#definitely didn't suffer for decades

[dovewingkinnie]

part 9 for the stitched au part 8

[signedsfs]

I've got some great fuckin news

Once again got a bee in my bonnet to spend a night doing obscure fandom research to make a point, so. For all those people who keep making the annoying, "Tim keeps '''stealing'' other peoples' names" comments -- have a table.

Everyone with a check mark has used that codename at some point in DC's 80+ year continuity -- Elseworlds and alternate dimensions/timelines count, adaptations (movies, video games, cartoons, etc.) don't unless they've got comic book tie-ins, and neither do in-universe dream sequences/illusions/fantasies/other narrative elements that are objectively "not real" within the boundaries of the fiction.

A purple marker indicates an element that only applies in Elseworlds or alternate timelines. Yellow is for the originator of the legacy title. Star symbol is for borderline cases/extenuating circumstances/it's open to interpretation (with some further elaboration below).

The "other" column is just there to account for people who've held lesser or non-legacy titles, like Renegade, Wingman, Arkham Knight, Drake, Redbird, Talon, Deadman, Black Bat, Orphan and Catwoman.

Point being: the people who have actually gone through the most legacy titles in this family are Dick, Babs and Jason, tied with 5 each (again, not counting "other;" if we counted those separately Dick would've had by far the most). Tim is tied with Steph AND Helena Wayne, so unless you're whining about them "stealing other peoples' names" you're just wrong, and they're all only one higher than Damian, Carrie and Bruce.

This is a legacy family that passes their codenames up and down the inheritance line. It's what they do. It's not a legitimate criticism to level at one character and not the others. Please get over it.

EDIT: I realize after posting this that I missed some colors on the table, mostly with Babs' Elseworld only roles (Batwoman and Nightwing) but I'm too tired to go back and correct them; refer to the info below for more details.

---

Further elaboration on some of the lesser known/niche cases:

- Bruce uses the Robin ID in Superman & Batman: Generations

- In the second half of Thrillkiller ‘62, Babs cuts her hair and dons the Robin costume worn by her deceased partner Dick to get revenge on his killer; however the only name ever used for her in the series is Batgirl

- Cassandra was a member of the Robins orphan gang from Dark Knights of Steel.

- Duke was a member of the We Are Robins gang, as well as the aforementioned DKS orphan gang, and has appeared as Robin in a couple of Elseworlds, including I believe a White Knight spin-off.

- Cass was Batwoman in one of the versions of the Titans Tomorrow, as was Bette Kane, depending on changes to the timeline.

- Babs is Batwoman in the Batman ‘66 comics and in the 1980 story “The Secret Origin of Bruce (Superman) Wayne”

- Earth-3 Steph is Batwoman in Young Justice 2019.

- Helena Wayne is Batwoman in the possible future story Last Rites

- Tim is a member of the Batgirls vigilante/little league baseball team in the DC Bombshells universe, as is Cullen Row. Some call them the “Batboys” instead. I call those people cowards.

- Helena Bertinelli wore the costume that would later become Cass’s signature Batgirl look during No Man’s Land. However, she was more often referred to as “The Bat” and her Batgirl status is up to individual interpretation.

- Dick didn’t originate the Nightwing name, it started with Clark in the Silver Age.

- Steph has never been Nightwing. The panel where she appears in the costume is a Black Mercy illusion that happens only in her own mind. It’s a dream sequence.

- Barbara was Nightwing in the Smallville Season 11 comics.

- Terry was briefly Nightwing in volume 4 of Batman Beyond.

- Damian briefly became Nightwing after accidentally killing Dick in the Injustice series.

- Dick is Oracle in the “Eight Wonders of the World” version of Earth 2 (aka the Black Superman dimension)

[talaok]

Like a Virgin

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

summary: It's been a really long time since Joel has felt the feel of anything else besides his own fist, and once you remind him how good the real thing is... let's just say it's hard for him to live up to his full potential.

warnings: smut| unprotected p in v sex, premature ejaculation, very touch-starved Joel, and allusion to oral sex (f receiving)

a/n: I don't know what to say lmao this is a thing for me ok, don't judge (and also you can't tell me this isn't accurate, like this man hasn't gotten laid since the moon landing probably, and you expect him to last? no way babe). Also I'm sorry about the title it's funny to me lol

Now this wasn't like him.

He hadn't done this in a long time.

The last time he had sex with a woman he'd just met (or any woman to be completely honest) he was 25 years younger and the world hadn't gone to shit yet... so yeah, a long time indeed.

But you were so fucking beautiful, such a pretty face with such pretty eyes, and god but that mouth of yours-

And plus you were new to Jackson, you didn't know yet about all the scary stories folks liked to tell about him, and you were kind and funny, and... did he mention hot already?

Just one night of letting loose, that's what he'd told himself, and then he was gonna go back to his old closed-off self, but for now... for now, he was too busy throwing you on his bed to think about anything else.

You were getting rid of your clothes and he followed your lead more than willingly, almost ripping the buttons off his flannel in the rush.

He bent down to kiss your neck as his hands hurried to your tits.

God, he'd forgotten how good it felt to touch a woman.

And when you let out a little whimper, he swore he had ascended to another universe.

"Joel please"

Fuck him, but he wasn't inside of you yet, and he was already feeling far too close to coming.

Guess fucking his own fist for two decades really does something to a man.

"need something?"

He was acting wayy too smug for someone who was feeling like a virgin all over again.

"Please- I need you inside me, Joel"

fucking damnit- he shouldn't have asked that, his dick was now really suffering the consequences.

He didn't risk saying anything else as he got rid of his boxers, but of course, you just had to come out and say:

"oh wow, you're big" with the sexiest fucking voice he'd ever heard.

"want me to stop?"

For some reason, those words elicited a criminally hot smirk on your lips  

"Definitely not"

You were looking at him like a starving woman and he had to look down to where he was moving his tip to your entrance to get away from you and your dangerous, dangerous gaze

He pushed into you slowly and god fucking damnit but the sounds that you made... those sweet little moans and whines you let out as your warm pussy stretched around him and hugged him better than anything he'd felt in years... he had no words for it- no coherent sounds could make it out of his mouth except for a few groans coming deep from his chest.

"Good christ"

that's the only thing he managed to murmur as he bottomed out and had to take a break to try not to bust his load right there.

"fuck you feel so good" you moaned, as your hands gripped his sheets "please move" you begged, your voice breathy and pleading, and godfuck he should have really thought about it before doing this.

"Joel please-"

"I just need a moment darlin'" he explained, closing his eyes to try and remember how he used to manage to last and coming up completely empty.

He could feel your expectant eyes on him so even if he sure as hell didn't feel ready, he did as you asked and started to move.

The regret reached him extraordinarily fast as he felt your walls tightening around him and as you cried out for him like an angel sent straight from heaven.

"fuck-" you moaned, looking up at him with doe eyes that made him wonder if you really just knew what you were doing, if you actually enjoyed torturing him like this

"god you're so deep"

Yeah, you definitely knew

"and so big-" you cried

He gripped your waist to try and ground himself as he thrusted into your fucking perfect cunt.

"oh my god-yes!" you moaned, your back arching from the bed as his thrust got harsher in the hopes that that would make you talk less.

"just like that Joel- oh-" 

And Joel was tough in a lot of ways and he wasn't one to give up easily, but shit you were making it hard for him.

"Please don't stop- fuckfuckfuck" you begged, shutting your eyes close at the feeling.

And that was it, he couldn't do it anymore

"please stop talking" he breathed, his eyes resuming their tour of your eyes, mouth, and bouncing tits.

"why?" 

"nothing it's just-"

And before he could answer you had grabbed his shoulder and forced him to bend down to meet your mouth with his.

Goddamnit.

"you just feel too good Joel" 

"fuck." he groaned, not able to stop his hips from moving no matter how much he wanted to "shit"

"what is it?"

"Jesus Christ I-"

"is there something wrong?"

"n-no just- fuck I'm sorry sweetheart"

And that's all he could say as he abruptly pulled out of you, his spend covering your stomach not even a second after as he growled so loud his neighbors probably thought he was getting killed.

"shit" again, he sighed, his forehead falling to your shoulder.

"oh" you couldn't help but smile as everything came together

"I'm sorry darlin'" he breathed, leaning away and standing up as shame filled every inch of him.

"It's just- It's been a long time since I've done... this"

You sat up, your legs still dangling off the bed, as you admired his handy work on your belly.

"And you... you're just real fucking pretty" he huffed a half-laugh "I'm sorry"

You looked up at him then, meeting his mortified expression.

"No hey" you smiled, placing a hand on his torso "It's fine, I understand"

"god this is embarrassing, I feel like a sixteen-year-old all over again" he shook his head

"stop" you cooed, gently caressing his skin, as a mischievous spark lighted in your irides "It's fine, really" you promised, "and besides..." you bit your bottom lip as you slowly spread your legs "you could still make it up to me, y'know?"

He groaned again, falling to his knees between your thighs

"that I can do"

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Just a concept, Yandere!Dimensional traveler!Batman X Gn!reader X Platonic!Batfam, also wrote a one shot about this

Synopsis: Batman becomes obsessed with a spouse and kids that he never had.

Pairing: Yandere!Dimensional traveler!Batman X Reader; Batman X Reader; Platonic Batfam X Batparent!Reader; Yandere!Batman X Platonic!Batfam; Batman X Platonic!Batfam

Tw: English is not my first language; mentions of Alfred being dead; I'm quite new on the fandom so there might be some mistakes about facts of the original comics, but this is a fanfic so whatever; this piece is more focused on Bruce and the batfam while still mentioning reader; stalker and delusional Bruce.

Word count: 1,4k

Requested? No.

General masterlist

Yandere!Batman who is very VERY, extremely, lonely, touch starved and grim. He’s also very unlucky apparently.

He never even met Dick. Sure, he heard about what happened to The Flying Graysons, investigated it even, but he's only seem him on pictures, videos or in passing, but he wasn’t there that night, he never talked to him, or maybe he did while stopping him from killing Zuko, either way, never adopted him, our boy went straight to orphanage and was adopted shortly after by a normal and loving family.

Actually this universe’s Bruce never met nor connected with ANY of his children, all he had was Alfred, and yet… Something happened and…

Safe to say it's been long, never ending harsh years.

The only thing this Bruce knows is pain, loneliness and misery. Don’t talk to him about Alfred. Maybe he can't even look at pictures. When he realized he couldn’t remember his voice anymore… He WON’T watch videos or listen to audio of him. Yes, Alfred being gone was one more trauma to the list of traumas he will carry on his tense and burdened shoulders for the rest of his helpless existence.

This Bruce is a loser, closer to madness than any version of Bruce (aside from Batman who laughs). His Gotham is nearing it’s doom. He didn't join the Justice League because of his level of emotional masochism, pride and lack of will to get back on his feet. He is so used to suffering he thinks it's possible to die if he doesn't have such bitter companion. Safe to say, he is depressed. And hyperfocused on saving a city he’s been working in for decades, too blind by his grieving to see that he is not doing the right things. There is no social projects on Wayne Enterprises or Wayne Foundation to help people, he neglected the company decades ago. He is almost becoming Michael Keaton’s Batman in The Flash.

Somehow, one day he is sent to another universe. It can be through some disaster like Crisis in Infinite Earths, or some villain who wanted different variants of heros to fight amongst themselves to death, doesn't really matter here, what’s important is that he (after years of being a hermit on his cave) interacts with people, more specifically, he interacts with himself.

Or definitely a lucky version of himself. Maybe the luckiest. He is jealous.

During the whole event they interact and imagine how he felt when he found out that this other Batman has an Alfred. And he is so successful that he is a billionaire who uses his money to help Gotham get better (or as good as we know Gotham can get). Oh, and he has a spouse. And children. Plural. So many he lost count. And pets. Two dogs, one cat, a cow (?), a turkey (a what now?) and a fREAKING DRAGON BAT (WHAT THA FUCK IS EVEN THAT????!?!?????!).

He is also more put together (looks like he showers and doesn't skip meals). And less temperamental.

Okay…

Bruce is confused. When he comes back to his universe, with a spark of hope in his heart, he does his research. He could start actually making effort on his company and thus helping Gotham, maybe even be good enough as a vigilant that he could join the Justice League and make some friends (even if the other Bruce was just as stoic, he was the only one who could see on his micro expressions while talking about them how fond he was of his colleagues, and how much he thrusts them, even with his trust issues).

He could find those damn kids and adopt them. Find the one who somehow managed to make him open up enough for a relationship.

(He could also just work on his company, philanthropism, do some therapy, make some new organic connections or whatever).

He is VERY disappointed to find out that some of those so called kids and are already adults, have lived their whole lives without him, maybe some have been arrested or even dead, they have their whole lives and families that have NOTHING to do with him. Some don't even exist (the only explanation for not a single clue in months of research). And his partner, Reader, is either living their own life that doesn't allow space for him or also dead. He lost his timing. He is old and lost his timing. He is alone. He shouldn't have hoped so much that he got blind by the improbability of the small chance. The other Batman did mention that his family started growing decades ago.

He just lost another family. This one he never got to have. He wishes he never knew about them.

He hyperfocused on them for months for nothing (hey, It was hard to find info on the ones that don't live a very civilian legal life, like Cassandra, or the ones that never even existed, like Damian, or the ones that are dead — again maybe Cassandra, or perhaps Jason. Maybe Jason joined a gang just for survival or something like that, life on the streets is harsh, and he is not very lucky. And I’m not even being specific on what could have happened to every single one of the batfam. Also Tim is probably a CEO right now). No connection and family will come from all of that. Especially because he is greedy, starved, he doesn't want bits and pieces, he wants it ALL. He wants that other Bruce's life.

Yandere!Batman is born. He drowns and gets drunk on the pit of his own madness and he can’t get out of it. Doesn't want to.

He could… He could get rid of the people on their lives, brainwash them and make them a happy family. They aren’t vigilantes, they don't have his abilities, they don't have his intellect, it won't be hard.

Of course, Batman doesn't kill, but this Batman is looking for a change.

But they aren't what lucky-billionaire-put-together Bruce had.

Don't get me wrong. He is not just petty and jealous, nor resents Bruce for his privileges and better decisions, or whatever.

Okay, maybe a little. Why? Just why ones life was perfect (hello? Didn't you hear the part where he told you his own problems? Not even about the DEAD RESURRECTED CRIME LORD SON?) while the others had to draw the short stick?

But majorly he is just desperate, foaming at the mouth for a happy ending, and projected all of that on that poor random bat.

Now, enough brooding, back to solutions.

He could clone them.

Could work. Not exactly easy but he could just hack onto Luthor archives until he found how he cloned Superman and made that Superboy, Superman, or whatever he goes by now.

Again, not the same as the original ones. The ones he craves. The ones he wants.

Alfred is screaming in his grave about how Bruce, please, needs to realize that no one will fill the expectations he puts on them, not even the “original ones”.

Another hard, but better fitted solution is to… Simply… Find a way to go to that other universe, or one similar enough, stalk and study their whole lives until he can perfectly replicate “lucky” Bruce’s persona, and just… Get rid of him and take his place. Hello Alfred, hello honey, hello kids, daddy’s home.

Looks like he finally got luck on his side, maybe the sun will rise tomorrow.

Yandere!Bruce won't just brush aside that he is rusty and definitely not a better Batman then the other one, but he's got time. He will developt patience. But can he learn enough to trick his perfect vigilant kids though? Is he seriously thinking straight? I mean, the batkids are dope though. They learned from the best. As a proud (wannabe) father he knows they will be better than him one day, perhaps already are.

How much of watching their lives, everything that he craves, can he take until he snaps? How much of watching Bruce's interactions with them can he take? He swears he won't take them for granted when he has them, he will take care of them, protect them, be a family, be happy.

Can he really keep his distance?

Looks like another supervillain just arrived in Gotham for the batfamily to battle against, he is quite persistent though.

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

[lesbianwyllravengard]

i still have yet to play bg3 so i still dont go here yet but Wyll seems literally like one of the most compelling characters of all time and im not even joking. I havent even played the GAME but his character arc haunts me /pos. people are literally just racist to say that he isn't compelling

LITERALLY. He's utterly fascinating. He is a folk hero, a legend, the fantasy equivalent of superman. He's a warlock who is secretly pacted to a devil. He hates devils. He's an incredible liar. He's incredibly sincere. He's silly. He unironically enjoys puns and clowns. He over-exaggerates his Blade personality because it amuses him. He sometimes doesn't know where The Blade ends and Wyll begins. His hero-ness is a performance; not to hide ill intent, but to hide a broken man, to hide weaknesses and fears. It's who he is. It's always been a distant thing, a mask. It's who he thinks he must be. He loves freely and openly and will let anyone know it. He's only ever wanted to know he's loved. He still thinks his father's inability to trust or believe in him was all his fault. He still thinks that every bit of suffering he's ever experienced was all his fault. He thinks admitting to suffering would be disrespectful to the lives he's saved. He thinks he has to suffer or else his sacrifices were worthless. He thinks it couldn't be a sacrifice if he didn't suffer for it. He would take any suffering if it meant lessening someone else's. He is the first person to stand up for someone's life and safety, the first person to defend someone's worth and autonomy. He is the last person to do so for himself. He is of the least importance to himself.

He needs to be needed, because if he's not needed then what good is his power and the soul he sacrificed for the pact to get it? And if he can't be needed then he throws himself into the fray without hesitation because his purpose has always been to sacrifice himself so others may live. His life has always been one of sacrifice. His life has been recompense since the second he was born and his mother passed as a result. He saves lives to make up for it. It will never be enough to him. It will always be everything to those he saves. He just wants to be seen for who he truly is. He thinks if no one can see him for who he is then maybe it isn't who he is, and maybe he's fooled them all, fooled himself into thinking he can be a better person, be the hero they need. He wants to be known by someone. He's terrified of someone looking deeper. He sees others for who they are. He's a monster hunter who does not hunt the typical definition of "monster", who knows that monsters are not the ones with fangs and horns in his group of friends but the men who look harmless yet cause endless death and suffering to others. Not even the threat of his life was enough to get him to harm an innocent.

He wants to be chosen. He cannot fathom that someone would choose him. He chooses others over himself every time. He has so much love for others. He thinks he must constantly earn love. He is shocked when someone simply loves him. He thinks he cannot love and lead at the same time. His only role model was a father who could never put his son before his city. He is capable of immense anger. He is capable of immense kindness. He purposefully chooses the latter; he works hard to not let his anger consume him. He's still angry over things that happened a near decade ago. He thinks feeling hurt is the same as being angry and so he can't be hurt. He's always hurting. He takes pride in his achievements and he does not underestimate himself. He's not religious. He devotes himself to his cause with the dedication of the most pious believer. He stands by his friends in any battle, against any struggle. He stands against them if they choose to threaten lives. He holds on to those he cares about with bloody knuckles and teeth bared because loss has always been the hardest pain for him to bear. He has lost everything. He gives every part of himself to others. He cannot lose anyone else. He thinks he can do anything because he refuses to believe any alternative. Because he could not survive any alternative. He thinks his intent is as important as his actions, and so he must always intend to do the right thing.

He does not tolerate his boundaries being pushed or his father being disrespected. He tolerates any judgment because he thinks he deserves it. He defends his status as the Blade of Frontiers. He thinks the fear caused by his devil form is a fault of his own that he must work to fix. He hates the patriars and their farce diplomacy, their lethal hypocrisy. He thinks his father is infallible. He does not hold himself to the same regard as he holds everyone else. He thinks its okay if it only hurts him. Anything is okay as long as it only hurts him. He has to keep fighting to prove he can be a hero. He is so, so tired. He cannot for one second admit to wanting for anything, because once he starts he might not be able to stop wanting. He cannot accept that he deserves to not suffer, too, because if he does he might not be strong enough to continue suffering so others might suffer less. He might not want to suffer. He thinks he cannot regret any decision he's made, he cannot regret his pact, because it would be a dishonour to the good he's done with it. He thinks that saying he regrets his pact would be saying he regrets every life he's saved with it and he would never regret saving lives so he cannot regret his pact. He's accepted that his freedom will always be the cost of saving lives. He desperately wants to be free. His life has never been his own, to him. He thinks every choice he's ever made was his own, alone.

He is very complex. He simplifies himself to be easily accepted by others. People fall for it easily. He just needs one person to look closer. He's afraid of what they'll find if they do. He doesn't keep his cards close to his chest, he meticulously chooses which cards to hold at all. Which parts of himself are worth losing if need be. How much of himself he has to keep close in order to keep being himself. He has seen the worst that the world has to offer. He chooses every day to be kind, to see the best in things, in others. He chooses to care. He holds onto his pain because it's proof that he cares. There are several pathways that don't connect quite right in his brain which you'll notice after a few conversations with him. He is wise beyond his years. He is my favourite guy ever

[the-magpie-collective]

Let's talk about how Ulder Ravengard was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year when he finally runs into Wyll, for the first time in seven years, and his son is now definitely maybe sort of a devil?

Look, D&D cannon is absolutely wild and inconsistent but I need ya'll to know approximately how many horrible things befell Ulder Ravengard in the few months right before the events of Baldur's Gate 3.

Ulder Ravengard goes to Elturel. This is fairly normal. He often had to travel as a Duke for diplomatic reasons to nearby cities. Sure, the Vanthampurs' had their fingers pulling the strings this time to ensure he went, but that is also, unfortunately, normal. And it's not like anyone else can go in his place. Who would he send? Portyr whose only use is as a windsock? Stelmane who is suffering from the long term effects of a "stroke"? Vanthampur?

(Portyr, Stelmane, and Vanthampur being the other four dukes at the time)

So he goes and it's supposed to just be another diplomatic trip to a neighboring city. Except exactly nothing goes to plan. The Vanthampurs have made an alliance with devils and a deal with the leaders of Elturel to orchestrate the fall of the entire city into Avernus. Ulder Ravengard is there with several of the Flaming Fist when the entire city is plunged into hell. And no, Avernus is not some sort of cushy vacation spot. There's a reason why Karlach would rather die than go back. There's a reason why it is called hell.

It's not hard to imagine he watches many of the Flaming Fist get slaughtered. People he's worked with for years, maybe even decades. People he called friends. Not hard to think that he watches innocents suffer as they are preyed upon by devils and demons, children slaughtered in the streets all while he is helpless to stop it from happening. It's not out of the question to think this is possibly one of the worst times in his life. Oh, Ulder Ravengard has been through numerous disasters before. He's watched countless friends die. But when has he ever been so helpless as the time he was caught in an entire city of relative innocents as it is dragged down to the hells?

It gets worse.

You see, Ulder Ravengard is put into a catatonic state by the Demon Lord Baphomet using the the Helm of Torm's sight. The Helm of Torm's sight is a holy item that allows the user to commune with Torm (god of Duty, Loyalty, etc). In a last ditch effort to save the city of Elturel, Ulder Ravengard attempted to get to the Helm in the hopes that it could be used to fight back. Instead he gets to watch as his hope is perverted and used against him. He gets to see himself fall helpless and under control of the demon while his men are slaughtered in the attack.

We don't know how Ulder Ravengard escapes this situation (*cough* play Descent into Avernus *cough*) but somehow he does. After weeks of fighting in the hells (maybe even months?) and narrowly escaping with his life and mind intact Ulder Ravengard is hurrying back to Baldur's Gate as quickly as he can. He knows the city is in danger, whether the Vanthampurs' succeeded at seizing power or not. And on the way home he gets ambushed by fucking goblins and drow working together. He gets to see as some of the few survivors who made it through their time in Avernus with him, get killed. He gets to see his close friend and advisor Counselor Florrick get trapped in a burning building.

Then he's kept imprisoned, and likely harassed, in the dungeons of Moonrise towers. All he hears is 'the Absolute' this and 'the Absolute' that. Then what does he know but apparently the mastermind behind this whole thing is fucking Gortash, the slimy counselor he has spent the past while doing his best to ignore because even if he didn't like him and thought most of his ideas were bad he couldn't actually do anything to get rid of him. And then Orin—a fucking Bhaalspawn—uses him for a chair while Ketheric Thorm goes on a whiny oh-woe-is-me rant and Gortash sticks a tadpole in his eye all while mocking him.

He then gets to spend the next while under control of the Absolute. We don't know how unpleasant this is, but we do know that when the Absolute controls someone directly their brain starts bleeding so severely they collapse and die after less than a minute :) and when he's finally freed from the Absolute he has chronic migraines so yeah not fucking pleasant :)))))

And then his son rescues him. Yay. His son who he strove to teach right from wrong all those years. His son to whom he imparted the four pillars: strategy, courage, justice, insight. His son, who, despite everything he has ever taught him chose to throw all of his promise away to a devil. And he doesn't know why and maybe he hopes that there was a good reason behind it all, but he does know that he lost any chance he had to ever be able to fully trust his son again because he doesn't know the terms of the pact and he can't know the full terms of the pact but he does know that his son is now under the control of a devil.

And please just take a moment to think about how terrifying that would be. This isn't something that an 'I'm sorry' can fix. Wyll says it himself: it would be easier to drink the Chionthar down, drop by drop, than to break a devil's pact. The chances of Wyll ever being freed from his pact are slim to none and the damage he could do in the mean time is immeasurable. Ulder Ravengard has the weight of an entire city's well being on his shoulders. I am not saying he made the right choice, but there is a reason why Wyll says it was the only choice he could make. He told Wyll to go. Maybe out of shame, maybe out of fear, maybe out of the hope that his son would do less damage far away than if he were to stay. We don't know why. Maybe he regretted it, maybe he never looked back.

But he's been having one of the worst fucking years of his life and most of it is due either directly to devils or to people conspiring with devils. His mind has been scraped raw by the Absolute. He's injured and if you broke Wyll's pact he was just attacked by another devil and exploding spiders. If you didn't break Wyll's pact, he just saw evidence that Wyll is still in leagues with a devil, after all Mizora states very clearly that she always fulfills her promises as she saves him.

Oh and if you didn't kill Karlach, Wyll is a devil now (*techinically he is still human, just with some devilish features and will be regonized as infernal in origin by the spell Detect Good and Evil, but Ulder Ravengard doesn't have the insight to game mechanics that we have and may or may not be aware that Wyll turning into a devil is a lot less probable than him just being made to look like one.)

So maybe, it's just a little understandable that instead of greeting Wyll with joy or gratitude at being saved the first thing he thinks, the only thing he can think of is: what fresh hell is he in for now?

(And maybe ya'll can be a little more understanding of Wyll choosing to forgive his father too. I don't think it's out of character for Wyll. I don't think he's ignoring everything wrong with what his father did. I don't think Wyll is a bad person for choosing to forgive his father or that anger would have been the right choice for him. It's far, far more complicated than that.)

[strlingsav]

I’m simply in love with your portrayal of Simon/Ghost. This fandom has so many incredibly talented writers, I am glad I stumbled upon your work! Your interpretation of his character is among my favourites 🥰 if it interests you, I would like to request a comfort fic w a femme reader who is perhaps not active on the field herself, but more on the intelligence/IT side of the operations (you can totally change this if you want, it’s up for your interpretation!) who is capable but suffers from insecurity and imposters sydrome (yep I am totally projecting🤫🤐) and during a mental breakdown bc of the stress from work, Ghost of all people, who she previously has only seen during a few briefings and never has approached bc of his intimidating reputation, finds her. Cue to the stoic scary big man who has previously only stared her down turning out to be actually very supportive and appreciative of her work because he always has noticed her. It’s up to you if want to keep it sfw or not! But a dash of softdom/service top sprinkled w some praise kink wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world🥴 I would love to see your take on this if this idea interests you, and it’s totally fine if it doesn’t 🥰 it’s always a pleasure to read your work regardless! Have a good one! ✌🏻💕

Thank you very much!! I appreciate that very much 🥹🫶🏻 I can definitely do this!

Support

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Ghost stumbles upon you, after-hours, during a breakdown.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

It was approaching two in the morning. You were running solely on caffeine and nicotine- neither of which were helping your dry eyes or headache. The light of your monitors was the only source in the room, completely enshrouded by darkness as you stared blankly at the screens. You'd hoped it would help you focus, think more clearly, but so far it had only isolated you further, brought nothing but pressure and stress.

It wasn't supposed to be difficult, it was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be easy for you. You'd studied computer technology and engineering for years- built and coded programs for organizations all over the world. You'd worked within the military for nearly a decade, providing the most proficient and reliable support among your similarly-rated peers. You were quite literally an expert, but you didn't feel like it. Not with the unfinished assignment sitting before you.

Laswell, Price, the entirety of 141- they relied on you. They relied heavily on your abilities to guide them through their fieldwork, to do the digging they couldn't reach while on location. Though, as you leaned back in your chair, your lip red and raw with irritation, your back aching, you didn't feel reliable. You felt the familiar sting of failure, of total disappointment.

It bubbled up in your throat, escaping in a series of curses, shoving yourself away from the desk before you wound up damaging thousands of dollars of equipment. You paced, stared, and paced. Your mind swimming with questions, re-thinking every sequence, every key, every exhaustive search you could possibly pull- and still hadn't decrypted the data.

Your hand slammed down on the desk, scattering the pens and piles of paperwork you'd accumulated over the many hours you'd spent stewing in front of the code screen. The cursor blinked at you- waiting, taunting you, filling you with dread.

"Y'alright in here?"

A gruff voice pulled you from your anxious stupor, and you yanked your hand from the desk, gasping sharply. You looked up, finding Ghost at the doorway.

In the dark, you could hardly make out his silhouette, but the outline of his mask was a stark contrast against the pitch-black room.

"Didn't mean t'scare you," He said, taking a few steps forward. "Heard somethin' in here."

You let out a sigh, your heartbeat relaxing back into its regular rhythm.

You'd heard his voice before, usually over the comms, and seen him during briefings, but you'd never spoken in person. You knew he had a reputation for being tough and commanding; it put you on edge watching his looming figure in the darkness. He was undeniably intimidating, especially as he stalked toward you.

You stepped back, letting him around the desk to see your monitors.

"You're up late," He said, examining the screen.

"Trying to decode this shit," You huffed, forgetting about his domineering presence once you refocused on your failure. "It's taking me longer than it should."

"Looks complicated," He replied, his eyes meeting yours briefly.

"It is. It shouldn't be, but it is," You sighed again, sitting down as he looked over your shoulder.

"How long you been at this?"

You ignored his question, leaning in to further examine the code screen.

"It's late. You should sleep, get back to it in the mornin'."

You furrowed your brows, looking over your shoulder to find him closer than expected.

"I don't need sleep," You shook your head. "I need to figure this out. I'm close."

An epiphany sparked in your head- a brute force attack you hadn't yet tried. You quickly typed in the keys, waiting with baited breath as the screen paused.

A flickering script reading 'denied' came across your screen, typed out in front of you for confirmation. Validation that you'd failed, again.

"Fuck!" You shouted, cradling your head in your hands. "I-I can't figure this shit out, I can't do it." Your voice broke, hoarse with strain.

You looked up at him, your eyes now watery with frustration and anger.

"'Ey," He said, leaning forward. "Relax. I dunno much about this shite, but seems you're doin' alright."

You tilted your head. "Laswell needs these documents for Shepherd tomorrow, and I've got nothing to show for it. It'll be my ass getting dismissed. It's not alright."

"Shepherd can wait," He said. "You've saved our arses more than a few times."

"It's not enough."

"It's more than enough. Relax, you're givin' me a bloody headache."

"I can't relax," You looked up at him with blood-shot eyes.

"If anyone can do it, 't's you. Seen you handle worse than this." He gestured to the screen, a flippant motion.

You sucked in a deep breath, nodding slowly. You were more than shocked to hear the comforting words from Ghost. A man revered for his deadly hands, ferocity. The irony made you giggle, short and quiet, though he heard it.

"What's funny?" He asked, moving to lean against the desk.

"Just didn't expect you to be so supportive. Appreciative."

"I see what you do," His gaze was unwavering as he stared you down. "Couldn't do it m'self. Owe you my life, if not more."

"Not quite," You quirked up a brow.

"Yeah- quite. Raid in Las Almas, no other escape routes, Price called you in and we were on the way out in minutes."

You bit your cheek, nodding slowly, your eyes shutting as you digested his words. He was right- you'd done your fair share of evac and location support, never losing a soldier. Regardless of how horribly the assignment was going, you couldn't deny only you had the capacity to complete it.

"Thanks," You nodded, looking up at him. "I'm just in my head, stressed out."

He cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter.

You leaned back, grabbing a cigarette from the nearly-empty pack on the desk, and lighting it up.

"You want one?" You asked, offering him the package.

He took one, offering a quiet, "Cheers."

He lifted the cover of his mask up above his nose- it took every ounce of strength not to immediately watch his lips as he stuck the cigarette between them. Even then, your eyes glanced at the newly-discovered flesh, diverting your gaze when he locked eyes with you.

You inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine coat your lungs, before exhaling into the monitors before you.

"Should get some sleep," He said, standing up.

"Yeah," You nodded, shifting to lean forward. "Yeah, I will. Just a bit longer."

He sighed, bringing his gloved hand down on the keyboard.

"I'll break it in half if I need to," He said, his voice low and threatening.

You swallowed, raising your brows at the unexpected reaction.

"Alright," You huffed.

You stood to your feet, putting your cigarette out on the ashtray beside your mouse. He did the same, arms folding over his chest as he waited for you to leave your station.

His adamant opposition to letting you continue was admirable. Attractive, even. You hadn't anticipated feeling grateful, or happy to have had him find you.

You'd kept your distance from him, though you'd always find your eyes gravitating toward his. He'd already be staring, watching you from across the briefing room. At first, you'd been terrified, wondering if you'd done something to piss him off, but nothing ever came of it. Instead, he'd lift his head to find you, check over his shoulder to look at you.

He found you intriguing, attractive. A brilliant woman; smart, educated, someone he was glad to have on his team. He'd seen the countless hours you put in, the calm tone of your voice every time there was a stress signal from one of the men. You held it together for them- the least he could do was the same for you.

He liked the way your eyes studied the screen, the way you'd chew your lip raw. Though it wasn't in your best interest, he found it alluring. His mind wandered when he'd see you, nothing appropriate at all- only to satisfy the heat that curled itself inside his intestines when he laid his eyes on you.

He remembered seeing you for the first time, wondering who you were: laptop on the desk, pen in hand, bright-eyed and eager to please. Immediately, he'd fabricated images of you in his mind- images that he'd play through during the lonely hours of the night.

"Why are you up?" You asked suddenly.

"Couldn't sleep. Don't sleep much."

You shook your head, "And yet, you're lecturing me." A small smile lifted your lips.

"For your own good," He answered.

"That's interesting," You mumbled.

"Why's that?"

You breathed in, "You've only ever stared me down, don't think we've had a conversation before."

"Y'can say a lot without talkin'," He retorted.

"I wasn't sure whether you wanted to fuck me or kill me," You grinned.

"What's the consensus?"

"Still not sure," You held back a grin.

"Would've killed you by now."

You laughed, "That's not very comforting."

"Should be. Only leaves the former."

He moved closer, standing up straight as he unhooked his legs.

You were pleasantly surprised, though your nerves had been roused from their short slumber. Heat washed over your cheeks, climbing up your spine before returning to the crest of your thighs.

"Think y'could use some stress relief," He said. "Y'seem pent-up."

You pulled your lip between your teeth, your eyes shifting between his. It was tempting, more than your mortal being could possibly resist.

"Maybe," You uttered, your hands twitching with anxiety as he neared you.

He cocked his head, "Maybe ain't an answer."

"Yes," You blurted. "I could. But not if you're taking pity on me."

He chuckled, a sound you'd never heard before from him, though it was somewhat deformed. Amusement and disbelief rather than enjoyment.

"Sweetheart," He cooed, his chest nearly pressed against yours. "It ain't pity. Y'should know better."

"We'll, you're not exactly approachable," You said, tilting your head to meet his gaze. "Haven't had the pleasure of speaking with you before."

He nodded, "S'alright," He said. "Had enough o' watchin' from afar, though."

You breathed out, long and cathartic as it passed your lips. Releasing every worry and anxiety, relieved to be able to focus solely on him- on Ghost.

His hand reached your waist, softly pulling you into him, finally connecting your bodies. You let out a quiet grunt, your hands raised at your sides as you took in the feeling of his body against yours.

"Y'can touch me," He grinned. "I won't bite 'less you ask."

As if you weren't already aroused, soaking your panties, he only made it worse. The heat of his hands on your waist had drawn out any thoughts in your head, his voice so close- so clear in front of you was mesmerizing.

You apprehensively moved your hands to rest on his shoulders, your palms gliding against the taught muscles, another extended sigh as you tried to ignore the burning in your gut. He liked the contact, your small hands searing a brand into his skin.

He stared at you for a few moments, his eyes raking over your face, the face he'd seen in his dreams more than anywhere else. He must've made a pact with the devil, something sacrificed to have you in his hands- finally.

He leaned in, soft lips touching yours. It was fleeting, the softness, before he backed you against the desk with no regard for the equipment on it. Still, his lips held your attention, his tongue gliding between your lips to clash against yours. It was open-mouthed, messy, especially as he lifted you to the desk and bullied himself between your thighs.

You moaned faintly when his hand slid down your side, taking a handful of your ass and squeezing harshly. His other hand worked your shirt off your torso, parting only for a moment when the fabric passed your neck. His hands on your bare skin created a feeling of tightness in your gut- especially as he squeezed and grabbed at you, truly appreciating the curves of your body against him.

To your chagrin, he was still fully clothed, in his fatigues, like he lived in them. Even at two A.M., the man never quit. You weren't complaining; you rather liked the sight of his fitted uniform, especially as it squeezed his forearms and thighs, showing the bulk of muscle and veins beneath tattooed skin.

You were antsy, however, to feel him. All of him, against you.

"Take it off," You whispered against his lips, tugging at his jacket with clenched fists.

"Bossy woman you are," He teased, pulling away as he unbuttoned the shirt.

"I know what I want," You shot back, your eyes now narrowed in on him.

He hummed, satisfied with your answer. "That so?"

You nodded, smug and prideful, a sense of power- you had complete control. Your hands supported your weight behind you, leaning back, watching the show as he stripped from the shirt. It fell off his torso, revealing the toned muscles beneath, and he yanked the other sleeve off with impatience.

Your jaw was slack, looking over him as he neared again. This time, his hand slid up your throat, gripping the delicate area with a firm hold. He forced your eyes to meet his, a noticeable grin on his lips.

"You listen to me, sweetheart," He said, in your face. "And I'll take care o'you. Spread your legs."

You shivered, an audible gasp leaving your lips. The things you'd have done to hear filthy words leave his mouth- the voice that rung in your ears at night, made your pussy flutter. Now, he'd offered his services to you, rather enthusiastically, too, admitting he'd wanted it for a long time. If nothing else made you feel better about your shit progress, he surely could.

He kept eye contact while his hand worked open your pants, pulling them and your panties down your legs with speed and precision. He wasted no time pressing your thighs to your chest, tucking you into an uncomfortable position before kneeling in front of you.

"No thinkin'," He warned. "'Less it's about cummin' on my face."

Your head fell back, groaning softly, lifting back up again only when he pressed his lips to your pussy. Then, you watched with anticipation building in your gut, trembling in your limbs and a heavy ache settling in your womb.

He slid a warm tongue between your folds, a gentle touch you hadn't expected from the brute of a man. He watched you the entire time, took in the sight of your lips parting, sucking in a long breath, shutting your eyes as you basked in the pleasure. He couldn't help but form a grin, his lips engulfing your pussy in an open-mouthed kiss.

His attention moved to your clit, faint licks crossing the sensitive area that coaxed quick jolts from your body. He settled into a rhythm, and your body adjusted accordingly, leaning into the new and overwhelming feeling.

"Yeah, right there," You said, a hushed tone, like you were speaking to yourself.

He grunted in response, another warning.

"Sorry," You said again. "Feels so good." It was a quiet whine.

You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, grab at something, anything that would connect you to him, so you settled for his forearms. Your palm gripped the flesh of his arm, squeezing, just as he did to your thighs.

His tongue expertly traced your clit, circles and delicate licks that made your back arch, opening yourself up for him to taste.

"That's it," He uttered, muffled by your pussy. Even speaking against you made you clench, stare down at him with lust on your face. "There's a good girl."

You exhaled, nodding in agreement, submission to his mouth as he returned to his rhythm, falling in tandem with the heavy breathing leaving your chest. His eyes hadn't left you, watching and studying your expression for every hint of pleasure. He was intent on learning exactly what you like, though it was difficult to discern through the flurry of expressions on your face.

Your brows drawn together, jaw open as you choked down a gasp, breathing heavily into the dark room. He could make out your face, but your silhouette was blackened against the light of the monitors. He could see the swell of your breasts, your thighs, the curve of your waist against the backlight. He could even see your eyes, when you'd drop your head to watch him devour you.

You began to shake, tensing against his mouth when he continued at a consistent pace. He was thorough in every aspect of life- this was no exception. He didn't let up, even when your pussy drooled with cum, instead, he licked it up with his tongue, moaning softly against you at your taste.

He stood to his feet, unbuckling his belt as he stared at you. Your chest heaved, toes curled, leaning back as you watched him. The light danced on his abdomen, highlighting every hill and dip on his torso, the scars that scattered the skin. It was a sight that had your brain resetting, recovering as though you hadn't been covered in a layer of sweat and left breathless from your orgasm.

His cock stood erect when he yanked his trousers down, and he didn't stall any longer. He stalked forward, leaning into you, his hand on the desk behind you as he pushed his cock through the tight barrier of your hymen. He was absorbed, swallowed by soft inner-muscles and velvety walls, slick with your cum and arousal.

He pressed his lips to yours again, not allowing for much deliberation or accommodation- he was far too aroused to wait. You planted your heels against the desk as he thrusted his entire length into you, quickly meeting your cervix with a gentle graze. It made you suck in a sharp breath, and move away from his lips.

You saw his eyes, the look of possession and pure lust in them. You merely stared at each other, a nauseating intimacy while he thrusted inside you, further disturbing your lower stomach with a tightness.

"Oh God," You choked, your hands reaching around his shoulders, clinging to him. "Don't stop- don't fucking stop."

His hand reached around you, holding you against him, the other gripping your thigh with a bruising constraint.

"Fuckin' Christ, you're tight, sweetheart," He breathed in your ear. "You all wet for me?"

You nodded, breathing an enthusiastic yes into his ear, clenching at his back with your fingers. Your nails dug into the slick flesh, feeling his muscles move as his hips tilted back and forth into you.

All you could smell, hear was him. The scent of his heavy body soap, like pine, mixed with the cigarette you'd offered him earlier. His breathing in your ear, heavy pants as he relished in the tightness of you- the slippery walls encroaching on his cock.

"Such a good fuckin' girl," He mumbled against your neck, his lips dragging against your skin. "Say you're a good girl," His voice rumbled through his chest. "Fuck me- all for me."

It was haze-inducing, incoherent mumbles, quiet gasps and sobs as you clung to him. It worsened when his fingers played your clit, sliding between your bodies to rub over the sensitive spot.

"I'm a good girl," You gasped. "I'm your good girl."

"'At's right, sweetheart- takin' me nice and deep."

It didn't take long to clench around his cock, another wave of nauseating pleasure that rendered you absolutely useless as he drove into you.

"Fuckin' hell," He stuttered.

You'd constricted his cock, pulsating around him with every contraction, nearly sobbing into his shoulder when he continued with his thrusts.

He finally pulled out, tugging on his cock as he released his cum over your stomach. He exhaled sharply, before gathering his composure.

You grimaced as you stood to your feet, trying to clean yourself off as best you could.

You watched him shrug his jacket back on.

"Get some rest," He nodded once, gesturing to the doorway. "I'll check on you tomorrow."

"Is 'check on me' an innuendo? Should I wear my good underwear?" You grinned, pulling your pants back over your backside.

"I'd shag you if y'had on a bin bag, sweetheart."

"You're sweeter than you let on," You teased, laughing.

"Not for most," He cocked his head. "Guess you're lucky."

"Well, thank you," You smiled.

It was genuine. A distraction, however unexpected and unusual, that did make you almost forget about the assignment.

"I'll be around," He paused. "If you're feelin' like takin' your frustrations out."

"Goodnight, Lieutenant."

He walked off with a short nod. You paused for a moment; the temptation to curl yourself up at your desk and continue your assignment was gnawing at you. You clenched your jaw, took a deep breath in when you recalled Ghost's words, and finally decided to turn off the monitors.

[sexhaver]

i’m sorry i’m like this too.

but this site is so fucking WEIRD about john green. the cock monologue is whatever, but you also have a post about green being “weirdly chummy” with fans and. come on that was the actual problem in 2014. he was getting accused of pedophilia and grooming which was disproved at the time and remains completely untrue.

john green wasn’t predatory for writing YA novels with teenage girl main characters. he wasn’t predatory for interacting with fans who sought him out. he wasn’t predatory for creating an online community that remains safe for minors to participate in currently. he’s not a predator and he isn’t weird to his fans. it’s genuinely messed up to imply and keep implying that a YA author was being predatory towards fans after it was disproved. he had a public social media account before it was common for authors to engage that way. we were teens and we got weird about it.

it is actually serious to say john green was being inappropriate towards children and it’s important for all of our safety that we stay Very Very Clear about what predation is and who is Actually Dangerous To Children.

first off, no, you're not sorry, if you were sorry you would realize this ask sounds ridiculous and not send it, and yet here we are.

what really gets me the most about idiots such as yourself is that you make such a painstaking show of recounting How Things Really Happened, as if there's a massive conspiracy of historical revisionism afoot with the end goal of smearing a middle-aged YA author when like. i was literally there. i used this website before john green joined. i watched him get popular, i watched as we all took the piss by editing his text posts like we edited 10000 other text posts, i watched as a teenage girl called him a "creepy uncle at a pool party" and he responded by siccing his adult YA author friends and fans such as yourself on her so hard she deleted, i watched as he called nerdy girls an "underutilized resource" in a video targeted at boys, i watched as he jerked himself off in the notes of a gifset of his own movie ("is this the FIRST TIME the GIRL has kissed the BOY????"). i was (and still am) mutuals with the guy who edited the iconic copypasta over his announcement about hitting 100k followers or whatever.

i did not suffer through all of this, the worst fucking years of this hellsite, to be talked down to by tiktok users who deign to cite the deep magic to me. he was not targeted with post editing copypastas (yes, plural, it had been ongoing for months) for being neurodivergent. he wasn't even targeted for being creepy or predatory, although that was definitely a discussion being had at the time. he was targeted because he was fundamentally cringe before the word "cringe" had been discovered, and because he took himself so seriously that you were guaranteed to get a response from him every time.

imagine if Lin Manuel Miranda made an account on here now, and you could edit his posts, and every time you edited them, he would reblog it back from you saying "haha, very funny guys, but this is an edit! i didn't say this!", which you could then edit again, and so on and so forth. and then imagine if, a full decade after this happened, people who weren't even there started calling this practice "violent harassment" because someone edited his post to the "what the fuck did you fucking say about me?" copypasta once. and furthermore imagine that when you laugh at these people, they get really really indignant and demand you take them seriously and imply that somehow you're losing the debate by refusing to engage with them, and also that this is a debate all of a sudden instead of them embarrassing themselves

[adoregojo]

after decades, I finally write a fic about hiroi, even if it was a little short and mid at least it's something d: i love his character sosososos much even if he was a little hard to write mwah mwah i still love pretty boys. warnings: cussing. mention of needles. tattoo artist!reader, karasu being a third wheel. hiroi being a lovesick bastard, karasu basically suffering throughout the fic.

"what are we even doing here?" karasu's question goes upon death ears, suddenly he regrets tagging along in this.

it was like 8:49 at night, the crow head had his plans ready and set up just for hiori to barge in and drag him to a half hour drive to some tattoo studio on a an unfamiliar street he never stepped a foot on. this should consider kidnapping, he knew he should've screamed out of the window when he had the chance.

however he gotta admit the place didn't look half bad, it was well styled and didn't reek of smoke like expected, it even whiffed of fragrance. black painted walls and some hanged pieces of art, whoever chose them have a good taste. but being the smartass he is, karasu knew that whatever reason hiori was here for, was definitely not for a tattoo.

it was obvious even a blind one could get it, the cyan head had to take a few breathers out and in before opening the door. he didn't like that foolish smile that stayed glued to his face all the way here, and doesn't his cheeks hurt from beaming that damn long? like he didn't make the same remark of him smirking day and night, fucking hypocrite.

and what he didn't like most of all was how he kept overlooking him all that time, basically neglecting whatever doubts that pushed out his lips.

it's someone or something that was definitely dancing on his mind all night long. that explains why have he been coming to the dorms late at nights for the past weeks, he didn't even pat an eye to the class he missed. karasu was starting to think he was being hold hostage at once.

the crow male watch as he entered what he can guess it's where people sit on a chair and getting brutally needled by a an unbothered tattooer, that looked like it hurts like a bitch if you ask him. and when hiori sat down comfortably on a stuffed couch like it was his own home, he had enough.

"ye better answer me before i slam that stupid smile you have on ya face." karasu threat, showing his mettle and irritation just for his cyan friend to pat on the empty space beside him. karasu could feel his hair white, just what the hell was he getting on.

he sat down anyway, his hands deep in his pockets. the couch was awfully too comfy. he needs to ask for this brand, after beating hiori's ass of course. maybe he'll park his car in the place where birds shat on daily for a pay back, sounds like a plan.

"soooo, ya speaking or not, shithead?"

"be a good friend and shut yer yap, please?" that's the first thing he says tonight, and still with that put-off smile.

"yea, no wonder ya got only one friend." his remark was left hanging in the air. karasu had to physically clench his fist to a ball before he actually make hiori give the tile floor a very loving kiss.

his cyan hues were transformed to another direction, the path where a middle aged man was on the shelf of tears and the tattoo artist trying to hand them a piece of sooth. it was an embarrassing sight, and a situation to be put in. he had a knowledge of hiori being a little into drama but this better not be what he was brought up for.

however, that wasn't what hiori's eyes was on, if he looked closely, his sights were sat on the tattooist themselves, and that ogle was the definition of being absolute dotty and smitten, hiroi's ears were tipsy and he looked like he was about burst out the universe from his chest. disgusting is you asked karasu.

fucking hell, hirori had the fattest crush on the tattoo artist and he had to sit there and watch him grew enamoredly over them by the second.

you were literally in a misery of a situation, sweat running downhill your forehead, your locks were messy and out of place. and his friend over here eyes about to glow out in a shade of hearts like you were the only one to look at. he seriously wanted to throw up at this makeshift k-drama, he'd even throw tomatoes if he can.

he wondered what mistake he owned the university for to make him sit down there for the next hour with sniffing echoes throughout the walls and the annoying noises of that coil will definitely haunt him in his dreams. did he mention that he wasn't having a good time?

finally that man took his leave, mumbling apologies over and over his way before weaving over at you. this was the call of freedom, the door was calling him, seducing him with it blazing light to go through it and take his leave because he was dead serious when he say that he doesn't feel his butt no more.

"hiroi? is that you?"

have mercy on him.

you walked up to them, karasu doesn't know if it was hallucination taking over him but he could hear his friend's rabid heart pounding louder than ever by every step you take, he really thought another foot step would give a heart attack.

he doesn't think twice before standing up to greet you. "hi." hiori's reply came out clumsily, his eyes revolving around every corner of the room but your figure.

"hello, hello. did you finally decide to a get a tattoo?" you tilted your head slightly. he shook his head in response, "not yet, I actually came here for you." he admitted, you fix your posture quickly. playing with your fingers timidly behind your back, a failed attempt to hide the affect of his words.

"well, are you willing to wait a few hours before a finish this shift?" you asked jokingly, flashing your lashes rabidly. you could feel his gaze burning on you, drinking on your every move and every feature, detailed and craved to his mind.

"I'll wait for whatever long if that means seeing you." hiroi cooed, when did that girlish dude become a sappy one? as if he was finding pure joy in seeing you all red-faced and shrinking. you chuckle in response, raising your hand in attempt to places the hair locks back to it place. you definitely looked hideous right now, yet he kept his dreamy pairs on you only.

gently, he takes your hand his. slowly and timed in case you felt uncomfortable, it fitted perfectly, made for him to hold. the urge to lock your fingers together was tight. flipping your hand then he opened your gloved palm that was pained after the hour of holding the coil. hiori reaches for his pocket to site a piece of warped up candies. your favourites.

you stare at him, almost as if asking him without the need of words. "you mentioned that your jar run out of candy, so I brought you some. if you wanted i can refill it for you." he says, still looking at your still warped up in his hand. it bloomed him with unexplained warmth.

a burst of butterflies swirls in your stomach, he was close, almost leaning over your face that you could feel his suffuse mint breath tickling your skin. "that's so... thoughtful of you, hiroi. you're too kind."

"only for you."

what the fuck is he witnessing.

you two were literally making-out in front of karasu, and he was this close to bawling his eyes out. he seriously considered what on earth did he have done to deserve witnessing his friend being all lovey-dovey with a hot tattooist, is the consequence of him being friends with otoya finally catching him?

his blue bare of eyes sae as hiori pointed his finger at at him, "actually he wants to get a tattoo."

he was what now?

"wait wha-"

"and he'd like to do it anytime soon."

he couldn't actually believe this, absolute backstabbed. his what he considered a friend was basically setting him up just so he can spend time with his crush. just what the hell, what kind of betrayal is this, he got sat up brutally by the last person he expected from.

your eyes traveled to karasu's jaw dropped face. you didn't even notice him until hiori pointed him out. "oh, I'm sorry it's packed up today. i can set him for someone else if you want to." you suggested.

"no, i only trust you to do that." hiori didn't rethink before saying that, your eyes widened at him. he always managed to caught you off guard with his genuine sugar-coating words.

"if you insist, i have an empty seat tomorrow."

"I'll make sure we'll be there. and it's his first time, be gentle with him, kay?"

"I'll make sure to." you assured him, patting him on his arm. he held himself back from jolting at your nails digging his skin through the fabric of his sweater. it was soft, something that he isn't quite used to. and it lingered longer than it was supposed to when you lifted it off.

you take a piece of rolled up paper and stuff it into his pocket, "my number, call when you need." you say, eyes shifting between the floor and hiori's own, kicking your feet from side to side. while he couldn't take his off you. like blinking would make you disappear and slip away forever.

he knew he was taking advantage of karasu, and he was all ready for the consequences of it all if it mean spending any more seconds alongside with you. he promise to cherish it and held it deep within the depths of his soul. he promised to make it to him later, but now he was just too drowned to care, too intoxicated to think about anything beside of you.

"how about i go bring you some dinner? and we'll-"

"FUCK NO!" Karasu finally snapped.

in a blink of an eye, hiori was being harshly pulled by his behind collar, "we're are going home, and that's final!" karasu shouted as he dragged the cyan head who kept on reaching his hand uselessly towards you. he couldn't protect himself before he was already out of the store then thrown carelessly into the passenger seat.

the crow slammed the car door grimly, warping the safety belt then driving off like there was no tomorrow. not giving hiori a time to get a grip of himself. a pregnant silence fall on them, and he couldn't careless when he felt a burning glare on his head, if looks could kill, karasu would've been dead thousands of times.

"fucking cockbloker."

"oh, zip it you sadistic bitch."

study math? no, write for hiori? hell yea

[kandadze]

Ep 27 loose thoughts

Well, that's one way of snapping someone shell-shocked out of making a drastic decision. I feel like PSJ snapped something in herself at this moment, too. Anyone else found the ancestor's commentary going on in the background while the girls are bawling their eyes out hilarious? Just me? Okay.

While I was waiting for the ever burning wood to activate or something, the moment WX opened the box to reveal dried flowers I choked. ZYC!!!

Baby!Yichen breaks my heart, so impressionable, so open to learn. It's interesting to see that the phrases about suffering we've seen him use as an adult might have come from WX... Not a fan of telling people in mourning to stop dwelling in misery and sadness like it's as simple as flipping a switch (not to mention, she apparently *just* met him for the first time? The heck?), but at least the rest of her words seem to have helped him... so much that he kept the flowers 😭 The irony of her snow metaphor contrasted with their current predicament is indeed exquisite, A+ for that.

Are they going to be saved by the power of lurrrrve??? (At least this time. Still holding out for how that's gonna play out in the finale.) I mean, what other way to sway an ancient creature who's seen pretty much everything there is to see, than to show them something new? What's that? A test for a future event? (I'm getting really paranoid about nothing we've seen so far being real. It's like Alice in Wonderland on a bigger scale. Or Finnegans Wake on a smaller scale. I don't know.)

Oooh Bingyi and Ying Long, our original doomed couple (of self-sacrificial idiots)! I would watch a whole drama just about them. And damn, I can definitely see where Zhao Yuanzhou got his masochism from. Stoppppp not "Just let me be the first star"! (Especially since I just remembered ZYZ's "I'll be the rain...") It's not supposed to be literal! 😭😭😭 Ahhhh this scene just broke me, also because it seems to reinforce the idea that ZYZ *has* to be killed for the greater good. The visualssss in the execution- sacrifice? What the heck do I even call it?- scene though, soooo good!

"Let me do it myself." LET ME DO IT MYSELF??? FUCKKKKKKK DAMNIT HE JUST- ::head in hands, crying forever::

"Remember. This is my choice, not yours. You don't have to bear any blame or guilt." That's not how that works. That's not how any of that works!

Again, we're dealing with choices. But the fact that ZYZ choice was the same as Ying Long's... the fact that YL says that neither he nor Bingyi had any regrets... oh this is going to hurt.

Oh? ZYZ's future is not what he wants? (And wouldn't that be funny, considering ZYZ's own words while schooling ZYC in the very first ep... 9 times out of 10, things don't go our way?)

"You two are really like us." 😭😭😭

I was wondering if they were going to show us what ZYC saw, and not only does the image of ZYZ's body on that dark floor mirror Ying Long's body floating in the water, both ZYZ and ZYC wear the same clothes as in the very few scenes from the trailer that didn't happen yet... These poor sods, they've been Going Through It for almost a decade now with the only end in sight being yet another tragedy (even if the drama seems to suggest that they don't see it that way at this point.) ::head in hands, crying continues::

"My friend is here. We'll go together." The *sound* I made. Everything else this drama has given me aside, the growth of these characters and their bonds is so well done, and absolutely precious to me.

I want Ying Long's hopes and wishes for them to become true. Seeing how there's hints everywhere in this drama, I hope the words of one of the most powerful beings in existence will count for *something* in the end! (Am I grasping at straws? Maybe. Let me be delusional for a bit longer.)

What do you mean, five, ZYC? What's Ying Lei, chopped liver?

Oof this *almost* hug before WX starts feebly hitting ZYZ. It's relief, it's anger, it's fear for the next time, it's all the feelings that became too big to contain. I feel her so much. (I would've started whacking both him and ZYC way earlier tbh 😅) And ZYZ allowing her that release before pulling her in for reassurance, patting her as if she was a scared child. 😭 Cut to PSJ, looking as if she wanted nothing more but to be the one offering the reassurance to WX. Cut to ZYC, remembering that willingly or not, he's going to hurt WX beyond reassurance. Once again, the bonds in this drama!

Wait hold up hold on what? You just removed Bingyi's blood from him, that should mean that ZYC will not have to become a demon, right? So what's that about developing the inner core? (Also, I just realized that so far all they got from this trip was "go east and ask for a dragon scale" lol) Thankfully him and ZYZ had their conversation(s) about titles and identities so being asked to make that particular choice was not completely out of left field at this point. And all he cares about is whether that means that the last trace of Ying Long will disappear! 😭 (I'm so with Bingyi on this one... I would hold onto that last shred of my friend's existence, too, *especially* if they offed themself via my goddamn sword.)

What's with that look after he says that he thinks he has it - the inner core - is there a joke here somewhere? (I *gotta* go back to learning the language, the things I'm undoubtedly missing on!) The only thing I can think of is - did they think he said he's pregnant??? ::dies:: "So what's your true form?" "Must be dragon." "I say you're a mule." "Better than being a monkey." "I'm a white ape!" ::dies again:: Nice to see we still get a friendly ribbing between all of them, and I can breathe after all the angst. Fingers crossed? There's still 5 minutes left...

Oh good, let's talk about getting Bai Jiu back! (I knew there was one more character from the opening credits that didn't show up yet... guess it's the rebel princess.) While Ao Yin is eavesdropping! Talk about good hearing. Sigh, here it comes, another goal they have that will conflict with Li Lun's; they want the scale to restore the sword, and LL not only doesn't want that to happen, the scale could potentially help him get rid of the poison.

Oh for fuck's sake, I think I was subconsciously waiting for Chongwu Camp to show up, knowing that they've eavesdropped on the gang earlier, and here they are. ZYZ should really think of putting up some sound barrier when they discuss important plans, everyone seems to know exactly what they'll be doing at any given moment!

Ahhhh we're getting a nod to that little cough and stumble WX had shortly before this trip. Something's wrong with Baize token? Or with her connection to it? We only have 7 episodes left, drama!

(ZYC is such a good little brother.) Oh great, it was the rebel princess who killed WX's dad? I repeat, we only have 7 episodes left!

Sigh... with only 7 episodes left, we *also* find out that the goddamn 3-face-mask has history with the princess? And has everyone and their mother sat on that little bridge???

This feels like the endless final scenes in Peter Jackson's "Return of the King," my head is spinning.

Note to self, *stop* looking at previews. Ying Lei, what the absolute fuck?

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Pack 141 - Vampire!Ghost Headcanons

Tags: mentions of blood and scars, mostly just HCs of Ghost as a vampire, some very light ghostprice, even lighter poly 141, if ya squint

Ghost who's change had been partially undergone in a shallow grave in a southern countryside.

Price had been the one to find him, bringing him home and helping him through the rest of his change. Taking on the role of his new sire. He had known Riley prior, a strong and bright soldier. And while Price should have taken appropriate action and put him out of his misery…he had other plans in mind.

Unsired vampires generally don't survive, and the ones that do often become feral or have very significant behavioral problems. Due this arrangement, Price and Ghost share a very intimate bond.

Simon hadn't been aware of the monstrous world around him prior to the events around his changing. And upon learning of Price's lycanthropy he felt a bit betrayed for some time. He would eventually come to understand, but he was definitely salty about it.

This being said Simon was not socialized as a vampire. All his information came from Price and what official reports they had on his kind in general. He isn't totally out of his depth, but there are some pieces missing.

By vampiric standards Simon is still a fledgling, though only other vampires would clock him on that.

Through diligent training Price helped Simon through any frenzy instincts, though it isn't completely gone Simon has exceptional control around the copious amounts of blood that come with his profession. Not to mention the mask helps muffle the scent.

What Price finds most amusing, is that after most of the wrinkles are ironed out, Simon is largely indifferent to the change. He carries trauma certainly, but the new found power and diet appears to have not phased him fuck all.

Simon still stubbornly takes his tea at the same time, after having gone through some trial and error. He found he can still drink his tea albeit a little altered. Blood with 3 sugars please.

Though Simon had eaten his mess hall gruel without complaint for years, he did miss the routine. He still slinks off to his room to eat his own meal on the same schedule.

While he doesnt burst into flames with the sun touching his flesh he is significantly weaker. He was already prone to burning red like a lobster in his human life. The change didn't make things to terribly different. The mask and layers of clothes prevent most of the issue.

Due to certain traumas around his change. Simon is very particular about feeding. And besides emergencies or very specific exceptions. Simon does not feed from the source. He often just drinks from a canteen/bottle with a blood/water mixture. To human onlookers it would honestly just look like he was using the flavored water enhancers. Which also brings Simon a certain kind of amusement.

As is common, Simon has enhanced strength and senses. He now possesses a red pearly tapetum lucidum or “eyeshine”. He suffers through the ‘sunglasses at night’ jokes to avoid any questions or accidental detection on night ops.

The change did not make Simon ethereally beautiful. He looks mostly the same besides paler skin, red tinted eyes and new shiny fangs. He still maintains all his scars/marks and tattoos from before. And while his healing factor prevents most scars, significant wounds may still scar lightly or the scar may take decades to fully fade away.

Simon doesn't feel cold to the touch per se, but he does run cooler than the average human due to his altered metabolism.

If available, he does prefer to at least long ‘nap’ during the day. While it's possible for him to carry on normally during daylight hours it does take more out of him.

Generally speaking most normally socialized vampires forgo sleeping regularly all together. Price however, insisted upon resting during Simon's changing. “Good for your mind” he'd stated gruffly. And Simon had kept up with it ever since. While he does legitimately sleep, this happens less often. His naps being more meditative in nature.

Similarly to Price, Simon does have brood instincts which occasionally become a point of contention between the two. Price's alpha wolf mixed with Simon's brood nature have them butting heads possessively over other members of the task force on occasion.

They are both smart enough to know the common goal of ultimately ensuring safety and care over their brood/pack mates. And most of the time they behave…but sometimes…

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/756016587973279744/httpswwwtumblrcomolderthannetfic755410324078

Honestly, while I'd be nicer about it, I agree flags are kind of cringe, or at least how seriously people take them is. It's really stupid seeing people treat flags like they're a really big deal. Other than the two rainbow flags, no one even recognizes most of them. Plus you only see them in people's icons online most of time so like... look away? Scroll? Curate your experience? It's not hard.

Also like above anon, I also definitely knew some people in college whose every outfit for a semester or two included pins and pride patches. It was definitely to get other people to know they were queer so they could talk about being queer. But they were always really new to knowing they were queer and they sort of... moved on sounds wrong because they're still queer, but they stopped doing that and stopped being all, "Have you heard about this sapphic movie?" "There's a bi character in this!" every conversation and went back to having more interests.

Meanwhile, I don't get why we're plastering them on everything in the first place. Like, should I be feeling affirmed or uplifted by pride shoelaces or pride socks or something? Is the pride pin supposed to make me feel happier, like how crystal mommies think rose quartz makes you happy? Are these colors here to do some color theory psychology thing? Because whatever I was supposed to get out of them, I've never gotten. I'm 32, 33 pretty soon, and I've never gotten this. I remember pins being a thing people were into in college, but even then I didn't get it. (And before anyone goes, "they're supposed to make you feel safer with your fellow queers and in the queer community", having been raped by a guy from the queer student club when I was in college because he 'knew' aroace black men didn't really exist and I must just be gay and in denial and he could fix me and, that, uh. That's not where my brain goes. Shit people can have any pin on their jacket, it's not a magic talisman that removes evil.)

I mask a lot as a neurodivergent person and I've always had to mask when I don't like something other people are hyped about because they get along with you better if you do. But whenever I see people on my dash oohing and aahing over pins or shoelaces or bracelets or hats I just reblog out of wanting to support the queer creators of whatever it is. I don't feel anything when I look at flag merch. It doesn't evoke anything in me. I know better than to say it doesn't because then you're suffering from internalized queerphobia or whatever but it's just... nothing, to me.

--

I haven't had any pins in decades and thought the rainbow ring necklaces were tacky back in the day, but honestly.

I own a sweatshirt from some botanical garden I supported once. And a college shirt. No sports team gear since I hate sports, but that wouldn't be weird either.

College students are frequently annoying about their new identities or political affiliations, but you are also being ridiculous. Humans like markers of identity of many types, including logos on clothing. This is just more of that.

[sunny-mercya]

From the rubble of our Love

Apollo x Male Reader

Fandom -> Percy Jackson

Masterlist

Apollo regrets everything he ever had said—over all these decades of aeons ago—to you, which caused you nothing but tears and suffering pain of heartache.

And thinking back, Apollo knew he wasn't the promised Husband—who once vowed to Styx, to always keep you protected and loving you as endlessly as the Sun keeps the days around human earth—he's supposed to be and that you should have deserved someone far much better than him—but out of all the stars in question (because even though it was Apollo which had saved you, you had a few suitors—like Hermes and Ares—lined up to ask for your hand) you had chosen Apollo as the man to be wedded to.

And whenever Apollo had fought with you—because he too had sometimes a short fuse and runs his mouth on pure anger—about trivial matters and being rather petty towards you, he question the fates above and your own judgment as to why you have chosen him, till he remembers a certain saying of yours.

„To this day I ask myself, why you saved me from the clutches of death—but when you said, you loved me and vowed to the stars such love—I think love is a path of two and only the vast universe alone knows of the why's and we shouldn't question such decisions from the above as a pure love is the strongest kind to exist and will defeat every obstacle of supposed ruining—so I here say, whatever there will come, be bad or good, I will forever love you till turn into the dust of stars themselves.“

Apollo never understood what you meant—uttered more in a sort of trance, having being way too out of it—drugged with too much ambrosia—thanks to Ares, who accidentally had hit you during one of his sparring—back then, in the aftermath of Pandora's unforgiving disobedience.

But now, while seeing you laying there on a hospital like bed in Asclepius—his dear dear son (right after Jason and Will) who's one of his few children, which loves you—their dad—so very much—realm, withering in pain of high fever and blood gushing wounds—makes the regret Apollo feels even much worse.

»Father,« Asclepius starts as he, with Will as his assistant, tends once more to your wounds, »I must say, I'm rather disappointed in you. Didn't expect such brutality from you, when it comes to Dad.«

Apollo didn't reply, his son was right—after all he's at practically fault for your demise of current health decay—because if Apollo hadn't been so petty with his words, it wouldn't have escalated like this—but here they were and oh, it's surely always a new life teaching experience.

»Don't be so harsh on father, Ascle. I'm sure he regrets, doesn't he?. Then again, the deities always seemed to, almost stupidly even, think their actions never would cause any harms.«

Although Will smiles, Apollo knew how it was meant—just as petty and witty as Apollo himself could be and Apollo is reminded, that out of all his children, Will comes the closet to his personality.

»I don't think Lord Apollo knows what the word of regretting even means. Because if he does, he wouldn't have said the things he had said and bringing our dad so close to death. After all, these deities are always selfish.«

And here comes Jason—definitely a mini version of your once former self, which is filled with pure destructive rage—sneering at Apollo with disdainfully disappointment as he shook his head to what his brother, in slight defence to their fathers side, had said—bumping shoulders, angrily and out of up building frustration, with Percy and the rest of his (supposed) friends and especially with Fiona.

Fiona, another sneer crossed Jason face, was—when we look at the whole current situation from an outside perspective—in absolute honesty at faults here, as she's the person who started all of this mess and caused you such pain in the first place.

And Jason hated—although you always preach how that's a way too strong word to toss so lightly around—Fiona with every fibre of his body and wished nothing but unfortunate consequences and grotesquely things upon her.

Because if it weren't for her—coming into camp and declaring loudly that she's a daughter of Apollo and something about the rightful heir and only supposed be child of said God and than bewitching Apollo making him attempt to cut off the binding vow with you—than you wouldn't be at deaths door once again.

»Now, now. How about, my dear brothers and his friends are going all out of the room for some fresh air with me. After all, dad needs some peaceful rest.» Asclepius ushered them all out of the room, leaving Apollo—trusting enough—alone with you.

~~~

When your fever had ever so slightly decreased, bringing back a minimal ounce of consciousness, you had begun to wake up—eyes opening, although still heavy with remaining and promising sleep, ever so briefly.

Apollo, having not let your side ever since bringing you to Asclepius—which says a lot, if he as a mighty god, ask his children for help—and holding your hand in tight comfort of silent reassurance, waited with batted breath for you to fully awake.

».....A-Apollo....?« your voice was hoarse and nothing but a mere hush of a whisper.

Apollo felt the stringing of tears in his eyes, because of all the things you could have said in your awakens—it was his name you chose to say first.

»I'm here love. I'm here. It will be alright, I promise you, it will be all alright again.«

Leaning down, Apollo leans his forehead against yours—the tears of guilt and possible grievance, falling on their own, like raindrops, onto your still feverish face—being so relieved to have back, alive and in recovery.

»I'm so sorry [Name]. I'm so sorry, love. I beg for your forgiveness, I beg for it, even though I'm not deserving of it.«

Truthfully, he's a shame and failure of an Husband—so undeserving of you and your love, which deserves someone much worthier than him to love.

Of course, sometimes when the days are dragging and either annoyance or frustration keeps nagging, Apollo does say the word „divorce“ and how you're not a good enough husband for him out of spite and in the heat of a moment—but Apollo swears he never had meant it to be taken seriously, till he found himself above you and cutting the binding vows in half.

Apollo remembers the moment, after he had—with the fated scissors, he had stole from the high servant of the priestesses of fate—cut the vow in half, how you gasped for breath and body going into a cardiac arrest—heart stopped to beat, eyes going dull and your complexion of deity, falling into a shade of ashen and decaying colour.

If hadn't been for his sons, who only had came to wake you up from your supposed nap, Apollo still would be in his trance and above your corpse—not releasing what hideous unforgiving crime he had committed.

Only a fool would think of granting him forgiveness and Apollo—although wishing for it—hoped you didn't forgave him and would chose another, much better, man to love—a love Apollo is undeserving of to receive.

»I'm glad you're here. I've felt so cold and alone, thought I would die—once more—and it frightened me so much, I believed I never would wake up again. But knowing you're next to me, makes me so relieved and I feel secure once more.«

Apollo had listen patiently to whatever you're rambling about, whispering his promises of not leaving your side and thanking to hear your heartbeat—when Apollo had placed his head down onto your chest and your fingers, on their own, found their way to his hair and caressing slowly through it—once more and it's the most beautiful sound he ever heard.

»Apollo?« exhaust noticeable in your voice, soon you would fall back asleep—still needing much more rest to recover fully—and Apollo only hummed in response, turning his head to look at you and your (e/c) dropping eyes.

»Have I ever told you, how much I love you? No? Like the Universe with all its beauty, I love you so endlessly,« a small smile graced your lips, making his own heart flatter, before you fall back into the world of dreams

Oh Zeus! You're truly a fool, to declare love to him once more despite what he had done—but please, Apollo begs to the stars of fates above, never let your flame of love towards him extinguish.

And Apollo holds back his cries, till he couldn't anymore and sobbed so hard—that he somewhere on earth had caused a heavy downpour—as he finally understood what you had meant about love and the guilt finally pierced completely through his heart.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Bsd except Atsushi was taken into the Port Mafia by the Old Boss.

After being given the cue to begin from Mori, Hirotsu starts his tale.

"About a decade or so ago, a couple who were quite high up in the Port Mafia ended up betraying us. The details I don't know of, but for whatever reason the Ex Boss took it personally."

It wasn't unusual. The Old Boss tended to deal with traitors first hand rather than leave it to his underlings. It definitely made the man terrifying. But taking it so personally was odd.

"They bargained with him. You see they had a son who possessed powerful ability. It worked, the Ex Boss was impressed with it and sparred them with the trade being he kept their kid."

Hirotsu took out his lighter and lit his cigarette.

"The Ex Boss grew to adore him, the kid was basically his son. Atsushi Nakajima was the crown jewel of the Port Mafia.

He was a good kid you would think he was bathed in light. And yet there was a darkness to him. He was as vicious and cold as he was kind and warm."

Mori raised an eyebrow.

"If he was so special, how is it I haven't heard of him?"

Hirotsu sighed "well, like I said the kids ability was powerful. But he couldn't quite control it, we had our measures and things in place of course. But as the Ex Boss started to sick, he became afraid of Atsushi."

He shook his head frowning.

"The kid he loved like his own was now a monster in his eyes. He locked Atsushi down underground, under more security that we have for Q. Forbade anyone for even mentioning his name, it was like the kid never existed."

Mori was intrigued by that "and was this extra security warranted or was it simply paranoia."

"It wasn't at first, Atsushi wouldn't have hurt any ally and especially not the Ex Boss."

Hirotsu knew, because even when Atsushi was fully transformed he remembered the scent and smell of his allies. He'd never attacked them, not unless they stepped out of line.

"But the longer he stayed down there... Any love Atsushi had for the Ex Boss turned into hate. The Ex Boss come taunt him, torture him and betrate him. Eventually the he got too sick to go down there."

Dazai hummed, sitting up in his chair. "And I'm guessing he's still down there?" Hirotsu nodded "I think the plan was to slowly starve him. But his caretakers continued their jobs, I've been down and he's still there."

Mori nodded "so you think he'd be a useful addition to the Port Mafia?" Mori already knew the answer of course but he wanted to hear it.

"Definitely. Atsushi never quite had a home before us, he values this city as his. His to protect, his to take care off. It's what convinced him to start taking training seriously.

It didn't fit the Ex Boss's vision, but I know he'll fit yours sir."

And that, that was all Mori needed but they chatted a bit longer. On exactly what this ability was, and it definitely was quite impressive.

Who knew he'd find a diamond below his feet?

"So my old man is dead? Did he suffer?" Asked Atsushi, watching as Mori approached his cell. He was standing, the chain around his neck taunt but he didn't seem bothered by it.

"He did, right go the end. I would know, I killed him myself."

Atsushi's look of shock turned into a chuckle. "So you did. So what do I get for choosing you hmm?" He sounded relaxed but there was hidden malice in his voice.

"Time out your cage, and the ability to protect this city as you wish." Said Mori. Atsushi looked at him in suprise, than smiled at that last part.

Hmm someone who cared more for this city than their own wellbeing, oh Atsushi definitely would be useful to the Port Mafia.

"I can do that, could also share some tales of dear old dad. He's got secrets buried in these walls." Said Atsushi nonchalantly and it was Mori's turn to chuckle.

"I can do that, so Atsushi Nakajima what do you say?"

Atsushi lowered himself onto one knee. "I swear my life, my blood and my loyalty to this organisation. I will be it's eyes, it's ears and it's executioner as you see fit all in the name of protecting Yokohama."

"Welcome to the Port Mafia, Atsushi Nakajima."

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep8 Musings - Loustat (SPOILERS) Pt2: Reunion

You don't know the HALF of what Lestat feels for Louis, to let YOUR grimy arse steal his man, just for LOUIS's happiness. ANYTHING for Louis.

Am I the only one who felt left hanging? We BEEN knew it didn't make sense, but what's your POINT, exactly? If Louis misremembered Lestat whispering, it's just par for the course about the odyssey of recollection. But if Lestat DID do telepathy, is that evidence of...what? That the vampire bond works differently than what's been explained? That he COULD read Lou's mind? AMC, this is AGGRAVATING.

Your goose is COOKED, my guy.

The copium & denial pack Louis was smoking as he laughed was 🤌

That's right, start sweating!

Master manipulation; cuz he certainly would NOT have, as we soon find out. ANYTHING for Louis. (Dang, Imma have to take back some of what I said about Lestat's character development not having started yet.)

I was shocked. I was NOT expecting this plot twist. I was ready to throw Lestat out with the rest of the TRASH, in the DUMP. Well dang. Guess I'll only leave him rotting in a TINY landfill.

I nearly SCREAMED--@nashvillethotchicken and I were talking about Loustat as Bobby and Whitney ages ago! I cannot BELIEVE AMC threw in a New Edition reference in the year of our lord 2024; y'all are diabolical AF, Rolin, STOP IT.

I wonder if AMC used Hurricane Odette cuz the OG script was set in pandemic!2020, so it would make sense that a year later Louis would head back to NOLA during 2021 when Hurricane Odette last hit.

That looks like NOLA's Pontchartrain Hotel--lemme find out he bumped into the Mayfairs when Rowan & them were in town, LOL.

Lestat got more aliases than the KGB; meanwhile Louis just sprinkles his long AF unique AF name all over the place. 🤦 But I guess it's ok, since the tour guide never mentioned him & Claudia by name. (Not Tom Anderson in another finale, LOL.) Louis so offended the tour guide said he ran a voodoo cult. XD

Fall of the House of Lioncourt-Melmouth.

You're gosh darned right! THEE Louis of Troy is in the building!

You love to see it. "A wearisome fledgling; all the millennials are--" not Lestat making PALE PROXIES of rat-catcher extraordinare LDPDL out of millennials. 😭

Lestat, if you don't get your crazy arse outta here with that bloodstained wooden keyboard Imma ROTFLMFAO.

NO JOKE, I effed up my friend's whole set when I started screaming "Siri, Pause," cuz my friend's Siri started freaking out and effed up the volume! XD

HERE WE EFFING GOOOOOOOO

(Best scene all season, fight me on this)

You know this was TEARING Lestat up, cuz of what happened in 1973--I gave Louis to you so you could do BETTER by him than EYE did, and instead it's NICKI ALL OVER AGAIN.

Imma smack him--this is NOT the time to be self-loathing, Lestat!

NOLA is my home--and the SAINT is not a city--I'm gonna cry.

He did. He just forgot, when reality settled in and the allure/nostalgia/glamour wore off. "I tried to make nights awful for you." Not the whole time, Louis. Y'all actually were happy b4--even Claudia said "the easy times" stopped after Florence died; and esp. after Charlie died. Lou can't be blamed for grieving his mom's death, and he definitely can't be blamed for Lestat & Claudia falling out after Charlie. Everything that happened after that--the 7 years of depression--was ALSO Lestat's fault. "I wanted you to suffer, cuz I was suffering;" I'm glad Les just waved that aside and said they BOTH wronged e/o.

He's not suicidal anymore then! He has nights in front of him to look forward to! So Lou can finally "learn to live honestly" with HIMSELF.

And Lestat dove RIGHT ON IN with that! He's been carrying that with him for DECADES, worried about Louis & what happened.

I LOVE that Les' language changes (the way his voice CRACKS and goes so TINY, oml)--he asked Lou in 1973 if he was "ill," and if something had happened TO him; so as to not spook/trigger or blame him--but he can ask more candidly now in a (relatively) "healthier" 2024 if Lou tried to hurt/kill himself; and get a more candid/honest answer. CLOSURE, y'all, I'm gonna cry.

GOOOOOOD. Don't EVER forget your daughter. Y'all need to have a Claudia Memorial; to KEEP remembering her, as she was in all her vampiric splendour, the good times AND the bad times.

I KNOW this hurt Louis to his effing core. The way Jacob cried FIRE!

I'm so glad Lou hugged him--YES YOU WERE, Uncle Les. And you KNOW it; you FELT that bond b/t y'all, even if she never looked at you. The distance b/t y'all was in name only, cuz a little Black girl couldn't have TWO daddies in 1917 and have one of them be white on top of it. I AM YOUR MAKER, sure, but you were her BLOOD FATHER, and she loved you, which is why she hoped you'd help her.

ANOTHER ROUND IN THE STORMY ROMANCE OF YOU TWO. 😭👏

What are these magical off-mic speeches/pep-talks Louis keeps giving people in Season 2?!? THE PEOPLE WANNA KNOW, gosh darnit!

DRATS.

I get why Jam said they thought the Loustat ending was "satisfying." It was nice, even though I'd've preferred to see Lestat in the Dubai penthouse at the end. :\

I LOVE THIS, AMC, thank you! ❤️

[antisemitism-101]

Welcome and FAQ

I'm so excited that you want to learn more about antisemitism and how to fight it! Thank you. Here are a few questions I've been asked while setting up this blog; I figured it would be worth putting them all in one place.

Why make this blog?

Often, growing up Jewish means growing up with intensive training in identifying antisemitism.  Even our religious holidays frequently boil down to "They tried to kill us and failed!  LET'S EAT ABOUT IT."  

The upside of that is, we learn from a very early age how to be safe.  What to watch out for, what escape plans to make.  The downside?  A lot of kind, thoughtful people who care about social justice, who want to help, didn't get that training. They didn't have to.  And us trainees failed to realize our training wasn't common knowledge.  That training gap leaves lots of room for bad actors to promote dangerous misinformation and antisemitic tropes.

I want to reduce that wiggle room.  To share knowledge with people who want to learn but are afraid to ask.  To help people understand why so many of us feel hurt and alone.  To identify language with antisemitic implications that are harder to see.   And I want to help the helpers.  I know there are a lot of you.

Who are you, and what makes you qualified to do this?

I am a Reform Jewish woman from the United States (Not A Zionist, Free Palestine, just to get that out of the way.)  My biggest credential, honestly, is my adorable mother-in-law.  She's a deeply curious woman with no sense of what an appropriate question is.  She's also lived in rural Texas without internet access for decades, and I was the first Jewish person she ever met.  Thanks to her, I have so many years of practice answering really painful good faith questions about Judaism.

The second person helping with this blog is a dear friend, a Zionist, and pro-Israel, and I've been arguing with him about Palestine more or less nonstop since October 7. I figure anything we two can agree on about antisemitism is probably broadly applicable.

Why are you blogging about this instead of about Gaza?

I don't believe being one more person blogging about Gaza is going to make a meaningful difference in the lives of Palestinians; I've currently focused my activism there on donating to aid organizations like Islamic Relief USA, which I encourage you to also do, and calling my elected officials.

In my experience, a lot fewer people are discussing antisemitism, for a lot of reasons.  I feel like largely people are afraid discussing antisemitism means ignoring the nightmarish suffering of Palestinians.  I know we have enough compassion in our hearts to support people in two marginalized groups.  And since I can discuss antisemitism in a knowledgeable, warm, and level-headed way, I feel like it's my obligation to right now.

How do you decide whether a question is in good faith?

That's a good question!  The unsatisfying answer is: it's entirely subjective.  But my definition of 'good faith' is generous, so don't be afraid to ask something because you feel like I won't like it.   

Can I ask general questions about Judaism here?

Try it! If the questions aren't related to antisemitism at all, I reserve the right to not publish them, but a lot of antisemitism comes from a misunderstanding of Jewish culture and tradition. If you want a Judaism 101 blog too, feel welcome to suggest it.

Is there a good place to find Antisemitism 202 content on Tumblr?

I'm glad you asked! My favorite two Tumblr bloggers who write on the subject (from very different angles) are:

@edenfenixblogs, who writes eloquently about common Jewish experiences and promotes both Jewish-Muslim solidarity and Israeli-Palestinian Solidarity. This post about the relationship between Judaism, trauma, and the desire to be a light in the world feels like it came straight from my heart.

@historicity-was-already-taken, who is a Holocaust scholar by profession. Obviously she writes mostly about the Holocaust and academia, but branches out into current events sometimes. I've linked her 101 post on antisemitic tropes to watch out for to multiple friends.

(Hi, both of you! I doubt you know me, I've just been an occasional commenter, but I'm a fan. If you don't want to appear on this list, please feel welcome to ping me and I'll remove you.)

What is that icon?

It's a dreidel, which is a children's toy used to celebrate a Jewish holiday, Chanukah. I wanted to pick something friendly and recognizably Jewish to USians like me.