. He changes the angle a few times, then moves on, up the stairs, looks through open doors into old apartments, mostly empty, walls vandalized with crude, unreadable graffiti, carpets full of dirt and a (not so) healthy layer of mold.

What strikes him as a little unusual is that the hallways look as if used fairly often, leaves and dust bunnies line the sides, but there's a path between the debris, leading further up the building. Not too unusual, these kinds of buildings usually attract a lot of shady people or bored teenagers, some to meet for illegal business deals, other to party hard in a place Mom and Dad cannot find them.

Maybe it's used for all kinds of things as he notices a growing abundance of empty soda cans, broken alcohol bottles and other garbage lying around (the most striking sight was a trail of discarded condoms and empty lube bottles). His destination is the roof, maybe he can at least snap some pictures of the sunset and the city around him from this place, for all he got now are shots of broken windows, nature reclaiming the urban space and your typical down-the-hallway shot. He even found the one-single-chair-in-the-middle-of-an-empty-room motif.

Of course he's not the first urbexer to walk through here, it's been abandoned for a long time, probably old news for the locals, but this is his first time here, in the city too, and he wanted to see as many abandoned things as possible. He heard from others that this house had good bones, meaning stable stairs and floors, no risk of breaking through and landing in the moldy basement with a pipe through your torso. He is looking for adventure, the thrill of being alone in a lost place, inhaling the intoxicating scent of debris and decay, he is not looking to pay a horrendous hospital bill because he's been too careless.

He takes the last section of the winding staircase, stepping onto the upper most floor, the roof access visible at the end of the corridor. There he hesitates. Unlike the floors below him, there's something different here. It's not as dirty, and the most prominent thing: all the doors are intact and closed. It almost looks like an actual floor of a still lived-in apartment building where you would find the same amount of dust and grime on the floors and walls.

Raising his camera, he takes a few shots, cursing when he realizes it's too dark to get it lined up best. The only light source is a badly boarded-up window at the end of the hallway, a tiny skylight above him and the glow creeping up over the staircase from the lower levels. Why is this window boarded up? What's happening up here that nobody wants to have witnesses for? There are other buildings around this one, still functional, mostly, probably for seedy reasons as well, but there's still the chance of people noticing what's going on here.

The closed doors irritate him. Everything else about this building was ripped out and broken and vandalized, nothing left in its former state. He came in through a bent-out-of-shape shutter gate, most of the former shops have so many holes it's fairly easy to get access to the rest of the house. And nobody seems to care about people walking about. There's an old No Trespassing sign near the boarded-up front door, but that's about it.

Though it doesn't surprise him in this kind of neighborhood. He might be new in this city, but he knows a crime haven when he sees one. Everything looks old and run down, shops are only fronts for other businesses, grim looking people stand around, gangs linger in groups in neglected parks or on the curb corners. He also saw some prostitutes walking the streets, looking as worn and shabby as the clothes they were wearing. Most normal people would avoid going deeper into the belly of the beast, but he likes the more dangerous places, and frankly, he fits right in.

Tall and bulky, he could pass as one of those bouncers standing in front of shady clubs, but he looks also young enough to be confused with a fresh gang member or mafia initiate or whatever. At least he thinks so because he's gotten no curious stares as he entered the neighborhood. Though he was glad nobody talked to him, his accent would have given him away for sure.

He feels his heart beating faster when he approaches one of the closed doors, the hairs on his arms rising in anticipation. It's a thrill to find something unusual in a place you've already pushed aside and declared boring. His hand grabs the door handle, twists it... and nothing happens. Locked. A locked door in an abandoned building. How curious. He tries the other ones, the same thing occurs. When he reaches the last door, he almost jumps back when the knob turns and the door opens with a click and then a creepy squeak.

One open room on a floor full of locked doors. His breath quickens, but he forces himself to remain calm. He doesn't even know what he's expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. The room is almost bare (but not as empty as the rooms he's seen before), aged wallpaper peels from the walls, the windows are covered by thick curtains, old and rugged looking, there's a couch in one corner, covered in blankets that have seen better days too. But the most unnerving sight is the bed in the middle of the room.

It's literally in the middle of the room, a sturdy looking metal frame he could walk around if he wanted to. But for now he only stares. There are handcuffs chained to the headboard, ropes tied to the low bed posts. And then there are the stains on the old mattress, lighter and darker ones, some are definitely blood. Old and dried, though one looks a little fresher, on the lower part of the bed. He's mesmerized, disgusted but mesmerized, almost forgets the weight around his neck before a shiver crashes through him.

It's an automated gesture to raise his camera and take pictures of what he sees. Pics or it didn't happen. It's a strange sight, but he isn't sure he wants to share this scene on his official page. He's known for showing off decaying architecture and nature reclaiming its place in the world full of stone and people. To share a potential sex dungeon might not be the way to go. But he still has his side blog. He has to share this, work through the experience, hoping somebody knows something about this.

Though he hasn't even seen everything. Slowly he takes a step into the room. There's a table behind the door, a longer one, fit for a person to lie on, and the leather belts attached to it suggest the same. Fuck. Is this really one of those freaky sex rooms?

He doesn't want to imagine what goes on in here, but he can't completely ignore that he has seen similar settings in various porn clips. Echoes of crying girls crash through his mind, creepily leering men in ski masks standing around the bed, the table, the couch, cocks in hand, others holding paddles, canes, vibrators, ready to torment whoever is unfortunate enough to be strapped to the structures.

He wants to believe there's consent involved, a scene being played out, discussed beforehand, those girls willingly trapped with a bunch of horny men, but sometimes it's hard to imagine that anyone would want to go through that on their own free will. He swallows, only now noticing the stench of the room. Sweat and sex, various bodily fluids all around, with a metallic undertone. Blood.

Shivering he can't help himself, he takes more pictures, walks around the room as if treading on thin ice, careful not to disturb the scene. He's also hyper aware of the noises around him now, the low buzz of the city beyond, voices passing by the building, birds landing on the roof above him, pigeons cooing, crows cawing, seagulls screaming. He tells himself he'd hear if somebody came back to clean up the scene he's witnessing right now. He could flee to the roof, hide it out, maybe find a way down from there.

Goosebumps attack his bare forearms when he rounds the bed and notices a pile of blankets on the floor. But it's the hair poking out of it that makes his heart stop. No. He freezes on the spot, staring down, camera heavy in his hand. He's heard stories of other urban explorers encountering unsettling things, the more harmless one coming into contact with a squatter, either awake or passed out in some corner, and the most disturbing one... stepping onto a crime scene, finding blood, bones... or dead bodies.

Yet instead of panicking, with the urge to run as quickly as he can, he finds himself staring with an obscene fascination. His eyes trail the blanket, noticing how it's wrapped around whatever is curled up inside it, and he bends down a little, crouching beside it, the smell overwhelmingly strong down here. His stomach protests, but his curiosity is too obnoxious to ignore. Shifting his camera into his other hand, he reaches out, carefully, knowing he should probably wear gloves, but he also doesn't care. He has to know.

His fingers grip the edge of the blanket, and he pulls, gently, his eyes widening as the scene unfolds in front of him – together with the body of a girl unfurling from its curled-up position. He will never share his first impression with anyone, because it's primal, an instinct, the thought of a man whose cock has a mind of its own: she's pretty.

Also naked, covered in grime and other substances, pale skin adorned with angry red welts and purple bruises, something pink caked between her thighs. She's on her side, legs scissored open, arms bound behind her back. Her thick dark hair is braided into two pigtails, and one of them seems to be cut off as the hair frays out and lies around her head like a dark halo. Tears and sweat allowed a thick layer of dust and dirt to cake to her face. Eyes closed, long dark lashes clumped, full lips swollen and raw looking, slightly parted.

Before he continues taking in every detail of her, he has the urge to bring his finger to her nose, and the relief when he feels the slightest bit of air movement against his skin lets him exhale loudly as well. She is not dead. And there's the problem. She looks like she should be, like it would be the better fate. The sight scares him as much as it fuels his morbid fascination, which may explain why he's still frozen on the spot, staring at her instead of calling the police or an ambulance or doing anything to help her. He can't take his eyes off her.

Her slender neck is covered in dark bruises as if someone has tried to strangle her, probably thought they succeeded too. Why else would she lie on the floor here? Left behind after whoever assaulted her was done? And assaulted she was. Sexually, physically. The welts on her body look horrible, thin red lines all over her small breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs, on her ass as well from what he can tell. She was caned, the poor thing. He hates watching those kinds of porn videos. He can see the appeal of spanking, the hand on ass contact, but hitting someone with a rigid cane doesn't seem very pleasurable, it's only about inflicting pain and having evidence of it days later.

A sadistic move, and sadists were definitely at work here. There are more bruises on her thighs, probably from strong hands holding her down and open while various cocks forced themselves into her holes. He feels his cheeks warming up when he takes a closer look at her pussy. Apart from layers upon layers of what he assumes to be cum and other fluids, there are welts and bruises on there too, on the soft skin of her inner thighs, on her puffy outer lips (that look stretched as if held back and open by clamps or whatever these bastards used), but most are on the strangely swollen clit. Ugh. Genital torture, a genre he really hates. Spanking a woman's clit is just downright sick and barbaric.

The more he looks at her, the worse he feels. Not just for what she had to go through, but knowing he can't really help her. How should he? Call the police and wait for other horny men to find her? He never trusted the cops, and in a neighborhood like this he is certain there won't be a good guy among them. Calling an ambulance may be an option, if he does it anonymously and flees the scene quickly, but that leaves him wondering if anyone ever found her. And again, in an area like this, the people who did this may still be around watching the place, stopping help before it can get anywhere, maybe even finishing the job, killing her.

And if he stays and wait, he will be in danger of those people seeing him, and as he now knows too much, even took pictures of the evidence, what's stopping them from killing him too? And even if they don't find him, he fears the damn hospital bill might be his end. Yes, strange priorities, but his brain is buzzing and he feels sick and nauseous the longer he stays in this horrible room, staring down at the poor girl.

She looks younger than him, maybe a few years, maybe a lot, the pigtails give the illusion she might still be a teenager, but her body looks too developed for that. A thin face with high cheekbones, no baby fat, soft albeit small breasts, a narrow waist, plump hips, thighs just rounded enough to create that amazing thigh gap he likes so much. The initial thought is still there, and his cock agrees, she is beautiful, despite the state she is in.

And maybe that's why he forms an idea in his head: why not take her with him? Away from this place, into safety, then assess what help he can get her. She can't stay here, that's for sure. A better man would face the danger of being discovered by her abusers, to make sure she'll get the care she needs, no matter how expensive and uncomfortable it may get. A better man wouldn't crouch beside her limp body and stare and drool.

But he's not. He's a runaway, dropped out of college to party, then got too old and paranoid to return. Too distracted by the world around him. Traveling on a budget, with just enough money to feed himself once a day, couch surfing, loitering, pissing his life away one day at a time. It's only been during the last years that he's gotten a bit more stable, making a name for himself as a photographer, selling prints and doing commissions, and by coming into this city he's hoped to make it even bigger.

Renting an old loft he hopes to transform into a photo studio one day, he's trying to settle down. He still has barely any money, lives off those stupid strangers willing to pay for his pictures even though they're not even that special. He always hopes for the occasional exceptional find, something he could sell to newspapers, but even those prefer to steal their pictures off other people's Instagram instead of paying for a more professional shot. Tough times.

As he crouches next to the unconscious girl, the hand holding his camera twitches. It's an instinct to raise it, bring it in front of his eyes, look through the finder and press his thumb down to take a picture of her. He feels sick for it, but also... not. She's part of this little sex dungeon, the main attraction, actually, and it's an inborn need to burn her image into a bunch of pixels. Pics or it didn't happen. He considers sharing her story with whatever newspaper may want it, but then his name would be attached to the evidence, he could be linked to this scene, and what's stopping any corrupt cop to call him guilty for this? Or the bad guys to come and erase any kind of evidence? Him and her included?

She can't stay here. He can't keep staring at her. Something has to happen.

Before he puts his camera into his backpack, he can't help but take a few more pictures of her, of her wounds and injuries, of the evidence caked to her skin, the blood trailing down her inner thigh. Maybe justice will come one day, but he'll need pictures of the crime scene to make it happen. He also snaps a few shots of her face, peaceful in slumber, of her soft curves, those tiny feet with the ankles covered in rope burn. Those he does in several angles, maybe he has a future in selling feet pics. And it's not his fault the market exists.

The world is a sick place, and he's just trudging along.

Eventually he stores his camera in his backpack, then moves the blanket back around the girl. His hand finds her cheek, and it's warm to the touch, she's certainly still alive, and probably in pain, so he doesn't want to disturb the few quiet moments this cruel world has given her. He wraps her up and scoops her into his arms, a barely there weight, poor thing looks and feels malnourished on top of being treated so horribly.

Lifting her up, he realizes the light has turned from the soft sunset glow into the harsher, darker tones of the street lamps coming to life. Time to go. Maybe her abusers will return soon. He carries her out of the room, she's warm and soft in his arms, head resting against his shoulder, hair and one half of her face peeking out of the blanket cocoon. She's tiny, in comparison and in general, and knowing her fate he feels even worse for her.

His heart clenches by the time he's descended all those stairs, and when he reaches his point of entry, he hesitates. It's one thing to slip into a building during the day, nobody cares about a man with a camera creeping around old houses much, at least not in this kind of area, but knowing this place is frequently used for terrible little sex adventures, he feels uneasy now. The night is fast approaching, and he knows these kinds of things probably happen when the shadows fall.

Looking around, he decides to find another exit, preferably one leading around the back, and luck is on his side when he finds a broken window looking into a backyard filled with black trash bags. With the girl still in his arms, he climbs through, but slips on something at the last second. Curling his back, trying not to harm her further, he feels his backpack scraping over the rough wall, hoping it didn't damage his camera. It's one of his few prized possessions, but thinking about it, maybe he should reconsider his priorities.

He's carrying a life in his arms, a life he intends to save, so a broken camera, a replaceable thing, really isn't that big of a deal. He can always salvage the SD card inside anyway. No harm done. Rolling his shoulders, he shifts her against his chest, then continues through the dark alley. He's parked the hunk of metal he calls his car a few blocks away, at the edge of the neighborhood, hoping he'll still have all tires when he returns.

And indeed they are all there, as full and dirty as he's left them. The old truck was the last thing he could afford after renting out the loft, so even if he's bound to this city, relying on random strangers to finance his life, he has a means to get away if he has to. For now, he's pulling the passenger door open and carefully puts down the bundle of limbs and hair and blankets, and when he does, she suddenly stirs.

He freezes, staring at her as her eyelids flutter open. A soft groan escapes her, but when her wide eyes, beautiful dark irises, glazed and a little dull, but beautiful nonetheless, meet his, she stiffens too, lips parted, and he expects a scream, a distress call, anything, but she doesn't issue a single peep, just looks at him, almost calm, probably just glad she's still alive or thinking she died and woke up in a weird realm between the worlds where it's normal to wake up in unfamiliar places, facing unfamiliar people.

He still feels the need to calm her. “Hey, it's alright. No need to be afraid, I'm not here to harm you. I want to help you, okay? Do you understand?”

She blinks, her lips trembling, but then she utters a barely audible “Yes, sir”, and he feels his heart jumping a little. To his own shame, his cock does the same. He clears his throat, nods to her, then closes the door with a thud and rounds the car, putting his backpack into the covered truck bed. Her eyes are following him when he slips behind the wheel, despite her slouched position on the seat. She's eerily quiet, not at all concerned about a strange man packing her into his car.

He watches her as he pulls the seat belt over her small frame, then buckles himself in. “You'll be alright,” he says softly, giving her the hint of a smile, and she continues staring at him. She must be in shock, no other way to explain this behavior, probably fighting the pain coursing through her, the soreness and burning, the stickiness between her thighs, the memory of the whole ordeal. He can't blame her. It must have been absolute hell.

He starts the car, glad it does so on the first try, and maneuvers it back into the nightly city traffic until they reach the old warehouse at the edge of it. It's the cheapest he could find, between two concerning neighborhoods, but those are still better than the one he found her in. At least he has running water and electricity, and a bed. Hmm. One bed. He'll give it to her for now, trying to squeeze his big body onto the small couch. It'll work.

She's still only staring at him when he unbuckles her and picks her up, though her breaths are a bit more labored. Maybe the shock is fading, letting through the pain more and more. He hums soothingly to her, tells her it'll be alright, knowing the more he'll repeat that, the more she'll believe it. It's his life motto too, fake it till you make it. She's that pliant body in his arms as he carries her to the old elevator, hoping it'll last another day.

When he reaches his apartment door, he shifts her in his hold, and she winces, a horribly pathetic little sound he hopes never to hear again. “Sorry,” he mutters as he fumbles for his key and unlocks the door. “You'll feel better soon, I promise.”

Her warm breath hits his neck as she presses her face closer against him, a strangely submissive gesture, a naive hope to trust a stranger. He takes her straight to the bathroom, where he sets her on the closed toilet lid and slowly unravels the blanket from around her. She's sitting perfectly still, the only movement coming from her almost curious eyes as she watches his every move. She winces when he brushes against the welts on her skin, chest rising and falling a little faster, but that's about all the motion he gets from her.

When the blanket falls away, she's that naked thing covered in sweat and cum and blood, and it occurs to him what a strange situation this is. For him to just take her away, without informing anyone, authority or not, and for her to just accept it like this. She's awake, maybe a little dazed, but conscious enough that a normal girl would stir more, talk more, fuss and strain against his touches, maybe even try to flee or do anything to ensure her own safety.

But she is just sitting there, arms folded behind her back, watching him. She doesn't seem real. Like a robot. A brainless toy... And it occurs to him, that might just be what she is, what she has been. A body to use, handed around between vulgar men, an object to utilize in their sick fantasies turned reality. Of course he's no stranger to the news, especially the darker ones, those about trafficking and forced sex work, even if those stories barely make it past the usual political drama. It's another one of those morbid fascinations he can't seem to break.

He might just be as sick as those actually partaking in these illegal little sex gatherings, he's watched those videos, even though he's handled them like any other porn he's come across. As fake, a scene played out, a fantasy made as real as movie magic can make it, but to find this girl in this room, discarded and abandoned like a broken doll, left behind after everyone else was done and satisfied in their twisted, primal needs, shows him that those were not scenes, not fake, but brutal reality. It makes him angry.

“Can you stand?” he asks her quietly, tilting his head as he towers over her, and she nods, looking up at him, before straining her bruised body when she tries to move. His hands find her elbows, and she flinches, but lets him pull her onto her feet. “Oh fuck, your arms, I forgot,” he presses out, and quickly leans back to grab a pair of scissors off the counter behind him, then carefully moves around her to cut through the ropes holding her wrists and forearms together. When he's done, he lets her go, and she sways, arms flailing a little, her hands twitching as if she wants to hold onto him. He guides her into the shower, then steps back. She turns around immediately, eyes wide. “Do you need help?”

She bites her swollen lip. “Please,” she croaks, and the hoarse sound of her voice breaks his heart (but also thickens his cock). He nods, swallows hard, trying to fight the strange warmth pooling in his stomach, before he toes off his boots, strips off his hoodie and jeans, then steps behind her in just his boxers. He wants to show her he's not a predator, but he also doesn't want to get his only good pair of jeans wet and dirty. One day he'll be able to afford another one.

He grabs the shower head and turns the knobs on the wall, waiting for the water to heat up. She's shivering, her frail little body so tiny in front of him, one hand rubbing up and down the other arm, a mindless gesture, trying to ease her nerves probably. Her eyes, however, stay on him and his every move, very attentive, almost eager. It should feel a little bit more bizarre to share a shower with a girl he's just met (or rather found), but it's as if he's running on instincts, feeling the need to help her, make her feel better, ease her pain.

The steam fills his nostrils, and when he puts the water jet to her shoulder, she winces, flinches away, lets out a little whine, but ultimately returns under the spray and lets him clean the grime and sweat and other substances off her skin. He's careful not to put too much pressure on her bruises and the welts, and is glad they didn't break her skin, even though they look horrible, shining in a bright red as if the blood is pulsing just beneath her pale skin.

When he lowers the shower head to point it between her thighs, he hesitates, looks at her, but all she does is take a little side step and spreads her legs a bit more to allow him to do so. So fucking obedient, it's almost scary. The grime on her inner thighs is so persistent that he has to move his hand over her skin before he realizes he should probably use a wash cloth. Stepping back, he leans around the open door and grabs a small towel, wets it and then proceeds to rub the dirt (and cum and other things he doesn't want to think more about) off her thighs. She whines quietly when he moves the soft cloth over her folds, and he holds his breath, trying to be as gentle as he can be.

When he touches her clit though, she shudders and gasps, legs trembling, and her hand is on his arm then, holding on tightly, with a strength he wouldn't have expected from her. He watches how her eyes roll back, how her lips part and a little moan escapes her, and he just freezes, wash cloth pressed to her sensitive nub, unintentionally drawing a strange little orgasm out of her. Was she trained to be this sensitive, so responsive? To come on touch alone? He didn't even rub that hard.

He takes the cloth away slowly, and she calms down a little, breathing just a bit harder, but when her eyes meet his, she furrows her brows, bites her lip, mumbles a croaked “Sorry” as she lowers her head. He frowns at that, tilting his head.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he says quietly. “I... uh, didn't mean to do that either...”

Is she one of those poor girls who was bound to their master's (or whatever the man called himself who had her) will, to only do as he told her, to come on command, and to feel bad if she does so without permission? What a horrible fate... He would never ask her to hold her orgasm, he would want to see that reaction over and over again, allowing her all the pleasure she can get. Not that he'll ever want to do anything to her, but... in theory, of course.

He keeps cleaning her then, lets the warm water soak her bruised skin, and she just stands there, chin tilted up, eyes closed, wet hair cascading down her back, hanging over her shoulders, one side shorter than the other (how cruel to take away something from her, even as benign as part of her braid, but it's definitely crueler to treat her like a soulless body, and he's glad she's not missing any fingers or limbs instead).

Considering, her state could be worse. She's standing on her own, breathing just fine, she's probably very sore and aching, but the pain will fade and she could have a normal life after this, more or less, not counting the psychological trauma that seems to still hold her hostage. Well, it's not ideal, and maybe death would have been a relief after the torment, but she's young, she can work through this, it's possible. And maybe he can help her cope...

Looking at her petite frame, he feels his stomach tensing. It's wrong to feel like this, he knows it, he shouldn't even allow the smallest little thought into that direction, but he is just a man after all, standing with a naked young woman in his shower, and it's blatantly obvious what his cock thinks about this whole situation. He hopes she doesn't notice the tent in his boxers.

But he shouldn't worry, she doesn't seem to notice much, standing still under the spray of the water, and when he turns it off eventually, deeming her clean enough, she inhales deeply and opens her eyes, blinking away stray water drops. She remains immobile, and while he turns to grab a towel, she doesn't move an inch. When he starts drying her off, rougher than he intends, but his hands feel like they are shaking from the tension growing inside him, she winces a couple of times, but then presses her lips together and endures.

He's watching her like a hawk, apologizes for accidentally hurting her, tries to be as gentle as possible, and her eyes are glued to his face, not completely focused yet, still glazed and hazy, pupils blown for some reason, her gaze almost curious. What a strange little creature. He'd expected a victim of whatever type of rape she's experienced to be more... hysterical?

When he finally wraps the towel around her small body and another one around her damp hair, she seems to relax even more. Then she opens her mouth.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispers, looking up at him before bowing her head.

He stares at her, blinking in confusion. “Uh, you're welcome,” he says. “But, uh, you can call me Sam, okay? I'm Sam. No need for... honorifics or whatever, you know?”

There's a frown on her face when she looks back up, her lips moving as if she's repeating his name in her mind.

“What's your name?” he then asks, leaning against the sink as he watches her.

The frown deepens, her eyes moving away from him, flickering here and there as if she tries to find the answer somewhere in his bathroom. “I...” she starts, eyebrows furrowed before she exhales deeply, her shoulders sagging. “It doesn't matter,” she then replies.

“Huh?” he makes, staring at her. “What do you mean it doesn't matter? I'm sure you have a name. Did you forget?” He kicks himself mentally for assuming as much and for his harsh tone, but it's ridiculous.

She shakes her head, not to say no, but to clear her mind maybe? It's a frantic gesture. “It doesn't matter. I don't matter. I am... I am yours to... to use,” she mutters under her breath, hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“What now?” He gapes at her.

And then she is suddenly on her knees in front of him, the towel falling away, her small body folded with her hands lying neatly on her lap, her chin tilted up, looking at him with big eyes. “Please use me,” she says quietly.

He takes a step back, bumping into the cupboard next to the sink, staring down at the girl. Is she serious? He shakes his head, then walks back and grabs her elbows. “Come on, get up, no need to kneel before me, okay? Get up!”

His harsher, also slightly agitated tone makes her wince, but she's on her feet immediately, letting him pull her up, then stands stock-still before him, head lowered, a soft little whine escaping her. “I'm sorry...”

“Stop apologizing!” He lets go of her and runs a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “I mean, ugh, wow. I'm sorry, too. You must be... well, you've been through so much, I don't mean to scare you or anything, I just...”

“Please,” she mumbles, breathing a little harder. She's shivering without the towel, the one on her head coming undone as well the more she shimmies on the spot. He stares at her, she has her hands clasped in front of her sex and squeezes her thighs together, small breasts squished, nipples erect, a deep blush almost hiding the red welts on her skin. “Please use me,” she then says again.

“No!” he blurts out, and she flinches, another sob escaping her. He groans. “I mean, come on! I will not just use you, I just met you, I found you! In that freaky sex room after you've been...” He stops when he suddenly meets her gaze. Her pupils are fully dilated, her already dark eyes shining entirely black. “You're in no condition to do anything but relax now, okay? Take it easy. Come on, I'll show you the bed.”

He's about to grab her hand when she turns her shoulder, avoiding his touch. He freezes, frowns. “In... no condition? Am I... not good... anymore?” Her voice is that feeble little hum, a desperate song sending shivers down his spine.

“What? No! You are good, you are perfect, you are so beautiful!” he croaks out, unable to stop the words. She tilts her head, blinking. “I mean, yeah, uh, you are, but that's not what I mean. You are... Look, whoever treated you like this, whoever hurt you, just left you there. And I couldn't not take you, you know? I want to help you, do you understand that? I want you to feel good again after –”

“Then use me,” she whispers, breathing harder, hands falling away from the obedient pose as she rubs them up and down her thighs, still squirming on the spot. “Please, it hurts...”

“Of course it hurts, they hit you with a fucking cane! They raped you!” he shouts, a little too loud, his emotions getting the better of him.

She flinches back, gasping with her lips parting, her eyes wide. “No... no, they were... they had to punish me because I... I was bad... I deserved it... and they... they used me like they should use me...”

Her words are mumbled, but he can still hear them, even though he wishes he couldn't. What a sick way of seeing things. What a fucked-up world where a pretty girl like her has these thoughts planted into her head.

Anger makes him clench his hands into fists. “They shouldn't have done that. You are a human being, a young woman, a beautiful girl, not a doll to play with, not a toy to use!”

She stares at him, eyelids fluttering, chest rising and falling faster, small breasts bouncing. Really not the time to notice that, mate!

“But,” she whispers, wincing slightly as she starts chewing on her lips. “But that... that's my purpose... I am... I am yours to use,” she repeats these last five words like something she had to learn without knowing the meaning behind it.

He approaches her slowly, carefully, his big hands find her small shoulders, and the touch makes her look up at him. “You are your own person. You have a name, even if you can't remember it right now, you had a mother and a father, maybe even siblings. You went to school, you had a job, maybe. You had dreams, everyone has dreams, for the future, things you wanted to have, places you wanted to see. You are not just a body for strange men to use. Not like that. Not without consent! You were not made to be punished, to be hurt because some random sicko gets off on it. Your body is so much more than just... holes to fill... and a canvas to soil with bruises and welts and... cum...”

His voice has become calmer, like a mantra, new thoughts to plant into her muddled brain, so he hopes, and she listens with her lips parted, eyes directly looking at him. Sometimes she frowns, sometimes she blinks, and when he finishes she licks her lips.

“But I want this,” she says quietly. “I want to be used...”

He sighs deeply and lowers his head, then shakes it in frustration. “No, somebody told you you should think like that! Nobody in their right mind wants to be raped and mutilated like that!”

A single sob makes him look up, and he lets go of her, straightening up. Her lips are trembling and her eyes watering before tears stream down her face. He lets out a groan.

“I'm sorry,” he grunts. “I didn't mean it like that! You are valid, whatever you want, of course, but... but you gotta agree it's a little strange?” She only cries harder, her small frame shaking. “Okay, look, no kink shaming or whatever, I just... I assumed, the way you were lying in that room, the state you were in, I thought you needed help! You looked horrible! I was about to call the police!”

She freezes at that, staring up at him. “No,” she gasps. “Don't do that! Please! I... I don't want any trouble... I... I'll do anything, but... please... not the police!”

He raises an eyebrow at that. This reaction surprises him. “Why not?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. She averts her eyes, breathing harder. He isn't very fond of them either, but why wouldn't she? Why would she prefer being gang raped and beaten and strangled over calling for help?

She presses her lips together, doesn't say a thing. For a moment they are both silent, standing in the bathroom, the naked girl and the guy with his tented boxers. Even now his cock doesn't agree with him. But he doesn't care about it anymore. This is a mystery he wants to unravel.

“Tell me,” he says, tone harsher, pointedly. She seems to reply better to commands.

And it seems to work. “He said he'd kill me if I talked to them,” comes her quiet answer, spoken to the tiled floor.

“He? He who?” he asks, his arms falling to his sides.

“Sir,” she replies, her shoulders shaking.

“Sir? Who calls himself Sir? Who is that? The man who did this to you?”

She shakes her head. “No. He... he found me, he took me in, and then... he... he sent me away because I was... a bad girl and he... he... they...” A series of sobs escapes her before her hands fly up to cover her face. Her cries pierce his heart. “Why did he send me away? What did I do?” she wails softly, muffled from behind her hands. “I was a good girl... always a good girl... did everything he said...”

He can't watch it anymore. While his rage for this unknown man grips his insides, he steps forward and pulls her against him, arms wrapped around her shuddering form, but she keeps crying, lets it all out, desperate and heartbreaking. He scoops her up and carries her to the bedroom, her tears hot on his skin, her whines loud in his ears.

Putting her down carefully, he pulls the blanket over her naked body and tucks her in, gently rubbing her side as she curls in on herself, continuing to cry miserably.

“Please stop crying,” he whispers, sitting down on the edge of the bed, hand still on her hip. “I'm sorry he treated you like that. But he let you go, you said so, so why don't you use that as a chance to move on, look ahead, find a new Sir? Or live your life without any man for a while? I'm sure that's nice too...”

She stares at him from under her clumped lashes, momentarily paused in her sobbing, only to cry out again when he suggests moving on. He sighs, letting her wail and whine until hiccups shake her form. She's not calming down, but she gets quieter, and he stands up then, walking down the stairs into the kitchen to get some water and a snack. When he returns, she's lying on her side, staring blankly ahead, eyes reddened, face flushed and wet, but she's stopped crying for the moment.

He sits back down on the edge and holds the water glass to her face. “Come on, drink something. Please.” She doesn't even look at him. He exhales loudly and puts the glass on the bedside table. “Fine. Well, it's there if you want it. I also brought some crackers, maybe you're hungry. I can get more later. Or just sleep, you definitely need that. Rest, get better, and tomorrow we'll figure something out, okay?”

She doesn't give a reply, and he shakes his head and leaves again, settling on the lumpy couch under the stairs, his eyes drifting back up to the loft area every now and then. He falls asleep thinking it was probably a bad idea taking this girl with him. For his sake. What if she is so sick in the head she'll stand over him with a knife in the middle of the night? Great thought to slumber over, really.

1 🟢 2 🟢 3

End notes: *And this was the plot part of our story, stay tuned for the sex frenzy to begin in the next chapter!

There will be three chapters in total, I'll upload every Wednesday.

Thank you for joining me on another little original story I needed to get out of my system.

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[solidwater05]

I dreamed that I was in my old school and there was a girl I had a crush on? It was actually kinda cute but there's not much to say about the scene

My mom picked me up and said that we should buy cherries, but there were sheep grazing (... on the street) so we had to take the long way to the produce store. The long way included taking an elevator that was inside a different store, and the store owner was well aware that lots of people needed that elevator to buy food so they charged people for using it. Because of this my mom told me to buy the cherries on my own so she didn't have to go because they charged per person

Despite this, my mom was talking to me in the next scene, but she wasn't physically with me. I assume that she was behind me because she didn't say anything more to me once I kept moving forward

I was in a completely different place, imagine some kind of concrete port or bridge, but it was pretty wide and it was built more like a hall, made for pedestrians. All the structures supporting the roof were also made of concrete, and the gaps between them were too small for a person to go through

I saw people walking on the edges of the bridge outside. I felt like I had to get out too, but I couldn't find any exit

The details here are blurry, but I know that I eventually made it to a place vaguely shaped like the front of a spaceship or Baby's control room in Sister Location. It was partially submerged in the sea (or fully but very close to the surface)

I realized that it was impossible to go back, and that I would be there for eternity. There were many people there, also trapped. Nobody was happy about it, and they didn't really have any sort of organization or anything.

Dunno when but the scene changed to something more open (no roof, still in the middle of the ocean), there were some small concrete rooms that we couldn't enter, and a big chain connecting the area with the (possible to escape but strangely liminal despite the amount of people) port.

[ID: Two rough doodles of the place described above. From a bird's eye view, it has a roughly boat-like shape, with two distinct areas. The area on the left is narrow and has a big chain going off the screen. The area on the right is wide, and it has a smaller structure on top of it, on the very right of the "boat". There is a chain connecting this structure to the ground.

From a side view, it's divided in three sections, each other being taller than the other. The first section has a chain that goes off screen and small stairs leading to the second section. The third section is higher up in proportion and doesn't have any stairs to get up. On the third section is a square shaped structure connected to the ground by a chain.

There is text labeling things in both drawings. The square structure is labeled "This was a room!", the word "room" is underlined in red. The chain connecting the room and the ground is labeled "this chain did nothing, but it allowed you to get to the roof easily". The word "roof" is underlined in red, and there is a dotted arrow going up the chain and onto the roof of the structure. The chain that goes off the screen is labeled "Big chain connecting this place and the real world(?)"

Finally, on the side view drawing, the two lower sections are labeled "everyone stayed here". /End ID]

Everything had grass and there were some trees growing from the highest section (which was like over a meter taller than the previous one, the drawing is not to scale)

I was panicking because, oh shit, I'm trapped here forever and everyone just told me that it's dangerous here and there's nothing we could do. But someone (who was not there physically and only I could hear?) told me to try to collect food from the trees and try to make a farm. The voice said that even if I never get out I could reclaim the place and live well, but that I should be careful because sometimes unspecified bad guys (pirates?) checked on that place and they couldn't know that the people there were thriving.

So I started shaking a tree to get some fruit.

[ID: A rough doodle of a vaguely acorn shaped purple fruit with downward pointing green spikes. /End ID]

Imagine a dragon fruit but the spikes point down and it's also small enough that a newborn could hold a dozen of them with one hand. They were also said to not taste great and not be very nutritious but hey, better than nothing. I remember the tree having huge leaves that reached the floor. Imagine if willow trees had wayyy more vines(?) and were softer. Yes you could hide inside with ease

At some point I walked on the chain until I reached the port and immediately went back, I think I found an exit but it would have been dangerous to try to return? I didn't tell anyone

There was also a scene about owning a Minecraft observatory but I have no idea how it fits with the rest of the plot, even if it was supposedly set in the same area

[astraariel]

flores amarillas (a devotion of love)

pairing: fili x mexican!reader (kinda?)

summary: after being thrown into Middle Earth randomly, Fili surprises you with an act of love, reminding you of your life back home.

september 21st - when someone gives someone else yellow flowers on this day, it means you have undying loyalty and love for that person and can be used as a symbol wishing to spend the rest of your days with that person.

word count: 2.4K

warnings: none

tags: tooth-rotting fluff; nobody dies/everyone lives!au; modern character in middle earth!au

author’s note: I am so sorry for being gone for a whole year, oops. here is a fic I wrote in a couple of hours bc I randomly got the urge to write again… my hyperfixation of lotr/the hobbit has made it’s return so I hope you guys love Fili as much as I do <3

so when I daydream, obviously I do it by how it pertains to myself and my culture so this technically is a mexican!reader insert since it's a holiday from my culture BUT it’s a cute holiday nonetheless so I wanted to write about it. this will probably be the only specific reader fic I write because I don’t want to narrow my broadness bc I try to write for any READER! (ig I also write just fem!reader but I digress)

am I posting this a month after the date? yes, yes I am. but who cares! I still wanted to write this and I think it will help me get out of my slump and make me try to write more…

for the sake of the fic (and my mind) the dwarves have the same calendar system as us... I can not mentally try to convert when September 21st would be for them lol. anyways, enjoy and ignore any grammar mistakes♡

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The sound of your footsteps echoed around the grand halls of Erebor, the quiet murmurs and shuffling of all the dwarves doing their jobs filled the air as you walked toward the gates.

Thorin had dismissed Fili of his duties for the day as crown prince, allowing him to skip all his meetings he normally would be in attendance to.

As soon as Fili had gotten the news, he ran to find you so he could make sure to steal you away for the day. 

So here you currently were, making your way to where Fili was so he could surprise you with whatever he had planned for your date.

Looking back on your life now to what it was back in your world, was bizarre to say the least. You’ve grown accustomed to your new life here in Middle Earth, but it had taken you a bit to adjust to it. Having been fond of the books made you excited to live and breathe the words you had read as a kid in real life.

Finding yourself stumbling around the Shire at the same time when the company had been instructed to meet at Bilbo’s house, changed your life for the better. 

Once Thorin had begrudgingly allowed your presence into the company, you quickly learned how the quest had been a long and exhausting one. Hours and hours of the dwarves grilling you on where you came from, what your world was like, and what you were doing there had your head spinning. Eventually, it turned from weariness to genuine curiosity so you had found yourself on quiet nights around the fire, surrounded by thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and a wizard telling them about random facts from your world. 

The company slowly began warming up to you in their own ways, but you grew exceptionally close to the two younger brothers. 

Many nights with Fili and Kili had you going on and on about your life back home. Kili’s incessant questions and curiosity allowed you to run your mouth over and over about random aspects of your life and made you grow fond of him immediately. Fili, on the other hand, was a bit quieter, shaking his head at his brother’s antics and having more thoughtful questions that had you reminiscing on old memories.

Nonetheless, you began to care for them even with the many nights that had you dreading the end of the quest and the final battle that the dwarves found themselves in before reclaiming their homeland. 

You originally didn’t want to get close to any of them, the fact that you already knew their fate and they didn't, ate at you everyday. You kept your distance at first, the anticipatory grief already settling in once you had made eye contact with the brothers that very first day was already too much. And yet, you still found yourself laughing and opening up to them throughout the quest. 

Especially Fili. 

His blue eyes captivated your mind, they beckoned you to get closer to him, to ask him questions about his life back home in the Blue Mountains. About his childhood, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes; he made you fall in love with him after your very first conversation. 

Of course, you couldn’t voice that. He was the crown prince, who was currently on a quest to reclaim his motherland. 

And of course also because…the ending.

You weren’t sure how your presence in Middle Earth and on the quest would affect the outcome, but if you couldn’t change what happened, you wanted to save yourself that grief. 

And yet, when Fili presented the courting bead he had been creating late at night during the journey, you accepted it wholeheartedly. 

You were a selfish creature. 

Thankfully, you did everything in your power to keep everyone alive, after long and anxious nights of sitting by all of the Durin’s beds they all healed from the battle and began their new lives in Erebor.

You began your new life in Erebor as well, with Fili. 

A voice shouting your name shook you from your thoughts. 

“Amrâlimê, you look beautiful as ever.” Fili came into view as you processed his comment.

Smiling, you leaned over to kiss him. “Thank you, you look wonderful as well.”

Grinning, he took your hand. “Come, I have an amazing day planned for us, ghivashel.”

♡‧₊˚

Your fingers traced the lines on Fili’s hand as the two of you laid in the grass, still recuperating from the spontaneous race up the hill where you currently both laid atop of.

After a bit of silence, Fili’s voice rang in your ear. “Did you have fun, my love?” 

Sitting up on your arm, you look over at him. “Of course I did, I always enjoy myself when I’m with you.”

Fili looks over at you, “Flattery,” he grabs your hand and kisses it, “careful fair maiden, you may just create an admirer out of me with your words.”

Giggling at your mushy banter, you smile over at him. His golden waves framed his face perfectly in the fading daylight. His eyes crinkling in happiness as he looked over at you made you swoon inside.

Fili stands abruptly, extending his hand out to you. “Come, follow me, I figured we could have a picnic under the stars like old times.” 

Fili leads you off to the side into a fenced off area where you knew the few botanist dwarves cultivated their flowers. 

Once the two of you entered, your eyes were met with a blanket in the middle of the garden with an area of food and desserts displayed along with blankets that the two of you could use for the coming night chill.

“When did you do this? You were with me all day?” Your confused face followed Fili’s figure that was walking toward the sitting area.

Fili sends you a cheeky grin. “I may or may not have bribed Kili to do this for me with the guarantee that I’d cover for him with Uncle so he can sneak off with Tauriel next week.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “Kili will do anything but confront Thorin about being with Tauriel, he needs to just suck it up and tell your Uncle he’s in love with an elf.”

Fili hums in agreement as he guides you further toward the blanket. You situate yourself as you look over the treats that Fili (Kili) had laid out for you.

The two of you quietly begin snacking as you gaze at the sky when Fili breaks the silence. “I’m very lucky to have you, amrâlimê, I thank whatever power that put you in my world because I was able to meet and love you.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn away from Fili, “you're so sappy.” Glancing at him again you smile, you never will get used to his random confessions of love he does. You don't think the butterflies will ever go away, he constantly makes your heart want to burst out of your chest with how fast it always beats around him. 

The amount of love you have for Fili has never been like anything you’ve experienced. Whenever you think or look at him your heart swells, just being in his presence sends a calming effect through you and yet simultaneously, a tsunami of intense emotion. You've never had any love like it before.

You agreed with what he said, you truly thank whatever power placed you in the Shire when it did.

“I know we don’t really see each other often since I'm so busy-” Fili begins.

“Fee, I know you have responsibilities, I understand.” 

Fili just stares and smiles at you for a second. “I know you do, Mahal, I love you so much.” After a split second he says, “I’ll be right back.”

The random shift of tone catches you by surprise eliciting a laugh from you, “What?” 

“I’ll be right back!” He gives no other explanation before running off in a direction leaving you. 

“Ok?” You’re left confused, but amused at your lover’s antics.

A few minutes pass by before you hear footsteps returning, your head turns in the direction of the sound and you find Fili’s figure holding something behind his back.

“What are you hiding,” you giggle, “What’s behind your back, Fee?” Leaning over you try to get a glimpse at the mystery behind him.

He doesn't say anything as he bends down to get on his knee so he can be closer at your eye level to your figure reclining on the ground. 

You look at him expectantly waiting for him to start.

“I wanted to make this a grand gesture, but I was panicking and Kili’s fed up with me constantly going on and on about this day but…”

Titling your head, you question, “This day?” 

Fili seems to stop his rambling and pulls his arms from behind. “It’s the 21st of September.”

You let out a surprise gasp before sitting up. You had noted on the calendar in your room that it was the 21st but expected nothing from it since you weren't in your own world.

And yet here was Fili, kneeling with yellow flowers held out in front you. 

Your eyes scan over the array of yellow flowers that were held carefully with white paper in Fili’s hands.

“How did you-?” 

Fili smiles, “During the quest, remember?”

Your mind combed through your memories, attempting to recall the conversation. 

The company had been unknowingly making the journey to Rivendell (under Gandalf’s expense) which had evoked Kili’s curious side from the exhausting trek. You and the two brothers were walking side by side toward the back, when Kili had posed you with a new question from your life back in your world.

“Tells us more about your culture,” Kili nudges you, “not just your world but you specifically.”

Catching you by surprise, you think quickly for an answer. “Hmm…well from where I’m from, there's a specific day that a person may use to confess how they feel about you.” You're not really sure what compelled you to mention this specific custom, but your mouth opened before your mind could keep up with it.

Kili’s eyes brightened with your response, so you knew you’d have to unfortunately continue with the train of thought.

“Well, on the 21st of September, if someone gives you yellow flowers, it has meaning. A lot of people from my culture see receiving yellow flowers on this day as being a very important and caring act. It’s to some, very intimate, because not many express their emotions like this so when a person does, the significance is extraordinary.” Your eyes flick back to the brothers.

Clearing your throat, you looked forward in embarrassment.

Great. You’ve just opened that can of worms out to the two brothers who you’ve barely met, as well as whoever else was currently eavesdropping in your conversation.

Not having felt the change in air with you, Kili continued to ask, “Have you been gifted yellow flowers before?”

Still not making eye contact with either of the brothers, you sighed. “No, I have not.” Clicking your tongue you continued, “I think perhaps it’s because the people who I have dated didn’t know about the meaning. I mean, even if they did, I don’t think the flowers would mean much because the relationships never worked out.” You shrugged lamely.

It’s not like you’re admitting all your past relationships were a bust, it just wasn't the type of love that was true. If any of your exes had gifted you yellow flowers, you're not sure if it would’ve had the type of impact you’ve always imagined. All your relationships had their highs, but they also had their lows, hence why they all ended and why none of them had gifted you your yellow flowers. 

You still had the hopeless romantic thought that The One would come into your life and you’d know if they were The One if they gifted you your flores amarillas like you've dreamed of. 

“Ah, well that’s interesting!” You looked over as Kili smiled at you, apparently losing interest in the conversation. Glancing at Fili, you noted that he seemingly wasn't paying attention to your entire spiel; thankfully in his own thoughts.

Your mind reels back from the memory. You knew exactly why you didn't remember that because you were embarrassed for the rest of the day because you had gotten emotional during the conversation. While you were already getting close to the brothers, you still were embarrassed that so early on you had opened up about your pathetic love life so much that you blocked it from your mind.

“I thought you weren’t listening when I was talking about that to Kili?” You questioned.

“Of course I was listening, every time you spoke I was captivated.” Fili’s smile softens.

Biting your lip in an attempt to stop yourself from grinning, you let him continue.

“When you had answered Kili's question with that, it took me by surprise but I found myself enamored by the way you spoke about the custom. So when I heard you speak about your culture, I knew it meant a lot to you not only due to the meaning but because it reminded you of your world.” He reaches a hand toward you, “While I am thankful you're here with me, I know that you also were pulled from the world you knew, so by talking about your culture it comforted you.” 

Your eyes began to water, God, you truly loved him. 

“I knew I wanted to incorporate this day in our lives so I thought what better yet than to propose to you with something that reminded you of your culture back home.” 

Your eyes widen, “I knew you were my One the moment I set eyes on you. So, will you marry me, amrâlimê? Will you grant me the privilege of spending the rest of your life in your new home with me?” 

“Of course I’ll marry you, Fili.” Leaping over you toppled both of your bodies to the ground with your hug. 

Landing on your sides, Fili pulls away quickly, “Don’t crush your flowers!” 

“Oh, oops, sorry.” You laugh before grabbing and smelling the bouquet, “Where’d you get these?” 

“Oh, I got them in Dale this morning,” 

“Oh my gosh.”

He laughs, “Yeah I’ve been writing to a botanist who has a flower shop in town, because I was wanting real yellow flowers for you.” 

“Flores amarillas.”

“What?” Fili looks at you.

“Flores amarillas, it means yellow flowers in Spanish.”

He smiles at you and slowly repeats, “flores amarillas.”

Giggling, you nodded.

Grinning at Fili, you made a mental note to teach him Spanish.

[ageofevermore]

ACCIDENTAL

SUMMARY — after a battle, you begin to wonder if all you’re meant to do is suffer, or if maybe, it was all accidental

AUTHORS NOTE — i forced @cuinaminute229 to give me a prompt (what if i told you none of this, was accidental), and then incorporated a road trip into this so enjoy the mess that it is! i wrote this in a lecture so if there are any minutes, no there aren’t

The lavender haze that settled around the compound brought peace to your mind. The days had only been getting longer since the last alien invasion you’d save New York City from, and despite the medals you’d won and magazine articles describing your heroics and praising you for your bravery, nothing felt lived up to enough to even calm your mind and save you one night of traumatic nightmares that wake you up with panting and cold flashes routinely.

You’d not been affected by a battle like this since Sokovia. Then, for almost an entire year, your nights were plagued with the echoing screams of Wanda calling for her brother. You jumped at every slammed door and couldn’t wash your hands or take a shower without thinking the water you dipped your body in was the blood everyone lost. Fury retired you from combat for seven months, Maria called your personal cell three times a week just to make sure your head was above water at the bare minimum, Natasha didn’t leave your side. For an Avenger, you were entirely human. But for a human, you were entirely too selfless. You were the heart of the team, the one who bore the most emotion, who thought of the innocence lost every time an invasion struck and children lost parents, parents lost kids, and those who were just lucky enough to lose nothing watched as everyone else lost everything. Nobody ever won, and you took it upon yourself to feel that hurt for them, because maybe, if you’d done something differently, if you’d acted quicker, or with more clarity, you might’ve been able to save somebody a funeral, or a house, or a car. Maybe if you’d been different, things wouldn’t be so bad.

Outside of being an Avenger, Natasha Romanoff was many things. She was careful, incredibly so, but even more than that, she was adventurous. After battles like Sokovia or New York, the first thing the Widow made priority of doing was submerge herself in change. When asked, she would never be honest about how much these battles left her wounded inside, but you knew the truth. You knew her like the back of your hand, and you knew the reason she was so eager for something different was because she didn’t want the remnants of who she was before a war suffocating how much she’d changed after it. If it was anything from dying her hair another color or cutting it all off, she was completely erasing who she was before from her appearance. She was all about new beginnings, and with all she’d overcome, you had no qualms about getting used to blonde hair, short hair, red hair, long hair.

This time was different though. Although her hair had been chopped a few nights ago, something in Natasha still craved for a new beginning. Her skin itched with the thought of how many lives had been lost, but mostly, her heart bled watching you suffocate in this city. The both of you needed out for a little, the both of you were so destroyed by selflessness that it left you nothing more than empty shells of lovers. Devoting your life to everyone else left so little time for devoting life for yourself and her, and maybe it was time to reclaim the moments you had left. If being an Avenger had forewarned you of anything, you’d learned how fragile life is.

Natasha left the bedroom hours ago, muttering something beneath her breath in russian. It was endearing, but you were too sedated by sadness to smile the way you would’ve under lighter circumstances. The sunset was lavender around the compound, and something about the gentle purple sky with impulsive strokes of blue and pink painted around the clouds let your mind wander from bloodshed to warmer days. It was the first time in weeks you hadn’t been paralyzed by PTSD.

The hinges on the door creaked as Natasha came back into the bedroom, arms adorned in blankets and snacks. Your eyes creased, watching her silently scramble around the room until she found the two duffle bags that stayed folded in the bottom of your closet until there was a mission that pulled you away for weeks. The white embroidering of ‘Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement Logistics Division’ is beginning to fray from the long term heavy duty use, but you have no idea why Natasha would need them now. The both of you had been laid off pending clearance from your appointed trauma counselors. If Fury didn’t play with two things, it was his favorite girls, albeit Maria, but she was usually safer off then you both.

She rustled through your closet and dresser drawers, folding odd articles of clothing and placing them in the duffle bags without consulting you on her motive. When she moved onto her clothes, you saw her brow pinch. She looked over you with flushed cheeks, nodding silently before moving on to grab shoes and chargers and shoving them into the duffles as well.

“You have my favorite hoodie on.” She mumbled neither to you or to herself, just stating what she’d discovered now that she’d finally come out of her head enough to analyze you. The both of you had been on autopilot for weeks, right next to each other but not even in the same room. “Let's go.”

You frowned, hugging the white comforter tighter around you while pulling your knees into your chest in a protective ball. “What?” You cocked your head to the side, a horrible habit that you’d picked up from Wanda after so many nights playing card games and cooking in the Tower. You hadn’t done so much of that since moving into the compound, but things had changed exponentially since then. It seemed one of you was always traumatized.

“We’re going on a road trip. Then Yelena’s picking us up. Melina renovated the cabin. We’re getting out of here.” Natasha didn’t give you any room to pose an argument. Her words were clear, and the direct edge to her words meant she wasn’t about to let you object. Just like you knew her, she knew you. Maybe you weren’t as inherently outgoing as she was, but you were always down to tag along.

“We can’t just leave.” You rebutted, grabbing her hand overtop of the duffle bag. Her skin was clammy, cold to the touch, trembling with anxiety that would’ve been untraceable had you been anyone else. You read her better than you read a third grade level chapter book.

She cocked an eyebrow, matching your curious head tilt that was meant to be threatening but came off as nothing but almost childish innocence. You could never be threatening to her, despite wielding knives and guns, and being marked with scars from battle where you’ve killed. She could never see you for any of that, just like you could never see her for an assassin. You were just Y/N and Natasha when alone together, and maybe that’s why you worked so well. “Why not?”

“What if-”

“They need us? The world ends? Haven’t we done our part, Y/N? Don’t we deserve a few weeks away from a city that's painted with blood?” Natasha climbed onto the bed, sitting on her knees in front of you. Tears filled your eyes, your heart hammering in your throat, it was like the world faded around you. What if something happened when you were gone? What if somebody needed you? They’d blame you so easily if you weren’t there. All your work in saving the city once would be undone in seconds. How did you get here? In a circumstance that left you paralyzed between choosing yourself and your girlfriend and choosing the lives of innocence?

“What if this is all we’re meant to do, Nat. What if none of this is accidental.”

“We’re meant for more than laying in bed unable to sleep because all we can hear is gunshots, because when we close our eyes all we see is people dying. We’re meant for more than panicking anytime our skin gets wet and thinking its blood, for mentally preparing for an attack anytime we turn a corner, for being scared of the dark in our twenties. We’ve done our part. We’ve made up for all the wrong we’ve been forced to do in life. You have to forgive yourself at some point. The world has forgiven you. I’ve forgiven you. You were never meant to be treated so harshly by the world, this was never meant to be your full purpose.” Natasha reaches out to brush a tear from your cheek, smiling her own watery smile at you as she tries not to cry. She’d never have forgiven herself if it weren’t for you, but she’d go to great lengths to make sure you understood how much nobody blamed you for your past.

“What if i’m not ready to forgive me?” You leaned into Natasha’s hand, grabbing onto her wrist to keep it there, comforted by her skin on yours, despite it being clammy and cold.

Natasha shook her head, tears falling from her eyes despite trying to keep them at bay. “I’ll do it until you’re ready.”

[wainwrightjakobshammerlock]

some of my borderlands trans hcs but with Bonus Elaboration(tm)

Brick is extremely nonbinary. no cis person is named Brick. they don't care abt what pronouns you use he just wants to punch things

Zane is extremely xenogender and probably has a gender hoard but he assumes everyone around him is either cis or wouldn't care so he just says he's a he/him trans man. ae will break out the fine pronouns with friends though

Gaige is a tgirl in a goofy way. in a lil silly way. vaguely xenic but nobody can say. she would definitely own a blahaj

Hammerlock & Wainwright are t4t and crusty as fuck. neither of them had many surgeries bc they don't really give a shit (the moustaches, posture and mannerisms do all the passing for them) but they both did get their uteruses yeeted for medical reasons and Wainwright got that fancy corporate top surgery. also they use queer language that would make the average twitter user have an aneurysm (reclaimed slurs & outdated words ex. transsexual) because theyre old timey, but also for fun

Vaughn is post everything and thats part of the reason he's moved into letting that thing swing (under the underwear that is) + having his tits out in bl3. it's embezzled hyperion cash well spent

Torgue thought he was cis until he discovered xenogenders and realized he could literally have explosions be his gender. he still goes by he/him in most cases

[daitranscripts]

Promise of Destruction Pt. 2

Caer Oswin

Cassandra Masterpost Previous: Locate the Missing Seekers

The party makes their way to a fortress in Ferelden.

Cassandra: Caer Oswin. Odd that the trail should lead us here. Bann Loren is a pious, unassuming man. What has he become involved in?

Dialogue options:

General: It might not be by choice. [1]

General: Everyone’s going crazy. [2]

General: It doesn’t matter. [3]

1 - General: It might not be by choice. PC: He might simply be a victim as well. [4]

2 - General: Everyone’s going crazy. PC: He’s involved in “crazy,” just like everyone else these days. Cassandra: Truer words have never been spoken. [4]

3 - General: It doesn’t matter. PC: We’re here to look for the Seekers. [4]

4 - Scene continues.

Cassandra: Let’s see what lies within.

They continue inside, and are immediately attacked.

Cassandra: Promisers. I should have known. The Order of Fiery Promise is a cult with… strange beliefs about the Seekers. They’ve hounded us for centuries.

5 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: What strange beliefs? [6]

Investigate: Why not deal with them? [7]

General: Can they be reasoned with? [8]

General: “Cultists” don’t sound good. [9]

General: They’re not that tough. [10]

6 - Investigate: What strange beliefs? PC: What kind of “strange beliefs”? Cassandra: They believe they are Seekers—the only rightful ones. They say we robbed their powers long ago, preventing them from ending the world. PC: Ending the world? Cassandra: The only way to truly eradicate evil, in their eyes. “The world will be reborn a paradise.” It’s all nonsense. [back to 5]

7 - Investigate: Why not deal with them? PC: Why haven’t the Seekers dealt with them? Cassandra: We have. Many times. They simply reappear after a time, like weeds. Nobody knows how. [back to 5]

8 - General: Can they be reasoned with? PC: Is it possible to negotiate with them? Cassandra: They’re fanatics, drunk on whatever forbidden magic they can find to make themselves “true” Seekers. [11]

9 - General: “Cultists” don’t sound good. PC: Cultists? Why am I not surprised? [11]

10 - General: They’re not that tough. PC: We dealt with those few easily enough. Cassandra: They are less formidable than they are deranged. [11]

11 - Scene continues.

Cassandra: This explains why the Seekers might be here, but not the connection to Corypheus.

They find a corpse further in.

Cassandra: A Seeker. Did they torture him to death? The Promisers will pay for this.

The party enters a courtyard, where they fight more Promisers. Cassandra picks a letter off one of the corpses when the fighting ends.

Cassandra: “As the Seekers of Truth have proven resistant to the effect of red lyrium, the Elder One has seen fit to place them in your care. Reclaim you destiny, and know that the Elder One expects your devotion as repayment.”

Cassandra (sided templars): Signed by Magister Calpernia, leader of the Venatori. Cassandra (sided mages): Signed by Lord Samson, commander of the red templars.

Cassandra: Does Corypheus not realize the Promisers wants the world to end? What use are they to him?

Dialogue options:

General: He sold the Seekers to them? [12]

General: He’ll betray them first. [13]

General: They belong together. [14]

12 - General: He sold the Seekers to them? PC: So Corypheus sold the Seekers to these cultists? Cassandra: And they leapt at the chance, of course. [15]

13 - General: He’ll betray them first. PC: Corypheus will probably betray them before they get their chance. Cassandra: But after he gets what he needs out of them. [15]

14 - General: They belong together. PC: Sounds like they’re perfect for each other. Cassandra: I suppose it does. [15]

15 - Scene continues.

Cassandra: But this doesn’t explain how he captured the Seekers in the first place, or what’s been done with them. We must keep looking.

16 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: Why are Seekers “resistant”? [17]

General: You’re worried. [18]

General: Do you really want to know? [19]

General: We’ll find them. [20]

17 - Investigate: Why are Seekers “resistant”? PC: The letter said Seekers were resistant to red lyrium. Cassandra: Our abilities grant us many gifts, but a resistance to red lyrium’s corruption? That seems strange. Although it would explain why none have numbered among the red templars… And thus Seekers would be useless to Corypheus. He would have no leash to hold us. [back to 16]

18 - General: You’re worried. PC: You sound worried. Cassandra: I am. The Seekers are my family. Cassandra: You must think me inhuman. Of course I am. [21]

19 - General: Do you really want to know? PC: Do you really want to keep looking? What we find might not be pleasant. Cassandra: I do not shy away from unpleasant things. I must know. [21]

20 - General: We’ll find them. PC: We’ll find them, Cassandra. Cassandra: I know we will. One way or another. [21]

21 - Scene ends.

Next: Fate of the Seekers

[maze-of-my-design]

Tell me your favourite things about the p5 cast !!! :D

(HI THIS WAS FOR THAT ONE POSITIVITY ASK GAME SRY I FORGOT)

This got really long so it goes under the cut but people should read this may b it took like 50 mins to type out please

Ren: He literally LOVES HIS FRIENDS it's so insane like HE CAN IMAGINE MARRYONG ANY OF THEM even if it's a joke he can see himself married to his friends and he denies godhood for them and for everyone. He gets beaten up and thrown around by cops for his friends. I don't think he'd ever accept the false reality in 3rd Sem because he loves his friends so much and if he gave them agency once he will do it 100 times over.

Morgana: kitty kat :3 I like how he learns to put his ego aside throughout the story and accepts the fact that he Does need the thieves. I love the scene where he admits that the PTs are his place to belong. He's such a hardass for most of the game but really he's just a little guy. "tch, whatever, you guys are the only idiots who wanna keep me around! You'd be nothing without me. Now let's go get a celebration dinner we need refreshments"

Ryuji: HE'S SO SWEET AND KIND!!! HE LOVES HIS MOM!! HE'S A TRUE PUNK!!! he's the coolest mf the thieves have around he's legit THE reason the thieves exist in the first place. If it wasn't for him yelling out Kamoshida's codewords no one would've met eachother. He's willing to put himself on the line for his friends because he CARES he cares about everyone. He's not Ren's kind of selfless but he's his OWN kinda selfless and I love him for it.

Ann: She's literally just a girl. Just a girl in the world. She's so sweet with her friends and even if she hesitates a lil to say it out loud, she demonstrates it. She loves people so strongly that it saves them. She's headstrong and badass, and despite it all she wants to reclaim what was stolen from her. Sure, Atlus fumbled the bag with her writing, but her wish to take back her femininity and use it as her weapon? So real. Ann I love you so much

Yusuke: MY GUY!!!!!! Unironically, I love how weird he is. That's the face of a guy who is unafraid to be himself. Granted, all the thieves learn to be so, but him? He's literally called weird and eccentric, sometimes to his face, but he just keeps at it! He loves the arts, he loves the world, he is so in love with Life and the people in it he wants to capture it all on paper. He's curtsy, he's flamboyant, he's eccentric, he's weird, and he wears it all with a badge of honour. He's also so pretty like have you SEEN him

Makoto: I really like how she breaks free from those she used to please. Her awakening is one of the most cathartic of the game for this reason. Her biker outfit is fantastic for her, it's legit the coolest fucking thing. BUT ALSO! As an ex-people-pleaser myself, learning and internalizing the fact that you owe Nothing to no one at all does feel like that yk? "Makoto the sycophant is gone" is a raw fucking line for her and I love it. She isn't my favourite, but god damn it she's a certified Cool Cat

Futaba: HER. God where do I begin. Her quick wit, her intelligence, her hacking prowess. Her palace resonates with me a lot (I mean, who wouldn't in this day and age?). Being so deep in a hole that you doom yourself to die in it because you think you deserve it. But the way she handles it? Even if the thieves did part of the work (at her behest), ultimately SHE'S the one in power. SHE'S the one in control. And the way she learns that? WHEN she learns that? The whole conversation with her shadow before the bossfight is so fucking cool. The way she feels indignated, her shadow telling her to, indeed, Be Fucking Upset that these nobodies treated her like crap, validates her anger, and just. "No matter what you say to me, I will LIVE!" is probably my favourite line from the whole game hands down. It means a lot to me, Futaba herself means a lot to me, I love her, I admire her, she's so awesome

Haru: HER REBELLION!!!! The way she stands up to her dad is so amazing. I wish the game had given her the spotlight before the bossfight, but what we got was so good (if insufficient) I loved it. Important to mention, also, the fact that she uses her kindness as her weapon. Have you seen how she treats Akechi? She's respectful, curt, she's one of the first to say he should join them in the fight against Shido. She may hate him, but she remains calm. She remains kind. Akechi probably thinks she hates him and should, thus, treat him wrongly. But no, she is kind. Anyway Akechi aside I love her PT aesthetic she's fuckin ROCKING that hat with the vulture feather. I love her.

Akechi: he's so well written that as much as I want to hate him i cannot. His writing dude. He's made me cry. He's made me want to rip my screen apart. He's such a character. I love how his desire for freedom overtakes so much of the narrative. Think about it: he goes along with the Hitman business, with the murders, with shooting Okumura, with shooting his rival best friend Ren, all because he wants to be FREE. He wanted his MOTHER to be free, or whatever remained of her. He wanted to avenge her, to avenge himself, even if it meant dying he, wanted to have Something for himself. He wanted to, for the first time in years, make a Choice. A choice that Mattered. These ideals, while selfish in execution, are what makes him murder, attempt to murder, and refuse the fake reality in the third semester. Fuck being happy, he wants to be Free.

SUMIRE: oh my god. Ohhh Jesus fuck. Ohhhh. My god. Oghf god. I know I'll write a manuscript for just her but I WISH i finished royal myself. I've avoided as much dialogue as possible to get the gut punch myself on my own, I only got to the Rumi parts of Maruki's palace but that's IT. I'm starved. I need to finish Royal.

Sumire. Where do I even start. She feels so real to me...The jealousy, the self-hatred, the longing to be anybody but yourself to be liked, the admiration and clingyness towards the first person who wishes to lend you a hand (+ it becoming so strong you almost build your own self around them), the disdain towards superficial words of support, the loneliness she feels towards her emotions ("you'll never understand how I feel!"), the inferiority complex, the stubbornness to fight for a delusion you upheld for so long because of reality being so frightening to face alone. Even if Atlus fumbled the bag with her too, in all honesty, being 16 is just. Like that. I get it.

Sumire is far too kind to those who don't deserve it. But she isn't stupid, she KNOWS a bitch when she sees one and honestly? It's a crime how she didn't get to have a 1 on 1 with Maruki. Even if she's the one who sked for it, He ruined her. She deserved to be more upset with him, i don't care what anyone says.

Also, it's amazing how high her confidence can go. During her fake awakening, "Kasumi" decides she's had enough of people stepping over her, treating her like a failure. She reminds the world that "I am Kasumi Yoshizawa!" and that she's willing to fight for her place in this world. Her rebellion surges from her wish to not be shoved aside and pupettered anymore, not be treated as a gossip-target or a tool for good rep, but as a person. Sumire, on the other hand, fights to learn this herself. She fights to believe this, to drill it into herself that Sumire Yoshizawa isn't worth being forgotten about. She fights on to believe that Sumire Yoshizawa is worth more than what her brain believes.

But in the end, both versions of herself wish for the same thing: to live. To live proud, stand tall, to remind the world that Yoshizawa isn't just a pretty name on a golden trophy, a tag on a wooden toy, or the name of a science experiment. To remind all of them and herself that Sumire Yoshizawa is a name worth fighting for. And a name she won't forget ever again.

So yeah Sumire's. Cool, I guess

[jellybeanium124]

xxx

I'm angry in this one btw. real properly angry. I don't wanna talk about this because I know some of y'all are thiiiiis close to blocking me for not falling in line and being a good little jew and repeating the slogans thoughtlessly, but I'm so mad and scared and nobody cares at all and I wanna shut up about it so I don't lose all my goyische friends but I can't I just can't.

hm maybe people are being arrested because there is some violence and this is terrifying jewish students?? and I think the author of this article is way too kind to these students. they hail hamas as heroes. they don't think the innocent civilian hostages should be released for the crime of being israeli. they champion themselves as being antiracist when ANTISEMITISM IS AN ETHNIC PREJUDICE YOU DUMB FUCKING CHAZERS!!!

jews are terrified.

rabbis are telling us to stay home.

whenever there's an "assembly" on the uni I live by, I'm terrified it'll turn violent. I'm terrified they'll burn down or deface the clearly labelled building where the jewish org lives.

I stopped wearing my magen david because I'm terrified of my peers, my peers who are supposed to be inclusive and love everyone regardless of ethnicity, seeing that I'm jewish and harassing me or worse.

the average college campus is less safe for jews than it has been in decades.

the optics of your movement are shit. you're infested with jew haters, and no one seems to care!! no goy cares, because you all care more about hating israel than not hating jews. and hating israel turns into hating jews so, so quickly. I want palestine to be a free nation. I want this war to end. but none of you understand that as long as hamas exists peace cannot happen. none of you understand that if you hate israelis you're a fucking antisemite lol sorry. if you want every israeli dead, you want half the world's jews dead. if you don't think that makes you an antisemite, lemme give you another example. let's say you want all black americans dead (not all black people are american, in fact, less than half the world's black population are in america). are you racist? YES. same fucking logic here.

saw a video the other day where some dumbfuck was like "have you considered that all hamas knows is oppression and hatred? 🥺" THESE ARE GROWN ADULTS!! YOU RACIST FUCKING INFANTILIZING FUCKING IDIOT!! THEY ARE GROWN ADULT HUMANS AND YOU ARE TREATING THEM LIKE BABIES AND CLAIM TO BE ANTIRACIST??? if you see POC as too innocent to be bad, then you are falling for the noble savage stereotype all over again. has that stereotype historically been attributed to arab people? no. but it definitely fucking is now with the way y'all think rape and terrorism is excusable.

none of you fucking idiots see anyone involved as full humans because none of you have a goddamn piece in it. you see palestinians as innocent babies who could never rape or hurt anyone, and you see israelis as demons to be exterminated. you're racist, you're hateful, you're not helping anything, and I hope you will one day be so, so ashamed of the fear you've instilled in jews worldwide while seeing them as genociding monsters regardless of ties to israel or anything, as well as the myopic infantilizing racist way you view arab people.

and one last thing: "FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA" IS ANTISEMITIC. IT'S A SLOGAN ENDORSED BY HAMAS. IF YOU ARE CHANTING THAT OVER AND OVER AND OVER GUESS WHAT YOU'RE HAVING AN ANTISEMITIC PROTEST, SORRY. you can't reclaim that slogan, it is calling for the destruction of israel, which will lead to jewish genocide, or just a massive jewish refugee crisis if they're lucky and hamas doesn't succeed in their goal of exterminating the jews.

[jumping-joey1104]

I write so much for Sreepypasta I have to do something for Slenderverse. Gotta reign in both fandoms to my hell-site of a blog SO

Slenderverse Crack Headcanons

(Includes EverymanHybrid, Mlandersen0, TribeTwelve, and Marble Hornets)

EverymanHybrid

Evan is the kind of guy to use any nearby container to fill with energy drinks

Dude has definitely used an empty bleach bottle to fill with a cursed concoction of Monsters and Red-Bull

Only drinks the lo-carb monster because "it's healthier"

Vinny would've been a twitch streamer if EverymanHybrid took place nowadays

The closest person I could compare with how he acts on stream is Philza

Has gotten doxxed like 3 times now but he does not care

Jeff would stream with Vincent but only plays minecraft, and is ten times better at it than anyone else

Probably has a discord server and for some reason he made Evan admin and now everyone calls him senpai

He knows what it means and hates it, He has a separate channel to put Evan and his associates by crime in and locks them in there

Alex is the one that started it all

MLAndersen0

Nobody knows where Michael got his ugly ass curtains, and he refuses to say where he go a sheet of pure denim fabric

He would have so many fidget toys, he just likes the little clicks, and yes he would throw them at Shaun like a latina mother and her chanclas

For some reason this man can make a mean drink, coffee, alcohol, hell even koolaid. You ask him for a drink he's bringing you a margarita

Shaun would play Call of Duty, all of the games. He plays them

Goes into extensive research on what slurs he can reclaim so he could bully kids online with a good conscience

"What slurs can I reclaim if my brother is a psychopath?" And Stormy just looks at him with fear

Speaking of Stormy she can outdrink both men, one time Michael dared them to take a shot of 99 proof and she took three

She quotes vines all the time, regularly asks Michael "Where's the B" and he doesn't understand at all

Shaun understands her and they quote vines together while Michael cries in confusion

Eric Cyberbullies Micheal with pictures of cups dangerously close to the edge of a surface

Tribetwelve

Noah has gone three days without sleep, slams down a sugar-free redbull and passed out in his kitchen before and blames the collective

Dude was a huge party guy in Highschool but always ended up sitting in a corner petting the dog at the party

This raggedy ass man loves the resident evil movies and says their peak cinematography, refuses to take any other suggestions

Kevin is peak stoner mode, and has tricked Noah into eating edibles before. By tricked I mean he left them out and Noah ate half of them before he was caught

Dude is the WORST tripsitter btw, he's the type of guy that would smoke a blunt and go "Do you think god loves us" before putting on a horror movie

Dude can handle marijuana perfectly but can only drink one cup of alcohol before getting black out, absolute lightweight

Milo has watched so much anime, so much. He has at least eleven shirts revolving around Sailor Moon and Beserk.

He's never watched Beserk he just likes the art, Noah and Kevin refuse to tell him what it is. They just wait until he finds out.

Probably the best at drawing out of all of them, he just has the gift of art and abuses it. His journal has a ton of different doodles

All three suck at Mario Kart but still play it together, yes it ends up with Kevin and Noah fighting while Milo wins the race

Marble Hornets

Tim is so tired of everyone, all the time. If given the choice he will mentally destroy everyone but Brian says no.

Definitely can quote all of Hamilton and says he would play Aaron Burr just so because he knows all his lines. He's a silent theater nerd

Brian is a loud theater nerd, one time he yelled at Alex "You see the stage to your left? Keep walking till you hit a wall."

Whenever he comes to practice with Tim he'll have two of the same drinks so he can give one to Tim.

Jay is so dumb, bless his soul. He forgets words and just randomly replaces them to the men's horror. "I wanted to have eggs for breakfast but I couldn't find my Skittle"

Tim and Alex are the only ones that understand him, but Alex makes fun of him "You mean skillet?"

Alex get picked on so much by them, Tim calls him cringe and he'll cry in the bathroom for 15 minutes before saying a comeback

He is for sure one of the most sarcastic jerk you would ever meet even if he tried to be nice

Poor Jessica is just standing there the whole time, she's the single mother of three sons and she knows it.

Both her and Amy are so tired of trying to keep the men from getting arrested when they're recording

[opinated-user]

i'm going to ignore for a second how LO has shown that she's just as gender essentialist as any other terf, in both her own works of fiction as in reality, or that she has even defended a radical feminist that SWERF use as their foundation for their nonsense. those things do contribute to the why i call out LO as terf adjacent, but let's put them aside for a moment. why do people call you a terf when you're a queerphobe or when you generally treat queer people as the enemy to take down? because terfs are the one weaponizing queerphobia in a real world sense.

this picture was used as an illustrative example of "lesbian being pressured by trans woman to have sex", in this infamous articles from the BBC: https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-57853385 terfs are currently using queerphobia as another way to create division in the whole community. once they have managed to convince enough people that queer should be erased, who do you think is going to be next? but not everyone is from the UK in the first place, which would be a moot point to make because do you think terfs care about that? they only see you legitimatizing their position that nobody ever should be called queer, that queer is a bad word to use, that the people who call themselves and their community queer are bad selfish people who want to force you into accepting their identity. it doesn't matter if you're from the US, Canada or any other place, they'll use that as further proof that they're right and that other people who also "force them" to accept their identity are equally as bad and should also be erased. take a guess as to who that could be refering to. as a sidenote... do you really think the UK is the only place in earth with terfs? it's where they're the most prominent and have the most political power, that much is true, but terfs exist everywhere and sometimes they do get to have an impact if given the chance. why do you all think there has been an increasing number of anti trans law in usa? why do some states have outright banned drag performances? let me be clear about this. not being queer is fine. don't wanting to be called queer is fine. correcting people who call you, you individually, the person, queer is totally valid. as long you respect the right of queer people to exist and understand our need to have our own queer community, because we'll always have that as human beings that we're, we can all coexist no problem. but queerphobes like LO don't do that and it's disgusting to even pretend so. she has made post after post about how we, queer people, are self hating morons who are beneath her. she has told anons writing to her about how they should change the name of their identity. she has actually said that "people who reclaim queer should choke". she has made an entire video full of misinformation with the express purpose of convince people in general that they should never use queer, ever, and comparing the people who do with the most hateful horrible kind of people you can meet. i have a whole tag called "lily orchard is a queerphobe" because she has done this so frequently, so blatantly and so obviously that i'm actually baffled that she thinks she's foolling everyone by reducing her hatred for us as simply "don't liking to be called that word." anyone can visit that tag and see that it goes a lot harder than that. i don't know OP, but if all they ever said was that they don't want to be associated with that word because of personal negative experience with it and never said anything about queer people as a group or as a community, then yes, it would be wrong to immediately call them a terf on that basis alone. that's not the case of LO, as i argued above. she might not be exactly the same as a terf... but does she ever make their work a little easier by normalizing their ideas.

[clonerightsagenda]

The aro icon poll has concluded, with Murderbot claiming the lead. This is unsurprising as I wasn't sure TMD even qualified since I think the aromanticism is intentional, but I knew not including it would result in a bunch of 'where's murderbot op' comments.

Anyway! Here is a roundup of everyone's submissions for additional iconic aro works and moments.

Keladry of mindelan, tbh. she had sort of crushes, but turns out romance isn't her thing, which she learned as she got older and is totally valid. she's also canonically aroace, so yay!

when lirael in the book of the same name spends her whole life alone and treated like a child bc she fails to develop a power that most people get before puberty. and also when someone flirts with her and she leaves/changes the subject very quickly bc she doesn't want to deal with it. she's still aro to me

lirael erasure on that poll. goldenhand is not real and cannot hurt me

when rin from the books of bayern's defining moment of using her powers Wrong is when she thinks it will satisfy her to persuade someone she's told likes her to kiss her but everything abt it feels so horrible she runs away and is miserable for years. and then reclaims her powers by using them to help and befriend people on a deeper level

The entirety of Kamen Rider Fourze #The main character is determined to become friends with everyone even his enemies #he is completely oblivious to anything romantic that may involve him #he quite literally gets stronger from the power of friendship

oh Fushi To Your Eternity's whole story #being about finding humanity and connection as an immortal demi god #and still Not Getting romantic/sexual love #despite many people trying to explain it #and also a cult that has spending 200 years #trying to help the reincarnation of their founder seduce him #and never getting past the friend zone #also barely getting in the friend zone because Fushi is pretty :/ about them #seriously pls watch To Your Eternity it is SO good

everything about jo and laurie's relationship in little women

-ME from REAL LIFE

oh also tris from the emelan books is rlly quite acearo!!

deeply unpopular opinion but steve harrington is aro TO ME #i know there are multiple ways to read his character but like. his s3 character arc is about realizing he doesnt need to be in a #relationshp to be happy and he’s trying to force it anyways bc thats what he thinks he should do! #his most fulfilling relationships are with children and a qpp with a lesbian! #he tries to ask robin out and it definitely seems like he maybe just doesn’t know the difference between romantic and platonic love because #he has not in fact ever experienced the former!! #yes i know there are other ways to interpret these things. However its my god given right to project onto characters so thats what i’ll do #i also think ophelie from la passe mirroir books is aro but presumably nobody else here has read those lol #OH and cannonical acearo rep shoutout to the fires stone haha

Seren from “Seren” being exiled from her home planet for reaching the age of 25 unmarried, and her whole entire regret is the “getting exiled” and “disappointing her family” and “failing to be a Productive Citizen of her Planet” parts whereas she never seems like she actually cares about the being married part At All

I am slapping each of these works with a celebrity book club-style sticker like this