#god i need him publicly executed

[red0-3]

I don't know how to draw online anymore

Also the app I used got a downgrade so it's also frreaknnnnn it

Fucki دازاى n

[a-chaotic-dumbass]

every once in a while i redownload lord of heroes just to check how my hoes r holding up and every time i try to get all the stars in extreme mode and every time i get abused thrown around and disrespected

[xoxochb]

⋆·˚ ༘ * what if he’s written ‘mine’ on my upper thigh

warnings: sexual implications

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of hades and persephone

series master list

you were dead. you had started planning your funeral the moment you saw percy jackson on your bedrooms balcony, however the situation was much worse now that you had slept with him, but that wasn’t the problem, you had done that a million times, now was different. It was in your room, in the palace your father was currently in along with many possible future husbands of yours

if your father found the boy in your room- your bed - you were sure the punishments would be endless. this boy needs to leave

you sigh “I hate you”

percy places a kiss on your neck before speaking, “you would have said otherwise a few moments ago”

“It’s time for you to go” you push him off of you and sit up, grabbing your sheets to cover your bare skin

“five minutes?” he gives you a pleading look

you shoot him a glare “that’s what you’ll be saying when my father is about to have you publicly executed in front of me”

he places his hand back on your hip and squeezes it “I love when you talk morbid”

“get out” you point a hand to the balcony where you assumed he climbed up

percy sighs in defeat. as much as he would have loved to stay with you, he knew what the consequences would be if he had been caught

he plants a kiss on your forehead before beginning to dress, in the process throwing you your clothes he had discarded

once you had dressed yourself you walked to your balcony where percy waits

“I don’t want to marry another man” you say

he gently takes your hands “I know”

footsteps walking up the stairs to your room ruin the moment. you turn quickly to your door and then back to percy and exchange a knowing look and he begins to climb over the railing

before he can be far enough he pulls you in for a quick kiss and mutters an ‘I love you’ before he climbs down

the door opens just in time and reveals your brother between the frames, and when you turn to face him his eyes widen, moving from your neck covered in stygian (get it?) marks, then to your bed where the sheets were disheveled, then back to your eyes

“oh my gods” nico swiftly steps in and closes the door “I know you did not do that”

“please don’t tell anyone” you rush over to him

“well father wants you downstairs”

you run a hand through your hair “can you just tell him I’ll be a minute?”

“I’ll waste time, you’ll have three”

you grab your brothers head and kiss the top of it “you’re the best”

he pushes you away and opens the door but before he leaves he speaks, “since I caught you sneaking percy in I thought I’d tell you that will has had frequent visits”

he leaves before you can respond- siblings are infuriating

📜

once you had gotten cleaned up and made yourself look presentable you returned to the party and met the eyes of your frustrated father. you hurry over to him before he could walk over to you. if that had happened it would have been worse, he would have pulled you somewhere private while he shouted at you for being ‘rude to the guests’

“where were you?” he asks

“I just went to get some air”

“for an hour?”

“there’s a lot of people here, quite overwhelming”

he sighs “you are to pick a man before the night is over. If you haven’t decided I will do it for you”

you nod and walk away. sometimes it’s easier to just agree with him and leave instead of staying and fighting.

now you suppose you need to follow his orders… or you could just not? that wouldn’t end well. you wish you had flung yourself off the balcony earlier, that would have made things a lot easier for you

just pick someone, how hard could that be? just pick some random good-looking boy and say you want to marry him. simple. unfortunate for you, underworldy men were not attractive. just pick! you wouldn’t let yourself marry him anyways, or even if you did marry him you surely would not be around him very much

just one, that’s it, why is it this hard? you scan the room until you make eye contact with a boy- you assume your age- leaning on a pillar. perhaps him? you caught him staring at you so it couldn’t be that hard to get him to dance with you

you look back at your father before turning to the boy but he isn’t standing in the same spot as before. you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around where you see the mysterious man

“you scared me” you put a hand on your chest and fake a laugh

he holds a hand out for you “would you care to dance?”

no, you wouldn’t, but if you didn’t pick a man to marry tonight you would be in deep trouble. you take his hand and allow him to lead you to to the crowd where many other couples dance

he places his free hand on your waist, yours around his neck. this is the most wrong anything has ever felt, you lay with a boy one moment then the next you’re dancing with another

not only does this situation feel wrong, the boy smells an awful lot like the sea. you wonder where he came from because as far as you knew there was no oceans in the underworld

“what’s your name?” you ask

he takes a moment to answer. does he not know his own name?”

“troy”

“lovely”

“what’s yours?”

“y/n”

“lovely”

you didn’t ask any other questions, instead staying in silence. after everyone left you informed your father that you had found a man to marry and before you could tell him who the man was he rushed off

what an odd night

[sanjoongie]

ᵢ wᵢₗₗ cₒₙₛᵤₘₑ yₒᵤ

🌺Second Submission for The Language of Flowers event held by @cultofdionysusnet

🌺Prompt Chosen: Endelweiss {courage, power}

🌺Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Reader (f)

🌺Genre: smut

🌺Trope: strangers to lovers

🌺Au: modern gods au, immortal au, dystopian au, priestess au

🌺Rating: 18+, MDNI

🌺Warnings: contains dark themes of sacrifice for the greater good, religious tones, suppression of the public by the government, execution speak, death Kinks>>> orgasm untouched, magic fingering, overstim, consensual ownership, dom! hyunjin, sub! reader, penetrative sex with no barrier, pull out method (glowing god cum!), breast play, biting, dacryphilia, aftercare

🌺Word Count: 3,878

🌺Summary: When a horrid government decides the only way to deal with you is to make you a priestess of a dark god, 'a great honor', when actuality is a death sentence, you put on your bravest face and go head to head with the horror of your fate. But when it turns out not everything is as it seems to be, just perhaps you could be in charge of your fate... if you survive, of course

🌺Author's Note: originally i had this entire story planned out for mingi and a slavic spring celebration and it was gonna be epic, but @anyamaris and Hyunjin hijacked my creative processes but i'm not complaining 😆 thank you once again for inspiring me anya 💞 love me some good god aus

🌺divider by @cafekitsune

"But what do we do with her?"

Bruised, battered and beaten, you kneel prostrate before a bench of dark faces. Men and women in charge of your life, who you've never met.

"She can't go unpunished," another supplies.

"But if we reveal to the public what she has done..."

The silence is palpable. How does one publicly punish a citizen and not make them a martyr for their cause? They were in a predicament.

One dry, old voice speaks up. "There is one option... he has an opening for a priestess."

This silence is sharp now, razor edged and worrisome.

"A Bride... yes... that would suffice..."

You'd have asked questions if you weren't gagged.

"A cover up. We could celebrate. Bring back the old ways. He would be pleased."

Your heart hammers in your chest when one of them says, "She wouldn't survive the night."

You begin to struggle when another agrees with, "He's a monster."

The guards drag you away as you hear, "There's a reason he has no permanent priestess."

All this because you dared to ask questions. Your government was not meant to be questioned, however. You wanted to know the why’s and how’s but you were just supposed to be a good little sheep that went with where the shepherd told you to go. 

Perhaps… that had evolved into poking and prodding. Perhaps you might have gone to a meeting or two of like-minded individuals who also had questions. But they also demanded answers. Perhaps your government didn’t know what to do with you once they caught you. Perhaps you were fucked.

“It’s a great honor to be dedicated to one of the gods,” a soft spoken priestess chirps as she offers you garments that were too luxurious for you to have ever touched before.

“But this one…” another hesitates.

The first one hushes the second. “We clothe you as a bride for you are committing your life to the God you shall be serving. He will provide you with everything you need for your life with him.”

“He?” You prompt.

“He,” the second says firmly. “Your job is not to ask questions but to receive his blessings.”

You reside yourself to being quiet and simply absorbing. There is a hint of fear in the air, you can feel it like goosebumps on your flesh. You try to not let it infect you but fear burrows deep into every part of your mind. 

You put on a brave face and smile when you’re being told again and again how much of an honor it is to be given to a god. To an immortal, having a human be an intermediary between his brilliance and the minds of the lesser, was an honor gifted. But was it an honor received? 

“A veil for our bride to be,” the soft spoken priestess offers and you bend down for the wizened old lady. She fixes it upon your head and spreads the black lace over your face.

“Now it is time to celebrate your honor.” The second priestess waves her hand to the door that will open to your fate.

You walk along a corridor of gathered people. They threw flowers at your feet, like they were truly celebrating your nuptials. They cheered and whistled and shouted well wishes. 

They didn't know they were celebrating your last day on this planet but at least they weren't jeering you at you as you made your way to an execution stage.

The grand path took you straight to the temple of the God of Chaos. You didn't know much about him but the temple had seen better days. Still, you kept your head high as the cheering died off when they realized where exactly you were going.

It was utter silence as the guards of the temple opened the door and you stepped through it. This was it; this was the beginning of your end.

The doors close behind you with a loud boom and then you are left with the dust and the disarray. The temple interior, for it lacked a priestess, had no upkeep. Melted candles and wilted incense cover every surface. Alcoves held art that didn't paint a pretty picture for you. There are burning cities and tornados and plagues. He truly was the god of chaos.

Well, there was no delaying the inevitable.

At the back of the temple, there was a chipped fresco of a door. You had been instructed to simply bow and wait for your ‘husband’ to receive you. So you threw yourself to your knees, with your black lace wedding dress pooled around you and said the words to summon the god in charge of your life now.

“Oh God of Chaos, oh husband of mine to be, please bestow unto me your earthly form, so that I may tend to all within your realm and shower you with prayers and attention,” You pray.

The mural of the door becomes murky and iridescent, like quicksilver alive, and through steps your God. His brilliance almost blinds you and you throw up an arm to brace yourself from the light.

A big sigh can be heard. “I forget how weak you mortals are,” the voice drawls.

The light recedes and you put your arm down. You had expected to see a monster but instead you are awestruck with beauty. The god, the man, has black hair down to his shoulders, held back in a simple half-up do. He needs no clothing of opulence but requires a simple robe, falling off one shoulder like he barely minded to keep clothed. He walks down the steps, pat pat pat, a pace of a lazy being, not held to the restraint of time. 

“Let’s see my bride,” He murmurs, chucking a finger under your chin.

You stare up at him, directly so, and see chaos swimming in his pupils. If he is your death, so be it. You would embrace it as if it was a gift. You refuse to go out whimpering like you regret your choices. You were firm in your stance that you deserved answers.

“Oh, how delectable,” the god smirks.

“Husband,” You reply demurely.

The god casts back his head in laughter, almost melodic in its sound. “Hyunjin. We can do away with that wife and husband stuff. Those are constructs of humans. I am not one of those.”

“Hyunjin, then,” You say, somewhat at half-mast. 

He tilts his head curiously. “You’re different from the other ones they sent me. Why?”

You chew hesitantly on your lip. What did you have to lose? Your life was already forfeit. So why not give this god the blunt truth. “They feared you. I do not.”

“Courage, hmm?” Hyunjin begins to pace around you, a sandaled foot slapping the slab of concrete. “You humans are wondrous and yet disappointing most days.”

You jut out your chin stubbornly. “Yes, courage. Now are you going to kill me or play with your food?”

The pacing stops and Hyunjin stares at you for a moment before a maniacal grin pulls at his features. “Play with my food, huh?”

You feel like your heart is akin to a trapped bird, beating its wings against your chest. Are you even breathing? What does an immortal get from killing a human? A temporary amusement and then flock back to their realm? 

“If you're my priestess now, will you pray at my temple?” Hyunjin runs the back of his finger down the lace of your arm.

“I--” You didn't know what to say but you could feel the underlying words. Is this how you survived?

“Please, Hyunjin, I would be your priestess. I would dedicate my life to serving you. I would--”

“What about your body?” Hyunjin wonders, biting down on his thumbnail. “Would you release it to my control? Give yourself utterly to me?”

“My body is no longer my own.” You collapse to the floor, arms above your head, palms up, knees still tucked under you. “Do with it what you will.”

“And what if my will was to have you bent over my altar?”

You gasp, sitting up. You cannot help yourself, because you did not expect to be spoken like this by a god. Then again, he was the god of chaos.

“If it would please you, Hyunjin, I would.”

“Would you?” Hyunjin cocks his head, looking to read the words on your face. “Would you let me part your moistened lips with my cock and we've barely introduced ourselves?”

“I know you said to do away with the constructs of humans, but if I am your wife and you are my husband, would we not consummate our marriage?”

Hyunjin holds your gaze, deep and dark, penetrating and digging. “I would. But I ask you again, Priestess, would you?”

You rose slightly on your knees until your lips were so close a flower petal would barely have room. “I would become your priestess in every way, Hyunjin.”

For if you had to fuck a god, one beautiful and tempting, and yes mad, would you not, in order to live? 

“Then I will take all that you have to offer. Your initiation to become my priestess begins now.”

With a flick of Hyunjin’s wrist, you find your body pushed up against the altar that he had been speaking of before. It is a rusty color, which you quickly dismiss from your mind as old blood. You brace yourself as you feel hands touching your legs, firmly pushing them apart but you feel no warmth of Hyunjin’s body behind you. Those same ‘hands’ rip the back of your dress and you feel the cool, dry air of the temple, giving you goosebumps.

“Human… why do you not have any underwear on?” Hyunjin drawls, still sounding far away.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. “They did not supply me with any… the other priestesses…”

Hyunjin cackles wildly. Suddenly, with a snap of a finger, Hyunjin appears before you, a slight cocky smile tugging at his lips. “I love a good surprise.”

That being said, you watch with eyes big with wonder when Hyunjin makes a crude motion with his fingers. You feel as if he is fucking you with his fingers but he is directly in front of you. Whatever chaotic power the god wields, it’s fucking you good. You gasp and press your cheek to the cool stone of the altar, holding on as the ‘fingers’ push in and out of you. Hyunjin crooks his fingers in a come hither motion and you moan wantonly as he presses against your g-spot like he knew where it was all along. 

“Pray to me, Priestess,” Hyunjin croons softly.

You stutter and moan through broken sentences and Hyunjin glows with the soft power only a god must be able to hold. You’re sure he could make you explode into a tiny million red chunks but instead he uses his godhood in a pleasurable way on you, and you add a silent prayer that it remains that way.

You came on that altar untouched and a moment of shame runs through you. Are you truly that easy? But it was your life at stake, shouldn’t that also matter? You gasp on the altar, and the same hand that ‘made you come’ smoothes over your hair. “You did wonderfully for me, my lamb”

You raise your head curiously. “Did I pass?”

Hyunjin throws his head back and laughs a belly laugh, both high and low pitched at the same time. “My lamb, that was only the beginning.”

Hyunjin’s robe slips off his shoulder and pools on the floor below him, kicking off his sandals as well. He walks, slowly but firm-footed, around the altar to move behind you. His hands are soft but callus-worn against your hips as he guides you to turn around and face him. His eyes sweep over your face but when he finds no hesitation, only excitement, he grabs a handful of your dress at your chest and rips it open. 

He wraps one of your legs around his hips, almost lovingly, fingers skimming over your skin. “This is the next test, my lamb.”

You swallow trepidation down your throat, refusing to let your courage falter. “I can do it.”

Hyunjin crawls forward on his altar, hips slotted against yours. His cock is heavy against your mound, both slender and long. “They say I’m a monster, are you sure?”

You don’t speak anymore, but buck your hips upwards so your wet heat smears against his length. “You excite me, God of Chaos. I’m sure.”

Without further adieu, Hyunjin’s cockhead parts your moist lips, just like he had described previously. He pushes and pushes and pushes until he’s nestled deep inside of your heat. He moves with sure strokes that only delight you and send a thrum of pleasure through your system. He fondles a breast, thumb strumming your nipple to a pert peak. His hips do most of the work but soon he finds that your body writhes for him.

Hyunjin is quick to press you into the stone. A hand holds your hip down so that he can drive deeper into your depths. Another hand holds your hand above your head, fingers interlaced with strong support. He holds you down, not to keep you in place, but so that your pleasure doesn’t escape you. 

His dark eyes dart all over your face, picking up each minute frown and tiny gasp. His body speaks to yours, able to read how each stroke of his cock pushes you slowly forward to a pleasurable outcome. This is only his first time sheathed inside of you but he moves as if this was the thousandth time he’s fucked you. It’s poetry and you revel in the rhythm and rhymes.

“Hy-hyunjin,” You stammer. “I--”

“Go ahead,” Hyunjin encourages you, “Scream my name. It will only be one of many.”

Your limbs tighten as a force of lightning runs among your veins. You scream his name just like he commands, cunt convulsing around his perfect length. He doesn’t stop driving into you. At first it feels as if he is escorting you through your orgasm but then it feels too much and you cry out at the overstimulation.

“This doesn’t stop until I’m done with you,” Hyunjin whispers against the shell of your ear. “And I’ll never be done with you.”

Your insides feel as if you’ve been plowed a dozen times over, raw and sensitive, eventually giving over to another building of pleasure. You fight through your fog-filled mind to gasp, “Will… will you come as well?”

Hyunjin quirks an eyebrow at you. “A god comes only when he wants to. A seed given to a mortal can change the world's destiny.”

Hyunjin uses both hands to hold you down, a beautiful sheen of sweat covering his body and face. You briefly wonder if perhaps you will add a mural to the temple, one of this beautiful, chaotic god above you, beaming over you as if you are doing a fine job under him. Would that ruin his mythos or would it only add to it?

You find another orgasm with Hyunjin’s face buried into the crook of your neck. Hyunjin bites down on the junction, as if to ground himself. You’re raised on your hands and knees and taken like a beast from behind, if only to find another pleasure in the angle difference. You find your orgasm again and again. You feel like a quivering nerve, all exposed and lit with rapture.

But you don’t protest, simply whining through the pain to pleasure. You drink in everything Hyunjin gives you and it only makes his grin grow and grow. 

Hyunjin seems to feed off of you, in ways you didn’t quite understand. The god enjoyed fucking. He wasn’t lost in the pleasure, but it was more like he never finished seeking out yours. For each orgasm you discovered, each longer and more drawn out to pull from your shaking body, he was determined to pull another one from you.

“You know I could go from sunset to sunrise and still never have enough of this,” Hyunjin admits. 

You’re sweating and gasping for breath but still you find yourself yearning for more. Hyunjin simply looks to gift you with more pleasure than you possibly could hold but this feeling of being pampered, of being pleasured, it is intoxicating. You’re drunk off Hyunjin’s adoration of your body. 

Your limbs are entangled in a lover’s pile. Still, you broach the subject again. Courage seems to prop you up time after time. “Come inside of me, Hyunjin,” You plead with a hoarse voice. 

Hyunjin smiles angelically, clearly happy you insist on his pleasure. “Are you that greedy to carry a demi-god?”

You shake your head, surprised you even have the energy to do that. “I wish to see your pleasure written along your face.”

Hyunjin blinks in surprise and then laughs. “I am a god, I take pleasure in whatever I choose. You needn’t worry about me.”

Still, you press your case. “I wish to see your face when you come inside of me, Hyunjin. I want to see what it looks like when you’ve found pleasure inside of me. Is that not what a priestess is? Do I not serve you in the highest regard?”

Hyunjin runs a finger along the side of your face. “I have never had a priestess like you.”

“Then I passed the initiation? I am yours?” You raise yourself up with one arm.

“My lamb, you've been mine the moment you walked through that door,” Hyunjin whispers.

Hyunjin gathers you in his arms and presses your back against the mural where the world burns in the tiles. He penetrates you with ease, jaw dropping to mimic your own delighted gasp. With each thrust, his head nodding, following your own body rocking to his movements. He is enraptured by the way your pleasure made form in your features. 

“Hyunjin.” You feel tears pass over your cheekbones. 

“Don't be frustrated, you've done so well for me,” Hyunjin praises you, wiping away the rivulets of salt water. “I'll come, just like you wanted. I’d love to fill you up but I’d rather have you as a priestess than a god bearer for now.”

Hyunjin flexes his pelvis, his body making a wonderful line between your legs. You cling to his hips, legs locked behind his back, intent on showing the god you’re worthy of his climax. You squeeze down on him tightly, the crude squelching of your wetness and the way he is drilling into you echoing in the temple. His eyebrows furrow in concentration, teeth clamping down on his lower lip. You’re aware he won’t fill you up by his previous words but you’re simply looking forward to his orgasm. 

With a great shout, Hyunjin pulls out, rutting against your mound and he comes, his cum hitting both your stomach and his. It glows golden, just like his godhood and then dies, like a firefly fading out. You love the way his pink mouth parts open, face full of pleasure as he releases, even though it can't be in side of you. Still, the pleasure is yours. Hyunjin grins, breathing heavily, appearing sweaty but satisfied. “Was the show worth what you paid for?”

You sigh dreamily. “I only crave for more now.”

You groan loudly when your legs untangle from his body and Hyunjin pins you against the wall with both hands heavily on your shoulders. “You need a good soak, my lamb. I still forget how fragile humans truly are.”

“That would be very much appreciated,” You say hopefully.

With a wave of Hyunjin’s hand, your gown simply disappears from your body, like it had never been there in the first place. You feel relieved to be free of the costume the other priestess’ had put on you but didn’t realize the repercussions of revealing your full body to him.

With your ripped gown having been vanished, you send a tired smile Hyunjin’s way but find that his face is stormy with rage. “Hyunjin? What have I done?”

Hyunjin shakes his head, one iris becoming light while the other remains dark. “They hurt you?”

You purse your lips. “They seeked to punish me for my questions, Hyunjin. I wasn’t a good little citizen like they prefer.”

Hyunjin paces, his perfect thighs taut with the movement. “They beat you and then decided that a bruised fruit was good enough to be my priestess? They insult you and me in the same breath.”

“Hyunjin, I believe you promised me a long soak.” You hold your hand out, wiggling your fingers. You couldn't very well rewrite the past and you aren’t looking to relive it either.

You feel a surge of power as Hyunjin takes your hand and takes you both to the large Greek styled bath of old. He sits on the bench, you between his legs. His arms frame the lip of the pool, tendrils of hair framing his face.

Your arms wobble as your hand dips under the water to wet your arms and upper body. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to do much other than float,” you state.

You turn your head to see Hyunjin looks quite smug but also content. He is glowing and you’re not sure if it’s his godhood or simply happy with what he has accomplished. “You performed your duties perfectly, Priestess.”

You duck your head, images of the many ways Hyunjin has taken you again and again. You had really done that with a stranger… no, a God. “I am happy to pass the initiation.”

The comfortable silence between you two stretches over like a soft and familiar blanket. You’re content to let the hot water soothe your aches and pains, well earned from the way Hyunjin had fucked you right. You’re not exactly sure what Hyunjin gets out of this, he was a god, could he have aches and pains? Regardless, the way he leans into your body, hugging you to his. It seems like he is still enjoying the presence of your body.

For what seems like centuries but perhaps only lasts a few moments, Hyunjin stretches and removes himself from the bath. You move to leave with him but he insists you remain. “I think it’s time to make the world quake for me again. I’ve been absent from this realm for too long.” He sends you a long look. “Tell me exactly what they did to you.”

You do not dare leave any detail out, so you spill your truth in a frenzy of stumbling words. Hyunjin, instead of getting angry, re-acquires that grin you had first seen on his face, full of madness. He leans downwards and tips your chin up for the softest of farewell kisses.

“You did so well for me,” He purrs, “Allow me to do this for you.”

Without truly understanding the full meaning, you nod your head in acknowledgement. Hyunjin throws back his head with a cackle bubbling from his throat. He shoves on his sandals and tosses on the robe he had removed a long time ago.

You watch as Hyunjin leaves just as he arrives, covered in a simple robe to frame his perfect body. You swear you can hear faint screaming, crashes and bangs, and a faint licking of orange in the distance. He was burning the world down for you, for everything it had put you through. And frankly, you couldn't find the will to pity them.

[kajtak-art]

Happy birthday to this stunning breathtaking man. Without Fyodor my life was dull,but after Fyodor my life makes sense.If Fyodor lives,so do I. If Fyodor laughs,so do I. If Fyodor loves,so do I. I love this man so much thank you Kafka Asagiri for making such character. Fyodor has been my comfort character since the moment I saw him and just looking at him makes me so happy oh my god(I still need to see him get publicly executed).

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return Part 3

Chapter 12: The Call Home

Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 1.7k

The amount of times you were dry heaving into the toilet made you think your body was trying to delay this conversation with your father. You had to admit, you were thanking this baby for prolonging the inevitable. The thought of hearing your father and Marco on the other side of the transponder snail made you start another round of gags into the toilet. 

A knock came at the door, Whitey’s friendly voice asking if you were okay. 

You almost laughed at her question. How could you answer that? You were pregnant. Thatch was dead. Teach was a traitor. Ace had abandoned you, and now he was set to be publicly executed. 

You were far from okay. 

And yet, when you answered, you simply let out a weak “I’m fine!” Even though your heart and soul had been collapsing in on itself for almost a month now. 

You and Ace were supposed to be going to doctor's visits. Your baby was the size of an avocado now, if you remembered correctly from that pamphlet the nurse had given you back in Alabasta. 

You should’ve defeated Teach easily. The two of you working together would’ve been no match for him. It didn’t matter what his devil fruit was. The two of you would’ve won. 

If Ace wouldn’t have acted irrationally, the two of you would still be together. The two of you would’ve been okay. Life would be a little less bleak. 

But Ace never thought about the consequences of things. He only ever just did them. 

God, you were so tired. 

You began crying again, hot and angry tears. You wanted to scream or punch something, anything to get rid of your frustration. You wanted to create a lava flow so extreme that you created a new island from your grief. 

But you couldn’t do any of that right now. You could only cry. 

“I’m coming in,” Whitey said, opening the door. 

“Hey babe,” she said softly. “I told you it’s going to be okay. Do you really think the Whitebeard is going to let his second commander die?”

“It’ll be a bloodbath,” you sobbed. “People are going to die regardless of what we choose to do.”

“Let’s not think like that,” she said, although she knew you were right. “Let’s go talk to Pops and see what ideas come up.”

You wiped your face free of tears and took a deep breath. You had to be composed for this meeting. You had an idea, and you knew your father would only let you do it if he thought you were in an adequate mental state. The plan was risky, but at least you were the only one being put at risk. 

The snail began to call, and the knot in your stomach tightened. 

“Yes?” Your father’s voice boomed from the snail. He sounded exhausted. You couldn’t blame him. 

“Hey Pops,” Whitey said. “It’s-“

“Whitey!” His voice became more enthusiastic, but you could still hear the exhaustion. “Tell me you have good news.”

“I do.” Whitey nudged you, motioning for you to speak. 

“Hey dad.” Your voice came out weaker than you wanted it to, but still confident, given the circumstances. 

“Y/N.” You could hear your father’s voice get watery, and you knew he was just as relieved to hear your voice as you were to hear his. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Listen, dad.” You took a deep breath. “I have a plan.”

“A plan?”

“If Whitey can give me Ace’s vivre card, I can intercept them before he gets to Impel Down and-“

His voice cut you off, full of rage. “Absolutely not.”

“Dad!” You cried, trying to stay calm. “It’s the best way for us to-“

“No. Your ass is coming RIGHT back to this ship and you are staying here until I say otherwise.”

“I can do it!” you argued. “I need to-“

“You are not doing it. That’s an order.”

“You know I can do it!” You screamed. You knew you were losing your cool, but you didn’t care. Ace’s life was at risk. Everything was at risk. 

“I want you to report back to the ship.” You could hear he was struggling to keep his composure. 

“That’s not fair!”

“I don’t want to hear SHIT about fair. What’s not fair is you keeping secrets! I have tolerated your rebellions and let you get away with far too much these past few months. But this is crossing a line. You WILL remain with Whitey until you return and then we will have a private discussion on your involvement in this rescue mission going forward. Is that understood?”

He knew. Of course he knew. Marco would’ve told him as soon as he read the report. 

“Dad, ple-”

“Whitey,” your father said, ignoring you. “Do whatever you have to in order to keep her on that ship. Put sea prism cuffs on her. Throw her in the brig if you need to. But do not let her get off that ship until you are here. Is that clear?”

You looked at Whitey, your eyes full of silent begging. You needed her to fight for you. To vouch that you could succeed. 

“Of course, Pops,” she said, giving you a remorseful look. “We can do that.”

“Whitey-“ you pleaded. 

“Y/N.” He sounded so tired. “For once in your life, don’t cause more problems than there already are.”

His words made tears prick at the corner of your eyes. They were harsh, but they were true. All you had done was cause problems recently. For everyone around you. The least you could do was follow this one order to return home. 

“Yes sir,” you whispered, and the line disconnected without further conversation. 

“Im not going to lock you up,” Whitey said. “But you are going to have to stay in my view the whole time.”

You gave her a weak smile, thankful you wouldn’t have to spend your journey in the cells below deck. “Just like old times, huh? When the others couldn’t pay us to be apart.”

A wave of relief visibly washed over her face, thankful you weren’t going to resist. “Just like old times.”

You slept with Whitey in the captains quarters that night. 

Slept wasn’t the right word. You couldn’t sleep. You just kept thinking of Ace, chained to a wall and being beaten and ridiculed. Had he given up on life as much as you had? 

You knew you couldn’t go get him. The fleets that were escorting him were going to be full of high level marines. Even on a good day, you weren’t sure if you could do it. Trying to do it now would be suicide. 

But maybe there was something else you could do. Someone else who could help. You just had to get to them. 

You carefully climbed out of bed, trying your best not to wake Whitey. Every creak made you wince, but Whitey stayed asleep. 

The door was the hardest part. You knew it would groan as you opened it, and there was nothing you could do to prevent the sound. 

Slowly, painfully, you opened it, your eyes glued to Whitey. She stirred in her sleep a few times, but she never opened her eyes. You finally opened it enough to slip through, and you silently shut it back into place. 

You quickly moved to the kitchen, grabbing food rations and other supplies that you would need. You were going back to the New World. It would be a long journey, especially with your current state. But you would do it if it meant saving Ace. 

You would need a bottle of sake, and you found the perfect one. A large one from the East Blue. It wasn’t nearly enough for the favor you had to ask, but hopefully he would be gracious. 

“What are you doing?”

Fuck. You hadn’t been fast enough. 

“Whitey!” You turned around, her icy glare on you. “I was just-“

“Don’t lie,” she snapped. 

“Please Whitey I…I need to do something.”

“Do you even have a plan?” She demanded. “You can’t take on that kind of naval power even on your best day, and you know it.”

“I’m not going to rescue him!” As much as you wanted to, you knew Whitey was right. You couldn’t do it alone. 

She scoffed, clearly doubting your words. “You’re not? Really?”

“I swear Whitey. I’m going to ask for help. I know I can’t beat a naval fleet, but there is something I can do. Someone I can talk to.” You looked around desperately. “Please, just go back to bed.”

She shook her head. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Whitey please-“

“I can’t let you leave after explicit instructions,” she yelled, and you feared that other people would come to investigate the commotion soon. “I’d be disobeying my captain. And you might be able to do that, but I can’t.”

Your words wouldn’t convince her. You’d have to use strength. Against your best and oldest friend. 

Tears pooled in your eyes. “Please don’t make me do this.”

She closed her eyes. “You have to.”

You took your bracelet and held it across your knuckles. “I’m sorry, Whitey. I don’t want to-“

“Good luck,” she whispered, a smile on her lips. “You can do it. You can find a way to save him.”

You swung as hard as you could, aiming for the spot you knew would knock her out. Your fist and sea prism bracelet connected with her pressure point, and she slumped to the ground, unconscious. 

You grabbed your things and took off towards your sloop, which was still connected to the back of Whitey’s ship. 

“Okay baby,” you whispered to your stomach. “Just let me get to help, and then you can make me as sick as you want, okay? Just cooperate until then. We can do this.”

You really were a terrible person. Lying to everyone around you, knocking your best friend unconscious, forcing your unborn child to go through dangerous waters with little sleep and little nutrition. You had never been this careless or thoughtless in your life. 

If you kept acting like this, you were going to die. You knew that. But you didn’t care. Ace promised that you could die first. If he was moving up his timetable, so were you. 

You took off on your sloop, pulling out the vivre card to follow. Onto the New World. 

Onto find Shanks.

--

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[azukiel]

Nightfall Heir

Chapter 7

🔞 MDNI 🔞 NSFW

Warnings (as a whole): Explicit sexual content, Graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD, Angst, Blood kink, Pregnancy and Childbirth, Sexual Assault.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

⭐Here is the story on Archive of Our Own ⭐

🔥Comments and reblogs are much appreciated! 🔥

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later in the afternoon, Astarion’s thoughts were more inclined to getting his reports done swiftly so he could get home and tend to the sexual appetites he had stoked within you. The taste of your blood in his mouth was exhilarating, and his fangs twitched at the memory of the rich and lustrous flavour.

While he worked, he couldn’t keep the small smile from his face. Nor could he stop his mind from wandering into other sordid fantasies he was planning on conjuring, should he be inclined to try out some role play and make use of his recently acquired magistrate attire. Oh, the possibilities made him chuckle.

Still smiling to himself, he continued working on the pile of reports on his desk. He needed to discuss the ongoing issues concerning the Bhaalinist rabble with Wyll, as well as the lack of prison space to house those criminals captured. Astarion had suggested publicly executing them to deter the other members, but Wyll wanted to opt for a more humane approach to the matter. If Baldur’s Gate were to hope to retain its trading routes and stop the trafficking and murder of its citizenry, then the roads and the metropolis itself needed to be made safer. So many things had caused law and order to be thrown into the air, but with Astarion’s appointment, the governing system had been put to rights. At least to some degree. There was still much to do, and a lot of damage control to be carried out.

Regardless of all the arduous work that needed to be done and the pining to once more explore the world with his beloved, his work as magistrate made him somewhat happy. Since you had walked into his life, you had inspired and taught him a plethora of things. If he could help others, then he knew he could one day forgive himself for the sins of his past.

Yelping suddenly, he yanked his hand away from the strands of sunlight that shone through the high windows, staring down at the scorched flesh in a daze. Had he just imagined that? Cautiously, he stretched out his hand once more, immediately yanking it back from the burning pain.

“Shit!”

You had obviously taken off the ring. But he knew it would take the gods to pry the ring from your finger. You were always so adamant and quick to remind him to never take it off himself. Thus, for you to do so was unthinkable.

It had to have been an accident.

Alas, he could feel a sudden tightness in his chest. Something was wrong, he could tell. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, and a feeling of absolute despair was consuming his non-beating heart.

Something was very, very wrong.

He knew exactly where you would have been. At the Sundries.

But he could not leave his office, nor the Halls of Justice, in which streamers of sunlight shone through the glass ceilings of the main hall. He called out to his secretary, a burly dwarf by the name of Gendry. The dwarf seemed somewhat miffed having been separated from his work.

“Yes, Magistrate?” He grumbled before his eyes gaped in surprise. “Magistrate, you’re burnt!”

Astarion rolled his eyes and groaned, “I can see that, Gendry! Now be a good dwarf and close the shutters.”

Gendry set to the task immediately. “Do you think something has happened to Lady Tavrin?” He asked as he pulled closed the last shutter.

“I am uncertain,” Astarion responded, concern lacing his voice, “But, Gendry, I need you to go to the Sundries as quickly as you can and inform the wizard. He can send word to the others quicker than a carrier pigeon with his magic. Have him go to the house to check on Tavrin. I have a dreadful feeling in my gut that something has happened.”

“Yes, Magistrate. I will hurry there immediately!” Gendry saluted and ran out the door.

Astarion stood there in the darkness of his office, staring at the shutters with a grim expression. It was the first time since he had been with you that he had felt utterly hopeless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You groaned, a throbbing ache spreading across your face and head like a wildfire. There was a foul smell, like the stench of rotten eggs, permeating the air. You also heard a steady dripping somewhere. Your eyes strained to see in the dim torchlight, which illuminated the dank prison cell you had been thrown into. The ground was made of stone and covered in filth and grime, and you could feel the coldness seep through the cotton of your clothes.

Slowly, you tried to sit up, yet a great agony ripped through your side. Had your ribs been broken? You could not entirely tell, but the pain was significant enough to render you unable to move. You felt nauseated, and the cold and damp of your surroundings were not helping.

You could not see your hands, for they were tied behind your back.

“Well, isn’t this a sorry sight?”

The voice echoed throughout the room, and you struggled to turn your head.

“You may have banished our masters, Bhaalspawn, but you have not ridden the world of all of us.”

You recognised the voice.

“Yet,” you spat. “You should have remained dead, Faceless!”

No sooner did you speak those words did her steel spiked boots smash into the side of your face. You cried out, rolling onto your knees to move away your pounding head. You tasted the warm iron of your own blood and fought a sob, feeling the jagged bones grind against each other in your face. The ripping of your cheek skin brought more of your crimson liquid into your mouth.

She had been a fellow disciple of the cult and had looked up to you when once the dark urge had control of your senses. She always wore a hooded cloak and black mask, and no one knew her appearance. No one knew why. Rumour was that you had melted the skin from her face in years passed during a fit of rage. She had revered you anyway. You, the Bhaalspawn.

Yet, you could not remember what you had done to her, or to others. You could remember nothing from before the tadpoles, at least not where your adult life was concerned. All you could remember was your horrid childhood and adolescence. All you could remember right then was the pubescent drow boys ganging up on you and violating you, and the trauma of the event triggering your abilities with wild magic... the boys screaming as your hands fried them... and then blood... blood everywhere...

You pushed the agonizing thoughts and pain aside as you knelt defiantly on the cold, crimson-stained stones. Another boot met your flank. This time you withheld the groan as a dark chuckle filled the air.

“You’re nothing but the worthless scum of a drow!” Faceless hissed at you.

Oh, she was bitter about her defeat and no doubt the one responsible for what happened to you. How could she even possibly have survived your previous encounter? She should have been dead.

“At least I am not Orin’s shadow!” You spat the blood that had been flooding your mouth onto the ground at your side.

Faceless grimaced. “You were regarded higher than Orin! You were the chosen one! You were...”

“I banished Bhaal from my heart for a reason! I will not drag myself to this pitiful cult’s level ever again!”

Another kick to the gut.

“You forget your place, wielder of destruction!’”

You hissed at her in response.

Faceless squatted to the side of you. “There are other ways of disposing a person other than burning the flesh from their bones.”

“You intend to kill me, then?” You rasped, your voice hoarse and laboured. “Fucking try it, you cunt!”

The cackle that came from Faceless sent a chill down your core. Her laughter became sinister, mocking. Your muscles spasmed and your skin prickled in absolute revulsion.

“We’re going to break you,” she growled.

With her foot, she lifted your face upwards, revealing the swelling, blood and bruises. “And let us hope your darling vampire lover burns to ash first.” She held up your ring to your face and you could only just discern it through the puffiness of your eyes.

“Astarion!” You coughed up more blood.

“It would be a shame if that pretty boy had no place to hide.” She bent forward again, her gauntleted finger tracing the indentation of your upper cheek where the skin was ripped. She leaned closer, pulling back her cowl, the mangled skin barely covering her cheekbones and nose, with a white and an amber eye glaring down upon you.

She took in a deep waft of your scent.

“I smell him on you, and not just his cologne...” She grinned wolfishly and bit her lip, her voice becoming breathy. “My, my, my, little vixen, has that icy touch of his turned you?”

“FUCK OFF!”

She snatched you by the neck at your outburst.

You kicked and squirmed in her grasp, but it only made her choke you harder. With the collar around your neck, you could not use the weave. With your body bound and bloodied, you could barely move, let alone resist. The two ghouls that were standing in the room's corner drew their claws and inched towards you both.

“Can I give her another taste of discipline?” One of them spoke.

Faceless snorted and kicked you in the side again. Your coughing did nothing to dislodge the blood in your throat.

“Take her to the rack. Let us flay the little whelp.”

One took you by the hair whilst the other grabbed your legs. The mangled armour of the monsters clinked as they dragged you down a long, dimly lit and winding corridor. You were somewhere deep underground. That, at least, you could tell.

Once through the iron barred doors they brought you to, the stench of old, rotted blood and decaying flesh was almost palpable. It was stifling, and you found it hard to draw breath as the noxious air clogged your nostrils.

In the very middle of the vast room was an iron-railed stand containing four chains on either side. They looked decrepit; the metal green with moss and mould. Grotesque, crusty remains on the floor beneath the contraption made your stomach roll. The smell was becoming overbearing, and you tried swallowing to stop your retches. You wondered how long those unfortunate prisoners had lingered there before being brutally murdered.

Faceless beckoned to her lackeys. Your ropes were cut, giving you but a second of reprieve before you were chained to the stand. Faceless leaned forward once more and licked the tears and blood from the corner of your swollen eye.

The two guards strapped your ankles to the irons and slid their palms over your legs, gripping your thighs greedily like rabid dogs.

With a nod from their mistress, they began tearing off your clothes with their claws, wailing loudly at the scent of the blood that stained your legs.

“Oh, what is this?” Faceless came towards you, eying the junction of your thighs.

“She bleeds...” One ghoul moaned, the sound so starved it frightened you.

You drew a sharp breath when her now ungloved fingers traced the split between your legs. You spat at her, but your wrists had been manacled and pulled high above your head. Faceless smirked and lapped up your juices. She then hummed as she looked back at you curiously. Without a word, she dove her fingers into you, scraping her nails painfully around the inside. You screamed at the pain, but you were helpless to resist. You wanted to tear that smug grin right off her wretched face.

Withdrawing her fingers she sucked upon them, savouring their flavour while watching every inch of expression change across your paled features. “Interesting...”

“Can we taste her, mistress? Have we not been good?” One ghoul hissed hungrily through its gnashing teeth. Half of its jaw had rotted off, and you writhed in disgust.

“No.” Faceless put out her hand abruptly to stop them from advancing. They stopped dead in their tracks at her command.

“Despite her bleeding, she is with child, and to a vampire at that. How curious, indeed...”

What?

But your voice was a mere gurgle in your throat.

“Oh, I am going to have so much more fun torturing you now!” She laughed wickedly, taunting you with the flail she now held in her hands.

The ghouls shifted their hungry eyes towards you and laughed along with her.

“When will we get our fill of this pretty piece, Mistress? We have never eaten drow.”

You thrashed uselessly against the shackles and the blood dripping from your naked body had pooled on the floor between your feet, mingling with the dry crust of the previous victim.

The scent was bringing the ghouls closer until Faceless’ sharp orders once more stopped their feral nature from taking over. “When it is our turn to feast? “

Their excited hissing filled your ears as Faceless lifted your head to lick her prey’s face. You turned it, grunting against the sudden flash of agony as her next words filled you with even more terror.

“Yes, let us feast after the Magistrate’s love bleeds her final.”

“Astarion...” But your entire world faded into nothingness.

[circyexistforcontent]

IMPOSTER AU! BUT WITH OBLIVIOUS GOD READER PT. 1

✿ trigger warnings: cultish behavior, yandere's, mentions of weaponry, religious themes, god reader being an idiot because they don't know someone is impersonating them.

✿ pronouns: They/them

✿ notes: prologue is here. the reader is actually the god of teyvat, and also thank you for supporting the last part. I hope this mini-series will satisfy your expectations :]

"Y-your grace! What happened?!" Venti asks worriedly. He hurried to your side to help you sit up from your position. He caught wind (ehe) of everything happening in Monstadt, rumors about an imposter wandering freely in the city. He knew it wasn't true, the wind told him so. He rushed to where you were before anyone else can.

You were found in Windwail highland near one of the shrines. Exhausted and disheveled. But you seem to be in good condition, you only looked exhausted. He wanted to cry out in relief, but then he felt your aura getting more vicious as seconds pass by. "Barbatos..." You slowly look up at him, and when your eyes met he could feel every emotion you were feeling.

Relief, distraught, frustration, exhaustion...and what stood out from the four was the last emotion.

fury.

"WHAT LAWS DID YOU ENFORCE IN YOUR NATION BARBATOS!?" it took only a millisecond for you to launch yourself in front of the Anemo archon and strangle him. "Your grace- please! I can't breathe-" While strangling him you shook him back and forth as he struggles to free himself from your iron grip.

"I GAVE YOU LIFE I CAN TAKE IT FROM YOU!"

"So that's all there is to it." Venti finishes. It took a while for you to stop strangling him and listen to what he had to say (he's never been more relieved) and he told you everything you needed to know. So apparently Venti wasn't the one who made the law. It wasn't even a legitimate law, the people decided to make the choice themselves to follow it. The "law" states that no one should impersonate the divine creator.

Basically saying whoever was born with your face is to be killed, maybe even tortured if they put off a struggle, or publicly executed if your followers feel extra quirky that day.

"I see..." You look at Venti apologetically. "Forgive me for acting out impetuously Barbatos." Venti just waved off your apology.

"You don't need to apologize for anything your grace, if anything I deserved it. I should've been there earlier to help you." He can feel the shame creep up on his back. Your actions before seemed reasonable, he was an archon, the archon of wind, he can swiftly take you away from the commotion before anyone can comprehend that you missing.

"But if I may, what happened when I was away?" Venti asks you. You just exhaled tiredly, recalling everything that has happened to you this morning. It all started at seven in the morning, SEVEN, and only in the span of a few hours did the people of Monstadt chase you out of the city.

"Well, since your curious I may as well tell you..."

You have experienced at least 7 attempted murders in the past 5 hours you entered Monstadt. With people either throwing rocks at your head, the knights trying to slash you, the bar owner trying to poison you, and a witch trying to electrocute you. You may be wondering, how are you not injured? How did you survive all those murder attempts?

The answer is very simple, dear reader. Remember in the prologue where you simply transferred a piece of your consciousness to Teyvat? That's it. That's your answer. Your form right now is simply a piece of your consciousness that has been solidified enough to be seen. But of course, if you want to touch someone you can.

Attacking you or touching you will be like trying to punch the air. Because trying to put a piece of your real form or going to Teyvat as a whole would be equivalent to pushing the sun to fit earth. So this is what you can do for now.

I mean, you could just use a host or make a human body for you to possess. But you wanted to go there yourself, and possessing a human body would cause the body to mutate. At the very least the usual red blood running through the body's veins would turn to melted gold.

But back to the main point, there was an instance of you getting chased by the guards. You weaved through the gathering crowd like liquid, turning at every corner you see. At one point you did meet Jean since one of them reported the commotion happening.

You thought, with Jean being responsible and even reasonable, you thought telling her that your god wouldn't go wrong. And that she will take your side.

No. She did not take your side and immediately tried to apprehend you. She chased you around Monstadt, along with Amber who has come back to assist Jean on the hunt for your head. At this point it was getting ridiculous for how long they could chase you.

"Please! Let's communicate!" You cry out to the knights. "There is nothing to talk about, impostor!" A flaming arrow shoots through you again. You were getting tired at this point and decided to just teleport out of the area.

But it seems fate wanted to fuck you over because you ended up teleporting at the edge of a cliff making you fall 60 feet above the ground.

"And then you found me here." You finished your story. Venti for the entire time was disappointed, he knew his people were a little more than obsessed with your godly image but he didn't think they would act so violent against anyone who looks significantly similar to you.

But then again, people before would make human or blood sacrifices to gods. He had a good portion of people being sacrificed to him before and has seen people do the same for your name. He's still disappointed though, haven't they become more humane in giving sacrifices?

"I apologize on their behalf your grace, I thought they would know better." You pat his shoulder a few times. "Don't worry about it, I was never hurt in the process."

"So, what do we do now?" You reckon for a moment about what your next move is, if Monstadt reacted so violently to your appearance what would the other cities be like? Why did they react so violently in the first place.

"Venti, do you know the reason why they keep calling me impostor?" Venti freezes before face palming.

"Venti?" You ask again. "Just, give me a minute your grace I- *sigh*"

He forgot to mention the faker sitting on your throne the entire time.

"I guess I can finally tell you something I've been itching to tell." Venti looks at you straight in the eyes.

"An Impostor has taken your throne, your grace."

...

"What?"

[lesbiamano]

3rd sem missed deadline ending has always been so dreadful and one of my favorites (or i guess most hated) bad endings in a way. but like the thing is i completely erased it out of my memory that maruki shows up (for obvious reasons i think) and i straight up got jumpscared when i he started talking as i looked up this ending again. god i hate everything so much i HATE this

you can just tell this guy was counting down the seconds to deem akira unable to make a choice so he’d simply make it for him! this scene is so deeply unsettling so uncomfortable which is, well, great for what it’s set out to be but i’ve watched this 3 times in a row now and each time i puke a little in my mouth. it’s all under the guise of “i don’t want you to suffer anymore. i hate watching you suffer like this. so i’ll just choose for you, and i’ll make it all painless” the way akira isn’t part of the reality his friends now live is so upsetting too. all of his friends got what maruki deemed to be what they deserved (though they’re the things each character willingly let go of as a sigh of making progress, which makes him forcing them back to where they used to be because he thinks they were “happier” even more horrible, but i digress) and they all forgot about akira. in a way maruki knows that it’s simply easier to get akira out of the way. nobody else would reject his reality or think of leaving this way. and nobody seemed to even need akira at all anyway in his reality, so it’s a win win for him. maruki controls everything neatly, everyone is happy; and akira rots away in his room for basically ever.

and i fucking hate those freaky tentacle hand things man. obvious why of course, and everytime i watch them come out a shiver runs down my spine. this guy needs to be publicly executed

[trans-bread-of-life]

Happy Easter and happy Trans Day of Visibility!

On this day we celebrate the beauty, resiliency, and strength of the trans community, and we celebrate the fact that the grave could not contain the Son of God.

This year more than ever, the trans community is in need of hope. With visibility comes retaliation; and we are fighting against a wave of anti-trans governmental policies across the world.

The photo was taken last night at the Great Vigil of Easter. At the Great Vigil, we light a fire to symbolize the hope of the Resurrection, and each of us sits in the dark with candles, listening to stories of hope as we wait for the moment when we can proclaim Christ’s resurrection.

I chose to use this photo to talk about the Trans Day of Visibility because we in the trans community are sitting in the dark with glimmers of hope in our hands, waiting, hoping, praying (and working) for a day when our basic human rights are no longer under attack. We are waiting for a day when all members of our community can use public bathrooms, receive medical care, have equal access to housing and employment, and so much more.

But I think the joyful dawning of Easter morning has something to say to us, too. Jesus, God’s only Son, chose to take on human flesh and live in solidarity with humanity. Just as we face political violence, so did Jesus. He was publicly executed as a political dissident, a threat to the power of empire. But even death itself could not conquer him. He rose from the grave, his body bearing the scars of the hell that could not hold him, redeeming the human condition from the hatred and cruelty, even from death itself.

In light of Jesus’ resurrection, we can rejoice that the violence against the trans community will not have the final word. Jesus rose again and is seated above all powers and governments of this world. We can (and must) stand up against state violence because God‘s love is stronger than violence, hatred, strife, and even death itself.

[blackholesun321]

the mental illness can be called Abandoned Nesting Syndrome-and can usually occur in individuals who were abandoned either young or suddenly and traumatically like say,, a very prominent and very wanted crew breaking up and leaving the two young cabin boys to fend for themselves and assuming that they will be able to see eachother again only to watch the head of the flock be very publicly executed

and given how the would government acted at baterillia on just the rumor of roger having a child….

what do you think they would do when two young, (relatively) inexperienced members of his flock are flying free?

alone?

Ok I kinda went overboard with this one and wrote an entire Fic chapter for you. Idk if it’s any good but hopefully it conveys the absolute mess Shanks is as a person. And how much Mihawk loves him despite this— well there both huge messes. I’ll get into Mihawks neuroses at a later date but enjoy!

⛔️ WARNING⚠️ THIS CONTAINS MENTION OF GORE! DEATH! INFANT DEATH! DESCRIPTION OF SUICIDE! SELF HARMING! AND A DESCRIPTION OF A DISSOCIATIVE DELUSION MANIC EPISODE! If you are triggered by any of this DO NOT READ THIS WORK! I will mark the bit in red when it starts but you will be missing most of the chapter.

—————/—————————/—————————/———————/-

Summary ——Mihawk is visit the red force to show off his new murder child to his husband.

He instead comes upon an quiet ship, a smoking first mate and the terrible horrible feeling that something is wrong.

———

Mihawk knows somethings wrong.

Call it intuition, call it knowing his husband, call it noticing that the Red Force is never this quiet without something unusual happening, call it observation Haki.

Whatever it is, as Mihawk's coffin-sloop slides side by side with the giant bastardization between a long ship and a galleon, he can't help but brace himself for the worst.

He removes his hat to check yet again at the vivre card stuck in the band, the motion disturbing his cargo tucked up and held securely against his spine. There’s a shuffle and a small adjustment on Mihawk's part to allow a green head, mussed with sleep and disgruntlement, to poke itself out the top of his wing.

Zoro yawns, a mouth full of missing teeth on display before squinting up at the Red Force. A quiet "woah" on his exhale as the fledgling seems to try and lean back all the way, kicking the inside of Mihawk’s wing to look at the ship in its entirety.

“Your husband must be strong.”

Mihawk hums in acknowledgment, sliding his hat back into place upon seeing that once again the card was just as whole and ivory as before.

“Do you assume I would have married someone who wasn’t?” He wonders idly if he’d have to fly up, dreading the idea of leaving his fledg—student here alone. God knows the number of times Mihawk had had to keep him from walking straight off the bow and into the sea.

“No, but I bet he’s as much of a bastard.”

Now a cold nose and cheek are being rubbed into his shoulder, and lord above, Mihawk hopes Zoro isn’t wiping his nose on his jacket. Children, he has come to learn in the last weeks or so, are disgusting and won't hesitate to use you and anything near you as a hand towel.

“Language,” he can't help but admonish, as someone finally must have noticed his sloop and waves of subtle Haki he’d been sending out for the last fifteen minutes. (And now he knows something is up. Shanks would have never missed his Haki signature, not with him projecting it like a neon sign.) A ladder has started being lowered, and Mihawk mentally sighs at the thirty feet he’ll have to climb with a wriggling child tucked safely to his back.

“Try not to move so much or this will be uncomfortable for us both.” There’s a grumble and some twisting that has Mihawk mentally noting to himself and his student for a quick preening session after this is over. Two tiny arms snake around his neck and grab a handful of down. Scratch that; he’s going to need a long preening session. The ladder finally arrives, and Mihawk starts the long, arduous climb up his husband's ship.

———

It takes a second to reach the top, and by the time he does, both him and Zoro are absolutely done with the uncontrollable wind currents slapping them against the hull.

“Permission to board?” He huffs, already heaving himself and cargo over the rail before Benn has a chance to reply.

“Yeah-yeah, fucking welcome.”

Mihawk's wing has started to cramp from holding Zoro close to keep him from falling thirty feet into the sea. Witnesses and prone-to-getting-lost child be damned, he gives Zoro a warning shake before slowly stretching out the offending appendage.

Zoro, instead of plopping down like a normal considerate child, chooses instead to slide down Mihawk's body and puddle on the deck at his feet, grip still clutched in his pant leg.

“Never again, just let me take my chances on the ship next time,” the fledgling hisses as Mihawk lifts up his boot to try and detangle the child from his leg. It isn’t working. With an aborted sigh of a man learning to pick his battles, he gives his wing and boot one more good shake before giving in to his fate of his leg being clutched like a barnacle.

“I see you’ve been.. busy.” He could flip Beckman off and is incredibly tempted to do so, but knows that would only play into what his husband's first mate wants. No one could get under his skin faster, aside from maybe Shanks and the marines as a whole… and Doflamingo, but that was Doflamingo, and the man practically made it his life goal to live under others' skin. But bigger fish to fry, like the fact Benn is smoking. He never smokes unless something's up. Something big. And usually to do with his husband’s stupidity.

“Where is Shanks?” His eyes scanning the deck for red, bloody, and stark against the Red Force's maroon paneling. He finds nothing, and the panic he’s been suppressing goes from defcon 1 to defcon 1.5. His eyes slide back to Beckman, who winces, teeth chewing, sifting at the end of his cigarette.

“He ain’t hurt, Hawkeye, just… he’s a bit.” Beckman glances down at Zoro, who has taken the opportunity to curl up like a cat around Mihawk's boot and is most likely fast asleep.

“He’s been on a bit of a spree.” Spree could mean a number of things for Shanks. Benn was being circumstantial and oblique, and it was pissing Mihawk’s already small amount of patience into the wind.

“Elaborate.”

“It’s an episode, not…” He takes a minute to inhale cancer— and Mihawk wants to rip the cigarette out of his hand and make him get on with it, anxiety and pirate guest rights be damned.

“Obsessive.” Is what he finally lands on, and it’s something, it’s something. “Just all over the place en’ shit. Hasn’t hurt himself, I think? Hasn’t hurt anyone else.”

And that’s ok, not good but enough to make the fear in Mihawks chest curdle into something manageable. He can do this, he’s done this before, but a lot was happening right now, and Mihawk didn’t need—he already had a surprise to show Shanks in the form of his protégé. For someone like Shanks, being introduced to new flock, especially a fledgling, could exacerbate him into something worse.

“How far along is he? Is it just nesting, or is he trying to rearrange the cargo hold?” And Mihawk isn't trying to make light of the situation; Shanks has and will tear the ship apart if it doesn’t meet the unachievable standards his mind has conjured. But not obsessive, not this time— that’s not good; but means they probably won’t have an entire disaster on their hands.

“Not too far, started about a day or two ago. He's been locked in his cabin, hasn’t eaten, and refused to drink when I offered. Was about to call if— you know.” The ashes from Benn’s cigarette are flicked over the bow, and Mihawk appreciates that he made an effort for it to be downwind at least.

He forced himself to breathe and braces his heart. He loves his husband more than he thinks he’s ever loved anything, aside from swordplay, but these episodes can be hard on both of them. Especially if Uta was...

“Is Uta here?” He's going to have bruises from how hard he's pinching the bridge of his nose to stifle the migraine starting to build behind his eyes.

“Nah, dropped her off with Buggy a few days back. We’ve been looking for something to do with the government; didn’t want her involved.” Well, that's a relief. At least he won’t have to be fielding two children today.

Thinking of children, Mihawk's eyes glance back down to a definitely asleep fledgling, wings tucked up and over himself in a display of youthful flexibility that makes Mihawk's back twinge just to look at.

“May I leave my charge with you while I go... talk to Shanks?”

Benn shrugs. “No skin off my nose.” He’s already getting in his last few hits before he’ll have to pitch the cigarette over the side. Mihawk hopes the smell won’t be too much of a bother for Zoro.

It takes a second of removing surprisingly strong fingers from his pants leg before Mihawk is able to lift a still very asleep fledgling over to his husband's first mate's arms.

The boy's face scrunches for a second, feathers fluffing, and Mihawk worries he’ll wake before his protégé turns into Beckman's warmth and starts breathing shallowly again.

“I bet it's a hell of a story how you managed to adopt a fledgling,” Benn grins, gazing moving to the dead asleep boy curled to his chest. “-you, of all people.”

“He’s my protégé,” Mihawk corrects, fixing Zoro’s newly grown flight feathers from getting crushed and smoothing out the down.

“If you say so,” the bigger man chuckles. The only reason Mihawk doesn’t retaliate is that he’s an adult and can rise above the petty need to stab whatever displeases him on a day-to-day basis. If he did that, he’d be a widow several times over by now.

With one last shuffle of Zoro's wings, Mihawk nods once at his fledgling, once at Beckman, and he steals himself as he leaves to find whatever state his husband might be in.

———

Warning this is where shit gets real do not read beyond this point- if trigger by any of the thing wanted about above.

———

There are good days, you know?

Mostly good days now. It used to be bad days sometimes and good days another, and you learn to live with it. You learn— you don’t move on, but you move, and that's something.

It's mostly good days, but when the bad days come and hit like a hammer, it's hard to catch yourself before the fall.

It's not Luffy's fault. Well, it is kinda, but not entirely. It's Shanks' fault mostly. He's not good with kids; it's a rule of his. No kids on the force, no babies or children, just he can't, not him, not them, so small and fragile and—

He dreams at night, okay. He dreams, and they aren't good dreams. Those small, headless, limbless forms drip past his line of sight. They chant dead names and tiny insidious things that burrow beneath his skin, crawling like parasites into his brain.

Memories are funny things. Red had his memories and attachments, but those were nothing to Shanks; separation and repression. And well, ignorance was bliss. That empty murdered town was peaceful, in a way they hadn't felt since...

The square had been, in its own twisted way, the heave of bodies, the humidity, the perfect moment before the blades fell, and red and black feathers, falling with them. He's on the floor, nails in the wood, heaving, knots in his stomach, lamprey twisting up in knots under his skin; he can feel it.

He went, and he saw. Feathers, so much down, wings ripped from corpses, heads and bloated stomachs that popped like bursting overripe fruit, limbs, and burned mother and burn father and grandfathers and whole families, piles on piles.

And the screaming. screamingscreamingscreaming-

—the light skitters like a crab and the ground pools like blood—

No, like feathers, his hands are red and brown, full of feathers, blood just down. He pulls, and the pain shoots down to the marrow, painpainpain. Here, in ripped and ruined sheets

Here in his room. It’s not safe— it’s never safe. It’s never perfect, he tried he tried to make it perfect make it safe and they’re going to die the world is rotting under his finger tips, dripping dropping red-red-red and dead dead Dead!

There is no squeak as the door opens, no tell other than the barest ghost of the air around him shifting, and he doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who it is. A sudden wave of paranoia courses through him, and he can feel his silent appreciation shift. The whisperings in the back of his head grow conflicted, some enraged beyond reason, others whispering comforts and idealizations.

Ignoring them is second nature, but reality is just as cruel as his mind.

“Shanks? Are you.. Shanks.”

The screams of dead children echo through the room, and he absentmindedly picks at the flaking blood beneath his nubs of a thumbnail. “Shanks? Love, I’m going to touch you, ok?” That part of him that is Shanks revolts at its state, and the part that is Red laughs like cracking bones, telling him to pull them out. “Can you hear me love? Nod if you can hear—“ The part that is 13 is a gaping emptiness of nothing but grief-grief-anger-pain, and the part that is 15 screams, “Shanks? i need you to look at me ok I need-“ and the part that is 17 laughs with Red, digging down, down, down! And—

“SHANKS! STOP-“

He's spiraling again.

Shanks breathes or Red does, and there's blood dripping down his face, the nails of his left hand buried deep into the skin. He's here, there, now, and he isn't, but it's enough, maybe, to struggle back up above the screams.

He opens to see, he doesn’t want to look but— Gold and black and gold on black and gold within in gold, ringed and round and—

“Mihawk?”

Mihawk. Birds and flight and freedom, arms and swords and blood, blood rivers of blood— and pressure, hands over his hands, red with stains and red with feathers, and it’s all red, please I can’t, I don’t want to see, I can’t, please—

“I’m here, that’s right, I’m here, love. Benn didn’t say... I am here, your safe; focus on me ok?”

Fingers in his fingers, broad and strong, and heat, not cold, not limp-dead-rotting, not small, focus and focus and focus, not small, here and pressure stinging on his face—

“I’m going to pull your hand away from your cheek; you’re hurting yourself. Nod twice if you understand?”

It takes all that he is, and he is so much, so many pieces, so many times and places, so much pain—it takes all that he is to nod once-twice, to stay here with him, his safety, strength, his—

“Yes, I'm just okay. Yes, that's okay. I'm here, I'm here, you're here with me. Can you talk?”

There is air over fresh cuts and words pressing over his ears and eyes, and holding his hands, broad and warm and alive, and here, and Shanks is so tired.

“I can't... I'm so tired but I can't...” he wants and wants, he's twisted with need, the lampreys squirm, his skin writhes, his wings ache, he wants.

“Shanks, I—Shanks, can you stay with me? I need you with me just a few minutes more, okay? Have you taken any of your medications today?”

There is more, there is always more, it’s a well— a never ending pit. It swallows him sometimes, it rarely swallows him whole, like here, like now. He has things to keep it small and manageable, at bay. He has tells and medication and alcohol—god, does he want a drink—and people who know, who catch him when he starts to fall. But this was so soon, so sudden, he didn't realize, he didn't notice—

“No, I... rum, that’s—that.” And it is, it is, but not enough, never enough. He's so tired, he wants it all to stop, but if it stops, he'll die, and everyone he loves will die. It's not safe. He needs to make it safe. If it's safe and everyone is safe, then no more, no blood, no more feathers, no more red—

"Thank you for telling me," hands, his hands, their hands, nails filled with dirt. He dug so many shallow graves—When it rained, the little feathers floated back up. So many babies—he doesn’t want their faces. He wants, he wants the ground to swallow them whole—

"So many. I don't, I can't. It's not safe. They'll kill you, and Uta—WHERE'S UTA, UTA!" His Baby Were Is His Baby! They killed so many, they’ll kill his Baby— they killed his brother, they’ll take his baby too. He saw the mothers, he saw the fathers, corpses with slit wrists and slit throats, bodies thrown from the cliffs. He can’t, if she dies, he’ll die too. She can’t die, everyone will die if she’s dead—

“Shhh, she’s safe—she’s safe, she’s with Buggy their… hiding, no one can find them. I don’t even know where they are. They're safe, love, we're all safe, I promise.” He doesn’t know, he has to see, he doesn’t know but... this is Mihawk, this is here, and hands pressure on his fingers, moving up his arms to cup his cheek, this is true—he doesn’t know, but it’s Mihawk, and that’s enough—he’s so tired.

“I know, love, I know, you can be tired—” no, he can’t. “I’m here now, I'm keeping watch, you just lay back for me?” No, he can’t, but Mihawk, it’s his husband who asks. There's ashes in his lungs and maggots under his skin, but Mihawk is here, and maybe, maybe?

“Yes, just like—“ the hands move from his cheek and pulse point to slide under and over— a body, firm and warm and alive, pressed to his own, down, down, down to the ground.

“I’m here, shhh, I’m here.” The rain and the mud and bodies, cold shivering, the black heat of his father's corpse, grinning with flies, but hands in his hair, stroking—tangled. Words pressed to his skull— He's here, he’s here.

“That's right, I’m here. I'm not going anywhere.” Shanks is here, Red is dead. Shanks is now; Red is then.

“That’s okay, close your eyes for me, okay?” Shanks is real, and Red can dream.

———

Yeah that’s it for now. I’ll probably be rewriting this first draft and posting it on ao3 with another pov from Benn.

[xoxochb]

<3 could we pls get a “love story” themed nico x Eros son (the one from the othe req you published which btw was awesome)? (Like Eros son asking out Nico for the first time or idk whatever you feel like. I love that song though I get it’s kind of a basic fav) thanks so much and happy pride! 🏳️‍🌈

⋆·˚ ༘ * it’s a love story baby just say yes

warnings: reader stays in hermes cabin, silena’s alive because therapy isn’t free

pairing: nico di angelo x son of eros

summary: basically a fic version of these headcannons

A/N: I love love story, grew up loving it, and will forever and always love it 💛💛

you paced the floors of hermes cabin

you’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell the son of hades you wanted to go on a date with him

but it was kind of hard when your father hated him, and nico felt the same way about him

maybe eros doesn’t have to know…

no- that won’t work, he’ll find out, you know he will

you don’t like your father anyways, who cares what he thinks?

“you only live once” that’s what they say isn’t it?

you could always ask the aphrodite cabin…

that’s the best idea yet!

you rush to cabin ten, running through the doors, you realize how insane you look when all of aphrodite’s offsprings are looking at you like you have five heads

“sorry” you mutter, walking over to your best friends bed, taking a seat there, “silena, I need your help”

“yeah? with what?” she fixes her seating position, implying she’s eager to help

“well,” you sigh “I want to ask nico on a date but my dad hates him and he hates my dad, and I’m afraid of what my dad will do if he knows that I’m on a date with him”

“you’ve surely got a dilemma” she blows a raspberry

“can you help me? do you have any advice?” you ask

“your dad doesn’t control you, he’s not even present in your life, so I say that if you love nico, then you deserve to be with him” she gives you a reassuring smile

you blush, “how should I do it?”

“do what? ask him out?” she inquires

“yeah, I’m not good with this stuff”

she thinks for a moment, “have you ever thought about just asking him?”

“well it crossed my mind, but I want to do something thoughtful, I really like him” oh gods, why won’t this blush leave your face?

“so cute!” she squeals “speak from the heart, thats the most thoughtful thing you could do”

“very wise” you laugh

“my specialty” she hits your shoulder “now go get your boyfriend”

“he’s not my boyfriend” you stand up

“yet”

- 📜 -

this is fine right? all you have to do is ask him on a date, the worst he can do is say no and never talk to you again

that’s not helping

think positive!

shouldn’t you be god at this? your dad is literally cupid

unfortunately for you, you were not blessed with his romantic abilities

“y/n? are you alright?”

you swear your soul left your body for a quick second upon hearing that voice

you know that voice

it’s your one and only crush

“yes! of course I am” you reassure.

he takes a seat next to you, and you think for a second

should you ask him now?

no- he just sat down, you want him in your presence for a little while longer incase he says no and thing get awkward

but if he says yes then he won’t leave

too many decisions!

you let mouth make this one for you

“how would you like to go on a date sometime?”

oh my gods! did you really just say that?

you thank your dad for your natural flirty and extroverted personality or you would have been toast

“a date?” nico looks like you just told him he was about to be publicly executed

“yes! a date!” you’re internally screaming over your word choice

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea” he says

“why not?” you ask

“because I know that you don’t actually want to. you flirt with everyone and you’re just doing the same with me”

you take back your earlier statement

you hate your dad for your flirty personality

“but this is different, I don’t like those other guys I flirt with” you pray that this will change his mind

“so why do you flirt with other people if you only like me?”

oh no

It shouldn’t be that hard to think of a response!

but why do you flirt with other people?

you’ve only been in love with nico since you got to camp…

“it’s just in my nature I guess” you shrug “but I promise I don’t like anyone else, I only like you, those other guys don’t mean anything to me”

he sighs “your dad isn’t exactly by best friend either”

“who cares what my dad thinks?”

you curse yourself for saying such a thing

you hope your dad never finds out you said that

“I do” he points to himself

“well I don’t, I’ve never even met him before, so why should he care who I’m dating?” you give him a begging look “just one date, and if you don’t feel comfortable then we won’t go on another and you never have to see me again”

he thinks for a second, “I’ll go on a date with you” he holds up his pointer finger “under one condition”

“anything”

oh gods you sound like a helpless, lovestruck idiot

“we can go on more after”

you smile so widely your cheeks start to hurt

if you knew it would’ve been this easy you would’ve asked sooner!

but you could care about anything right now because your long-time crush just said he wants to go on not one- but multiple dates with you!!

[transformersandturtles]

I saw Transformers One last night and oh my god it's such a good movie‼️ Definitely not what I expected (in a good way). I absolutely loved all the character designs, they're all so rounded yet so sharp and I thought I had prepared myself for this movie. Spoilers under cut.

Also I took my small Bumblebee with me to go see the film tee hee. So many people left before the midcredit scene and post credit scene. Me and my friend were the only ones in there to see the post credit. 10/10 would recommend‼️

OKAY SO I KNEW TO EXPECT FOR D-16 TO GO EVIL AND BECOME MEGS, BUT OH MY GOD 😭 Watching him give into his anger and need to change things immediately was heart breaking. Like I knew it was coming, but uGHHHH 😭

And don't even get me started on when he dropped Orion. I was fucking flabbergasted. And then him just publicly executing Sentinel Prime? So valid. So real. Sentinel did have a cool design, but I hate him nevertheless. Senti's biggest hater right here. But also Starscream getting his voice box damaged by D-16 in their fight?? And the change in D-16's optics from yellow to an orange-red color? Someone get these bots some love. 😭

Another Bee pic watching B-127 cause this is the mid credit scene/the only scene I could get my phone out without problems. The fact B was like, insane/socially deprived is so funny and sad to me. Definitely that "Oh, it's adorable. . . Oh, it's traumatized." Markiplier audio.

[cowgurrrl]

It’s a shame that we’re not soul mates

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (though this is all backstory)

Summary: “Grief is an amputation, but hope is incurable hemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed.” - David Mitchell, Slade House [5.0k]

Warnings: if you’ve been reading this far, you know what to expect

"Janey, be careful!" You say, even though she's already on top of the counter. You put a hand on her back to stabilize her, but she wiggles out of your grasp.

"I got it." She says as she reaches up and grabs a bowl once her knees are steady against the counter. She hands it to you and jumps down carelessly, making you flinch with phantom knee pain. She giggles at your reaction as she moves back to the half-made dinner she's helping you with. 

"Stressin' me out, homegirl." 

"I'm trying to help!" She defends, and you laugh as you hand her the spoon to stir the pasta. 

"Well, you can help by stirring this," you pass off the responsibility, and she groans. If you didn't know better, you'd say she was eight going on eighteen with the way she rolls her eyes and grumbles under her breath. It's mostly funny only because you remember being the same way to your mom. "Do you have homework we need to work on tonight?" You ask as you pass behind her to grab some cheese from the fridge. Thank God for smugglers with good connections. 

"No, I already did it while I was waiting for you to pick me up." She says with enough sass in her voice for you to give her a look. She raises her eyebrows in a silent challenge, and you laugh.

"I said I was sorry, little judgy pants," you bump her out of the way with your hip so you can grab the boiling pot and carry it over to the strainer. "I had to talk to someone about work, and it took longer than I thought it would."

It's not a total lie. Lee had warned you the next shipment wouldn't come until a little more than a month after your last one. He gave you an update to let you know that smugglers from nearby would be ready to trade by tomorrow. You don't tell her you were also helping Lee move weapons. There's been a void since you killed the top weapons dealer in the QZ. "Somebody's gotta fill it," Lee reasoned as he opened boxes upon boxes of FEDRA-level armory. He doesn't seem to have any qualms about taking over a dead man's position, and you silently question just how real the hit order was. No one besides Fireflies were publicly executed that week, and no one mentioned anything about a grieving brother pushed to madness. 

Still, that money allowed you to take a month off to be with Jane. You got to wake her up to a homemade breakfast and walk her to and from school. You got to help her with her homework and sneak up to the roof to look at the stars like you did before QZs and gunfire. You got to feel like an active mother for once in your life. So maybe a little white lie on Lee's end isn't the end of the world? Besides, you got a good amount of ammunition, two new guns, and a switchblade out of his new venture. There are worse things.

Jane eyes you suspiciously at the mention of work but doesn't have time to say anything before the front door opens. You jump a little until your eyes settle over Adam and the excited glint in his eyes. His hair has gotten long in the past month, and it curls delicately over his forehead. Jane yells his name as she runs over to him and hugs him tightly. You can't stop the smile from tugging at your lips at the sight. Despite whatever relationship you two have, he's really great with her.

"Hey! How was your day, Janey girl?" He asks, crouching to her level with one hand behind his back. 

"Good! I ate lunch with Lucy!" She says, and he laughs.

"I know. I saw you guys in the lunch room," he says as he glances at you. You nod and pull a third bowl from the cabinet to keep the peace. "Hey, I've got a surprise for you and your mommy."

"Really? What is it?" Jane asks. Adam looks at you again before bringing the hand behind his back into view. Jane squeals and jumps up and down at the small radio in his hand. It's the most excited you've seen her get about anything in a long time. You laugh as you come up behind her and put your hands on her shoulders. "Mommy, it's a radio! We can listen to music again!" 

"I see. What do you say to Adam?"

"Thank you!" She says as she throws her arms around him. 

"You're welcome, honey." He says, rubbing her back. Over her shoulder, he meets your gaze, and you smile sincerely. 

"Thank you." You mouth silently, and he nods. 

Once the excitement dies down, the three of you scoop heaps of pasta into your bowls and sit at the table. You only own three dining chairs, but it's probably for the best. If you had an extra one, the space would feel too big. Three feels like a good number. Together, you exchange stories about your day and conversations with others. Jane tells you about the latest playground drama and how she's the fastest writer out of anyone in her class. There's no mention of FEDRA or Infected. Even when yelling rings out in the street, you go silent until it stops, and then it's back to the safety of your dining room. 

After everyone is full, you and Jane wash the dishes while Adam helps dry and put them away. It's always the first thing you do after dinner because they'll never get done if you don't wash the dishes immediately. Then, with Jane's help, Adam tunes into a crackly radio station playing a song you recognize. Jane deems the late 90's tune "weird" but dances along nevertheless. She laughs breathlessly when you pick her up and spin around the kitchen with her in your arms. You bounce between doing silly dance moves individually and holding hands as you dance. For ten perfect minutes, the upbeat songs of a lifetime ago echo in your kitchen, and the three of you dance like this is how things were always meant to be.

When a slower song comes on, you scoop Jane up again, and she wraps her legs around your waist so you two can sway together. It's a position you've been in so many times in your shared life. So much so that Jane didn't even question it when you grabbed her. The night of your senior prom, you stayed home with your flu-ridden toddler and slowly danced until she fell asleep in your arms. You'd dance with her at friends' weddings while everyone else danced with their partners. Whenever either of you had a tough day, you'd dance in the kitchen as a gentle reminder that you had each other, no matter what. This is the first time you've gotten to dance to actual music in years. You fight your tears and manage a smile whenever Jane picks her head up from your shoulder to look at you.

"Mommy, Adam doesn't have anyone to dance with." She whispers, and you meet Adam's eyes from where he sits at the kitchen table.

"Do you wanna dance with him?" You whisper back, and she shakes her head. "Do you want me to dance with him?" She nods. You take a deep breath as Jane wiggles out of your arms and walks over to Adam. He looks confused as he stands but still takes her hand whenever she holds it out for him. Then, so politely it hurts, she walks him over to you and slips his hand into yours. He freezes, so you take the lead, sliding your hands over his shoulders until they lock behind his neck. He gently places his hands on your waist and begins moving with you. 

"I'm not gonna bite." You mumble, and he grins as he takes a step closer. His body is warm against yours, and he smells like the good soap you smuggle in. It's a comfort to have him so close. Something you've never realized before. Sure, having someone to help deal with your frustrations was comforting, but this is different. Somehow, this feels more intimate than sex. The circles he rubs into your hips don't help you shake the feeling. The song ends with little fanfare, but you linger in his arms until Jane tugs on your arm to dance to Kurt Cobain's sputtering voice. 

You stay up dancing until well past Jane's bedtime, and she's all but nodding off in your arms as you carry her to bed. You kiss her temple, carefully lay her in bed, and pull the covers over her body. She stretches and shifts in the new environment, and her eyes blink open. "Can we dance again tomorrow night?" She asks, snuggling into her pillow, and you nod.

"Whatever you want, baby." 

"Awesome." She yawns before rolling over and falling asleep. You laugh to yourself as you tuck her in and kiss her head again. Adam is lingering in the kitchen, his hands in his pockets, when you come back out and shut Jane's door quietly. He smiles as you approach him and looks between you and the radio.

"Bought it off some FEDRA officer who said he couldn't get any signal from it anymore. Pretty sure he thought I was gonna sell it for parts." He answers your silent question.

"Why didn't you?" You ask, and he shrugs.

"Felt wrong," he says simply. "Besides, I think kitchen dances are a much better use than scrapping it." You nod in agreement as you kiss him. He's caught off guard for a moment before he kisses you back like you're made of porcelain. His hands find your waist and pull you closer for the sole purpose of being closer to you, and you let him. There's no rush, nowhere to go, no anger. It's just you and the soft press of his lips. 

"Thank you," you whisper, leaning your forehead against his.

"For what?" He asks, breathless.

"Making her smile." His Adam's apple bobs at your words, but he doesn't say anything. He just kisses you again. For once, you let him unbutton your shirt, lead the way back to your bed, and take his time. His hands are soft against your skin and draw all the breathiest noises from you. You try not to hide from him like you usually do. You even let him fall asleep next to you once you're done, chests heaving in tandem. It's nice. It's more than a comfort. The fuzzy, warm, confusing feeling in your head scares the shit out of you as you watch him sleep next to you. 

He doesn't need to see me— all of me— just yet. Let me live in this a little longer, you think, as the sun rises. You slide out from under his arm seamlessly and begin getting ready in the quietest way possible. You're supposed to meet the smugglers before noon, and the walk is long for both of you. You should leave sooner rather than later. You're fully dressed with your boots and backpack on when your rickety drawer stirs Adam awake. You freeze as he shuffles until his eyes open to you, one hand on your gun and the other on the edge of the bed to keep you balanced. 

"Are you going on a run?" He asks, his voice gravelly and thick with sleep. You think about lying about the shipment or telling him Lee needs you for something. You think about not answering at all and just leaving. But then, you remember the lightness in his body as you danced in the kitchen and the way he shivered under your touch. 

"It won't take long. I'll be home before Jane even gets out of school."

"We're supposed to go together."

"Adam," you start, but he sits up before you can finish.

"No, this wasn't a part of the deal. You were supposed to tell me about the next drop so we could go together. You said you'd show me." He says, and you sigh. The betrayed look in his eyes presses on a bruise deep in your heart, and you have to look away. You grab your gun and put it back together, hitting the magazine with the palm of your hand.

"The group I'm meeting with doesn't like strangers. If they see you, they could freak out and start shooting," you say. "I'm not going to put you in that position."

"But you're fine with that possibility?” He snaps as you tuck your gun into your waistband. 

"Please, just stay here. I can handle them myself." 

"No," he stands his ground. "No. I'm not letting you go alone. Do you know how fucking scary it is to watch you walk out that door, not knowing if you're gonna come home? Even before I knew you were smuggling, I was always scared. When you were late last time, I almost went out there looking for your body." You knew he often stayed up to make sure you got home in one piece, but you didn't know he was ready to go out looking for you. He's probably the only other person who would notice if you went missing. You feel like you could choke on your shame.

"I didn't know that." 

"Because we don't talk. We fight, and we fuck, and that's it. Last night was the first time I felt..." he trails off, shaking his head. Of the two of you, Adam has always been more in touch with his thoughts and feelings than you have, which makes sense considering most of your day is spent in survival mode. "Last night was the first time I felt like you actually wanted me around." He says, and you take a deep breath. You slide your backpack off your shoulder and perch on the edge of the bed, grabbing his hand. 

"Hey, look at me," you urge, squeezing his hand. You only continue when he lifts his head. "I do want you around, okay? Not just for Jane or because it's convenient but because..." You fumble with the words, and Adam scoffs, pulling away.

"You can't even say it." 

"I don't care what happens to me," you say suddenly, getting his attention. "I don't want you to go with me because I don't care what happens to me or what I have to do to come home. I'm reckless and dangerous and don't hang out with good people because I'm not a good person. And I'm scared you'll leave the second you realize that and try to take Jane with you." You blame the years of guilt and dishonesty in your veins for the word vomit, but seeing how his face contorts makes you feel like you could actually vomit. You look away, but his hand on your jaw turns you to look at him again. "If you're here while I'm there, that's the best way to keep you safe." 

"Who keeps you safe?" he mumbles. "Please, let me help you. Just this one time. Please." You know you're going to lose the argument. You feel it. You can scream and push him away, but you won't win. 

"Can you handle a gun?" You ask, and he chuckles.

"Yeah, I can handle a gun."

"I've never seen you carry." 

"It's not the most appropriate thing to bring to school." He says, and you take a shaky breath as you stand and walk over to your closet. You spin the combination on the safe until it pops open to reveal rounds of ammo and another handgun. You make sure the safety is flipped before releasing the magazine and pull back the slide to eject the bullet left in the chamber. 

"Can you handle something like this?" You ask, holding the grip out for him to grab. He takes it and turns the cold metal over, inspecting all the grooves and indentions with reverence. He nods after a moment, and you nod back. You hand him the magazine and watch him shove it into the gun. "If you're really gonna do this, you listen to me. You don't wander. You don't talk to anyone unless I talk to them first. You don't pull your gun until I pull mine. Even then, you don't shoot until I do. Do you understand?" Your voice sounds like it does when you're talking to Lee. Mechanical, robotic, mean. Adam takes it in stride, only blinking at you. 

"I understand." He agrees.

"Let's go, then." 

While Adam gets dressed, you go to Mrs. Carmichael's apartment and ask her to take Jane to school. Being retired with no living children frees up her schedule pretty nicely, so she agrees. You give her the same rundown you've given Adam a million times, and she nods along, listening intently. "And just... tell Jane I love her, and I'll pick her up after school." You say.

"Oh, honey, of course. We'll have a great morning! You go on to work." She says, and you smile as Adam steps out of the apartment. You hug Mrs. Carmichael and thank her quickly before leaving the building and walking out to the street. You're silent the whole way to Lee's building, where he gives you the stuff you're trading, and you grab some full magazines from your cache under the floorboards. 

"Since when did Golden Boy start coming with you on drops?" Lee whispers as you stuff the bullets in your backpack. You glance over your shoulder to look at an otherwise oblivious Adam and shake your head.

"This is a one-time thing. He twisted my arm." 

"C'mon, nobody twists your arm. What do you owe him?" 

"Drop it, Lee." You seethe, and he rolls his eyes. 

"Fuck you, too." He mumbles as he walks away, but you don't take it personally. You're sure he'll do nothing but sing your praises when you return this afternoon, or that's your hope, at least. After bidding Lee a semi-forced goodbye, you and Adam continue on your way. He stays quiet when you pass through the Areas and under the wall. As you get further and further away from the QZ, Adam will turn around to check the distance like he can't believe he's actually outside the walls. His eyes light up when he sees how nature has taken over the city you once recognized, like this is a field trip.

Meanwhile, your anxiety is off the charts. Every little sound has you reaching for your gun and whipping your head around to identify the source. If this were a normal day, Adam might make fun of you for being so jumpy. "Lighten up a little," he'd probably say. "We've made it this far." But he doesn't say anything. He watches you work and listens when you warn him of falling into craters or teach him how to avoid Infected. Overall, you have to give him props for actually following your instructions, and you make it to the old Shell station in record time. 

"Do you trust these people?" Adam asks as you lean against the crumbling wall of the gas station and wipe sweat from your brow. 

"Trust is a big word for people like this," you say as he settles next to you. "But, yeah. For the most part, they're honest people who're just trying to feed their families."

"How many groups of smugglers are there?" 

"Probably hundreds. I deal with five or six from different QZs to get what I need. Some are small, like Lee and I, and others are a huge network of people. It's hard to know just how many are out there."

"And how long have you been smuggling?" He finally asks, and you take a deep breath as you kick at a rock under your foot. 

"Since we moved into the apartment. I tried doing the shitty FEDRA jobs for a while, but it just wasn't enough money. I was desperate, and there was a need for people willing to go over the wall, so it just made sense. Lee found me about a year into my smuggling and took me in. Helped me actually turn a profit and get Jane some new clothes or better food. I owe him a lot." You say, remembering how you went hungry for days so Jane could eat. They say a hungry dog is the most dangerous, and you're living proof. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks, his voice soft and sympathetic like he would done anything to change the past if he could. You shake your head and pick at your cuticles.

"Cause I didn't want to look weak. I'd spent the last five years keeping our heads above water and keeping her safe, and then... it was all ripped away. I didn't ask for help when I was sixteen, and I sure as shit wasn't gonna start at twenty-one." 

"Someone should've been there to help you," he says. "Matt should've stayed."

"I don't know. I think we turned out alright." You shrug off his sincerity and push off the wall to walk a little way out, leaving him and the conversation by the wall. You don't want to talk about Matt. Not to him. Not ever and never more than you have to to answer Jane's questions about the amorphous blob that is her father. "Where are they?" You ask, mostly to yourself, as you look around in either direction. Adam comes up next to you with either a question or an apology on his lips, but the sound of footsteps jerks you away from him.

"Help me, please." A man clutching his bloody stomach steps into your path, and you pull your gun and point it at him. Adam stops and looks between you and the stranger, uneasiness passing over him. 

"Stay where you are," you order. The man takes another step, and you cock your gun. "Don't make me repeat myself," Adam mumbles your name, but you shake your head. 

"Please. I'm hurt." 

"What happened?" Adam asks, and you give him a look. "How can we help?" A twig snaps behind you, and you whip around to see five other men surrounding you and Adam. Raiders. There's little to no coverage besides collapsed walls and stray cars. You really hope Adam wasn't lying about his ability to handle a weapon. You fire first, a bullet easily ripping through the distraction's head, before grabbing Adam and diving to hide behind a car. Gunfire rings in your ears as you try to assess where the shots are coming from. You aim under the car and take out two pairs of feet, taking the lethal shot when they collapse to the ground. 

Three left, you think. Three is manageable. You glance over at Adam in time to see one of the raiders gunning for him with a knife. "Duck!" You shout as you raise your gun and fire the shot. Adam barely moves out of the way in time, and you hit the guy's shoulder. Before you can fire the next shot, a pair of arms wraps around you and pulls you from behind the car. You kick and scream as you watch the guy you shot and another raider grab Adam. 

You're not exactly sure what happens next. You know some punches landed on your face, and pain travels through your body. You hear Adam yell for you. You feel someone just barely press a knife into your skin. The rest is a mess of blood and gunshots and ringing in your ears. You think— no, you know— you killed the last three men. The blood on your clothes and staining your hands is enough of a sign. When your eyes land on Adam again, there's blood pouring from the side of his head, but he's upright. He's alive. He rushes toward you, and you have to fight the twitch of your hands from pointing your gun at him. He says something you can't hear, but before you can ask for confirmation, he grabs your hand and runs back towards the QZ. 

He doesn't look back at the bodies you left in your wake, but you do. You have to know you're still here, and they aren't. You have to know you won. 

The bathroom is quiet as he leans against the sink, struggling to keep himself upright as you dab blood from the cut on his head. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, everything hurts, and your vision blurs in the corners. He groans and winces as you reach for the antiseptic. "I know, I know. I'm sorry." You whisper.

"Just finish it." He says through gritted teeth, and you nod. You pour the clear liquid over his cut and cover it with the rag, keeping him from moving away from you. He curses loudly and shakes under your touch, but after a minute or two, his breathing evens out, and you lift the rag again.

It doesn't need stitches. It'll probably heal over into a scab more than anything else. You don't know if it's a result of the fight or your bullet grazing his head. You don't want to ask. You silently clean his blood and press bandages to the inflamed skin to encourage the wound to close. Worst case scenario, he has a scar no one else knows about but you. It wouldn't be the first.

Once you're done, you carefully push him out of the way so you can wash your hands, and you have to look away as the red spins around the drain before disappearing completely. You scrub at your skin until it's raw and clean. Jane still has another hour left of school. She doesn't need to see the blood on your hands. Adam is the one to turn off the sink and hand you a dry rag to distract you.

"Are you okay?" You ask quietly, hoping he'll avoid the subject of your frenzied hand washing, and he gives you a look. 

"I should be asking you that. You got knocked around more than I did." He says, reaching out to push your hair out of your face to get a better look at your black eye. His hand lingers on your jaw, much too gentle fingers swiping over your skin. Slowly like he's giving you time to pull away, he kisses the bruised skin around your eye. It's too soft, too sweet, too perfect. 

"You don't have to stay," you blurt out. "I got you into this mess. I can clean myself up." 

"I made you take me."

"But I pulled the gun first. I started the fight."

"You also protected me."

"Stop trying to make me the good guy here, Adam," you snap. "This is what I do every fucking day. I killed those guys without blinking, and the next time something like this happens, I'll kill them again because I have a kid at home. And guess what? I'm never even home on time to see her. I'm not a good person." Despite the anger rising in your chest, Adam doesn't flinch. Instead, he takes the towel from your hands and turns the tap to cold, soaking the rag. He presses it under your eye, soothing the swelling heat of your skin. 

"I don't think you're a bad person." He whispers, and you scoff. 

"How?"

"What?"

"How can you think that?" You challenge. He takes a big breath and puts the rag down, his eyes scanning your face.

"Because you could've left me to die. Because you could've killed me the first time we kissed, and I wouldn't have blamed you. Because even after years, you still refuse to shit-talk Matt in front of Jane because you don't want her to think you hate him even though you do. Because I've seen you read your daughter bedtime stories and dance with her in the kitchen. Because only good people could create such an amazing human," he says. "And because I know you. I know you on your good days and especially on your bad days. And even when you slam the door in my face and try to make me disappear, I still come back because you are one of the most extraordinary people I've ever met." He's so gentle and patient, and you are so fucking mean to him. 

"I'm not afraid of you." He says, and tears cloud your vision. You stare down at your blood-stained shoes and swallow around the lump in your throat. I am, you think. I'm afraid of me.

"Thank you," you say instead, feigning a smile. He doesn't look like he believes it, but he doesn't say anything. He just pulls you into a big hug and does his best to shield you from your own thoughts. He's warm and sturdy and real. More real than the images floating around in your head and more real than the stinging feeling in your hands. It's nice. "Thank you." You repeat, and Adam nods, believing you a little more than he did the first time. He kisses your hairline, and you feel his lungs expand with a breath.

"We need to be more honest with each other if we're gonna keep doing… whatever it is we're doing," he whispers into your hair. "No more secrets."

"I'd like that," you mumble. "But it's gonna take me some time. I can't... I can't change overnight."

"That's okay. I'll wait." He says, making a piece of you want to collapse into him and cry. You don't. You keep yourself upright and count his heartbeats as his words echo in your mind.

For the first time, you let yourself think about more days wrapped in his arms, protected from your internal war. You imagine nights spent dancing with Jane and kisses that you don't have to hide and mornings where you don't kick him out of bed. You imagine a future. A dangerous, perfect future with him and Jane. If you fight hard enough, you can make it happen, right? You can be enough to keep them alive. You could do it. 

You could stay alive for them.

[persephoneflouwers]

First off i just want to say im not trying to play blame game, I just want to talk about a few things that is not really mainstream in larry fandom, I remember your thoughts about babygate and how it might be related to Harry’s level of visibility, what im thinking about situation surrounding Louis, his solo career, babygate and Harry is not that unsimilar to that line of thinking.

I think that Harry’s solo career is an extension of 1D project, he was the one that was chosen by big executives to appeal to the group of fans, which was huge in numbers so it would be waste for sony not to tap into that potential, the band managed to garner throughout the years. Sony created a new brand for those fans in a way that they wouldn’t be embarrassed to carry that brand into their new adult life which should be free from their teenage obsession so they heavily leaned into harry being inspired by rock legends at first (with a sprinkle of sex god harry) but it felt flat because the connection between harry and those legends didn’t go beyond critics calling harry fake (lol), and then they realized they needed to put in more work to this rock persona so they brought in the rockstar gf and amped up rumors about his sexuality bc the mystery around his ‘not so secret’ love life was a hook for many of those fans, i also wanna mention that imho harry is not contradicting himself and what his life is supposed to sell just to pat larries on the back in interviews, him saying i want privacy around my love life but we knowing every detail about all his relationships is playing right into that persona of rockstar that is caught in his love or him saying that these things wouldn’t happen for people like him is selling this fantasy of underdog coming from nothing and being everything to thousands of fans, people relate to that but the money they are spending on Harry is unparalleled and beyond that the power they have with media is nothing similar to any underdog quality having small artist could have. By the way im not saying that harry is undeserving of his highly publicized (and sometimes made of) achievements, im saying the work and money that go into it already guarantees this kind of ‘success’

Anyway i think this all kind of ties in how Louis has been struggling with industry-wide blackout all his solo career. Im just guessing but my life experience tells me that Sony wouldn’t let anything or anyone get in the way of millions of dollars they are getting through harry the brand and them, we all know that Louis is the biggest thread to that brand they have been supporting and creating, first they burdened him (and ancient/old/new larries or larrie narrative with babygate) and then they literally made it so that Louis could never the shadows (by the way the mystique around larry proved to big executives that people are intrigued by big stars having secrets or compassionate side that is willing to fight for their love and partners, so they were aware of the void harry’s solo career would have once louis was removed from the situation and they tried to create new larry in their own terms with xander and brad which is so laughable at best because you cant fake the genuine fight or love or yearning, not even proximity would warrant that as we can see with brad and breads lol)

So what is frustrating (to me) about this whole tattoo convo that some people are so hell-bent on minimizing what it really is -a dumb decision- because babygate is still going on as it involves a kid, it is morally fucked up situation on another level (while i agree with that i also question where was that energy when harry was letting olivia bring her kids to his show and his family was getting actively involved with those kids, he was publicly and very visibly inserted into their family situation as well.) Im just dumbfounded that some people bending backwards to give Harry a free pass for every questionable thing he does are somehow missing the fact that Louis’ involvement with babygate only doubled when Harry as a brand finally got the level of fame he or they wanted, im not saying some sony bighead are putting a weapon to louis’ head to say that you should be more hands-on father but they are playing a game of putting all the responsibilities -be it legally or verbally- on his shoulder.

Im sorry for talking your ear off in your asks but i wanted to get that out there even if only one person reads it and i realized i wrote in absolutes in terms of my writing but it is not because im trying to present my thoughts as the facts it is because i didn’t wanna put i think, i guess, i suppose at the beginning of every sentence i wrote to signal that these are my thoughts based on being involved with this fandom more than ten years and real life experiences.

I’ve been looking for someone to share this sort of opinions with all my life. I could have written this honestly, because it stands more or less where I stand with my takes on everything (especially the frontman push, the threatening larry rumours, the mega comeback of babygate coincidentally when Harry’s career has taken a turn for the sky). And I find very silly, very naive, very biased - three words that can easily describe this fandom - the opinion of those who say ‘babygate has nothing to do with larry’ or ‘babygate has nothing to do with Harry’.

I say the tattoo fiasco has been a wake up call for me, because it is a statement, a very dumb, very greedy, very mean - three words that can easily describe the people in the big picture- from Harry himself. It means he went full in for this stunt and from this there’s no coming back. And people will say it’s convenient and ambitious and they will also say they do what they can with their career, but you know… I don’t like these takes because there is a very fine line (pun intended) between ambition and ambiguity, because everybody and their mothers know that if you decided to get involved with the worst people in Hollywood you are not going to end up be a saint. OW being so close to H. W had always creeped me out, because look at how much organic success and organic achievements has brought to our beloved.

Anyway thank you for this very well articulated opinion. I’m sorry I’m only replying to this now. If you want to talk more, we can in private too :)

[crowncrown]

MORE GENLOSS BRAINROT LETS GOOO

!!!MAJOR SPOILER WARNING!!!

Generation loss’s ending is so incredible I can not STAND IT OH MY GOD I need to write out my thoughts before my brain explodes because I haven’t been able to think about anything else since.

The first episode was an absolute curveball to everyone who’s been keeping up with the spooky ranmail and everything and I’m not gonna lie I was a little nervous about what this show was really gonna be when I was watching it. But the thought process it took behind every detail to make something so goofy actually be horrifying once you understand the context of the next two episodes WAS BRILLIANT. Every piece of the puzzle just adds more and more to the storyline and it makes me want to dissect every detail of the vods for hours.

But I think the most bone chilling part of this-very intentionally I must add- is the final sequence. We witness every one of the characters sacrifice themselves for GL!Ranboo and GL!Slime isn’t any different spending his last breaths being killed by the wire creature (for lack of better words) to make sure Ranboo hits the finish line. But as soon as you feel any level of triumph you realize that Slime is just like Sneeg in the episode before sacrificing himself to ensure the show goes on.

Because it was never about the hero.

Ranboo isn’t special. He’s just another pawn in the game with the illusion of being the protagonist to make it more interesting for the desensitized viewers watching these people die over and over.

He was never meant to win.

And then that leads to us.

The audience.

Given the illusion of choice.

Do you publicly execute this man? Or do you let him live to be tortured the rest of his miserable existence until he is inevitably killed by Showfall for breaking the rules. If you spare him, is it a fate worse than death? We fight with this moral dilemma, trying to decide if it’s our decision whether people live or die.

But he’s a murderer! He killed people and showed no remorse! Showfall metaphorically whispers in our ear that he earned this fate for the terrible actions he committed. But was it him? Did he have any control over the actions he committed throughout the show or is he a victim?

He begins begging to be let go. To just escape from this snare he never asked to be trapped in the first place. The audience heavily leans towards letting him live because maybe being alive in this horrible show is better than the execution. But he knows that was never an option for him. He watches as a cartoony figure jokes about his demise and a audience poll decides his fate. And in that moment he realizes his choices were never his own.

So he gives up.

Begs to just be put down because being part of the cast means he will hurt more and more people the way he’s been hurt. That he will be the cause of more and more pain, and very likely more murderers.

And the audience decides death is the best route for him to take.

Maybe he died believing this is his fault. That the audience decided he should be dead for the horrific things he chose to do. But did he ever really choose?

His story was a tragedy before he could even pick up the pen.

And then there’s Showfall. Once again the ever present voice in our ear. Whispering that we are just the same as he is.

You just chose to murder a man. Is that not any different than him killing the innocent to progress in this game? Showfall now has the audience in the same grip as the man in the guillotine.

Your story as an audience is a tragedy long before you will ever pick up the pen.