#i don't currently have the brain power to make out the words for why i like her sm and i feel like i have to make a disclaimer for the tags

[mayoiayasep]

thank you How Do We Relationship for giving me tamaki shishio i'll treasure her for the rest of my life

[kenyummy]

✰ 01. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 01. sparkless life.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: guys i couldnt resist posting criesssss . also master is used as a gender neutral term!!!! couldn't be bothered to put master/mistress every time so

prev. ✰ masterlist. ✰ next.

When you wake up, your eyes are permeated by a hard light. Your eyes are squinted hard and you're having a difficult time getting your eyes to focus.

Your brain is fuzzy and feels like melted candy in your head. What was going on, again...? This bed... it's really comfy. It's like laying on a bed made of clouds, fairy dust, and your hopes and dreams.

(Nothing like your lumpy mattress back home... May told you it built character.)

You reach your hand up, to try and block out the harsh glare directed right into your retina. It dims in a second, and for a moment���you think you've finally developed mutant powers of telekinesis. You sit up—only to discover you were not actually the one who turned off said lights.

"Apologies, Master [name]." An older man with a distinct British accent stands in the door—a few feet away from the bed you're resting on. "I did not realise you had awoken already. I would've turned down the lights, if I was aware."

You blink, surveying the room around you. It's big. Unfamiliar, as well. Modern. Really big. Wait, did he just call you—

"Master [name]?" Your mouth moves faster than your mind, and your brows furrow deep. "What... where am I?"

The older man looks genuinely puzzled at how defensive your stance is. "Oh dear. Perhaps you did end up getting lead poisoning. Or a concussion. ... No matter. This recent amnesia is common within traumatic injuries."

He clears his throat with strict elegance and straightens his posture, "[name]. I believe you were attacked in an alleyway, when your brother found you. You were in the hospital for a few days, and brought back here—back home—this morning. You're currently in one of your father's guest rooms. The doctors said you were healing miraculously fast."

You hiss lowly. You really hope they hadn't gotten a blood sample—you haven't had the best of experiences with people getting your blood.

"You seem to be alright now. A bit..." He looks at your exposed, scarred shoulders. "Scuffed up—but better than when Master Jason had found you."

Your brother... Jason...? Who even...?

What's going on here?

Your heart seems to skip a beat as the calculations start going off in your head. A world you had never heard of... a place you'd never seen before—perhaps you weren't on a different world, and like you had suspected... it was definetly some multiverse shenanigans again.

You knew you should've made Jess take that mission instead of you. Damn. You and your dumb rivalry with Doc.

But you couldn't understand why this random man knows you. He speaks as if you've lived a life with him—like he's known you since...

You chew down on your bottom lip. "... This is... my home. I live here, don't I...?"

You play with words cautiously, speaking slow and methodical. It only serves to confuse the man even further.

"Yes, you... do? Master [name], perhaps you should go back to the hospital. You're sounding rather frazzled—"

You almost jump up, out of the sheets, "Uh—no! I... I'm fine. My head's just a bit... messed up right now. Sorry."

It's not—after that flashbang, you're feeling fine. Your shoulder only burns with a stretch whenever you put too much pressure on it—but you're completely okay otherwise. But you don't think you should let him know that just yet.

"If you insist, Master [name]." He bows his head. "Do you require any further assistance?"

You blink, considering your choices.

Eventually, you land on the safest option. Search your surroundings. Find out what's going on here before going all Spider-ham on them. For all you know—they're super skrulls waiting for the right moment to strike. You need to be smart about this.

"Yes... I would like to go to my room... could you... walk me there?" You don't meet his stern gaze. "I'm not sure I'm able to walk on my own two feet just yet. I'm sorry."

You don't see how his stare softens at your words. "Of course, Master [name]."

He walks over to the edge of the bed and steadies you with a hand on your shoulder as you shakily stumble out of the bed. It's bouncy enough to launch you forward slightly—and it takes every muscle in your body to stop your Spidey-instincts from taking over and jumping backwards.

He slips your arm within his and steadies you as you both slowly walk out of the large guest room. If this was a guest room—you wonder what your room looked like.

The hallways weren't anything to sneeze at, either. Decorated with contemporary art pieces—sleek and so shiny you could see your face in the tiles below your bare feet. You felt so out of place—the civilian clothes you sported since you got here still dressed your body, and it wasn't even close to fitting in.

As you stumble down the halls with a bit of overdramacy, a man suddenly appears from around a corner. Deep black hair and the brightest blue eyes you'd ever seen. His smile is wide and he waves enthusiastically, "Hey, Alfred! I got back from Blüdhaven after uh—I heard what happened."

"Hello, Master Dick. It's lovely to see you back home again." Alfred nods his head. The man in question—Dick, apparently, which makes the immature teen in you giggle—gives you a sorrowful expression.

But... doesn't say anything past that. He continues small talk with Alfred—and you're left propped up in the older man's arms with a lost expression.

Did he... just blow you off?

One—that was pretty rude. Two, did he not just say he came back after he heard what happened? Not to toot your own horn or anything—but you'd assume being shot kind of counts as a "what happened".

You press your lips firmly together. This was getting awkward for you, especially seeing how comfortable this huge Dick (yeah, you're taking it and running with it) seemed to be with leaving this sickly, wounded (maybe you're being a tad dramatic) person to stumble like a baby fawn, in silence.

Alfred, however—catches sight of your one-sided tension, and abruptly ends his conversation. "My apologies, Master Dick, but I must help [name] to their room. I would love to continue this conversation at a later date."

"Oh yeah, no sweat, Alfred." He gives the older man a gleeful thumbs up. Then, his eyes meet yours. "Get better soon, okay?"

You avert his stare and only nod in response. Well, at least he noticed you were there. You're still in mild shock, but you somehow manage to keep a pleasant expression. With one last small smile, Dick walks away—where, you don't really care about.

Alfred slowly helps you up a flight of stairs. He only breaks the silence after you find yourself standing in front of a room with a faded name on it. Your name. "... All these years, and only now, you've suddenly changed. I wonder..."

His words are cryptic, but his expression even more so. What was he talking about? "... Huh?"

A small smile fades on his face. "Ah... no. It's nothing. I was thinking out loud. Call me if you need anything else, Master [name]. I am at your service. And please... get better soon."

Somehow, it sounds nicer when he says it. You smile a little, and give him a nod.

"Thank you..." You test out his name on your tongue. It feels natural. "Alfred. I'll try my best."

He leaves with a curt nod and not another word. You finally slide the door open, and take a look around.

You step inside, and it's like you've entered a whole new world, again.

It's... small. Not by regular standards—it's almost double the size of your room at home—but compared to a guest bedroom in this overly massive home... it's rather small. Like a closet, more than a bedroom.

It's empty, too. Your room at home is decorated with posters and trinkets of your favourite shows, pictures of you with Harry and MJ (sometimes even the four), and memorable items you've collected with your friends and family over the years.

Memories. You had memories.

There is nothing here.

It's like you're standing in a blank slate—in a world where you are nothing and yet everything you've ever had. It sends a chill down your spine.

You walk barefoot across cold wood and take a seat on the bedsheets. Bare white with a childish print. Something a young child would use. It looks pretty scuffed up. Old. The mattress creaks under your weight and you wince.

There's a bookshelf just opposite to you. There's not much in it—in fact, it's smaller than small and is almost completely empty. There's nothing but school textbooks and thick novels. And...

It catches your eye almost immediately. A little pink slip in the midst of deep black and brown colours. You stand up—ignoring the creak that follows—and walk over to the shelf.

You slip the book out, and immediately take in its cover. Pink, and with your name in wonky cursive. It's rather dusty, as if it hadn't even been touched in years.

You flip open the cover. Big bubble letters spelling out My diary flash you and you quickly flip the page before the glitter sears into your eyelids.

The first entry is there. Exactly seven years and two months ago. It's nothing like those entries you've seen on those corny 2000's TV shows for tweens—nor is it like those aesthetic journaling girls on Pwinterest.

It's something, familiarly, you. A short clunk of text about your day, on days that had some sort of exciting event going on—something you'd undoubtedly do. It almost makes you grimace.

This whole multiverse thing might be worse than you thought.

Two days ago I moved into a new house. My mom said she couldn't take care of me anymore, and I had to live with my dad. I've never seen him until today, but he's really busy, so we don't talk much. Alfred is nice to me, and his cooking is really yummy.

There's a little sketch of a baked dinner—and despite your pre-tween art skills, it does seem rather tasty looking.

You flip the page. The next entry is a week after the last.

I still haven't talked with dad yet. But I did meet two new people. Alfred said that they're my new brothers. Mom never wanted any more babies, so I was very excited to meet them! Jason is fun to play with. He's really bad at hide and go seek, though—I always win! Dick is fun too, but he's busy a lot, like dad. But he always makes time for me and Jason. I really like it here.

There's a small picture of three stick people holding hands. One is significantly short than the other two—labelled with your name above. The one on the left to you is Jason, with black curls and a wide grin. The one on the right is labelled Dickie, much taller than the other two and with shaggy black hair.

The drawing is innocent. Cute. Wholesome, if you will. There's even heart stickers pasted (and peeling, by now) between each of your heads.

You flip the page with a small, fond smile. The next entry is three days after that one.

Dad played with me, Jason, and Dickie today. He was really bad at hide and go seek too—but Dad and Jason chased each other all around the house before I caught both of them. I was so happy I won today! Dad took us all out for dinner, even Alfred. Alfred said he only came because I always look very happy when we're together. The dinner was really yummy!!!!

The drawing underneath is a picture of what looked like a smaller version of you, standing triumphantly with a little tiara on your head.

You flip the page. This time—there's a significant gap between the dates. This was a whole 5 months after you last wrote in your diary.

I don't know where Jason is. Dad and Dickie look really sad. They've been really busy for a long time, and we don't play much anymore. The only times I see Dad is at dinner. But we don't talk. Sometimes he doesn't eat dinner, either. Alfred still puts my drawings on the fridge, and he says that Dad and Dickie are just sad now, and they'll be better soon. I miss Jason. I want him back home.

There's no silly-looking drawing to go underneath this entry. This Jason—apparently the man who saved you—seemed rather fun-loving, despite whatever happened to him. You wonder what it was.

You flip the page, again. This entry was 3 months after the last.

I miss Dad, and Dickie. Dickie told me he had to go away for a bit, because he has something important to do somewhere else. Dad is busy all the time. I haven't seen him in 4 days. I don't play with anyone but Alfred now, but he's not that fun to play with, because he's so serious all the time. Dad tells me to go on my iPad and not bother Alfred when I'm bored, but I miss them.

Next one is 2 days after.

I met a new boy today. Dad told me he's my new brother. I was pretty excited because he's my age. But he didn't want to talk to me. He said he was too caught up in important stuff, and that I should just come back later. But he looked real annoyed when saying it—so I didn't come back. He didn't say anything, so I don't think he cared.

A week later.

My dad is Batman, and my new brother is Robin. I'm freaking out. He never told me—I saw them sneaking out one day and I got really mad. Why didn't he tell me? Did Dickie and Jason know? Was I the only one who didn't? Tim got mad at me when I started yelling. I felt really sad so I hid in my room to get away from them. I've been here since. Alfred brought me dinner, but I'm not hungry.

So... this Batman who you saw before, is actually your dad? In this world, this is your father? You almost drop the diary in shock, but you can't tear your eyes away. You can't stop reading.

The next few entries don't catch your eye—it's all teen angst about how you're sick of how busy your dad is, how annoying Tim can be, how Dick won't even visit your room anymore—until something else catches your eye.

3 years later.

Jason is back. He's back home. I don't know why, but he's back. I was so excited to see him again—everyone else has become so busy and won't even talk to me. Nobody else has time for me, but Jason did. But he looked different. He's way older than me, now. He won't even look at me. I tried to hug him but he just put a mask on and walked away. Why is everyone doing this to me? What did I do? It's not fair.

Your writing grows into chicken scratch near the end—as if conveying your frustration. You skim through a few more entries. More teen angst. More about how you can't even hold a conversation with your siblings anymore.

Some were sweet, like how you met some people, unnamed, and treasured their friendship so deeply, but they were few and far between.

I met a girl today. She's my sister now. Her name is Cassandra, and she has very pretty eyes. I tried to talk to her, but dad got pretty mad at me because apparently she doesn't like to talk much. How was I supposed to know that? She didn't even look at me as dad pulled her away. Who even is she? Why does my dad like her better than me? Why does he like them all better than me? It's not fair.

You're bitter. You're upset, and so, so bitter. It's so abundantly clear that as time went on, you became progressively more and more spiteful. It was rather sad to watch.

This stupid little kid tried to kill me. Claimed I was unworthy. I couldn't give less of a shit what he thinks—but my family couldn't give less of a shit about me. They said he's troubled, that he needs patience.

The new few words were less than family friendly. Unkind? Definitely. Deserved? Possibly.

I can't believe this. I'm so sick of this. I want to get out. I can't take this anymore. Jason kills people now, but Bruce still loves him. Even Steph and Babs get more love from Bruce than me. They're not even in the family, but they're better. Because they're superheroes, they're better. Maybe I'll be a hero myself. Maybe then, they'll see me.

You flip the page. That's the last entry. The last page of the book—but behind it, there's a page made of sticky notes on the back cover. Your eyes widen in shock at what you see.

It's all...

"Spidey," you read out the name atop this pasted page in a low whisper.

Your fingertips trace over the detailed drawings. Your costume. Though not made of nanotech—the suit was intricately designed with spider patterns falling all around your arms and legs, with a large spider torso. It looked somewhat like Silk's suit.

Web shooters, with thorough calculations on how much you'd have to bulk up to swing without taking your arm off (which, by what you're reading, was humanly impossible for a regular you), and detailed explanations on what the web fluid was made out of.

More environmentally sustainable than your ones. You'd have to take these notes back home.

It wasn't like your family would go looking—you can't help but think, chewing on your cheek. This was incredible. You must've been a real genius to figure all this out.

Back home, you had Reed and Tony help you with all your spider stuff. Sure, you were the one who came up with all the base ideas and constructed it all yourself—but they helped out a lot with all the technicalities. But to come up with something like, from what you can tell, all on your own...

It was nothing short of incredible. And your family had no idea.

You snap the book shut, eyes narrowing down at the ground. Your Aunt May never would've treated you like this—and if you were correct, this other you must be with your aunt right now.

Good for them, you think. Maybe they'd be happier there, anyway.

A sudden knock at your door brings you out of your stupor. You slip the book away quickly as Alfred opens the door, bowing his head slightly. "Master [name], dinner is ready. If you're feeling better, please come down."

The prospect of a family dinner leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, especially after all you've read from this diary. No matter. You don't know how this you behaved before, but you have bigger issues to deal with than becoming a copy of this sad child.

But despite everything... Alfred really did seem to care for them—for you. You nod, smoothing out your cami. "Thanks. Let's go."

You and he both head down the stairs, and you finally come face to face with the family you've heard so much about.

They're all grinning from ear-to-ear, laughing about something that "happened on patrol" as you take a seat at the end of the table—beside a blonde girl who you think was called Stephanie—chewing on the food.

It was good. Really good. Almost as good as Aunt May's meatloaf. The thought makes you feel a little homesick, but you persevere. The hard glare given to you across the table by this small kid (definitely Damian) isn't helping, though.

Dick catches the look and follows his little brothers gaze to you. He doesn't say anything about it—only ruffles the boy's hair, chuckling, and asks why he seems so glum. The child hisses and starts trying to stab the man with a steak knife, to no avail—of course.

That was the last time you were even glanced at for the rest of the dinner. You almost can't believe it. How could somebody really fade into the background like that? How could such a family let it happen?

How could they be so ignorant? You lose your appetite soon enough, and stand up. The chatter dies down for a second. Stephanie—being the closest toward you, gives you an uncomfortable smile, "Are you not going to finish? You were out for a while... you need energy to get back up and do..."

Whatever it is you do at home, you guess that's probably what she was thinking. Who said you hadn't gotten a telepathic mutation?

She doesn't finish her sentence. You'd just met these people and already you were sick of this. Seriously, you don't think you could get any more uncomfortable if somebody strapped you to a chair and tossed you down a dark well.

You miss the most fantastic of fours you know. They'd never do this to you. Sue was far too sweet.

You shake your head, plate held tight in your hand. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. There's much more important things out there in Gotham, isn't there? Besides—I have more than enough time to heal. Not like I'm doing any hero stuff, huh?"

Your laugh lacks any kind of humour, and you walk out in your typical Spidey fashion. The chatter doesn't spike up for a good ten minutes until after you leave.

You meet Alfred in the kitchen, and he's doing countless dishes alone. There's a stack of plates almost as tall as he is. You roll up your sleeves.

He gives you a confused look. "Master [name]? I have told you before, you—"

"I don't care what you told me." You say, suddenly—but you backtrack when you realise how flat your tone was. Cheeks flushed, you correct yourself, "Ah—sorry. I meant... I don't care what you told me, because it doesn't matter if you don't want help... I'll offer it anyway, you know? I can't help it. It's how I am."

It's why I'm Spidey. Not because I have powers. Not because I'm good at swinging around. Not even because the costume is awesome.

It's because you can't help but help others. You have the power to do so—now it's your responsibility.

You take a sponge, and douse it in dishwashing liquid. You scrub down a porcelain plate beside Alfred in silence.

The pensive look on his face was now replaced by a small, fond smile.

we getting into the typical diary entry stuff okokokkkk but. love interests next chapter. smirks let me cook!!!@

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if you asked to be on the taglist but aren't there, your account couldn't be tagged for whatever reason. im not too sure how tumblr works, but if you manage to fix it, ask me again!!!

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Weird Brain Hacks That Help Me Write

I'm a consistently inconsistent writer/aspiring novelist, member of the burnt-out-gifted-kid-to-adult-ADHD-diagnosis-pipeline, recently unemployed overachiever, and person who's sick of hearing the conventional neurotypical advice to dealing with writer's block (i.e. "write every single day," or "there's no such thing as writer's block- if you're struggling to write, just write" Like F*CK THAT. Thank you, Brenda, why don't you go and tell someone with diabetes to just start producing more insulin?)

I've yet to get to a point in my life where I'm able to consistently write at the pace I want to, but I've come a long way from where I was a few years ago. In the past five years I've written two drafts of a 130,000 word fantasy novel (currently working on the third) and I'm about 50,000 words in on the sequel. I've hit a bit of a snag recently, but now that I've suddenly got a lot of time on my hands, I'm hoping to revamp things and return to the basics that have gotten me to this point and I thought I might share.

1) My first draft stays between me and God

I find that I and a lot of other writers unfortunately have gotten it into our heads that first drafts are supposed to resemble the finished product and that revisions are only for fixing minor mistakes. Therefore, if our first draft sucks that must mean we suck as writers and having to rewrite things from scratch means that means our first draft is a failure.

I'm here to say that is one of the most detrimental mentalities you can have as a writer.

Ever try drawing a circle? You know how when you try to free-hand draw a perfect circle in one go, it never turns out right? Whereas if you scribble, say, ten circles on top of one another really quickly and then erase the messy lines until it looks like you drew a circle with a singular line, it ends up looking pretty decent?

Yeah. That's what the drafting process is.

Your first draft is supposed to suck. I don't care who you are, but you're never going to write a perfect first draft, especially if you're inexperienced. The purpose of the first draft is to lay down a semi-workable foundation. A really loose, messy sketch if you will. Get it all down on paper, even if it turns out to be the most cliche, cringe-inducing writing you've ever done. You can work out those kinks in the later drafts. The hardest part of the first draft is the most crucial part: getting started. Don't stress yourself out and make it even harder than it already is.

If that means making a promise to yourself that no one other than you will ever read your first draft unless it's over your cold, dead body, so be it.

2) Tell perfectionism to screw off by writing with a pen

I used to exclusively write with pencil until I realized I was spending more time erasing instead of writing.

Writing with a pen keeps me from editing while I right. Like, sometimes I'll have to cross something out or make notes in the margins, but unlike erasing and rewriting, this leaves the page looking like a disaster zone and that's a good thing.

If my writing looks like a complete mess on paper, that helps me move past the perfectionist paralysis and just focus on getting words down on the page. Somehow seeing a page full of chicken scratch makes me less worried about making my writing all perfect and pretty- and that helps me get on with my main goal of fleshing out ideas and getting words on a page.

3) It's okay to leave things blank when you can't think of the right word

My writing, especially my first draft, is often filled with ___ and .... and (insert name here) and red text that reads like stage directions because I can't think of what is supposed to go there or the correct way to write it.

I found it helps to treat my writing like I do multiple choice tests. Can't think of the right answer? Just skip it. Circle it, come back to it later, but don't let one tricky question stall you to the point where you run out of brain power or run out of time to answer the other questions.

If I'm on a role, I'm not gonna waste it by trying to remember that exact word that I need or figure out the right transition into the next scene or paragraph. I'm just going to leave it blank, mark to myself that I'll need to fix the problem later, and move on.

Trust me. This helps me sooooo much with staying on a roll.

4) Write Out of Order

This may not be for everyone, but it works wonders for me.

Sure, the story your writing may need to progress chronologically, but does that mean you need to write it chronologically? No. It just needs to be written.

I generally don't do this as much for editing, but for writing, so long as you're making progress, it doesn't matter if it's in the right order. Can't think of how to structure Chapter 2, but you have a pretty good idea of how your story's going to end? Write the ending then. You'll have to go back and write Chapter 2 eventually, but if you're feeling more motivated to write a completely different part of the book, who's to say you can't do that?

When I'm working on a project, I start off with a single document that I title "Scrap for (Project Title)" and then just write whatever comes to mind, in whatever order. Once I've gotten enough to work with, then I start outlining my plot and predicting how many chapters I'm going to need. Then, I create separate google docs for each individual chapter and work on them in whatever order I feel like, often leaving several partially complete as I jump from one to the other. Then, as each one gets finished, I copy and paste the chapter into the full manuscript document. This means that the official "draft" could have Chapters 1 and 9, but completely be missing Chapters 2-8, and that's fine. It's not like anyone will ever know once I finish it.

Sorry for the absurdly long post. Hopes this helps someone. Maybe I'll share more tricks in the future.

[thezombieprostitute]

Trick for a Treat

A/N: Written for @yenzys-lucky-charm and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork's Horny Hoes Hootenanny using the prompts:

🍁 "I'm gonna make you mine"

🍁 "Will you quit acting like I have the plague?"

🍁 fantasy/supernatural AU

🍁 praise

🍁 meeting a demon/ghost/witch on All Hallows Eve

Word Count: ~2.9k

Warnings: DARK FIC!! Coercion, Forced submission, Mind control, Noncon. Please let me know if I missed any!

The company Halloween party was in full swing and you were determined to enjoy yourself. You weren't really one for dressing up, but you wore some accessories and wanted to take part in some of the games. Really you were happy to get time out of your department, away from your boss and his attempts to win you over with his "so pathetic you have to love me" ploy. You'd tried to bring it up with HR, present your case, but it didn't get anywhere. Andy stayed just on the legal side of things so your only options were either find a different job or just endure.

You're enjoying some of the hot apple cider when you see him. Your smile drops and you move to another area of the building. He follows you, keeping you moving until he finally catches up, giving you nowhere to leave.

"Will you quit acting like I have the plague?" he gripes. "You don't have to keep running from me."

"Will you accept that I'm not interested in dating you?"

His face hardens, "why not? What have I ever done to turn you away?"

"You don't take 'no' for an answer. That should be reason enough!"

"Not when you can't tell me why you said 'no' in the first place," he growls.

"I don't owe you an explanation!"

His jaw tightens as he leans in far closer than you like, "I'm gonna make you mine. And you will love me for it."

You start to retort and push him away but then his eyes darkened. Literally, they turn black, causing you to freeze, oddly mesmerized by them. He smiles and you find yourself unable to turn away.

"I got a present for you," he whispers, his voice sounding almost otherworldly. He opens up a jewelry case and you see a cutesy, pink butterfly collar necklace. It's the sort of thing you would normally scoff at, especially after Andy's continuous comments about how you'd look so cute if you wore more pink. Instead you're frozen, unable to even blink, still mesmerized by his eyes.

He tells you to put the collar on and you can't help but comply. Internally you feel like you're trapped in a dream, limbs sluggish, voice not working. You clasp the necklace on and it's like you're frozen in place. You can't even struggle for control anymore, cut off from your own body.

Andy's eyes return to normal and he takes a minute to catch his breath. "You took up a lot of power, Butterfly, but I should've figured as much from you." He place a hand on your cheek, you're unable to stop him, to pull away, to do anything. He smiles smugly, "I knew I couldn't use that spell on you forever, so I worked out a little deal to get this necklace for you. It's already working better than expected." He gives you a small kiss on your lips. You want to vomit, smack him, protest in any way, but you can't.

He pulls away, "you're going to be a good girl for me from now on, right, Butterfly?"

"Yes, Master," you automatically respond.

"Good girl," he whispers in your ear and you let out a whine as you feel a jolt of pleasure in your core. He smiles cruelly, "did that make you wet?"

"Yes, Master," you reply, your voice strained.

"Perfect," he purrs. "Now go back to your desk, clock out for the day, and wait for me out front."

"Yes, Master." You're moving before you finished speaking. Seemingly every fiber of your being is determined to be obedient and make Andy happy. Your body is going through the motions while your brain keeps kicking and screaming, trying desperately to make it stop. You must be having some kind of effect given that tears are currently blurring your vision.

Stepping outside, you wait. Andy's car pulls up and he looks at you, expectantly, but you don't move. I was only ordered to wait, you realize. This whatever-the-hell-it-is has limits!

He's clearly realized this as well given that he opens the passenger door from his seat and motions for you to come into the car. Again, your body doesn't respond. You allow yourself a moment of smugness as you see his jaw tense in irritation. He calls for you to join him and your body finally moves as he wishes. At his command you buckle yourself up and he begins driving.

When you get onto the main road you hear the sound of Andy's zipper coming undone. You want to cringe, get away, but you remain motionless. He takes your hand and places it around his half hard member. "Be a good girl and stroke me until I come," he orders, causing your hand to start moving. You're glad you only have to look straight ahead, you don't want to witness yourself doing this.

He starts moaning, "feels so good. I knew you'd know how to treat a man." Your hatred for him is interrupted by his utterance of, "such a good girl." Just like last time, you feel a shock of pleasure, causing you to whimper, your body wanting more. "Squeeze tighter, Butterfly," he whispers. Your hand automatically goes a little tighter but you jump at an idea. He never said how much tighter to squeeze. You're able to get your body to listen and it keeps squeezing until Andy cries out.

"BAD GIRL!" he shouts.

Your body collapses on itself, mouth open in a silent scream. The pain is intense, the worst you've ever felt. It feels like you're being torn apart from the inside. It feels like an eternity passes before Andy puts a hand on the back of your neck, ceasing the pain.

"Have you learned your lesson?" His voice is dripping with anger.

"Yes, Master," you sob.

"Good. Now get back to stroking my cock like a good slut."

"Yes, Master." Your hand gets back to work, and he calms down as he enjoys your touch. You're certain his power over you is making him hard as opposed to your actual touch. His cock twitches and you feel the precum leaking.

"Be a good girl and suck me off," Andy growls. You don't even have time to get the "yes, master" out before taking his cock down your throat. "Holy shit," he breathes. "Should've known you'd be such a good slut for me. Fuck, you feel so good. Gonna have to pull over so I can enjoy this."

You barely notice the car pulling to a stop, distracted by your attempts to fight whatever spell your under. You thought you hated this man before, but now you feel an even deeper rage, accentuated by the taste of him in your mouth. Your anger intensifies as he strokes your hair and repeats, "good girl", making you whine with need and pleasure. He calls himself "daddy" in the midst of his praising and you wish you could vomit. You almost do when he pushes your head down as he comes. You can't breathe but your body wasn't ordered to do anything so you can't fight it and you end up passing out.

You wake up as the car pulls into a garage. Andy looks at you, smile on his face, "we're home Butterfly! Welcome to the rest of your life." He caresses your cheek, turning your face to him, "you're going to make me so happy, aren't you?"

"Yes, Master." Inside you are raging. You've been kidnapped, controlled, humiliated and you can still taste him in your mouth. You decide to lay low and keep an ear out for opportunities to break his spell, or whatever the hell is in this collar.

"Get inside and take off your clothes, leaving the jewelry on," he orders you. Clearly he's being careful with his words.

"Yes, Master." At the very least, once inside you can gather more intel on your options. You remove your clothes, leaving the collar in place, though some of the dangles almost get caught on your shirt.

"And make sure you fold up your clothes, nice and neat," you hear him say from behind you, still in the garage.

"Yes, Master."

Once your clothes are off and neatly folded, your body goes into standby mode again, waiting for the next command. Andy circles you several times. If you'd had any control you'd at leas try to cover yourself. Instead, he's getting to see everything. You itch to smack that smug smile off of his face.

"I can't believe you resisted me for so long," he coos. "I'm sorry it had to come to this, I genuinely tried to go about this the traditional way, but you fought me for so long, I had to go another route." He cups your face in his hands and moves you to look at him. "But we're together now and I promise to make you so happy you'll never want to leave me."

If you had the ability you'd scoff at him.

"Now, let's get you properly dressed up," he sighs as he gropes your breasts. "I have some more appropriate attire for you in the bedroom. Follow me."

"Yes, Master." Looking to test the limits of this magic, you think, I wasn't told I couldn't look around. Frustratingly, your eyes remained locked in place, staring at Andy's back. He didn't say how quickly to follow him, you try. You're rewarded by taking slower steps than you were before. I'm limited by what he says, but I clearly don't have to be told to do things like blink or breathe.

Inside the bedroom Andy moves you to the stand in front of the closet and tells you to stay. "I think you're going to like what I have for you," he grins. "It's nothing like what you normally wear, it's so much better." He opens the closet and you feel a fresh wave of hatred. It's full of dresses and skirts. All so much shorter than anything you'd ever wear voluntarily. "I know I've told you how beautiful you'd look in these kinds of clothes. Maybe once you see yourself, you'll believe me. Maybe even thank me for opening your eyes."

He grabs a pink cami dress with butterflies on it. "I think this will be a good match for you collar. Be a good girl and put it on."

"Yes, Master." The fabric feels soft in your hands. You already suspect it won't fit you properly, clearly designed for someone with a skinnier waist. Sure enough, you can feel some of the seams start ripping as you put it on. Again you let yourself take some joy in the frustration written all over Andy's face.

"Well, we'll definitely have to adjust your diet," he gripes. You feel another wave of rage at his words. You worked hard to be comfortable with your body. You're not about to let this asshole undo all of that because he thinks you should look differently. If you get the chance you'll happily leave scars on face. See how he likes being judged. He does a double take and you wonder if he can see the fire in your eyes. His face hardens again and he growls, "be a good girl and tell me what you'd like to wear."

"Whatever you'd like me to wear, Master." Of course that's why he'd ask. It's a reminder to you that he's in charge.

"Remember that," he glares at you. You're sure it's meant to intimidate, make you feel helpless, but you will never stop hating this man, this creature. He must see the defiance in your eyes because he straightens himself up and says, "bad girl."

This time, you're ready. It still hurts enough that your body collapses on the floor and your mouth opens in a silent scream again. Your body writhes in pain and flails about. He wants to say I'm a bad girl, so I'm going to be bad! Your hand reaches up to the collar and, before Andy realizes what's happening, you rip off one of the dangling gems. The pain is lessened and Andy starts shouting at you to stop, but you've got leverage now.

It takes everything you have to resist him. You don't ignore the pain, you use it to fuel the hatred that gives you strength. He grabs your hand to stop you from removing another gem and you bite his hand, causing him to let go. I'll show you how much of a bad girl I can be. You break off another gem and the pain eases even more. Using the energy from the sudden relief, you push yourself to fully remove the collar. Andy grabs your hands to stop you, hold you in place, but you're so close to freedom!

"You can still be a good girl," he comments. "I could be so good for you." You gather your strength and headbutt him, forcing him to let go, giving you the break you need to remove the damned collar. You lay there for a moment, relieved to no longer be hurting, reveling in Andy's complaints about you breaking his nose.

Your attempts to move are interrupted by someone clapping. Looking up you see what looks like a man with dark brown hair, blue eyes, a pronounced mustache with a good amount of stubble. He's wearing slacks with a button up shirt and tie. Andy looks at him and immediately starts trying to crawl away. You blink and the "man" is next to Andy, holding him up by his neck.

"Well, Andrew, it looks like you didn't keep your end of the deal."

"Please, Walker, I...she...it's..." Andy stops as the other man's knuckles go whiter. You can only imagine the force Andy's being choked with and you're enjoying it.

"Shhh," Walker shakes his head at Andy. "The deal was, I give you the tools you ask for, and break the spirit of the one who fed your hatred. The hatred that feeds me and my power. It would have been a glorious testament to your devotion to master your rage in such a manner. Yet, here we are." Without looking away from Andy, he points to you. "She's nowhere near broken. You didn't even have her controlled for a full day," he laughs. "If anything, she broke you."

Andy's face is a dark shade of red, you think his lips are turning blue, but you can't find yourself able to care. Suddenly he's dropped on his ass, gasping for breath. Walker snaps his fingers and Andy is bound in chains.

Walker turns to you and helps you stand up. He hums in delight as he looks you over. "So much rage. I'm genuinely impressed."

You sneer and back away from him. "You helped him," you snap. "You helped him hurt me!"

"I am a demon, my dear," he grins. "It's what I do. But clearly I chose the wrong mortal." He goes to grab your chin and you pull away, making him chuckle. "Such delicious energy," he comments as his eyes turn fiery. "Let me offer you a deal."

The room shifts and distorts until it looks like you're in an office. Walker takes a seat at his desk and motions for you to sit across from him. Warily you take a seat. You look at Andy who's still chained up and looking very scared and your nostrils flare.

"Mmmmm, such delicious energy," Walker comments. "Now, as for the deal, I'd like to offer you a couple of options. I'm normally not so generous, but you are certainly something special."

"You don't have anything I want," you spit.

He grins, "I have Andy. And I can give you control over his punishment for breaking my deal with him."

"I'm listening."

"Normally I would just offer you the option of being my acolyte. Letting your rage loose on the world in my name and feeding me power through that. But there's something about you that makes me want to give you another offer: Be my bride."

You scoff, "this is a lose-lose for me. Either way all I get is to hurt him while taking on a new 'master'. I'll pass."

"As my bride, you get to hurt him for eternity," Walker counters. "And not just him. All others who have done as he sought to do to you."

That gives you pause. "And if I only choose to be your acolyte?"

"Then you only get to hurt them for as long as they're alive," he explains. "But you will be given the means to hunt them down, trap them, and break them."

"But in both cases, I am bound to you. I appreciate the offer, the compliments, but I'll pass." You look over to Andrew, "I'm not interested in being bound to anyone."

The office disappears and you're back at Andy's house. Walker looks a little chagrined at the declined offer. He hands you a business card, "if you ever change your mind, let me know. In the meantime," he snaps his fingers and Andy is magically moved into a standing position. "I have some business to take care of."

You smile at Andy as tears form in his eyes. "Not quite the metamorphosis you were hoping for, is it?"

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[chrollosbm]

Satoru Gojo is into Some Weird Roleplay (Christmas Smut)

art cr: glowx_21 on x

hey idk what this is LMAOO. i thought of this randomly bc gojo reminds me of a certain christmas character so i just ran with it! he's one of my three husbands who i love so much so i wanted to write about him. i'm so feral for him it's not even funny. anyways, i hope you enjoy and don't take it too seriously, unless you want to idc! mdni.

domestic gojo, husband gojo, dad gojo

female reader, no description of her features but i’m black so

warnings: piv sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, satoru won't shut up, dom gojo

i'm on ao3, pls support me there too!

wc: 1500+

“Satoru,” You surprised yourself in the way you were able to let out a single word with his unrelenting thrusts. “Baby. P-please slow down.” 

The man who was currently plummeting into you from behind let out a click of his tongue, ignoring your request and instead opted with a loud and hard smack to your ass, his pace somehow getting faster and harder. His hips were ruthless against the fat of your ass, creating clapping noises throughout the large bedroom.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.” He let out breathlessly, his tone as playful as ever, waiting for you to address him the right way.

You wanted to reach back and knock some sense into him, tell him to slow his thrusts before he knocked the wind out of you and woke up the children. His deep and powerful thrusts prohibited you from saying much though, with his fat cock reaching your g-spot so effortlessly that you were seeing stars.

If you could roll your eyes right now you would, but your body seemed to forget how to function, only capable of following the orders of your ridiculous but gorgeous husband behind you. “Saint Nick…please.” It would’ve sounded ridiculous to you if you weren’t being plummeted to Neptune with each touch of your gummy spot deep within you, but you were being fucked so stupid that you would call him God if he asked. “You don’t wanna wake up the little elves do you?” You played along as you continued panting, fingers grasping the silk sheets tightly, tears in your eyes from the intense pleasure.

You thought he was ignoring you again, with his long fingers digging deeper into your hips before he slowed his pace, deciding on an unhurried, rough one, sliding in and out of those warm, wet walls of yours with a long and drawn out “fuuuuuck,” leaving his mouth. “The elves are fast asleep, baby. Don’t worry about them, just take Santa’s dick, mmkay’?” His voice was jolly as ever, just like Santa Claus himself, and you would’ve laughed if his cock wasn’t basically touching your brain at this point. You could only let out small whimpers as he arched your back further, reaching only a place he could.

Why you agreed on letting your dear husband roleplay as Santa was beyond you, but Satoru had a way with words. All he had to do was promise to make you feel good, make you cum all night long, pretty please baby, in that convincing, deep voice of his, a pout on his features, those bright blue eyes begging, so how could you say no? 

You should have made some more conditions, one being to say no to the bells he had attached to the bed frame, with them ringing with each jerk of his hips, creating an impossibly loud jingle. He said it would get the two of you in the “Christmas spirit,” with the bed decorated in lights and ringing balls, sounding like a real sleigh everytime the bed hit the wall in full force. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by Satoru pulling himself out of you, leaving you empty and missing him already, causing a whine to leave your lips as he flipped you over as if you weighed nothing, before settling in between your legs again. You were faced with the beautiful man you were so grateful to call yours, his cerulean orbs were darkened somehow as they stared into yours, looking dazed and drunk off your pussy, his pupils slightly dilated. His pretty white follicles were tucked into a red santa hat, the puffy ball tossed on the side, sweat trickling from his temples from wrecking your insides. He had that adorable, innocent smile on his face, as if he wasn’t guilty of talking you into this comical predicament in the first place. 

“Will Mrs. Claus let me put the beard on again?” He let out, a pout forming on his pink lips, glossy from sweat and saliva.

“No, don’t ask again!” You almost yelled, your face scrunched in annoyance and he let out a booming laugh at your immediate response. 

Satoru did have a cheap, plastic beard that matched his white hair perfectly, but you made him take it off for a couple reasons. One being it looked terrible. As beautiful as the man above you was as he was staring down at you, shallow breaths coming from his perfectly shaped, rock hard abdomen, and his rosy cheeks, the beard made him look…creepy. Two being it was damn itchy. He had been going down on you when he had it on, but it was impossible for you to focus on his holy tongue work and perfect movements of his fingers, curving into you, hitting that spot that had you crying out his name for the night (fucking Saint Nick.) Once it began scratching your legs painfully, you’d forced him to take it off, which he did with a whine, throwing the damp, shitty excuse for a beard across the bedroom floor, before making you cum from his tongue alone, more than once.

Your husband’s wide grin was replaced with something immodest as he gripped your thighs, pulling you forward, and slipped inside torturously slow, earning a gasp from the both of you. His head was thrown back and his lip was caught in his teeth, causing your pussy to throb from both the feeling of warmth and fullness again, and Satoru’s effortless way of making you feel hot inside just by simple facial expressions, subsequently making a groan escape his lips before sinking into you completely, touching your gummy spot immediately with the angle he entered.

He kept your legs apart as he thrust into you forcefully and fast-paced again, with you giving no complaints this time about the commotion the jingling bed frame was causing. You didn’t care, for he was taking you to heaven in this position, goosebumps erupting from your skin and seeing black dots in your vision with each time he reached a new depth inside you. Your cunt was competing with the loud noises of those stupid fucking bells as it made sloshing noises throughout the room, and when you looked down, you could see your juices dripping onto his pretty, pale, absolutely perfect cock. 

As if he could read your mind, he spoke for you. “You’re so fucking wet, baby. My god.” His head was no longer tilted back, but also looking down as your tight, slippery cunt sucked in his dick, a feral look on his features, absolutely enamored by the sight. His pace never let up, his hips moving at the speed of light almost as he used one hand to press on your lower stomach, making it feel better than you thought possible. “You feel me in there? You feel Santa’s cock abusing this perfect little cunt?” His goofy grin returned and you couldn’t do anything but let out a loud moan of approval, face twisted up, still entertaining his mess because this just felt too fucking good. 

His hand moved from your tummy to focus on your clit, fingers rubbing small, soft circles, completely catching you off guard. Your legs began to tremble from the insane pleasure you were feeling, hands clenching the sheets so hard again you were surprised they didn’t come off the corners of the bed. 

“Can I make you a mommy again? Put another little helper in this belly?” That feral look was in his eyes again, tone as light as ever, as he slowed down, choosing a rough ram motion, causing your tits to jiggle at the change of pace, making Satoru groan at the sight, mouth halfway open. You didn’t know if it was the mind fog you felt from him fucking you brainless, but you nodded vigorously as tears fell down your cheeks, that white hot feeling in your veins approaching, mind so numb you would probably agree to having ten more of his white-haired, blue-eyed children. The two of your already had four, three you’d birthed and one you adopted, but you didn’t care right now, you felt like he had seriously taken you to the North Pole with the way his cock was basically fucking your guts.

His infamous smile returned before leaning down to place his lips on yours, barely kissing you, just sticking his minty tongue in your mouth and panting, speaking incoherent sentences along the lines of you being a “good girl,” and “taking his load so well.” You couldn’t comprehend a thing anyway, as your body began convulsing, washing over with relief as your orgasm was drawn out of you, long and bone shattering, with your back arching off the bed with a squeal that was hard to keep inside your body.

Satoru wasn’t too far behind you, with his eyes closed tightly, as his hips began twitching, the first time all night they didn’t have a consistent rhythm and he groaned out loudly, spurting long, hot ropes of his cum inside you.

His eyes opened soon after, those beautiful blue orbs staring at you adoringly with his signature wide grin on his face, in which you returned, panting heavily, so thankful for this beautiful, insane, goofy husband of yours. He grabbed the comforter and placed it over the two of you, kissing your lips softly, his breath heavy as the two of you exchanged small “i love you’s” back and forth.

“Mommy?” A small voice came from the corner of the room and your heart dropped, recognizing it as your three year old daughter’s, afraid of what she might’ve seen. Satoru hid under the covers, his hat coming off in the process and you had a full view of her now, with her candy cane nightgown and teddy bear in her arms, her lip quivering with tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You asked, ready to get up and comfort your youngest, afraid something happened as it was past midnight on Christmas Eve. God, did the bells wake her up?

She stomped out the room before you could get up, wailing and yelling for her older brother. “Megumi! Mommy was kissing Santa!” Her cries could be heard throughout the entire house and you knew everyone would be awake by now.

Satoru’s loud laugh could also be heard throughout the entire house, its jollyness rivaling Saint Nick himself. 

my masterlist!

[suzukiblu]

WIP guessing game: help

"I know about Billy, Marvel," Batman says, and Billy . . . blinks.

"You know?!" he sputters. Okay, so apparently his secret identity was just . . . literally never a secret at all, then. Which, well–Batman, so that just figures, really. So actually this is kind of a relief and might even mean that he's fine with–

"Yes," Batman confirms with a nod. "So I understand your current reservations about parenthood."

. . . wait what.

"Huh?" Billy says, blinking stupidly at him.

"I don't know how much of you is still C.C. Batson or what you do or don't remember about being him," Batman says. "But the resemblance is undeniable, if nothing else. Certainly your and your wife's deaths were . . . well, suspicious. And you're hardly the first archeologists to dig up a god or six."

Oh, okay. Well.

This is apparently what Billy gets for his personal mental image of a "hero" being his dad, then, isn't it.

Crap.

"To be honest I've been looking for Billy for a while now, I just didn't want to bring it up before I found him," Batman admits, looking dissatisfied with himself. "My most recent reliable intel puts him in Fawcett City, but I assume you're aware of that, given your evident attachment to the place."

"You're looking for Billy?" Billy asks incredulously. "Why?"

"Because he's your son," Batman says. "And because he's a homeless child who's been abused and neglected and needs help. I honestly don't know where you go when you're not being Captain Marvel–frankly I'm not sure if you even exist when you're not being Captain Marvel, given what little I actually know about your powers and your death and your role as the Champion of Magic and just how damn impossible you are to find when you're off-duty–but I'm assuming that wherever it happens to be is not necessarily conducive to providing a stable home environment and being legally dead certainly can't be helping with that, so my original intention was to find the boy and help you arrange some manner of care for and visitation with him. And given the revelation of your relation to Robin, well . . . I'd like to take Billy in myself, if you'd both be comfortable with that. It seems . . . appropriate, under the circumstances."

"You want to foster Billy because I'm Robin's soulmate?" Billy says, absolutely positive that he's misunderstood literally every single word that just came out of Batman's mouth. There is no possible way that he did not.

"It's not exactly out of my wheelhouse," Batman replies wryly. "Although I'll be keeping this one out of the tights, ideally. Though I make no long-term promises about that because quite frankly at this point I'm spoiled for soulmates who insist on wearing capes and I wouldn't really be surprised to turn up another one, especially given that Robin is yours and your own involvement in the superhero community."

Billy stares at him.

"Wait, are all the Gotham vigilantes your soulkids?" he blurts unthinkingly.

"Not all," Batman says. "But, well . . . probably more of them than you'd expect."

"Oh my god," Billy says in disbelief. "And you're just telling me that?! You don't tell people things, you're Batman!"

"I haven't always been the father I should have been," Batman says, and then he pulls down his cowl. Billy chokes, and then chokes again because apparently Batman is Bruce freaking Wayne and his brain just . . . just needs a moment to process that fact, like there is literally any way whatsoever that he could ever actually process that fact. He would've been less surprised to see a Kardashian under that mask, he's pretty sure. At least they've got athletes in the family, technically! "So I'm not going to make things difficult for you with Robin. Clearly he needs more than I'm capable of providing, and I'm perfectly willing to be transparent and to co-parent with you as much as possible. I want Robin to be safe and content and grow up well, and frankly put, Batson, you've proven yourself to be a good man time and again and I trust you to do what's best by our son."

Okay, well, now Billy just feels like dirt.

"You do know what happened to Billy, don't you?" he asks just a little bit desperately, because there is literally no way that this conversation is a real and actual thing that's really and actually happening. "Like, just–everything that happened there? There's a reason he's not in school or the system or with a relative or anything like that."

"What happened to Billy wasn't your fault," Batman tells him, meeting his eyes all quiet and intent and sincere. "And I will do everything in my power to help you make it right."

"Oh no, you're actually like . . . just genuinely a really good person, aren't you," Billy says despairingly, staring at him all over again and really, really wishing he could swear right now.

Maybe he'll just go throw himself into the sun. Maybe that's what he'll just go and do.

The corner of Batman's mouth quirks up wryly. His eyes even crinkle a little, which Billy can see on account of his total lack of cowl right now, oh god.

Billy despairs.

"I mean it," Batman says gently. "It wasn't your fault, and it doesn't mean you can't be a good father now."

"I need to talk to Robin," Billy says, because he definitely, definitely needs to talk to Robin. Batman inclines his head in an accepting nod, because Batman is probably under the impression that Billy wants to go give Robin a good ol' traditional "I know I'm not your biodad but I'm here for you, champ!" kind of speech, and Billy just . . . really cannot explain the real situation to him right now. Or ever.

Can he just lie to Batman for the rest of their lives, maybe? He can just pretend to be his own dad for the Justice League and keep dodging whatever Bat-surveillance happens to be in Fawcett and parent his older-than-he-is soulmate, right? That's a thing that he can do?

That's probably not a thing that he can do.

Although he might be willing to try, at this point.

[agoodflyting]

A lot of Thoughts about Enver Gortash and the text of Richard III

Ok so William Shakespeare's character of Richard of Gloucester is very much the archetype for the Tyrant in western literature and I just have SO MANY THOUGHTS about the way Enver Gortash wears that particular crown... (Not to mention how the fangirl in me just loves some of Richard's dialogue and could easily see it coming out of Gortash's mouth, and I'm trying so hard NOT to write a whole ass fic just so I can get Gortash to say, "I am not made of stone.")

WHO IS RICHARD III?

In real life, he was the last Plantagenet king of England, and a controversial figure, but I'm just talking about how he's depicted as a character in William Shakespeare's play Richard III (and to a lesser degree in Henry VI) . In Shakespeare's plays he is written as the quintessential scheming, backstabbing, duplicitous tyrant who will stop at nothing to gain and keep power. He concocts a massive plan in which he will manipulate the whole of the English aristocracy into crowning him king, by creating a situation in which they will be so desperate and angry at an imagined enemy that they will beg him to assume power over them. Sound familiar?

"Since I cannot prove a lover (...) I am determined to prove a villain." They have different backgrounds, but with both Richard of Gloucester and Enver Gortash there's a driving current of otherness compared to the ranks of the nobility that they're manipulating. Gortash is from a working class family but clawed his way up to join the ranks of the well-bred elite through cunning and ingenuity (and lots of crime). Richard was born into a noble family, but is physically disabled and is often mocked or insulted for it. In context, Richard uses the phrase 'since I cannot prove a lover' less as a complaint about his love life and more as a general example of how he has doesn't fit in with his peers. Basically, "You don't accept me? I'll make that everyone's problem."

"How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown..." Both of them survived trauma and violence, which was directed at them by people against whom they were powerless at the time. Gortash was sold to Raphael as a child and spent years as a target of every kind of abuse his master deigned to throw at him. Richard saw his father and brother brutally tortured, then murdered by the queen of their country, while he could do nothing to stop it. In both cases they internalized at a young age that violence = power = safety.

"Was ever woman in this humour won? (...) I, that kill'd her husband and his father, to take her in her heart's extremest hate (...) and yet to win her, all the world to nothing!" Both Richard and Gortash are platinum-tier smooth-talkers, who are skilled at getting other people to act the way they want through use of charming words. Richard shoots his shot with Anne despite the fact that she knows full well he murdered her last husband and she literally spent the first half of the scene wishing death on him. But by the end of the scene he's convinced her to marry him. Gortash, similarly, can talk the player character around to siding with him against the Elder Brain in spite of having just spent the first 2 act of the games trying to unravel his evil plots. Why? Because they're both just. that. smooth. They both have a way of manipulating others with a smile and good cheer - they sound so reasonable, even when you KNOW you shouldn't listen to them.

"Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself." Both of them have are underestimated partly because of their ability to be charming, and partly because of their status as outsiders. Gortash because of his working class background, and Richard because of his disabilities. In both cases, there are people who find them repulsive but generally toothless (Queen Elizabeth and Ulder Ravengard respectively) who live to regret it. In both cases there are also people who ring the alarm bell that this creep is up to no good, but who aren't heeded soon enough.

"And thou unfit for any place but hell." "Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it." "Some dungeon." "Your bed-chamber." They both have a little bit of that freak in them and seem to get off on trying to fuck people who want them dead. See: Richard with Anne. Durgetash in general.

"I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, and entertain some score or two of tailors." Gortash and Richard are both exceptionally well-dressed, to the point of vanity. Gortash is described as handsome in the game, but even fans who dig him can admit that he has a very unconventional style of attractiveness. His teeth are discolored, his skin is blotchy, he's pushing late middle age, and he's got the sort of flat features that other fans have pointed out are typical of boxers and other people who've gotten punched in the face a lot. Similarly, Richard is described as hunchbacked and with features so deformed that 'dogs bark at (him) as (he) passes by'. Yet, despite not being conventionally pretty, both of them seem to spend a lot of money on their clothes. ... this is getting long, so I'm going to end this here. Might do a part 2 later if the brainrot is still upon me.

[little-pondhead]

[inspired roughly by this post. My brain snails started going nuts so I thought it'd be easier to post this separately :)]

…

It was a lovely day in Gotham. Well, as lovely as it could be. The sun was up, peeking through the overhead cloud cover and making the buildings gleam in the rare sunlight. The air was fresher than usual, and faucets ran clear of strange and unusual toxins.

Somewhere in the Upper East Side, in a little neighborhood tucked away from the rest of the city, marched around the new boss of the area. She was a young girl, just barely in high school. But despite it being the middle of a work day, she wandered around her chosen streets, content to do whatever she wanted. Above her, a pair of siblings watched on and discussed the unique situation.

"So let me get this straight: that fourteen-year-old goth girl is a crime boss?"

Mia smiled at Leon, her older brother, and his dumbfounded expression as they rested on her balcony. "She's fifteen, actually. Her birthday just passed. We all got together and threw a block party for her!"

"You know how insane that sounds, right?" Leon turned to her, a bit miffed that she dared to say those words to his face. "She's a kid. Why do you all listen to her?"

Mia shrugged and sipped her beer. "She does good work. Holds her own pretty well, and the kid has connections. Good ones, too. That can be the difference between life and death in Gotham."

Leon rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I just don't get it. How did she end up in this line of work? Do child labor laws even apply here?? Why aren't the Bats doing anything?"

"Don't think about it too much, dipshit." Mia crushed her now-empty beer can in her hand and tucked it into a paper garbage bag hanging off of a hook on the balcony rail. A familiar set of green arrows was printed on the side.

"And now you're recycling?!" Leon realized. "When did you start doing that, Mia??"

The woman shrugged and got up, stretching. "Probably around the time Brambles absolutely reamed out Mrs. Zalinski for littering at the park."

"Wait, who's Brambles?" Leon scrambled upright and followed his sister inside.

Mia laughed. "Brambles is our fifteen-year-old crime boss!"

...

"I can't believe you got a cool name right off the bat," Danny grumbled, flopping onto Sam's bed face-first. Sam smirked and shoved him off with her foot. Danny just squawked and let himself ragdoll to the ground.

"It's your fault for not having a better gimmick." She said to his prone body. "Besides, it could've been worse."

"I think Inviso-Bill is the worst possible nickname for anyone." Danny groaned. "But you got something cool immediately. Who even thought up 'Brambles'? That's such a unique name!"

"Well the kids call you Grim; that's pretty cool."

Danny flopped over, twisting himself much farther than any human was supposed to just so he could glare at her face. "They only call me that cause one of the is obsessed with Harry Potter." He grumbled, pouting.

Sam just rolled her eyes and went back to sorting through piles of papers scattered all across her duvet. Since moving to Gotham several months ago, Sam had taken it upon herself to turn the experience into something useful rather than just moping all the time, as she originally wanted to. That 'something useful' had landed her as the newest crime boss in Gotham, with about a third of the Upper East Side as her current territory.

So many problems had popped up in the last year, and the group had decided that taking it on alone would never work. The GIW had been trying to close Amity's borders, Danny's parents had a scientific breakthrough, tensions in the Realms were high, etc. There was a lot on their plate! Sam's solution was to create a foothold in Gotham City. She would lay the foundations for Jazz to work in Arkham and forge a safer environment for the residents of Amity Park to sneak off to if the GIW went too far. She was essentially weaving a cushion for everyone to fall back on.

Danny, using the power of duplication, was splitting his focus between foiling his parent's plans and resolving issues with his rouges to create a united front. He was the main distraction, and Sam's own heavy hitter when she needed help establishing dominance.

Tucker planned to gather intel with the help of Technus and Jazz. They were trying to gather as much evidence as possible so they'd be in the clear when the whistle blew. The GIW would crash and burn, legally speaking. They were the bugs of the operation, spreading themselves thin and hoarding information like it was candy.

Dani was their wild card, their jester. She was keeping the JLD's attention focused solely on her and all the supernatural hijinks she was stirring up. When the time was right, she'd point them in the direction needed and let them loose. After winding them up so much, the hope was that the Justice League Dark would descend upon the GIW like hellfire.

But those were their future plans. Right now, Sam was in possession of specific files from Arkham Asylum and the GCPD. She was looking for anything to give her an edge in the upcoming meeting with a few other crime bosses. Some annual thing they host to renew Goonion contracts, see who's still alive, and examine how much the territory lines have changed. Stuff like that. Red Hood was supposed to be there, and she knew she needed an ironclad defense against him and his nosy colony of Bats.

Danny untwisted himself all of a sudden, making a weird face. "Sorry, got to go." He apologized. "Vlad just showed up to my house."

Sam waved him off. "Go, I'll be fine for today. Just be on time for the meeting on Friday. And I want you, not a double."

"You got it!" Danny did finger guns at her and promptly melted into a pile of green goo. Right on her bedroom floor!

Sam sighed and got up to throw a towel over the puddle. The ectoplasm would evaporate eventually, returning to the original Danny little by little. But for now, this would keep anyone from asking about it until it was all gone.

Sometimes she really hated living in student dorms. People always felt the need to burst into her room for no reason.

Who even made dorm rooms for high schoolers in the first place??

...

Jason couldn't help but stare at the new recruit.

Well, 'new recruit' wasn't exactly accurate. 'Potential to be the most headache-inducing supervillain' was more like it. Standing at a solid 5'10" with platform boots, Brambles, the newest crime lord who had taken over half of the Upper East Side in under four months, was almost tall enough to look him in the eye straight on. Which she tried to do anyways, tilting her chin up oh-so-slightly (in that stupid way aristocrats do when they want to look down at you) and glaring at him with open hostility.

Brambles was young, way too young to be in this line of business. At the start of the annual underground crime meeting (yes, they couldn't come up with a better name), she had announced that she was fifteen, went by she/her, and would snap the dick off of anyone who looked at her funny. Most everyone laughed at her, thinking it was an empty threat. Brambles proved it wasn't by sucker-punching a younger lieutenant who tried to get handsy with her five minutes into the meeting.

When the lieutenant's boss protested and threatened a gang war, Brambles had snapped her fingers and summoned what could only be a fucking pit demon from the depths of hell to threaten the man back. The creature looked like a teenager, just like Brambles, at first. But it was...off. The longer you looked, the worse it got.

It wore a draping black cloak that covered most of its body, with the ends turning to mist when it reached the floor. It had a pale, young face and white hair. Its eyes glowed just like Brambles', except they were a toxic green that made Jason's heart skip a beat in fear. The creature was snarling, with a fucking muzzle on it to keep its sharp teeth away from wandering fingers.

With a nod from Brambles, the creature bounded forward and knocked the guy to the floor, its arm elbow-deep into the guy's chest. The dude looked terrified, and a little sick "Would you rather lose a lieutenant or your life?" She had snarled, sounding almost a bit demonic herself. The other boss had backed down without another word, writing off his subordinate as dead and gone.

Instead of killing the guy, however, Brambles simply banished her little guard dog to a corner of the warehouse to play with its new toy in peace.

"Is she allowed to do that?" Someone whispered.

"They weren't unionized, so the Goonion won't say anything." Another answered.

It was the most awkward meeting in the history of the criminal underworld. No one even died since they were all focused on the newcomer.

Jason could feel a headache forming as the meeting came to an end. Brambles was still sitting in her chair. The creature had grown bored of its toy and was leaning against her, sprawled out lazily and barely flicking an ear at the onlookers in acknowledgment. A few people were idling around her, mostly women, trying to talk some big game and get on the kid's good side. Brambles was humoring them, taking tight control of the conversation when they got too prying.

Jason sighed. He knew he'd have to go over and have a talk with the kid, even if it was just for Bruce's files. He hauled himself upwards and stalked over. "Pardon me, ladies and gents, but I'm going to borrow the kiddo here for a moment."

The creature hissed at him, tensed at his approach. Brambles kept a tight grip on the back of its muzzle, keeping it grounded. The other criminals scattered like flies. They were the only two (three?) left in the warehouse within minutes.

Bramble rose to glare at him. "What." She spat. "If you're here to convince me not to get involved with anything, I will set Grim on your ass after lighting it on fire."

The creature, Grim, growled in agreement. The sound echoed strangely like he was hearing it from underwater.

"Relax, I'm not here to do any of that." Jason raised his hands in surrender, immediately abandoning that possible line of thought. "I'm just here to talk business. You're young, and while you don't want to admit it, inexperienced."

"Stop the fancy words, Red Hood." Brambles' eyes glowed again, and she released her hold on Grim's muzzle. "If you want to make a deal, say it to my face. If you're here to dig for information, either ask me or hit the road. I prefer honesty over flower talk, so tell me what you want before I take over your area, too."

Jason bristled. His vision was tinted green as he snapped, "What the fuck is your problem, kid?! I just wanted to make sure you were safe and not being forced to do this. I was even going to offer my support and protection if it was too much! I know you aren't going to stop, but that doesn't mean I want a kid to die just because they got into something they shouldn't and they think their fancy guard dog will always be there to protect them!"

Brambles' eyes stopped glowing, and her stare softened a bit. Grim went deadly still, just floating there, staring at Jason. His heart beat like crazy in his chest. What was he saying? It was all true, but he could've been nicer about it. Dick would've found a way to be nicer.

-krrrk- "Ibis, reporting in. I think you can trust him, guys. Even if he's a Bat, his connections and experience would be useful in our plans. Ibis out." -krrrk-

Jason flinched from the sudden noise, looking around to find the source. It sounded like it had come from everywhere, even inside his own helmet. Brambles immediately switched out her hostile look for an annoyed one, tapping an earpiece he hadn't noticed before.

"Ibis, you really have to stop opening up our comm lines to the public." She snapped, but there was no real heat to it. "And I thought I told you to stop eavesdropping!"

-krrrk- "Sorry, can't help it. I'm everywhere now! You shouldn't have given me this power." -krrrk-

Grim hissed.

-krrrk- "Don't hiss at me, young man! You were the one who suggested this!" -krrrk-

"I'm sorry, time out!" Jason made a T with his hands. The green from his vision had completely disappeared now. "What the FUCK is going on now?"

Brambles sighed, rubbing her temples. "You know what? Fine. We'll trust you. My name is Sam. Nice to meet you, Jason Todd."

Jason stepped back, immediately reaching for his gun. Grim darted forward and promptly flew through him, stealing all his weapons in one go. "I'm Danny!" Grim-Danny?-chirped in a human voice, giving him a shit-eating smile. "Sorry for the act, Mr. Hood. And sorry about the name drop, I'm the one that told them."

-krrrk- "I'm Tucker! There are more of us, but they're busy. I have literally so many questions for you, Mr. Hood." -krrrk-

"Now that introductions are over-Danny don't eat his smoke bombs, you're not gonna look like Dorathea-we'd like your help."

Jason squinted at them. "You understand this is all suspicious as fuck, right? And how did a pit demon find out who I am?"

-krrrk- "Yeah, we know. But lives are on the line here, and I think you'd really be a help!" -krrrk-

Brambles-Sam-sighed and pulled out a flash drive. "I was going to use this as leverage, but I guess it'll have to be useful in other ways." She tossed it to Jason, who numbly caught it. "Look over it if you want. If you don't, then just burn it. Do not try to plug it into the Batcomputer. Don't try to send it to the Batcomputer, either. A virus will target that specific IP address as soon as it makes contact. Any other computer is fine."

"Look it over, and we can go from there," Danny added, spinning in midair while chomping on one of Jason's knives. (His good one, too!) "And I'm not a pit demon, but I am dead. That's how I knew about you. Whatever brought you back to life gave the Realms a real headache for a while. It wasn't hard to look you up in the records."

"This is so much information. Lives are on the line? And two, three kids are dealing with it? By becoming crime bosses?"

-krrrk- "Technically, Sam's the only crime boss here. And that was kind of an accident. She was supposed to create a safe foothold in Gotham in case we needed to evacuate our town. But we all got cool nicknames out of it! And you're the only adult we've told this stuff to!" -krrrk-

"I'm what?"

"The only adult." Sam's unwavering gaze seemed to pierce his soul. "There are quite literally no other adults that can help, Red Hood. None that we trust, not really. Any adult intervention needs to be planned carefully so it doesn't backfire on us. We're trusting you here, Jason. Not only are you like us, which technically puts you in danger too, but you have power and connections to support a whole town of people the government wants to eradicate."

Jason looked at the little green flash drive in his hand. He didn't want to ask. "And this...?"

"A fruit basket," Sam said simply. "Originally, it was supposed to be blackmail. But instead, this is a present to show our goodwill and faith. To show you our skills. That drive contains information on other gangs, upcoming rogue attacks, chemical breakdowns of Joker Venom and Fear Gas, unfinished antidote formulas, etc. Tucker and his team scoured the underbelly of Gotham and gathered dirt on every single prominent figurehead. Including Bruce Wayne, should you choose to use it."

"I would never-"

"But you've thought about it." Danny cut in and scratched his neck. Jason's hands shook. "It's not a bad thing. It's just the nature of the dead. Wanting to right the wrongs left over from their time with the living. Even if you walk and breathe now, that doesn't mean desire disappears."

"The point is, we need help. Even if I'm loathe to admit it." Sam rolled her eyes, and suddenly, Jason didn't see a potential supervillain in the making. He saw a teenager trying her best, shouldering the responsibility of hundreds of people, both in Gotham and her hometown. Danny looked the same, no matter how other-worldly he was. What battles were they facing? Why weren't there any adults to turn to? What kind of lives were they leading if they immediately trusted a known crime lord with their lives upon the first meeting?

"I'll think about it." Jason finally said. Danny trilled in excitement, and some tension bled out of Sam's shoulders. "If the situation is bad enough, however, I'm calling in someone else for help."

Danny shrugged. "As long as it ain't Batman! I don't think he'll appreciate us smuggling a town of liminals into his city."

Sam poked Danny's shoulder, prompting him to look at her. "Let's go, before you break his brain with more info-dumping. Bye Red Hood!"

"Uh, yeah. Goodbye!" Jason stuttered. He watched the two kids walk towards the exit door, before shimmering out of sight before they even touched the handle.

What the fuck.

[yup-i-am-weird]

I Care

Ship : Loki x GN!Reader

Synopsis : Reader attempts suicide but Loki is there to rescue them in time.

Word Count : 1061

TW : Suicide attempt, depression, self harm, panic attack, (grammatical errors?, english is not my first language) etc.

Please don't read if any of this triggers you.

You were hiding behind a soil wall you created with you elemental powers, three children none aging more than ten standing beside you as the enemies rained fire. It was in a middle of a fight when some terrorist organisation had decided to hijack a building and you guys were busy fighting them while simultaneously evacuating the building. Normally it would have been an easy task but it turned out that the organisation was linked to hydra and had got their hold on some dangerous weapons. Currently you were rescuing three kids as you tried to protect them from the attack.

"Y/N, take the kids and leave, now!", Steve said on the comms. Taking his orders you were about to leave with the kids to help them to a safer place when you spotted a man dragging himself on the floor, his head bleeding from side with his leg twisted in a uncomfortable position clearly broken, you take in the sight as the flashback of your own father's similar injury hits you, making you let out a small gasp. You continue watching the man for a couple of seconds until Clint shows up and helps the man.

The kids were still beside you, until one was not, as you turned around you heard him scream, one the terrorist had gotten to the little boy and was holding him in a tight grip, "Help me inside the building or he dies", the man said from behind the mask as the kid got more and more scared. At a distance you notice Natasha almost getting stabbed by a knife and you stop it in mid air by manipulating the wind. The terrorist on the other hand uses your distraction to his advantage shooting the kid and running inside the building with his crew. "No!", is all you could say as you hear the gunshot.

Later at the compound

"Y/N, what the hell were you thinking, you had enough time to save that kid!", Tony yells at you as you visibly wince at his words. "Tony, it's enough, leave it", Steve tries to calm him down. "I am not sure, if you see it Cap, but their distraction is evident, they are always so lost!", Tony says sharply as his words cut threw you.

Later, you go to your room, letting the weight of what just happened sink. You were a terrible person, you couldn't even get past a mission without distraction. That innocent kid did not deserve to die. It was only because of you that he was dead. He had so much life ahead of him but your recklessness got him killed. Nobody likes you. No one. You are a fool. They all hate you. You are useless.

You sat in you room thinking these things over and over, again and again as your head starts to hurt and tears start streaming down your face as you harshly grip the bed sheets, then your hair, and soon without releasing you are scratching your wrists with nails leaving small red marks all over. You are crying and feeling overwhelmed, almost on the verge of a panic attack, as you blame yourself for the boy's death and feel completely useless and unwanted. They all hate you. No one would care you if you just disappeared. Your brain tells you.

After about half an hour, you go to the roof top, deciding to end all the pain forever. You take the elevator and reach the top of the tower. A weird serenity surrounded the area which was in complete contrast to the storm inside of you, which had you trapped in it so bad that you couldn't take it anymore. You took a step forward. The sky had a tinct of pink and orange as the sun was setting, the noise from street below wasn't really audible from this height. Why was it so peaceful? Why was nature so calm when you were not. You felt more angry and hurt at the sight. You did not understand why you couldn't feel this calm and relaxed and someone else could.

You were still crying, and continued moving forward slowly till you were almost at the edge when suddenly, "Y/N! Stop! What are you doing?", you heard Loki's voice call from behind you with a sense of urgency in his voice. You turn out to find him looking frightened and concerned. "What are you doing? What are you thinking? Get away from the edge! Now!", he said still sounding panicked. "Just let me go", you say through tears. "No, I am not letting you go, i cannot", he says stepping forward, coming close to me. "No one cares, Loki, I am just a burden for everyone, i keep making mistakes, I am of no use", you say crying. "No, Y/N, I care about you, you are not a burden and this isn't the answer to anything, taking your life won't help, you can't give up", he says gently gripping my shoulders.

"I give up,Loki, I am weak, I am very weak", you say still crying hysterically. "Y/N. You. Are. Not. Weak. You are the strongest person I know, you remember you are the one who told me mistakes don't define a person, that waiting and trying can always make things better, and pain only makes us stronger, remember?", he asks looking at you with concern and gentleness as you nod your head yes. "Then why are you giving up yourself?, I know you are strong, and I care about you and always will", he says pulling you close to his chest as you cry more.

"Shhh, it will all okay, I am here, just don't try to take your life again, please, it hurts me, I don't know how will I survive without you", Loki says, his own voice breaking now, as he speaks with a hint of vulnerability. "I am sorry", is only what you can say. "Don't apologise", he says and holds you till you have calmed down, rubbing circles on your back. "I love you Y/N, I love you a lot, I cannot live without you, please stay with me", he says, shedding a couple of tears, "You, love me?", you ask little surprised, "More than you know" is all he says as he pulls you closer.

[myrtles-and-blood]

Newbie confusion: Prayers

Reading The Complete Book of Demonolatry by S. Connolly.

Thanks to this book I've discovered that I've been praying wrong this whole time, not only applying in Demonolatry, but in general. I thought it was a nice poem you'd say out loud and that's it, I didn't understand why people talked about it like it was an actual offering.

Like, it's actually an exchange of energy. I'm actually giving something to them, not just saying stuff out loud. I still have a very physical view of the spiritual world (contradictory, I know), and unless I can feel the offering, make it, touch it, sense it in general, it's like I'm not doing anything.

I didn't understand offerings very well either. Like, I give you a strawberry and you spiritually eat it or what? What's happening to the strawberry, what's going on. 😦

The thing, or how I understood it, is basically that entities are energy themselves, and when you put energy into doing something with a good intention for them you're... feeding them? I don't think that's the word, but maybe in the same way a person goes to a ballet. That dancer is not doing anything for me, but their performance evokes an energy that makes me feel good.

I think I didn't really get why a deity or a demon would like to constantly receive praise and everyone to be scared of their power because "bad things happen when you don't like me" type of mentality. That's how I used to view God and that's what I thought was the norm.

I didn't get it because I wouldn't like it if people did it to me, but actually this is not what was supposed to be happening when worshipping. People pray and offer stuff because they are friends and students of their deities/demons, and they like to thank them for teaching them stuff and helping them.

When I first discovered this stuff I was like "Damn y'all talk are fucking crazy" but no, it's just they don't live with the idea that they should fear who they worship, just respect it like any other being on this earth. Believe it or not I thought this was stupid until later on.

Nothing more to add, actually. I wanted to make a post about my discovery and my view as a newbie in spirituality, because I'm more new to this than I thought I was. My head works in mysterious ways.

I'll definitely incorporate this new knowledge and see how I can make my brain think I'm doing something and not just saying meaningless stuff out loud, I may or may not update. 👍🏻

Small disclaimer: I don't hate God currently, but according to everything that I saw and heard at church I thought he was meant to be feared, and my small kid brain didn't really think that was nice so I stopped believing in him and started being an absolute hater. I stopped after a while and discovered witchcraft.

I'd love to hear that I'm not the only one who had a weird perspective on this, I also love hearing other perspectives and any advice you have on this matter (with respect obviously). 🫶🏻

[countrymusiclover]

7 - Having a Friend

Part 8

A Wolf Among Lions

Tag list ( just ask to be added ) @tallrock35 @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea @immyowndefender @iamavailablesstuff @plaguecourier

A light summer snow fell down on the winter woods of Winterfell.  My younger brother and I were silently walking through the trees of the Godswood.  For that brief moment of silence we didn’t have to be the future Lord of Winterfell or the future Lady of House Targaryen.  We were simply Cregon and Lehna Stark. 

“So will you be marrying a girl from the South in exchange for me being shipped halfway across the world in return?” I asked my younger brother who was only the age of ten and three. 

He knew what I was talking about regardless of him not being the right age to marry yet. 

He was already being taught how to be lord by our uncle who was ruling as the current Lord of Winterfell until my brother came of the rightful age to inherit the lands and his title.  “I hope I can marry someone closer to home.  Someone that understands how we live out here.” 

“I wish I had the same option, little brother.  Sadly I must be sent off to the furthest place from the Wall and Winterfell.” I sighed heavily finely, making up my mind that I more than likely would never grow to call Kings Landing my home. 

Cregon spared me a look with a raised brow. “Most girls that I hear about would be thrilled to marry a dragon prince.  Why aren’t you, sister?” 

“I'm not happy about it because I am horrified that he will do everything in his power to change who I am.  I don't want to change my personality to try and please my soon to be Lord Husband and anyone who does is a little ridiculous in my mind.” 

Cregon chuckled, shaking his head at me with a cheeky grin on his lips.  “I pray to the gods that whoever gets your heart is prepared to handle a stubborn Northerner girl.” 

“It will surely take quite a man to be able to keep up with me.” I smirked and my brother began chasing after we had a contest to see who could get to the castle first. 

Sitting in a chair I had placed by the large window that was part of Helaena's chambers just enjoying the peaceful silence that was currently occupied in the room.  It had been a few weeks since the incident that I caused at Aegon's nameday feast.  Daemon and I hadn’t spoken to one another, not that I currently minded anymore.  I'd spoken more with Aemond before that event then I had him so this wasn't really much of a difference.  

Gently flipping to the next page in the book I kept my eyes trained on the words trying to get my brain to comprehend the strange words faster somehow.  For days on end I have been studying the different phrases of old Valyrian that I could not wanting to avoid anymore chances for me to not understand what Daemon, Rhaenyra or Aemond was saying that I couldn't understand. 

The chamber door was pushed open before I heard two sets of footsteps racing over to me with excitement and joyful voices. “Mommy!” Caraxes and Visenya both attempted to jump up in my lap at once. 

“Woah, woah, slow, slow down you two - I can't  - I can't have you both on me.” I couldn't hold back the fit of laughter that escaped my lips, having me have to quickly bookmark the page I was reading and sit it on the window seal.  Once I had done that I wrapped my arms around the two bouncing kids seated on my legs. 

Visenya gripped the fabric of the gray gown I was wearing, my eyes staring back up at me. “Mommy, come play with us.” 

“Aunt Helaena thinks you're avoiding her…and us.” Caraxes lays his head against my stomach. 

I bite my lip being able to hear the sadness in the tone of both of their voices. “Oh my babies.  I am not avoiding either of you, nor Helaena.” 

“But you are avoiding someone, right?” 

Slightly turning my head at the new voice that came with the new set of footsteps that entered through the chamber doorway coming over to the three of us by the window.  “Helaena.  I - um don’t really wish to talk about this with them.” I nudged my head down to the two children still seated in my lap. 

“Diana, is down the hall.  She can watch the children so we can talk privately if you wouldn’t mind.” The dragon princess sent me a light smile before she called for the women who came and escorted the children outside to play in a room nearby, leaving me and the princess to sit in her chambers and just simply talk to one another. “Who are you trying to avoid, Lehna?” 

Brushing hair behind my ear, sighing heavily before picking the book back up from the window seal, putting it back down in my lap.  “My husband, obviously.  Daemon and I just aren’t good together.  I - I - I don’t want to be with him, but we were wed before the gods so I suppose I have no escape from this.” 

“You will still be a part of this family.  You will marry another dragon.” Helaena nodded her head in my direction muttering under her breath. 

Knitting my brows together I wasn’t quite sure I had heard her say that sentence correctly.  “What did you just say?” 

“You will marry another dragon.” She repeated the second sentence to me. 

I silently stared at the young girl who was the most innocent person I have ever come across in my life.  She reminded me so much of myself when I was around the age of ten I believe.  I prayed that I could keep my children in the same type of perspective that she currently has or will this world take it all away from them. 

“Helaena,  do you have many friends inside the Red Keep?” I questioned the princess getting a non verbal shaking of her head no, allowing me to reach for her hand with her sitting in front of me in her own chair by the window.  “I think we should have a friend here inside of this castle and I’d like to be yours if you’ll have me.” 

Helaena squeezed my hands in hers, gently smiling.  “I’d like for you to be my friend too, Lehna.” 

“Helaena, have you seen - Lehna,  there you are.  I’ve been looking for you.” The chamber door got thrown opened causing the two of us to quickly turn our heads watching Aemond walking into the room and heading straight towards us. 

Helaena glanced over her shoulder at her brother.  “Aemond?” 

“Why were you looking for me, my prince?” I questioned him by addressing him by his title.  I didn’t feel that I should call him by his name any longer given that everyone in the room that night saw me make a physical attack on him when he tried to pull me away from Daemon. 

Aemond’s one good eye focused solely on me.  “Lehna, I wish to speak with you privately.” 

“Privately about what exactly, my prince?” I raised a brow. 

He crossed the room and I quickly rose to my feet, nearly dropping the dusty book from my hands.  Helaena closely watched our movements towards the other person.  Aemond and I were standing nearly chest to chest with one another before he reached down, taking one of my hands in his own, causing me to lock my gaze with his one good eye that was trained on my face.  “I want - I want to treat you the way my Uncle Daemon has denied you all these years.  I wish to court you properly if you’ll graciously accept.” 

“Aemond, oh I - I accept.” Sparing a glance out the corner of my eye to Helaena.  She was sporting a light smirk on her lips at the interaction going on between me and her younger brother standing before her.  I knew she was finding much enjoyment in it. 

Helaena brightly smiled seeing him lead me out of her chambers and down the hallway when she peeked her head outside the doorway. “Have fun you two.” 

[pumpkincryptid]

My MSM headcanons, part 10

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GOD, I had to wait with this one, cos it contains stuff abt Mech Islet and I didn't want to spoil it for others.

(Others mainly being Moss, hello there Moss 👋 ^_^ )

ANYWAYS! Let's get into it.

• Zarroë is the most active Colossal, because unlike the others, they were in the Pocket Dimension when the Cataclysm occurred, so it had less long-term effects on them.

• Speaking of Zarroë and the Cataclysm, they lost one of their hands when it happened, that's why Mech Islet is completely mechanical. It's a prosthetic they made!

• ^This also implies that there's a (probably mostly rotten) severed Colossal arm somewhere out there.

• One of the reasons Vhenshun remembered his failed attempt at getting out through the portal to Plasma Islet was because he wanted to go after Whaill and see her again.

• Zarroë lured Vhenshun to the mines -and by extention to their observation room- on porpouse. They put that warp button there, because this Colossal mathed out how long it would take to polish up every last bit of their new prosthetic-and-by-extention-new-islet and planned it so Vhenshun would get there when it's finished!

• Zarroë did start paying more attention to the Workshopeans, through some of the Meebs and felt a bit bad for Vhenshun being locked up and also about sending him on this wild goose chase, but hey, it was worth it!

• Zarroë could make their spirit appear as a floating hand waaayyy before the Colossals even foresaw the Cataclysm. This was especially useful, because Zarroë already spent most of their time in the Pocket Dimension, so manifesting their spirit allowed them to be in 2 places at once.

• Zarroë is one of the most powerful Colossals. I mean come on, we've seen more activity from them, than all the other Colossals -some of which are canonically awake- COMBINED. This could be because as I've mentioned, they were in the Pocket Dimension during the Cataclysm and got affected less, but PLEASE, THEY BROKE THE FABRIC OF REALITY, MULTIPLE TIMES. (Dulcettéa is still the most powerful, but Zarroë is a close 2nd or 3rd).

• ^Zarroë's strength is mostly from their brain- and will-power. The reason they're considered so powerful is that they're constantly coming up with new ideas, do what they can to make them a reality and their brain power is enough to fully affect reality itself.

• The Colossals imbuing their spirits into the islands was a scary and very much not pleasant experience for some of them.

• Galvana and Zarroë had the closest Colossal-Celestial relationship out of all of them. They worked on many projects together, trusted eachother with secrets and just liked being near one another.

• ^When Zarroë imbued their spirit into Ethereal Island, their last words were calling out to Galvana, scared and hoping that at least their friend is safe.

• Magical Sanctum exists because the Titan Enchantler decided to go to the Pocket Dimension after they learned they can't become a Colossal. -> Zarroë welcomed them very happily and they're somewhat fond of the (compared to them) young Titan.

• The holo-bug critters on mech islet can glitch the monsters a little bit, but not to a harmful degree. They just tickle a bit :]

• Vhenshun SO updated his tech knowledge once he got to Mech Islet. That place has high- and modern tech all over it, and my guy couldn't be happier to have some good enrichment.

• Gentle headbutting is a common form of showing affection in the Workshop. Especially from the monsters who don't have limbs, or would have problems bending them in some ways.

• If a Strombonin gets injured and can't get help on its own, the Strombone will search and/or call for the nearest monster who can help. And the Srombones can move pretty fast if they travel in water!

• If the Workshopeans knew what A Hat In Time is, Pentumbra would like Snatcher.

• Zarroë's current equivalent of giving a hug is grabbing someone with their hand-shaped-manifasted-spirit and carfully squeezing them a little. But since this can be terrifying for some monsters, they've mostly resorted to giving head pats.

• During a break on Plasma Islet, Whaill could faintly hear from the distance a very familiar voice yelling in celebration and also calling her name out, along with "I KNEW IT WHAILL, I WAS RIGHT!"

• Everyone on Mech Islet needs to pay SO MUCH ATTENTION to keep Teeter from falling, poor Tauter has a new reason for having separation anxiety.

• Mech Islet has a lot of cameras and if anyone were to fall down, Zarroë can appear there to catch them and put them back safely. > After the first incident, they quickly installed railings made of the same laser-platform-thing the main platform between the Islet's fingers is made of.

• Wardin keeps regularly sending videos of his findings to the Monster-Handlers and they have no clue what the fuck any of it means 'cos the quality gets so screwed through the different dimensions.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for fucking around with this guy

Okay, some context. I met this guy around 4 or so years ago in a server with lots of friends and stuff. We were pretty good friends for a little.

Then he like got kind of sexual with me? I honestly thought it was a joke because there had been a long running joke in that group about things like showing titties or whatever and he always told me he was joking when I pressed the issue

Sometimes I would get really upset about it but he always showed remorse

Anyway after about 2 years of this ordeal I accidentally spilled the beans after being emotionally coerced by a friend and I wish I hadn't been

This obviously causes a big exile in our group, so he wasn't welcome anymore

They also kicked me out of their new server, which they said was "adults only" (I'm 16 but most of my friends are 18 to 22)

So I returned to the exiled friend because I honestly regretted doing all that because we had stopped doing that stuff like months before I spilled everything

Then I got into a month's long argument explaining why I should be in their server but they didn't care to listen and then tried to hold it up to a vote and clearly didn't respect me or my opinions

So I blew up at them and abandoned them forever

I was still talking to the exiled friend who we can call like Jack I guess

Jack is older than me and when he first got exiled we had a really long convo where he admitted he was into me which really surprised me and I took a few months to believe it

When I did believe it I ended up having feelings for him too but we don't want anything romantic

So now we're kind of doing fwb. Some friends I have don't know of this current situation which I'm fine with since he's very respectful, not using me, he doesn't hold any social power over me and he's not very mature

But friends who know about the 2 year thing call him a pedophile (which makes no sense, pedophilia a brain disorder that makes you into prepubescent kids) and a groomer (he didn't isolate me, ever say I was so mature, tell me to keep it a secret etc etc) and it makes me mad because words have meaning and I feel like they're dismissing me having autonomy and emotion to just wanna suck some hot guys dick

But they all think I'm low-key the AH for fucking around with him and still being his friend and not letting them save me or wtv despite not wanting to include me anymore so am I

What are these acronyms?

[fairyminnie444]

Hi! So I've finally plucked up the courage to make an ask and I thought of asking you since your posts really help me! 🩷🫶🏾

I've been really struggling with overcomplicating the law these days, my brain just seems to always want to make things more confusing for me?

Like i'd be understanding the law, reminding myself about how the 3D isn't my reality, imagination is and all I have to do is persist. I feel like I have to remind myself every time so I don't forget.

But soon as a remind myself and re-explain what the 3D is and what the 4D is and how i'll respond to bad circumstances and how i'll live happily in imagination my mind just becomes so overwhelmed to the point that I just loose control and start spiraling.

For example: I'll be reassuring myself on how I won't respond to 3D circumstances and then my brain will start overcomplicating and ask 'What even is the 3D again?' then I'll say the 3D is a projection of imagination (or similar) then I'll counter it by saying 'oh well then what's imagination?' and I might say simply the true reality then I'll counter than by saying 'why? Or what even Is imagination?'

Soon after I'll just start spiralling, nothing I say will make sense, nothing I say will click in my brain, I'll be stressed and confused and maybe after that I'll start consuming on loa which likely worsens it as it makes me ask more questions

It's like my brain just needs to know the answer, and I believe I have them, I just hate it when the questions overwhelm me and becomes too much to handle and I stop trusting my own word. And sometimes I don't know the answer, like when I ask myself 'what is imagination'? I can't produce myself a concrete answer that will make me shut up 😭

I thought to myself that the main problems I struggle with are overcomplicating and trusting myself, more so trust because if I simply learnt to trust the law I wouldn't need to overcomplicate and lead myself to spiral. But how can I learn to trust myself when my brain literally wont let me?

Every hour it feels I need to reaffirm what manifestation is before I forget it, the main reason why I struggle to manifest my desires is because I end up overcomplicating and not trusting the law, I end up spiralling, I stress myself out and before I know it I 'forgot' i had my desire or I just gave up and tried to give myself time to relax.

An answer would be greatly appreciated because I don't know how I can have fun and enjoy manifestation without changing my ways. Thank you for reading 🩷💋

-y

Your struggle with overcomplication and spiraling is more common than you think, and it often comes from a genuine desire to “get it right.” The good news is, the law is incredibly simple, and trusting it doesn’t require you to answer every question your mind throws at you. Let’s break this down and make it manageable:

1. The Overcomplication Trap

Your brain is stuck in a loop of analysis because it’s searching for certainty. This happens when we feel we must fully “understand” everything before it works. But manifestation doesn’t rely on intellectual understanding—it works through belief and feeling.

Simplify: The 3D is just the current reflection of past thoughts, and the 4D (your imagination) is where creation happens. That’s it. Every time your mind overcomplicates, repeat this to yourself:

“What I focus on in imagination becomes real. That’s all I need to know.”

2. Answering “What is Imagination?”

When your mind starts to question the nature of imagination or reality, remind yourself that you don’t need all the answers for it to work. It’s like using electricity—you don’t need to know how it works to turn on the lights.

Reframe: Instead of trying to explain imagination to yourself, shift into feeling it.

Ask yourself:

• “What does my dream life feel like?”

• “How would I feel if I already had it?”

This grounds you in experience rather than analysis.

3. Stop Fighting the Spiral

The more you resist spiraling thoughts, the more power they gain. Instead, allow them to pass like clouds in the sky. Acknowledge them without engaging. For example:

• “Okay, my brain is spiraling again. That’s fine. I don’t need to figure everything out right now. My manifestation is still working.”

4. Cultivate Trust Through Repetition

Trusting the law comes with practice, not perfection. You don’t need to convince yourself the law works—you just need to keep applying it. Over time, results will reinforce your belief.

Manifest something “simple”, like seeing a specific color or hearing a specific word. Each success builds trust.

5. Focus on Feeling, Not Logic

The law isn’t about intellectual reasoning; it’s about feeling. When you start spiraling, shift your attention to a state of gratitude or contentment.

For example:

• Instead of asking, “What is imagination?” ask, “How does it feel to have my desire?”

Feeling is the language of manifestation—not words.

6. Create a Grounding Routine

When spiraling feels inevitable, ground yourself with a simple routine:

1. Close your eyes.

2. Take a few deep breaths.

3. Imagine one simple, joyful moment from your desire (e.g., holding your SP’s hand, seeing your bank balance, etc.).

4. Let the feeling of that moment wash over you.

This brings you back to the present and out of your head.

7. Stop “Starting Over”

You never lose progress. Even if you’ve spiraled or doubted, your manifestation is still active. The law is always working, and your consistent return to your desire reinforces its creation.

Affirm:

• “Even when I doubt, my manifestation is still unfolding.”

• “I trust the process, even if I don’t understand it fully.”

8. Have Fun with It

Manifestation doesn’t have to feel like work. It’s about playing with your imagination and enjoying the feeling of your desire being real. Let go of needing to “get it right” and just focus on feeling good.

Reminder: The 3D doesn’t have to prove anything to you immediately. Relax, trust, and let the process unfold naturally.

Your job isn’t to know how everything works; it’s to assume the state of the wish fulfilled. Let the “how” take care of itself. Keep it simple, focus on your feelings, and trust that everything is working in your favor—even when you’re unsure.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #571

...I gotta say, I'm really enjoying this new keyboard. Writing to you is a lot less stressful now that everything is working properly. All of the keys type exactly one letter when I press them. None of them fail to type letters. None of them type double or triple letters (this has been a thing since initially purchasing the laptop – very annoying). So now, I'm back to typing between 75-80 words per minute, which is really nice (I don't type with all my fingers, and I don't use “home” position, but I also don't need to look; I'm not sure if there's a word for my typing style, such as it is); getting my thoughts out quickly is important, because sometimes they'll crumble and fade away before I get them written on the screen; I really hate when that happens. It's like trying to hold onto the fragments of a dream. Or maybe it's more like trying to hold too much wet sand in your hands.

I went to my shift at work today, but it was weird. Instead of doing the usual 9am until 1pm, today's shift was from 1pm until 7pm. So I had lots of time in the morning to do whatever. I used my “whatever” time to make myself some hotdogs and peel myself an orange!!

I also hung out with J. He was supposed to go do gliders, but... I was home. So he chilled at home with me. And that felt really nice. I had lots of extra time after eating, so I used it to breathe life into today's wishes for ya:

Tr was there when I got into work. But as it turned out, she needed to leave very soon after I got in; for whatever reason, she decided to give me an affectionate smack on my tush on the way out??? Which I don't mind, coming from her or from other people I feel close to and know well; her intentions definitely were not sexual or coercive or intimidating or entitled in any way, whatsoever. But we did discover that I squeak awkwardly when I'm harmlessly startled in such a fashion during a non-focus-intensive task, and then we both laughed really hard at that; it was pretty freaking great!

I'd be comfortable with similar behavior from Ka, too; she also knows me well and has no sexual intentions towards me. I'd accept similar from my friend R, my friend A and his husbands, my friend BB, and my friend V (not that any of them would). They are male, a trio of males, female, and non-binary, respectively. But they all know me well, and I trust them; it is, in my head, with them at least, just a silly form of platonic intimacy. They'd all just want me to laugh; they wouldn't be trying to do some weird power play or get their jollies off.

I would not, at this time, accept such a thing from anyone else who is not already a romantic partner. Most other people are not close enough to me for that. And the one who is close enough to me for that currently does have sexual intentions towards me (which is not unwelcome, but the requisite 6 months have not yet elapsed) that my brain would not be able to separate from the action.

Basically... I'd be comfortable with it from a person who I am certain is using the gesture as an expression of established closeness and trust and as a means to affectionately elicit surprised joy. I would not be comfortable with it from a person with whom I do not feel trust and closeness, or from a person I'd have to question whether or not they're using it as an excuse to gratify themself by touching my butt without my consent (M and J have that consent as well as trust and closeness). Male, female, non-binary, intersex, trans, it doesn't matter.

In any case, I had the department basically to myself from 1pm until 7pm. It was kinda lonely and anxiety-producing, to be sure. So as I did my tasks, I sang - to the familiar songs on the radio playing on the store sound system, and to the songs playing in my own head. I put cookies in boxes, sliced up Italian bread, labeled everything and put it out, set up kaiser rolls on trays for baking tomorrow morning, and helped customers in between. And after all that, of course, I sliced, bagged, and labeled the remaining breads, put the used trays back where they go, took out the trash, recycled the cardboard, wiped down the tables and bread case, swept, mopped, and made everything look neat and tidy. I got a lot done in 6 hours, and I'm not feeling completely demolished – just a little drained, is all.

The guy who Ka said was flirting with me returned at some point today for another sourdough loaf. This will be the third time he's come to chatter a little with me while doing that, for reasons I don't fully understand. His name is Steve, I guess. I don't find him unpleasant, but I assume he has better things to do with his life than talk to some random, chubby, out-of-shape, socially awkward, going-on-middle-aged grocery store grunt. Most folks come, get their bread, make a small amount of obligatory small talk, and leave. This one speaks in more than just the obligatory ways with which I've grown accustomed in this space. And it's not a bad thing; I just... I wonder why.

Also notably, a pair of Portuguese women came in looking for “braided buns”. Thankfully, one of the women had her phone, and I had mine, so we made ample use of Google Translate to bridge the language gap. Sadly, we didn't have what they were looking for; the only thing we have that's braided is some strudel, which we didn't have, and some challah, which wasn't what they were looking for. So they moved on.

...Though I was by myself, overall, I had a fun day at work. I'm tired – too tired to work on any music box today. But... I feel content. I got home, and decided that tacos were the thing. So I got tacos:

...I wonder if you like tacos. I wonder if you've had tacos before...

...I wanna write to you some more, but I should get ready for bed soon. J wanted to wake up early to play Valheim with me. This time, we'll be able to fight Eikthyr; I am eager to get a pickaxe in his hands and see what he does with it...!!!

So I guess for now, I'll bid you good night. I love you so much, and I hope you're keeping yourself safe out there.

...Please try really hard to avoid making choices that lead to a gaggle of protagonists beating you up, okay? I don't want that to happen to you anymore. I don't wanna see you get beaten and slashed and bloodied up anymore. I don't wanna see you getting hurt anymore. So try really hard, okay? Promise me? Please?

I'll write again tomorrow. Hopefully all about J's new adventures with the pickaxe we get from crafting with Eikthyr's horns. Wish us luck...

Your friend, Lumine

[leggerefiore]

cyrus fluff crumbs,,, i beg.

maybe stemming off of you arguements/make up hcs where he tries his best to show reader he cares abt them or just whatever u feel like

cw: hurt/comfort, light fluff, angst

pairing: Cyrus/Reader

Guilt wrecked Cyrus's mind. Strong feelings – feelings in general even – his distaste was endlessly apparent as he stewed within his thoughts. Saturn had attempted to deliver and update on a mission yet stopped dead in his tracks when he caught a glance of his boss's expression. Cyrus wanted to scoff. How foolish. He could not deny that it was for the best. His plans would only sink his mood further. Everything was progressing well. He should have been content – proud even.

It felt like a punch directly to his gut. Your mortified expression… Your harsh words. The idea of a world without spirit, you had simply despised it. Feelings… He hated them, especially when they overwhelmed you. Your tears were staining the folds of his brain as you told him that existing in a world where you could not love him sounded far too hellish. He felt shame. Love… He struggled with it, yet he could not deny that he was swayed by it.

He was being swayed by it currently.

His laptop was closed. His tablet was left off to the side. He paced back and forth. Why? Why did you always have this powerful effect on him? Part of him wanted to yell at himself for height so illogical, while the other felt ready to throw away everything to make your tears stop. Leaving him… Your harsh words about leaving him haunted his mind as much as your tears. You threatened to head home, gather your things and just vanish. Cyrus's hand clenched at the leg of his uniform. Losing you… His ideal world was at the precipice of existing, but losing you.

He swallowed his pride.

No.

Losing you was absolutely not an option.

He alerted Saturn that he was taking off for the day and departed from the building. His feet carried him mindlessly back home. When was the last time he had come home? He could not recall. So much time had been spent focusing solely on his plans. You must have felt unimportant to him, too. Cyrus was not a fool. He knew well enough that losing you would ruin everything. You had been a sole comfort in this world that only wished to mock him. Through his worst moments, you had been at his side. Whenever his trauma crept into his mind, you grasped him firmly and pulled him back to reality.

He was shocked to see that you were genuinely beginning to pack things when he opened the door. His blood felt like ice. He felt as if he was floating away. You seemed shocked to see him, likely believing his words of feigned apathy. He regretted them. Why had he said them? You just stared at him, unspeaking. Within seconds, his arms were around you. His eyes were wide. When was the last time he felt this panicked? He did not want to recall that period of his life.

You stayed still for a moment longer, then let out a sigh. Your arms came around him. Only then did he feel relief. A gentle hand rubbed his back. He tried to force down the shaky breaths that had only grown more accelerated. Your voice called his name. Reality felt so far away. He needed you. Part of him hated this, yet he knew better than to reject it. Your presence alone provided a sense of peace that no where else could he find. Cyrus held you tighter to himself. He felt like a pitiful child grasping desperately at a mother's skirt. The harsh pang of feeling that the visceral image drew out made everything worse.

“Please,” the beg that left him was foreign to his usual demeanour, “Don't go.”

You reassured him that you would not leave.

His eyes met yours, distant and uncertain. Lips pressed to your own. He lost himself in you for a moment. His forehead rested on yours while you softly held his cheek. You said one simple request.

“Stop your plans.”

Cyrus felt far too weak to deny you.

His new world… He could not tell if he desired you or it more. But, this current situation pointed to you.

“For you,” was his reply. Lips pressed against your own again, silencing you.

Whether it truly was the end or not… It was impossible to tell.

For now, it was.

All he wanted was for your warm embrace and presence to surround him. You seemed more than willing to give him just that.