#but on the other hand i think you need to verify your account or some kind of whatever. and i feel iffy about giving twitch my phone number

[incomprehensi-bull]

i wonder if i should be a streamer or something. for enrichment

[sukumna]

@DominantSirRyo has sent you a message . . .

triggers. ryomen sukuna x fem!reader. cnc. bdsm. kidnapping. asphyxiation. drowning. rough sex. degradation. fear play. d/s dynamics. MDNI

word count. 2.7k

authors note. i never thought i would finish this fic yall,,its been sitting in my docs collecting dust. i lowkey hate it but whateves. NOT PROOFREAD!

“See, your account’s been verified. Now, just select the kinks you’re interested in, and within a few weeks, someone will match with you. If no one’s available, the app will notify you.” Your friend hands you back your phone, where the list of kinks is laid out.

“And what if I match with some creep? This whole thing feels sketchy.”

“No, you’ll only meet professionals. The app was created by a BDSM club owner, and he makes sure the professionals match up with people who don’t know what they’re doing,” your friend says with a roll of her eyes. “So, it’s not like you’re meeting just some random guy who likes choking women. These are people who are well-versed in kink.”

“I don’t know…” you mumble hesitantly.

“Why do you think this app hasn’t blown up on social media or any kink sites? It’s invite-only. My sister’s boyfriend helps run it, so he slipped me the invite code. Trust me, you won’t get murdered, and you don’t even have to meet up if you don’t want to. You were the one who told me none of your past doms did it for you.”

She raises an eyebrow. She’s got a point. You can rarely get off during safe sex anymore. You’ve only ever reached climax while reading taboo smut or on the rare occasions you’ve had kinky encounters.

“I just want you to be satisfied. You’ve been kind of a bitch without sex.”

“Oh, wow!” You feign offense, clutching your chest.

“Hey,” she laughs. “I’m just being honest! Try it out! Let me know when you match with someone.”

“If I do it.”

“When you do it!” she insists.

—

You scroll through the app, clicking the kinks you’re open to.

Piss kink – No | depends | if forced | yes

Necrophilia – No | depends | if forced | yes

You click ‘No’ for both and scroll further down the list. Yes, you’re doing this. You’re tired of being sexually frustrated. Like your friend said, you’re a bitch when you’re not getting satisfied.

Primal Kink – Yes, please

CNC – Yes…

Unprotected Sex – No, not with a stranger

Kidnapping – Yes, no explanation needed

Dom/Sub – Yes, obviously

Coercion – Yes

Pregnancy kink – Yes, don’t judge

Waterboarding – Yes…

Asphyxiation – Yes!

Fear Play – Yes…

Rough Sex – Yes, a must

You continue scrolling through the lengthy list, considering whether or not you want to try these with strangers. After finishing, you’re led to the next page.

‘Please describe your ideal roleplay scenario. Be thorough, leave nothing to the imagination.’

You bite your lip, thinking of the fanfics you’ve saved. You type your fantasies out, each detail more intense than the last. After clicking ‘next,’ you’re taken to a final page.

‘Click submit to put your profile live. Once you do, you’ll be matched with one or several kinksters. You can decline any offers you don’t find appealing. All profiles are verified, and you’ll only be matched with professionals. Be patient and have fun!’

You hesitate for a moment before clicking ‘Submit’ and hurriedly tossing your phone to the other side of the bed.

—

Two weeks later, you receive a match.

Lying on the couch after a long day at work, you’re reading a smutty fanfic when a notification pops up. It’s from the app. You forgot about it for the last few days, thinking no one would be interested in fulfilling your deepest, darkest fantasies. You sit up, heart racing as you click on the notification.

It’s from @DominantSirRyo.

‘Hello, Y/N. We matched 100% in kinks and interests. I’d like to know if you’re interested in meeting, or if you’d prefer to chat first.’

100%? That means every single one of your wildest fantasies. You click on his profile, scrolling through his photos. This has to be fake. There’s no way someone this attractive matched with you. He’s tall, muscular, with a strong jawline and a dangerous vibe. He looks like he could crush you with one hand—but also like he could hold you close, protect you from anyone who dared touch you.

You click on his “About Me.”

‘Hello, I’m Ryomen Sukuna. I’m 42. You will address me as ‘Sir’ during playtime. My kinks include but aren’t limited to: D/s dynamics, CNC, rough fucking, asphyxiation, primal play, and master-slave relationships. You can learn more about me if I deem you worthy. Goodbye.’

Okay, he’s got an ego. But you can work with that. You shamelessly like that in a man. You type out your response, hesitant but intrigued.

‘Hey, I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you… i guess?’

‘I know your name, silly girl.’

‘Oh… right.’

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to come off as rude. You have a beautiful name.’

‘Thanks… I don’t really know what to say…’

‘Do you want to get to know me or would you rather jump straight into building a scene?’

You hesitate, thinking about the choices. Do you want to get to know him better, or just dive straight in? You already know the basics. If this was an app like Tinder, you’d be planning a hookup by now.

‘I think we should build a scene and maybe get to know each other while we’re doing that?’

‘That works for me. I read your fantasies, and I’m thinking of building on that by…’

—

You sit in your car outside a secluded bar on the outskirts of town. Only two other cars are parked in the lot. It’s pitch black outside, and you haven’t seen anyone since you arrived. You’ve been texting Sukuna, or as he prefers, ‘Ro,’ for the past few days, fine-tuning your scene. You’re restless, your panties damp from the anticipation of everything he promised.

‘Stand outside your car and face the wall. Leave everything except your keys. I’ll hold on to them for you,’ Ro texts.

You squeeze your legs together, breath hitching. ‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Don’t play with me, little girl. Do as you’re told.’

You get out of the car and walk towards the bar, keys in hand. You look around, but see no sign of him. You think he’s in one of the other cars, but the place feels deserted. You turn around and stare at the wall. You can feel your pussy getting wetter by the second. The scene you’ve fantasized of since forever is about to come true.

After a few minutes, you start to feel ridiculous. No sounds, no movement. Maybe he stood you up. You scoff. Of course, a guy this perfect would be too good to be true.

You turn to walk back to your car when someone grabs you from behind. Your breath catches as a large, rough hand covers your face. You scream, but it’s muffled as you’re dragged toward a car. The trunk pops open, and before you can react, you’re thrown inside. The trunk slams shut, and you hear a car engine start.

You gasp for breath, your mind racing. What if this isn’t Sukuna? What if it’s someone else? But you don’t have time to question it—your body is humming with arousal from the sheer intensity of the moment.

The car lurches forward, and you feel heat spreading between your thighs. It’s really happening.

By the time the car stops, you’ve stopped trying to track time. What if he’s not the man you thought he was? What if he doesn’t treat you like he said he would? The worry gnaws at you, but it’s swallowed up by the overwhelming desire that’s been building since he first grabbed you.

The trunk opens and blinding light floods your vision, forcing you to squint as you take in the towering figure above you. Sukuna. Your breath catches in your throat. The pictures didn’t do him justice—tall, broad, built like a man who could break you in half and enjoy every second of it. His sharp eyes rake over you, lingering on your trembling thighs.

He’s looking at you like he can see how horny and worked up you are beneath the trembles.

“Out.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for hesitation.

Your legs feel weak as you climb out of the trunk, body buzzing with adrenaline. The moment your feet hit the ground, he grabs you by the chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“Dripping already?” His thumb brushes your lower lip, and you can’t stop the way your thighs press together. He smirks. “You’re a nasty girl. Perfect.”

You swallow hard, waiting for instructions.

He steps back, rolling his shoulders, the moonlight catching the ink on his arms. Beyond him, an empty field stretches out, the tree line dark and endless in the distance. The wind rustles the tall grass. It’s eerily silent—just you, him, and the stars.

“Here are the rules.” He crosses his arms, watching you like prey. “You get five minutes to run. If I catch you in twenty, I fuck you right here in the dirt.” His eyes darken. “Fight me, scream, beg—I don’t care. But if I catch you, you’re mine. Your safe word is banana. Understood?”

Your stomach flips, nerves and arousal tangled together. You nod.

“Words.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He checks his watch. “Run.”

Your heart leaps as you spin on your heels, sprinting toward the trees. The field stretches on forever, your lungs burning as you push forward. The night air is cool, but your skin is burning with anticipation. You don’t hear him following yet, but you know he will.

You duck behind a thick tree, chest heaving, ears straining for sound. A minute passes. Another. You peek around the trunk, and…

Nothing.

Maybe you ran faster than he expected. Maybe he really won’t find you. Your pulse pounds in your ears as you step carefully along the riverbank, watching the moonlight glint off the water. If you can just cross—

“Thought you could hide from me, little girl?”

A scream rips from your throat as you’re tackled to the ground, Sukuna’s heavy weight pressing your chest into the dirt. Your hands claw at the grass, nails digging into the earth.

“Let me go!” you snarl, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He chuckles, the sound dark and indulgent. “Oh, you’re adorable.” His hand clamps around your wrists, pinning them above your head as his other grips the back of your neck. “Say all the right things while your cunt tells me otherwise.”

Your leggings are yanked down in one rough motion, cool air licking at your soaked panties. He pauses just long enough to slide his fingers along the damp fabric, feeling the proof of your arousal.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. His fingers press harder, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit through the fabric. “So fucking wet. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, but your body betrays you, thighs trembling, hips arching into his touch. He laughs, voice thick with satisfaction.

“Liar.”

The sound of fabric tearing makes your stomach flip—he didn’t even bother pulling your panties down, just rips them clean off before shoving two fingers inside you. A gasp catches in your throat, your walls clenching around the sudden intrusion.

“Yeah,” he groans, curling his fingers, dragging them along the soft spot inside you. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

Your body tightens, instinct warring with pleasure as he pumps his fingers in and out, slow but relentless, pushing you toward the edge. Just when your breath starts coming in broken little pants, he pulls away.

“No—”

You don’t get to finish you plea before the thick head of his cock presses against your entrance, and then—fuck. He drives into you in one harsh thrust, forcing your walls to stretch around his size.

A strangled cry tears from your throat. Your fingers curl around the hand that’s still holding your wrists. It hurts, it’s too much, you can’t handle it—

“Stop struggling slut,” The hand holding your wrists go to your hair as he pushes your face into the shallow riverbank. Cold water and dirt fills your mouth, a cruel contrast to the heat between your legs. He holds your face in the water so long that you start to feel he might actually kill you right here. your hands claw at him and he yanks you up. “Fuck, this cunt is squeezin’ me so tight.”

His hips roll, dragging his cock out until just the thick tip remains inside before slamming back in. The force of it jolts you forward, your breath leaving you in sharp gasps. You can’t catch your breath, you feel like you’re dying on his cock.

“Fuck, that’s right,” he growls, his grip on your hips bruising as he sets a brutal rhythm. He fucks you like he owns you, like he’s waited his whole life to ruin you, each thrust forcing a choked whimper from your lips.

“I-i, it’s—”

You writhe beneath him unable to form a single coherent thought, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. His free hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing in tight, punishing circles. Your thighs shake. The pressure builds—sharp and unbearable.

“That’s it,” he breathes, feeling you tighten around him. “Come for me, you fucking slut.”

A sob rips from your throat as you shatter, pleasure hitting you like a violent wave. Your body spasms, walls clamping down around his cock, dragging him deeper. He curses, his rhythm stuttering, and then—

Heat floods you as he buries himself to the hilt, groaning as he spills inside the condom. His hips twitch, riding out the aftershocks as your body trembles beneath him.

For a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the distant rustle of the wind through the trees. Then, Sukuna chuckles, low and satisfied.

“Told you I’d catch you.”

He pulls out slowly, savoring the way your body clenches around nothing. His fingers trail down your spine before he’s rolling you onto your back, his gaze drinking in your wrecked state.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, brushing damp hair from your face. “All fucked out already?” You try to open your mouth but you can’t.

Sukuna hoists you up like you weigh nothing, one arm locked beneath your knees, the other supporting your back. Your head lolls against his chest, too spent to do anything but cling to the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling weakly into the material. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, strong, unbothered, like he didn’t just fuck the fight out of you by the river.

“You alright?” His voice is rough, but there’s something almost amused beneath it.

You hum, too dazed to form words. Your body feels boneless, tingling from the aftershocks, your thighs still slick where he’d ruined you.

He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest. “That good, huh?”

The night air is cool against your sweat-damp skin as he carries you toward the car. With each step, you feel the effortless strength in his arms—the way his muscles shift, the easy control in his grip. He’s not even winded.

“You went limp so fast,” he muses, squeezing your thigh. “Thought I fucked you unconscious for a second.”

You manage a breathless laugh. “Almost.”

His smirk is audible. “Cute.”

By the time he reaches the car, you’ve half-melted into him, your body pliant in his hold. He nudges the passenger seat open.

“In you go.”

He sets you down gently—surprisingly so, given how ruthless he was moments ago. The contrast sends a strange heat through you. Your legs are still shaky, barely able to support your weight, and he notices.

“Tch.” He grips your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Still floaty?”

You nod, licking your lips.

Sukuna hums, eyes dark with something unreadable before he leans down, pressing a kiss to your jaw—slow, deliberate, entirely different from the way he’d just handled you. It makes your breath hitch.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your skin. “You did perfect.”

Your chest tightens. Before you can respond, he pulls back, shutting the door and sliding into the driver’s seat.

The car hums to life, the vibration sinking into your spent body as you stare up at the night sky through the open window. Your body still throbs with the memory of him, your heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the road as he drives you back—back to where it all started, already knowing this won’t be the last time.

Not even close.

[chimielie]

hold ‘em up (above my heart)

summary: Atsumu x Physical Therapist!F!Reader. the sun rises and sets over and over as your relationship progresses from friends to pro yearners to more.

wc: 4.3k

cw: friends with benefits subplot and all that entails; not explicit, just suggestive, reader is fighting for her LIFE in her brain, atsumu is just chilling (not really)

a/n: hi i didn’t die :3

“Hands up,” you say, voice low so as not to disturb the peace of the morning.

Atsumu raises his arms, elbows bent, making a frame of his face. His blond hair is pale, almost white because his little kitchen window faces east and he wakes before it rises above the upper pane. You sidle past him, back to his front, ignoring the weight of his hand as it settles on your hip while you reach up for the granola you keep in the cabinet next to the fridge.

He likes traditional Japanese breakfasts, the savory and umami flavors of natto and rice and miso. You have a sweet tooth and a craving for crunchy food, like a wild animal that needs to grind down its molars. On the days he has work, he settles for an omelette (or scrambled eggs if he fucks it up). You eat the same thing every morning or you'll be sick.

Growing up, Atsumu was never a morning person, but he sleeps better on the nights you're next to him. He doesn't get angry when you slosh milk over the side of his bowl onto his dining table, doesn't snap when you ask him what his plans for the day are. Maybe this is what being an adult is, these steady waters and calm skies.

You don't speak much as you chew, staring into space and thinking the slow thoughts of the exhausted, and he busies himself scrolling through his group messages and social media accounts.

There's a request from a verified account, a retired athlete-turned-model. He knows her name, has seen her in ads, bumped into her at the last Olympics. He clicks on it.

Hey, handsome. I'll be in Osaka this upcoming weekend - let's get a drink!

"I'm gonna shower," you're patting your hair, looking irritated. It always sticks up in the morning, no matter how you sleep on it, a few particular strands defying gravity.

"You should go to work like that," he says, voice still rough even if his mind's woken up. His accent is thicker in the morning, you've told him, but he can't hear it.

"Hell no," you say. "You're the only one who gets to see this morning glory for now."

"I better be," his grin is roguish, running his hand through his own bird's nest. "C'mon, you gonna let me shower with you or what?"

"No, you'll use up all my nice shampoo again!" You fake running to the bathroom, keeping your pace slow enough for him to wrap his arms around your waist and tackle you down, careful to fold himself so that you land on top of him, body between his legs, face cushioned on his chest.

He leaves his phone face up, forgotten on the table.

He's toweling off his hair, dressed in his practice uniform, while you're packing your bag for the day in the kitchen. His apartment is small, way smaller than some of the other guys' on the team, but he grew up crammed into a room with his mom and his brother. He'd toured one penthouse and decided he couldn't live with all that space strangling him.

He'd tried to get Samu to bunk with him like old times, but his brother had just said I'll sleep three meters from your dirty laundry in hell, and that was the end of the argument.

Besides, he has a lot of car bills to pay. He managed to fold another Mazda last month and you've been carpooling in your ancient Toyota while he waits to get license privileges again ever since.

"You got a text, by the way," you say casually, digging through your purse with your lips twisted to the side. "Aha!" You pull out a tube of lipstick triumphantly. "You should respond before you forget."

"Ah, was it Samu?" He asks, crossing back into the bedroom to put away his damp towel.

"Nah, the model," you call. "Sorry, I read your texts."

You're fighting the growing bitterness of the words, trying to sound jaunty and uncaring and casual. The admission of invading his privacy weighs heavily on your shoulders; you can't make yourself look up into his face when he comes into the kitchen.

"I don't care," he shrugs. "You can read whatever you want."

"You shouldn't say that," you try to laugh and wince instead. He just grunts and picks up the phone, swiping away from the conversation and leaving her on read. "I don't have the right, don't I? I shouldn't have—"

"I really don't care," he cuts across your strained attempt at an apology again.

"You should!" You sound like you're about to stamp your foot at him. He doesn't understand why you're so angry; he doesn't bite. "Aren't you gonna get mad? Shouldn't we be fighting?"

"I don't wanna fight," he rubs his large, calloused hand over your shoulder, your upper trapezius, to cup the back of your and pull you into a loose embrace. You stand, dumbfounded, chin pushed into his shoulder, hands at your sides. "Do you? We can if you want to."

"No," you whisper. "Sorry, I—sorry."

"'S okay," he says, digging his thumbs into the tight knots of muscle. "No big deal. Here, you dropped your thingy."

The thingy is the tube of lipstick, a deep berry color, rolling towards the edge of the table. He steps back and squeezes your cheeks in one hands, prompting you to part your lips slightly. He does it how he knows you do, a soft smear on the lower lip and two dabs made sharp by a swipe of his thumbnail on the outer creases, all blended together at the end for a subtle touch of color.

"You look like a frog about to burp," he says when he's done. You laugh so hard you cry.

On the car ride to work, you keep chewing on your lip. He frowns when he notices, all his work bitten off.

You wait for him to get out of the car first, a holdover from the days when you would wait five minutes so no one would notice that you were coming from the same place. In some ways, it's easier that he crashed his car; so convenient that you volunteered to be his chauffeur. He comes to your side, opens your door. You squint at him, jutting your chin out like you're bracing yourself for something.

"I wasn't gonna go out with her," he tells you, a secret between you, him, and the hard asphalt of the MSBY gym's employee parking lot. "Ain't nobody else seein' this in the mornings either. That's all."

He turns around and strides off, leaving you blinking in the morning light.

"Can you move it?" You say, your brows knit together. Hinata grimaces.

"I can bend it, like this—" he curls the injured finger inward. "But it won't stretch out, like this. Ah!"

You release his hand, where you'd applied pressure to the digit. "It's sprained. You're sitting out the rest of practice."

"Aw, but it really doesn't hurt that bad," he protests. You give him a look. "Okay, okay. Can I least do some running and stuff?"

"Do you want to come to practice tomorrow?" You say evenly. He gives you big brown puppydog eyes and you fold like wet paper. "I'll give you some stretches and exercises for your legs that you probably can't fuck up."

"Yay!" He cheers. "Thank you!" He uses an affectionate diminutive of your name with -chan tacked on the end. You laugh and wave him off, walking out of the main gym area toward your office, where you can print him the exercises.

You lean against your desk while the printer huffs temperamentally, taking a long sip of coffee. You should really stop going over to Atsumu's on weeknights, but you've been telling yourself that for well over a year, and it's a lot more convenient since all your clothes and your toothbrush live at his place.

You tell yourself a lot of things when it comes to your blond coworker.

The door to your office slams open and you make an involuntary, high-pitched noise in the back of your throat, focusing hard on keeping the cardboard cup in your hand from jumping with you.

"Sorry, sorry," Bokuto says, his hair drooping dramatically. "It's just really important—Tsumu's hurt!"

You take an inhale so quickly it hurts and burst your coffee cup all over your coat and work pants. Luckily, you take it mostly milk and sugar, so it doesn't burn you, but you don't even really notice it, just shedding the coat and rolling up your sleeves as you stride out the door without hesitation.

Behind you, Bokuto follows, making garbled promises you hear as through water to buy you a house to make up for startling you and ruining your outfit.

You try to take three deep breaths before you enter the gym, knowing you'll be much more helpful calm rather than battling the wall of panic that threatens to overtake you. Atsumu is blocked from your vision by a crowd of his teammates, fluttering around him like a herd of bumblebees.

Iwaizumi is already there, you see with an exhale of relief, ordering everyone around him to stay calm. You motion to the players around him to give him space, hoping your terror doesn't show untowardly on your face, hoping he can feel your singleminded prayer: please be okay.

"Eh?" He has a dopey expression on his face, dopier than usual, anyway. He says your name gleefully, but you're too busy scanning him for visible blood or bone to respond right away. "Nice shirt. Hey, why's your coat off? Were you taking off your clothes in there? Without me?"

"He collided with Sakusa," Iwaizumi tells you. Atsumu reaches for your hand and you stroke your fingertips lightly over the back of it, along the bones and tendons, each touch saying you'll be okay, it's going to be okay.

I'll make it okay.

"Sakusa's shoulder got banged up, you should probably put him on reserve for a couple days," Iwaizumi says. You glance over at the black-haired spiker, who gives you a thumbs-up though his expression is characteristically flat. "Atsumu, though... he fell pretty hard."

You can see that. There's a bruise blooming along the side of his face, like the sloppy trail of your lipstick after a night out. His ankle is swollen, too; the disorientation of the head injury must have impaired the grace of his landing.

You kneel and shift into clinical mode, receding into the comfortable space of your training. You feel along his leg, asking him over and over does it hurt, can you move this, does it hurt when I do this.

"Okay, doc?" His beautiful honey eyes are unfocused. You want to cry. You want to squeeze his hand tighter, but you don't want to hurt him more. "S all good. I'm fine."

You shake your head, grateful it's not worse. Afraid of what you have to say to him.

"That's right, you'll be fine. But the concussion paired with the ankle injury... I don't think it's a good idea for you to return to practice for a month at least."

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull your hands away from him. He probably doesn't want to be touched. He might hate you for this.

What's the point of sleeping with the doc if I don't get special privileges, you imagine him saying, if you're gonna take my life away from me like this. A month of recovery doesn't sound like so much to other people, but you've been working around these volleyball freaks since high school. You know that it's everything to them.

"Okay," Atsumu simply says. You look at him. "You gonna drive me home?"

"If you don't mind," you say softly.

"Yeah, then it's okay," he says, and scoots around, hissing when he forgets and puts pressure on the injured ankle. He leans back, and you catch his head in your lap.

"I'm gonna break my leg," Barnes says from somewhere behind you. "I want the doc to hold me like that."

You hear a thwack and then Iwaizumi's voice: "Sakusa, stop concussing your teammates. L/N only has so much room in her car."

Atsumu recovers more quickly than you expect. You should have known, though; he's always had a strong ability to heal. He rarely gets sick and though he's brash and reckless and sometimes outright stupid, he's lucky. In almost all the inadvisable endeavors you've seen him pull, he almost never gets hurt.

You're not actually a doctor, not that the team believes that. You've been trying to explain that you're a sports medicine physical therapist for the three years you've been working for MSBY and not once has it deterred anyone from calling you doc.

Atsumu was signed six months after you started, and you had only been friends until a year after that. In all that time, you've been the consummate professional at work, never letting your touches linger, never stretching him too deeply, trying not to stare at him like he's just any other player. When he first propositioned you, you tried not to say yes too quickly, as businesslike as possible.

You went into sports medicine because of your sister. She had been a superstar from the moment she stepped foot on a tennis court; even at a young age you saw that she wielded the racket like it was an extension of herself. As the two of you grew in age, you also saw the ways she overextended herself: the swollen knobs of her knees, hidden under frozen packs of peas, the frequent doctor's visits for hyperextension, the tear tracks when she tore her ACL.

You had spent so much of your childhood waiting for her during practice, doing your homework in the bleachers, fielding questions about her play to the uninitiated relatives who came to support her matches that it felt like the most natural course of action to go into a career field that meant you could help her and others like her chase their dreams.

You had also almost exclusively dated athletes as a result. While you were attending university and chasing your certifications, you had been surrounded by two types of people: students and athletes. You had barely any time in your schedule, much less the ability to align it with a similarly crammed med student. Athletes, on the other hand, didn't have an obsession with comparing your knowledge, liked that you were too busy to monitor them all day long, and loved that you had to attend every one of their games because it was literally your job.

By the time you got the position in Osaka, you were beyond over the routine of dating the people in your care. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't mess around with the team and entered a yearlong celibate streak, which Atsumu blew up into a million pieces and never allowed to recover.

To his (and your) credit, the both of you became close friends before ever crossing the boundary of inappropriate conduct. Just because you were strictly business during work hours didn't mean that you, lonely and shy in a new city, were going to turn down your coworkers' offer to go out after practice. You'd gotten to know Meian well and considered Bokuto to be something of a little brother. Then they had traded a couple of players for Atsumu, and the moment he gripped your hand and slapped your shoulder instead of shaking it or bowing like a normal person, you knew that he was going to mean much more to you than any other of your team.

You had fallen quickly into a deep friendship, and his apartment was much closer to the team's favored bars than yours was, so it was just easier for you to go home and crash on his couch. And his couch was gross, because it belonged to a bachelor who had never heard of a steam cleaner, so one night you insisted on sharing the bed, and you had become good friends who cuddled weekly.

It happened like this:

You were the last two left in the booth that had once contained the extremely compressed bodies of several of the largest men in Japan, probably, but they had practice early the next morning and had trickled out, one by one. Atsumu had his head down on the table while you desperately tried to convince him to come home (already you were referring to his apartment as your home without thinking, though only a spare toothbrush and a coat were kept there at the time).

"Please," you said, "I'm so tired. I'm not even drunk anymore."

"I am," Atsumu said, turning his face toward you. "Very."

"I know," you groaned. "Let's go home."

"I can't," he said despondently.

"Why not?"

"Not with you," his words slurred together. "I gotta problem."

"What?" You suddenly felt very, very sick. Maybe you were more drunk than you'd thought.

"Mhm. I gotta apologize, I think."

Oh, you thought. This is it. He knows.

"I've been having," he hiccuped and turned his face into his arms again so that you couldn't hear the next thing he mumbled.

"I can't hear you like that," you say softly. "Please, Atsumu, you can tell me anything."

You've been seeing someone, and she wants me to stop sleeping over. She wants you to stop being friends with me. You need the apartment to yourself to have her over.

"No," he says, turning back to you again, his eyes glossy with drink, his lips pink and just the slightest bit open. "I have been having manly thoughts about you. Unmanly thoughts. Whatever."

"What do you mean?" You'd asked, heart beating fast.

"I wanna have sex with you," he said, and then slammed his forehead against the table until it left a red mark. "I'm sorry, women! It's wrong to dream about kissing your girl friends, I know!"

You ignored his nonsensical shouting and put your hand under his face so he wouldn't injure it.

"Then let's go home so we can have sex," you said. He whipped his head up so fast you worried for his spinal discs.

"You promise?"

You actually didn't have sex that night because he fell asleep as soon as you coerced him into the bed. The next morning, he'd been hungover and ashamed, stuttering and afraid to look you in the eye. You had given him a handful of painkiller pills and waited until he was washing it down with a glass of green juice before you said "I think about having sex with you, too," so that he spewed it all over the floor.

Maybe it was petty, but you needed vengeance for his forcing you to drag him bodily out of that bar the previous night.

After your first time, he said, awkwardly, something about not being able to commit to a relationship at the moment, something about difficulty expressing his feelings, about being too immature to settle. A script you were as familiar with as the back of your hands. You turned to him, swiping sweaty strands of hair out of your face, glowing with a smile as he stuttered his way through it, and said I know the game. We don't have to talk about it.

He insisted that it wasn't a game, that you deserved transparency and to be treated well, and you rolled over on top of him and kissed him until he forgot his own name.

During the month-long recovery period, you had resumed the friendship you had had in the early months of knowing each other, refusing adamantly to do anything strenuous or even unsportsmanly while you had to work much more closely together than ever before. You insist on sleeping at your own apartment for the first week, afraid of aggravating his injuries further, until he threatens to walk to you with his pillow and sleepover bag. You bring him food near-daily and call his brother when your schedule prevents you from doing so.

He's diligent about doing the exercises and stretches you assign him to bring him back to full functionality. Towards the end of his detention (you pinch him for using such a dramatic word), you start taking walks together, in the evenings on work days and the mornings on days off.

You keep expecting him to ask for space, to push you out of his daily routine, to realize that he's bored because he knows everything about you; there's nothing left to hide. Nothing except the one unspoken thing, the one you're sure he knows but you can't acknowledge.

New growth is beginning to sprout on the trees, grey wood dotted with little specks of bright green. Atsumu walks without a limp, now, his posture straight but relaxed, his hands shoved into his pockets.

His body is healed, but his heart aches. You're wearing casual clothes, big soft pants that billow around your legs and a black shirt with his name in yellow letters, and you look far away, worried. No matter how many times he smooths the pinch between your brows away with his thumb, no matter how many times he asks what's wrong, you refuse him a straight answer.

He wonders if he's pulled you too close, in this month dying of boredom, forbidden from running and setting and anything that could damage his brain. He still gets to see you in the morning, your back arching as you stretch and yawn, the crinkle of your nose when your feet touch the cold floor outside of bed, which is probably slowly draining all the function from his grey matter.

You're wearing gloves, your extremities sensitive to the cold. He takes your left hand, tugs it off. When he tangles your fingers together, you look up at him, questioningly, that knot between your brows back again.

"What, woman, now I can't hold your hand?"

You stop walking. He curses his big, fat mouth. He always chooses the wrong thing to say, always has.

Osamu used to ask him what he was supposed to say to girls. Atsumu, proud big brother that he wanted to be, would puff out his chest and give him paragraphs of advice, and Osamu almost never used it. There were so few opportunities for him to advise Samu, though; he was so self-sufficient, maybe more than Atsumu had ever been. He was more introverted, less brash and crass and rude. Sometimes, when Atsumu ceded his insistence on being the wiser one with six more minutes of life experience, he wished he could be more like his twin.

"Do you love me like that, Atsumu?" You ask, mouth pressed into an unhappy line, already pulling away from him like you were expecting him to say something completely insane. "Because I understood fucking, and being friends with benefits, but I don't know if I get going out for food and holding hands and—"

"Like?" He says, refusing to let your hand slip from his. "I love you. That's it."

"Oh," you say, and your mouth is twisted up like you're searching for something he can't see again, but the crease in your forehead is gone.

"You gonna go out with me?" He says, and it comes out way easier than he ever thought it would, and if choosing the rest of his life is as simple a decision as chasing volleyball and you has been, growing up sounds way better than he thought. "'Cause I wanna do it all with you."

Once Atsumu's allowed to drink again, it's time for the real volleyball season to start, and his diet becomes much stricter and your schedule much longer, but eventually the two of you find yourselves back at the same old bar with the rest of the team.

"You're a scrub with no hope of survival in the zombie apocalypse," sneers Atsumu. This is a common topic of conversation among them; each one vying to be the leader of your hypothetical ragged survivors' team.

"I could win a fight against you with one hand tied behind my back," snits Tomas, who usually is oblivious to Atsumu's provocations but gets a lot feistier when he's drunk, to the setter's delight.

"Please don't," says Bokuto, his hair deflating in fear of his friends fighting.

"Haven't you had enough dick measuring," says Sakusa, holding a mug in front of his face like it'll prevent him from seeing Atsumu's and thus pretending he's not there.

"Have you guys ever done that?" You perk up, looking around. "Isn't that supposed to be a locker room ritual?"

"In high school, maybe," snorts Barnes. "We're way too old for that now."

"Yeah, we're real mature," insists Bokuto, his hair bouncing back up into its familiar two-pronged shape. You’ve long wondered how it does that, but if working with MSBY has taught you anything, it’s that science can’t explain everything.

You nod, taking another sip of your beer.

“So how big is it?” Atsumu addresses Sakusa and you squeeze your eyes shut. You just got him to start attending team bonding nights.

“Small. Leave me alone.” You choke on your drink, spluttering as you make eye contact with Sakusa and the tiny, prideful smirk on his face.

The rest of the team dissolves into laughter.

"What about you?" Hinata, his cheeks rosy, says to Atsumu. Before you can think, your drunken mouth speaks for you.

"You can’t have it, I called dibs!”

You slap a hand over your mouth, mortified. You can’t even begin to think about the rest of your coworker’s reactions. You haven’t even disclosed your relationship yet! Atsumu guffaws.

“I don’t think anyone’s trying to take it from ya, doll.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 22

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

A man shows up shortly after. You think it’s the judge but you vaguely recognise his thick gray hair and his stance. Steve greets him happily and introduces him as Bucky; the other witness. 

He nods at you and your mom as he crosses his arms and subtly checks his watch. He’s not dressed as nicely as Steve; he has no jacket but he wears a button-up and slacks. You wonder if he’s just as surprised by the whole affair or even if he has the context to be. 

Your mom and Steve barely know each other. It’s only been a few weeks since he moved in. Isn’t marriage supposed to be a big thing? Something you do after at least a few years. Well, how do you know? All you know of normal life, you learned from TV and everyone knows that’s not realistic. 

The judge arrives and introduces herself as the Honorable Valentina de Fontaine. Your vision is blurry as she begins by reading from a piece of paper. Is this how it really is? No romance, no fairy tale, just a stuffy city hall room and a judge with a script. You don’t know why it’s bothering you so much. 

It’s just too fast. It’s too surreal. It just doesn’t feel real. 

You can barely process the words as Steve and your mom stand before the judge. Their vows are lost to the void of your confusion. That man, Bucky, stands near, intently listening but showing no emotion. He senses you looking at him and gazes back at you. You quickly turn away and self-consciously pull at your dress. 

You don’t move until your asked to sign. You take the pen but have a hard time getting a grip on it. How strange it all is. You manage to sign your name on the paper to verify your presence and step back. The declaration of man and wife echoes in your ears. 

What does it all mean? Steve is... your stepfather now? Is he still going to live next door? Is he going to move in? Do you have to go? Where? What about your mom? She’s still sick. None of it makes sense. 

The judge congratulates the happy couple. The do seem happy. You bend your arms over your chest and clutch the sides of your neck. You chew your lip awkwardly as your mom and Steve beam at each other triumphantly. 

“Uh, right,” Steve snaps out of it, “so, we’re going to do lunch. How about it, Buck, you wanna join?” 

Bucky looks dully at his friend then glances at you. You notice how your mom clings to Steve’s hand. All of this is so fast and so much. 

“Sure, why not, I can drive this one,” Bucky says, “so you two love birds get at least the drive to yourself.” 

“You don’t gotta do that,” Steve smiles. 

“Don’t mind,” Bucky insists, “you two must be so excited.” 

“Honey,” your mother keeps her voice low, “it’s alright, they can meet us at the restaurant, right? I mean, we’ll need to talk about a few things on the way.” 

“Sure, uh, sure. There’s a reservation so you can just give my name,” Steve’s voice evens out, “see ya there. 

“Mm, sure. Starving anyway,” Bucky mutters and turns to you, “coming?” 

You look at the man then your mom Steve. Your mother gives you a look that says get out of here. Best that you don’t ruin the happiest day of her life. It truly does seem to be. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her anything close to elated but she’s just smiling and latched onto her husband. 

Her husband. 

You turn and follow the other man from the room. He slows his gait until you’re walking beside him. He’s quiet as you tread through the maze that is City Hall. As you get to the parking lot, he points you without a word. You go to a car and hear the locks slide back. 

You wait until he gets in the driver’s side before you open the passenger door. As you buckle in, he checks the mirror and turns the engine. He sighs. 

“Must be strange,” he comments as he reverses out, “new dad and everything, huh?” 

You’re quiet but make yourself eke out a noise, “mhmm.” 

“Sorry, I probably don’t make it any better,” he steers casually, “why don’t you save us both the trouble and find something to listen to?” 

He turns on the stereo with a button on the wheel and you flinch. You hesitantly lean forward and search the stations. You don’t want to make him listen to anything too out of his preference and you’re a bit too embarrassed to search for what you really like. You settle on a station with old songs you recognise vaguely. 

“Talking Heads, nice,” he comments. It takes you a moment to realises that’s the band’s name. 

You nod and look out the window. He doesn’t press further. He doesn’t try like Steve to manufacture the conversation. He just lets you be. You can appreciate that. You watch the buildings pass by and flutter your fingers against your legs. 

As the car pulls in behind a restaurant, you feel another lurch in your stomach. You’re both hungry and terrified. It’s a nice place and you’ve never been anywhere nicer than an Applebee’s. That was when you were eight and your grandmother took you out for your birthday. 

You let Bucky take the lead. He gets out, you get out. He crosses the lot, you cross the lot. Right there at his side. He’s a stranger, you don’t know him, but his presence is almost reassuring. He has a confidence you could never fathom. Besides, what choice do you have? 

You step inside and he steps ahead to meet the hostess. He gives Steve’s name and you trail after him as you’re led further inside. You see other diners dressed nicely for their meals. You look down at yourself and the faded polka dot dress. 

You sit and wait. You’re on edge, waiting for Bucky to say something, anything. To ask you a question. So what about your mom? You take care of her? She’s sick, huh? 

He lets you be and orders a coffee, asking if you want something at the same time. You just ask for water and sink into the chair. Your eyes wander over the floor and up another table. Another woman stares at you. You try to ignore her as the server nears and puts down the coffee and water, a small divet between his brows. 

As you sip, you hear your mom’s crow above the din. You glance over as she walks ahead of Steve. The settle in and order drinks as Bucky greets them. It all still feels so disjointed, like a dream. As if the little pieces of reality have been stuck together haphazardly. 

"There's the happy couple,” Bucky muses dryly. 

“Says the eternal bachelor,” Steve retorts, “sound jealous, huh?” 

“I’m quite happy, actually. Got my own space, my own bed, my own everything.” 

“Sure,” Steve chuckles, “sounds amazing.” 

“Any plans for the honeymoon?” Bucky asks though he sounds disinterested. 

“Probably will have to wait a while. For now, we’re just gonna sort things out,” Steve turns and looks at you, “you’re quiet, kiddo, what’s going on?” 

You shake your head and sit back as the server returns with a coffee for your mom and a grapefruit juice for Steve. You wait for him to leave but he doesn’t. You stare at the table and he clears his throat. You look up at the man as the table stills. 

“Excuse me, miss, um,” he keeps his voice low, “this is a nice establishment so I’m going to have to ask you to cover up.” 

You bite your lip and your eyes go wide, “what? I don’t...” 

“You can put a napkin over your chest,” he suggests. 

Steve lets out a heavy breath and your mother mutters under hear breath. 

“I...” you look down and try to pull your dress up, “I’m sorry.” 

“Here, take my jacket,” Steve stands strips off his jacket, offering it up. “Thanks, you can go.” 

You accept his coat with a quavery thank you and he sits after the terse dismissal. With your head down and your body on fire, you pull the jacket around your shoulders, hiding in it. It smells like his cologne. Your eyes tinge and you roll them back to keep from crying. 

“Wow, that was rude,” Steve says. 

“Well, she shouldn’t be wearing something so inappropriate,” your mother snorts. 

Bucky shifts awkwardly and you turn your face away, humiliated. 

“Her dress is just fine. That guy has no right to be commenting on her body. We’re paying customers,” Steve snarls, “makes me wanna just go.” 

“It’s okay,” you sniffle, “really.” 

“It’s not okay,” Steve insists. 

‘”Oh, honey, don’t be so dramatic,” you mother snickers, “if she didn’t want people to comment, she’d cover up.” 

Steve is quiet as Bucky sips from his coffee. He clinks it down and you wince. 

“I think you both should let her speak for herself,” he says bluntly, “and if she doesn’t wanna talk about it, move on.” 

You blink and slowly peek over at the man. He doesn’t glance back or even acknowledge you. He just sits back and swirls his mug. 

“I always hated places like this,” he scoffs. 

[demigodsanswer]

in honor of Beyoncé tickets…. A popstar percabeth AU perhaps???

I don't have any more of this in my brain, it's got fuck all to do with pop music tbh, and also I will not be apologizing to the Mormon church

~

"Can I please have my Twitter password?" Annabeth asked, her hand outstretched towards her manager. Piper didn't seem amused, and while Percy was extremely vulnerable to Annabeth's pleading gray eyes trick, Piper was immune.

"No," Piper said simply.

"Oh why not?" Annabeth asked.

"We don't need a repeat of the Mormon Church fiasco!" Piper reminded her. Call the Mormon Church a racist cult one time and suddenly you can't be trusted with your own verified account! Annabeth thought it was an overreaction on her team's part.

Annabeth flopped back onto her couch, her head in her husband's lap. "This is your fault," she told him.

"I didn't Tweet fuck off I'm not a Mormon and then post pictures of temple garb," Percy reminded her.

But it was his fault, really. For one thing, people had gotten it in their heads that she was some kind of conservative Christian just because she married her high school sweetheart at twenty-two. That started a long string of tabloids reporting on her apparent Mormon faith. Something about her blonde curls gave a Secret Lives of Mormon Wives vibe, she guessed.

The Mormon rumors and her happy hetero marriage meant no one ever believed her assertion of her own bisexuality.

So it was Percy's fault that "Gay-abeth" trended every few months. As if her long spoken about attraction to women was some conspiracy she was trying to hide, and not something she talked about all the time. Some fans had become convinced Annabeth was gay, and ignored the fact that she'd been publicly out since long before she became famous. Other fans insisted she was straight, because "look at her husband." And then it was just a back and forth of debating lyrics.

"Let the fans who remember you're bisexual fight this one for you, and in the morning, I'll tell the team to post some tweet and Instagram story reminding the world that bisexuality is real. I'll add a link to the Trevor Project or something," Piper told her.

"I really think I can be trusted with my password," Annabeth pleaded one more time.

"The answer is still no," Piper said back.

[legallyacceptibleurl]

i keep seeing this stupid fucking take propagated

ID: screenshot of a tumblr post. @paraparathecow asked: (a screenshot of text that reads: “desperately need your support. 🙏 Achieved 25500 kr/ 200000 kr, My account was verified by@\gazavetters, @\90-ghost & Voices from Gaza on X.,1100kr=100$.”) @paraparathecow: “Man, I sure do wonder why the poor poor gazans are gathering money using swedish krona of all currencies... At least they got the conversion rate right...” @homochadensistm: “But she was verified!! Bsbshjdhdd” END ID.

if you genuinely think a fundraiser being based outside of palestine is some sort of “gotcha“, that it “proves” that the fundraisers are “scams”, then you are either really dedicated to keeping yourself ignorant or someone who enjoys lying to fuck over people in need.

ID: two screenshots, the first showing that it’s a post @prismatic-bell reblogged, and that the original poster is @bsof-maarav. the second screenshot is a section of the post. @bsof-maarav: “Also reported to gofundme, I'm sure they will be interested in why this campaign is listed as being located in Texas, USA while the campaign narrative places the individual in Gaza. And I'm sure they will be further interested in knowing that I heard about it from an unsolicited spam-type message from an unknown account on social media.” END ID.

is anyone actually claiming that the fundraisers are based in palestine? who is saying that? genuinely who is saying that because i don’t know why this is such a prevalent fucking issue for people.

ID: @luckyletd0wn: “every donation that goes to a scammer is a donation stolen from gaza. gofundme does not even operate in palestine, someone from there cannot set up their own gofundme. i cannot believe the people falling for the constant scam asks. you're handing desperately needed donations to modern age nigerian princes. please i beg of you, learn some media literacy. thousands upon thousands of dollars have gone to scammers "vetted" by other scammers. some even admit to having their accounts banned for scamming and drop their new accounts!!!!” END ID.

i assumed it was common knowledge that the fundraisers were set up by family/friends/organisations/helpful people in one of the countries where gofundme operates.

but don’t take it from me, here’s one of their fellow liberals explaining it

ID: @cardassiangoodreads: “There was one case where a popular anti-scam post got things wrong - or more accurately, was "correct" but missed the point (pointing out that gofundme doesn't operate in Gaza, which is true, but to suggest none of the fundraisers are legit, which is false) and someone reblogged to correct them (that the legit gofundmes are run by relatives and friends in supported countries, not in Gaza itself - that's basically the only way people are getting out of there, having people on the outside send them money in order to do so).” END ID.

but hey don’t take it from some random tumblr liberal either. here’s time magazine explaining it

MARCH 25, 2024. Emphasis mine, plain text at the end of the post, under the cut.

“As a result, more Palestinians have increasingly turned to online crowdfunding platforms such as GoFundMe or JustGiving. A GoFundMe spokesperson told TIME that the platform has seen more than 12,000 active fundraisers for Palestinians in Gaza launched since Oct. 7, collectively raising $77 million to date. In addition to evacuation efforts, these campaigns have also been launched to fund access to humanitarian relief such as medical care and food, particularly as funding to formal aid organizations like UNRWA has been cut in various countries.”

[…]

“Because the platform can only be used in 19 countries, however, many of the Gaza-related campaigns are set up in Europe or North America. While some campaigns, such as Tareq's, are led by friends and relatives who live abroad and want to help on the ground, others have been created by activists or as collaborations between charities who rally a well-established network of donors and friends on social media or via public appeals.

In every crowdfunding case, Palestinians will rely on contacts abroad to help set up the campaign and receive donations on their behalf. In return, the platform benefits from the campaigns by charging donors 30 cents per contribution and keeping 2.9% of the total donation. “As fundraising for Gaza increases, we will continue to dedicate more resources to helping people help each other,” the GoFundMe spokesperson told TIME.”

[…]

“Despite the rising popularity of crowdfunding as a means of aid, many campaigns remain underfunded. 24-year-old Noor Hammad was once a nutritionist in Deir al-Balah, but now, she is desperate to escape Gaza after her home was heavily bombarded and she gave birth to her daughter in Rafah in January. “I lost everything in this war,” she said in a WhatsApp message. “I need to leave because I have a baby now, I need money to buy food for her.” To help Hammad, a Sydney-based journalist set up a GoFundMe campaign earlier this month to raise $27,000, which will be sent to Hammad’s brother in Sweden. So far, the fundraiser has raised just $2,580.

Even when campaigns raise enough funds, other challenges in ensuring Gazans can access and receive the money persist, especially as Western governments have introduced sanctions against Hamas. As a result, GoFundMe and other crowdfunding platforms are now required to comply by asking organizers for extensive information about to whom, and where, the money is going. Any individuals or groups who don’t pass a test screening for money laundering or terrorist financing are likely to be put on government-run lists. “

[…]

“The means through which money is transferred to Gazans is also complicated. A few wire services like Western Union are still operating in the besieged territory, but for many, a more viable option is to have the money sent to someone outside Gaza who can withdraw the cash and travel to Egypt. There, the money is paid to brokers who facilitate evacuations.

In February, Tareq and his family raised $20,000 and were finally able to leave for Egypt, where they are currently seeking refuge. But now, the 16-year-old says he needs to find the money to relocate to Canada, where his family can apply for asylum. Above all, the 11th grader—who was months ago participating in international student competitions—hopes to re-enroll in school to complete his education. He plans to make a new GoFundMe campaign in the coming weeks to raise money for the cost of visa applications, flights, and other expenses.

“The GoFundMe really helped with the evacuation and I am full of hope for the future,” he says. “But the circumstances have led Gazans to crowdfund because they lost a lot, and they continue to lose a lot”.”

Is every blog asking for funds legit? Sadly no. Do the people doing the vetting want you to just donate to each and every person who asks nicely? That’s really easy to check actually, surprising i know.

ID: @\el-shab-hussein on 30/1-2024: “As a rule of thumb, don't reblog donation posts or people asking for donations unless they've been vetted and reblogged by Palestinian bloggers. We usually go to lengths to verify this shit because we know scammers have been faking to get people to send them money, using the urgency of our genocide as bait.” END ID.

The answer is “no”. Imagine that.

hello. it feels nice and cozy under a readmore doesn’t it? like i’m inviting you into my pillow fort. be careful so you don’t rip down any of my blankets, i’m turning on the fairy lights so i can show you the article i was talking about. yk while we’re down here, i might as well post the whole article, right? i’m sure time doesn’t mind.

Palestinians Have Turned to Crowdfunding Platforms for Survival

MARCH 25, 2024.

In December, Tareq watched his entire life in Gaza get reduced to rubble. “The school I attended since first grade, the street I walked on daily, my neighborhood—they all collapsed into memory,” the 16-year-old tells TIME. With a sinking feeling, he realized that no immediate ceasefire would be brokered in the Israel-Hamas war, and the only way he could escape the horror was by evacuating Gaza. “I never imagined being forced to leave home, but it felt inevitable, like a cruel twist of fate,” he says.

U.N.-backed global monitors have issued warnings that “mass death is now imminent” in the besieged territory with acute food shortages exceeding famine levels. For most Palestinians like Tareq (who asked his last name be withheld for safety purposes), fleeing Gaza is seen as the only way to escape Israel’s bombardment, which has now entered into its fifth month.

But evacuation is not an easy or affordable feat. The only official way to cross the Rafah border, the sole crossing point between Egypt and the occupied territories, is with Israeli approval. The border is currently under an Egyptian-Israeli blockade, and evacuation is permitted only to foreign passport holders or seriously wounded patients.

Under a parallel, informal system, however, Palestinians can pay travel brokers in Egypt to get on a list of people approved for permits to leave. The fees for evacuation are often exorbitant sums ranging from $6,000 to $12,000 per person, and those looking to flee must also navigate scammers and misinformation with no guarantee of success, according to sources who spoke with TIME, as well as recent media reports.

As a result, more Palestinians have increasingly turned to online crowdfunding platforms such as GoFundMe or JustGiving. A GoFundMe spokesperson told TIME that the platform has seen more than 12,000 active fundraisers for Palestinians in Gaza launched since Oct. 7, collectively raising $77 million to date. In addition to evacuation efforts, these campaigns have also been launched to fund access to humanitarian relief such as medical care and food, particularly as funding to formal aid organizations like UNRWA has been cut in various countries.

That is how Tareq—who fled his home in November with his parents and three younger siblings after it was destroyed by Israeli airstrikes—found money for his family’s escape. After taking refuge in a U.N. shelter, he launched an online campaign on GoFundMe in December with a fundraising goal of $25,000—enough money to cover his entire family’s entrance fees to Egypt and temporary living expenses. A family friend in New Orleans helped set up the fundraiser; an aunt in Canada became the recipient for the donations to transfer the money to the family directly.

“Thank you very much for your generosity, solidarity, and kindness, your support is much appreciated and encouraged,” Tareq wrote on his fundraising page. “Your donation will make an essential impact on me and my family to live safely and have a better future.”

Crowdfunding for survival

Over the past two decades, online crowdfunding platforms like GoFundMe and JustGiving have become vital sources for mutual aid and charity efforts to raise funds for everything ranging from medical emergencies and hunger relief to small business loans. In the Ukraine war, they have been essential in co-funding Ukraine’s defense campaign against Russia. “Ukrainians elevated crowdfunding’s significance to match the existential threat they face,” wrote Olga Boichak, a senior lecturer in digital cultures at the University of Sydney.

Because the platform can only be used in 19 countries, however, many of the Gaza-related campaigns are set up in Europe or North America. While some campaigns, such as Tareq's, are led by friends and relatives who live abroad and want to help on the ground, others have been created by activists or as collaborations between charities who rally a well-established network of donors and friends on social media or via public appeals.

In every crowdfunding case, Palestinians will rely on contacts abroad to help set up the campaign and receive donations on their behalf. In return, the platform benefits from the campaigns by charging donors 30 cents per contribution and keeping 2.9% of the total donation. “As fundraising for Gaza increases, we will continue to dedicate more resources to helping people help each other,” the GoFundMe spokesperson told TIME.

Just before last Christmas, Mansour Shouman, a Palestinian-Canadian journalist based in Doha, started a crowdfunding campaign with a team to raise $1.2 million for urgent humanitarian needs like food, water, clothing, tents, and hygienic products. The 39-year-old has so far raised just over $1 million in donations toward the goal.

Shouman, who has over 300,000 followers on Instagram, says he began fundraising shortly after making videos about the humanitarian crisis in Gaza. “A lot of people responded by asking how they could help,” he says. “So we started slowly creating a way in which people would donate through different means to support different projects in Gaza.”

Much of the money raised by Shouman’s fundraiser has been sent to local charities in Gaza, like the Palestinian Ethan Society for Community Development, who then purchase mattresses, tents, water, food, and redistribute the funds in the form of cash donations. Shouman says the focus has also shifted from the south to northern Gaza, where the famine has grown worse with each day. “We want to ensure that we can feed the starving population there,” he says.

In early February, a group of U.S.-based activists started a grassroots movement called Operation Olive Branch, or OOB, to help with the overwhelming number of crowdfunding requests from Palestinian families. So far, OOB has assisted close to 800 families to reach their fundraising goals.

“The families behind the fundraisers are experiencing acute starvation, illness, and trauma more extreme than any of us can imagine,” the group told TIME, adding that its role was to “center and amplify families’ direct aid requests by tapping the talents of a large and growing network of social media activists.”

But it adds that while fundraising platforms like GoFundMe have been “key to the autonomy and fundraising success of Gazan families” with the help of the diaspora who can act as beneficiaries to assist their affairs remotely, “having direct access to their donations would make a life-saving difference for these families.”

Challenges persist

Despite the rising popularity of crowdfunding as a means of aid, many campaigns remain underfunded. 24-year-old Noor Hammad was once a nutritionist in Deir al-Balah, but now, she is desperate to escape Gaza after her home was heavily bombarded and she gave birth to her daughter in Rafah in January. “I lost everything in this war,” she said in a WhatsApp message. “I need to leave because I have a baby now, I need money to buy food for her.” To help Hammad, a Sydney-based journalist set up a GoFundMe campaign earlier this month to raise $27,000, which will be sent to Hammad’s brother in Sweden. So far, the fundraiser has raised just $2,580.

Even when campaigns raise enough funds, other challenges in ensuring Gazans can access and receive the money persist, especially as Western governments have introduced sanctions against Hamas. As a result, GoFundMe and other crowdfunding platforms are now required to comply by asking organizers for extensive information about to whom, and where, the money is going. Any individuals or groups who don’t pass a test screening for money laundering or terrorist financing are likely to be put on government-run lists.

These processes have slowed aid efforts, according to a report by The Verge, which found that organizers and donors had been dealing with “heavy-handed moderation” and “inconsistent policies.” In response, GoFundMe issued a notice in March explaining how organizers could get around the extra red tape and avoid any delays, adding that it would comply with laws and regulations to “make the flow of funds from donors to beneficiaries as fast as possible.”

The means through which money is transferred to Gazans is also complicated. A few wire services like Western Union are still operating in the besieged territory, but for many, a more viable option is to have the money sent to someone outside Gaza who can withdraw the cash and travel to Egypt. There, the money is paid to brokers who facilitate evacuations.

In February, Tareq and his family raised $20,000 and were finally able to leave for Egypt, where they are currently seeking refuge. But now, the 16-year-old says he needs to find the money to relocate to Canada, where his family can apply for asylum. Above all, the 11th grader—who was months ago participating in international student competitions—hopes to re-enroll in school to complete his education. He plans to make a new GoFundMe campaign in the coming weeks to raise money for the cost of visa applications, flights, and other expenses.

“The GoFundMe really helped with the evacuation and I am full of hope for the future,” he says. “But the circumstances have led Gazans to crowdfund because they lost a lot, and they continue to lose a lot”.

[staticespace]

Hi sorry for burging in . I need your helping Please if you can be able to extend a hand for me,that would be much appreciate. I'm $800,needed pls🙏 . I need to save my blood sugar which costs $300.and also to afford living expenses.food,gas and medication which costs$500. I plead for your little donations. I'll really appreciate your help❤️please help me with your little donation or share🙏

I will not donate. But I will share.

Not to advise others to donate, though. Because I think you're lying.

Your request doesn't really pass the smell test for me.

🚩Red Flags🚩:

You say on your page that your request is "vetted and verified" but do not say by whom.

Your tags start with "free palestine" despite your request having nothing to do with Palestine or Palestinians. This makes me think you're trying to get people who want to donate to Palestinians to think you're one so they can donate and/or spread your post if they don't read any deeper into your account.

Adding to that, looking into your archive, you only recently started your account this month (September 2024) and all of your posts closest to your start were about Palestine. It seems you're putting a mask on.

As of today (September 29th) only 3 of your 29 posts are from a date that is not September 25th, so it's not as though you're particularly active.

Your other tags on your pinned post have nothing to do with the topic of your post, meaning you're clogging other tags to get someone to bite (e.g. "artists on tumblr" and "succession").

The link you provided goes to a PayPal account, which does not have many protections for anyone who donates money on its platform, like reimbursement and such.

In case I was wrong, I reverse-image-searched your icon photo and...

Well, well, well...

Same photo, same script, different account.

This naming trend on your old account is very familiar, too. Three words smushed together, usually starting with an adjective. Hell, you might be related to the other person I found out was scamming using insulin requests.

And when I tried to find that account, it's apparently been closed.

So yeah, nah, you don't pass the smell test.

---

If you want to donate to Palestinians, here's some actual, verified ways to do so. The methods through that link have been backed by various frontrunners in the Palestinian sphere, like @/90-ghost and @/el-shab-hussein.

If you aren't going to look much further than the fact they sent a note to your inbox, please stop.

Look further and do your due diligence or rely on people who will do it for you.

Some scammers are not just trying to get money for food or a TV or something. Giving to a scammer may not be harmless.

Scammers can and have used false aid requests to fund human and drug trafficking.

Double-check. If it doesn't smell right, don't donate and call it out.

Also, feel free to report their PayPal account for fraud if you see their pinned post.

[yizhou-time]

A RANT ON MINORS AND NSFW POSTS

This is a quick one but I feel like it needs to be said because it’s getting out of hand for not just writers but also minors. As much as we don’t want minors reading NSFW content it’s basically impossible for a number of reasons:

1) The ATEEZ writing community is full of it. Whether people write it because it performs well or they enjoy it, it’s everywhere. It’s becoming rare to see SFW posts in the main two tags (ateez x reader, ateez imagines) and when people are trying to look for something to read and that’s all there is they’re going to read it. It’s basically become downright porn plastered everywhere, what else are they going to read?

2) It’s not being tagged as NSFW or MINORS DONT INTERACT. For whatever reason people aren’t tagging it and it’s just really weird. Even as an adult I don’t want to read NSFW stuff and yet when it’s untagged I come across it (the whole reason I decided to write this is because I was reading a fic this morning that jumps into smut without warning). You can say people choose what they read and if they ignore the tags it's on them but when it's not being tagged as such it's not like people have a choice. I’m an adult and I know when to stop, some minors will just keep reading.

3) a) People are tagging it wrong. Calling smut suggestive when they’re having actual sex is crazy. Some people have been tagging it as a SMAU which means social media au, kids will read that thinking they’re going to see some fake twitter or fake messages and they’re met with smut instead.

3) b) People are using other tags (ateez angst, ateez fluff) for smut. Regardless of if there’s plot keep smut out of those tags so they can be used correctly.

4) Some authors don’t block faceless/blank/ageless blogs (even when they say they have a rule for it). On any site (including YouTube when it comes to age restricted content) age can be verified with a press of a button before the viewer can start watching or you can simply change the year you were born in, but it then argues that they can read what they want here regardless of how it makes an author feel because they can do it online. They can talk to an author in DM and through their Inbox, they can’t talk to a pornstar so they’ll never know or have that lurking feeling. Block people that you aren’t sure of, even if they’re a big account or your post is doing well, it’s not worth it when there’s kids reading it.

5) Some authors don’t display their own age. This is a short one but I know so many NSFW authors who aren’t displaying their age and yet other writers still interact with them, going against their own ageless/faceless blog rule, for what I don’t know. That could be a 14 year old or a 40 year old and we don’t even know who’s in their Inbox.

6) There’s no one controlling what content the minor is reading. Although we can’t do anything about that that doesn’t mean we can’t do what we can, they may read it anyway, but if you look at the contributing factors there is something we as a community can do.

I'm well aware this post is giving them the benefit of the doubt but can you blame a kid for acting like one? As much as we get mad at them for reading NSFW posts for whatever reasons at the end of the day we have to be doing something about it too. Both parties should take responsibility and try to combat it.

This is in no way a targeted post so if you choose to ignore it and feel that you’re not part of the problem or you’re just not interested, that’s fine I won't be offended but I strongly urge to think about if you relate to even just one of the point and then do something about it.

I'm well aware that this is a sensitive topic that doesn't get spoken about because it just isn't or when it is spoken about it gets shut down by people who accidently read it the wrong way. This post isn't to hurt or upset people or accuse anyone of anything bad, just pointing out some things we could all collectively do better. If you do believe this post has hurt you or I’ve said anything that has come across offensive to you please message me about it so I can know what I did wrong!

[axkirak]

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : X]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings :  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary : At the Jedi Temple, everyone confronted a shocking truth about themselves, whether it was Sol, Yord, or yourself.

Status: just finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : I'm not spoiling anything, but two things: First, Qimir's out of the picture for a bit after this, while the story shifts to the Jedi Temple, where you'll learn more about his and the reader's backstories. Second, there's a super important character here you won't want to miss.

Ps.If you enjoy my work, please reblog it. Just liking the post won’t help others discover it.

➡  Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread // My mother is my enemy

[Episodes 10] Hand of God be my witness; I am the voice from the outer world

They won't believe me.

The thought crosses your mind as you survey the interrogation room in the Jedi Temple on Olega. The room is nearly barren, with bare gray concrete walls and no windows, furnished only with a table and two chairs on opposite sides. You choose the inner seat, facing the door, patiently awaiting the arrival of another.

It isn't long before the steel door slides open, revealing the tall, gaunt figure of a middle-aged man dressed in a yellow Jedi uniform. Sol’s expression is grave as he takes the chair opposite you. Without preamble, he begins to speak. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. The things you’ve told us are... quite shocking.” He pauses briefly, then continues with a polite tone, “It will take time to verify the truth of all this, and we may not reach a conclusion soon.”

You reflect on everything you've revealed to them earlier. You told them all they needed to know—that Qimir was behind the Jedi slaughter on this planet and that he was a Sith Lord disguised as a harmless apothecary, hiding right under their noses for years.

To the Jedi, however, your account is just hearsay. After all, everything you said came from your visions, lacking tangible evidence to prove your story—no proof that what you saw was real and not some fevered delusion.

You know your fate hangs by a thread. There’s a strong chance the Jedi will deem you delusional and might even cast you out of the Temple. That is a risk you cannot afford to take, especially when Qimir knows you have escaped and is relentlessly pursuing you. Nowhere in the galaxy will be safe for you except under the protection of the Jedi Order. It's your only hope for survival.

“You don’t believe me either, do you?” You decide to test the waters, assessing Sol's demeanor behind his neutral exterior.

Sol clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable as he speaks. “I can't say I believe everything you've said, but I don't think you have a reason to lie, given that you admitted this man was your lover.” His gaze meets yours with sincerity. “But some parts don’t make sense...”

“It doesn’t make sense because you believe the Sith have long since vanished," you interject, interrupting him before he can finish. "But I'm telling the truth. I've told you everything. Qimir is a Sith Lord. His goal is the destruction of the Jedi Order, and he won't stop until he achieves it.”

Sol sighs. He remains skeptical of your words and seems caught between belief and doubt, but can’t help feeling concerned, aware that this issue is far too serious to ignore. The implications of your claims could threaten not just the Jedi Order but the stability of the entire galaxy. It is beyond the capacity of a single Jedi Master to decide alone. “The problem is we have no evidence to confirm the Sith still exist,” Sol says cautiously, his tone now even more guarded. “And the way in which these Jedi were killed doesn’t align with typical Sith methods.”

"But it aligns with Jedi methods," you murmur, though Sol hears every word clearly. "He kills Jedi in the Jedi way. That's why you initially suspected the culprit might be one of your own, or perhaps a former Jedi."

Sol's eyes widen in shock, staring at you as if your words are the most startling thing he has ever heard. "How do you know all of this?" he asks urgently, his voice laced with confusion. He clearly remembers that none of these details were shared with you. So where did you get this information?

You offer him a faint, mysterious smile, one that makes Sol feel unsettled in ways he cannot fully explain.

"I know what you know. And I know what you don’t," you say, your blue eyes momentarily distant and lost in thought. "Your suspicions aren’t wrong. Qimir isn’t his real name, and he was once a Padawan among you. As for the rest... you’ll have to find the answers from your own people—someone who knows him far better than I do."

Sol is taken aback, concern reflected on his face. For the first time, the words of this stranger evoke a pang of fear within him. "Who are you talking about? Who among us knows the Sith Lord?"

"Your friend, Master Vernestra."

Sol furrows his brow, thinking of the Mirialan Jedi Master, who is indeed his friend. At this point, Sol's doubts multiply as he struggles to find answers for himself. How does she know about Vernestra when they've never even met? he wonders.

Sol turns his gaze back to you, his eyes now filled with analysis and wariness. He's no longer sure how to feel about you—whether to be amazed or afraid.

"Who are you really?" he finally asks.

In truth, the more appropriate question would have been, “What are you?”

You sense the confusion and doubt etched on his face, making you start to wonder as well. "You really don't know who I am?" you ask, almost to yourself.

Sol shakes his head, not pausing to consider his response. "I don't know you, and I’m sure no one else here does either."

How is that even possible? You wonder; the memory is still vivid. When Qimir first captured you, he warned that the Jedi were after you too. You were certain their intentions were the same as everyone else's—to claim the power of the last Bene Gesserit for themselves. That's why you always avoided the Jedi. But when things changed between you and Qimir, you had no choice but to reluctantly seek refuge with the Jedi, knowing it was your best chance to evade Qimir.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that your secret would be exposed here, which is why you dared to use your visions in front of Sol. Even though you hadn’t said you were a Bene Gesserit, you knew that the Jedi, who already held an interest in the Bene Gesserit, could easily piece the truth together on their own.

Yet, Sol’s response is not what you expected.

Confusion swirls within you as you meet Sol’s gaze. You desperately want to peer into his thoughts to understand what he’s truly thinking, but you can’t do that. Despite having prophetic powers, you lack the ability to read minds like a Force user. This limitation makes predicting the future so difficult—human thoughts are ever-changing, and so too is destiny.

However, Bene Gesserit training provides a solution to this weakness through a technique known as the 'Way of Perception.' This method focuses on observing every minute detail in your conversation partner’s movements—like the slightest twitch of a facial muscle, a shift in the eyes, or a swallow—each subtle gesture that reveals their true intentions. By employing this meticulous observation, a Bene Gesserit can analyze another’s thoughts, discerning truth from deception without relying on the Force.

You use the Way of Perception on Sol, meticulously observing his reactions and analyzing them as you have been trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit. What you discover is that he’s telling the truth. Sol and the others here neither know of nor acknowledge the existence of someone like you—a Bene Gesserit.

In that moment, a realization hits you with blinding clarity—a truth you have never considered until now: Qimir has been lying to you all along.

You remember when he first approached you out of sheer curiosity, manipulating your fear of the Jedi to keep you from running. He worked to earn your trust, all in a bid to uncover your secrets. When Qimir finally learned that secret, he realized you were too valuable to fall into anyone else’s hands. So, he killed everyone who knew about you, all to keep your power under his control.

And what better way to control someone than through love?

That’s exactly what he did to you. Qimir tried to make you fall in love with him, to surrender yourself completely—body and soul—to serve his grander purpose. His ultimate plan was to resurrect the Sith and exact revenge on the Jedi. With the aid of a Bene Gesserit, he believed he could conquer the universe.

But what throws everything off course is that Qimir, instead of merely seeing you as a tool to achieve his goals, has become genuinely attached and has fallen in love with you. 

Then, when you decided to drink the Water of Life, you allowed yourself to foresee the terrible future that unfolded, with countless possibilities and impossibilities stretching out before you.

You know that Qimir's plans will never succeed. Sooner or later, he will meet his end before reaching his goal. Even so, your bloodline and his will succeed nonetheless. Anakin Skywalker will become everything Qimir has ever aspired to be—the one to lead the Sith to greatness, the one who brings the Jedi to their ultimate demise. 

And so it goes, you think to yourself. You expected to feel more sorrow, yet you find your thoughts and heart curiously cold.

As days pass, you lose more and more of yourself. It’s as if you’re no longer human but merely a data system, recording and processing the flow of events in your mind. Fate itself has become nothing more than a set of data inputs into a system, repeating endlessly until it loses all meaning.

You resign yourself, allowing your mind to swim once more in the currents of temporal data, hoping you can still alter those paths, even if only slightly.

And you decide to start with Sol.

"I know what you did on Brendok ten years ago, Master Sol."

Your voice comes out deeper and raspier than usual, almost resembling a man's voice rather than your own.

Those words hit Sol like thunderbolts. You instantly read his reaction, analyzing every movement. The tensing of his shoulders betrays the fear he's trying to suppress. Sweat beads on his temple, indicating pressure and dread. His lips tremble, momentarily rendering him speechless.

It’s a secret Sol has kept hidden from everyone. In the past, when he was still a Jedi Knight, Sol was part of a team assigned to explore Brendok after the planet endured a devastating natural disaster. There, he encountered twin girls named Osha and Mae—children born of the Force, raised by a coven of witches, a group of women attempting to mimic the ways of the Bene Gesserit, who had been hiding on this planet for quite some time.

The twins' strong connection to the Force sparked Sol’s hope that they could undergo training to become Jedi Padawans. However, the witch coven opposed him fiercely. Osha and Mae were the future of their coven; they wanted the girls to inherit the witches' path. They didn't want the Jedi to take their children away, as had happened to other families across the galaxy before.

Tensions between the witches and the Jedi finally reached a breaking point when Sol accidentally killed Aniseya, the twins' mother and the leader of the witch coven. This triggered a violent battle, resulting in the deaths of the entire coven, including the twins, who were trapped in a burning building during the fight.

That calamity has haunted Sol ever since, a nightmare and stigma he has carried to this day.

The entire story was covered up by the surviving Jedi, as this grave mistake could have led to their permanent expulsion from the Order. There's no way an outsider like you could know this secret, which is precisely why you bring it up. You understand that this is the only way to prove the truth of your words and make Sol fully believe what you’re about to reveal to him.

You lock eyes with Sol, unwavering, before unveiling your truth.

"I possess foresight. I can perceive all secrets and discern the fates of every life. That is why you must trust me."

What’s happening to Master Sol?

Yord ponders, watching as the once-calm Jedi Master suddenly storms out of the interrogation room, his face pale as if he has just seen something profoundly terrifying.

For a moment, Yord hesitates. He considers asking what happened but ultimately decides to stay silent. He remains where he is, observing from afar as Sol approaches. Yord notices that Sol seems entirely unaware of his presence, lost in his own thoughts and drifting past him as if he isn’t even there.

Yord's gaze follows the Jedi Master until he disappears down the hall. A frown forms on Yord’s face before he turns his attention to the steel door of the interrogation room where Sol had just exited.

Suddenly, Yord feels it—a deep, undeniable sense of certainty, as certain as knowing the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. He knows what's inside that room. He knows exactly what made Master Sol so shaken. He knows who is in there.

Yord bites his lip, torn between the urge to open that door and simply walk away. But curiosity wins over; he takes a step forward, tension rippling through his body. Cautiously, he pushes the door open and steps inside.

There you are, seated on a chair, with only a metal table separating you from him. You greet him with a faint smile, your demeanor calm, showing no surprise, as if you’ve been waiting for him all along, or perhaps you already knew he would come.

“It’s good to see you again, Yord.”

Hearing his name makes Yord freeze. It’s not just the fact that you know his name, even though he’s never told you, but the way you say it—your words and tone are exactly as they were in his dream last night.

There’s something eerily familiar about you, something Yord can’t quite shake off. It’s as if you and he share a connection that runs far deeper than the mere acquaintance, although he still doesn't know who you really are.

For the first time, Yord begins to suspect that he’s caught up in a mysterious and complex pattern beyond his understanding—something his mind can barely comprehend. 

And he knows. The only person who can explain it all is you.

Yord takes a deep breath and moves to sit in the chair across from you, his hands clenching nervously in his lap. “This might sound strange, but... I dreamt about you before we even met,” he says, the words spilling out before he can stop them. “I saw your life. I glimpsed what has happened and what will happen to you. How is that possible? Why do I feel like I've known you all my life when we've just met?”

“Dreams are messages from the deep,” you reply. “They’re a form of prophecy, a sign of the gift we both share. But your family's lineage has abandoned the old ways, which is why your power is weaker than mine.”

Yord senses a hint of sympathy in your voice. Though you speak of it as a gift, he can tell you view it more as a burden—an inescapable curse.

His eyes lock onto yours, searching for answers, but when your piercing blue gaze meets his, it feels like you’re the one reading him instead. In that instant, he’s certain that those eyes can see straight into the depths of his soul.

"You mentioned my family... Do you already know who I am?" he asks. 

"I do," you nod. "Our ancestors are connected."

With each word you speak, Yord’s confusion only deepens. "How do you know all of this? Did you see it in a vision?"

"I didn’t see it; I was there," you correct him. "I stood at the mouth of the cave the day my sister was born. I held her in my arms. That child grew into a woman, and eventually she loved and secretly gave birth to a daughter before she died. Your bloodline began with her."

"How is that even possible?" he argues, his voice growing tense. "How could you have been there thousands of years ago?"

"I’m not telling you this to make you believe. I’m simply informing you." You give Yord a gentle smile, a fond smile like an elder gives to a child. "If we’re counting, you are as much my descendant as she is."

Yord raises an eyebrow in surprise. He just notices that your choice of pronouns has suddenly shifted. Instead of using ‘I’ to refer to yourself, you now use ‘she’ as if you’re speaking about someone else.

And then it hits him. Yord suddenly realizes that the woman in front of him is no longer herself. Her spirit is tainted, like clear water muddied with black ink. Something is possessing her—something he both fears and cannot comprehend, like an ancient mystery sealed away for eons, only now unraveling.

“Who the hell are you?!” Yord shouts, one hand instinctively reaching for the lightsaber at his side, ready to strike if the person in front of him makes any sudden moves.

But you remain calm, unshaken by the threat of violence. "You know exactly who I am," you reply evenly. "Think carefully. Your mother warned you about my coming. You’ve always known who I am, just as I’ve always known who you are."

Your words send a shiver down Yord’s spine. His throat tightens, and he finds himself unable to speak. 

He remembers clearly what his mother warned him about before she passed away. Her wrinkled hand gripped his tightly as she whispered the important secret of the universe that no one knew except him—the return of that person.

All his life, Yord had dismissed those words as nothing more than the ramblings of a dying woman—just imagination and meaningless superstition. But today, when he faced you himself, he finally realizes that it was all true.

As the truth crashes down on him, Yord unknowingly utters the words.

“Lisan Al-Gaib.”

A/N :

Yord when he know who you are

[fakeagatha]

Behind Bars | Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal & Alice Gulliver x Jennifer Kale | Chapter One: The Most Effective Scheme

Summary: Agatha's new side hustle is a complete success, and soon, her and Rio will be living their dream life.

A/N: I wanted the word count to be higher but for the first chapter, there isn't really much to include. I know I said I wouldn't start another series until I finished the other two, but I lied. I haven't read this all together myself so make sure to let me know if you spot any grammatical errors or misspellings.

Warnings: Scamming, swearing, crimes Word Count: 3214 Genre: Romance, Crack Date: 2/6/2025

"Good evening, my name is Jenny. How can I assist you?"

Jenny? No. That was Agatha. She was honestly worried that she would eventually run out of names to use. This was the eighth call she had received that day, and had done a decent job at bringing up names on the spot.

"Hello? Is this Microsoft Support?" Another voice of a much older woman was heard on the other end of the line.

"That is correct." Agatha smirked, fidgeting with a pen she was holding, "What seems to be the problem?"

"I have been trying to cancel a subscription all day, but it's not working! Can I cancel it with you?" The woman replied, and she sound panicked.

Great start. "Of course, I will just require some more information, if that's okay with you?"

Agatha quickly signaled to Rio who was laying in bed and scrolling on her phone. She sighed and stood up, sitting next to Agatha who put the device on speakerphone. Rio turned the laptop to face her, opening up the banking app.

"Now, we just need to access the purchase. May I please have your credit card number to verify?" Agatha asked, using her best customer service tone. Moment of truth. This was normally where she would get hung up on.

"My card number?" The voice seemed hesitant, making Agatha cringe, "Uh, okay... It's four, seven..."

Agatha started waving her hand aggressively in Rio's face, silently telling her to type, who in response practically slapped her away. She began typing down the details, leaning closer to the phone's speaker to make sure she heard everything clearly.

"Wonderful. And the CVV number, please?"

"... My CVV is..."

Agatha looked at Rio with a raised eyebrow. This was way too easy. Rio was holding in a laugh, tapping at the keyboard.

"And when is your card due to expire?"

There was a pause, "I think April of 2028?"

Jackpot.

"I'm in." Rio mouthed, rapidly clicking the mouse across the screen to transfer the money over to another account, as Agatha managed to keep the woman on the other end occupied, with completely irrelevant questions until Rio was done.

"And what was the reason you wanted to cancel the subscription?" She asked, eyeing the screen.

"It was for my grandson," The woman started, making Agatha feel just a bit guilty, "He said he wanted this subscription for his birthday, but it turns out he wanted a subscription for... Fortine?"

Rio clamped her hand over her mouth, and making eye contact with Agatha almost made her lose it.

"But I understood wrong," She sighed, "I don't use this Mic Soft stuff."

"Ah, the videogame Fortnite?" She replied, grinning as she watched Rio trying not to break.

"That's it! I won't be buying the subscription for him though, it's a very violent game." The woman shuddered, tutting in disappointment.

Rio gave Agatha a thumbs up, pointing to the screen which now showed "Transfer Successful." Agatha beamed, and turned her attention back to the phone.

"Could you please confirm through your credit card history that the subscription has been cancelled? You should have a notification." Agatha turned to Rio with a grin, and as soon as the woman went to speak again, she hung up and blocked the number.

"Fortine." Agatha deadpanned, and Rio let out the laugh she had been holding.

"Bless her. I feel bad for her if I'm being honest," She chuckled, "There was a shit ton on there. Something like ten thousand dollars? I'll never understand how people fall for it."

Agatha wrapped her arm around her shoulder, "I know. Well, the minority fall for it. Out of the one hundred calls I've had this week, this was the fifth person to actually give me their information." She laughed, "By the way, just wait a few minutes before you transfer it to our account though, keep it in the backup for now."

"Will do, don't worry." Rio smiled, "This was a great idea Agatha, the money will keep flowing after this."

"I know." Agatha smirked, "But this might not last long. Only old people fall for the credit card scam. We can make up one of those remote control app systems, you know, the ones where you can control another's phone via your own screen?"

Rio nodded, "Ah, I actually fell for one of those a few years ago."

Agatha rolled her eyes, "Of course you did. Proves my point though, they're more effective."

Rio smacked her shoulder, then stood up, "I'm going lie down."

"Sure, go on." Agatha agreed. She turned the laptop back to her to check the new balance on their alternative account. It had gone up to more than fifty thousand dollars at this point. "If we keep this up for a couple more months, we can buy that house in the suburbs you liked."

Rio grinned excitedly, turning her phone on and scrolling through her social media. Agatha was already on the run again, looking up more popular companies that she could create a fake customer service website for. Airline companies could do well, there are always complications with people's flights.

Agatha opened up the banking app again, and transferred all of the money on their alternative account to their main account. Even though it was still risky, it was good to have another account between theirs to help prevent them from being caught.

Agatha was very proud of herself. She wanted money, and she didn't feel like working for anyone, so as any rational person would, she looked into web making and was able to create a "Microsoft Support" web page with an email, a phone number, and even a "Report a Problem" button. While pretending to be someone who worked with the company, she was able to make people believe it was an official website.

Rio was hesitant at first, but when Agatha's 15th phone call was a success, she knew she wanted to help her. Double the work, double the earnings.

Agatha pressed the power button on the laptop and closed it, joining Rio in bed and wrapping her arms around her. "I'll work on making a Qatar Airways Support page tomorrow." She mumbled into Rio's shoulder.

Rio chuckled, "That's good. Will you try the remote app system?"

Agatha yawned, nodding, "Yeah, I think it's more believable. I'll find a reliable app tomorrow and include it in any support emails we get, and see how it does."

Rio nodded, running her hand through Agatha's hair. She kept scrolling through TikTok silently, as Agatha began to fall asleep. She must be tired after all, she had been in front of that screen all day.

The next morning, Rio woke up a few minutes before Agatha. The witch was laying comfortable on her side, and her hair was a complete mess. She sighed and got out of the bed quietly, figuring she should let her sleep in some more. 

She sat on the desk chair and turned the laptop on. They had received a couple messages during the night, and Rio hoped that they would be good, so she opened the first one,

"Hello. It seems that Word has an error, and I am unable to save anything I have written."

She rolled her eyes, closing the UI. Useless. How could Agatha use that to make someone give her their credit card information? She pressed the second message,

"My PowerPoint presentation keeps deleting itself, please fix this."

She scoffed, she's not responsible. She closed the tab and checked through their email instead, and most of it was all the same types of problems, nothing that could help them. She moved all of them into the archive, and climbed back into bed.

The feeling of the bed moving woke Agatha up and she stirred, turning to face Rio, "What time is it?" She asked groggily.

"Just past nine." Rio smiled, moving her hand to push Agatha's hair out of her face.

She grunted, sitting up in bed, "It's still so early..." She sighed, laying her head in Rio's lap.

"I checked the messages and emails," Rio stated, "Nothing good."

Agatha nodded, "Thanks for looking. I should get up and make the new website."

She crawled out of bed, and took a seat at the desk. She opened up a new window on a notes software, and copy and pasted the same code the used for the other page, and changed the title along with some of the text.

She opened up another tab in Google and found the official Qatar Airways page, and did her best to copy their fonts and colors.

It looked believable.

Rio leaned her head on her shoulder, looking at the new creation, "I'd fall for that." She said proudly, and Agatha looked up at her with a grin.

"Now, I just need to make a new email. No one will notice if the phone number is the same."

Rio shook her head, chuckling. Making the email was much easier and was quick. Agatha made it in a matter of minutes, called "QatarAirwaysSupport" or something along those lines.

"Agatha, how will you answer the phone if you don't know which website the caller came from?" Rio asked suspiciously.

Agatha paused, "Well, I never mentioned the company name beforehand. If the customer asks if we're Qatar Airways, I'll just agree. The question will answer itself, they'll always ask if we're the person they think they called anyway."

Rio nodded, "I suppose so, just don't slip up."

The witch shook her head, "No, I won't."

Now, advertising the website could be tricky. With the Microsoft one, she was able to make a fake account on Facebook and boast about how helpful their new website was. She could make another account for the new page, but maybe, she could do even more.

"I'm going to make us something to eat!" Rio called out as she walked out of the room. Agatha thanked her, keeping her eyes glued to the screen, clicking and tapping intently.

Rio reached the kitchen, debating on making eggs, toast, or crepes. Agatha loved crepes, so she settled on that option. She found a couple pans, and turned the stoves on. She had some mixture left in the fridge from when she made them the other day too, so she poured it into the pans, doing her best to keep it steady.

It never took long for the crepes to cook. She flipped them over successfully without dropping them, and when both sides were ready, she put them both on two separate plates, and took out the toppings. Two bananas, sprinkles, crushed biscuits and chocolate spread.

The wrapped them both up carefully, and went back into the bedroom. Agatha was leaned back in her chair, staring at the now published website.

Rio gasped, grinning as she put down a plate in front of Agatha, "This looks so legit!"

"Crepes!" Agatha exclaimed, "Thanks. Yeah, I did my best to replicate it."

Rio kissed her cheek, "I'm going to get ready to go and do some shopping, alright?"

"Okay, thank you dear."

Rio started digging through the closet, and found a simple plain white t shirt with some blue jeans. She didn't bother in wearing any makeup, it wasn't something that affected the way that she felt about herself at all.

She took her purse and put her wallet inside, and her phone in her pocket. "I'll see you later!" She called out to her wife.

"See you!"

Rio shut the door behind her, and made her way to her and Agatha's shared car, which may or may not have been Ralph's at some point in the past. It was a red Honda, and they both absolutely loved it.

"Good morning Miss Vidal!" A young voice exclaimed.

Rio sighed and turned around to see their neighbor, Billy. He was living next door to them with his parents, Mr and Mrs Kaplan.

"Hey Teen, how are you?" She asked, and Billy smiled,

"I'm great thanks, I just got back from helping Miss Calderu with her new online business that she made last month, and she pays me a small commission!" He said excitedly, and Rio raised an eyebrow. She didn't know that Lilia had started selling?

"Damn, she has a business now?" She laughed, "Mind sending me the link later? I'm curious."

"Of course!" Billy grinned, "Have a good day Miss Vidal."

"You too." Rio waved awkwardly, and stepped into her car as the boy went inside.

The engine started with a rumble, and she pulled out of the driveway. The scenery of Westview was always nice to admire and look at. Maybe it was the healthy trees, or the lack of trash on the ground.

The drive was short, as the nearest grocery store was quite close to Agatha's house. It wasn't busy either, conveniently enough for Rio.

She stepped out of the car and pulled out the shopping list she had on her phone, the main items were fruit, vegetables, bread, wine, and a few sanitary items, but she would obviously end up walking out with more than that.

"Hey Rio!"

For crying out loud, she wasn't that popular!

There's the familiar voice of Dottie. Rio subtly rolled her eyes and turned around, smiling at the younger woman in front of her.

"Hey Dots, how are you?" She asked politely.

Dottie chuckled at the nickname, "I'm alright, just getting a few things to make dinner tonight for me and my daughter, we're having a few cousins round."

"That'll be nice," Rio replied, "I'm just stocking up for the wife, she's been working very hard lately." Rio winked, and Dottie's eyes widened.

"Did Agatha finally get a job?"

Rio blinked and quickly nodded, "Yeah, something like that. Anyway, I've got to go, it was nice catching up with you." She walked away, making her way to the entrance of the store. Dottie shrugged, pushing her shopping cart over to her car to begin unloading it

Rio pulled out a shopping cart as she made her way into the not so crowded store. She browsed through the fruits and vegetables by the entrance, and picked up some potatoes, carrots, and cucumbers for veggies, and apples, bananas and oranges for fruit. 

She stopped by the refrigerators, and picked up a few bottles of soda, specifically Iced Tea and Pepsi, because Agatha insisted it was better than Coca Cola, despite Rio debating that they taste the same.

She went over to the frozen food, and picked up a bag of vegan nuggets and veggie burgers. Rio had been a vegetarian for as long as she could remember, and Agatha had recently agreed to try it with her- for the sake of the animals.

The candy isle was one of Rio's favorites. There were so many options to choose from yet she knew she couldn't take them all, so she settled on some gummy fruit and some sour gummy worms, which she knew her wife also liked. Now with chocolate, she preferred the plain milk chocolates, so she picked up one for herself, and one for Agatha.

Rio liked the bread section too, as there was also a small bakery next to it which she loved to get fresh pastries from. She picked up a cheese pie, and for Agatha, a spinach pie. Before leaving she also threw in some sliced brown bread into the cart, along with some bagels.

Now sanitary products were tricky, because despite Agatha being post menopausal for the past 250 years, she still insisted that she needed a very particular size and brand of pantie liners. Rio's convinced that if she switched them, her wife wouldn't even notice, but she respected her orders anyway and bought them every time.

On her way to the wine section, she spotted the snack isle from the corner of her eye and figured it would do no harm to make a quick stop. Just a couple bags of chips and maybe some pretzels, which were perfect for movie nights.

Last and definitely not least, wine. Rio didn't have a preference but Agatha loved red wine, so that's what they got, every. Single. Time. Rio didn't mind of course, and she honestly found it quite endearing how Agatha stayed so loyal to it.

She couldn't be bothered to interact with any more people so she used the self checkout machine. Despite her being awful at using them when they were first installed in the stores, she had gotten quite the hang of them and used them with ease.

"Total: $46.78"

She barely got anything!

"You fucking thieves!" She cursed the machine, tapping at the screen, "And no, I don't want your 10 cent bags. Bought some a year ago and they're still brand new." She said proudly, whipping out two cotton grocery bags, as she started packing everything up.

She threw the bags back into the cart and made her way out of the store and back to the car, unlocking it and putting the bags in. She pushed the cart back and received her coin, shoving it into her pocket.

Meanwhile, Agatha's new website had already gotten a few emails. Some which were general questions about the airline that she replied with nonsense for her own amusement, and some which she just deleted.

But there was one that stood out.

"I need to cancel my flight immediately!"

Agatha giggled at the screen and typed back a professional seeming response, and attached a link to a remote app she had found. She tested it out with one of her old phones and it worked perfectly.

She had been staring at the screen for a good ten minutes until finally, her phone pinged with a notification.

"You have been connected to a device."

She gasped, but made sure not to get her hopes up. How would she possibly do anything without the person on the other end noticing that something suspicious was going on? So, she did nothing, at first.

She replied to the email again explaining how a member of staff would be back with information shortly. She opened up the app again and stared silently at the screen, then struck. She studied  the home screen and located their cash related apps.

"I'm home!" Rio suddenly called out, dropping the shopping by the door. She wandered into the bedroom quietly, as not to disturb Agatha in case she was on a call.

Agatha turned to her with a smirk, "It worked."

"The remote app?"

Agatha nodded, "Look." She pointed to the screen, and Rio gasped as she saw that their bank balance on their backup account had increased, by at least two hundred thousand. 

Rio shared a silent glance with Agatha, before squealing and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I'm so proud!" She exclaimed, "That seemed... Way too easy though." She added, and Agatha shrugged.

"What can I say? I'm a professional now."

Rio chuckled, "Come help me put the groceries away?"

"Of course!" Agatha nodded and got up from her seat, briefly running her hand through Rio's hair as she made her way to the kitchen with her, picking up the two bags on the way.

Agatha began putting everything away, picking up the glass bottle of wine and winked at Rio, "Want to drink this while watching something on Netflix?"

Rio grinned and nodded, placing some of the snacks to the side, and put the fruit and vegetables away.

Agatha dragged Rio to the couch, nearly dropping the glasses she had picked up along with the bottle. They made themselves comfortable on the couch while Rio filled up two glasses, and ripped open the bag of gummy worms.

Everything was going wonderful to for the couple, and it was only a matter of time before they could invest in the money they had made and buy the perfect house for the two. At this rate, it wouldn't take long for their lives to finally take a drastic change.

[misc-obeyme]

THE THREADS THAT BIND

CHAPTER NINE

MASTERPOST for summary/info/chapter list

a/n: Protective Barb is my favorite thing. I couldn't let Arrie and Sol have all the fun lol. Should you feel that this chapter ends abruptly, just remember that there are four more chapters to this story. This is not the end!

GN!MC x Barbatos | word count 1,775

Warnings: magical violence, MC is in pain, demon OC, sorcerer OC

A few days later, you were at RAD with Barbatos when Arsenios and Solomon came over to where the two of you were sitting.

"You owe me more tea, at the very least," Arsenios said, arms folded as Solomon placed a folded piece of paper on the table.

Solomon laughed lightly. "It wasn't that bad, was it? In fact, I would say it turned out to be much easier than either of us expected."

Barbatos picked up the paper, unfolding it. You looked over his shoulder and saw that it was a detailed description of a counter curse. It was handwritten, clearly something that had been created by Tobias himself.

Barbatos smiled. "I cannot express how grateful I am to both of you. I hope it was not too difficult for you to obtain this."

"It was no problem," Solomon said.

At the same time, Arsenios said, "It was mostly annoying."

They looked at each other, Solomon smiling while Arsenios gave him a flat look.

Arsenios turned back to Barbatos. "All I had to do was sing to him."

You cocked your head to the side. "Sing to him?"

"Arsenios can put humans into a trance merely by singing or playing an instrument," Barbatos explained.

"It was fascinating to watch," Solomon said. "His expression went dull and he simply brought the paper with the counter curse over and handed it to us. I was able to verify right away that it was the right one."

Arsenios glanced between the two of you. "I can also use my song to influence people's future actions. I don't think he'll be bothering you again."

There was something ominous about this statement, but you noticed how Arsenios met your eyes when he said it, instead of looking at Barbatos.

"I tried to convince Arsenios that he probably didn't need to do that," Solomon said, smile still in place. "But really I don't think it's going to cause any harm. I made sure to let Tobias know that we will not go easy on him should he return to the Devildom without permission again."

"You should still be careful, though," Arsenios said, his eyes back on Barbatos. "Don't go getting cursed again, okay?"

Barbatos nodded. "I understand. You have my word. Thank you both."

Arsenios turned to Solomon. "I admit that I wouldn't have known if that counter curse was the right one or not, so I guess it was a good thing you were with me."

Solomon laughed. "What a compliment! Don't strain yourself on my account, Arsenios. I know you find me annoying at best."

Arsenios stared at him for a moment, then he actually laughed. "Man, you are something else. Anyway, good luck with the counter curse, Barb."

Arsenios moved away to his own seat across the classroom while Solomon sat down nearby to get ready for class to start.

After RAD, Barbatos brought you back to the castle, ready to use the counter curse to break the threads. Solomon had offered to help with it, but Barbatos seemed content to take care of things himself. Solomon told you that should the counter curse prove ineffective for some reason, he still had the Night Dagger as an alternative option. All of you hoped it wouldn't come to that.

You were feeling apprehensive. It wasn't that you didn't believe the counter curse would work. It was more like you weren't sure how to deal with how it would feel when your connection to Barbatos was severed.

During the time you had been bound to him, you had observed Barbatos in a way you never had the chance to do before. Every day, you had been by his side as he worked, as you studied, and as both of you began to do things together, moving in sync in a way that you had never done with anyone else. And every night, you had walked in his memories or he had come to pull you out of them so you could sleep peacefully.

And now suddenly he wouldn't be by your side anymore. Or at least, you would be able to move away from him without it causing you pain. You would likely return to the House of Lamentation, which you admit you missed. But that would also mean you would have to readjust to your life the way it had been before all of this.

You stood across from Barbatos in one of the castle's many living rooms. He was frowning, reading the paper with the counter curse on it. Then he looked up at you. Barbatos extended a hand toward you, reciting the spell from the paper.

You saw the threads suddenly, bursting out from your chest still. You saw them rise where they coalesced into the single thread that ran through Barbatos. It rose and rose until -

Snap!

It broke.

And the threads that had been bursting from you, that had been a knot inside your chest, began to unravel. They fell around you, little strands of teal littering your arms, legs, the floor beneath you.

And it hurt.

You gasped and clutched at your chest, which felt like that empty yawning hollow that would form whenever you got too far away from Barbatos.

Barbatos was at your side, his arms on your shoulders.

You watched in horror as the threads turned black. They began to ooze, just like in your dream. You cried out and shoved at Barbatos.

"Get away!" you yelled, pushing on his chest. "Get away before it swallows you!"

Barbatos caught your hands. "MC, there's nothing there."

You looked at him with wild eyes, your chest throbbing, the black seeping toward him bit by bit. "You can't see it? It's going to consume you!"

The pain was dizzying and made it difficult to focus, causing you to simply react with desperation.

The black ooze seemed to freeze in a white light and there was an odd sharp note that rang through the air.

Although the pain was lessened, it still lingered. You managed to look up and a man you could only assume was Tobias stood behind Barbatos, hand extended, glowing with white light. His head was cocked slightly, as though he couldn't help listening to something.

Barbatos was instantly in demon form, his tail wrapping around you protectively as he turned to face Tobias.

"I do believe you were warned not to return to the Devildom," Barbatos said, his voice calm despite the tension in his body. Through the fog of your fear, you could feel the tail around you trembling with anger.

Tobias frowned. "If you think I'm afraid of Solomon and some singing demon, you miscalculated. The counter curse alerts me when it's used and there was always this little unpleasantness built into it. Your sweet MC will fall completely to the hallucinations, believing everything they ever loved to be fully consumed by darkness. I can release them from that torment… for a price."

Barbatos shook his head as though he felt sorry for the sorcerer. "You have been troublesome for quite some time now," he said. "Today you have finally gone too far."

The room was plunged into darkness and you would have fallen if Barbatos's tail hadn't been holding you up.

You looked around and found yourself in the same constellation filled sky of your dreams - the teal streams moving through it as always.

Barbatos was practically glowing with teal light. Tobias instantly dropped his own spell, which brought your pain back full force. Through it you could see Tobias gripping his head with both hands, as though he was experiencing some horrific torment.

"As there was a secret in your counter curse, so there was a secret in Arsenios's song," Barbatos said. "The notes you're hearing now are tied to my power. You must choose to find a way to deal with the loss of your loved one without time travel. Make that choice, release MC, and I will return you to the human world where you belong, unharmed."

"And if I refuse?" Tobias demanded through gritted teeth.

Barbatos shook his head. "It is best if you do not even contemplate that option."

Tobias fell to his knees. You couldn't hear the song that was apparently playing in his head, but it seemed he was suffering even more than you were.

He cast a spell and the pain inside you lifted, though you noticed there was still a single thread running through you. And although the pain was gone, the empty feeling wasn't.

Barbatos opened a portal there and Tobias stumbled through it, clearly desperate to end the sounds that were playing in his mind.

Everything around you felt off, your heart still ached in a way that was worse than what your body had endured.

"Barbatos," you cried out, reaching toward him.

Barbatos turned to you, pulling you into his arms and pressing you against his chest, his tail still wrapped around you.

And suddenly, you were at peace. That last lost thread had simply gone back inside your chest. It filled the empty yawning hole, making you complete again.

You were breathing hard as you slowly calmed down, tears of pain and fear streaking your face. Your arms were clasped around Barbatos tightly and you were afraid to let go.

After a few moments, you leaned your forehead on Barbatos's shoulder. "I'm okay," you whispered.

Gently, you felt yourself being moved through space and once again you were in the Demon Lord's Castle.

"Even after Tobias released you, there was still a single thread trapped in me," Barbatos said softly. "But that magic belonged to you. It was fighting to return to you. Forgive me, MC. It was difficult for your magic to move through my timescape."

"You knew that the sorcerer would show up," you said.

Barbatos smiled. "Solomon suggested that there might be such an issue with a counter curse written by the sorcerer himself. So Arsenios added an extra layer to his song that allowed me to force Tobias to set you free. It was a precaution."

You sighed, feeling heavy. "I hope that he leaves you alone now. This has been tiring."

Barbatos didn't move away, only waited for you to gather yourself, waited for you to pull away first. When you finally did, he shifted out of demon form. You could see that this situation had taken a toll on him, though he hid it well.

Barbatos smiled at you again. You could see the small hint of weariness in it. "That was quite the ordeal, I'm afraid. Shall we have some tea to calm ourselves?"

You agreed immediately.

masterpost | chapter one

chapter eight and a half | chapter ten

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[daviesroyal]

Fanfiction Update:

I know there are some cases where users can't get an account for safety or legal reasons. I'm truly sorry about that. But I'm not willing to expose my work to bad actors for exploitation just to potentially reach a few people.

I'm tired. So very tired of fending off efforts to steal work for money. Very tired of AO3 and other platforms saying "sorry, we'll do what we can within our ToS, but you gotta fight this battle on your own" and not doing anything to change and improve how they protect the creators that use their platforms in good faith.

During the lore.fm debacle (it's recently been announced that the creator is "happy to shut it down" though it's still up on the app stores. I'm waiting for the EU and other legal action already started to nuke it properly), when multiple authors were upset about their work being stolen without so much as a notice from AO3 as to what was happening, when we were talking in the r/AO3 subreddit about how AO3 hadn't made significant changes to their web security after the scrapers and bot attacks, I had a (self-declared, I didn't know how to verify and honestly wasn't willing to pick a fight about it) volunteer tell me that AO3 couldn't make those changes because they would all negatively impact the readers and "readers are just as important as authors."

(I am not going to go into a technical explanation/cybersecurity rant, suffice to say their grasp of how security measures work is... incomplete at best. They're wrong. Several measures could have been implemented with minimal impact to users overall.)

It says a lot about AO3 that they are unwilling to enhance their security to protect authors even a little bit just in case it inconveniences some readers, when this is literally how any website or software makes security decisions: you protect the most people to the best of your ability with the least amount of inconvenience. AO3 is putting convenience over protection.

The fact that a volunteer saw no issue with telling me, during all of this, that I wasn't thinking of the readers and should be making decisions about how my content is used and shared with them as a priority and shouldn't be criticizing AO3 for prioritizing the readers over the authors and their works is galling.

AO3 is supposed to be an archive, where creators can be assured their work will be safe from exploitation or censorship. If it's meant to preserve and protect works, why is it that readers are placed on equal importance? That's like saying a kid could handle the Book of Kells with sticky hands because the "reader is just as important as the author" or work.

I've not only locked my works, but also put them in an unrevealed collection. I have yet to decide whether or not I will reveal them again, or if they will eventually be taken down. AO3 as a platform (and OTW as an organization) would need to show that they're taking creators' concerns about this seriously.

This was not an easy decision for me, and I apologize to anyone out there who was waiting for an update, or marked a fic for later, or even just enjoyed rereading. I hope, one day, I'll be able to put my work up again without worry or fear.

[nugatorysheep]

Short answer:

1. Join WTL's server (it's public!) then show some ID / your "after dark" account and learn to be cool with a lotta shit real quick

or

2. ask very nicely for an invite to Gaudess's Stevencest server and learn to be cool with a lot of shit real quick

Not sure where the idea of a "private" NSFW server is coming from...? I have a private server but that's for like. my friends. And I don't really post NSFW in it as the main purpose lmao it's to plot details of my AU and yap about random shit with other AU creators

Long answer:

I've gone through a few different ways of handling NSFW in WTL's server since unlike Gaudess's server the link is public. It used to be that as long as you had the "Adult" role you could easily grab NSFW and DD via reaction roles, but since minors would lie about their age (even with the threat of a ban) I decided to change it

A few months ago I made it so that there were four "levels" of roles and only the first could be gotten with a reaction role, and it just let you be a "lurker" in the basic NSFW channels. You could look, but no talking, Any other roles you needed to verify with an ID or an after dark account to get and even then they were handed out on a case-by-case basis. This way even if some 17 year old was trying to be sneaky the worst they could do was only look at the naughty stuff instead of talking to adults about shit that could get them and said adults in trouble

Over the last few days though, due to some ✨shenanigans✨ on the greater wide web, I'm thinking about retiring the NSFW Lurker role and just forcing anyone who wants to see those channels to verify first. Currently you can see the channels existence as a Lurker but the message history is hidden. While I'd love to let people regulate themselves there's just too many bad apples ruining it for everyone else

Genuinely, if you want to see my explicit art you just gotta grow a pair and ask for it with your whole chest XD. at this point trying to be all FreaksAnonymous about it is a red flag to me lmao

[p5x-theories]

I might be a dummy but im still not sure how the Magatsushin site works even after reading the post about it.

From what I got the website its not too different from the phansite, but people are also allowed to put videos and photos, and thus the posts are about 'evil' people that get called 'phantoms'

But beside that im a bit stuck; is the consequence of being there just public shunning (cancelled on twitter lmao) or is there something more cognitive going on? Like what if a lot of people call someone innocent a phantom? Do their cognition change and start to act 'evil' for real?

Asking because from what I got its the "equivalent" of mental shutdowns, and thus must be someone big behind it

My understanding of the Magatsushin site is this: it started from the beginning with the intention of posting and sharing information about "phantoms", which Magatsukami defined as "a person who causes trouble for others" without strictly being illegal. It sounds like Magatsukami directly filmed and posted these videos at first, but at some point (maybe even from the start) also had submissions open for others to post, as long as they made an account.

Because of this, and especially as the website became more popular, people started posting a much wider range of troublemakers, including videos of themselves in an attempt to become famous that way. Even when people started posting videos of genuinely illegal things, the police didn't really act, because then they'd be obligated to investigate every case there, and possibly also didn't have the energy to care due to the general lack of desires.

The most important phantoms are the "confirmed" ones, which are verified by Magatsukami themself, though no one but Magatsukami really knows what the criteria for confirmation is. However, we know that Kiuchi, Miyazawa, and Katayama are/were all confirmed phantoms, and Miyazawa was talking on the phone with someone who seemed to essentially want Miyazawa to find/create a new phantom to be confirmed, possibly indicating a "confirmed" phantom has some kind of role to fulfill?

This might be obvious, and maybe you're just saying it's "not too different from the phansite" in terms of equivalent roles, but just so you're on the same page with how I've been thinking about it, the key differences from the phansite are that Magatsushin: 1) as far as we know, was not created to address problems (unlike the phansite, where the expectation was that the PT might help you with the issue), but rather just to document them, 2) is not run with any connection to the PT themselves (again, as far as we know, since Magatsukami's identity is unknown), and 3) seems to be tied to something at best neutral, but at worst malicious, considering the hints we have about the "confirmation" process, and the pattern of confirmed phantoms being Palace rulers.

As for your question about consequences, the fact is that we're only in the third chapter of the game, so a lot of this still isn't clear. There was a lot that the PT didn't know about the mental shutdowns while working on Kaneshiro/Futaba's Palaces, if you recall, and information mostly came in bits and pieces!

What seems to be the case, at least right now, is that a normal, unconfirmed phantom doesn't seem to have any inherent consequences in the Metaverse. Confirmed phantoms, on the other hand, seem to always be Palace rulers (whether Magatsukami is aware of this, or confirming them through some other means). However, the social consequences here shouldn't be brushed off; besides the fact that having a phantom on your staff can be a PR issue that an institution or business may need to deal with (as indicated by Katayama's treatment), because Mementos is shaped by the public's cognition, it's possible that popular belief that someone is a "bad person" because they're a phantom could actually influence the Metaverse, as we've seen cognition do before. And due to the treatment that popular (even if unconfirmed) phantoms get, it's possible it could cause them to form a Shadow anyway, even if that's not a forced consequence inherent to being a phantom.

If that makes sense? Basically, I don't know if being posted on Magatsushin and recognized as a phantom itself does anything, but the social response to phantoms might have important Metaverse consequences anyway. A large enough portion of the public believing something can be very dangerous in a world that's literally shaped by their beliefs.

So in your example, "Like what if a lot of people call someone innocent a phantom? Do their cognition change and start to act 'evil' for real?", as far as I know right now, an innocent person simply being posted as a phantom doesn't do anything. But if they get popular as a phantom, the reaction of other people around them and in public may change. And this could push their own desires to warp, leading to a Shadow, or may even led to their desires being stolen, which is similar to a very slow mental shutdown in terms of consequences.

This gets into my personal theories, but this could be especially true if Magatsukami themself is a Palace ruler- it may be that people becoming popular as phantoms on their site is what allows Magatsukami to steal their desires. It seems like indulging what makes them a phantom is how Palace rulers steal desires- Kiuchi assaulting Tomoko led to her desires being stolen, and Miyazawa attacking restaurants like Toraiken and Ashouken led to Yamagoshi and Masa's desires being stolen. Katayama's a stranger case, for a lot of reasons, but we know that Akashi targeting her has allowed him to steal her desires, as well, whether Akashi's a phantom or not. So Magatsushin, as a whole, may actually be a scheme to steal desires, even if Magatsukami isn't consciously aware of the Metaverse and is only acting on their own distorted desires by running it. So in that case, "phantoms" might actually all be victims of Magatsukami, and "confirmed phantoms" are the ones that instead get to steal desires from others.

I'm not sure if that theory works out 100% perfectly, but it's the kind of thing that's floating around in my head right now. I think the public's lack of desires, and the theft of desires going on, is a bit more equivalent to the mental shutdowns than the phantoms themselves are, but it's all interconnected, and we don't have the full bigger picture here yet. But I hope that helps at least give you a better grasp on what we do know, and a few possibilities for what it could mean?

[museenkuss]

Hello! 🎀

I just read your thoughts on the pretty privilege as well as the tags mentioning the American mindset. I might be off topic a bit but it reminded me of a thought I had a while ago - it often seems that Americans (those I’ve seen online at least) are somewhat striving towards a general and sometimes uniform “prettiness”, whether it be because of the privilege it gives or not. All the heatless or elaborate hairstyles (the attention to hair is the biggest thing here I think) and everyday makeup, jumping on trends (like the stanley cups) way more than we do in Europe. None of this is bad of course but I’ve never seen it on such a big scale outside of the US. Even when browsing European influencers’ accounts they usually seem to just leave their hair as it is and let themselves be themselves instead of part of almost identical group of pretty girls with voluminous curls, long lashes and water bottles in hand.

What are your thoughts on this? Your posts are always interesting to read 😌 (If I’ve ventured too far off the topic of pretty privilege I apologise, the tags emboldened me to share my observation)

Hi!!!🌹🌹

This is a really interesting point. I was thinking about it a lot, because I do remember a certain look at my school when I was a teen (tank top with lace under a grey/black/blue cardigan, dark skinny jeans, Pearl earrings, straight hair in a ponytail. An army of conservative housewives…). But I don’t remember the “people rushing into a store to buy out a cup” mentality, nor do I see it these days.

So maybe I would say I do think there are uniform ideas of pretty here, too, down to “pretty girl uniforms”. That’s a topic I’m really fascinated by, I highly believe that you can DRESS in a way that will make you attractive by proxy because it’s what “attractive people” wear. However, I think this standard can vary depending on where you are — for example the pretty girl uniform at MY school would fall flat completely at another school. Just like fake lashes, fake lips, fake tan and lots of beige and pastels might be the rage in the US, but in Europe the beauty standards are different (as much as social media is trying to erase any non-US look). However, I was searching my mind and realised I simply know too little about influencers to really verify that claim. I think a problem that might contribute to the uniform standards of beauty in and outside of the US is the “aestheticisation” of things. Pilates being an aesthetic, reading or gardening or tomatoes all being an aesthetic that comes with a full on dress code. That’s also probably most prevalent around teenagers who haven’t settled in their identity just yet and thus are more likely to cling to a “package deal” (“I like reading, so I’ll dress like a reader”). But also humans ARE pack animals, so maybe this uniformity in some way also gives us a feeling of security? The need to belong never fully goes away, after all.

But then again, to return to the other point: I definitely agree that the strange aggression the USAmericans have when it comes to those trends seems not to be this prevalent here. The “craze” for something. Cups, eyeshadow palettes, bags… I just don’t see it much over here. So I’m conflicted. I do think the attitudes can be more relaxed, but I do assume that there are still beauty standards — maybe we just don’t notice them as much because we’re more involved in them? In contrast, we see the US influencers and THEIR pretty girl uniform from the outside.

Thank you so much for your ask aHH!! It definitely wasn’t off topic, it was super interesting :’)!! I feel like I got a little sidetracked in the middle there haha but this is really fascinating. I can already tell I’ll be turning it in my head for the next few days. Thank you!!! :D

[omegaprotocol]

Hailey Is Fired

Hailey is in a suit and tie with a clipboard in her hand, she has a checklist that is mostly finished, but the last point is still unchecked. It says ‘impress agent Roland so much he pays me more money than I know what to do with, and get a nobel peace prize’. Next to the checklist is a hand drawing of herself with sunglasses and finger guns. She smiles, satisfied from her work and glances at a door inside of her lab labeled ‘Omega Protocol’. She puts the clipboard down with a sigh of anticipation.

“Don’t overthink it, let your work speak for itself.” The front doorbell rings and Hailey waits for a moment. Is answering it right now too early? I don’t want them thinking I was just standing in front of the door. But I don’t want to wait too long either, plus I am just sitting in front of the door. The doorbell rings a second time.

“Oh shit.” She opens the door quickly. On the other side are four Government officials in suits and ties with black sunglasses. The man in front takes his glasses off and puts them into his pocket.

“Good evening Dr. O’hara, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” The fake smile the man puts on is poisonous.

“Afternoon Mr. Roland, how has your day been?”

“I’d rather skip formalities if that’s alright, we have a quick form for you to sign verifying that we did a progress report with you.” There is a long pause, Rolands smile fades away and he hits one of the lackeys behind him.

“Oh, sorry boss.” The goon behind Roland gives a clipboard with a document on it to Hailey.

“Oh, yes, of course.” She takes out a blue pen and begins to sign the document. “I think you will be very happy to see my progress. I have found solutions for our “unique problem” and have finished all of my projects a month before the deadline and all systems are fully operational. If you wanted, I could have them installed for homeland security by the end of the year.” Roland is pacing around the lab looking at the notes and research around the room with an unsatisfied face.

“That is wonderful news, but as you may remember, our last visit was not what our team was hoping for. We gave you some notes to work on?”

“Yes! I read through the extensive documents you gave me and was a little confused. The threat you described in your letter seems like a very serious threat and I didn’t agree that the solution was a bigger bomb or better weapons. If the target is as smart as you say they are then there are bound to counter measures that we can’t account for so I made-” Roland puts his hand up to cut Hailey off

“The American government isn’t paying you to theorize, we requested a targeting system.” Hailey looks at him annoyed at the interruption.

“According to the brief, the target could have shields to block targeting systems, so I didn’t build that. I made something that can think for itself and solve problems. Firstly I made an anti-aerial defense system AI, it can establish unidentified flying aircraft and missiles in seconds and dispense measures to neutralize a vast number of threats from explosives to EMPs.”

“How far can it fire?

“Um, it wasn’t made to launch anything, it was only built for defensive measures…” Hailey feels the air in the room grow still so she perks up. “However it can reach across the entire continental US so only one system will be needed to defend the entire nation saving on precious tax dollars. Plus when defending other countries you would not need to build very many to cover the globe.”

“Money is no object Dr. O’hara. And the US isn’t defending the whole world. Show us what else you got.” Hailey gives him a puzzled look.

“The target is clearly capable of total annihilation. Shouldn’t this technology save everyone?”

“Everyone doesn’t vote in elections. Continue your presentation.” Hailey begins to realize that the language of a ‘global defense system’ in the grant she was given was clearly just talk.

“I also have made an AI that was built to be launched into space via satellite and scout the surrounding area for any anomalies in space. The scanning range is large enough that it can reasonably guess what is going on in our whole solar system in less than a year. Invaluable for looking for the target or anything else anomalous in our system.”

“What else does it do?”

“Well… it can also launch missiles to break apart asteroids.”

“Dr. O’hara, respectfully, our department isn’t interested in killing space rocks.” Hailey stops for a moment before shaking her head and firing back at Roland 

“Didn’t the brief you sent me say that you wanted a defense against threats off planet?” Roland hesitates, clearly not wanting to answer the question.

“Yes, it did”

“And didn’t it say that the system needed to be able to protect itself from unknown and unrecognizable threats?” Hailey’s voice is beginning to rise from anger.

“...This is not what we had in mind.”

“I don’t think you understand what the Earth needs in order to survive “the target’s” attack.” Hailey puts dramatic emphasis on ‘the target’ with finger quotes. She begins to believe that homeland security doesn’t even know who ‘the target’ is.

“The US has given you all the information you need about the target. if you are incapable-” This time Hailey raises her hand to cut off Roland.

“I am capable. The brief was vague at best, so to compensate for the lack of information I had I built something that can learn and protect us itself.” There is a long pause, until finally Roland puts his sunglasses back on.

“Dr. O’hara, the US government is unhappy with the progress you made and we are pulling out from the grant we offered you.”

“Wait what? You can’t do this! I’ve built everything you asked for and I still have one more project-” Hailey’s eyes dart to the door labeled Omega Protocol. Roland interrupts her again.

“And the government will be happy to review all your work on AI and national defense at a later date, but you are now off the project. Thank you for your time but we are taking it from here.” There is a beat before Roland rolls his eyes. “That means pack up the stuff! The three other government agents jump up and begin quickly taking papers and blueprints off the desk and walls and filing them in boxes.

“What, no you can’t do this. I slaved away this whole time, being on your beck and call for months. This is my research and my lab. All of this tech belongs to me.” Hailey grabs Roland's arm to stop him from picking up a piece of tech. The item Roland is holding falls to the ground and breaks into several pieces. He pushes Hailey off his arm. Roland begins to lose his proper facade and lets his true colors show through the black and white suit.

“According to the contract you just signed, this whole lab belongs to the government. Your notes, your blueprints, your tech, even the building. And we are no longer going to compensate you for ending the contract early, which you agreed to by signing. Get your personal belongings and get out, the International Station of Defense would be happy to arrest you if you don’t comply.”

Hailey looks around the room and sees the other agents picking up all of her stuff. She snaps the blue pen she was holding when she realizes that she isn’t being listened to, again. She sees one agent find her TV remote and begins pointing it around like a laser gun. Hailey rolls her eyes. She knows that Omega Zero can not be used by Roland. Knowing him he would turn it against other countries, or worse.

“I understand.” She begins picking up random trinkets to fake that she is packing up her stuff. She then opens a desk drawer and grabs a silver key. One of the government agents sees it and raises an eyebrow. Hailey smiles fakely, “spare house key, haha.” The agent shrugs and looks away. Roland, satisfied with his work, leaves the room.

“I would say it was a pleasure Mrs. O’hara, but it wasn’t.”

“Doctor O’hara.” seeing the opportunity that only the stooges were left in the room, she sarcastically shouts. “Ok, I’m leaving the lab. Before I go I’m gonna grab my super secret plans in the break room and go home.” All the agents look up and quickly file out of the room towards the break room. Hailey shouts at them as they leave. “Three doors down on the left.”

Hailey quickly rushes to the Omega Protocol door and opens it. Behind the door is Omega, sitting and waiting to be called on. Omega jumps up and begins excitedly shouting.

“Hello! I am Omega Zero and I am going to protect the Earth!” Hailey quickly shushes the robot and grabs her hand.

“We need to get out of here, and we can’t let anyone know who you are and why we’re leaving.”

“Okay! How would you like me to help?” Omega whispers.

“You need a disguise.” Hailey ignores Omega’s offer and puts her lab coat around Omega and her flatbill hat with a picture of a cow on it for the local sports team. She takes a step back to look at Omega who is smiling and excited. “This isn’t going to work.”

“I believe in us!”

Both of them begin walking throughout the facility breezing past agents. Hailey is keeping her head down and not talking to anyone while Omega is skipping down the hallways waving at agents as they pass. The agents wave back happily and some even say hello. They get all the way to the front door before one of the agents shouts at them.

“Hey, Hold on one minute!” Omega turns around immediately and Hailey slowly turns to the agent. The agent looks intensely, as if studying them for anything suspicious. After a brief moment, he gets a smile on his face. “How about the Dairy Cows right? Crazy game they had yesterday.”

“Oh yea, haha what a game.” Hailey says as she practically runs out the door.

The agent puts his hand up on his head making them look like horns. Omega returns the gesture then uses her rocket shoes to fly after Hailey outside. The agent turns around as she flys out the door totally oblivious.

Hailey and Omega are now sitting in Hailey’s car, and Hailey looks determined and she starts the car. Omega looks out the windows, at the new city around her.

“Wow, I have never been outside the lab before! It is exactly how I imagined it. Where are we going now Dr. Hailey?”

“I need to find a place to hide you and lay low while I figure things out. Ugh, where am I going to find someone who would be willing to hide a six foot super AI!” 

“Maybe we could go to Jason’s house to return his hat! Maybe he misses it.”

Hailey isn’t listening at all and is lost in thought until she sees Omega's hat. On the back of the hat is a tag with the name Jason written in blue marker. “Perfect.” Hailey smiles as they both drive off the facility.