#by the time I was done I kind of exhausted

[brain-rot-express]

Me @ my history paper right now

at least life wants to fuck me

[purpledemonlilyposting]

I also kind of want to address people being mad at me for "wanting Lily to still have a platform". No it isn't to make money off her, ever since the I Wani Hug That Gator streams lead to me becoming the "unofficial official voice of Olivia" I think I've proven people come to my channel for me.

And there's a few things you gotta understand about me: I'm autistic, I've lived with a severe anxiety disorder my entire life, and I'm a staunch utilitarian secular humanist.

For my cognitive and mental issues I have a system of thought, logic and control in place to regulate these things. I have to adopt certain disciplined modes of behavior to keep my anxiety and anger issues under tight control and in order to avoid the magical thinking that often accompanies autism. This coupled with medication and copious amounts of cannabis is what makes a Sai.

Yes on the surface and when I perform on stream I'm a ha ha funny goofy goober. I'd love to actually be able to be that carefree all the time.

I don't usually get into politics or social philosophy because that's just not what my platform is for and I don't think I have the knowledge or expertise to speak on it at length. But when it comes to my principles my goal is always to apply them evenly. I fiercely believe you can't bend your ethics just because you don't like someone or find their actions reprehensible. Even the worst criminal in the world still needs to be given a fair trial in our justice system and a defense lawyer. If we want a governing or social system to work it has to be consistent.

And I want to be consistent in my belief that robbing someone of an income over personal issues with them is wrong. That's a terrible precedent to set.

However, once Lily copyright struck Anthony and I it was basically out of my hands. She had done and continued to do something that could get her channel terminated. That would be on her and not on me. He and I have tirelessly exhausted every avenue we could to try and get YouTube to investigate her. These things aren't going to happen overnight if they happen at all.

[gothamite-rambler]

If Odysseus was luckily bestowed demigod status after he died

And knowing he could easily take on Poseidon, Odysseus took the time to mess with him even more. After all, he was related to Hermes, the god of mischief. No one stopped Odysseus because he was kind of warranted this after the insanity he went through to get home.

Poseidon, Hades, Ares, Odysseus, Zeus, and Hera were having brunch together. Hera brought over another stack of pancakes for the group.

Hera: Ody, enjoy the brunch, but is Penelope not joining us today?

Odysseus: She's exhausted from last night, but she does love your cooking.

Hera: And I love her and you because you're a good man who doesn’t cheat on his wife.

Hera glared at Zeus before sitting down next to him.

Poseidon (scoffing): You act like he’s a hero.

Zeus: Not this again.

Odysseus: Let him whine again; he's still hurt that I wounded him with his own weapon.

Odysseus smirked, relishing the chaos he was stirring.

Poseidon (frustrated): At night, I can still feel the trident in my chest, puncturing my organs.

Odysseus (mocking tone): Oh boo freaking hoo. I made more use of it than you ever did, fucking idiot.

Poseidon (defensive): Hey, I’ve done serious damage to mortals, taken down fleets, made men fear me, and used the water as my body to do all of that! I am tough as steel! One human man was never an issue to me!

Odysseus (smirking): All I remember is you begging me to stop while I stabbed you with your own weapon. Then you thought you won our battle by making me a monster like you. I wanted to get home, you got upset because I didn't kill the son that from my new knowledge you never visited. Whatever makes you happy though.

Poseidon: You've heard legends about my strength and power!

Odysseus (after finishing his tea): Then I saw that you are powerful and have small penis energy and had to one up a human man. You know, like bitches do.

Poseidon (angry): I could dropkick your ass right now I don't care if other people are here! I don't give a fuck!

Odysseus (grinning): I can definitely beat your ass now as well. Want to test that theory?

Ares (intervening, amused): Uncle Poseidon, stop before he uses someone else's godly weapon on you.

Odysseus (snickering): You think he'd cry this time?

Poseidon (shouting): Okay, why is he here?!

Ares (nonchalant): Hey, leave my great-nephew alone. I invited him over for brunch.

Poseidon (exasperated): He’s not welcome here! I want him out of this brunch now!

Ares took a quick sip from his tea cup then placed it back down on the saucer. He was a God of War, but not lacking in good taste when it came to tea.

Ares (maintaining his composure): Those who want him to stay, raise your hands.

Ares, Hades, Zeus, and even Hera raised their hands causing Poseidon to shake with rage as the tides outside matched his enraged energy.

Ares (with a satisfied grin): You've been outvoted, unc. Sit down and eat your pancakes. You can fight him afterwards.

Odysseus chuckled, snatching a pancake off Poseidon's plate. The God of the Tides stood up and stomped out of the room in frustration.

Poseidon: I will be waiting outside!

With that, he left in a huff, the rage causing the tides outside to churn wildly for a few moments.

Odysseus (chuckling, mischievous): I'm glad that you welcomed me and my family to Olympus. This has been a fun time so far.

Zeus (pleased): Yeah, we all enjoy your company, and it's only been a year so far.

Hades (with a bemused expression): Honestly, anyone who makes either of my brothers this mad is always hilarious to me. Poseidon has a serious grudge against you, and it's been a long time since that last happened.

Zeus (shaking his head, incredulous): I can't imagine being that petty and holding a grudge for so long.

Ares (rolling his eyes): Dad, even I know that's a lie.

[lets-play-our-game]

Old Spidey, New City

I just came to my senses

Peter looked around groggily, taking in his surroundings. He was laying supine on a flat rooftop, several other building towering over him, the sight of huge digital billboards flashing brightly, incomprehensively, around him..

He had hit the ground, - Roof? - hard, and while the city around him was blindingly bright, he was sure it had been daylight he had seen before passing out. Either way, it was a dark sky that shone above him now, with just as many stars as he was use to (which was close to none on a good night)

In fact, he wasn’t even sure the spell had worked, it still looked like his city, but Strange wouldn’t have left him unconscious on a rooftop. They were both assholes, but not that kind. Not “cast a spell but fuck off before the other person realised it didn’t work” kind of asshole. Peter certainly wouldn’t have hurt him if it hadn’t, Strange had been upfront about the chances.

Must have worked then.

I live in another dimension

Fuck! It worked.

At least, the jump did. Time and research would show if this was the right universe. Had to make sure there wasn’t already a Peter Parker in this one, that mutants existed and he wouldn’t be dissected the first chance the government got, that superhero was still a job he could avoid signing up for..

Regardless, he was out of the old one, and his family would be safe.

Just, without him.

Peter stood and released a deep breath.

Fear is nonexistent

There was nothing he could do now, just hope the doctor could carry out the rest of the plan. He’d done his part.

Peter pulled his mask down over his face, whatever emotions he was showing gone from view, grabbed his small pack from where it had landed, and stepped to the edge of the roof.

*thwip*

Suit up and swing through the city

He swung high, avoiding lit windows and people out of their balconies. He was tired. So, bone dead tired and a fight was the last thing he was itching for. He knew a few good spots to crash in his old city, but who knew if they existed here.

As spiderman swung, he slowly became aware of the differences between the two cities. The ads were different for one, and what few brands recognised seemed to have picked different colours. Coke-a-cola had radioactive-orange packaging. He was not looking forward to a neon christmas, if that was a thing here.

Police lights were still red and blue, but the siren was different. That was hardly a surprise.

The biggest difference, and he almost fell out of the sky when he finally noticed it, was all the cars drove on the wrong side of the road.

“What the fuck..” He perched on the side of a building and watched the traffic, letting his camo take hold and blending in with the concrete he gripped to.

He shook himself free after a few minutes and swung on.

He was so fucking tired.

Annihilate, I’m wide awake Be very afraid

He found a rooftop that even in this universe didn’t have stairwell access, internal or external, which was perfect. He threw down his small bag, which contained little more than a change of civilian clothes, a few snack bars and a one or two mementos, onto the dirty concrete.

I’m in my own world give me space

Exhausted, he lay down, the bag as a make-shift pillow, and stared up at the sky, letting the noises of his new city, his new life, surround him.

Tomorrow, he might go looking for a better bed, food, a job maybe, hopefully a shower

Tonight - he just needed to get some fucking sleep.

I’m in my own universe give me space..

[ramblinscramblin]

May I request scout and demo (and maybe heavy if you want) with a ftm reader??? It can be any scenario NSFW, sfw idc. I'm hungry and I need food 😭 (you don't gotta do this btw just a little thought ♥️)

-‼️

→With a FTM reader!

Genre: slice of life, fluff! Male reader!

Characters: Scout, Demo, Heavy

Of COURSE I will write this. Relationship left pretty ambiguous. Hope you enjoy! Thank you again for the ask!

Scout

Scout definitely doesn’t realize without you spelling it out for him, no matter how “feminine” you may present.

Asks A LOT of questions, borders on invasive, but is just genuinely pretty confused and intrigued about it.

“So… wait, you were born a chick, but now you’re a guy? How’s dat work?”

“Scout, we have been over this. Literally ten times,” you say, exasperated.

After the initial long and honestly exhausting conversation, the two of you feel closer for it. He’s secretly sentimental as hell, so he appreciates you telling him so much, like it genuinely makes him feel so trusted.

When you come out to him, the support is not instant, as he tends to show these kinds of things in really covert ways, he doesn’t want anyone knowing he has a big heart.

But the second someone says something out of line that is when his support is the most apparent. Always corrects someone when they misgender you, but if they continue after he corrects them? Buddy, it’s over.

You tell scout you appreciate it, but you can stand up for yourself. He’s not really having it though, too hot headed to let it go.

Genuinely forgets your trans at time.

“Why don’t you ever use the urinals? S’weird,” the commented once as you left the bathroom together.

“Scout.”

“What?” He blinked at you dumbly for a few seconds, before realization dawns on him “oh shit! Dats right, sorry.”

He’s trying his best.

Demoman

Demo is part of team “not really my business so it doesn’t affect me”

As in it doesn’t really affect the way that he feels about you, or the way he treats you.

Doesn’t ask any questions unless it’s clear to him it’s something you’d like to talk about.

Depending on closeness he may even feel confident in making some jokes about it. Only if you find them funny though, absolutely wouldn’t do it if made you upset/uncomfortable.

Is big into giving you male experiences that you may have missed out on, mostly cliché and stereotypical things, some of which you have probably definitely done before.

“Demo, I think we’re a little too old to be playing trains right now,” you say, holding a train in your hand.

“Fine then, I’ll just clean it up then,” Demo said with a huff.

You stop him “well… I didn’t say that.”

Let’s you speak for yourself in most settings, but if you ever express your discomfort in a situation he won’t hesitate to remove you from it/remove the person causing this discomfort.

Doesn’t make a huge scene, will take the blame for you saying it’s him who’s got a problem.

Demo supports you when you need it, encourages you through your medical transition if you choose to do so/if you haven’t already.

Alternatively, reassures you that you’re not less of a man for not having surgeries or using HRT if you choose not to.

I honestly believe that Demo has been around a lot of queer people, he’s the world’s best trans ally.

Heavy

Heavy, like Scout has a lot of questions when you come out. Isn’t nearly as invasive and holds back anything that he thinks may make you uncomfortable.

It doesn’t change how he views you, thinks of you as man no matter what.

Really appreciates that he’s someone you trust enough to tell, even if he doesn’t fully get it, he understands that it can be a nerve wracking thing to talk about.

Recommends medic if you want to have any surgeries done, respectfully you decline. Fearing for the rest of your organs well being.

Heavy does a lot of reading to ensure he gets things right, but only brings up your transness if you do.

Loves hearing about your trans experience if you tell him about it, will listen intently taking mental notes.

Doesn’t feel the need to protect you, you’re a grown man who handled himself perfectly fine without him. But, like Demo, if he feels you getting a little out of your depth all he really has to do is come stand behind you.

Gender affirming nicknames, always. I feel like Heavy is big into nicknames some of his favorite for you is “big man” “guy” “handsome” if he’s feeling bold.

“How is the big man today,” he asked coming up to you one day.

You chuckle a little bit “it really should be me asking you that.”

Being with Heavy is a testosterone booster, just enjoy being masculine together.

OOOOO I LOVED WRITING THIS SO MUCH. I may revisit this idea later and add more of the mercs, for now I have more asks to get to! Thanks so much for the ask! (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Azerbajian GP Weekend Part 2

Masterlist

The engine hummed beneath me, a steady rhythm that barely masked the tension coiling in my chest. Halfway through the Azerbaijan Grand Prix, I was still holding P10. A solid position, but I couldn’t help the restless fire burning in my veins. The car felt good—responsive, nimble—but it wasn’t enough. Not for me. Not when I had to prove so much more than the others ever expected.

Santino’s words echoed in my mind like an unbearable buzz. I’d barely had a chance to catch my breath from the barrage of rumors swirling around me when his latest attempt to undermine me dropped like a bomb. Santino Ferrucci, a man who had never seen the value in anyone else unless it served him, was now playing his cards to feed the gossip machine. The same ex-teammate who’d made it clear from the moment I stepped into the F2 paddock that he wanted nothing to do with me. The same guy who didn’t even give me the chance to prove myself before deciding I was nothing more than a distraction. Now, somehow, he had the media eating out of his hand, painting me as some kind of problem child, someone who didn’t belong.

I gripped the steering wheel, teeth clenched, my eyes narrowing as I weaved through the unforgiving turns of the Baku City Circuit. The whispers—those rumors—were becoming louder and louder in the background of my mind. The media. The drivers. My ex-teammate. They all thought they could write my story for me, that they could decide my worth before I ever had a chance to prove myself.

But they were wrong.

I could feel the heat rising in me. The pressure to be perfect. To show them all that I was more than just a headline. That I was more than Santino’s petty attempts to tear me down. He didn’t know half of it. Didn’t understand how hard I’d worked, how much I’d sacrificed, or what I had to overcome just to be here. Every inch of my success had been earned, fought for—not given. And I wasn’t about to let a jealous ex-teammate or a handful of shallow opinions take that away from me.

As I entered the DRS zone, I could see the cars ahead of me, their tail lights glowing like targets. I knew I had to stay focused. Keep my head clear. If I was going to finish this race the way I wanted—no, the way I needed to—I couldn’t let their words break me.

With a snap of my fingers on the steering wheel, I activated the DRS. The rush of speed surged through me, and I pulled in on the cars ahead, inching closer to the top six. I didn’t have to look back to know that the battle for the points was heating up behind me, but I could feel the fire inside me intensifying with each lap, fueled by the hatred Santino had tried to spread.

They thought I’d fall. They thought the rumors would hold me back. They thought I couldn’t handle it.

But I was going to prove them wrong.

I floored the throttle, my mind locked in on the finish line. With every corner, every straight, I could feel the anger, the frustration, and the hunger building inside me. I wasn’t just racing against these drivers—I was racing against the world that had already counted me out. By the time I crossed the finish line, they wouldn’t just remember my name. They’d remember how hard I fought to earn my place.

P6.

It wasn’t just a position on the board. It was my victory. My revenge against the whispers, the lies, and the people who underestimated me.

And as the checkered flag waved in the distance, I knew one thing for sure: I would never, ever let anyone define me again.

The celebrations following the end of the race were a blur of cheers, high-fives, and the kind of joy that made all the hard work worth it. A smile finally returned to my face as it sunk in—I had done it. P6. I had crossed that finish line ahead of so many doubters, my heart racing with a mixture of exhaustion and triumph.

It felt surreal. After all the rumors, all the noise, all the moments of doubt—I had pushed through. And not only had I made it to the top ten, but I had also outperformed my own teammate, who had finished just behind me in P7. The pride I felt wasn’t just for the result, but for what it represented. I wasn’t just a placeholder. I wasn’t just surviving in this paddock. I was racing. I was competing. I was proving that I belonged here, every bit as much as anyone else.

Franco caught my eye across the paddock, grinning from ear to ear as he raised his fist in my direction. We’d both pushed so hard, and now, we had something to celebrate. It felt good to finally have something that belonged to me—something I had earned, without anyone’s help or approval.

I glanced over at the screen showing the final race standings, and there it was: P6. The numbers didn’t lie, and neither did my efforts. This race wasn’t just a win on the board—it was a win for everything I had fought against, everything I had pushed through. I had done more than prove myself to my team; I had proven something to myself. And that was worth celebrating.

Yet, when I finally reached the end of media pen, my smile quickly faded. I had barely stepped into the area when I saw who was waiting for me. Of course, it was him—the same interviewer who had tried to tear me down from the very beginning. The one who had asked all the probing, personal questions, pushing me to crack in front of the cameras. It wasn’t just that he had a way of twisting words; it was that he seemed to take pleasure in it.

I could see his smug expression as he adjusted his microphone, ready to ask the same pointed questions he always did. He had even been the one to interview my ex-teammate, Santino Ferrucci—the guy who had never once given me a chance to prove myself in F2, and whose lies about me had been used to fuel the worst rumors that followed me.

The thought of it was enough to make my blood simmer. I had worked my ass off to make it here, to get to this moment, and yet here I was again—staring down someone who was more interested in sensationalism than the hard work behind it all. It felt like a constant uphill battle, one I was tired of fighting, but I knew I couldn’t back down. Not now. Not when I had just shown the world what I was capable of.

I squared my shoulders, trying to push down the frustration rising in my chest. This wasn’t the time to show weakness, not with all that I had fought for hanging in the balance. 

I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure as the interviewer’s voice broke through the hum of the paddock.

“So, y/n,” he began, his tone already carrying the sharp edge I knew all too well, “there's still a lot of talk about your time away from racing. Many people are wondering why you left F2 so abruptly. Some say it was just a matter of timing, that you were simply ‘training’ for F1... but others think there’s more to the story.”

I could feel my jaw tighten as he carefully crafted his words. He wasn’t just asking for information—he was fishing, poking at a wound I wasn’t ready to reopen. I could hear the whispers in his voice, the way he implied I was hiding something.

I clenched my fists, but kept my face neutral. “I've already said this before,” I replied, my voice steady despite the rising anger bubbling beneath the surface. “I left to train. I needed to focus on becoming the best version of myself, and I made the choice to step away so I could be ready for the challenges ahead. And honestly, that’s all there is to it.”

His eyes narrowed, not buying it for a second. He pressed on, undeterred. “Right, right. But... you didn’t mention much about what happened during that time. Rumors have been circulating—specifically about your sudden departure and your reasons for being away. You see, many believe you had personal matters going on, things that weren’t exactly... racing-related. Some have even suggested your absence was tied to... other things.” He let the last part hang in the air like a threat.

I could feel the heat rising in my chest, my fists tightening into balls of anger. I could already tell where this was going, and I wasn’t going to let him drag it out. He wasn’t going to paint me as some secretive, unprofessional driver just because of his own assumptions and the garbage people like Santino had been spreading.

I stared him down, my voice cutting through the tense air. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my tone unwavering. “You can ask all the questions you want, but the truth is, you’re just speculating. And frankly, I’m tired of answering questions based on rumors. So if you’re looking for some juicy story about me, you’re not going to find it here. I’ve moved on, and so should you.”

The interviewer wasn’t backing down. He smirked, pushing further, almost daring me to break. “You know, some of these rumors have real consequences. People in the paddock have talked about you being too emotional, not cut out for this level of competition. And others... well, they wonder why you’ve clung so tightly to that turtle necklace. Surely that’s a little... odd, don’t you think?”

The words hit me like a slap in the face. He was baiting me, trying to get me to say something that would let him twist it into another story. But this time, I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. The anger that had been simmering in my gut finally boiled over.

I leaned forward, my eyes narrowing as I locked onto his smug expression. “You want to know why I wear this necklace?” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “You want to know what it means?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. “It’s because of my mother. She passed away while I was away. I had to leave everything behind because she was dying. And now she’s gone. So if you want to keep throwing insults and rumors at me, go ahead. But you don’t know what it’s like to lose someone like that. You don’t know what I went through.”

The words hung in the air like a punch to the gut. The interviewer fell silent, his expression faltering as my words sank in. The entire paddock seemed to freeze, the tension hanging thick. I didn’t care about the cameras, the microphones, or the rumors anymore. This was the truth. My truth.

I took a steadying breath, still seething with anger, and stood up. “And as for the turtles,” I continued, my voice still shaking with emotion, “they’re a reminder of her. Not because I think I’m slow, but because she loved them. Because they remind me of her strength. She was a fighter. And I’m going to keep fighting for her. So you can keep spinning your stories, but I’m done talking to you.”

With that, I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving the stunned silence in my wake. I could feel every pair of eyes on me, but I didn’t care. The interview had turned into something else entirely—a moment of truth I wasn’t about to take back.

I didn’t know if I had silenced the interviewer or just made everything worse, but I didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had taken control. And if that meant walking away from this media circus, so be it. I had nothing to prove to them anymore.

I marched into my driver’s room, desperate for some space to breathe and escape from the chaos swirling around me. The weight of everything—rumors, lies, the pain of the day—settled deep in my chest, threatening to choke me. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not now. Not here.

I paced the room, my fists clenched, trying to keep the floodgates closed. But then, just a minute or two later, I heard a knock at the door. My heart skipped a beat, and I forced myself to take a deep breath before walking over to answer it.

When I cracked the door open, I was met with the sight of Franco, flanked by Lewis and, for some reason, Charles. I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to deal with anyone right now.

Franco noticed my reluctance and offered me a softer, sad smile. It was enough to break through the anger clouding my mind.

“Please, Hermosa,” he said gently, his tone filled with concern. “Let us chat in private. Just a few minutes. Please.”

I glanced over at Lewis and Charles, who were standing behind Franco, their expressions unreadable but soft enough that I could tell they weren’t here to make things harder for me. With a sigh, I pushed the door open a little wider, stepping aside to let them in.

The moment they entered, the tension in the room seemed to lighten slightly, but it didn’t take away the knot that had formed in my stomach. I wanted nothing more than to curl up and be left alone, but I knew they were here to help—whether I liked it or not.

Charles’s voice cut through the silence in the room, surprising me. He wasn’t usually the first to speak up, but the sincerity in his words caught me off guard.

“First, I want to apologize,” he began, his expression softening. “For allowing myself to believe the rumors, even for a second. I should have known better, especially after all these years. And I’m sorry. I know I can’t fully understand what you’ve been going through, but I can relate to losing a parent before they truly got to see you succeed. It’s one of the worst feelings in the world. I may not know what it’s like to hide behind rumors to protect your pain, but I know the grief of losing someone close to you.”

His words hit harder than I expected, and I could feel the weight of his empathy in his tone. Charles smiled at me, a smile that held more vulnerability than I’d ever seen from him before.

“I want to offer you my help. I want to be someone you can turn to, someone who will listen without judgment,” he continued. “It’s definitely owed to you, after everything... after ignoring you just because of some baseless rumors.”

I didn’t know how to respond at first. My heart felt heavy with the realization that someone who had once been indifferent—if not cold—toward me, was now standing here, offering support when I needed it most. I blinked, trying to gather my thoughts before I spoke, but the sincerity of his apology left me momentarily speechless.

Franco stepped forward then, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Hermosa, you don't have to say anything right now. Just know that we're here for you, whenever you're ready."

For the first time in what felt like ages, I allowed myself to relax—if only for a moment. I was still angry. I was still hurt. But, perhaps, things were starting to change.

Lewis’s voice broke the moment of silence, his tone lighter than before. “You don’t have to worry about that interviewer anymore, by the way,” he said, his words catching me off guard.

I raised an eyebrow, confused. "What do you mean?"

Lewis smirked, leaning back slightly with a look of satisfaction in his eyes. “Well, as much as I would have loved to be the one to hand his ass back to him on a silver platter, Max beat me to it.” He chuckled, clearly amused by the turn of events. “At least we found something else to agree on.”

I couldn’t help but let out a small, surprised laugh at his casual tone. It was good to hear that Max had stood up for me again. Franco’s smile widened, clearly relieved by the lighter shift in the conversation. “Good. That man deserved it,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

I nodded slowly, taking in what they had said. Despite the chaos of the day, it was comforting to know that not everyone believed the rumors or enjoyed feeding into the drama. I appreciated their support, even if it was difficult for me to fully let go of the anger still simmering inside.

"Thanks, Lewis," I said, finally finding my voice again. Lewis shrugged nonchalantly, his grin still there. "We’ve all been there at some point. It’s about time some of the nonsense gets put to bed, don’t you think?"

I nodded, feeling a small weight lift from my chest. Suddenly, Franco let out a soft laugh and, without warning, shoved his phone into my hands. "You’ve got to see this," he said, his voice full of amusement.

I looked at him, confused for a moment, before I glanced down at the phone. Franco had already queued up a video, and my eyes went wide as I saw Max’s familiar figure step into the frame right after I had stormed off.

Max stood at the media pen, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed as he stared directly at the interviewer who had just tried to tear me down. His voice cut through the air, sharper than I had ever heard it.

“If you want to keep making up lies about someone who’s just here to race, you can keep doing that,” Max started, his tone filled with frustration. “But don’t you ever come at her like that again. It’s one thing to talk trash, but you’ve crossed a line.”

The interviewer shifted uncomfortably, but Max wasn’t done. He stepped closer, his voice growing louder with each word, making sure everyone in the vicinity could hear him.

“You’ve been digging so deep, trying to unearth some dirty little secret, but all you’ve managed to do is expose yourself for what you really are—a pathetic excuse for a journalist," Max continued, his eyes burning with anger. "You think you know the full story, but you don’t know anything about what’s going on behind the scenes. You want to judge her? Let’s talk about your pathetic need to pry into people’s lives for a cheap headline."

He paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment, giving the interviewer no room to respond.

"She's been protecting her family, dealing with a loss that most people would never understand. Her mother’s been gone for weeks now, and she’s been putting all of her energy into racing. All you’ve managed to do is twist that into something ugly. So next time you want to attack someone, maybe you should take a good look in the mirror and figure out who the real asshole is here.”

Max’s words hung in the air, silencing the crowd around him. The interviewer had no comeback, his face going pale. Max’s fierce defense had not only shut him down but had made it clear: he wasn’t going to let anyone continue to harass me without facing the consequences.

I stood there, a little in awe, feeling an unexpected warmth in my chest. Max had always been a competitor, but seeing him stand up for me like this... it was something else.

Franco let out a chuckle as I stared at the screen. "Max doesn't usually get involved in stuff like that, but... you’ve got to admit, it's nice to see him standing up for you."

I was almost speechless. Seeing Max, of all people, not just defend me but make such a statement to the media made me feel something I hadn’t expected—gratitude. I looked up at Franco, who was still grinning like a proud big brother.

“I... wow,” I muttered, still processing the video. “That’s... that’s really something.”

Franco smiled, his eyes softening as he watched me. “Told you. People are starting to see the truth.”

It was a small victory, but it felt like a step in the right direction. It was a reminder that, even in the midst of all the chaos, not everyone believed the rumors or was content to let them fly.

I exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the mix of emotions swirling inside me. "I guess maybe there's still hope for some of them, huh?"

"Absolutely," Franco said, his grin widening. "And you’ve got us. Always."

[drdemonprince]

i'd like to say sth abt the x gender marker thing. i've just started getting the paperwork done for it myself, and although its an exhausting grueling bureaucratic pricess, it's filling me w the kind of joy i last felt when i got my first hrt prescription. i know i will have constant difficulties in a system of institutions that have no official way of dealing w nonbinary identities, and i fully expect the openly white nationalist party in my country to become a significant influence in national government within the next 10 years. i also have an escape plan of sorts, but i'm fully expecting that i may be legally detransitioned again. i would still be betraying myself fundamentally and stealing joy from myself, something that i get to have very little of, if i didn't do it anyway, bc i already cannot access plenty of services including healthcare bc i'm simply too dysphoric and institutionally traumatized to show up and be misgendered. there is no such thing as stealth or passing for a nonbinary person in the society i live in, only erasure; i might as well exercise this tiny amount of power i have been given for a brief time to force them to acknowledge me as who i am. i agree that having one's gender be irrelevant to one's personhood, including legally, would be vastly preferable, but i don't see how me getting an x in my id detracts from or otherwise influences that. my government already has plenty of ways of getting lists of trans ppl if they ever want one. i may be painting a target on my back, but as far as i am concerned, it is already there bc i am already incredibly vulnerable and restricted as a trans person for whom passing or stealth is not an option. i might as well get marginalized for who and what i am and make them look me in the eye at a doctor's office while they awkwardly tell me they don't have the infrastructure to process me as a patient than cringe and stammer while i tell them that actually i'm transgender and i would prefer for them to address me as this or that while knowing damn well they just see me as a quirky woman that they may or may not humor for hashtag diversity's sake. they may still do that ofc, but for all the risks and trouble i am incurring, it also corrects the scales of institutional power just a tiny bit in my favor by giving me legal grounds to argue. i'm also terrified of the police for good reasons, but i'm more terrified of them as a misgendered and scared but not out trans person unsure if and how much to advocate for myself than i am as someone confident enough to at least get hurt for who i am, rather than for who i am not and hiding out of fear of worse punishment. i am not advocating for anyone else to do or not do the same bc it is a subjective and highly varied set of risks and rewards that must be personally evaluated, and above all i'm very aware that as a white (not us) person, for all the institutional violence i have previously endured, i would be risking far worse if i were not, but as far as i am concerned, it feels like one of the best, most powerful things i can do for myself right now is to get the damn papers even if in the worst case they end up taking them away from me again.

Thanks for sharing your experience. I remember that when I was nonbinary and not medically transitioning, I felt much the same way. I was ready to really throw myself on the pyre for the sake of just actually being seen as not the gender I had been forced to be, for once. And honestly? Nothing short of medical transition did that. All the changes to my personal style, hair, comportment, voice training, the pronoun pins, the asserting myself, the putting pronouns in my email signature, the changing my medical forms and documentation at work to make me nonbinary, none of it made what felt like any lick of difference in how i was treated, because nonbinary identities are so thoroughly erased. The ONLY thing that got people to start treating me as gender ambiguous or to they/them me was to begin to transition as a trans man and use he/him pronouns, lol. (And eventually, most people did switch over to actually gendering me correctly as a guy, tho I still do get the they/them once in a while which annoys me and it's always VERY telling who tends to do it).

I don't know your situation or if you have medically transitioned in any fashion or not, or if you even want to, and our stories are different, but all of which is to say, I know how immensely frustrating it is and how confining it is to interpreted as your assigned gender seemingly no matter what you fucking do, and that sensation of being willing to take on serious risk to be seen. if anything that was part of what tipped me over into self conceptualizing as a gender nonconforming man rather than outside the binary altogether. different risks that i chose to take on, but still, the decision to take on risk rather than be locked away inside how people saw me.

I think structural nonbinary erasure runs so deep that very few individual level actions can make a dent in it and it's maddening. Of course there's all the intersections with transmisogyny that also impact who is visible as trans and who is not and who finds themselves yearning for greater visibility and those for whom visibility is nothing but massive vulnerability that itself cannot be escaped. But I understand that you've considered everything carefully and are aware of the risks in what you're taking on, and I hope that it does mean you don't feel that confined unseen feeling anymore. Because as much as I'm qualifying things I do know how fucking awful that sensation is and how few avenues there are for doing a damn thing about it that people will take seriously.

[tunglo]

I would so love to watch/read that! Here's my own little bit of personal history with it:

I went in from Gotham after getting a human/android fic prompt based on the game (after which I ended up watching a run through on Youtube in German, a language I hadn't done more than read an occasional news article in since high school, and that was my only actual engagement with the gameplay...), fully expecting to write Hank/Connor, but I just could not deal with Cole's death. Like, it's a cornerstone of Hank's story, but I can't bear to think about losing a child. (Parenthood ruined true crime for me too. Just gotta stick my fingers in my ears and find something where everyone was an adult instead...)

But! There were a few people trying out Gavin/RK900 instead and, now I'm back on my wireplay bullshit, so I figure I'll give that a go. For ages I had been thinking about writing some Paul/MX-43 (Almost Human) fic but, you know, you've gotta get a new characterisation right, work out how an MX would *think*, etc. Here, on the other hand, I can write basically the same dynamic with little to no restrictions on how I want to characterise, backstory, etc, etc.

At the time there were only a few pages of Reed900 fics on A03, and a lot of them were quite heavy BDSM stuff that just wasn't my thing. I like my characters to be kind of sickeningly, adoringly in love with each other after the obligatory enemy stage - so RK900 would have to drop the cold characterisation that had been gaining favour.

Then I read a Hank/Connor fic (cos that was still overwhelmingly the main ship), I can't remember who by, that was genderswap with the idea that Connor's face was fixed into a polite smile and the resulting restrictions that placed on her.

That! That was the answer. RK900 just had extreme resting bitch face. He's not created to be public facing, it really doesn't matter to Cyberlife whether he can express emotion or not. The more android the better, in my book.

Re. the name. Nines was already widely used (this was late July 2018) but I didn't particularly like it. The designation was nine hundred. It was early enough that I didn't feel compelled to use it though, especially as what I wanted to write wasn't going to fit with much of the existing fic, so I shortened to RK instead.

I didn't really expect to get much response because, like I say, the 'norm' for the ship seemed to be pushing in a different direction and, more to the point, I'm essentially playing in a sandpit with OCs. But, to my delight, my Tumblr inbox quickly filled up with all kinds of prompts for me to write and I churned out nearly 200k before exhausting it and moving onto the next thing.

I was already on that when the first short film was announced, but I had to come back to watch that and the follow ups. It was so wild to see how much the general characterisation, etc, had changed since the beginning. I feel like, if he had the ability, the ruthless RK900 I started reading about would be sick at the thought of the character he became - even if I infinitely preferred it! xD

I need someone to make a 3+ hour video essay about the history Reed900

The origins, where it came from

The first art, fic, other fan content made for it

The most popular head-canons, Nines getting a name, different interpretations of the personalities

How the most agreed upon quality of Gavin Reed, loving coffee, comes from a scene, where the importance of him asking coffee is minuscule and it is not even confirmed that he even likes it, and it leading to the other super popular head-canon of him having insomnia

The mods and modding community

The most influential fics

The comics, and the shear amount of dubbed vids of them on youtube

The movie, the short film and the behind the scenes stuff for it. Neil Newbon engaging with the cast

It becoming the top DBH ship, with basically nonexistent characters

[pixeldolly]

The Sacrifice - Part 11 - The End

"How are they, Tess?"

"I've treated Roman's injuries and he's resting now. I've also given him antibiotics and painkillers, so he should be comfortable...as much as he can be, given the circumstances."

"As for Evelyn, I've done all I could for the moment, but we'll have to wait for the morning change before I can perform a full examination. Her wounds seem to be healing remarkably fast though."

"Is it because she's a werewolf?"

"Yes, although I do want to take a closer look at that bite, in case it's at risk of becoming infected. I admit I don't have any experience treating demon-inflicted wounds."

"They are prone to infection."

"I still can't wrap my head around the idea that anyone would do something like this! To their own child, no less!"

"It shocked me as well."

"You took such a risk in confronting her, Fiona! The inhabitants of the Hellplanes are not to be trifled with!"

"I'm aware of that, Dad. Would you rather I'd let Jacob and Evelyn go in there alone?"

"Of course not - what you did was very brave - but we can't help worrying. The whole thing could've gone so much worse."

"Well, it worked out fine, so you can let it go now."

It was Abby who brought the conversation back on track.

"Is Roman going to be all right?"

"Physically? Probably. He had a number of deep gashes that needed stitches, several broken bones including two ribs, a bruised lung, plus the...runes carved into his back, which will be uncomfortable for a while. Assuming there are no complications, these should heal in time."

"Mentally, it's a different matter. I'm not an expert, but I don't think the kind of trauma he's been through is something he'll be able to just shrug off. Speaking to therapist might help him."

"May we go in and see them?"

"You may, but just for a little while. Jacob is with Roman already; he hasn't left his bedside since I brought him back to the ward."

"Mr Stigfinnare is with his wife as well. He's been worried sick about her, prowling around the waiting room like a caged wolf."

"I'm surprised he didn't kick the door down."

"He might've done, if I hadn't let him in."

The trio - together with Ulf, who refused to be parted from Evelyn - gathered around Roman's bed.

Roman was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget, but he forced a smile on his face as he looked at each of the people who had risked their lives to save him.

In truth, he could hardly believe it.

"I don't know what to say. I owe you my life - no, more than my life. My soul. 'Thank you' doesn't seem like enough..."

"This is the second time I had to help save your ass, Turner! You'd better not make a habit out of it!"

Evelyn's cheerful tone helped defuse some of the tension, although Ulf kept his arm wrapped protectively around his wife. She was putting up a brave front, but he could tell she was hurting more than she was letting on. He hated it!

"It's over now."

"Maybe...maybe not."

"Fiona...? What do you mean?"

"The ritual circle carved into his back. The Nameless One may be have been banished, but those runes are magic. He's tied to the Hellplanes now."

"WHAT?!"

Roman sat up so fast that white stars burst before his eyes and his injuries flared painfully despite the medication keeping the worst of it at bay. He felt the cold panic rising like a tide.

"Are you saying it can come back?"

"Fuck. You're not, are you?"

"There are many doors between the planes, and things have a way of slipping through the cracks. That sigil is one such door; closed for the moment, but not locked."

"But you can remove it, right?! Or...render it inert, or something?"

"I...I'll do some research. Ask around."

Roman looked so crestfallen, Jacob's heart twinged in sympathy.

"Guys? Can you give us a moment, please?"

"Please try not to think about it, all right? If anything happens, my whole family are witches; they'll help. You need to focus on getting better."

Roman smiled humorlessly; it was hard not to think about the interdimensional door to Hell itself he carried around on his back, but he was so very tired. Sleep beckoned, demons or no demons.

But first, there was something he needed to say to Jacob.

"I have to admit, I didn't expect you to come to my rescue. Considering how things are between us..."

"Look, just because we broke up doesn't mean I don't still lo- care about you. Besides, I didn't actually do much, it was mostly Evelyn and Fiona."

"Still. Facing down demons and witches when you're just a regular person with no special powers took guts."

"I did have an axe."

Something happened then that Roman did not expect: he burst into laughter. Which hurt, but it was worth it, and his heart felt lighter for it.

"I think I'd like to sleep now..."

"Yes, you should. I'll be back to see you in the morning."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

As Roman sank into the cottonwool depths of drug-induced sleep, a smile fluttered on his lips.

The End!

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the story!

[sarifinasnightmare]

VENARARE

I wrote this incredibly pissed off, so if you don't like this too much, whatever.

Rated: Mature

Summary: The Winter Soldier is a terrifying gladiator who doesn't care about the world, much less love anyone. Well we'll see about that.

The Winter Soldier was the greatest, most terrifying gladiator in the area. They say he got his name from his time as a soldier up in the north among the hairy barbarians and in the freezing cold had lost his mind and slaughtered an entire village single-handedly. When he came back to the city he still craved violence and bloodshed so he became a gladiator in order to slack his dangerous lusts.

When he appeared on the line-up people knew they were in for a show. He decimated his fellow gladiators, leaving them out cold or even dead out on the sand if the crowd didn’t protest quickly enough to spare them. If criminals needed to be offed, he’d do it cleanly, sending the head sailing before the fool even knew he was dead. The number of animals he’d killed rivaled the legendary Cop Offerus. He had even made a cloak of white wolf pelt that he’d skinned off the beast that had nearly gotten him.

In his mail skirt, greaves, the Winter Soldier wore a silver manica down his left arm that glittered ominously in the sunlight. What made him stand out from all the other strong, powerfully built Murmillo was his refusal to wear a helmet. His long hair curled around his ear, and he covered the lower half of his face. Why? Some said it was to emphasize the icy blue of his eyes, but he never explained himself to anyone. He cared about nothing and no one. He ate, slept, pissed, fought and fucked with the same expression on his face.

Since he was no slave, but a citizen and a former soldier, the ludus he called home had been obliged to pay him some share of his winnings. The lanista had at first scoffed at paying him anything, but with every successive win and his growing popularity he gladly paid him so he’d stay and not go off with another owner. That did not mean he could shirk his duties. During the observations, people would crowd, scared and intrigued as he paced around the cage like a beast looking for his next prey. Children were terrified of him, men were fascinated and the woman…it depended.

People wanted a piece of him, his sweat was highly prized, he’d been at many homes of wealthy patrons who wanted private demonstrations of his prowess, whether that was sword or cock it didn’t matter to him. Many thought that they could tame him, bring him to heel with their powers or their beauty, but he’d seen it all, done it all. They were all a bore and he plowed through them until they were little more than gasping whimpering lumps of flesh on their perfumed couches. The wives of ancient senators were his personal favorite bit of sport. There was a pleasure in knowing that while the arrogant assholes were congratulating themselves on being so superior in their lecture halls, he was in their houses fucking their wives stupid, spilling his seed into their cunts and filling them with his bastards. He knew of at least three so far. One of the women even went and brought the infant to him. Fat little thing, he wished the child well, knowing that the cuckolded husband had long desired an heir and now he had it, so he needn’t worry about it’s future. She thought she could gain his affection this way, but he wasn’t moved. Those women, those men meant nothing to him. They were the ones who craved him; he didn’t want them at all. They could all disappear, and he’d be fine. One day he’d put his sword down, collect his winnings and leave. Where? No one’s damned business.

On a hot day during a funerary tournament, amongst the sea of white, red and purple togas was the delicate splash of pink that caught his eye. The Winter Soldier had just been stopped from killing his opponent and had been basking in the light breeze that came through only to have a pink linen wrap around his ankle. He picked it up and could smell the faintly spiced fragrance. Looking around he saw a woman also in pink going to the edge of the arena in the hopes of catching her kerchief but then tugged down by her companion. She wore her veil over her braided head, but her face was unmistakable. For one she was Afri, but not a slave, a free woman, a maiden. In fact, she was amongst a small group of them. Merchant class if their clothes were any indication. Her skin was an unbroken, unblemished mahogany with a glossy shine to her cheekbones that made her look almost goddess like. Even from this distance, he could see how plump her lips were as well as the slight glimpse of snow white teeth. Fire suddenly bloomed from his loins at the sight of her.

She stared at him, noticing her linen in his hands, her fingers twitching as if aching to get it back. He stared back, wanting her to see as he brought the soft cloth to his nose to inhale her fragrance and upon finding it pleasing, he slipped it down to tuck under his skirt for safekeeping.

The maiden looked away, blushing furiously and the Winter Soldier’s lips curled slightly.

___________________---

Afterward he waited for her to appear, to ask for her linen back. Much to his disappointment, it was her companion who appeared; a blonde skinny thing, who came in with a slave and an escort. She requested the return of her friend’s linen. He refused.

“She values her chastity, and she can’t be seen in the company of…you.” She explained even as her eyes slid over him in a familiar path. “I however have no such problems seeing you…or you seeing me.”

Boring. He could make this slip of a maiden come in five minutes without even having to take his tunic off. “Then it stays with me. It smells so sweetly of its owner. Perhaps I’ll wear it as a favor during my tournaments.”

Unable to do anything else, the blonde left in a huff and the Winter Soldier sat down on a bench. He took the linen from his pouch and stroked the fabric, thinking of her and savoring the ache that she created in him.

_______________________---

Sarah was upset when her friend returned without the linen and with what he said. She heartily cursed her brother for going against their parents’ wishes and wanting to go see the gladiator tournament. As the sheltered daughter of a wealthy merchant, she’d never been allowed to see such a thing, their mother feared it would be too much for her to handle. Being stubborn and a bit rebellious, and egged on by her new friend Fabia, she decided to make her brother take them. Now because of her impulsive decision, her handkerchief was in the hands of the most dangerous gladiator in the arena!

“Why is it such a bother?” Fabia said in their shared room. “It’s just a little bit of cloth; there’s not even a mark to distinguish it as yours!”

“You don’t know my parents!” Sarah protested. “My mother is the goddess of discovery; she knows when something’s going on. She knows this color is my favorite and should your parents take my parents to the circus, and should she see that bit of pink she’ll get a feeling. Then the next thing I know she’ll pester my brother until he gives up the secret and I’m doomed!” She lays back on the couch and covers her face. “She’ll marry me off to the first fat, rich, old man in order to save my reputation!”

“Nothing a little poison in his wine can’t fix.”

“Fabia!”

The blonde shrugged. “Well if you can’t go to him, then I’ll just have to bring him to you.”

Sarah glared. “How?”

“My father is throwing a feast in honor of your father, right? So I’ll just do a little begging and insist that since us sweet little maidens can’t go to see the games if he’d hire a couple of the gladiators for a harmless exhibition to entertain the guests?”

“You can do that??”

The blonde scoffed. “I’m the only girl out of five sons and if his precious little darling wants to see the great Winter Soldier, then that’s what’s going to happen, so then while everyone is feasting, you can sneak over to him and get your linen.”

It was a crazy idea and the thought of being within reach of him made her shiver, but what else could she do? Sarah immediately agreed.

_______________________---

The Winter Soldier gave no thoughts about the party he and the rest of his companions were being sent to. It was pure entertainment, an exhibition only, so he didn’t care until he saw the older, dark-skinned matron standing next to her husband. Quicky, he saw the similar features to his pink maiden and realized that she might reside within. Now his senses were pricked, and his icy cold eyes darted around, taking in the layout as he carefully sought the slightest glimpse of her. They were taken to the slave’s quarters to prepar themselves until it was time for them to work. Some of the servant girls giggled and flirted with them and most were responsive, but not him. They weren’t the ones who shone like a black pearl in his mind.

“Where is Lady Sarah’s gown for tonight! Tell me it’s dry!” A black servant rushed in frantically.

“Here, here! Just came off the rack.” Another presented her with a folded white linen with green edges.

“Thank the heavens! She didn’t want to wear pink tonight for some reason.”

He appeared nonchalant as he listened to the little tidbits that they dropped for him. Sarah, her name is Sarah and she’ll be in a white and green dress. She’d wear no veil for the event as it was in a private residence, so he’d see the full scope of her beauty.

When they were finally taken to the grounds where he and the others would spar, he took a look around at the partygoers until he found her. She was seated next to the blonde at a small distance with the other women, but truly she shone like a pearl.

Roman men saw true beauty in pale white skin. Idiots to limit their views in such a way, because who could compare to the richness of Sarah’s dark skin? Her black hair was tressed up with cowrie shells and bits of gold. Her eyes were dark and sparkled like the night sky. She was a gorgeous, untouched beauty and his body abruptly ached with a want that nearly split him in two.

Suddenly he almost got walloped by a shield and he was forced to ignore her so as not to make a fool of himself. He wanted this fight to end quick, he didn’t care if he won or lost, he wanted to find her, go to her…

Briefly he caught a glimpse of her looking excited, the tip of her pink tongue peeking out and the frustrated rage that he couldn’t touch her made him charge against his opponent like a madman.

_____________________---

Sarah was nervous, during the mock battle the Winter Soldier fought like a beast unleashed, impressing the men and frightening the women. The other gladiators, groaning and aching were taken back to the servant’s quarters to relax, refresh and prepare in case they were wanted for other things. Now as the party continued, and the wine was being drunk to excess did she finally make her move to meet the great soldier.

Slowly one by one the Winter Soldier’s companions became otherwise occupied but no one called for him, then the black maid from earlier whistled to him and gestured for him to follow. It was time. Wordlessly he followed her. His body tightened in anticipation, he couldn’t help it and then there she was.

Sarah emerged from a darkened corner and gasped to see him suddenly less than foot away from her. He didn’t hesitate to shorten the distance between them until her back was pressed against the wall.

“Please don’t kill me, I just want my handkerchief.” She said breathlessly.

She was taller than he imagined, but that only made her more goddess like and the scent of her was sweeter than the bit of linen had implied. “I’m not going to kill you…” he touched her satin cheek with rough fingertips, “…why would I harm such perfection?”

Heat bloomed on her face and she looked down modestly. “I never knew soldiers could flatter.”

“They don’t, most are brutes who take what they want.” His thumb delicately stroked her lower lip and she shivered. The heat on her face now spread through her chest and further down her body.

“Like you did with my linen?” she managed to say softly. “I need it back.”

“You want me to give back what the gods decided was now mine?” He chided gently.

“It was the wind, not the gods.” She countered and carefully grabbed his wrist, drawing his inquisitive fingers away so she could think clearly. He was handsomer than she first thought, and those blue eyes weren’t cold, but warm, almost burning. “Please, my mother would be furious if she suspected I am here with a man…”

“I too would be furious to see you with a man.” He growled, taking her hands in his, finding her fingers long, but soft. “The thought of anyone touching you…” Dipping down he inhaled the perfume before kissing her knuckles.

He was too much, and she shuddered, overwhelmed. “Why are you so determined to keep my kerchief?”

“Because it is yours and when I touch it I feel as if I’m touching you.”

Goosebumps broke out and her heart skipped a beat. “What’s your name?”

“Hm?”

“Your name? I can’t call you soldier.”

“James.” He revealed softly.

The way he softened a bit when he revealed that to her was so charming. Perhaps he was not the beast he played to be. “If you wish to have a part of me so much then let me offer an exchange. If I give you another linen of mine, one my mother won’t recognize in exchange for the pink one, would you accept?”

The pink one had since lost its scent. “Only if given by your hands, Sarah.”

The butterflies fluttered within. She went with her maid to get the cloth and quicky returned with a soft white linen of the same size. Making sure they were still unseen she rejoined the gladiator in the darkened corner. He watched her, large and silent, as she approached him. With great tenderness she brought the linen to her lips for a gentle kiss, then offered it to him.

“As promised from my own hands to you, James.”

He bypassed the linen, grabbed her wrist and pulled her suddenly into his arms. He was a wall of muscle and heat, his blue eyes blazing into hers, catching her breathless.

“Is this linen the only way I will ever know the taste of your lips?”

“Is that all you crave?” She asked, as her hands rested over his shoulders, touching a man for the first time and finding the shape of his lips suddenly incredibly compelling.

“Sarah if I had my way I’d lay you out before that statue of Venus and teach you pleasures that send you to the stars.”

Seduced beyond understanding, she parted her lips and he claimed them, his tongue sliding in to awaken hers to this new form of pleasure. Passion scorched them to the bone as they kissed until they were panting desperately for more.

“My lady! My lady!” Her maid hissed. “Your mother’s looking for you!”

“No,” she whimpered, drawing away. “James I need to-”

“You’ve ruined me,” he growled, letting her go, but not before giving her the pink cloth back.

He watched her go, disappear back into the party full of people who’d keep her clean and pure and far away from men like him.

“Fuck you,” he said to no one in particular, then took the new white linen and pressed it to his nose, inhaling her scent.

____________________----

A fever had broken inside of him and there was no quenching it. It made him irritable and soon people gave him a wide berth. He threw himself into his battles, needing to burn the energy and when that wasn’t enough, he fucked his way through a succession of wives, leaving them gasping and bowl-legged.

But when he closed his eyes, it was Sarah on his mind and the kiss that snatched his soul and bound him to her. Sometimes he’d wake up from a nocturnal emission frustrated and full of longing.

In another part of the city Sarah was struggling with her own desires. His kiss left her aching, throbbing for more of what he promised. She wanted to see the stars, she wanted James to take her there.

“What is wrong with you?” Fabia whined as they walked through the gardens. “All you’ve done for a while is look out into the distance and sigh to yourself. Did your parents tell you something?”

“Well yes. My mother said when we go back home they’re going to start looking for a husband for me, but I knew that would happen soon…It’s just…I think of him…”

“Him?? There’s a him??” The blonde grinned and embraced her excitedly. “Who is it? How did you even meet him?”

Sarah hesitated for a moment. “It’s the Winter Soldier…when I asked for the linen back we spoke…and he kissed me.”

“You kissed the most terrifying gladiator in all of Rome! Sarah you’re mad!”

“He’s not terrible. He’s not terrible at all…Oh Fabia the feelings I’ve had in my stomach, in my heart…”

She clicked her tongue in sympathy. “Oh Sarah, Cupid has struck you.”

“I wonder if he feels the same? It’s been weeks.” She looked over the walls in the direction of the coliseum.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Fabia smiled cunningly.

“Fabia you’re insane!” She guessed.

“Do you wish to see him? Then be brave! True lovers will risk anything.”

Sarah was frightened of the consequences of her parents’ wrath, but the temptation was too strong, and she acquiesced.

___________________---

The Winter Soldier sat at the bench, thoughtfully chewing on his bread, ignoring the crowd that watched him and the other gladiators feast before their fight. He heard in the distance men shout their bets and exchange coins. He knew many were putting money on him, confident in his win. He thought of his share of the money, which has grown considerably.

A pebble suddenly landed on his plate. He looked over, irritated until he noticed it was Sarah’s maid. Realizing what that meant, his gaze darted around until he spotted her. She was escorted, an umbrella covering her from the sun, her veil properly in place, but it was her unmistakably. She came to see him but dared not approach, not with all the other gawkers. Her eyes moved around him, seeking. He pulled out the white linen kerchief and she smiled sweetly. She tapped her chest three times and pointed at him; her heart was glad to see him.

“My mistress wants to see you-” Suddenly one of the spectators tried to take liberties with the maid. Furious he grabbed him by his garment and yanked him violently against the steel bars. The fool fell into a heap, and everyone gave him a wide berth. Before the coliseum guards could pull him away, he listened to the maid finish. “-tonight by the west gate of your ludus.”

As the guards yanked him away he looked Sarah in the eyes and nodded.

_________________------

The whole day was torture for him. He’d fought like a god, knowing that the end of the day he would see his goddess again. The west gate of the ludus was least watched, mostly because it led to nowhere, only thick brush and rocky hills. However they were still locked and bars were solid, yet that didn’t diminish their reunion.

Sarah wore a black cloak, her maid and guard at a safe distance keeping watch, so they didn’t stop them as they kissed between the iron bars. The Winter Soldier was desperate to wrap his arms around her waist and pulled her as tight as the barriers allowed. Sarah cupped his dear face and kissed him fiercely.

“One kiss and I’m yours, James. What have you done to me?” She panted.

“Say it to me again. Tell me you’re mine, Sarah.” He commanded, his hands caressing, seeking.

He found her breasts and cupped them, making her hard little peaks bloom with desire. “I want to be yours, I dream of being yours.”

“The way I’ve starved for you. The way I’ve suffered from the lack of you.” He replied, “No woman nor man has tortured me as you have.”

The primal urge surged throughout her body, begging her to shed her clothes and let it fulfill it’s sacred duty with this man. “I want you to take me to the stars, James. Take me there before my husband does.”

The words stopped him dead. “Husband?”

“My family is leaving in a few weeks.” She revealed softly. “They plan to find me a husband.”

No, no! Is this a cruel joke by Venus to present a woman that finally awakened his soul only to snatch her away and give her to some pompous idiot who would only see her as a broodmare?

“I will go mad.” He said gruffly.

“And I will yearn for you for the rest of my days.” She replied. “Please.”

He could not deny her. “Send your maid to me in three days. I will tell her where we shall meet.”

____________________-----

The three days felt like years to Sarah, but she quietly prepared for their eventual joining. Fabia smuggled in oils and perfumes, helped her groom herself and arranged her clothes. Her mother noticed the change and commented on it.

“Fabia was showing me some new cosmetics.” she said shyly. “Do you like it?”

“It’s different, but it makes me think of what we’ll plan for when you get married. I’ve already ordered some new fabrics for dresses and ordered some stones…”

“Do you think I’ll be married off so fast, Mama? Or is that you want me to go?”

Her mother looked sad. “No! No, my darling it’s just…the relatives think we’ve been holding onto you for too long and that all this traveling will leave you restless and open to mischief. Don’t worry, I won’t have you given away so quickly. We will make sure your husband is a good man who will take good care of you, I promise.”

“And if I fall in love, Mama?”

“Then we will make sure he is worthy of that love.” She promised as well.

That night Sarah thought of her mother and her promise, but it didn’t dissuade her. With maid and guard beside her, she stole into the Roman night to meet with her true lover.

___________________---

By the temple of Venus there was a garden built by one of those snobby senators in order to win more points with the citizens. Of course, he built himself a little villa that overlooked it that only he could use. Luckily, said senator was off doing some pompous bullshit down south so the villa was empty. The Winter Soldier knew when he brought Sarah inside. He cleaned it a little and prepared the bedroom for his maiden. There were only a few oil lamps, but it was just enough for them to see each other as they undressed for the first time.

He never wore much to begin with, but what he revealed to her was shocking to say the least.

“Will that…in me?” She murmured breathlessly.

“I will be gentle.” He promised as he approached her and gently touched the cord around her waist. “May I?”

She nodded and only trembled slightly as the cord fell to the floor and her gown was slowly lifted from her body.

He had seen and fucked so many types of bodies, but hers, hers was without rival. Formed from the finest clay, glossy like satin, designed to make his mouth water.

“Is this pleasing?” she asked and gasped softly when he picked her up and effortlessly carried her to the bed. He hovered over her for a moment before bathing her in kisses.

“Gorgeous, radiant, divine….” He mouthed against her skin, “….the gods wept when they made you.”

He caressed her everywhere and made her feel glorious. When his tongue lapped her intimate place, she was momentarily repelled until new ecstasy caused her to cry out for more. She ran her fingers through his hair and pleaded with him to never stop.

Drunk with the taste of her, he pleasured her, teased her until the sweet music of her cries filled the air and she experienced her first climax. Taking advantage of her fresh slickness, he moved up between her long legs and placed the throbbing head of his shaft against her opening.

“I dedicate our joining to Venus, to guide me in showing you the true love between us and show you the delights of the celestial heavens.”

She knew there would be some pain, so the burn and the stretch didn’t scare her. She did her best to relax and moaned when James stroked her tender nerves, mingling pleasure with pain. It was a marvel that he could fit so perfectly inside her and by the time their roots met, she felt positively stuffed.

“Oh…”

James braced himself over her, sweating, her virgin sheath so good that it was killing him not to move. “Am I hurting you?”

“No…I’ve never felt anything like this….” She suddenly gave him a smoky smile. “I like it.”

“Sweet gods,” he whined, bowing his head in utter defeat as his hips rebelled against his control and began to move.

Sarah wrapped her arms around him and held his muscular body against hers as they gave in to the primal urge that stirred from the first look. There was no shame between them as they kissed, licked, caressed and moved as one. Black and white flesh mingled and rolled around in the sheets as they fought to draw out the pleasure for as long as they could.

James could not take his eyes off her, loving how she gleamed with pleasure, how the sweet scent of her mingled with their sex and then there was her unrestrained moans. She didn’t screech or howl like a whore determined to put on a good show. Her breathless, needy whines were of genuine joy and his own soon broke free, groans that were as deep as the pleasure churning in his loins, threatening to shatter him.

“James, James, I love you, I love you!” She cried out as the wave of delight crested over her body, threatening to drown her. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she forced him deeper and shuddered helplessly.

He was lost, lost in the tight heat of her and then she squeezed, flaying him with ecstasy. “My love, my love!”

The stars burst before them, and Venus blessed them with joy.

__________________---

They could not meet again for another interlude, although the gods knew they wanted to. Too quickly her family was packing their belongings from Fabia’s family’s residence and then she’d be on a ship heading back home.

Sarah did her best to come close to the Coliseum as often as she could, claiming that she wanted to walk it a few more times before leaving. James was there behind his iron bars waiting for her, staring at her as if he could make love to her from his gaze alone.

On the last day she came in her pink gown and dared to approach the bars. He grabbed her hands and dared to openly kiss them.

“I will be a good wife to my husband. I will run his house and give birth to his children, but my heart and soul will forever be yours James. Know this, believe this.”

He nodded and tried to speak. “I’ve been cold for so long. All my life I’ve felt nothing until I saw you. I, who have never prayed to the gods now beg them to reunite us in the end.”

She nodded, fighting back tears and thrust her original pink linen into his hands before turning away to go.

He watched her go, clutching the bars that he suddenly hated more than life itself. He gripped them until he was white knuckled and screamed at the injustice of it all.

Sarah heard the scream down to her bones and cried quietly in her bed as they sailed away.

_____________________----

The Winter Soldier was colder and meaner than ever on and off the arena. His companions at the ludus avoided him like the plague as all he wanted to do was drink, sleep and fight. He rejected the advances of former paramours, refusing to befoul the memories of Sarah with their filth.

She should be back home by now, no doubt picking out fabrics and jewels for her wedding day with her mother. Anger flooded him and he slammed his cup of wine down harshly, causing it to spill over.

“It’s a waste of food, soldier.”

He glanced over and saw that it was Sarah’s blonde little friend. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“When does a slave get to speak to me that way?”

“I’m not a slave, I’m a freeman! I’m here of my own free will!” He snapped.

She arched a brow. “Oh really? Then what’s stopping you from leaving the arena, sailing across the ocean and paying Sarah’s bride price?”

“I don’t have enough to do that….to provide for her and give her what she deserves.” He muttered.

“Bah, I bet you could earn more than enough in a single fight.” She countered. “If you wanted to, but I suppose a soldier like you only takes orders.”

Bullshit! Everything he’d ever done was because he wanted it, but Sarah had her wants too.

“She’s determined to do right for her parents. I cannot ruin that for her.” He argued.

“She slept in the same room as I and her tears for you were endless. Her heart and soul are broken without you. Do you really wish for her to be so miserable?”

No, and to know that she had been so unhappy made him angry. Why did Venus give him a taste of real love only to cut it off so abruptly? Was it his punishment for treating it so lightly before? Or was she perhaps offering him the chance to prove that he had changed and would risk it all?

“Find me a ship.” He said suddenly, standing up.

“For when?” She asked.

“Three days. It’s all I need.”

______________----

Sarah was glad to be home of sorts. They all arrived safely but her mother became very sick so all concerns were about her recovery. The matron had insisted that they continue with the matchmaking, but Sarah had firmly refused to even consider thinking about her happiness while her mother was in such a state. Relatives would accuse her of being selfish and unfilial.

Finally, when her mother was healthy enough to move around once more did she reluctantly agreed to start looking for a husband. There were plenty of men put forward by relatives insisting that they would be perfect for her. She doubted it.

It turned out the fussiest person in the groom selection process was not Sarah, but her father. He loved his son, but also doted on his daughter and wanted to make sure that the man for her was good, hard working, fearless and rich…very rich. It frustrated her mother to no end when he rejected nearly all the men when they tried to negotiate the bride price. He wanted a hundred head of cattle, goats and sheep, servants to take over their daughter’s former responsibilities, plus some jewels for his wife. There were some men who could do it, but wondered if the merchant’s daughter was worth so much.

“Hey,” Samuel disturbed her and her mother from their weaving, “a new suitor just showed up and he’s Roman. He’s talking to father right now.”

“What?” Both women were shocked and rose to investigate.

Rushing to the main sitting area, Sarah nearly collapsed when she saw that it was none other than James! Except he wasn’t dressed like a gladiator, but a Roman citizen.

Meanwhile James saw her enter and it was as if he had been given water from paradise. He offered her a small smirk before turning back to her father.

“Your daughter is a pearl without price, but I am willing to pay for her to be my wife.” He said firmly.

“I am surprised that you are here making such a request when I don’t even know you.” Her father asked.

“I was a common soldier who joined the legion and fought the barbarians up in the frozen north. I then became a gladiator because after all the ugliness and horror I saw I didn’t care what happened in the world. I was the Winter Soldier and my life was meaningless until I saw your daughter.”

Sarah blushed and her mother studied her. “You know this man, Sarah?”

“I do, Mama. I know him as James.” She admitted, her heart beating fast.

“When she left I wanted to die, but then someone reminded me that I had the choice and the means to get her back.” He then explained how he took his life savings and bet it all to win one of the largest, winner take all gladiator battles exhibited at the arena. There were no less than thirty pairings and winners kept fighting until only one stood standing, then the leaders decided to throw in a few tigers just for fun. By the end of it, he had been battered, bruised, bleeding and exhausted beyond belief. The only thing that gave him courage was the pink linen tucked on his belt, for her he’d fight until the end and he nearly did. His reward finally? He was rich beyond belief, so finally he dropped his sword, took his money and sailed across the sea to find the only one who would make him happy.

“Sarah, be my wife. Run my house, bear my children and I will love you with a flame that will shame the sun.”

“Yes!” She cried out, running and throwing her arms around him before anyone could stop her. To be in each other’s arms after believing that they never would again was intoxicating.

The family was then shocked to see them kiss with a passion that only lovers could have.

Her father cleared his throat sharply. “Sir…the bride price?”

James drew back, his eyes fixed on Sarah’s joyous expression. “Name it, name your price. I’ll give you Rome itself.”

The family matron gave her husband a knowing look and the man sighed understanding. “Rome will not be necessary, but we can negotiate the bride price into something reasonable so long as you promise to make my daughter smile as brightly as she is now.”

In the end her father got his hundred head of livestock, her mother got a small casket of jewels and Sarah sought out the most beautiful fabrics for her wedding dress.

Sam helped his new brother-in-law find a house worthy of his sister and arranged it to her liking. When the ceremony, rituals, and feasting was done, James took his beloved wife over the threshold of their new home and brought her to bed. There their passion was unleashed once more as their bodies mingled on the marital bed. James feasted on her like a man starved and she saw the heavens every time they joined.

“I’m yours, yours completely.” She murmured sleepily as they lay sated in their bed.

“My wife,” he replied pulling her close, desiring her warmth. “I loved you at first sight.”

They had an altar to Venus built and tied around the wrist for safe keeping was the pink kerchief.

[deoidesign]

Thinks about my next series again... I drew the icon for it!

I'm planning to have it launched within a year! I'm hoping for summer 2025. I want to make a prelaunch page before Time and Time Again ends so people can subscribe if they're interested, but I'm worried the series return would be too early...

[muchadoaboutjax]

Okay yeah, that's kind of adorable. Having parent's in the public eye is weird, and while I love my dad to death I've lost count of the number of times I've had to explain the whole thing to people, it's just exhausting. It is nice that they inspire people though, as long as those people are chill about, otherwise it just gets really uncomfortable really quick...

You are an angel, I have a laundry list of things to get done, I'll definitely send a few your way!!

One time a kid showed up dressed as my mom at Halloween, that was actually kind of cool. I don't normally feel comfortable talking about my mom at work or with many people at all, but I just thought it was really cute. And also, no matter what kind of complications there are with me and my mom, it's still cool that she's such a role model.

Oh darling, I live to serve. Whatever you need.

[sleepinglionhearts]

hhhgh. Robin.

[introspectivememories]

yknow the veil/kotteri image redraw meme? the one that's been going around on twt? now make it timber. bernard who goes on to be a famous model after grieves and does shoots all over the world. one day he does one for a gotham brand and he ends up plastered all over the city. now tim who has managed to miss all this just by virtue of being too busy being a vigilante and running wayne ent. steps out of his car one day and bam! directly across from wayne tower is this giant electronic billboard, displaying bear's new perfume ad. in it he's wearing a fur coat that's slipped down his shoulders to reveal the muscles rippling across his back. bernard looks over his shoulders and laughs, lips painted a pretty pink. the ad reads "all new scent 14 from beams: the scent of love. it's like burning" bernard winks coyly and tim is burning all right. rock hard in his too tight work pants.

[iraprince]

Hiii, i love your stuff and kinda from a distance really look up at you for, in my perception, being able to express yourself without giving a fuck. Thats sick dude, Im so so afraid, of absolutely everything, its nice to think like i might grow into someone less apologetic of my existence. Nice to see people just being yknow

hey, thank you, this is really really nice. the secret that is probably not a secret is that i am also deeply afraid a lot of the time lmao -- but less than i used to be, and in ways that feel less stifling and self-suffocating, if that makes sense.

like, it used to be "i'm scared that if i express myself the way i want to, everyone will find me obnoxious, so let's just sand those edges down to be safe" -- now my fears are more like "now that i'm expressing myself in a way that feels natural and real, i'm afraid that it's all stupid/vapid/not worthwhile or meaningful" (<- specifically abt my art) or "i'm happy that i talk and act the way i want to now, but what if it makes me impossible to befriend," etc etc etc. which still feels bad and puts me in a funk a lot of the time but at least it's a fear that comes After/in reaction to doing stuff, rather than a fear that STOPS me from doing stuff, you know? like, it's evolved into a kind of fear that's less in my way.

anyway. i believe you'll experience something like this, because wanting to grow is the first step of growing. the fact that u hope or wish for something different means you're already on your way. to fewer fucks!! or at least distributing the fucks u give in a way that serves u better

[stormbabylore]

Ooh, I have a few!

I've an AU in which Aeryn just stops after StB. She is shattered, exhausted, unable to cope, and truly convinced her closeness to the Scions causes them more harm than good. So she walks away. She returns to the Ruby Sea (the first and—at the time—only place she's experienced a true memory of her former life), where Tansui convinces her she is allowed to make selfish choices—she is allowed to stop. Even to stay. Despite never officially joining the Confederacy, Rasho makes an unspoken exception for Aeryn that no one seems to question, especially not considering how useful she makes herself. But emotionally, she is an utter wreck. She tosses her linkpearl into the ocean but frequently has nightmares about receiving desperate calls for help from the Scions. She is haunted by the voice of Hydaelyn and the fear that she has done the wrong thing, but she can't find the courage to abandon her perceived freedom from the bloody, ceaseless struggle she has left behind. She may not be happy, she reasons—she may never feel happy again. But everyone is safer without her, she is sure, and... And she is free.

(Two more "bad ends" behind the cut, but beware: they are EW spoiler-heavy!)

In canon, Aeryn begins losing herself to despair as the Scions, one by one, make their sacrifices in Ultima Thule. The breaking point for her is when Urianger chooses, willingly, to give up his life alongside Y'shtola. But at Urianger's parting behest, G'raha manages to pull Aeryn back from the brink and give her the hope she needs to press on; and when he, too, then goes, she is able to maintain her composure for the twins. That said... I could easily imagine G'raha failing to break through to her, resulting in a bad end. Aeryn would lose herself entirely, willingly releasing herself to Dyanmis to become a blasphemy. G'raha and the twins might try to get through to her, but I don't think she'd have the capacity to hear them any longer and would flee toward the Endsinger's song of despair. Meteion might take pity on her (given their past connection) and attempt to grant a swift end to her strife. But because Aeryn's inner power is so strong, it's more likely that they would fuse into something even stronger than the Endsinger. The sheer magnitude of all their suffering would trigger Aeryn's star magic, which she/they would unleash (as stars do) to bring an abrupt and explosive end to everything—even the Final Days.

Finally, my screenshots from this challenge really got me thinking about what Aeryn would be like as an Ascian. There are several ways she might have gotten to that point. Maybe post-HW, if she found herself in the position assumed in canon by Urianger... or perhaps in ShB, had she managed to manifest her past self's empathic abilities and forged a different connection with Emet-Selch. Truthfully, though, I'm kind of stuck on the idea of her offing Fandaniel (without truly killing the Ascian) and getting sort of possessed by Amon. It would be a split situation in which her soul (plus Azem power plus soul of a literal star) can't be fully controlled, even by the Ascian's methods, so she'd probably be a little bit bonkers. But I think her empathy for Hermes's situation would have made her uniquely suited to an odd kind of soul symbiosis with one of his shards, helping to subdue a little bit of Amon's madness, as well as his desperation to end. In that way it would be a bad end for the WoL, but perhaps not the worst end, story-wise. I could still see Ascian Aeryn working to avert the Final Days: reaching out to Meteion with both her own and Hermes's memories, pushing through the nest to find the Endsinger, even summoning Hades and Hythlodaeus… and possibly even some of the other Ascians? Defeating the Endsinger alongside both Ancients and Ascians would be pretty poetic, all things considered, and so delightfully circular thinking back on ARR. I'm not sure much about the fight itself would change, with Ascian Aeryn finding herself in the odd circumstance of being gifted strength beyond even her means by the prayers of the Scions who don't want to see their friend defeated, perhaps hoping they can somehow bring her back...

(Do I need another AU? No. But I'm a teensy bit obsessed with the notion of EW driving Aeryn to willingly play host to an Ascian... annnnnnd I'll probably end up writing some of this. Oops, I guess? Here we are.)

Bad endings? Bad endings anyone?

What if they got consumed by the light? What if they became a primal? Any and all bad endings!

I think mine most likely would've become a lightwarden because she didn't get to Emet-Selch fast enough. "Obsession" would be its name, due to the fact it would be obsessed with the idea of saving others and changing the world, probably leading to either the Scions killing her or to her consuming the First in Light.

.